All language subtitles for Mansfield.Park.1983.E06

(PIPE AND DRUM PLAYING JAUNTY TUNE)

Come on!

(REBECCA) Young felons!
The bowl is fallen and all the whey is gone.

- Fanny?
- Yes, I'm here.

Don't you be telling tales to your mama!
Wait till them boys are all up.

I'll lay them about the ears,
the young varmints!

I do declare, I quite dread Saturdays.

Tom and Charles are all over the house.
Did you go to the post?

Yes, Mama. There was no letter.

It is four weeks since the boys sailed.

I'm sure William will write,
soon as ever he can, and Sam besides.

Mama, Rebecca has dropped the bowl
and all the curds are gone.

Where are Tom's trousers that were
to be mended? I put them in these drawers.

They're done already. Susan brought them to me.
Shall I put them in his room?

Yes, indeed, Fanny. He must wear them,
you know, tomorrow being Sunday.

What has Rebecca been about?
The breakfast things not cleared away yet.

Upon my soul, there was never such a servant,
and nobody so plagued as I.

Things have come to such a pass
in Portsmouth that she'll soon be gone.

It is quite a miracle to keep a servant
more than half a year now.

Why, Betsey, have you Susan's knife again?

Put it away!
You know how cross Susan will be with you.

To be sure, I told her I had hidden it.

Susan, here are three volumes of Mr Henry's
history from the circulating library.

When we've read these,
there are three remaining

that I was obliged to leave behind.

Was there no letter
from Cousin Edmund at the post?

Why, Fanny, he must be in London by now.
He promised you that he would write.

Yes, and I'm sure we may depend upon it.

I dare say he's been busy.

In London there will be much for him to do.

He will write, I know,
when he has anything to tell me.

Susan... you know my uncle made me a present
of ten pounds when I left Mansfield Park?

And you spent too much of it
in getting books for me.

Yet that is such a pleasure.

To be a renter - a chooser of books.

It's quite amazed me.

But I determined
I should do something for Betsey too.

So... I've bought her a small trifle.
Cost but half a guinea.

Do you see?

Oh, Fanny. How good you are.

Now Mary's knife shall be my own!
Betsey will never take it.

But you have done this
so I shouldn't quarrel with her.

Can you forgive me for being unkind?

But you must not reproach yourself.

It was Mary's wish to give the knife to you.
Now it shall be yours and yours alone.

Come. If I have your good opinion,
shall we take our present to Betsey now?

It is a silver knife of my very own!

So it is. It is indeed, Betsey.

How kind your sister is to you,
and you must thank her for it.

Aye.

I am sure I shall not want yours now,
for this is new, and much prettier, besides.

Indeed. I hope you find it so.

I am sure I shall not want THAT again.

Mama? May I take it now
and show it to my friend Tilda?

- For she has nothing half so fine.
- Yes, my dear. If it will please you.

What a handsome present.

- It must have cost you a vast deal.
- No, indeed, Mama.

I remember poor Mary's was a gift
from old Mrs Admiral Maxwell.

But my own dear Betsey has not the luck
of such a good godmother.

Aunt Norris lives too far off
to think of her.

My Aunt Norris said, before I left,
she hoped her goddaughter was a good girl.

She went to see
for some old prayer books

that she might send something for Betsey,

but one was too large for her to carry

and the other, she said,
had too small a print for a child's eyes.

- (KNOCKING)
- Who is that? I had not expected callers.

Rebecca will be at the door. It is the only thing
she ever does without the least delay.

(FOOTSTEPS, DOOR OPENS)

(REBECCA) Oh, sir. Good morning.
(HENRY) I am calling on Mr and Mrs Price.

- Are they at home?
- Susan, make haste, clear the things away.

(REBECCA) Mrs Price is at home.
If you'll come this way, sir.

Stay! There is no time.

There is a gentleman to see you, ma'am.

Why... it's Mr Crawford!

(FANNY) William's friend, Mama.

My mother... Mr Henry Crawford.

- I hope I see you well, ma'am.
- Yes, indeed.

I fear my husband is not at home,
which I am very sorry for.

I know how much he wished to meet you,

and how warmly William spoke of you.
Didn't he, Fanny?

- Yes, indeed, Mama.
- Shall we be seated by the fire?

We have but lately finished breakfast.
Mr Crawford, will you take my husband's chair?

I thank you, ma'am.

I suppose your son has sailed already?

Yes, and Sam has gone with him.

We think they will have a cruise
to the West Indies, do we not, Fanny?

But there is nothing known for certain.

William was in hopes of writing
when the Thrush put in to Lisbon.

We have had no letter yet,
though Fanny goes to the post each day.

And why do you come to Portsmouth, sir?

Have you some business
with the port admiral or the commissioner?

With neither.

Then you come to visit the dockyard
or to go to the island?

No, ma'am. I can supply nothing
as proof of such importance as you expect

to justify my appearance.

In truth, I reached here late last night,
and am staying at The Crown.

- And coming from London, sir?
- Yes, ma'am.

Though I have been in town scarcely
twenty-four hours since my return from Norfolk.

I have a house there,
ma'am, at Everingham.

I had so little time
before setting out again.

I thought myself lucky in seeing Mary
for half an hour,

but she sends you
her best and kindest love.

And begs that you excuse her
that she has had no time for writing at all.

It's very kind
but Miss Crawford owes me no letter.

Pray thank her, Mr Crawford,
and return my compliments.

And do assure her
I think of her very often.

Indeed, it's true.

Miss Crawford, Mama,
is Mr Crawford's sister.

What further intelligence do I bring?

Oh, yes. Your cousin Edmund is in town.

Has been in town,
so Mary informs me, for a few days.

I did not see him myself,
so offer no proof,

but I understand he is well,
had left them all well at Mansfield,

and was to dine
with my sister last night at the Frasers'.

Indeed, I believe
he dined there the night before.

I hope I entertain you
with these minute particulars?

Yes, indeed. I am always eager
to hear how things go on at Mansfield.

And I should be very happy to tell you more,
yet this is all my news.

Were we in Mansfield, ma'am, we should not
sit indoors on such a lovely morning.

It is very fine, sir, for the time of year.

But then, at this season,
a fine morning so often turns off.

I find it wisest not to delay
one's exercise. Don't you agree?

Oh, yes, indeed, sir. When one is going out,
it is not wise to delay at all.

(HENRY) You are of my opinion.

So, ma'am, if you and your daughters
should think of taking your walk,

I would advise
that you do so without more delay.

A walk? I, Mr Crawford? Oh, no. I scarcely
stir out of doors, except of a Sunday.

- I am sorry to hear it.
- Indeed.

I must own that I can seldom,
with so large a family, find time for a walk.

I have so much I must attend to
and servants so little to be depended upon.

- A walk is out of the question.
- I understand you, ma'am.

But, in that case,
would you not persuade your daughters

to take advantage of the weather
and allow me the pleasure of attending them?

- (FANNY) Oh, but I am sure...
- Indeed, that is kind.

- Isn't it, Fanny and Susan?
- Yes, Mama!

I fear my daughters are very much confined,

and Portsmouth is such a sad place,
they seldom get out.

And, Susan, there are several errands
in the town - some lengths of ribbon I had forgot.

Rebecca would never match the colours,
but you and Fanny might.

You might call in at the butcher's
for some mutton.

Allow us but five minutes, Mr Crawford,
ten at most, while I collect myself.

I believe we shall find the high street
at the bottom of this alley.

You cannot lead me astray.
I'm no stranger to Portsmouth.

I've visited the dockyard very often,
and sailed from it too.

But you have not asked me yet
what I did at Everingham.

For I had business.

The renewal of a lease to a poor family

that my agent
seemed almost too ready to oppose.

For there was something underhand
in his objections.

And I made the acquaintance
of cottagers and families -

tenants of mine I had never seen before.

Good people.
I hoped in all this to have your approval.

- (MAN SINGING)
- Oh... We should have come another way.

- (SUSAN) There is my father!
- Ahoy there, Fanny and Sue!

- What's this, then?
- Sir, here is Mr Crawford.

- My father, sir.
- Mr Price, how do you do?

Mr Henry Crawford!

Why, sir... I hope I see you well.

Very well, I thank you.

Do you know this gentleman?
This is William's benefactor!

The nephew of Admiral Crawford!

I'm sorry, sir. I never met your uncle,

but I'll wager he was the finest sailor
that ever captained a three-decker!

By George! I would drink a toast with you!

Not the pacing of a quarterdeck from here,
we may...

Father... we have some errands for my mother
and Mr Crawford goes with us.

Oh. You have my girls in tow, eh? (LAUGHS)

Very well, I will walk along with you,
and we may talk as we go!

Do you make much stay in Portsmouth, sir?

A day or two at most.
I must leave by Monday.

I would show you the dockyard, sir,
if you would spare the time.

Come, girls...

I shall see you tomorrow.
You attend the garrison chapel?

- Yes, sir. With my family.
- Tomorrow.

As I was saying... The dockyard!

After the confines of chapel,
this is a pleasant prospect.

But I came to Portsmouth only to see you.

It was on your account and yours alone.

I found I could not endure
a longer separation.

- You have been here a month, I think?
- No, not quite a month.

It's four weeks tomorrow
since I left Mansfield.

You are a most honest and accurate reckoner.
I should call that a month.

I did not arrive here till Tuesday evening.

And it is to be a two months' visit, isn't it?

Yes. Yes, my uncle spoke of two months.
I suppose it shall not be less.

Who comes for you? Who will convey you?

I do not know. I've heard nothing
about it yet from my aunt.

Perhaps I may stay longer.

It may not be convenient for me
to be fetched at the end of two months.

I know Mansfield. I know its ways...

...and I know the danger
of your being forgotten.

If Sir Thomas cannot settle everything
for coming himself

or for sending your aunt's maid for you...

This will not do. Two months is ample.

I should think six weeks quite enough.

I am considering your sister's health,

which I think the confinement of Portsmouth
unfavourable to.

When you know her as well as I do,

you will agree she ought never to be
long banished from the free air of the country.

She keeps too much indoors here,
helping my mother.

If you find yourself growing unwell
and any difficulty about returning,

let my sister know it.

Give her only a hint, she and I will
immediately come down and take you back.

Since I keep so hearty, I see no occasion...

I am perfectly serious...

...as you perfectly know.

If you feel yourself less strong,
less comfortable...

...I hope you will not conceal it.

Indeed, you shall not.

For you must positively say
in every letter to Mary, "I am well."

I know you cannot write
or speak a falsehood.

Sir...

You must not - you or your sister -
concern yourself on my account.

- Yet...
- I shall do very well, till I am sent for.

My mother and father are waiting for us.

Yet I do concern myself.

And the cause, you know very well.

Now, Mr Crawford, sir. What say you?

Will you do us the honour
of taking your mutton with us?

Sir, you are very kind...

...but I regret you must excuse me.

I am engaged at dinner
by an acquaintance at The Crown,

and I fear he will not be denied.

I am most grateful for the invitation.
And for a pleasant walk.

Good day to you, Mr Crawford.
Come, boys... and Betsey.

(BOYS SQUABBLING)

If you are blown into harbour again, sir,
I pray you will call upon us.

We've been honoured
to make your acquaintance.

Good day to you, Mr Price.

(MR PRICE) Hold your noise, little demons!

- A word with you.
- Sir?

I wish you were not so pale.

I wish I left you in stronger health.
Is there anything I can do for you in town?

- I want nothing.
- I have an idea of going to Norfolk again.

I am not satisfied with my agent.
I'm sure he means to impose on me.

The mischief such a man does on an estate

and to the welfare of the poor
is inconceivable.

It would be worse than simple to let him
give me a griping fellow for a tenant

instead of an honest man.

Would it not be worse than simple?
Shall I go? Do you advise it?

I advise? You know very well what is right.

Yes. When you give me your opinion,
I always know.

- Your judgment is my rule.
- Oh, no. Don't say so.

We all have a better guide in ourselves,
if we attend to it,

than any other person can be.

Goodbye.
I wish you a pleasant journey tomorrow.

- Is there nothing I can do for you in town?
- Nothing. I am much obliged to you.

Have you no message for anybody?

My love to your sister, if you please.

And when you see my cousin Edmund,
I wish you would say that...

- I suppose I shall hear from him soon?
- Certainly.

And if he is lazy or negligent,
I will write his excuses myself.

Mr Crawford.

(LADY BERTRAM) My dear Fanny,

I write to you from Mansfield Park
in very great distress.

For I take up my pen to communicate
some alarming intelligence,

which I make no doubt
will give you much concern,

as it has done
both to Sir Thomas and myself.

Your cousin Tom
is returned from Newmarket,

where a neglected fall and a good deal
of drinking after it with a party of young men

has brought on a dangerous fever.

Edmund received the news in London
and left at once to bring his brother home,

for he found that all Tom's friends
had deserted him,

leaving him in sickness and solitude
with only servants to attend him.

Edmund has thought it best
to bring the poor sufferer to Mansfield,

where his own physician may be depended on
to fetch him back to health and strength.

The family, you know, is not consumptive...

and so I do pray
and believe he will soon be well again.

Oh, my dear Fanny,

he is just taken upstairs
and I am so shocked to see him.

Poor Tom...

I am quite grieved by him
and very much frightened.

And so is Sir Thomas.

"How glad I should be
if you were here to give me comfort.

"But Sir Thomas hopes
he will be better tomorrow

"and says
we must consider his... journey.

"Dear Fanny, I shall write again
so soon as I have better news.

"Your affectionate Aunt Bertram."

(MUTTERING)

This has been three days in the post.

But I'm sorry not to be at home.

Not to be with my aunt at Mansfield Park.

My poor Sister Bertram.
She must be in a great deal of trouble.

- And is not Tom her eldest son?
- Yes, Mama.

(SLURRING) By God, they'll all go one way.

One way or the next! I've seen 'em.

Man overboard! I've seen 'em!

# What argufies snivelling
and piping your eye... #

(SOBBING) Poor Jack!

# They say there's a providence
sits up aloft... #

There, your father is at the coals again.

Last week he burned a hole in the carpet,
and I have not time to mend it.

(MUTTERING)

(MR PRICE) # Some thousands they will flock

# To execution dock

# Where we shall stand the shock

# When we die! #

Fanny, tell me some more of Mansfield Park.

I wish that I might see it.
Is it so beautiful?

Yes... most beautiful.

Tell me some more.

It's six weeks and five days since...

(MR PRICE SINGS DRUNKENLY)

I used to ride the old grey pony.

It was so slow and gentle.

And yet I trembled the first time
my uncle ever put me on it.

It was my cousin Edmund
taught me not to fear it,

to venture a little further.

Susan?

(MARY) My dearest Fanny,
forgive my long silence.

The diversions of London
have been too pressing.

But now even your cousin Edmund
has been called away.

Whilst he was here, he visited me
at the Frasers' on two or three occasions

and once we walked together in the park
for a brief tête-à-tête.

He will be too much concerned now
to think of me again.

Poor Tom...

Fanny, I see you smile, but upon my oath,
I never bribed a physician in my life.

If he dies, there will be two poor young men
less in the world.

And I will say boldly that wealth and title
could fall into no better hands.

Ah, it was a foolish step
he took at Christmas,

but the evil of a few days
may be blotted out.

Varnish and gilding hide many stains.

And I put it to your conscience

whether Sir Edmund would not do more good
with all the Bertram property

than any other possible sir.

Now, Fanny, do not be alarmed.

I must break it to you that Henry
determined not to go into Norfolk.

And the reason is very simply
that I had need of him in town.

Last night your cousin Mrs Rushworth
gave a party at her house in Wimpole Street

and the value of a man like Henry
on such an occasion

is something
you can have no conception of.

But Mrs Rushworth was in beauty.
Poor Mr Rushworth.

He has bought her such a house
as Henry could never have afforded.

She has got her pennyworth
for her penny, to use a vulgar phrase.

Yet, Fanny, do not be thinking
anything foolish or uneasy.

For shall I tell you how he was received?

Yes, very coldly.

And Mr Rushworth's mother
was come from Bath,

where nothing that had befallen her
would entertain you.

So other matter must fill my page.

Well, let it be your cousin Julia

who, you may be sure,
enjoys London exceedingly.

Indeed, I do not believe your cousin Julia

will evermore be satisfied with Mansfield
or Mansfield Park again.

From all I observe and guess,
Mr Yates continues his attentions to her.

She ought to do better.
A poor Honourable is no catch.

Though, as the Baron in "Lovers' Vows",
I will confess he made fine speeches.

But take away his rants
and the poor Baron is nothing.

See what a difference a vow makes?

If his rents were but equal to his rants,
ah, then!

"Must one always wait to give
till one is asked?

"To do good
satisfies both hunger and thirst."

You do not take your cue.
Have you forgot the lines?

It is "Lovers' Vows".

There is something wanting yet.

Ah, yes...

"Take this, good woman."

"Frederick."

"How is this?
How do I find my mother thus? Speak!"

"I cannot!"

Oh, my dear one, what shall I do?
I can no more endure it!

No. You shall not say so.
What of Mr Rushworth?

I hate him! Upon my soul!

Upon my soul.

- Fanny!
- Hm?

- Did you go the library?
- Oh, I quite forgot.

My mother is sure to want some errands.
I may call in later.

(MARY) A most scandalous rumour
has just reached me, dear Fanny.

I write to warn you against giving credit
to it if it should reach your ears.

I must go to London.
I shall take Edmund, too.

Sir Thomas, what shall I do without you?
And Tom not out of bed!

My poor Maria! I will tell you, Sir Thomas,
who is to blame in this affair.

Why, Fanny Price! It is her neglect of him!
Her proud and obstinate refusal...

Pray, silence, Mrs Norris!
I shall blame no one but myself.

I've left my daughters
too much in others' care.

It may be your neglect
which has kept Fanny true!

Neglect? Of Fanny?

(MARY) Depend upon it,
there is some mistake.

A day or two will clear it up.

At any rate, Henry is blameless
and thinks of nobody but you.

Say nothing,
whisper nothing till I write again.

I would lay my life they are only gone
to Mansfield Park, and Julia with them.

But why would you not let us come for you?
I wish you may not repent it.

(MR PRICE SNORTS, COUGHS, SPITS)

I am surprised Easter
should fall so late this year.

I do not remember
it was ever so late before.

(CHILDREN) Cheese! We want toasted cheese!
Rebecca! Toasted cheese!

How long Rebecca is making the tea.

I'm sure I told her to mend the carpet.
You see the hole yet, Fanny?

Yes, Mama.

What's the name
of your great-cousins in town, Fan?

Rushworth, sir.

Don't they live in Wimpole Street?

Yes, sir.

What will Sir Thomas will make of it?

- What does it say, Mr Price?
- Why, it's all here in the "Post".

"It is with infinite concern...

"this newspaper has to announce
to the world a matrimonial fracas

"in the family of Mr R of Wimpole Street."

Rushworth, did you say?

"The beautiful Mrs R,

"whose name has not long
been enrolled in the lists of Hymen...

"...and who had promised to become
so brilliant in the fashionable world

"has quitted her husband's roof

"in company with the well-known
and captivating Mr C."

It cannot be!

"...the intimate friend of Mr R.

"And it is not known, even to the editor
of this newspaper, where they are gone..."

- Why, Fanny?
- It must be a mistake.

It must mean some other people.

- Yes, to be sure.
- See for yourself.

Much good may such fine relations do you.

By God, if that girl belonged to me,
I'd give her the rope's end

as long as I could stand over her!

Aye! A little flogging
for man and woman too

would be the best way
of preventing such things.

Yet it may not be true!

It may all be a lie, of course.

But so many fine ladies
are going to the devil nowadays,

I have no answering for anybody!

Indeed, I hope it is not true.
It would be so very shocking!

If I have spoken once to Rebecca
about that carpet, I have spoken a dozen times.

It would not be ten minutes' work.

(FANNY) Now he must send for me.
Now he must surely come.

Fanny, here comes a carriage!
I think he must be here!

Yes! It is Sir Thomas's,
and my cousin Edmund.

(SUSAN) Shall we go down?

Mama, the carriage is here,
outside the door!

- Susan!
- Bring him in, Fanny. I'll make ready.

Yes, Mama. Let me go to him alone.
Stay a while with Mama.

Dear Fanny.

My father wishes me to take you home
for my mother's sake.

You left him in London?
And my cousin Maria?

There is nothing to be done.
They cannot be traced.

And Julia is gone with Yates to Scotland.

They left London a few hours
before my father and I could be there.

Oh, Fanny!

My only sister.

My only comfort now.

When shall you be ready?
Have you breakfasted?

Is Susan able to accept
my father's invitation?

Susan will gladly go with us.
And she's here. Susan?

- Here's my cousin Edmund.
- Cousin Edmund. How do you do?

- And are you ready, Susan?
- Yes! And all my things are packed beside!

Only think, Cousin!
I shall see Mansfield Park!

They're coming indoors.

We must receive him.
Give him some kind of welcome.

Well, I shan't stir for him from dry dock.
Let him pull up alongside!

If Rebecca had but once done what I told her
and set the table early...

Mama, here's my cousin Edmund.

You must excuse us. My daughter Betsey.

How do you do, ma'am?

We are in a turmoil. My husband plagued
with the gout, so there's no pleasing him.

- Ahoy there!
- How do you do, sir?

By God. See this leg of mine?

See it, eh? The surgeons saved that leg!

"Damn ye," I said to them, "you would have
served me better to have cut it off!"

Aye! And let the Frenchmen have it
with their grapeshot!

I am sorry, sir, to find you unwell.
My father sends his greetings.

My mother and my Aunt Norris too.

My poor sister. If I had but a moment to myself,
I could have written her a letter.

So, you're Sir Thomas's boy, eh?

You never had a mind to put to sea, sir?
There's a true man's life!

Better than to skulk indoors,
a snivelling parson!

Father, my cousin
is anxious to be on the road.

Indeed. If we are to sleep tonight at Oxford,
we must set out.

But the girls have not had breakfast...

- It is no matter, is it, Susan?
- No, indeed, Mama.

- We can start at once!
- What about your cousin?

Thank you, I have breakfasted
at the post house. The horses are baited too.

I suppose everything is ready.
I've had such trouble finding boxes,

Rebecca takes them away
and spoils them making firewood.

Fanny has done it all. Indeed, without her,
I do not know how we should have managed.

No, ma'am. That is her single fault.

So we have found at Mansfield.

Fanny makes herself indispensable
to those she loves.

We shall reach Newbury
in good time for dinner.

I fear this homecoming
will be a sad affair for you.

It's my uncle I think of.
Alone in London, and able to do nothing.

Yet my cousin Tom gets better,
and that must be of some comfort to him.

And my Aunt Bertram, too.

There was anxiety over Tom.
More than my mother knew of.

But he was out of bed upon the sofa
before my father and I were called away

and all our news since
is of his improvement.

If Tom had not been taken ill,
I should have stayed in London.

What then?

Could you have prevented it?

It is... beyond belief.

Crawford and Maria, Yates and Julia.

When I consider...
what is lost to us all.

- And to you.
- No. Not to me.

Yet I think Crawford truly loved you.
And you must feel it. You must suffer.

But, Fanny...
when you think of her and of me...

(SUSAN) Oh, Fanny, it is beautiful!
I never thought that it would be so grand!

Now I must remember all you've taught me
of napkins and finger glasses!

- Is it my Aunt Bertram?
- Aunt Norris...

This is Susan.

Well, child, you have your mother's mouth.
I trust you do not have her temper.

Edmund, I advised your brother
to stay indoors.

- Here's my Aunt Bertram.
- My dear Fanny!

- Dear Fanny!
- Aunt Bertram!

This is my sister Susan.

Cousin Tom! I am glad to see you well.

The leeches had so much of me,
I'm glad you see me at all.

Your cousin, Tom.

Tom, I think you are looking better.

Fanny, Fanny.

How pleased I am that you are come back.

Dear Fanny.

Now I shall be comfortable again.

(SUSAN) "Scenes must be beautiful
which, daily viewed, please daily,

"and whose novelty survives long knowledge
and the scrutiny of years..."

(SOFT SNORING)

(RAIN FALLING)

(DOOR OPENS)

Fanny...

Here's a wet Sunday.

My uncle comes home tomorrow.

I have not yet told you...

I have never spoken of my last meeting
with Miss Crawford...

...in London.

No.

She sent a note asking to see me.

I called on her at Mrs Fraser's.

There was a hint of such entreaty
in her message...

...it revived in me the strongest feelings.

For her gentleness...

...and warmth of spirit.

Yes, Cousin?

I will tell you everything
and then have done forever.

She was alone...

Let us talk over this sad business.

But what can equal
the folly of our two relations?

Oh, I do not mean to defend Henry
at your sister's expense.

The lack of caution, of common discretion,
condemns them both.

Indeed, Henry is the more to blame in
my opinion since he had so much more to lose.

I am sure we shall agree on that.

I hope we may.

But surely Maria must have been aware
that Henry cared nothing for her.

What could she hope for but to trap him
by some foolish indiscretion?

If that was her wish, the plan succeeded.

She has lost a husband whom she never
cared for anything except his fortune.

But Henry...

Henry had thrown away such a woman
as he will never see again.

Fanny Price would have fixed him.
She would have made him happy forever.

Why would she not have him?

It is all her fault, the simple girl.
I shall never forgive her.

If she had accepted him as she ought,
they might now be on the point of marriage,

and Henry would be too busy
and too happy to want any other.

Surely you believe that?

He would not have troubled with Maria,

exposed himself
to such a foolish risk of their detection.

It would have ended in a regular standing
flirtation at Sotherton and Everingham.

The sort of dalliance the world smiles on.

It seems this happy future
is now denied them.

Then what is to be done?

We must bring about a marriage.

We must persuade Henry to marry her.
And I do not despair of it.

Fanny, he must give up. I do not think even he
could now succeed with someone like her.

When once they are married,
if Maria is properly supported by her own family,

she may recover her position in society
to a certain degree.

With good dinners and large parties,

there will be those
who will be glad of her acquaintance.

Fortunately, there is more liberality
on such things than before.

What I advise is that your father be quiet.

Persuade him
to let everything take its course.

If by an exertion of his, Maria
is induced to leave Henry's protection,

there will be much less chance
of his marrying her.

Let Sir Thomas trust to Henry's honour...
and it may all end well.

If he gets Maria away,
it will destroy her chief hold on Henry.

What do you say?

I...

What can I?

But that...

I had not thought it possible,

coming in such a state of mind
to this house, as I did...

...that anything should happen here
to make me suffer more.

You have spoken with such indifference
to feeling - such cruelty.

Marriage?

What sort of marriage is this you speak of?

Would it not be a greater crime
than any folly?

But it seems...

...that to be detected in a folly
is the greatest crime you know.

That I could so little have known you.

But it wasn't you.

It was some creature of my imagination
that all these months I've dwelled on.

Indeed.

Well... a pretty fine lecture,
upon my word, Mr Bertram.

Was it part of your last sermon?
You will soon reform everybody at Mansfield.

You must excuse me.

When I hear of you,
it may be as a celebrated preacher

in some great society of Methodists
or as a missionary in foreign parts.

Believe me, from my heart...
I wish you well.

Mr Bertram!

Mr Bertram.

(EDMUND) She smiled...

...a playful, saucy smile, seeming to invite.

At least, so it appeared to me.

I resisted and went on.
It was the impulse of the moment.

I confess, I have since sometimes,
for a moment...

...regretted that I did not go back.

But I was right.

Brother and sister...
I was equally deceived in both.

But you...

...you were not deceived... were you?

You held to what you knew... in your heart.

Yes.

Constant...

Constant as the rain.

What should I do if you should ever go away?

I shall never.

No?

My dearest Fanny.

(FANNY) To Lieutenant Price on board
His Majesty's sloop Thrush at Bermuda.

My dearest William.

So far from you, I shall not dwell on guilt
and misery that you already know of.

Briefly, then. Mr Rushworth has his divorce.

My Aunt Norris has quitted Mansfield
to set up home with my cousin Maria.

As I'm sure you will remember,
Maria was her favourite always.

Yates and Julia are married
and my uncle is now reconciled to her again.

All the family is here together -
my father and mother too,

for now I must tell you, William,
what will surprise you more than all the rest

and which you will not have heard
from any other quarter.

For today... I am to be married
to my cousin Edmund.

And, dearest William, I know you will rejoice
as I do, wanting but one thing -

that you were here
to share this joy with me.

Dr Grant leaves the parsonage shortly,
having succeeded to a stall in Westminster.

So Edmund and I
shall make this house our home.

And one day, William, I pray it may be soon,

we shall see you here, where you are welcome
ever through all the years to be,

happy as we remain together

within the view and patronage
of Mansfield Park.