At 10, Fanny Price, a poor relation, goes to live at Mansfield Park, the estate of her aunt's husband, Sir Thomas. Clever, studious, and a writer with an ironic imagination and fine moral ...
Mary Crawford: — If Tom is not able to recover, Edmund will be the heir. Wealth and consequence could fall into hands no more deserving. I understand you think I should not say such things. But one must prepare oneself for every eventuality. It is the mark of an evolved individual. I advise that you, Sir Thomas, do not injure your cause by interference. Let things take their course. That may be a difficult thing, but although Tom, bless his heart, may not be strong enough for this world, the rest of us must be. I speak merely of what must be done, not what I feel.
Fanny Price: — You may wish to reconsider your eagerness for Tom's death.
Mary Crawford: — You may wish to reconsider your thinly-veiled anger towards me! If you'd accepted my brother, you'd be now on the point of marriage, and Henry would not be on terms with Mrs. Rushworth. It would have ended in a regular flirtation in meetings at Sotherton and Everingham. It could all be construed as your fault.
Edmund Bertram: — Your startling adaptability to my brother's possible demise sends a chill through my heart. A chill... You're cheerfully planning parties with his money! You shush my father like a dog at your table. You attack Fanny for following her own infallible guide on matters of the heart. All this has grievously convinced me that the person I've so dwelt on has been a creature of my own imagination! Not you, Miss Crawford... You are a stranger to me. I do not know you, and I'm sorry to say, I have no wish to.
— The fools! Under this roof! They should've known Rushworth would bring in a newspaper man.
— Under which roof would it have been better, Mary?
Poverty frightens me. A woman's poverty is harsher than a man's.
— You don't like to be near the water?
— Not without the means to float away on it.
— This Henry Crawford, what's he like?
— A rake, I think.
— Yes, please!
— They amuse more in literature than in life.
— But they amuse! And Lady Bertram?
— She's always suffering fatigue.
— Why?
— Generally from embroidering something of little beauty. Not to mention a handsome dose of opium daily.
Sir Thomas Bertram: — A little abstinence from the luxuries of Mansfield Park might bring your mind into a more sober state. Is that your choice, young woman?
Fanny Price: — Yes. It is.
Edmund Bertram: — Why, Fanny?
Fanny Price: — To be at home again... to be loved by my family, to feel affection without fear or restraint and... to feel myself the equal of those that surround me.
— Purity is a decided attraction, true. Indeed.
— Especially for the impure.
— Well told, Tom! More dim-witted fiction to clutter the world.
— Come now, Mr. Bertram. Drama is to life what ships are to the sea. A means to traverse it. To plumb its depths, breadth and beauty.
— I couldn't agree more. Good drama, in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the liveliest wit, are conveyed to the world through the best chosen language. This is essential. This is trash!
— Though Maria is most agreeable.
— Though her choice is made.
— Yes... And I like her the better for it. An engaged woman is always more agreeable than a disengaged. She is satisfied with herself. Her cares are over, and she may exert all her powers of pleasing without suspicion. All is safe with a lady engaged. No harm can be done.
— You allow yourself great latitude on such points, Henry. But you will be the one taken in at last.
— Well...?
— I like them both exceedingly. But I like Julia best.
— Why?
— Because her Aunt Norris advised me that it must be so!
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