A Comfortable Coze with Mary Crawford by Diana Birchall

Jane Austen’s felicitious phrase, “a comfortable coze,” which we use as our banner theme for November (a month in need of a coze or two), comes from Mansfield Park. Fanny, preparing for her first ball, is perplexed about how to wear the cross given her by her sailor brother William, for she has no chain. She goes to ask Mary Crawford for advice, and finds Mary on her way to see her, wanting to speak about that very matter:

“[Miss Crawford] proposed their going up into her room, where they might have a comfortable coze, without disturbing Dr. and Mrs. Grant, who were together in the drawing–room. It was just the plan to suit Fanny; and with a great deal of gratitude on her side for such ready and kind attention, they proceeded indoors, and upstairs, and were soon deep in the interesting subject. Miss Crawford, pleased with the appeal, gave her all her best judgment and taste, made everything easy by her suggestions, and tried to make everything agreeable by her encouragement. The dress being settled in all its grander parts— “But what shall you have by way of necklace?” said Miss Crawford. “Shall not you wear your brother’s cross?” And as she spoke she was undoing a small parcel.”

We are in the thick of a situation, so full of perplexities and undertones that the consultation can be seen, ironically, as neither cozy nor comfortable. In considering this scene, it struck me for the first time that the words “comfort” and “comfortable” are used with remarkable frequency throughout the work. Feeling I might be onto something, I checked, and what I found astonished me. Owing to the vagaries of the online search system, I didn’t make an exact count of how often the words were used in this novel, but it is many dozens of times, and particularly in the last two chapters. A quick search showed that none of Austen’s other works are remotely as full of “comforts” as Mansfield Park!

I was not so much interested in how often the words were used, as how and when and what was meant by them. It was a purposeful usage that surely meant something, as Austen was the most deliberate and conscious of writers. So, rather than giving you a numbered list of quotes, I will simply show a few of the most important times the words “comfort” or “comfortable” appear. They are used at emphatically key moments, and often convey much emotion.

The concept of comfort may not seem innately dramatic, yet Austen’s continual repetition of this theme must make us consider why it is so important in Mansfield Park. Is it to shed some light on Fanny Price’s character, that she was such a very uncomfortable, poignant little scrap of a neglected child, that her “comfort” is a “priceless” necessity to her? Are there so many uncomfortable, even threatening elements in the world of Mansfield Park that most of the characters come to long for comfort in the end and prize it even as Fanny does? I leave this to yourselves to determine – what do you think?

Here, then, are the most striking of Austen’s strongly presented and emphasized instances of comfort.

An early association of the word with Fanny Price, as being something extremely important to her, occurs in Chapter 16, with the description of her own East Room. “The comfort of it in her hours of leisure was extreme. She could go there after anything unpleasant below.”

*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…”

Andirons and fire-dogs. Pearson Scott Foresman, public domain per Wiki

The importance of the notion of “comfort” rises to a crescendo beginning in Chapter 46, when Edmund comes to meet Fanny at Portsmouth after her long absence from Mansfield Park, and to take her home:

“He was alone, and met her instantly; and she found herself pressed to his heart with only these words, just articulate, “My Fanny, my only sister; my only comfort now!”

And when they reach what Fanny now knows is her real home, Mansfield Park, she is greeted with similar emotion and words again, by someone else, strengthening their impact by repetition:

“By one of the suffering party within they were expected with such impatience as she had never known before. Fanny had scarcely passed the solemn–looking servants, when Lady Bertram came from the drawing–room to meet her; came with no indolent step; and falling on her neck, said, “Dear Fanny! now I shall be comfortable.”

In Chapter 47, the comfort theme continues, as pertains to Mrs. Norris:

“Edmund was almost as welcome to his brother as Fanny to her aunt; but Mrs. Norris, instead of having comfort from either, was but the more irritated by the sight of the person whom, in the blindness of her anger, she could have charged as the daemon of the piece. Had Fanny accepted Mr. Crawford this could not have happened.”

Mrs. Norris, of course, is the true “daemon of the piece” herself, and unlike the others, is incapable of being comforted. Lady Bertram’s comfort is portrayed as judicious and appropriate, given the circumstances (her daughter Mrs. Rushworth has run off with Mr. Crawford):

“To be listened to and borne with, and hear the voice of kindness and sympathy in return, was everything that could be done for her. To be otherwise comforted was out of the question. The case admitted of no comfort. Lady Bertram did not think deeply, but, guided by Sir Thomas, she thought justly on all important points; and she saw, therefore, in all its enormity, what had happened, and neither endeavoured herself, nor required Fanny to advise her, to think little of guilt and infamy.”

In the final chapter, Chapter 48, the comforts reach a most comfortable climax. First, Mrs. Norris is swiftly dispatched, with her departure being an ironic comfort in itself:

“Mrs. Norris’s removal from Mansfield was the great supplementary comfort of Sir Thomas’s life.”

Jane Austen then proceeds to give her own authorial judgment, something she does rarely but with great effect. In her summation here, we cannot be surprised to find that comfort plays an important part:

“Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest.”

Other plot matters are rapidly tidied up. Responding to his son Tom’s reformation, Sir Thomas’s reaction: “Here was comfort indeed!”

We are assured that, “though little comfort arose on Mrs. Rushworth’s side for the misery she had occasioned, comfort was to be found greater than he had supposed in his other children.”

Comfort proves to be an important component in Edmund’s growing and satisfying love for Fanny:

“Loving, guiding, protecting her, as he had been doing ever since her being ten years old, her mind in so great a degree formed by his care, and her comfort depending on his kindness, an object to him of such close and peculiar interest, dearer by all his own importance with her than any one else at Mansfield, what was there now to add, but that he should learn to prefer soft light eyes to sparkling dark ones.”

And Sir Thomas now sees all the comfort in Fanny too, as no less than the most important quality that she provides for him:

“Fanny was indeed the daughter that he wanted. His charitable kindness had been rearing a prime comfort for himself.”

Finally, in the novel’s penultimate sentence, the cousins’ married happiness is celebrated and finished off with a rousing assurance of that most important blessing, their comfort:

“With so much true merit and true love, and no want of fortune and friends, the happiness of the married cousins must appear as secure as earthly happiness can be. Equally formed for domestic life, and attached to country pleasures, their home was the home of affection and comfort.”

I hope you are convinced by the importance of the concept of comfort in Mansfield Park! However, in being swept away by my comfortable examinations, I have most uncomfortably neglected to give you a story. This scene between Henry and Mary Crawford, in the affair of the necklace, might be seen as another comfortable coze; but it is a scene Jane Austen never wrote:

A Comfortable Coze

Invitations to the ball that Sir Thomas Bertram intended to give for the young people in the neighborhood, to honour his niece and nephew, Fanny and her brother William, had all been dispatched. Most of the favored young ladies favored felt a natural excitement; but Fanny herself was too full of anxiety for any such anticipatory joy. No more could Mary Crawford, whose usual habits were too informed by city standards, see much pleasure in the prospect of a country ball. Moreover, Mary was not in the best spirits. Her last visit with the Bertram family had opened the knowledge to her that Edmund would soon be fully resident in his own parsonage at Thornton Lacey, intending to give his full attention to his parish. She had figured to herself something very different, and hoped to persuade him that a fashionable house in town, would be more eligible than a parsonage, as it was the only kind of house she would agree to live in with him; but her powers had not succeeded. She was very angry, and worse, disappointed, which are not the sort of feelings that make for a rapturous state in a ballroom.

It was a cold, grey day, and in her gloom Mary sat with a book by the fire, though she was staring moodily into the flames rather than reading. She started at the sound of her brother’s knock on the door, and his putting his head around the door at the next moment.

“May I come in? I want one of your comfortable cozes, Mary, if I do not interrupt,” he asked, coming in.

“Oh, yes, I am glad to do any thing for you, Henry; for I am doing no good for myself. I was nearly dozing over my novel, having nothing more exciting than Maria Edgeworth.”

“That is not much like you, Mary. You sound almost out of spirits. But I come to bring you the novelty of talking, at any rate.”

She laid the book aside. “I suppose you have something most particular to say, and it will be no credit to me to deduce that it has to do with Miss Price.”

He smiled, and seated himself by her on the sofa, stretching out his legs before the fire. “Am I that transparent, Mary?”

“You were certainly devoted to her last night. Sitting by her playing cards, advancing suggestive plans to rent Thornton Lacey from Edmund – it would take a simpleton not to see what you would be at.”

Henry was quite unruffled at her raillery. “And who is to say that I was not thinking of your good as well as my own, Mary, when I made my offer about Thornton Lacey? Proximity to Edmund Bertram would be no disagreeable thing to you, I collect.”

Mary was not given to blushing, and only said calmly, “Do not try to play matchmaker Henry, nothing of the sort you are thinking of will ever happen. You know very well I am determined never to marry a resident clergyman.”

“Never say never, my dear sister. We do not any of us know what wonders lie ahead. Perhaps we may both undergo a conversion into country life and virtues at Mansfield. Stranger things have happened.”

“If such conjectures are all that you have to tell me, I will resume Maria Edgeworth at once.”

“No, no, I will come to the point. It is a practical matter that I want to consult you about.” Mary looked skeptical, but he continued, “Did you not notice at dinner – any body would notice – how lovely Fanny looked, wearing that amber cross her brother brought her from Sicily? Did it not look beautiful in the firelight, against her delicate skin?”

“So that is your idea of a practical matter, is it? To be sure, Fanny did look well, and the ornament was becoming. William Price has excellent taste for so young a man, and one who has not had opportunity for an education in matters of finery. And it is delightful to see his generosity, his thoughtfulness for his sister, I must say.”

“Yes,” said Henry with enthusiasm. “A generous, open hearted lad, with such sterling qualities, active, clever, capable. I could wish I were more like him myself.”

“There you go too far, Henry,” she laughed. “You in a life at sea! You would be lost without your house, your carriage and horses, your habits and comforts.”

“I am ashamed to admit that you may be right, I am a luxurious man. But I am not so far gone that I do not know how to estimate a character such as William Price’s. And more – Mary, were you not struck with the generosity of his sister, too?”

“Fanny? Why, how was she generous? Oh, I suppose you mean in the way she devotes herself so selflessly to that stupid woman – and manages to keep from slapping that odious Mrs. Norris. Certainly such patience is beyond me to conceive.”

“Mary! You quite shock me. The idea of my Fanny – Miss Price I mean, slapping any body.”

“I was only joking. But seriously, what generosity of hers do you mean?”

“Why, her wearing her brother’s cross.”

“Where is generosity in that?  It was the first occasion for her going out since her receiving the gift. When else would she wear it?”

“Very true. I cannot blame you not perceiving the generosity in it. You were not observing her as closely as I was.”

“To be sure not,” agreed Mary dryly. “I was perhaps not quite so lost in the minute  appreciation of the delicacy of her skin as you have been.”

“Pish, Mary. That was only natural. But did you really not observe that she wore the cross on nothing more than mere piece of cheap ribbon?”

“You are right,” said Mary thoughtfully. “I do not know why that did not strike me. I suppose the girl does not have a necklace or chain fit for the purpose. I have never seen her wear any jewelry, come to think of it. Who would ever give her such a gift? It is really very sad, how she is treated in the family. She positively has nothing of her own.”

“That is right,” Henry said with satisfaction. “You sympathize with her as you should. But now, what do you think of my plan? It is nothing less than to present Miss Price with a gold chain for her cross. Do you not think it is a good idea? Think how grateful she will be, and how warmly she must feel toward the giver!”

Mary gazed at him in surprise. “It is an excellent thought,” she said, “and only you would think of it – you do have a generous heart, Henry, I will say that. But you must know that Miss Price would never accept such a gift from you. She would think it highly improper.”

He nodded, and got up to stir the fire. “Of course, I thought of that at once. But I have also thought of the solution.”

“And what?”

“That you give her the necklace yourself!”

“I?” Mary asked incredulously.

“Yes; she cannot think anything odd, or improper in that. A gift from one who has been so kindly disposed to her as you have been – there can be nothing to raise surprise. It can only be very welcome. She will look like a rose in her blushes, dear little thing.”

“No doubt; but where is this necklace? The ball is at the end of this week, is there time for you to procure one? You would have to go to town for that I think.”

He laid down the fire-dog, and resumed his seat, looking meaningly at Mary. “Not if you are the good and generous sister I think you.”

“How so?”

“Why, Mary, you know you have such a collection of such things as you hardly know what to do with. Would you be willing to part with one of them, to such a friend as Fanny? Is she not almost like a sister to you?  I know I have given you any number of necklaces myself – would not one of them be suitable, and no loss to you?”

Miss Crawford did not need to consider. It was a charming idea, and she was glad to help her brother, in the interests of his warm romantic feelings.

“The very thing. Yes. I will fetch my box, and we will chuse one together. If you have no scruples about a present you have given me, being destined to Fanny, I can have none.”

“It will be our united gift, though she does not know it,” he said warmly.

She went to her dressing table and took down a trinket-box. “Here are my gold necklaces – you see there are so many, and I seldom wear them. Only promise me one thing, Henry.”

Trinket boxes, collection of Diana Birchall

“Anything.”

“That you do not make use my necklace to trifle with poor little Miss Price. She does not deserve to be treated in the manner her cousins were.”

“Mary! Depend upon it, my treatment of her will be as tender as she is herself. You  must know that my feelings for her are very different than anything I ever entertained for Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. They do not deserve to be compared in the same sentence.”

“I wonder what can be your intention? Never mind, do not answer, I do not mean to be impertinent. What do you think of this one?” Mary proffered a prettily worked necklace. “This would be my choice. It would suit Fanny and her cross very well.”

“It would.” She hardly needs an ornament to set off her loveliness, but her grateful smiles will be sweet to see above it  I am satisfied. I can trust you to put it into her hands, in time for the ball?”

“Yes, and I will be sure to tell her that it is my gift alone!”

“I wonder if she will suspect any thing,” he said.

Mary laughed. “It would be a very odd woman who did not. I am sure I should know who it came from, at the first sight of it. But do not fear, I shall confess nothing. It will be your secret and mine, until the day comes, if it does come, when all secrets are laid bare.”

“I am not thinking of such a thing, Mary. I am not certain that she likes me at all, yet.”

“Do not be absurd, how can she help it? An admirer such as yourself! She has had no one to care about her in all the world, but a brother. Not that he is not a good one. And Edmund, her cousin is kind to her too, you know. Edmund has a good heart…” she trailed off.

“Only a cousin! I will show Miss Price what admiration, what devotion are. But as to William Price…I should like to do something for him. Nothing would please Miss Price more, would it,” he said thoughtfully.

“That is true. Any thing done for William Price, would undoubtedly go far to win Fanny Price’s love, if that is what you are after. Though I do not know what you can do for him.”

“I will try to think of something,” he said.