Oh, I do believe that Mary falls in love with Edmund! I just think it's a mean and selfish sort of love, in keeping with her character. It's the same way she sneakily forces that necklace onto Fanny, knowing that Fanny would never have taken it if she'd known it was from Henry. She may well care something for Fanny, and the necklace is no big deal to her - but she can see that it is a very big deal to Fanny, and she forces Fanny to accept it anyway.
As for Edmund...Obviously he can make his own choices, but the narrator makes it clear that everyone, not just Edmund, sees the scandal between Henry and Maria as the end of any relationship between Edmund and Mary. Sir Thomas, for example, believes that Edmund is now "cut off" from Mary. And that would matter a lot to Edmund - who doesn't even want to act in a play without his father's consent, and who would see the need to marry someone who could be an acceptable clergyman's wife (however unfair that might be as a criterion). However, despite his strong feelings for Mary, he's not engaged to her, and no promises have been made - in part because Mary keeps saying that she would never marry a clergyman, and in part because Edmund *has* spent the whole novel feeling that something just isn't quite right about Mary, and hasn't been able to take that step of making any actual promises to her. So I don't think it's quite right to say that he's leaving her to fend for herself or "coming to the point of breach of promise." She's not a ruined woman, and could set her cap at someone else if she likes. (At least, she's not a ruined woman because of Edmund. It's possible that the scandal might well damage Mary's marriage prospects, but the fault of that lies with Henry.)
Anyway, Edmund actually goes to that meeting still thinking well of Mary, even if he's determined that he can't see her again. The sentence you cite runs like this in its entirety: "regarding it as what was meant to be the last, last interview of friendship, and investing her with all the feelings of shame and wretchedness which Crawford’s sister ought to have known, he had gone to her in such a state of mind, so softened, so devoted, as made it for a few moments impossible to Fanny’s fears that it should be the last" (my emphasis). He's not appalled that she wants to see him; he's not appalled at all until she starts talking about what Maria and Henry have done. That's what he's talking about in the second excerpt that you quote, Mary's own discussion of the subject. ("'I heard you were in town,’ said she; ‘I wanted to see you. Let us talk over this sad business. What can equal the folly of our two relations?’") Yes, he's going to see her as a farewell, because he doesn't think he can be connected to her anymore because of the scandal. That's pretty standard operating procedure for the nineteenth century, and it's true, for good or ill, that Edmund was never going to be one of those heroes who cries out, "I care nothing for your family, I love you anyway!" But he's only shocked and horrified when Mary starts talking about adultery like it's no big deal. I don't think that her having an uncle who kept a mistress could reasonably have prepared him for her attitude, unless we assume that you can always tell what a person is like by looking at her relatives.
(Here's what Edmund says about Mary in chapter 27: "She does not think evil, but she speaks it, speaks it in playfulness; and though I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul." So he's deluded, but not because he hasn't been paying attention; it's that he doesn't realize how deep her sentiments and sayings actually go. He keeps giving her the benefit of the doubt.)
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Date: 2015-03-29 04:15 pm (UTC)As for Edmund...Obviously he can make his own choices, but the narrator makes it clear that everyone, not just Edmund, sees the scandal between Henry and Maria as the end of any relationship between Edmund and Mary. Sir Thomas, for example, believes that Edmund is now "cut off" from Mary. And that would matter a lot to Edmund - who doesn't even want to act in a play without his father's consent, and who would see the need to marry someone who could be an acceptable clergyman's wife (however unfair that might be as a criterion). However, despite his strong feelings for Mary, he's not engaged to her, and no promises have been made - in part because Mary keeps saying that she would never marry a clergyman, and in part because Edmund *has* spent the whole novel feeling that something just isn't quite right about Mary, and hasn't been able to take that step of making any actual promises to her. So I don't think it's quite right to say that he's leaving her to fend for herself or "coming to the point of breach of promise." She's not a ruined woman, and could set her cap at someone else if she likes. (At least, she's not a ruined woman because of Edmund. It's possible that the scandal might well damage Mary's marriage prospects, but the fault of that lies with Henry.)
Anyway, Edmund actually goes to that meeting still thinking well of Mary, even if he's determined that he can't see her again. The sentence you cite runs like this in its entirety: "regarding it as what was meant to be the last, last interview of friendship, and investing her with all the feelings of shame and wretchedness which Crawford’s sister ought to have known, he had gone to her in such a state of mind, so softened, so devoted, as made it for a few moments impossible to Fanny’s fears that it should be the last" (my emphasis). He's not appalled that she wants to see him; he's not appalled at all until she starts talking about what Maria and Henry have done. That's what he's talking about in the second excerpt that you quote, Mary's own discussion of the subject. ("'I heard you were in town,’ said she; ‘I wanted to see you. Let us talk over this sad business. What can equal the folly of our two relations?’") Yes, he's going to see her as a farewell, because he doesn't think he can be connected to her anymore because of the scandal. That's pretty standard operating procedure for the nineteenth century, and it's true, for good or ill, that Edmund was never going to be one of those heroes who cries out, "I care nothing for your family, I love you anyway!" But he's only shocked and horrified when Mary starts talking about adultery like it's no big deal. I don't think that her having an uncle who kept a mistress could reasonably have prepared him for her attitude, unless we assume that you can always tell what a person is like by looking at her relatives.
(Here's what Edmund says about Mary in chapter 27: "She does not think evil, but she speaks it, speaks it in playfulness; and though I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul." So he's deluded, but not because he hasn't been paying attention; it's that he doesn't realize how deep her sentiments and sayings actually go. He keeps giving her the benefit of the doubt.)