Chapter XVIII

by Jane Austen

　　Everything was now in a regular train: theatre, actors,actresses, and dresses, were all getting forward;but though no other great impediments arose, Fanny found,before many days were past, that it was not all uninterruptedenjoyment to the party themselves, and that she hadnot to witness the continuance of such unanimity anddelight as had been almost too much for her at first.Everybody began to have their vexation. Edmund had many.Entirely against _his_ judgment, a scene-painter arrivedfrom town, and was at work, much to the increaseof the expenses, and, what was worse, of the eclat oftheir proceedings; and his brother, instead of being reallyguided by him as to the privacy of the representation,was giving an invitation to every family who came in his way.Tom himself began to fret over the scene-painter'sslow progress, and to feel the miseries of waiting.He had learned his part--all his parts, for he tookevery trifling one that could be united with the Butler,and began to be impatient to be acting; and every daythus unemployed was tending to increase his sense ofthe insignificance of all his parts together, and makehim more ready to regret that some other play had not been chosen.Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and oftenthe only listener at hand, came in for the complaintsand the distresses of most of them. _She_ knew thatMr. Yates was in general thought to rant dreadfully;that Mr. Yates was disappointed in Henry Crawford;that Tom Bertram spoke so quick he would be unintelligible;that Mrs. Grant spoiled everything by laughing; that Edmundwas behindhand with his part, and that it was miseryto have anything to do with Mr. Rushworth, who was wantinga prompter through every speech. She knew, also, that poorMr. Rushworth could seldom get anybody to rehearse with him:_his_ complaint came before her as well as the rest;and so decided to her eye was her cousin Maria'savoidance of him, and so needlessly often the rehearsalof the first scene between her and Mr. Crawford, that shehad soon all the terror of other complaints from _him_.So far from being all satisfied and all enjoying,she found everybody requiring something they had not,and giving occasion of discontent to the others.Everybody had a part either too long or too short;nobody would attend as they ought; nobody would remember onwhich side they were to come in; nobody but the complainerwould observe any directions.Fanny believed herself to derive as much innocent enjoymentfrom the play as any of them; Henry Crawford acted well,and it was a pleasure to _her_ to creep into the theatre,and attend the rehearsal of the first act, in spite of thefeelings it excited in some speeches for Maria. Maria, shealso thought, acted well, too well; and after the firstrehearsal or two, Fanny began to be their only audience;and sometimes as prompter, sometimes as spectator,was often very useful. As far as she could judge,Mr. Crawford was considerably the best actor of all:he had more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than Tom,more talent and taste than Mr. Yates. She did not like himas a man, but she must admit him to be the best actor,and on this point there were not many who differed from her.Mr. Yates, indeed, exclaimed against his tamenessand insipidity; and the day came at last, when Mr. Rushworthturned to her with a black look, and said, "Do you thinkthere is anything so very fine in all this? For the lifeand soul of me, I cannot admire him; and, between ourselves,to see such an undersized, little, mean-looking man,set up for a fine actor, is very ridiculous in my opinion."From this moment there was a return of his former jealousy,which Maria, from increasing hopes of Crawford, was atlittle pains to remove; and the chances of Mr. Rushworth'sever attaining to the knowledge of his two-and-fortyspeeches became much less. As to his ever making anything_tolerable_ of them, nobody had the smallest idea of thatexcept his mother; _she_, indeed, regretted that his partwas not more considerable, and deferred coming over toMansfield till they were forward enough in their rehearsalto comprehend all his scenes; but the others aspired atnothing beyond his remembering the catchword, and the firstline of his speech, and being able to follow the prompterthrough the rest. Fanny, in her pity and kindheartedness,was at great pains to teach him how to learn, giving himall the helps and directions in her power, trying to makean artificial memory for him, and learning every wordof his part herself, but without his being much the forwarder.Many uncomfortable, anxious, apprehensive feelings shecertainly had; but with all these, and other claimson her time and attention, she was as far from findingherself without employment or utility amongst them,as without a companion in uneasiness; quite as far fromhaving no demand on her leisure as on her compassion.The gloom of her first anticipations was proved to havebeen unfounded. She was occasionally useful to all;she was perhaps as much at peace as any.There was a great deal of needlework to be done, moreover,in which her help was wanted; and that Mrs. Norristhought her quite as well off as the rest, was evidentby the manner in which she claimed it--"Come, Fanny,"she cried, "these are fine times for you, but you mustnot be always walking from one room to the other,and doing the lookings-on at your ease, in this way;I want you here. I have been slaving myself till Ican hardly stand, to contrive Mr. Rushworth's cloakwithout sending for any more satin; and now I thinkyou may give me your help in putting it together.There are but three seams; you may do them in a trice.It would be lucky for me if I had nothing but the executivepart to do. _You_ are best off, I can tell you:but if nobody did more than _you_, we should not get onvery fast"Fanny took the work very quietly, without attemptingany defence; but her kinder aunt Bertram observed on her behalf--"One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny _should_ be delighted:it is all new to her, you know; you and I used to bevery fond of a play ourselves, and so am I still;and as soon as I am a little more at leisure, _I_ meanto look in at their rehearsals too. What is the play about,Fanny? you have never told me.""Oh! sister, pray do not ask her now; for Fanny is notone of those who can talk and work at the same time.It is about Lovers' Vows.""I believe," said Fanny to her aunt Bertram, "there willbe three acts rehearsed to-morrow evening, and that willgive you an opportunity of seeing all the actors at once.""You had better stay till the curtain is hung," interposedMrs. Norris; "the curtain will be hung in a day or two--there is very little sense in a play without a curtain--and I am much mistaken if you do not find it draw upinto very handsome festoons."Lady Bertram seemed quite resigned to waiting. Fanny didnot share her aunt's composure: she thought of the morrowa great deal, for if the three acts were rehearsed,Edmund and Miss Crawford would then be acting togetherfor the first time; the third act would bring a scenebetween them which interested her most particularly,and which she was longing and dreading to see how theywould perform. The whole subject of it was love--a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman,and very little short of a declaration of love be made bythe lady.She had read and read the scene again with many painful,many wondering emotions, and looked forward to theirrepresentation of it as a circumstance almost too interesting.She did not _believe_ they had yet rehearsed it,even in private.The morrow came, the plan for the evening continued,and Fanny's consideration of it did not become less agitated.She worked very diligently under her aunt's directions,but her diligence and her silence concealed a very absent,anxious mind; and about noon she made her escape with herwork to the East room, that she might have no concernin another, and, as she deemed it, most unnecessaryrehearsal of the first act, which Henry Crawford wasjust proposing, desirous at once of having her timeto herself, and of avoiding the sight of Mr. Rushworth.A glimpse, as she passed through the hall, of the twoladies walking up from the Parsonage made no changein her wish of retreat, and she worked and meditatedin the East room, undisturbed, for a quarter of an hour,when a gentle tap at the door was followed by the entranceof Miss Crawford."Am I right? Yes; this is the East room. My dearMiss Price, I beg your pardon, but I have made my wayto you on purpose to entreat your help."Fanny, quite surprised, endeavoured to shew herselfmistress of the room by her civilities, and lookedat the bright bars of her empty grate with concern."Thank you; I am quite warm, very warm. Allow me to stayhere a little while, and do have the goodness to hear memy third act. I have brought my book, and if you wouldbut rehearse it with me, I should be _so_ obliged!I came here to-day intending to rehearse it with Edmund--by ourselves--against the evening, but he is not in the way;and if he _were_, I do not think I could go throughit with _him_, till I have hardened myself a little;for really there is a speech or two. You will be so good,won't you?"Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she couldnot give them in a very steady voice."Have you ever happened to look at the part I mean?"continued Miss Crawford, opening her book. "Here it is.I did not think much of it at first--but, upon my word.There, look at _that_ speech, and _that_, and _that_.How am I ever to look him in the face and say such things?Could you do it? But then he is your cousin, which makesall the difference. You must rehearse it with me, that Imay fancy _you_ him, and get on by degrees. You _have_ a lookof _his_ sometimes.""Have I? I will do my best with the greatest readiness;but I must _read_ the part, for I can say very littleof it.""_None_ of it, I suppose. You are to have the book,of course. Now for it. We must have two chairs at handfor you to bring forward to the front of the stage.There--very good school-room chairs, not made for a theatre,I dare say; much more fitted for little girls to sit andkick their feet against when they are learning a lesson.What would your governess and your uncle say to see themused for such a purpose? Could Sir Thomas look in upon usjust now, he would bless himself, for we are rehearsingall over the house. Yates is storming away in thedining-room. I heard him as I came upstairs, and the theatreis engaged of course by those indefatigable rehearsers,Agatha and Frederick. If _they_ are not perfect,I _shall_ be surprised. By the bye, I looked in uponthem five minutes ago, and it happened to be exactly atone of the times when they were trying _not_ to embrace,and Mr. Rushworth was with me. I thought he began to looka little queer, so I turned it off as well as I could,by whispering to him, 'We shall have an excellent Agatha;there is something so _maternal_ in her manner,so completely _maternal_ in her voice and countenance.'Was not that well done of me? He brightened up directly.Now for my soliloquy."She began, and Fanny joined in with all the modest feelingwhich the idea of representing Edmund was so stronglycalculated to inspire; but with looks and voice so trulyfeminine as to be no very good picture of a man. With suchan Anhalt, however, Miss Crawford had courage enough;and they had got through half the scene, when a tap atthe door brought a pause, and the entrance of Edmund,the next moment, suspended it all.Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure appeared in eachof the three on this unexpected meeting; and as Edmundwas come on the very same business that had broughtMiss Crawford, consciousness and pleasure were likelyto be more than momentary in _them_. He too had his book,and was seeking Fanny, to ask her to rehearse with him,and help him to prepare for the evening, without knowingMiss Crawford to be in the house; and great was the joy andanimation of being thus thrown together, of comparing schemes,and sympathising in praise of Fanny's kind offices._She_ could not equal them in their warmth. _Her_ spiritssank under the glow of theirs, and she felt herself becomingtoo nearly nothing to both to have any comfort in havingbeen sought by either. They must now rehearse together.Edmund proposed, urged, entreated it, till the lady,not very unwilling at first, could refuse no longer,and Fanny was wanted only to prompt and observe them.She was invested, indeed, with the office of judge and critic,and earnestly desired to exercise it and tell them alltheir faults; but from doing so every feeling withinher shrank--she could not, would not, dared not attempt it:had she been otherwise qualified for criticism, her consciencemust have restrained her from venturing at disapprobation.She believed herself to feel too much of it in the aggregatefor honesty or safety in particulars. To prompt them mustbe enough for her; and it was sometimes _more_ than enough;for she could not always pay attention to the book.In watching them she forgot herself; and, agitated by theincreasing spirit of Edmund's manner, had once closedthe page and turned away exactly as he wanted help.It was imputed to very reasonable weariness, and she wasthanked and pitied; but she deserved their pity more thanshe hoped they would ever surmise. At last the scenewas over, and Fanny forced herself to add her praise tothe compliments each was giving the other; and when againalone and able to recall the whole, she was inclinedto believe their performance would, indeed, have suchnature and feeling in it as must ensure their credit,and make it a very suffering exhibition to herself.Whatever might be its effect, however, she must standthe brunt of it again that very day.The first regular rehearsal of the three first actswas certainly to take place in the evening: Mrs. Grantand the Crawfords were engaged to return for that purposeas soon as they could after dinner; and every one concernedwas looking forward with eagerness. There seemeda general diffusion of cheerfulness on the occasion.Tom was enjoying such an advance towards the end;Edmund was in spirits from the morning's rehearsal,and little vexations seemed everywhere smoothed away.All were alert and impatient; the ladies moved soon,the gentlemen soon followed them, and with the exceptionof Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, and Julia, everybody wasin the theatre at an early hour; and having lighted it upas well as its unfinished state admitted, were waiting onlythe arrival of Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords to begin.They did not wait long for the Crawfords, but therewas no Mrs. Grant. She could not come. Dr. Grant,professing an indisposition, for which he had little creditwith his fair sister-in-law, could not spare his wife."Dr. Grant is ill," said she, with mock solemnity."He has been ill ever since he did not eat any of thepheasant today. He fancied it tough, sent away his plate,and has been suffering ever since".Here was disappointment! Mrs. Grant's non-attendancewas sad indeed. Her pleasant manners and cheerfulconformity made her always valuable amongst them;but _now_ she was absolutely necessary. They could not act,they could not rehearse with any satisfaction without her.The comfort of the whole evening was destroyed.What was to be done? Tom, as Cottager, was in despair.After a pause of perplexity, some eyes began to beturned towards Fanny, and a voice or two to say,"If Miss Price would be so good as to _read_ the part."She was immediately surrounded by supplications;everybody asked it; even Edmund said, "Do, Fanny, if it isnot _very_ disagreeable to you."But Fanny still hung back. She could not endure the ideaof it. Why was not Miss Crawford to be applied to as well?Or why had not she rather gone to her own room,as she had felt to be safest, instead of attendingthe rehearsal at all? She had known it would irritateand distress her; she had known it her duty to keep away.She was properly punished."You have only to _read_ the part," said Henry Crawford,with renewed entreaty."And I do believe she can say every word of it,"added Maria, "for she could put Mrs. Grant right the otherday in twenty places. Fanny, I am sure you know the part."Fanny could not say she did _not_; and as they all persevered,as Edmund repeated his wish, and with a look of evenfond dependence on her good-nature, she must yield.She would do her best. Everybody was satisfied; and shewas left to the tremors of a most palpitating heart,while the others prepared to begin.They _did_ begin; and being too much engaged in theirown noise to be struck by an unusual noise in the otherpart of the house, had proceeded some way when the doorof the room was thrown open, and Julia, appearing at it,with a face all aghast, exclaimed, "My father is come!He is in the hall at this moment."