Chapter: The Honourable John Yates, this new friend, had not much to recommend
him beyond habits of fashion and expense, and being the younger son of
a lord with a tolerable independence; and Sir Thomas would probably
have thought his introduction at Mansfield by no means desirable. Mr.
Bertram's acquaintance with him had begun at Weymouth, where they had
spent ten days together in the same society, and the friendship, if
friendship it might be called, had been proved and perfected by Mr.
Yates's being invited to take Mansfield in his way, whenever he could,
and by his promising to come; and he did come rather earlier than had
been expected, in consequence of the sudden breaking-up of a large party
assembled for gaiety at the house of another friend, which he had left
Weymouth to join. He came on the wings of disappointment, and with his
head full of acting, for it had been a theatrical party; and the play
in which he had borne a part was within two days of representation,
when the sudden death of one of the nearest connexions of the family
had destroyed the scheme and dispersed the performers. To be so near
happiness, so near fame, so near the long paragraph in praise of the
private theatricals at Ecclesford, the seat of the Right Hon. Lord
Ravenshaw, in Cornwall, which would of course have immortalised the
whole party for at least a twelvemonth! and being so near, to lose
it all, was an injury to be keenly felt, and Mr. Yates could talk of
nothing else. Ecclesford and its theatre, with its arrangements and
dresses, rehearsals and jokes, was his never-failing subject, and to
boast of the past his only consolation.

Happily for him, a love of the theatre is so general, an itch for acting
so strong among young people, that he could hardly out-talk the interest
of his hearers. From the first casting of the parts to the epilogue it
was all bewitching, and there were few who did not wish to have been a
party concerned, or would have hesitated to try their skill. The play
had been Lovers' Vows, and Mr. Yates was to have been Count Cassel. "A
trifling part," said he, "and not at all to my taste, and such a one
as I certainly would not accept again; but I was determined to make no
difficulties. Lord Ravenshaw and the duke had appropriated the only two
characters worth playing before I reached Ecclesford; and though Lord
Ravenshaw offered to resign his to me, it was impossible to take it, you
know. I was sorry for _him_ that he should have so mistaken his powers,
for he was no more equal to the Baron--a little man with a weak voice,
always hoarse after the first ten minutes. It must have injured the
piece materially; but _I_ was resolved to make no difficulties. Sir
Henry thought the duke not equal to Frederick, but that was because
Sir Henry wanted the part himself; whereas it was certainly in the best
hands of the two. I was surprised to see Sir Henry such a stick. Luckily
the strength of the piece did not depend upon him. Our Agatha was
inimitable, and the duke was thought very great by many. And upon the
whole, it would certainly have gone off wonderfully."

"It was a hard case, upon my word"; and, "I do think you were very much
to be pitied," were the kind responses of listening sympathy.

"It is not worth complaining about; but to be sure the poor old dowager
could not have died at a worse time; and it is impossible to help
wishing that the news could have been suppressed for just the three days
we wanted. It was but three days; and being only a grandmother, and all
happening two hundred miles off, I think there would have been no great
harm, and it was suggested, I know; but Lord Ravenshaw, who I suppose is
one of the most correct men in England, would not hear of it."

"An afterpiece instead of a comedy," said Mr. Bertram. "Lovers' Vows
were at an end, and Lord and Lady Ravenshaw left to act My Grandmother
by themselves. Well, the jointure may comfort _him_; and perhaps,
between friends, he began to tremble for his credit and his lungs in the
Baron, and was not sorry to withdraw; and to make _you_ amends, Yates, I
think we must raise a little theatre at Mansfield, and ask you to be our
manager."

This, though the thought of the moment, did not end with the moment; for
the inclination to act was awakened, and in no one more strongly than in
him who was now master of the house; and who, having so much leisure as
to make almost any novelty a certain good, had likewise such a degree of
lively talents and comic taste, as were exactly adapted to the novelty
of acting. The thought returned again and again. "Oh for the Ecclesford
theatre and scenery to try something with." Each sister could echo the
wish; and Henry Crawford, to whom, in all the riot of his gratifications
it was yet an untasted pleasure, was quite alive at the idea. "I really
believe," said he, "I could be fool enough at this moment to undertake
any character that ever was written, from Shylock or Richard III down to
the singing hero of a farce in his scarlet coat and cocked hat. I feel
as if I could be anything or everything; as if I could rant and storm,
or sigh or cut capers, in any tragedy or comedy in the English language.
Let us be doing something. Be it only half a play, an act, a scene; what
should prevent us? Not these countenances, I am sure," looking towards
the Miss Bertrams; "and for a theatre, what signifies a theatre? We
shall be only amusing ourselves. Any room in this house might suffice."

"We must have a curtain," said Tom Bertram; "a few yards of green baize
for a curtain, and perhaps that may be enough."

"Oh, quite enough," cried Mr. Yates, "with only just a side wing or two
run up, doors in flat, and three or four scenes to be let down; nothing
more would be necessary on such a plan as this. For mere amusement among
ourselves we should want nothing more."

"I believe we must be satisfied with _less_," said Maria. "There would
not be time, and other difficulties would arise. We must rather adopt
Mr. Crawford's views, and make the _performance_, not the _theatre_, our
object. Many parts of our best plays are independent of scenery."

"Nay," said Edmund, who began to listen with alarm. "Let us do nothing
by halves. If we are to act, let it be in a theatre completely fitted
up with pit, boxes, and gallery, and let us have a play entire from
beginning to end; so as it be a German play, no matter what, with a good
tricking, shifting afterpiece, and a figure-dance, and a hornpipe, and a
song between the acts. If we do not outdo Ecclesford, we do nothing."

"Now, Edmund, do not be disagreeable," said Julia. "Nobody loves a play
better than you do, or can have gone much farther to see one."

"True, to see real acting, good hardened real acting; but I would hardly
walk from this room to the next to look at the raw efforts of those who
have not been bred to the trade: a set of gentlemen and ladies, who have
all the disadvantages of education and decorum to struggle through."

After a short pause, however, the subject still continued, and was
discussed with unabated eagerness, every one's inclination increasing
by the discussion, and a knowledge of the inclination of the rest; and
though nothing was settled but that Tom Bertram would prefer a comedy,
and his sisters and Henry Crawford a tragedy, and that nothing in the
world could be easier than to find a piece which would please them all,
the resolution to act something or other seemed so decided as to
make Edmund quite uncomfortable. He was determined to prevent it, if
possible, though his mother, who equally heard the conversation which
passed at table, did not evince the least disapprobation.

The same evening afforded him an opportunity of trying his strength.
Maria, Julia, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates were in the billiard-room.
Tom, returning from them into the drawing-room, where Edmund was
standing thoughtfully by the fire, while Lady Bertram was on the sofa at
a little distance, and Fanny close beside her arranging her work, thus
began as he entered--"Such a horribly vile billiard-table as ours is not
to be met with, I believe, above ground. I can stand it no longer, and I
think, I may say, that nothing shall ever tempt me to it again; but one
good thing I have just ascertained: it is the very room for a theatre,
precisely the shape and length for it; and the doors at the farther
end, communicating with each other, as they may be made to do in five
minutes, by merely moving the bookcase in my father's room, is the very
thing we could have desired, if we had sat down to wish for it; and
my father's room will be an excellent greenroom. It seems to join the
billiard-room on purpose."

"You are not serious, Tom, in meaning to act?" said Edmund, in a low
voice, as his brother approached the fire.

"Not serious! never more so, I assure you. What is there to surprise you
in it?"

"I think it would be very wrong. In a _general_ light, private
theatricals are open to some objections, but as _we_ are circumstanced,
I must think it would be highly injudicious, and more than injudicious
to attempt anything of the kind. It would shew great want of feeling
on my father's account, absent as he is, and in some degree of constant
danger; and it would be imprudent, I think, with regard to Maria, whose
situation is a very delicate one, considering everything, extremely
delicate."

"You take up a thing so seriously! as if we were going to act three
times a week till my father's return, and invite all the country. But
it is not to be a display of that sort. We mean nothing but a little
amusement among ourselves, just to vary the scene, and exercise our
powers in something new. We want no audience, no publicity. We may be
trusted, I think, in chusing some play most perfectly unexceptionable;
and I can conceive no greater harm or danger to any of us in conversing
in the elegant written language of some respectable author than in
chattering in words of our own. I have no fears and no scruples. And
as to my father's being absent, it is so far from an objection, that I
consider it rather as a motive; for the expectation of his return must
be a very anxious period to my mother; and if we can be the means of
amusing that anxiety, and keeping up her spirits for the next few weeks,
I shall think our time very well spent, and so, I am sure, will he. It
is a _very_ anxious period for her."

As he said this, each looked towards their mother. Lady Bertram, sunk
back in one corner of the sofa, the picture of health, wealth, ease,
and tranquillity, was just falling into a gentle doze, while Fanny was
getting through the few difficulties of her work for her.

Edmund smiled and shook his head.

"By Jove! this won't do," cried Tom, throwing himself into a chair with
a hearty laugh. "To be sure, my dear mother, your anxiety--I was unlucky
there."

"What is the matter?" asked her ladyship, in the heavy tone of one
half-roused; "I was not asleep."

"Oh dear, no, ma'am, nobody suspected you! Well, Edmund," he continued,
returning to the former subject, posture, and voice, as soon as Lady
Bertram began to nod again, "but _this_ I _will_ maintain, that we shall
be doing no harm."

"I cannot agree with you; I am convinced that my father would totally
disapprove it."

"And I am convinced to the contrary. Nobody is fonder of the exercise
of talent in young people, or promotes it more, than my father, and for
anything of the acting, spouting, reciting kind, I think he has always a
decided taste. I am sure he encouraged it in us as boys. How many a time
have we mourned over the dead body of Julius Caesar, and to _be'd_ and
not _to_ _be'd_, in this very room, for his amusement? And I am sure,
_my_ _name_ _was_ _Norval_, every evening of my life through one
Christmas holidays."

"It was a very different thing. You must see the difference yourself. My
father wished us, as schoolboys, to speak well, but he would never
wish his grown-up daughters to be acting plays. His sense of decorum is
strict."

"I know all that," said Tom, displeased. "I know my father as well as
you do; and I'll take care that his daughters do nothing to distress
him. Manage your own concerns, Edmund, and I'll take care of the rest of
the family."

"If you are resolved on acting," replied the persevering Edmund, "I must
hope it will be in a very small and quiet way; and I think a theatre
ought not to be attempted. It would be taking liberties with my father's
house in his absence which could not be justified."

"For everything of that nature I will be answerable," said Tom, in a
decided tone. "His house shall not be hurt. I have quite as great an
interest in being careful of his house as you can have; and as to such
alterations as I was suggesting just now, such as moving a bookcase, or
unlocking a door, or even as using the billiard-room for the space of a
week without playing at billiards in it, you might just as well suppose
he would object to our sitting more in this room, and less in the
breakfast-room, than we did before he went away, or to my sister's
pianoforte being moved from one side of the room to the other. Absolute
nonsense!"

"The innovation, if not wrong as an innovation, will be wrong as an
expense."

"Yes, the expense of such an undertaking would be prodigious! Perhaps
it might cost a whole twenty pounds. Something of a theatre we must have
undoubtedly, but it will be on the simplest plan: a green curtain and a
little carpenter's work, and that's all; and as the carpenter's work
may be all done at home by Christopher Jackson himself, it will be
too absurd to talk of expense; and as long as Jackson is employed,
everything will be right with Sir Thomas. Don't imagine that nobody in
this house can see or judge but yourself. Don't act yourself, if you do
not like it, but don't expect to govern everybody else."

"No, as to acting myself," said Edmund, "_that_ I absolutely protest
against."

Tom walked out of the room as he said it, and Edmund was left to sit
down and stir the fire in thoughtful vexation.

Fanny, who had heard it all, and borne Edmund company in every feeling
throughout the whole, now ventured to say, in her anxiety to suggest
some comfort, "Perhaps they may not be able to find any play to suit
them. Your brother's taste and your sisters' seem very different."

"I have no hope there, Fanny. If they persist in the scheme, they will
find something. I shall speak to my sisters and try to dissuade _them_,
and that is all I can do."

"I should think my aunt Norris would be on your side."

"I dare say she would, but she has no influence with either Tom or my
sisters that could be of any use; and if I cannot convince them myself,
I shall let things take their course, without attempting it through
her. Family squabbling is the greatest evil of all, and we had better do
anything than be altogether by the ears."

His sisters, to whom he had an opportunity of speaking the next morning,
were quite as impatient of his advice, quite as unyielding to his
representation, quite as determined in the cause of pleasure, as Tom.
Their mother had no objection to the plan, and they were not in the
least afraid of their father's disapprobation. There could be no harm in
what had been done in so many respectable families, and by so many women
of the first consideration; and it must be scrupulousness run mad that
could see anything to censure in a plan like theirs, comprehending only
brothers and sisters and intimate friends, and which would never be
heard of beyond themselves. Julia _did_ seem inclined to admit that
Maria's situation might require particular caution and delicacy--but
that could not extend to _her_--she was at liberty; and Maria evidently
considered her engagement as only raising her so much more above
restraint, and leaving her less occasion than Julia to consult either
father or mother. Edmund had little to hope, but he was still urging the
subject when Henry Crawford entered the room, fresh from the Parsonage,
calling out, "No want of hands in our theatre, Miss Bertram. No want
of understrappers: my sister desires her love, and hopes to be admitted
into the company, and will be happy to take the part of any old duenna
or tame confidante, that you may not like to do yourselves."

Maria gave Edmund a glance, which meant, "What say you now? Can we
be wrong if Mary Crawford feels the same?" And Edmund, silenced,
was obliged to acknowledge that the charm of acting might well carry
fascination to the mind of genius; and with the ingenuity of love, to
dwell more on the obliging, accommodating purport of the message than on
anything else.

The scheme advanced. Opposition was vain; and as to Mrs. Norris, he
was mistaken in supposing she would wish to make any. She started no
difficulties that were not talked down in five minutes by her eldest
nephew and niece, who were all-powerful with her; and as the whole
arrangement was to bring very little expense to anybody, and none at all
to herself, as she foresaw in it all the comforts of hurry, bustle,
and importance, and derived the immediate advantage of fancying herself
obliged to leave her own house, where she had been living a month at
her own cost, and take up her abode in theirs, that every hour might be
spent in their service, she was, in fact, exceedingly delighted with the
project.

 The narrator fills us in on John Yates. He's the younger son of a wealthy Lord, and he and Tom have mutual friends. Tom invited him to come visit Mansfield, so Mr. Yates takes him up on the offer. Mr. Yates is bummed when he arrives, though: he'd recently been hanging out at a fancy house with some Lords and Earls and they were all putting on a play together. But someone's relative had the nerve to die in the middle of rehearsals and the play was canceled. Mr. Yates still has the acting bug and talks all about the awesome play they were going to perform, something called Lovers' Vows. Everyone is intrigued by this idea and they soon decide that the group at Mansfield should put on a play, too. Everyone's excited by the idea except Edmund. Edmund's idea of fun is probably watching paint dry. Edmund objects to the idea of putting on a play. Historical Context Lesson! It might seem weird that Edmund would have a problem with putting on a play, which seems like a harmless past-time. But during this period, an evangelical movement was going on and a lot of religious thinkers objected to activities like dancing, card playing, and acting. Acting was seen as especially bad and dangerous since it let people get away with doing scandalous things in the name of "playing pretend." Interestingly, people involved in the French Revolution, which had happened in the 1790s, also thought that actors were immoral since they were essentially lying about who they were. Edmund's objection to acting has religious and political significance that Austen's readers would have picked up on. But everyone else disagrees with Edmund and tells him to stop being a party pooper. Edmund says that he has nothing against the theater, really, but thinks that their group shouldn't be acting together without parental supervision. He says Sir Thomas won't like it at all. The others say that Sir Thomas is gone and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Later that evening Tom and Edmund discuss the acting thing. Tom's determined to do it since it will be fun. He wants to turn the billiard room into a theater. Edmund urges caution, saying that Maria's in a weird situation since her engagement can't be really locked down until Sir Thomas actually gets back and can handle things in person. Quick FYI: As Maria's father, Sir Thomas would have been in charge of handling all the financial and legal issues that went into arranging a marriage in this era. Women had no say over their own financial matters, and fathers and husbands pretty much had all the legal rights. Tom attempts to convince Edmund that Lady Bertram is stressed over Sir Thomas's absence and that a play will distract her. Unfortunately for Tom, Lady Bertram is dozing and isn't paying them any attention. She doesn't look stressed out at all. Tom complains to his mother that she ruined his argument and she's confused - she was asleep, after all. Edmund laughs. After debating a bit more, Tom finally tells Edmund to mind his own business and to not judge things for everyone else. Edmund gives up but refuses to be one of the actors. Fanny tries to console Edmund by saying that the group will never be able to agree on a play anyway. Edmund tries once again to talk with his sisters about the acting thing but they both ignore him. Henry's back and he stops by to say that he and Mary are happy to act in the play and are looking forward to doing it. Maria looks over at Edmund after this and Edmund begins to think that acting might not be so bad since Mary's doing it. Mrs. Norris fully approves of the acting scheme and helps make arrangements.

