Jane Austen’s First Love (19 page)

I sat up, invigorated by this conversation. “After that we turned to comedy—Sheridan’s
The Rivals.
The scenery we painted for it is still in the barn.”

“We all played parts
,
” added Cassandra, smiling, “but—I can never forget it—the best of the company, the standout was you, Jane. How old were you then?”

“Eight years old.”

“Jane played the pert maidservant Lucy, and we all thought it a remarkable performance in one so young.”

“That was just the first of many,” said my brother Edward. “Jane is quite an accomplished actress.”

Their compliments, so sweet but undeserved, made me blush.

As the two Edwards and my sister shared additional anecdotes with regard to home theatrical experiences, I happened to catch sight of Fanny and Mr. Cage, who were seated nearby on the same couch, yet in an attitude so distant as to suggest that they hardly knew each other. They had, as far as I could tell, barely spoken a word to each other all day; it was almost impossible to believe that they were engaged, or that they felt anything more for each other than antipathy.

As the theatrical discussion continued around me, a thrilling notion suddenly came to my mind—an answer, nay,
the
answer—to the dilemmas which I had been previously pondering.

“Oh!” cried I, an exclamation so startling that it caused everyone in the room to cease speaking abruptly and look at me.

“Jane—what is it?” said Marianne.

“I have just had the most wonderful idea!” said I. “We ought to put on a play.”

W
ho should put on a play?” said Sophia.

“Why,
we
should. All the young people here,” answered I.

The rehearsing and performing of a play, I knew, required many long hours spent together in a confined setting. It was the perfect activity in which to engage, in order to promote the romantic conclusions to which I aspired. Were my prospective lovers to be so occupied, I thought, it would surely give me the opportunity to do that
small
amount of directing which might be required to throw them in each other’s way, and propel them onto the desired course—particularly if the
right
play was chosen (I already had one in mind), and appropriately cast.

I had an additional reason for desiring such an enterprise; a reason which I knew was not
quite
proper, yet I could not help but think of it: were Edward Taylor to agree to be in the play—and should we each be assigned the roles which I was imagining—a certain amount of
cousinly
interplay might be required. The idea filled me with excitement and anticipation, and made me blush.

“We are to be together for nearly a fortnight more, until Midsummer’s Day,” continued I matter-of-factly, determined to give no hint of my secret aspirations. “Several events which Lady Bridges went to such trouble to arrange have already been cancelled; if this rain continues as we fear, it will mean the abandonment of a great many more activities in which we had all hoped to engage. But if we are to be cooped up inside all week or even longer, we need not be idle. Let us make the best of it! How better could we spend our time than in an endeavour so infinitely enjoyable as rehearsing for, and acting in, a home theatrical?”

Mr. Taylor, who had been lying casually on the floor, now sat up at attention. “I think it a capital idea. I have not done anything theatrical in a while, and any obligation that keeps me
here
, and out from under my father’s steward’s thumb, would be very welcome.”

“I have always wanted to be in a play!” said Sophia with enthusiasm.

“So have I,” admitted Mr. Deedes, “but I never had the opportunity.”

“Could I be in it?” exclaimed Brook Edward and Charles simultaneously.

“And me!” cried Louisa.

“If we are particular about the play we choose,” remarked I carefully, “and ensure that it has a great many characters, then everyone who wishes to can be in it.”

“A play
could
prove very diverting,” agreed my brother Edward. To his intended, he added: “What do
you
think, my love?”

Elizabeth brightened. “We used to put on short sketches as children in the nursery with our older brothers, and my sisters and I did one or two readings at school. I believe I proved myself
then
to be quite an accomplished actress;
now
I should surely be even more capable.”

“All you
proved
then,” cried Fanny sourly, “is that you can read lines from a book while standing on a stage.” Elizabeth looked put out by this remark; but Fanny, taking no notice, added to the company at large: “I, on the other hand, have a genuine flair for drama; no one in my family is more theatrical than I, and I dare say, had I ever been in a real production, I should have been given the leading part every time.”

“Whenever we thought of putting on an
actual
play,” said Sophia, laughing, “we were never sure how or where to go about it, and it seemed like such a monumental effort, we never made any headway beyond the preliminary idea.”

“A home theatrical does require a lot of effort,” returned my brother Edward, “but it is doable; and between Mr. Taylor, myself, and my sisters, it seems we have enough people of experience here to direct and manage it—if everyone is interested.”

“I feel up for performing any role that was ever written,” said Edward Taylor, “although I would prefer to do something humorous; I am in no mood for a tale of woe.”

Excellent,
thought I; for the part I had in mind for him was very much comedic.

“I agree! We simply cannot do a
tragedy
,” cried Mr. Deedes. “This is a summer to be happy.”

“Only a comedy will do,” agreed Sophia with a smile.

I was delighted by the direction the conversation was taking. Frederic said:

“I was in a play once. I had six speeches, and I wore a red coat and a green hat. My mother said I performed just as I should have done, for I received a great deal of laughter and applause from the audience.”

“Who would be
our
audience?” inquired Charlotte softly.

Her remark surprised me, not only because she had actually spoken
aloud
, but due to her emphasis on the word
our,
which implied that she wished to participate in the endeavour as well. I could not even imagine Charlotte Payler on the stage. She was so quiet and introspective, I had presumed she would decline to be involved.

“An audience is not required,” replied I. “We
could
do it only for our own amusement.”

“Oh, no! If we do a play, then we
must
have an audience,” insisted Elizabeth. “What is the point of going to all that effort, if no one is to see it?”

“I agree,” said my brother Edward. “We ought to have all our parents attend the performance at the very least, and the servants as well.”

This idea met with general approval; but Thomas Payler in a grave tone said,

“I have acted myself a bit at school, and nobody is fonder of such an exercise than I; but a fortnight is not very long to rehearse and put on an entire play.”

“It is long enough,” insisted I, “if everyone makes a strong effort.”

Cassandra nodded. “We put together full-length productions at Christmas and during the summer holidays in the barn at Steventon, in a briefer span than that.”

“So did we,” agreed Edward Taylor. “It really depends on which play you do—and how and where you produce it.”

“Where would we perform the play?” asked Elizabeth. “We have nothing like a theatre at Goodnestone; and our barn is part of our working farm.”

“We do not need a theatre
or
a barn,” answered I. “Any room in this house would suffice, provided that your mother and father do not mind a little shifting of the furniture.”

“Oh! I am sure they would not mind,” said Marianne. “Papa loves a play!”

“Which play do you think we ought to choose?” asked Mr. Deedes eagerly.

“Wait.” Mr. Cage rose from his chair with a frown. “You cannot all be serious about this idea. Fanny, do you truly mean to act?”

The disapproval in Mr. Cage’s voice was so marked as to cause me some little alarm. Thankfully, the others shared my own enthusiasm for the project. Fanny replied warmly:

“If there is to be a play, I must be included, and I will accept nothing less than the very best part.”

Mr. Cage shook his head. “I am not certain that a private theatrical is a proper endeavour for gentlemen and ladies.”

“That is very old-fashioned thinking,” said my brother Edward. “It is not as though we were going to act five nights a week in a theatre and be paid for it, or have our names splashed across a wealth of advertisements! No one but us need ever know a thing about it.”

“We think only of a very respectable private production at home,” added I, “with no audience other than our own most intimate friends and relations—just as
my
family, and the Taylors, have been doing for years on end.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Cage, “yet I fear Sir Brook and Lady Bridges would not approve; and I am not sure
I
approve of the idea of my future wife
acting
.”

Fanny turned to him with imploring eyes and a sudden, sweet smile. “What is the harm in a little acting, Mr. Cage? Many women of the first consideration are so employed every day of their lives. My father was our biggest proponent in such activities when we were young, and you said yourself that you have often gone up to London expressly to see a play.”

Mr. Cage softened somewhat. “That is different, dear; in town, I went to see acting by hardened professionals. Although a few of you may have
some
experience, you have not been bred to the trade. Any efforts you should make would be raw and amateurish.”

“And what of that?” Sophia smiled. “It is summer, Mr. Cage! Let us be raw and amateurish! Let us have our fun. It would be so amusing!”

Mr. Cage shrugged, now visibly uncomfortable at pursuing a direction which was clearly so different from the popular opinion. “Well; perhaps it
could
be considered—if the right play were chosen—it must be something perfectly unexceptionable—and Sir Brook and her ladyship must be applied to before any decision can be made.”

“It occurs to me,” said Elizabeth with sudden worry, “even if Mamma does agree to the idea of a play in
general
, she might complain that it would be pulling too much attention away from what is
supposed
to be a celebration in honour of our engagements.”

“As it happens,” replied I hastily, “I have a play in mind which I
think
—I
hope—
your mother would consider to fit in perfectly with the theme of the occasion.”

“Oh? Of what play are you thinking?” inquired Edward Taylor.

I paused and took a breath, barely able to contain my excitement. “Midsummer’s Eve is twelve days hence, on the 23rd of June. In honour of
that
occasion, and in keeping with the subject of love, which is the very
foundation
of the two betrothals we are honouring—” (with a smile to the engaged couples) “I suggest we present our production on Midsummer’s Eve, before the bonfire; and that the play ought to be
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”

A pause succeeded. Everyone looked surprised. They seemed to be considering my proposal; and then there came a general, approving uproar as opinions were expressed and exchanged.

“To perform
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
on Midsummer’s Eve itself!” exclaimed my brother Edward. “What an inspired notion.”

“The 23rd is my birthday!” cried Charles.

“Is it?” replied Edward Taylor. “We have nearly the same birthday, Charles; for I was born on the 24th.”

“Would not a home theatrical be a fine way to celebrate both of your special days?” said I.

“It would,” agreed Edward Taylor; and Charles nodded with enthusiasm.

“It is the perfect play,” remarked Cassandra, smiling, “at the perfect time of year.”

Fanny appeared bewildered. “I am all for doing a play, but what is
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
?”

“It is a play by Shakespeare,” answered Sophia, “a romantic adventure involving fairies and magic and couples who are comically re-arranged, before a happy ending reunites them with their own true loves.”

“Fairies? Oh! It sounds delightful,” cried Elizabeth; and at the same moment, her voice joined with Fanny’s as they both inquired, “Is there a good part for me?”

“There are good parts for everyone,” said I.

In a very brief time, it became apparent that there exists in many people a powerful ambition for acting, for everyone began to talk at once upon the subject with unabated eagerness. Not everyone was familiar with the play, but many had either read it or seen it on the stage (an experience I could only dream about). It was one of
my
favourite works by Shakespeare; I had perused it with pleasure many times. After issuing the further elucidation that it had a large number of major characters for both male and female performers which were nearly equal in importance, and a great many smaller parts which were excellent in and of themselves, it was almost universally agreed that
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
would be the ideal vehicle for our company and purpose. Everybody loved the idea; everybody wanted to participate.

Only one person made an objection: Mr. Cage. Very calmly, he said,

“I can see that you are all determined to do a play; but are you certain you are up to taking on a work as complex as Shakespeare? He is not for amateurs. He wrote in a language and style very different from the way we speak today.”

“I
do
find his plays hard to comprehend,” agreed Thomas Payler, “and they are all so incredibly
long
!”

“
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
is one of Shakespeare’s shortest plays,” responded I. “I believe the entire thing can be done in under two hours; less, if we make a few judicious trims.”

“I have not looked at a volume of Shakespeare since I was nineteen,” cried Mr. Deedes, “but I have
seen
several of his plays acted since then. I feel certain we can rise to the challenge!”

“It is a fairly simple play,” agreed Sophia, “and extremely charming.”

Edward Taylor said: “At first,
some
of Shakespeare’s dialogue might seem difficult to understand, but one somehow falls into the flow of its meaning. Believe me, Thomas, with practice, the rhythm of the words will become second nature to you, and you will find it thrilling to enunciate it as it rolls off your tongue.”

“Well; I suppose—if everyone else agrees,” said Thomas doubtfully.

Mr. Cage shrugged. “If the rest of you wish to proceed with this folly, I shall not stand in your way; but I shall be content to watch from the side-lines, or to assist, if I can be useful in some other occupation—but I should never feel comfortable on a stage.”

This declaration was very worrying to me, for if my plan was to succeed, Mr. Cage
must
participate and play a particular role.

“If we are all agreed on the play,” pointed out Edward Taylor, “we will require someone to manage the production.”

“I hope you will not consider me impertinent, or too forward,” said I quickly, “but I should dearly love to be considered for the position.”

“
You
, Jane?” Fanny shook her head. “You are too young to manage a play.”

“I am not
so
young,” returned I boldly. “I will be sixteen in December; and I have been observing, or participating in, home theatricals ever since I was seven years old. The last few years, my brother James allowed me to assist him in managing the productions.”