["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> It was not in Miss Crawford's power to talk Fanny into any real\nforgetfulness of what had passed. When the evening was over, she went to\nbed full of it, her nerves still agitated by the shock of such an attack\nfrom her cousin Tom, so public and so persevered in, and her spirits\nsinking under her aunt's unkind reflection and reproach. To be called\ninto notice in such a manner, to hear that it was but the prelude to\nsomething so infinitely worse, to be told that she must do what was\nso impossible as to act; and then to have the charge of obstinacy and\ningratitude follow it, enforced with such a hint at the dependence\nof her situation, had been too distressing at the time to make the\nremembrance when she was alone much less so, especially with the\nsuperadded dread of what the morrow might produce in continuation of the\nsubject. Miss Crawford had protected her only for the time; and if\nshe were applied to again among themselves with all the authoritative\nurgency that Tom and Maria were capable of, and Edmund perhaps away,\nwhat should she do? She fell asleep before she could answer the\nquestion, and found it quite as puzzling when she awoke the next\nmorning. The little white attic, which had continued her sleeping-room\never since her first entering the family, proving incompetent to suggest\nany reply, she had recourse, as soon as she was dressed, to another\napartment more spacious and more meet for walking about in and thinking,\nand of which she had now for some time been almost equally mistress. It\nhad been their school-room; so called till the Miss Bertrams would not\nallow it to be called so any longer, and inhabited as such to a later\nperiod. There Miss Lee had lived, and there they had read and written,\nand talked and laughed, till within the last three years, when she had\nquitted them. The room had then become useless, and for some time was\nquite deserted, except by Fanny, when she visited her plants, or wanted\none of the books, which she was still glad to keep there, from the\ndeficiency of space and accommodation in her little chamber above: but\ngradually, as her value for the comforts of it increased, she had added\nto her possessions, and spent more of her time there; and having nothing\nto oppose her, had so naturally and so artlessly worked herself into it,\nthat it was now generally admitted to be hers. The East room, as it had\nbeen called ever since Maria Bertram was sixteen, was now considered\nFanny's, almost as decidedly as the white attic: the smallness of the\none making the use of the other so evidently reasonable that the Miss\nBertrams, with every superiority in their own apartments which their own\nsense of superiority could demand, were entirely approving it; and Mrs.\nNorris, having stipulated for there never being a fire in it on Fanny's\naccount, was tolerably resigned to her having the use of what nobody\nelse wanted, though the terms in which she sometimes spoke of the\nindulgence seemed to imply that it was the best room in the house. The aspect was so favourable that even without a fire it was habitable\nin many an early spring and late autumn morning to such a willing mind\nas Fanny's; and while there was a gleam of sunshine she hoped not to be\ndriven from it entirely, even when winter came. The comfort of it in\nher hours of leisure was extreme. She could go there after anything\nunpleasant below, and find immediate consolation in some pursuit, or\nsome train of thought at hand. Her plants, her books--of which she had\nbeen a collector from the first hour of her commanding a shilling--her\nwriting-desk, and her works of charity and ingenuity, were all within\nher reach; or if indisposed for employment, if nothing but musing would\ndo, she could scarcely see an object in that room which had not an\ninteresting remembrance connected with it. Everything was a friend, or\nbore her thoughts to a friend; and though there had been sometimes much\nof suffering to her; though her motives had often been misunderstood,\nher feelings disregarded, and her comprehension undervalued; though she\nhad known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost\nevery recurrence of either had led to something consolatory: her aunt\nBertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encouraging, or, what\nwas yet more frequent or more dear, Edmund had been her champion and her\nfriend: he had supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had told\nher not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made\nher tears delightful; and the whole was now so blended together, so\nharmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its charm. The\nroom was most dear to her, and she would not have changed its furniture\nfor the handsomest in the house, though what had been originally plain\nhad suffered all the ill-usage of children; and its greatest elegancies\nand ornaments were a faded footstool of Julia's work, too ill done\nfor the drawing-room, three transparencies, made in a rage for\ntransparencies, for the three lower panes of one window, where Tintern\nAbbey held its station between a cave in Italy and a moonlight lake in\nCumberland, a collection of family profiles, thought unworthy of being\nanywhere else, over the mantelpiece, and by their side, and pinned\nagainst the wall, a small sketch of a ship sent four years ago from the\nMediterranean by William, with H.M.S. Antwerp at the bottom, in letters\nas tall as the mainmast. To this nest of comforts Fanny now walked down to try its influence on\nan agitated, doubting spirit, to see if by looking at Edmund's profile\nshe could catch any of his counsel, or by giving air to her geraniums\nshe might inhale a breeze of mental strength herself. But she had more\nthan fears of her own perseverance to remove: she had begun to feel\nundecided as to what she _ought_ _to_ _do_; and as she walked round the\nroom her doubts were increasing. Was she _right_ in refusing what was\nso warmly asked, so strongly wished for--what might be so essential to a\nscheme on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest complaisance\nhad set their hearts? Was it not ill-nature, selfishness, and a fear of\nexposing herself? And would Edmund's judgment, would his persuasion of\nSir Thomas's disapprobation of the whole, be enough to justify her in a\ndetermined denial in spite of all the rest? It would be so horrible to\nher to act that she was inclined to suspect the truth and purity of her\nown scruples; and as she looked around her, the claims of her cousins\nto being obliged were strengthened by the sight of present upon present\nthat she had received from them. The table between the windows was\ncovered with work-boxes and netting-boxes which had been given her at\ndifferent times, principally by Tom; and she grew bewildered as to the\namount of the debt which all these kind remembrances produced. A tap at\nthe door roused her in the midst of this attempt to find her way to her\nduty, and her gentle \"Come in\" was answered by the appearance of one,\nbefore whom all her doubts were wont to be laid. Her eyes brightened at\nthe sight of Edmund. \"Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a few minutes?\" said he. \"Yes, certainly.\" \"I want to consult. I want your opinion.\" \"My opinion!\" she cried, shrinking from such a compliment, highly as it\ngratified her. \"Yes, your advice and opinion. I do not know what to do. This acting\nscheme gets worse and worse, you see. They have chosen almost as bad a\nplay as they could, and now, to complete the business, are going to ask\nthe help of a young man very slightly known to any of us. This is the\nend of all the privacy and propriety which was talked about at first. I know no harm of Charles Maddox; but the excessive intimacy which\nmust spring from his being admitted among us in this manner is highly\nobjectionable, the _more_ than intimacy--the familiarity. I cannot\nthink of it with any patience; and it does appear to me an evil of such\nmagnitude as must, _if_ _possible_, be prevented. Do not you see it in\nthe same light?\" \"Yes; but what can be done? Your brother is so determined.\" \"There is but _one_ thing to be done, Fanny. I must take Anhalt myself. I am well aware that nothing else will quiet Tom.\" Fanny could not answer him. \"It is not at all what I like,\" he continued. \"No man can like being\ndriven into the _appearance_ of such inconsistency. After being known to\noppose the scheme from the beginning, there is absurdity in the face of\nmy joining them _now_, when they are exceeding their first plan in every\nrespect; but I can think of no other alternative. Can you, Fanny?\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"No,\" said Fanny slowly, \"not immediately, but--\"\n\n\"But what? I see your judgment is not with me. Think it a little over. Perhaps you are not so much aware as I am of the mischief that _may_, of\nthe unpleasantness that _must_ arise from a young man's being received\nin this manner: domesticated among us; authorised to come at all hours,\nand placed suddenly on a footing which must do away all restraints. To\nthink only of the licence which every rehearsal must tend to create. It\nis all very bad! Put yourself in Miss Crawford's place, Fanny. Consider\nwhat it would be to act Amelia with a stranger. She has a right to be\nfelt for, because she evidently feels for herself. I heard enough of\nwhat she said to you last night to understand her unwillingness to be\nacting with a stranger; and as she probably engaged in the part with\ndifferent expectations--perhaps without considering the subject enough\nto know what was likely to be--it would be ungenerous, it would be\nreally wrong to expose her to it. Her feelings ought to be respected. Does it not strike you so, Fanny? You hesitate.\" \"I am sorry for Miss Crawford; but I am more sorry to see you drawn in\nto do what you had resolved against, and what you are known to think\nwill be disagreeable to my uncle. It will be such a triumph to the\nothers!\" \"They will not have much cause of triumph when they see how infamously I\nact. But, however, triumph there certainly will be, and I must brave it. But if I can be the means of restraining the publicity of the business,\nof limiting the exhibition, of concentrating our folly, I shall be\nwell repaid. As I am now, I have no influence, I can do nothing: I have\noffended them, and they will not hear me; but when I have put them in\ngood-humour by this concession, I am not without hopes of persuading\nthem to confine the representation within a much smaller circle than\nthey are now in the high road for. This will be a material gain. My\nobject is to confine it to Mrs. Rushworth and the Grants. Will not this\nbe worth gaining?\" \"Yes, it will be a great point.\" \"But still it has not your approbation. Can you mention any other\nmeasure by which I have a chance of doing equal good?\" \"No, I cannot think of anything else.\" \"Give me your approbation, then, Fanny. I am not comfortable without\nit.\" \"Oh, cousin!\" \"If you are against me, I ought to distrust myself, and yet--But it is\nabsolutely impossible to let Tom go on in this way, riding about the\ncountry in quest of anybody who can be persuaded to act--no matter whom:\nthe look of a gentleman is to be enough. I thought _you_ would have\nentered more into Miss Crawford's feelings.\" \"No doubt she will be very glad. It must be a great relief to her,\" said\nFanny, trying for greater warmth of manner. \"She never appeared more amiable than in her behaviour to you last\nnight. It gave her a very strong claim on my goodwill.\" \"She _was_ very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her spared\"...\n\nShe could not finish the generous effusion. Her conscience stopt her in\nthe middle, but Edmund was satisfied. \"I shall walk down immediately after breakfast,\" said he, \"and am sure\nof giving pleasure there. And now, dear Fanny, I will not interrupt you\nany longer. You want to be reading. But I could not be easy till I had\nspoken to you, and come to a decision. Sleeping or waking, my head has\nbeen full of this matter all night. It is an evil, but I am certainly\nmaking it less than it might be. If Tom is up, I shall go to him\ndirectly and get it over, and when we meet at breakfast we shall be all\nin high good-humour at the prospect of acting the fool together with\nsuch unanimity. _You_, in the meanwhile, will be taking a trip into\nChina, I suppose. How does Lord Macartney go on?\" --opening a volume on\nthe table and then taking up some others. \"And here are Crabbe's Tales,\nand the Idler, at hand to relieve you, if you tire of your great book. I\nadmire your little establishment exceedingly; and as soon as I am\ngone, you will empty your head of all this nonsense of acting, and sit\ncomfortably down to your table. But do not stay here to be cold.\" He went; but there was no reading, no China, no composure for Fanny. He\nhad told her the most extraordinary, the most inconceivable, the most\nunwelcome news; and she could think of nothing else. To be acting! After\nall his objections--objections so just and so public! After all that she\nhad heard him say, and seen him look, and known him to be feeling. Could\nit be possible? Edmund so inconsistent! Was he not deceiving himself? Was he not wrong? Alas! it was all Miss Crawford's doing. She had seen\nher influence in every speech, and was miserable. The doubts and alarms\nas to her own conduct, which had previously distressed her, and\nwhich had all slept while she listened to him, were become of little\nconsequence now. This deeper anxiety swallowed them up. Things should\ntake their course; she cared not how it ended. Her cousins might attack,\nbut could hardly tease her. She was beyond their reach; and if at last\nobliged to yield--no matter--it was all misery now. It was, indeed, a triumphant day to Mr. Bertram and Maria. Such a\nvictory over Edmund's discretion had been beyond their hopes, and was\nmost delightful. There was no longer anything to disturb them in their\ndarling project, and they congratulated each other in private on the\njealous weakness to which they attributed the change, with all the glee\nof feelings gratified in every way. Edmund might still look grave, and\nsay he did not like the scheme in general, and must disapprove the play\nin particular; their point was gained: he was to act, and he was driven\nto it by the force of selfish inclinations only. Edmund had descended\nfrom that moral elevation which he had maintained before, and they were\nboth as much the better as the happier for the descent. They behaved very well, however, to _him_ on the occasion, betraying no\nexultation beyond the lines about the corners of the mouth, and seemed\nto think it as great an escape to be quit of the intrusion of Charles\nMaddox, as if they had been forced into admitting him against their\ninclination. \"To have it quite in their own family circle was what\nthey had particularly wished. A stranger among them would have been the\ndestruction of all their comfort\"; and when Edmund, pursuing that idea,\ngave a hint of his hope as to the limitation of the audience, they were\nready, in the complaisance of the moment, to promise anything. It was\nall good-humour and encouragement. Mrs. Norris offered to contrive his\ndress, Mr. Yates assured him that Anhalt's last scene with the Baron\nadmitted a good deal of action and emphasis, and Mr. Rushworth undertook\nto count his speeches. \"Perhaps,\" said Tom, \"Fanny may be more disposed to oblige us now. Perhaps you may persuade _her_.\" \"No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act.\" \"Oh! very well.\" And not another word was said; but Fanny felt herself\nagain in danger, and her indifference to the danger was beginning to\nfail her already. There were not fewer smiles at the Parsonage than at the Park on this\nchange in Edmund; Miss Crawford looked very lovely in hers, and entered\nwith such an instantaneous renewal of cheerfulness into the whole\naffair as could have but one effect on him. \"He was certainly right in\nrespecting such feelings; he was glad he had determined on it.\" And the\nmorning wore away in satisfactions very sweet, if not very sound. One\nadvantage resulted from it to Fanny: at the earnest request of Miss\nCrawford, Mrs. Grant had, with her usual good-humour, agreed to\nundertake the part for which Fanny had been wanted; and this was all\nthat occurred to gladden _her_ heart during the day; and even this, when\nimparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it, for it was Miss Crawford to\nwhom she was obliged--it was Miss Crawford whose kind exertions were to\nexcite her gratitude, and whose merit in making them was spoken of\nwith a glow of admiration. She was safe; but peace and safety were\nunconnected here. Her mind had been never farther from peace. She could\nnot feel that she had done wrong herself, but she was disquieted\nin every other way.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-03, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Her heart and her judgment were equally against\nEdmund's decision: she could not acquit his unsteadiness, and his\nhappiness under it made her wretched. She was full of jealousy and\nagitation. Miss Crawford came with looks of gaiety which seemed an\ninsult, with friendly expressions towards herself which she could hardly\nanswer calmly. Everybody around her was gay and busy, prosperous and\nimportant; each had their object of interest, their part, their dress,\ntheir favourite scene, their friends and confederates: all were finding\nemployment in consultations and comparisons, or diversion in the playful\nconceits they suggested. She alone was sad and insignificant: she had\nno share in anything; she might go or stay; she might be in the midst\nof their noise, or retreat from it to the solitude of the East room,\nwithout being seen or missed. She could almost think anything would\nhave been preferable to this. Mrs. Grant was of consequence: _her_\ngood-nature had honourable mention; her taste and her time were\nconsidered; her presence was wanted; she was sought for, and attended,\nand praised; and Fanny was at first in some danger of envying her the\ncharacter she had accepted. But reflection brought better feelings, and\nshewed her that Mrs. Grant was entitled to respect, which could never\nhave belonged to _her_; and that, had she received even the greatest,\nshe could never have been easy in joining a scheme which, considering\nonly her uncle, she must condemn altogether. Fanny's heart was not absolutely the only saddened one amongst them,\nas she soon began to acknowledge to herself. Julia was a sufferer too,\nthough not quite so blamelessly. Henry Crawford had trifled with her feelings; but she had very long\nallowed and even sought his attentions, with a jealousy of her sister so\nreasonable as ought to have been their cure; and now that the conviction\nof his preference for Maria had been forced on her, she submitted to it\nwithout any alarm for Maria's situation, or any endeavour at rational\ntranquillity for herself. She either sat in gloomy silence, wrapt in\nsuch gravity as nothing could subdue, no curiosity touch, no wit amuse;\nor allowing the attentions of Mr. Yates, was talking with forced gaiety\nto him alone, and ridiculing the acting of the others. For a day or two after the affront was given, Henry Crawford had\nendeavoured to do it away by the usual attack of gallantry and\ncompliment, but he had not cared enough about it to persevere against a\nfew repulses; and becoming soon too busy with his play to have time for\nmore than one flirtation, he grew indifferent to the quarrel, or rather\nthought it a lucky occurrence, as quietly putting an end to what might\nere long have raised expectations in more than Mrs. Grant. She was not\npleased to see Julia excluded from the play, and sitting by disregarded;\nbut as it was not a matter which really involved her happiness, as Henry\nmust be the best judge of his own, and as he did assure her, with a\nmost persuasive smile, that neither he nor Julia had ever had a serious\nthought of each other, she could only renew her former caution as to\nthe elder sister, entreat him not to risk his tranquillity by too\nmuch admiration there, and then gladly take her share in anything that\nbrought cheerfulness to the young people in general, and that did so\nparticularly promote the pleasure of the two so dear to her. \"I rather wonder Julia is not in love with Henry,\" was her observation\nto Mary. \"I dare say she is,\" replied Mary coldly. \"I imagine both sisters are.\" \"Both! no, no, that must not be. Do not give him a hint of it. Think of\nMr. Rushworth!\" \"You had better tell Miss Bertram to think of Mr. Rushworth. It may\ndo _her_ some good. I often think of Mr. Rushworth's property and\nindependence, and wish them in other hands; but I never think of him. A\nman might represent the county with such an estate; a man might escape a\nprofession and represent the county.\" \"I dare say he _will_ be in parliament soon. When Sir Thomas comes, I\ndare say he will be in for some borough, but there has been nobody to\nput him in the way of doing anything yet.\" \"Sir Thomas is to achieve many mighty things when he comes home,\" said\nMary, after a pause. \"Do you remember Hawkins Browne's 'Address to\nTobacco,' in imitation of Pope?--\n\n     Blest leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense\n     To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense. I will parody them--\n\n     Blest Knight! whose dictatorial looks dispense\n     To Children affluence, to Rushworth sense. Will not that do, Mrs. Grant? Everything seems to depend upon Sir\nThomas's return.\" \"You will find his consequence very just and reasonable when you see him\nin his family, I assure you. I do not think we do so well without him. He has a fine dignified manner, which suits the head of such a house,\nand keeps everybody in their place. Lady Bertram seems more of a cipher\nnow than when he is at home; and nobody else can keep Mrs. Norris in\norder. But, Mary, do not fancy that Maria Bertram cares for Henry. I\nam sure _Julia_ does not, or she would not have flirted as she did last\nnight with Mr. Yates; and though he and Maria are very good friends, I\nthink she likes Sotherton too well to be inconstant.\" \"I would not give much for Mr. Rushworth's chance if Henry stept in\nbefore the articles were signed.\" \"If you have such a suspicion, something must be done; and as soon as\nthe play is all over, we will talk to him seriously and make him know\nhis own mind; and if he means nothing, we will send him off, though he\nis Henry, for a time.\" Julia _did_ suffer, however, though Mrs. Grant discerned it not, and\nthough it escaped the notice of many of her own family likewise. She had\nloved, she did love still, and she had all the suffering which a warm\ntemper and a high spirit were likely to endure under the disappointment\nof a dear, though irrational hope, with a strong sense of ill-usage. Her heart was sore and angry, and she was capable only of angry\nconsolations. The sister with whom she was used to be on easy terms was\nnow become her greatest enemy: they were alienated from each other;\nand Julia was not superior to the hope of some distressing end to the\nattentions which were still carrying on there, some punishment to\nMaria for conduct so shameful towards herself as well as towards Mr.\nRushworth. With no material fault of temper, or difference of opinion,\nto prevent their being very good friends while their interests were\nthe same, the sisters, under such a trial as this, had not affection or\nprinciple enough to make them merciful or just, to give them honour or\ncompassion. Maria felt her triumph, and pursued her purpose, careless of\nJulia; and Julia could never see Maria distinguished by Henry Crawford\nwithout trusting that it would create jealousy, and bring a public\ndisturbance at last. Fanny saw and pitied much of this in Julia; but there was no outward\nfellowship between them. Julia made no communication, and Fanny took\nno liberties. They were two solitary sufferers, or connected only by\nFanny's consciousness. The inattention of the two brothers and the aunt to Julia's\ndiscomposure, and their blindness to its true cause, must be imputed to\nthe fullness of their own minds. They were totally preoccupied. Tom was\nengrossed by the concerns of his theatre, and saw nothing that did not\nimmediately relate to it. Edmund, between his theatrical and his real\npart, between Miss Crawford's claims and his own conduct, between love\nand consistency, was equally unobservant; and Mrs. Norris was too busy\nin contriving and directing the general little matters of the company,\nsuperintending their various dresses with economical expedient, for\nwhich nobody thanked her, and saving, with delighted integrity, half\na crown here and there to the absent Sir Thomas, to have leisure for\nwatching the behaviour, or guarding the happiness of his daughters. Everything was now in a regular train: theatre, actors, actresses, and\ndresses, were all getting forward; but though no other great impediments\narose, Fanny found, before many days were past, that it was not all\nuninterrupted enjoyment to the party themselves, and that she had not to\nwitness the continuance of such unanimity and delight as had been almost\ntoo much for her at first. Everybody began to have their vexation. Edmund had many.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-09 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Entirely against _his_ judgment, a scene-painter\narrived from town, and was at work, much to the increase of the\nexpenses, and, what was worse, of the eclat of their proceedings; and\nhis brother, instead of being really guided by him as to the privacy of\nthe representation, was giving an invitation to every family who came\nin his way. Tom himself began to fret over the scene-painter's slow\nprogress, and to feel the miseries of waiting. He had learned his\npart--all his parts, for he took every trifling one that could be united\nwith the Butler, and began to be impatient to be acting; and every day\nthus unemployed was tending to increase his sense of the insignificance\nof all his parts together, and make him more ready to regret that some\nother play had not been chosen. Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and often the only\nlistener at hand, came in for the complaints and the distresses of\nmost of them. _She_ knew that Mr. Yates was in general thought to rant\ndreadfully; that Mr. Yates was disappointed in Henry Crawford; that\nTom Bertram spoke so quick he would be unintelligible; that Mrs. Grant\nspoiled everything by laughing; that Edmund was behindhand with his\npart, and that it was misery to have anything to do with Mr. Rushworth,\nwho was wanting a prompter through every speech. She knew, also, that\npoor Mr. Rushworth could seldom get anybody to rehearse with him: _his_\ncomplaint came before her as well as the rest; and so decided to her\neye was her cousin Maria's avoidance of him, and so needlessly often the\nrehearsal of the first scene between her and Mr. Crawford, that she had\nsoon all the terror of other complaints from _him_. So far from being\nall satisfied and all enjoying, she found everybody requiring something\nthey had not, and giving occasion of discontent to the others. Everybody\nhad a part either too long or too short; nobody would attend as they\nought; nobody would remember on which side they were to come in; nobody\nbut the complainer would observe any directions. Fanny believed herself to derive as much innocent enjoyment from the\nplay as any of them; Henry Crawford acted well, and it was a pleasure to\n_her_ to creep into the theatre, and attend the rehearsal of the first\nact, in spite of the feelings it excited in some speeches for Maria. Maria, she also thought, acted well, too well; and after the first\nrehearsal or two, Fanny began to be their only audience; and sometimes\nas prompter, sometimes as spectator, was often very useful. As far as\nshe could judge, Mr. Crawford was considerably the best actor of all: he\nhad more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than Tom, more talent and\ntaste than Mr. Yates. She did not like him as a man, but she must admit\nhim to be the best actor, and on this point there were not many who\ndiffered from her. Mr. Yates, indeed, exclaimed against his tameness and\ninsipidity; and the day came at last, when Mr. Rushworth turned to her\nwith a black look, and said, \"Do you think there is anything so very\nfine in all this? For the life and soul of me, I cannot admire him; and,\nbetween ourselves, to see such an undersized, little, mean-looking man,\nset up for a fine actor, is very ridiculous in my opinion.\" From this moment there was a return of his former jealousy, which Maria,\nfrom increasing hopes of Crawford, was at little pains to remove; and\nthe chances of Mr. Rushworth's ever attaining to the knowledge of his\ntwo-and-forty speeches became much less. As to his ever making anything\n_tolerable_ of them, nobody had the smallest idea of that except\nhis mother; _she_, indeed, regretted that his part was not more\nconsiderable, and deferred coming over to Mansfield till they were\nforward enough in their rehearsal to comprehend all his scenes; but the\nothers aspired at nothing beyond his remembering the catchword, and the\nfirst line of his speech, and being able to follow the prompter through\nthe rest. Fanny, in her pity and kindheartedness, was at great pains to\nteach him how to learn, giving him all the helps and directions in her\npower, trying to make an artificial memory for him, and learning every\nword of his part herself, but without his being much the forwarder. Many uncomfortable, anxious, apprehensive feelings she certainly had;\nbut with all these, and other claims on her time and attention, she was\nas far from finding herself without employment or utility amongst them,\nas without a companion in uneasiness; quite as far from having no\ndemand on her leisure as on her compassion. The gloom of her first\nanticipations was proved to have been unfounded. She was occasionally\nuseful 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\nhelp was wanted; and that Mrs. Norris thought her quite as well off\nas the rest, was evident by the manner in which she claimed it--\"Come,\nFanny,\" she cried, \"these are fine times for you, but you must not be\nalways walking from one room to the other, and doing the lookings-on at\nyour ease, in this way; I want you here. I have been slaving myself till\nI can hardly stand, to contrive Mr. Rushworth's cloak without sending\nfor any more satin; and now I think you may give me your help in putting\nit together. There are but three seams; you may do them in a trice. It\nwould be lucky for me if I had nothing but the executive part to do. _You_ are best off, I can tell you: but if nobody did more than _you_,\nwe should not get on very fast.\" Fanny took the work very quietly, without attempting any defence; but\nher kinder aunt Bertram observed on her behalf--\n\n\"One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny _should_ be delighted: it is\nall new to her, you know; you and I used to be very fond of a play\nourselves, and so am I still; and as soon as I am a little more at\nleisure, _I_ mean to look in at their rehearsals too. What is the play\nabout, Fanny? you have never told me.\" \"Oh! sister, pray do not ask her now; for Fanny is not one of those who\ncan talk and work at the same time. It is about Lovers' Vows.\" \"I believe,\" said Fanny to her aunt Bertram, \"there will be three acts\nrehearsed to-morrow evening, and that will give you an opportunity of\nseeing all the actors at once.\" \"You had better stay till the curtain is hung,\" interposed Mrs. Norris;\n\"the curtain will be hung in a day or two--there is very little sense in\na play without a curtain--and I am much mistaken if you do not find it\ndraw up into very handsome festoons.\" Lady Bertram seemed quite resigned to waiting. Fanny did not share her\naunt's composure: she thought of the morrow a great deal, for if the\nthree acts were rehearsed, Edmund and Miss Crawford would then be acting\ntogether for the first time; the third act would bring a scene between\nthem which interested her most particularly, and which she was longing\nand dreading to see how they would perform. The whole subject of it was\nlove--a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman, and very\nlittle short of a declaration of love be made by the lady. She had read and read the scene again with many painful, many wondering\nemotions, and looked forward to their representation of it as a\ncircumstance almost too interesting. She did not _believe_ they had yet\nrehearsed it, even in private. The morrow came, the plan for the evening continued, and Fanny's\nconsideration of it did not become less agitated. She worked very\ndiligently under her aunt's directions, but her diligence and her\nsilence concealed a very absent, anxious mind; and about noon she\nmade her escape with her work to the East room, that she might have no\nconcern in another, and, as she deemed it, most unnecessary rehearsal of\nthe first act, which Henry Crawford was just proposing, desirous at\nonce of having her time to herself, and of avoiding the sight of Mr.\nRushworth. A glimpse, as she passed through the hall, of the two ladies\nwalking up from the Parsonage made no change in her wish of retreat, and\nshe worked and meditated in the East room, undisturbed, for a quarter of\nan hour, when a gentle tap at the door was followed by the entrance of\nMiss Crawford. \"Am I right? Yes; this is the East room. My dear Miss Price, I beg your\npardon, but I have made my way to you on purpose to entreat your help.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-09, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Fanny, quite surprised, endeavoured to shew herself mistress of the room\nby her civilities, and looked at the bright bars of her empty grate with\nconcern. \"Thank you; I am quite warm, very warm. Allow me to stay here a little\nwhile, and do have the goodness to hear me my third act. I have brought\nmy book, and if you would but rehearse it with me, I should be _so_\nobliged! I came here to-day intending to rehearse it with Edmund--by\nourselves--against the evening, but he is not in the way; and if he\n_were_, I do not think I could go through it with _him_, till I have\nhardened myself a little; for really there is a speech or two. You will\nbe so good, won't you?\" Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she could not give them\nin a very steady voice. \"Have you ever happened to look at the part I mean?\" continued Miss\nCrawford, opening her book. \"Here it is. I did not think much of it at\nfirst--but, upon my word. There, look at _that_ speech, and _that_, and\n_that_. How am I ever to look him in the face and say such things? Could\nyou do it? But then he is your cousin, which makes all the difference. You must rehearse it with me, that I may fancy _you_ him, and get on by\ndegrees. You _have_ a look of _his_ sometimes.\" \"Have I? I will do my best with the greatest readiness; but I must\n_read_ the part, for I can say very little of it.\" \"_None_ of it, I suppose. You are to have the book, of course. Now for\nit. We must have two chairs at hand for you to bring forward to the\nfront of the stage. There--very good school-room chairs, not made for a\ntheatre, I dare say; much more fitted for little girls to sit and kick\ntheir feet against when they are learning a lesson. What would your\ngoverness and your uncle say to see them used for such a purpose? Could\nSir Thomas look in upon us just now, he would bless himself, for we\nare rehearsing all over the house. Yates is storming away in the\ndining-room. I heard him as I came upstairs, and the theatre is engaged\nof course by those indefatigable rehearsers, Agatha and Frederick. If\n_they_ are not perfect, I _shall_ be surprised. By the bye, I looked in\nupon them five minutes ago, and it happened to be exactly at one of the\ntimes when they were trying _not_ to embrace, and Mr. Rushworth was with\nme. I thought he began to look a little queer, so I turned it off as\nwell as I could, by whispering to him, 'We shall have an excellent\nAgatha; there is something so _maternal_ in her manner, so completely\n_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 feeling which the\nidea of representing Edmund was so strongly calculated to inspire; but\nwith looks and voice so truly feminine as to be no very good picture of\na man. With such an Anhalt, however, Miss Crawford had courage enough;\nand they had got through half the scene, when a tap at the door brought\na pause, and the entrance of Edmund, the next moment, suspended it all. Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure appeared in each of the three\non this unexpected meeting; and as Edmund was come on the very same\nbusiness that had brought Miss Crawford, consciousness and pleasure were\nlikely to be more than momentary in _them_. He too had his book, and was\nseeking Fanny, to ask her to rehearse with him, and help him to prepare\nfor the evening, without knowing Miss Crawford to be in the house;\nand great was the joy and animation of being thus thrown together, of\ncomparing schemes, and sympathising in praise of Fanny's kind offices. _She_ could not equal them in their warmth. _Her_ spirits sank under the\nglow of theirs, and she felt herself becoming too nearly nothing to\nboth to have any comfort in having been sought by either. They must now\nrehearse together. Edmund proposed, urged, entreated it, till the lady,\nnot very unwilling at first, could refuse no longer, and Fanny was\nwanted only to prompt and observe them. She was invested, indeed, with\nthe office of judge and critic, and earnestly desired to exercise it and\ntell them all their faults; but from doing so every feeling within her\nshrank--she could not, would not, dared not attempt it: had she been\notherwise qualified for criticism, her conscience must have restrained\nher from venturing at disapprobation. She believed herself to feel too\nmuch of it in the aggregate for honesty or safety in particulars. To\nprompt them must be enough for her; and it was sometimes _more_ than\nenough; for she could not always pay attention to the book. In watching\nthem she forgot herself; and, agitated by the increasing spirit of\nEdmund's manner, had once closed the page and turned away exactly as he\nwanted help. It was imputed to very reasonable weariness, and she was\nthanked and pitied; but she deserved their pity more than she hoped they\nwould ever surmise. At last the scene was over, and Fanny forced herself\nto add her praise to the compliments each was giving the other; and when\nagain alone and able to recall the whole, she was inclined to believe\ntheir performance would, indeed, have such nature and feeling in it as\nmust ensure their credit, and make it a very suffering exhibition to\nherself. Whatever might be its effect, however, she must stand the brunt\nof it again that very day. The first regular rehearsal of the three first acts was certainly to\ntake place in the evening: Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords were engaged to\nreturn for that purpose as soon as they could after dinner; and every\none concerned was looking forward with eagerness. There seemed a general\ndiffusion of cheerfulness on the occasion. Tom was enjoying such an\nadvance towards the end; Edmund was in spirits from the morning's\nrehearsal, and little vexations seemed everywhere smoothed away. All\nwere alert and impatient; the ladies moved soon, the gentlemen soon\nfollowed them, and with the exception of Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, and\nJulia, everybody was in the theatre at an early hour; and having lighted\nit up as well as its unfinished state admitted, were waiting only the\narrival of Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords to begin. They did not wait long for the Crawfords, but there was no Mrs. Grant. She could not come. Dr. Grant, professing an indisposition, for which he\nhad little credit with his fair sister-in-law, could not spare his wife. \"Dr. Grant is ill,\" said she, with mock solemnity. \"He has been ill ever\nsince he did not eat any of the pheasant today. He fancied it tough,\nsent away his plate, and has been suffering ever since\". Here was disappointment! Mrs. Grant's non-attendance was sad indeed. Her pleasant manners and cheerful conformity made her always valuable\namongst them; but _now_ she was absolutely necessary. They could not\nact, they could not rehearse with any satisfaction without her. The\ncomfort of the whole evening was destroyed. What was to be done? Tom, as\nCottager, was in despair. After a pause of perplexity, some eyes began\nto be turned towards Fanny, and a voice or two to say, \"If Miss Price\nwould be so good as to _read_ the part.\" She was immediately surrounded\nby supplications; everybody asked it; even Edmund said, \"Do, Fanny, if\nit is not _very_ disagreeable to you.\" But Fanny still hung back. She could not endure the idea of it. Why was\nnot Miss Crawford to be applied to as well? Or why had not she rather\ngone to her own room, as she had felt to be safest, instead of attending\nthe rehearsal at all? She had known it would irritate and distress her;\nshe had known it her duty to keep away. She was properly punished. \"You have only to _read_ the part,\" said Henry Crawford, with renewed\nentreaty. \"And I do believe she can say every word of it,\" added Maria, \"for she\ncould put Mrs. Grant right the other day in twenty places. Fanny, I am\nsure you know the part.\" Fanny could not say she did _not_; and as they all persevered, as\nEdmund repeated his wish, and with a look of even fond dependence on\nher good-nature, she must yield. She would do her best.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-14 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Everybody was\nsatisfied; and she was left to the tremors of a most palpitating heart,\nwhile the others prepared to begin. They _did_ begin; and being too much engaged in their own noise to be\nstruck by an unusual noise in the other part of the house, had proceeded\nsome way when the door of the room was thrown open, and Julia, appearing\nat it, with a face all aghast, exclaimed, \"My father is come! He is in\nthe hall at this moment.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-14, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-14", "answer": "Fanny, Tom, Mrs. Norris, Edmund, Mary Crawford, Mrs. Grant, Maria, Henry, Rushworth, Julia, Sir Thomas, old nursery, parsonage, play rehearsal, dress rehearsal, acting coach, confidant, emotional strain, engagement, declarations of love, outsider, neighbor, gossip, complaints, rehearsal partner, sick husband, authority, common sense, arrival of Sir Thomas, Maria and Henry's interest, Mary saves Fanny, Rushworth's ineptitude, Edmund's decision, Fanny's reluctance, Mary criticizes Maria, pressure to participate, Fanny yields, Julia's news"}]