Mansfield Park, ch. 15: Under Pressure

Credit to Darya Shnykina. That's Lady Bertram
in the foreground. Behind her is Mrs. Norris,
and yes, she is judging you.

Lots of threads to keep track of all of a sudden. To recap: Tom is drunk with power, Maria and Julia have all but declared war thanks to Henry Crawford’s blatant flirtation, Mr. Yates (brand new family friend) and younger bro Edmund are playing shoulder devil and -angel to Tom, and Fanny …. Well, Fanny’s just kind of keeping out of everyone’s way.

But that’s about to change.

First, a kind of warning: This chapter beats on my emotions like a weed-wacker. In this very methodical Mansfield Park journey, I am trying to see the story from all angles and consider the value and weight of different perspectives. But I think it’s obvious when I … struggle with that idea. And this is going to be one of those times.

Even with Mary Crawford and Mr. Rushworth now officially involved (Austen has Rushworth voluntarily choosing to play the fool, yikes), Edmund is trying his best to dissuade his siblings from acting. He plays on Maria’s ego, but Maria demurs, not wanting to be a party-pooper. Mrs. Norris says that they can’t stop preparations now that they’ve spent so much money, and anyway Mr. Rushworth is joining them, which I guess makes it official for her? I think she’s implying that Rushworth’s involvement makes the acting a proper endeavor, and therefore it would be improper if they tell him that the play must be cancelled.

Then she launches into an anecdote about how she caught a servant’s kid in the supposed act of  stealing some leftover lumber. I mention this because, although the average modern reader wouldn't know the specific rules about what servants owed to/received from their employers, it’s a pretty good rule of thumb that when Mrs. Norris is triumphant about something, it’s a really trivial thing. And I think this is a nice metaphor for how she treats Fanny: She refuses to give Fanny even the little things that she may be owed, the things (like lumber for a servant’s family) that Sir Thomas wouldn’t mind Fanny having. Mrs. Norris takes Fanny’s time, energy, and self-esteem because she is convinced it is her duty to keep Fanny in line. In her eyes, Fanny might as well be a servant.

Later that evening, the Crawford siblings arrive to give the Bertrams and Yates a jolt of energy. Mary begins by slyly ascertaining that Edmund isn’t part of the acting troupe. Yates wants Tom to ask Edmund to play the role of Anhalt (the chaplain), and Tom is a little snot about it. Mary eventually winds her way over to Edmund and his trusty sidekick and needles him about taking the part. His very definite response: “It must be very difficult to keep Anhalt from appearing a formal, solemn lecturer; and the man who chuses the profession itself is, perhaps, one of the last who would wish to represent it on the stage.”

Mary is super not happy about this, and promptly ignores him in favor of Mrs. Norris. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Mary.

Then Tom asks for Fanny’s help. She’s “expecting some errand; for the habit of employing her in that way was not yet overcome, in spite of all that Edmund could do.” (Side note: that is legitimately tragic and speaks to years of psychological damage.) But instead, Tom wants her to take a small role in the play. Terrified, she immediately says no. And get this: she calls Tom “Mr. Bertram.” Not cousin Tom, or just cousin. I mean … is this what she usually calls Tom, or is it a sign of how frightened she is in this moment? I think this is the only time she’s shown speaking to Tom in the novel.

Tom brushes aside her protests and her repeated use of the word “no.” He already has a costume in mind for the character, which means he’s on a roll. Edmund chooses to stay out of it, though he silently signals to Fanny that he’s on her side. Soon, Yates, Maria, and Henry are all pressuring her, obviously depending on her doormat personality that she’ll eventually give in.

And then Mrs. Norris goes full-shrew: “ I am quite ashamed of you, Fanny, to make such a difficulty of obliging your cousins in a trifle of this sort—so kind as they are to you!”

Kind. She thinks they’re being kind to her by pestering her to take up a role in a play, the production of which does not have Sir Thomas’s seal of approval. There are several things to dissect here. One is that I believe that Mrs. Norris believes that Tom et al really are being kind to Fanny; this is the most that they have ever come to treating her as an equal, and Mrs. Norris would think that Fanny is getting a lucky break in that respect. But at the same time, Fanny is being asked to serve them, which in Mrs. Norris’s view, would remind Fanny of her place in the Bertram household. Thirdly, Fanny would be doing something that clearly gives her no pleasure and is not something Sir Thomas (AGAIN) would approve of. And it’s not that Mrs. Norris is trying to get Fanny in trouble here. It’s that Fanny is going against the supposed authority of her wealthy cousins and Mrs. Norris herself.

Edmund interposes here to stop Mrs. Norris, but the persnickety busy-body gets in one last biting line: “I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she does not do what her aunt and cousins wish her— very ungrateful, indeed, considering who and what she is.”

I do not like Mrs. Norris. Don’t know if I’ve made that clear yet.

Mrs. Norris hits on the one quality that has defined Fanny thus far. Is Fanny being ungrateful by refusing to act? I mean, my answer is no. But for her, this raises the underlying question of how (and when) she must express her gratitude. She owes more, much more, to Sir Thomas than she does to cousin Tom. Absent Sir Thomas, whose authority must she respect? And is she supposed to follow that authority blindly, especially if it very well may go against Sir Thomas’s desires?

She doesn’t know all the answers. Which is why, instead of following orders, she responds with honesty: “I really cannot act.” She can’t pretend to be something she’s not. She can’t pretend that she has the same freedom as her cousins to act as she chooses (not that Tom’s request is presented to her as a choice). This isn’t authentic gratitude, but authentic Fanny—and she’s speaking up for maybe the first time ever.

Of course, her aunt’s sharp words still wound her, so she can’t hold back her tears. And here’s where we get another first for the novel: Mary, “almost purely governed” by her own honest core, rejects Mrs. Norris’s table and sits by Fanny, and then engages the poor girl in conversation topics that she knows will distract Fanny from her present heartache. She also shows herself to be in command by giving her brother a get-them-to-shut-up expression. Fanny is grateful (hmm ...) for Mary’s kindness, though she’s not entirely on Team Mary. Edmund is impressed with Mary and no longer upset or annoyed with her. Austen aligns us with Mary by having her find Mrs. Norris’s behavior distasteful and accomplish what most readers would wish they could do in such a situation. It’s so dastardly, but I love it! Even I’m totally on Mary’s side here.

Eventually, the Bertram Company Players decide to ask a rando to play Anhalt. Mary confesses to Fanny that she’s disappointed and admits that she will be editing some of Amelia’s and Anhalt’s lines. I think she’s hoping that Fanny will relay this to Edmund, giving the implication that she’d be happy to speak those lines with him. If flirtation by proxy is her goal (and it may not be, I might be reading too much into it), then it’s notable that her one selfless act toward Fanny ends with another that’s more self-serving.

Next time: Fanny’s much-needed alone time is interrupted by a frazzled Edmund, who is struggling with his own “almost purely good feelings.”