Theatrickal matters

I am sitting at my pretty desk being most dutifull about correspondence on philanthropick matters, and feeling somewhat sick, for this e’en will see the first performance of The Fateful Philtre - sure, why do I suppose I can write plays? I had been distract’d by our private comedy and the mysterious death of Foliott Fanshawe, but now there is nothing to keep me from the frets.

Hector shows in Mrs N-, that comes over, kisses me very warm, and says I look a little ill.

O, 'tis nothing, says I, a passing qualmishness.

She gives me a quick scrutiny to see whether I show any signs of being with child, which would most certain add to the stories that go around concerning Milord and myself: most like that I had play’d that card to win him back.

No, really, says I, not that, indeed, I go on to quite entirely allay her suspicion, 'tis because I have quite entire proof positive to the contrary.

Comes in Celeste with coffee and biscuits.

Mrs N- says she will not stop long, she confides that dear Mr J- would greatly desire the company of one that is not an actor in a new play that opens this e’en and running around in hystericks.

I confide that you are quite right, says I. And how go Mr N-'s German lessons?

Oh, most exceeding well, and do you know, my dear, Fraulein H- open’d to him herself her concerns that Herr F- is no longer invit’d to perform at Lady J-'s musicales and elsewhere where she is known to have interest, and if he knew was there anything behind. Which gave him quite the perfect opportunity to disclose the very general on-dit about Herr F-'s coarse habits. She took tea with me after, very shockt, and askt me, and I said it was indeed put about very widely, 'twas not a case of just one lady that mayhap had been spurn’d and took vengeance. And she lookt most thoughtfull.

I wonder, says I, whether he has been about trying her own chastity, with pleas of the long time they must wait until marriage, the nature of manly needs &C.

I daresay, the low fellow. And would probable give her the go-by did she find herself with child.

Of a certainty!

But, she goes on, the matter all talk of is this sad case of Foliott Fanshawe.

Indeed, says I, what is being given out about it?

Oh, 'tis discover’d that the drunken fribble was about fashioning some new style of cravat, whilst very much in his cups, and one end of the cloth got caught up on a nail, and he was chok’d before he could release himself.

(This tale is not much to his credit, but I confide 'tis still quite preferable to the truth.)

Sure he dy’d for fashion, says I. He was ever hoping to make a name for himself as a leader of the dandy-set.

We look at one another and compose our expressions into complete sobriety. Well, says she, I must go about soothing my poor Mr J-. He says sure 'twould be a less fretsome business putting on a play did one not have to deal with actors.

That is very true, say I.

After she has gone I turn myself once more to philanthropick business with such determination that I find myself quite completely caught up, with naught to distract my mind from impending doom. Rather than give myself over to pacing up and down and wringing my hands, I mind that it would excellent good exercise for Jezebel were I to go ride in the Park a little.

Tho’ she is such a sweet-natur’d creature, that I do not suppose that I could bring her about to set off in a wild gallop and throw me with the effect of such injury as I could not possibly go out this e’en.

I encounter Danvers D-, who remarks shocking thing concerning the news of Foliott Fanshawe, and then goes on to ask in worry’d tones do I know why a lady would throw a hair-brush at him?

I confide, says I, that the lady is an actress approaching the first night of a new play in which she plays an important part, and sure, you were lucky 'twas only a hairbrush.

Oh, says he, but surely she will be a great success?

'Tis the theatre, I reply, they are a most superstitious lot and will not count their chickens before the final curtain. I add that 'tis nothing personal and I daresay her dresser could tell like stories.

Danvers D- looks somewhat less concern’d over the matter and asks do I go to the play myself?

O yes, says I, Lord G- R- has invit’d me to join the party in his box.

Ah, he says, he has heard that His Lordship invites the F-s tonight. Sure they are become people one must know.

Indeed, says I, they are being most generally welcom’d in Society.

He lifts his hat and takes his leave. I turn towards home.

Docket tells me somewhat tart as she furbishes me up that I am not the poor French Queen going to execution. I sigh. Mayhap a little rouge? I say in pathetick tones.

Your Ladyship does not require rouge, she says.

Sure I am not mistress in my own household.

Euphemia has provid’d the usual pique-nique basket for me to take: Hector had desired me to see if I could obtain passes for them and they are already gone. Timothy lifts it into the carriage and takes his own place above.

Sure I feel exceeding sick but I daresay the rest of the party will relish the pique-nique even do they have a similar basket prepar’d by Seraphine.

I tell myself that at least none apart from those few that know already will know that Lady B- is the author of that dreadfull play.

When I arrive at the theatre the rest of them are already in the box: Milord, that kisses my hand very ostentatious, my darlings, Bess, that can hardly sit still for excitement, Miss N-, that is also in a state of excit’d anticipation, tho’ I confide she will not find the play very edifying, and Mr L- has also been invit’d. He greets me very civil and ask have I been about any more travels of late?

Oh no, say I, I have been a sad home-keeping creature latterly.

I look about the theatre. Lady J- has a party in the M- box, which includes a heavily-veil’d lady almost hidden in the shadows, that I confide is Viola. The Contessa has taken a box, and waves to me gaily. In the audience I see Mr and Mr N-, as usual next to Mr P- and Mrs O’C-. I am sure Sandy is somewhere about but I do not see him.

O, I feel so sick, did I not think it would cause comment I would be taking my smelling-bottle out of my reticule.

I feel a foot nudge against mine. 'Tis my dear wild girl Eliza, and sure I wish I could take her hand as we wait for the curtain to rise.

As the curtain rises I close my eyes and wish I could contrive some plausible reason for fainting.

The actors speak the lines exceeding well and as if they made sense. I ope my eyes a little and see that there is a very fine set that represents a gaming-room at a spaw. Sure, I think, it all looks very well.

Enters Miss R- as the gamester –

O, I can feel that the audience is responding, perchance 'twill not be an utter disaster.

By the end of the first act I confide that they are quite eating it up: sure Mr W- is showing most exceeding well as the experimental chymist. And Miss A- as the haughty noblewoman is quite a revelation.

I feel myself quite able to take a glass of wine and nibble on one of Seraphine’s currie-puffs, for the play has not been laught off the stage, and nothing has been thrown to demonstrate disapproval. But sure there is a way yet to go.

Bess is render’d almost speechless with delight, while Miss N- quite squeeks with excitement. Sure, she remarks, the science of chymistry cannot contrive to such a thing, but 'tis a very happy dramatick invention and recalls Shakspeare. Mr L- remarks that one never sees such fine strong acting in their parts – an occasional troupe of barnstormers.

O Papa, cries Bess, did one build a theatre -

I confide, says Josiah, that 'tis not the building that would pose any difficulty, it would be persuading a fine company to venture into the provinces.

Sure, says I, there are some quite well-spoke of provincial companies, and the leading London companies will oft-times tour. Do they have a fine theatre to perform in, and the promise of a good audience, I am like to fancy the thing might come about.

The curtain rises once more.

O, if one may call it a triumph, sure 'tis entirely due to the excellence of the actors and the exceeding fine scenery and effects, rather than any poor words of mine.

After the play, Lady J- holds her wont’d reception for Miss A-, tho’ because of the mourning at M- House, in a large private room at M. Duval’s eating house. Indeed I overhear many praises of the play, but one must wait to see how the criticks receive it.