by Priya Parmar
In the audience: the dashing Prince Rupert (in a pink lutestring coat with silver lace), seen tête-à-tête avec clever Dickie Rider, the master builder of the theatre. In the centre box was the Great Mrs. Hester Davenport, old Roxelana herself (peach taffeta—rather too many ruffles, I felt); and tucked in a corner box was crafty Will Davenant, rival manager of the Duke’s Company (in his habitual black silk kerchief and low-brimmed chapeau —surveying the competition, no doubt). Tommy Killigrew, beware!
À bientôt, dearests,
Ever your eyes and ears,
Ambrose Pink, Esq.
Saturday, May 23—Theatre Royal (rainy)
Titania, Bottom, Helena, Demetrius, Hermia, Lysander, Oberon, Puck. Act One: Enchanted Forest. Act Two: Titania’s Bower. These words are beautiful.
PALAIS ROYAL, PARIS
TO MY BROTHER, KING CHARLES II D’ ANGLETERRE
FROM PRINCESSE HENRIETTE-ANNE, DUCHESSE D’ ORLÉANS, THE MADAME OF FRANCE
29 MAI 1663
My dearest,
For shame, my darling. I know that you have been “supplementing” your wife’s English lessons, for there are several filthy words that your queen included in her last letter that could have only come from you. That is terrible, Charles, to teach her such things and not tell her what they mean. However much it amuses you, you must correct this!
Bon anniversaire, my dear!
Je t’embrasse,
Henriette-Anne
Note—The doctors say I am in good health.
Saturday, May 30 (Midsummer Night’s Dream)
Tonight, just before the audience came in, Peg Hughes, in her costume as the honest fairy Puck (deep green hose, moss-green tunic, pale golden wings), came out from the tiring rooms and, leaning down from the stage, bought an orange from me. Meg saw it and refunded the money immediately—actors, actresses, and Mr. Killigrew get complimentary fruit. Always. A terrible mistake I shall not make again. Still, we spoke for a few minutes, and then Mr. Booth hurried her away for places.
PALAIS ROYAL, PARIS
ÀMON FRÈRE, KING CHARLES II D’ ANGLETERRE
FROM PRINCESSE HENRIETTE-ANNE, DUCHESSE D’ ORLÉANS, THE MADAME OF FRANCE
3 JUIN 1663
My dear,
Have you listened to none of my admonishments, and not only added Lady Castlemaine to your queen’s household but also moved her apartments closer to your own? I was given to understand that her apartments faced the street on the other side of the Privy Garden from your own. Are they now adjoining? Mon Dieu! I know you care for your new wife’s feelings. Would you treat her as Philippe treats me? He is forever parading his young men before me.
With my love,
Henriette-Anne
Tuesday—Theatre Royal (hot and sticky and smelly)
So, what I know:
The Actors
Charles Hart and John Lacy: the two great leads. Hart, a man hung on an enormous frame, with thickly waved brown hair (although he often wears a periwig), has a booming voice and says he is the great nephew of Shakespeare—but then everybody says that. Lacy, a surprisingly nimble, bluff Yorkshire man was trained as a dancer before the war and never keeps still.
Theophilus (Theo) Bird and Edward (Teddy) Kynaston: before the war, both trained in the old style to play the female parts, although Theo, with his great drifts of snowy hair, must be at least sixty and so trained a half century ago. Theo is married to comely Anne, the actor and manager Will Beeston’s daughter, and she is forever patching everyone’s costumes and blacking their boots. Teddy is delicately featured, sweet-tempered, and very fond of Theo.
Nicholas (Nick) Burt: also trained to play ladies but plays the hero very well (a good thing, since he is well over six feet high). He is pleased that King Charles has brought height back into fashion.
Michael Mohun: also a leading man but smaller and somewhat owlish. He is married to Theo’s daughter Eliza.
Robert (Rob) Shatterell: lives quite close to us in Playhouse Yard.
William Cartwright: haven’t met him yet.
The Actresses
Mrs. Ann (Nan) Marshall and Mrs. Rebecca (Becka) Marshall: sisters. Becka is the elder. Apparently, they are the daughters of a Presbyterian minister. One would never guess with their lewd talk and constant flirting. They are neither subtle nor pretty enough to make it endearing.
Mrs. Elizabeth Weaver: the eldest of the women. She takes pains to hide her enormous hands and feet.
Mrs. Elizabeth (Lizzie) Knep: small and bird-like. Teddy says she has a risqué past, but I have yet to see evidence of it. She does have an invalid husband who is always gambling away her money.
Mrs. Kathleen (Kitty) Mitchell: pretty brunette with a sweet disposition and a fine actress (specialising in doomed heroines) but softly spoken and impossible to hear beyond the pit.
Mrs. Margaret (Peg) Hughes: direct, popular, bright, and full of fun. And, they say, the first woman to act upon the stage—Desdemona.
Later
This afternoon, Peg and Teddy heard me on the stairs and called me in to join them in the tiring room. Teddy was having trouble fixing his wig (he swears his head is too small to carry off a man’s wig, but I thought he looked splendid), and Peg needed me to help lace her into her silk wings. I did my best to appear nonchalant, but in truth I was delighted. Everything about their world fascinates me.
Note—Peg loved the new way I tied her wings (crossed over in the back with a bow) and has asked me to help her dress again tomorrow!
When I Glimpse Grandeur
June 7, 1663 (Whitsunday)
In the tiring rooms:
Theo, who tried to sit quietly while Teddy painted his face with Venetian ceruse, announced, “The queen is with child.” Teddy heralded his announcement with trumpet noises and ended up spitting on Lizzie.
Kitty, applying more crayon bleu to her eyelids, looked up and said, “Maybe now she will settle in and stop being so … so … foreign.”
“She is foreign,” said Theo, trying not to laugh and crack his face. Teddy gave him a stern look. “It’s not her fault. But she does seem to be adjusting. Still no ale but at least she has changed her dreadful hair.”
“Is it true?” asked Kitty, outlining the delicate veins on her bosom. “What he said when he saw her?” She turned to me. “Too much?”
“Maybe overdone just here,” I offered, wiping the harsh blue stripe off her throat—Kitty’s eyesight is not good. “What who said when he saw her?”
Teddy reached for a fresh pot. “Ugh, you don’t know? Bonnie Charlie. He said that instead of a beauty they had brought him a bat. Theo, honestly, if you don’t sit still, I will leave you to do this on your own, and then where will you be?”
“No! He didn’t! Because her hair…”
Theo, between clenched teeth, said, “Well, when she first arrived it did look like she might—”
“Take flight?” Teddy quipped, flapping his brushes in the air like great bat wings and getting powder on Lizzie. “Someone has had a word with her, thank goodness. She is wearing it à la négligence now—very chic.”
“Bravo, Braganza!” Theo cried without moving his lips.
“And now she will have a baby,” I said, handing Teddy Theo’s wig and taking up my basket. “She must be so relieved.”
Teddy licked his thumb and pasted the wig to Theo’s head. “Oh, I think it is more than relief. I think she’s in love.”
Lady’s Household Companion
A Complete Guide to an Englishwoman’s Home
Venetian Ceruse
For a suitably pale complexion: Take a stone mortar and grind white chalk or white lead into a fine powder.
Mix in white of egg and a cup of vinegar until it becomes a thick paste.
Scrape face clean or not and apply generously.
Reminder: Do not smile or laugh to protect the creaseless finish.
Friday, June 12 (The Committee still on)
This morning, before the audience came in, Lacy was
on the stage trying to teach Peg La Duchesse, the latest dance in London—French, of course. Lacy says it is magnifique! Peg says it is impossible. She has such trouble, being left-handed, and kept turning the wrong way at the top of the figure, but Lacy was patience itself. Teddy and Theo joined in. Teddy took the lady’s part (he prefers the ladies’ parts—more twirling) and then called me up to make up the set with Nick Burt. My pinned skirts felt patched and shabby next to their starchy silks, and my boots were too heavy for dancing, but I leapt onto the stage anyway. Meg and Lil thumped out the rhythm from the pit. Da, dum, dum, da, dum, dum and demi jeté and change.
“Do it barefoot, Ellen!” Teddy called from stage right. “You cannot pas de bourrée in boots.”
Although I did not know the steps, I watched closely and caught on quickly, and in the end Lacy used Nick and me to demonstrate the proper form. We would have been magnifique, too, if we hadn’t collapsed into giggles.
Saturday, June 13 (first performance of The Faithful Shepherdess)
Theatre has been in an uproar all the morning as they put together the new scenery for Shepherdess. Mr. Rider, the master builder, was in, directing the mayhem and showing the managers how to work the new machinery (very expensive and very noisy) to drop the flats from above. It is all very modern, and the flats are huge although not quite dry. I caught Mr. Fuller touching up the last of the fluffy sheep just before the doors opened.
Note—The queen is not with child. She was mistaken. How sad.
Wednesday, July 1, 1663
Excitement in the house tonight: at the end of the first act of Othello, Lady Castlemaine in a watered crimson silk gown and tall Frances Stuart—she is a giant of a woman—slipped into the royal box. The ladies in the pit were pulling off their visors, the latest fashion, to get a better look at la belle Stuart. She is said to be the most beautiful woman in Europe. The king was not with them, but the audience still shouted for the play to start over. What a bore. That put us an hour behind.
Afterwards we went off to the Bear for supper. I tried to hide my excitement at the invitation. Usually Meg’s girls do not join the actors after the performance. The cast still do not know their lines as apparently they haven’t done Othello for a year and a half. They ran the words all through the meal as is their custom but still managed to carry on a conversation as well—confusing. All the non-Othello talk was of Castlemaine and her young rival—la belle Stuart.
Theo (Iago) pulled off a piece of the crusted farm bread and said, “Apparently, they arrived in the new light calèche that the king has given Frances Stuart. Becka saw it pull up.”
Teddy, taking the jam and butter away from Theo (he is encouraging Theo to lose some weight), said, “Mmm, I saw it, dark green and ebony, very chic.”
Nick (Cassio), piling his plate with pasty, and chicken, and stew, and bread, and jam, and butter, said, “Clever Stuart kept the coach but refused the king!”
Peg (Emilia), drinking only coffee, offered thoughtfully, “That’s the way to do it, I reckon. Be the only one to say no. It’ll drive him mad. He will offer her anything.”
Teddy ordered a dish of roast carp, a fruit tart, and a mug of raspberry sack for me, and a huge slice of iced nutmeg cake for himself. He has a terrible sweet tooth.
“Eat,” he commanded. The company also think I am too thin, although my bodice size has increased since winter. Rose measures me at least once a week.
Monday—Drury Lane
Half an inch! Rose has begun to sew me a new gown of pool-blue linen and is saving the stiff bodice for last—just in case my size should continue to improve. Heigh-ho.
HAMPTON COURT, ENGLAND
TO OUR DEAR SISTER, THE MADAME OF FRANCE, PRINCESSE HENRIETTE-ANNE, DUCHESSE D’ ORLÉANS
FROM KING CHARLES II
JULY 5, 1663
How sharp you are, my dear. Yes, Lady Castlemaine’s apartments have moved, but then so have some of my own (or they will as soon as the renovation is complete). The nurseries were just too far for me to see the children as often as I like. My bedchamber is moving to the river-front adjoining the queen’s apartments—unfortunately, that puts Catherine between my bedchamber and Lady Castlemaine’s, but Catherine is a sound sleeper. You see, I am not so unkind as you believe. I do worry that the sound of my children would upset Catherine, but she is making a sincere effort to befriend them. My wife sends for me just now to dance, so I must end and can only add that I am entirely your
Affectionately,
Charles
July 10, 1663—Drury Lane
Drat. I missed the excitement. I took my half-day on Wednesday, and naturally on that day the king and his bosom friend, the known rakehell George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, attended the early performance. Teddy reported that the king wore lavish lace cuffs, a long, narrow rhubarb-pink-striped waistcoat, high-heeled court shoes with wired grosgrain ribbon (quel glamour—Teddy swooned), and a knee-length embroidered surcoat, which he removed immediately and slung on the back of a chair. The king’s hose were true white, Teddy was careful to mention—Teddy is very particular about hose. The king’s thick black hair hung in long ropey curls, and he laughed loudly and freely. In the second act, Lady Castlemaine joined them in the royal box. Kitty reported that she wore an overly garish sunset-orange taffeta gown embroidered with gold thread, sat on the king’s knee, and twisted her fingers through said ropes of hair. Theo says that the performance lasted an additional two hours on account of the royal visitors. He also said that Castlemaine and Buckingham are cousins … close cousins. Does that mean…?
Later—Drury Lane (raining)
Improvement! Rose is letting out the new bodice a bit more—just in case. Tried some of Peg’s rice powder this evening—awful. I looked as if I had fallen face-down in a flour vat.
When We Suffer a Terrible Rumpus
July 20, 1663—Official Notations for Privy Council Meeting on This Day to Be Entered into the Log-book
Notations taken by Secretary of State Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington
Insufficient business was conducted this morning. The Privy Council held discourse on only items one and two of our eleven-item memorandum. The excluded nine items will be herewith attached to tomorrow’s (July 21, 1663) meeting, thus greatly increasing that day’s business. His Royal Majesty was much involved in writing small notes to the Lord Chancellor, Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, on the matter of his journey to Tunbridge Wells. For the purposes of record I obtained the notes, and they are contained herein:
Lord Chancellor: I suppose you will go with only a light train?
His Royal Majesty: I intend to take nothing but my night bag.
Lord Chancellor: Yet you will not go without forty or fifty horses?
His Royal Majesty: I count that as part of my night bag.
Nothing further to report.
Secretary of State Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington
July 25, 1663 (hot!)
The excitement is over. The season is done. The king and queen and Castlemaine and la belle Stuart, and the rest of the court have deserted London for Tunbridge Wells. Elizabeth, ever discreet, says the queen is eager to take the restorative waters there to benefit her health. Becka, never discreet, says she is going there to cure her difficulty. In Romeo and Juliet rehearsals this morning—the fight scene:
Lacy, choreographing the fight, said breathlessly, “I’ll bet the king can cure her difficulty. What is he up to now? Five? Six bastards? How old is Jemmy Monmouth now? Thirteen? Oh, I need to sit a minute.” He thumped heavily onto Juliet’s prop bed—too heavily, as the lightly constructed bed creaked loudly.
Peg, forgetting her cue and letting her sword drop with a bang, said, “Well, it’s not her fault. The king has to actually spend time in her bed to cure that difficulty. Yes, yes, I know, En garde!”
Teddy lay on the stage and fanned himself with his script. “Perhaps she does not quite know what is supposed to happen? After all, in that prissy Catholic country, who would have
told her? Lacy, I’m not sure you are meant to recline on that bed.”
Nick, who was practicing his footwork downstage, chipped in, “Castlemaine’s in a delicate way all the time; perhaps she could give her some pointers? Is it left, parry, left, or the other way round?”
“The other way round,” Lacy called without sitting up.
“Well, we certainly know that it is not the king who has a difficulty,” Teddy said, blowing out his cheeks and turning to watch the scene. “My God, this heat! Left! The other left, Peg!”
Peg, turning the wrong way, missed her mark again.