MRS THRUCKLE: I’m only slightly improving on what nature herself intended.
MRS BUNTY guffaws.
MRS SHEREWIN: How do you do. Mrs Thruckle, isn’t it? I am—
MRS THRUCKLE: [Cutting her] Don’t speak to me, wench!
She moves off to a dressing table and begins to paint her face at speed.
MRS BUNTY: There, there. ’Tis not the thing, for the bit parts to speak to the feature actresses, my duck. Not until you’re promoted to the company.
MRS SHEREWIN: Why I... I see.
MRS BUNTY: I’m glad you do, for the ones that don’t never last too long.
Enter a BOY.
BOY: Call for Mrs Thruckle, Mr Manners and Mrs Sop, I mean – the new girl who’s playing her parts whose name I don’t know.
MRS SHEREWIN: Mrs Bearwood.
BOY: That’s the one.
Exit BOY.
MRS SHEREWIN: Does that mean we go on?
MRS THRUCKLE: [Calling from her table] Lor’, not the brightest star in the sky, is she? I fancy we’re all done for. Prepare for a pelting, Mrs Bunty, for I can smell the cabbages from here.
Enter MR MANNERS, an actor, in dandyish dress.
MANNERS: Sweetikins! Honeypies!
He kisses BUNTY and MRS THRUCKLE effusively.
MRS THRUCKLE: Percy, you old rogue. You’re cutting it monstrous fine today.
MANNERS: I’ll admit it, you tasty wench: I’ve been up to no good. Gad, it was almost as hard to tear myself away from that one, as it is from you.
MRS THRUCKLE: Oh, you blackguard! You knave!
They lock bodies and begin passionately kissing.
MANNERS: [Breaking away] Half a mo’ – who’s the blonde?
MRS THRUCKLE: Oh, some orange-girl in a stolen dress who larks at being a widow. She’s taking Sop’s parts until we can find a real actress. You remember Sop, Percy. She used to be your mistress until you chucked her for one of Davenant’s new mopsies.
MANNERS: I haven’t the slightest notion what you mean.
They resume their passionate embraces. Enter BOY.
BOY: Last call for Mrs Thruckle, Mr Manners and the new girl who’s playing Sop’s parts whose name I don’t know. Three of the clock. Places everyone.
Exit BOY.
The voice of PARRYKIN heard offstage:
Come on then, lovies. Hear that? We’ve a full house, and The Earl of Grantby in the box. Let’s not keep them all waiting.
Exeunt MANNERS & MRS THRUCKLE.
MRS SHEREWIN: Is that it? Oh, I am all afright!
MRS BUNTY: That’s it, lovey, on you go now. Break a leg, my dear one. Lor’, ain’t ye shaking. Deep breaths now, duckling.
She pushes MRS SHEREWIN out of the door, who walks towards the stage slowly, as if in a dream. Offstage left, she stands, with her hand in her pocket.
MRS SHEREWIN: Oh Jesu, I cannot do it! Oh, sweet Father of mine, if you have ever looked down on me and helped me, let it be now! I have one shilling left in my pocket. Here it is, cold in my shaking hand. But if I do this right, I will have one more, and perhaps another. I must do it. I can do it.
She steps onto the stage. The sound of applause, whistles, hooting...
Curtain
VI
ADVANCEMENT
In which I reflect on the novelty of the playhouse
MARCH
1st
Last night I trod the boards as an
I think I spoke my part well, for I did not have too many lines, and only almost forgot myself once, for the shock of being thrust afore an audience set my blood a-churning round my body and briefly coddled my thoughts. But the audience hooted as loudly as they might and at the end I took my bows with the company, and Parrykin said he was much obliged to me, and I had made a fair job of it, but mainly, was fair enough to look on throughout, and so he was well satisfied. I can scarce note down all that I am feeling, for I could not get to sleep last night with the thrill of it all pulsing through my veins, and now I am weary and quite wrung out, with a slight sorrow that I have not a soul to tell of my triumph. But I shall shake myself down and go to the playhouse again today to speak to Mr Parrykin, for I am in hope that Mrs Sop is still unwell and they would have me for another performance.
3rd
Plucking up my courage, I tapped at the door of Mr P’s room and, hearing a sound much like snoring issuing from within, tapped a little harder, and he opened the door with his wig all askew. Our interview was short, for after he bade me come in, I asked if he might need me again in Mrs Sop’s part for tonight, and he said that she had not come again to work, and that if she did not come again the next day, he would give her her notice, for he suspected she had become a drunk, and the part would be mine.
6th
I have held my breath these three days, chary that Mrs Sop would return... but the third day has passed and she has not appeared. And so I am to have the part! Jubilations!
7th
Today I overheard Mrs Careby having a row with her paramour, she complaining that he did not visit her enough and that she was wont to throw her affections elsewhere, he growing angry and saying it was more trouble to keep an actress than it was worth. She was greatly irked to see that I had heard the whole, and went off in a great pet muttering about long-nosed wenches who did not know their place.
10th
It is all about the coffeehouses that the King is brought down very low with his latest rheum. When he walks, he uses a jewel-topped cane, and always wears a cloak lined with thickest sable, even though it is a mild spring, and he has not been seen at any playhouse these last few months.
13th
Though Parrykin is polite and tells me he is pleased enough with my work, I have had nothing but cool looks from Thruckle and Careby, for I expect they do not like a newcomer in their midst. I have heard snatches of conversation that some of the ’Tiring Room gallants are keen to look upon me, and p’raps this explains it, and so I avoid tarrying there, and go straight home again when the play is done, and set to perfecting my lines.
16th
Last night, betwixt scenes, Mr Manners sidled up to me and, slapping at my rump, asked if I would dine with him that evening for he ‘fancied some sport’ and thought that as a widow I ‘might well know my way around a nine-inch knocker’. He said this in such a brazen-faced way, I found that it made me fall to laughing and, thanking him heartily, told him I was greatly flattered, but wanted to concentrate on my part. He took this very well and, winking at me, went off whistling.
17th
The Forc'd Marriage is to be taken off due to dwindling numbers! With my heart in my throat I went again to Mr Parrykin and, in my anxiety at what I would do for coin, gabbled at him a great deal about my love of the playhouse and how I would work at whatever he would have me do. He said he would think on it and send me word.
18th
The new play is to be Tyrannick Love – I have seen the playbills pasted all about. No word from Parrykin.
20th
It has been more than a week since I begged Mr Parrykin for further employment. My meagre savings dwindling ever lower, and feeling in need of some company, I took myself for a walk into the city. Coming upon the square at Piquadillo, which was thronging as ever with people going hither and thither, I smiled to see little carts set up for fortune telling, painted all over with mystic symbols. Wondering if my luck was due to turn or nay, I called out ‘Ho!’ and passed through the curtained opening of one such cart to find an old crone within who, despite her wrinkled face, was nevertheless very brightly rouged, crouched at a dirty card table. At her beckoning, I crossed her filthy palm with a few pennies, and she, scoffing at this, said she could only tell me one thing of my luck. Taking out a worn tarot, she thumbed a few cards down onto the table. The Wheel of Fortune. Death. The Empress. The Star.
The staleness of the air as I waited for her pronouncement.
‘It will get worse for ye afore it gets better,’ said she, surveying the cards be
fore her with a gleam in her eye. She tapped the Empress card. ‘Ye shalt never be famous – yet mayhap thee shalt be remembered.’
‘Oh,’ said I, a little deflated at this. ‘I thought the Star, at least, might be fortuitous... I hoped to hear of a luck-change, perhaps something of money – or of love.’
She let out a strange sort of shriek that chilled me in its strangeness. ‘Love!’ she scoffed, gripping the table. ‘I shall tell thee naught of amours for thrippence!’
And that was all she would say.
23RD
It rained heavily all day, and did not let up, and so I gave up thoughts of going to call at the King’s and see if they are in want of an actress, but lay abed all day gorging myself on books and amusing myself mightily with my scribblings.
24th
Today I rose early and went back to the playhouse, for after my rest I was newly invigorated to show Parrykin how earnest I was, hoping he might take pity on my lot. The new play going once again not as well as he hoped, he was in a great pet and very red in the face, but still I set about with my pleading, laying before him all the reasons I would work for him, and why I would be the most faithful of women withal. At last, I think, being fatigued with my begging, he said he would employ me as an understudy, with perhaps an occasional part to walk on, if only I would stop haranguing him. In my great excitement, I caught him up by the face and laid a kiss upon his nose, whereupon he blushed to his roots and bade me go away.
Huzzah for gainful employment!
VII
TRAVAILS
In which I begin to learn the craft of acting
A GLOSSARY OF TERMS I HAVE LEARNT as an ACTRESS at THE KING’S PLAYHOUSE, DRURY LANE, LONDON
INCLUDING
NOTES ON THE FINE & NOBLE ART of STAGECRAFT
BALLET – The dance that I and the rest of the company may perform to distract the house while the scenery is changed. Mr Parrykin likes us to do this very gracefully and very French, but I am always sent to the back of the stage, with Thruckle and Careby waving their arms so vigorously before me that I am sure I cannot be seen even by the gallery. On my first few days, I was wont to trip over their ankles, and though I protested that I was not clumsy, I saw their flashing looks, and kept my own counsel, and the trippings seemed to stop, though at the back of the ballet I remained.
BREECHES PARTS – When the audience numbers dwindle, Parrykin is like to send on one of the actresses dressed in the clothes of a boy so the men can admire the turn of her ankle, shape of her leg and curve of her haunches in the name of appreciating a drama. He has not sent me, for he says that my posterior has not yet grown shapely enough to warrant the expense of the tailor.
CERUSE – A paste whip’t from the white of one egg and a few drops of water that is applied to the actress’s face before she steps on the stage. Having a tendency to crack when the face is moved, an actress with such an application must be less than loquacious with her smiling. (This concoction on my phyzzog is so disguising and I am so little myself that I am quite unafraid I shall be recognized by Lady Vyne, or Samuel, or anyone else who may care to know me!)
CRAYONS – Another tool of painting. They may be red, for touching to the lips (so useful to draw the eye for a kissing scene), or blue, to draw in the blue veins on a white arm or bosom, which is the sign of gentility and so looks very well when playing at a Queen or noble lady.
GOING-A-KEEPING – The aim of all actresses is not to become famous, though many of ’em do and are the talk of the Court, but to attract the attention of some rich gentleman, who will put them into keeping and hire them rooms and a carriage and give them many more jewels than kisses.
LIGHT – The thing that an actress must always be standing in. I must draw all eyes to my person, even if ’tis not my line, by lingering in the brightest part of the stage. When saying an aside, I should stand near the chandelier, or the footlights, for the flickering light there is most flattering, though my gown has twice got caught in the flame and set a-smoking and Parrykin very cross withal.
NEEDLE CHEAT – If an actress needs tears and cannot feign them, she may conceal a pin up her sleeve and, when the sorrowful moment comes, prick herself very sharply until the weeping issues forth.
ORANGE-SELLERS – Not to be taken notice of, though they may call to the stage and try to bait you, but an actress must point her nose in the air and perhaps her toe withal.
OVERTALKING – The art of throwing one’s voice over the noise of the rabble, for the audience do not hush themselves when we act, unless they be frightened by an explosion. I am practising every night in my chamber, though I am hoarse.
PROGRAMME – The dates of the plays. We are expected to be in the playhouse ready to perform every day excepting Sundays, Lent, Passion Week and Christmas Day. ‘The theatre never closes!’ says Mr Parrykin; it does, if someone important dies, but that has not happened for a while.
RIPOSTE – I have learnt ’tis best to have some witty replies committed to memory, for the habit of the audience is to interrupt all the speeches with calls, and compliments and taunts. Last Tuesday I heard a gallant cry, ‘She’s not as fine as the other one, I’ll declare,’ to which I shielded the glare of the lights from my eye and gazed into the audience a while and said: ‘Grandfather, what do you there? You have not had your tincture,’ which sent those around the man into great fits of laughter and whistling.
SAFFRON WASH – According to Parrykin, my hair is neither one thing nor t’other and so he has got Bunty to make me up dye in which to dip it and make it as flaxen as a Dutch girl’s, which may attract the gentlemen, which will make Parry enough shillings to have the scenery re-painted, for the flagstones are peeling and the magical forest is turning yellow with age.
’TIRING ROOM – Where the company retires after their hard work. ’Tis festooned with curtains and gifts sent by gallants, from posies of lavender and gillyflower to jewel-cases and once, a great rounded cheese. In the day, ’tis where we eat and rest between scening, but in the evenings, ’tis where the gallants come a-calling and where amours may take place in its darkened corners. Bunty tells me that a while before I came they had a very low actress, who afore that was an orange-girl come up from a Drury Lane stew, and so she sold her favours behind the dressing screen for tuppence a time.
TRAPDOOR OR ‘THE TRAP’ – From whence the villain of the scene emerges, to great effect and hissing and calling of the pit. A similar effect is had with wires, live dogs, loud noises, or any sort of open flame.
WITS – The fashion of the Court for men and women to be bold and jocular has infected the playhouse and I have learnt that if you can make them rock in their seats and howl with laughter and cry ‘Brava!’ then you have them, even if you be a plain sort of wench with a very bad gait. ’Tis shown in the manner of the plays we perform here which are mostly comedy, that being more popular than tragedy, excepting with maids of a tender age, elderly uncles, and widows.
VIII
FELICITY
In which I muse on my bright new career
As I grew in my knowledge of what it was to be an actress ’pon the stage, I began to experience a strange sensation in myself that I had not felt in a very long time – and that was a thing called happiness. There was joy in the pleasing routine of my new life, which left me little time for dwelling on my heartbreak, and in the mornings I found myself leaping out of bed and trilling like a meadowlark, skipping about the chamber for the whole of my toilet.
Whereas time had dragged in the dark, frigid corners of Turvey in an agony of drifting about, sweet-eating and couch-laying – and had also passed slowly during my life with Samuel when I had been often confined to our rooms – my days were now full of activity and of conversation – oh, such endless exchanges the company had about the intentions of the playwright and the meaning of a line – and how delicious it was to spend all day in these artistic discussions. I was bodily occupied, as well as intellectually, for the acting life demanded that I stir myself for
much of the day. Though, from my childhood games, I had known the work that went into the learning of an actor’s lines, I had not considered the corporeal demands on a person that danced and sang and bellowed all day to earn their living. Despite my romps about the countryside, I had never moved myself as much as I now must do, and tumbled into bed every night like a dead thing, waking every morning with a dry mouth and aching limbs.
Despite these arduous beginnings, and though the other actresses complained about them hourly, our daily rehearsals were a great joy to me, for I found every minute I was in the playhouse a thrill, and could not call any of it work. Upon coming together in the morning, we would sit on the edge of the stage, or dawdle in the front row, or horse about with the props cupboard, until Parrykin appeared and admonished us all for being late and lazy, though he rarely showed his face afore nine of the clock, but said he had been up in the office on matters of business while Mrs Bunty, who was always a-lurking in the background, made disbelieving clucking noises with her tongue. Then, Parrykin gave us instructions on the day’s rehearsal, which was usually notes from the previous day’s performance and would always go the same way.
PARRYKIN: Now, Manners, you are doing that thing again when you come on in the second act.
MANNERS: [Examining his nails] I vehemently disagree.
PARRYKIN: But I have not said what the thing is!
MANNERS: Oh, I know what it is.
PARRYKIN: So you admit that you are doing it?
MANNERS: I do no such thing.
And so on.
That we were all thrown so closely together, and that I worked so tirelessly to remember my lines, besides all the other things that were expected of an actress, seemed to have a softening effect on Mrs Careby and Mrs Thruckle, for after two months or so had passed, Thruckle called out to me as I was putting on my outdoor shoes and pulling on my cloak at the end of the performance.
The Illumination of Ursula Flight Page 28