[“EVELINA” BEFORE PUBLICATION.]
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But, before I made this journey, [while I was taking leave, I was so much penetrated by my dear father’s kind parting embrace,] that in the fullness of my heart [I could not forbear telling him, that I had sent a manuscript to Mr. Lowndes; earnestly, however, beseeching him never to divulge it, nor to demand a sight of such trash as I could scribble; assuring him that Charles had managed to save me from being at all suspected]. He could not help laughing; but I believe was much surprised at the communication. He desired me to acquaint him from time to time, how my work went on, called himself the Pert confident, and kindly promised to guard my secret as cautiously as I could wish. So much to prelude the Worcester Journal.
But, when I told my dear father, I never [wished or] intended, [that even] he [himself] should see my essay, he forbore to ask me its name, or make any enquiries. I believe he is not sorry to be saved the giving me the pain of his criticism. He made no sort of objection to my having my own way in total secrecy and silence to all the world. Yet I am easier in not taking the step, without his having this little knowledge of it, as he is contented with my telling him I shall never have the courage to let him know its name.
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[“WAY TO KEEP HIM.”]
Monday, April 7.
My Susy,
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Now for Barborne Lodge. The morning was ushered in — by a general disturbance. We were all inconceivably busy; we contrived, however, for little Nancy’s sake, to rehearse Tom Thumb, and then we bribed her to lie down, and most fortunately she slept for more than three hours, which made her very wakeful all the rest of the day and night At dinner we did not sit down above three at a time; one was with the hairdresser, another finishing some dress, another, some scenery; and so on. I was quite amazed to see how my uncle submitted to all this confusion; but he was the first to promote our following our own affairs.
And indeed, I cannot speak too highly of the good-nature of [my cousin] Nancy upon this occasion; for she has given up all her time to general assistance.
Before five o’clock, while we were all in the midst of our disorder, Mrs. Bund and her daughter arrived. They did not know what they came for, and my uncle and Miss Humphries, who received them, said we were preparing for a droll sort of Concert, which we intended to give them.
Next came Dr. R. Johnston and Mr. Russell, and soon after the three Lawson’s, and then, Miss Bridget Harris and Miss Knowell.
You can have no idea what [a shatter] every new corner gave me. I could hardly dress myself, — hardly knew where I was, — hardly could stand. Betsy, too, was very much flurried, and so afraid of being worse, that she forced wine and water and punch down her throat, till she was almost tipsey. Richard and James gave all their thoughts to their own adornment; Tom capered about the house in great joy; little Nancy jumped and laughed; Edward was tolerably composed; but Beckey was in extacy of pleasure. She felt no fright or palpitation; but laughed, danced, and sung all day long [delightfully.]
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We were now quite ready, when the three Miss Brookes’ came, and to my great relief, no Dr. Wall or Capt. Coussaker.
The Band was now got into order for the Overture, and the company going to be summoned up stairs, — when another chaise arrived, and it proved from, Gloucester, with the Doctor and the Captain. I assure you this frightened me so much, that I most heartily wished myself twenty miles off.
I was quite sick, and if I had dared, should have given up the part. —
When I came to be painted, my cheeks were already of so high a colour, that I could hardly bear to have any added; but, before I went on, I seemed seized with an ague-fit, and was so extremely cold, that my uncle, upon taking my hand, said he thought he had touched ice or marble.
At length, they all came up stairs: a green curtain was drawn before them, and the Overture was played. Miss Humphries did all the honours; for Nancy was engaged as prompter, and my uncle, one of the band. The Theatre looked extremely well, and was fitted up in a very dramatic manner, with side scenes, and two figures of Tragedy and Comedy at each hand, and a Head of Shakespear in the middle. We had four change of scenes. [The play we acted was, “The Way to Keep Him”]
Now, for a Play-Bill — which I think you will own was stupid enough; but we dared not be jocular after my uncle’s interference.
As soon as the Overture was played, which you must know was performed in the passage; for we had no room for an Orchestra in the Theatre, — Edward and Tom were seated at cards, and the curtain drawn. Tom’s part was very soon over, and then Betsy entered. She was much flurried, and yet in very great spirits, and acquitted herself greatly beyond my expectations. Edward was, I believe, very little frightened, yet not quite so easy or so excellent as I had imagined he would have been. Indeed his part is extremely unworthy of him, and I fancy he was determined to let it take its chance, without troubling himself with much exertion.
Take notice that, from the beginning to the end, no applause was given to the play. The company judged that it would be inelegant, and therefore, as they all said, forebore; but indeed [a little clapping] would have been very encouraging, and I heartily wish they had not practised such self-denial!
Next came my scene: I was discovered drinking tea. To tell you how infinitely, how beyond measure I was terrified at my situation, I really cannot; but my fright was nearly such as I should have suffered, had I made my appearance upon a public Theatre, since Miss Humphries and Captain Coussmaker were the only two of the audience I had ever before seen.
The few words I had to speak, before Muslin came to me, I know not whether I spoke or not, neither does any body else; so you need not enquire of others; for the matter is to this moment unknown. Fortunately for me, all the next scene gave me hardly three words in a speech; for Muslin has it almost to herself. So I had little else to do than to lean on the table, and twirl my thumbs, and sometimes bite my fingers; which, indeed, I once or twice did very severely, without knowing why, or yet being able to help it. I am sure, without flattery, I looked like a most egregious fool; for I made no use of the tea-things. I never tasted a drop, — once indeed, I made an attempt, by way of passing the time better, to drink a little; but my hand shook so violently, I was fain to put down the cup instantly in order to save my gown.
By the way I have forgot to mention dresses. Edward had a coat trim’d to have the effect of a rich lace livery. He had a capital bag, long ruffles, and so forth. Tom much the same. Betsy, as Muslin, had a very showy striped pink and white Manchester, pink shoes, red ribbons in abundance, and a short apron. The paint upon her very pale cheeks set her off to the greatest advantage, and I never saw her look near so well. Mrs. Lovemore wore her green and grey, which I have trimed with gause, white ribbons, gause apron, cuffs, robins, &c.
The next who made his appearance was cousin James.
He was most superbly dressed; but, as you saw his cloaths at the Music-meeting, I will not describe them. His hair, however, I must not pass unnoticed; for you never saw the most foppish stage-character better dressed in the Macaroni style. Indeed, all our hairs were done to the astonishment of all the company.
James, or Sir Brilliant Fashion, entered with an air so immensely conceited and affected, and at the same time so uncommonly bold, that I could scarce stand his abord, and throughout the scene that followed, he acted with such a satisfied, nay, insolent assurance of success, that I declare, had I been entirely myself and free from fear, he would have wholly disconcerted me: as it was, my flurry hardly admitted of encrease, yet I felt myself glow most violently. I must assure you, notwithstanding my embarassment, I found he did the part admirably; not merely very much beyond my expectations, but, I think, as well as it could be done. He looked very fashionable, very assured, very affected, very every way the thing. Not one part in the piece was better or more properly done; nor did any give more entertainment.
We were next joined by R
ichard, whose nonchalance, indifference, half vacancy and half absence excellently marked the careless, unfeeling husband which he represented. Between his extreme unconcern and Sir Brilliant’s extreme assurance, I had not much trouble in appearing the only languid and discontented person in company.
Richard was in a very genteel morning dress.
A short scene next followed between Betsy and me, which I made as little of as any body might desire, indeed I would chalenge all my acquaintance around to go through an act more thoroughly to their own dissatisfaction. So, that is saying more than every body can, however.
The act finished by a solo of Betsy, which I did not hear; for I ran into a corner, to recover breath against the next act. My uncle was very good natured, and spoke very comfortable things to me, — which I did by no means expect, as, at first, he seemed not delighted, that Betsy had given me her part. He said I wanted nothing but exertion, and charged me to speak louder, and take courage.
“O!” cried Edward, “that this had but been Lady Betty Modish!” However, since I was so terribly cowardly, I now rejoice that I had a part so serious and solemn, sad, and sorrowful. Cousin James was prodigiously [gallant] in comforting me.... supporting his tendresse yet more strongly off than on the stage. The truth is, he is so very good natured, that the least idea of pity really softens him into downright tenderness. Richard was entirely occupied in changing his dress for Lord Etheridge.
In the next act the Widow Belmour made her appearance. Beckey’s elegant figure and red face were charmingly set off; for her dress was fashionable and becoming. She had on a lilac negligée, gause cuffs, trimmed richly with flowers and spangles, spankled shoes, bows of gause and flowers, and a cap! — quite the thing, I assure you! — full of flowers, frivolete, spangles, gauze, and long feathers, immensely high, and her hair delightfully well dressed. She was in great spirits, and not at all frightened. Her entrance, I am sure, must be striking, and I was surprised the folks could forbear giving her applause. She was [throughout lively, easy and elegant; and her whole appearance was so charming, there was no looking at any thing else.]
Betsy changed her dress entirely for Mignonet, and did the character very well, though the worse for having another in the same play, as she saved herself very much for Muslin, which she did admirably.
During my reprieve from business, I thought I had entirely banished my fears, and could assume sufficient courage to go through the rest of my part to the best of my capacity; but far otherwise I found it; for, the moment I entered, I was again gone! Knew not where I stood, nor what I said; a mist was before my eyes, so strong that it almost blinded me, and my voice faltered so cruelly, that had they not all been particularly silent whenever I aimed at speaking, not a word the better would they have been for my presence!
And all this for pleasure! but indeed it was too much, — and I have not yet recovered from the painful sensations I experienced that night, — sensations which will always make my recollection of “The Way to Keep him,” disagreeable to me — Fortunately for me, my part and my spirits, in this act, had great sympathy; for Mrs. Lovemore is almost unhappy enough for a tragedy heroine; and I assure you, she lost none of her pathos by any giddiness of mine! I gave her melancholy feelings very fair play, and looked her misfortunes with as much sadness, as if I really experienced them. In this act, therefore, circumstances were so happily miserable for me, that I believe some of my auditors thought me a much better and more artificial actress than I dreamt of being myself; and I had the satisfaction to hear some few buzzes of approbation, which did me no harm.
But I would never have engaged in this scheme, had I not have been persuaded that my fright would have ended with the first scene. I had not any idea of being so completely overcome by it. The grand scene between the widow and Lord Etheridge, Richard and Beckey acquitted themselves extremely well in. If Richard had a fault, it was being too easy, — he would have had more spirit, had he been rather less at home. His dress for this part was all elegance. This act concluded with the scene, that I prevailed with Edward and Betsy to add; they did it vastly well, and are both, I believe, well pleased, that they listened to me.
Again, my uncle spoke the most flattering things to encourage me; “Only speak out, Miss Fanny,” said he, “and you leave nothing to wish; it is impossible to do the part with greater propriety, or to speak with greater feeling, or more sensibly; every, the most insignificant thing you say, comes home to me.” You can’t imagine how much this kindness from him cheared me.
In the third act I recovered myself very decently, compared to the two first; but indeed, I was very, very far from being easy, or from doing the part according to my own ideas; so that, in short, I am totally, wholly, and entirely dissatisfied with myself in the whole performance. Not once could I command my voice to any steadiness, or look about me otherwise than as a poltroon, either smelling something unsavory, or expecting to be bastinadoed.
In the most capital scene of Mrs. Lovemore with her husband, in the third act, when she is all air, alertness, pleasure, and enjoyment, I endeavoured, what I could, to soften off the affectation of her sudden change of disposition, and I gagged the gentleman with as much ease as my very little ease would allow me to assume. Richard was really charming in this scene; so thoroughly negligent, inattentive, and sleepy, that he kept a continual titter among the young ladies. But when he was roused from his indifference by Mrs. Lovemore’s pretended alteration of temper and conduct, — he sung small indeed! When her flightiness begun, you can hardly suppose how little he looked! how mortified! astonished! and simple! it was admirably in character, and yet he seemed as if he really could not help it; and as if her unexpected gaiety quite confounded him. Betsy, Beckey, and James were all of them very lively, and very clever in all they had to do in this act. I am very sorry that Edward could not have more justice done to those talents, which I know only want to be called forth —
At the end of all there was a faint something in imitation of a clap, but very faint indeed. Yet, though applause would much have encouraged us, we have no reason to be mortified at its omission; since they all repeatedly declared they longed to clap; but thought it would not be approved; and since, we have heard from all quarters nothing but praise and compliment. Richard spoke the last speech in a very spirited manner; and he was very delicate and very comfortable to me, in our reconciliation, when Mrs. Belmour says, “Come, kiss and be friends;” and he adds, “it is in your power, Madam, to make a reclaimed libertine of me indeed;” for he excused all the embracing part, and without making any fuss, took my hand, which bowing over (like Sir Charles Grandison) he most respectfully pressed to his lips.
We now all hastened to dress for “Tom Thumb,” and the company went into the dining room for some refreshments Little Nancy was led away by Miss Humphries, who made her take a formal leave of the company, as if going to bed, that they might not expect what followed. The sweet little thing was quite in mad spirits, which we kept up by all sorts of good things, both drinking and eating, and flattery; for our only fear was, lest she should grow shame-faced, and refuse to make her entrance.
She flew up to me, “Ay, cousin Fanny, I saw your drinking your tea by yourself, before all the company! did you think they would not see you?”
You must know she always calls me cousin Fanny, because she says every body else does; so she’s sure I can’t really be an aunt.
During the whole performance she had not the least idea what we all meant, and wanted several times to join us; especially while I was weeping; “Pray, what does cousin Fanny cry for, aunt Hannah; does she cry really, I say?” But I must now for your better information tell you exactly how the parts in “Tom Thumb” were cast:
Noodle and Doodle, who opened the farce, were both dressed very fantastically, in the old English style, and were several minutes practising antics before they spoke. Edward disguised his voice in this part, and made the burlesque doubly ludicrous by giving a foppish twang to every period; Tom did Do
odle vastly well.
Then entered the King, which was performed by Richard most admirably, and with a dignified drollery that was highly diverting and exceeding clever. Betsy accompanied him. She was [extremely] well in the Queen, [both in strutting and pomposity]. Their dresses, though made of mere tinsel and all sort of gaudiness, had a charming and most theatrical effect. Their crowns, jewels, trains, &c., were superb.
Next entered — Tom Thumb!
When the King says:
“But see! our Warrior comes! The great Tom Thumb! the little Hero, Giant-killing Boy!” —
Then there was an immense hub a dub, with drums and trumpets and a clarionet, to proclaim his approach.
The sweet little girl looked as beautiful as an angel! She had an exceeding pretty and most becoming dress, made of pink persian, trimmed with silver and spangles; the form of it the same as that of the others, i.e. Old English; her mantle was white; she had a small truncheon in her hand, and a Vandyke hat; her own sweet hair was left to itself.
When [Nancy] was to appear, I took her hand to put her on; but she shrunk back and seemed half afraid; however, a few promises of grand things, caresses, and flattery gave her courage again, and she then strutted on in a manner that astonished us all. The company, none of them expecting her, were delighted and amazed beyond measure. A general laugh and exclamations of surprise went round. Her first speech —
“When I’m not thank’d at all, I’m thank’d enough;
I’ve done my duty, and I’ve done no more” —
she spoke so loud and so articulately and with such courage, that people could scarce credit their senses when they looked at her baby face. I declare, — I could hardly help crying; I was so much charmed, and at the same time frightened for her. O! how we all wished for Hetty! It was with difficulty I restrained myself from running on with her; and my uncle was so agitated, that he began, involuntarily, a most vehement clap; a sound to which we had hitherto been strangers; but the hint was instantly taken, and it was echoed and re-echoed by the audience.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 496
