Lament for a lost lover

There was a great deal of noise as patrons came in. There was the pit, which I should have felt not the best place to sit, for the roof above it was open and I imagined what would happen if the rain came in. The occupants of that part of the playhouse would have to scatter or be drenched. The middle gallery was slightly more expensive than the gallery above, which was now filling rapidly.

In the box opposite was a very fine lady in a mask, and with her an overdressed gentleman. The gentleman bowed as we entered and Carleton and Lord Eversleigh bowed back. The gentleman-if he deserved such a name-fixed his gaze on first me and then Charlotte and then came back to me.

“I hate these insolent men,” muttered Charlotte.

“Dear Cousin, that is Lord Weldon,” explained Carleton. “He thinks he does you an honour by gazing on you.”

“An insult more likely,” retorted Charlotte.

“His lady does not like it.”

“And who is she?” I asked.

“Don’t ask me. He changes mistresses every night.”

“Perhaps one day he’ll find his Scheherazade,” I suggested.

“She’ll need more than exciting tales to keep him, I do assure you.”

“At least she does not want us to see her face, since she is masked.”

“A fashion, Cousin.”

“Should we not have worn them?”

“You have no need to hide behind them. You are in respectable company. Weldon has his eye on you though. It would not surprise me if he seeks me out tomorrow with eager enquiries.”

“I hope you will reply to him in a suitable manner, and let him know that you consider his impertinence an insult to your family.”

“Dear Cousin, I will challenge him to a duel if that pleases you.”

“Duelling should be stopped,” said Lord Eversleigh. “It’s against the law in any case.”

“Agreed, Uncle, but although we ourselves might be guilty of insulting certain ladies, we must become incensed when insults are directed against our own.”

Carleton was smiling cynically and I turned away from him, and looked below to where the orange girls with their baskets were trying to tempt the members of the audience to buy, and exchanging badinage with the men. There were scuffles as the girls were seized and some of the men tried to kiss them. Oranges rolled on the floor, and people trying to retrieve them scrambled about shrieking with laughter. The place was filled with noise and the smell of none too clean humanity; yet it excited me. I was all eagerness for the play.

It was to be The Merry Wives of Windsor. Carleton told us that it had to be comedy. Nobody wanted tragedy anymore. They wanted laughter not tears. “Tears went out with the Roundheads.” They wanted frolics on the stage, not falling bodies. And what they wanted most was women on the stage. For so long men had taken women’s parts and although some like Edward Kynaston took women’s parts still, and looked so pretty on the stage that it was said many women fell in love with him and used to wait for him after the play and take him out in their carriages, it was the women who were now appearing on the stage who were largely responsible for its growing popularity, Carleton told us how the King had gone to see Hamlet in which Kynaston was playing the Queen, and when the play was late in starting Charles demanded to know why. The manager, beside himself with anxiety, went to the royal box and explained: “May it please Your Majesty, the Queen is not yet shaved.”

His Majesty was highly delighted with the explanation and was in a particularly good mood which reflected throughout the playhouse and made a success of the play. “His Majesty, of course, has already shown himself somewhat partial to the ladies,” said Carleton. “And his loyal subjects like to follow him in all his ways.” Lord Eversleigh shook his head. “I say this out of no lack of loyalty,” he said, “but I think it would make his loyal subjects happier if he were more devoted to his Queen-and less to those harpies who surround him.”

“The Castlemaine’s hold is as strong as ever,” Carleton put in. “But that does not prevent the royal eye roving and the playhouse has much to offer ... as you will see when the play begins.”

He seemed to be amused by some secret joke. I wondered what. I was soon to discover, for candles set along the front of the stage were lighted and the play was about to begin.

Shallow and Slender had emerged, but for a few moments nothing could be heard because of the noise in the audience. Shallow came to the front of the stage and some shouted:

“Look out. You’ll catch your breeches in the flame.’”

Shallow held up a hand. “My lords and ladies, one and all. I beg silence that we may play before you.”

The manner in which he spoke took me back to a snowy night in Congreve when the strolling players had come. The dramatic cadences and gestures reminded me of the strolling players.

The audience grew quieter and some shouted: “Come on, then, man.”

“With your permission,” said Shallow making a deep bow.

The play had begun.