The Rewards of Literature

Then as now, the 18th Century Literary Muse was a harsh mistress, whose amateurs knew little rest and less riches:

"I am every moment threatened to be turned out [of my lodgings] because I have not money to pay for my bed two nights past, which is usually paid beforehand... I hope therefore you will have the humanity to send me half a guinea for support, till I finish your papers in my hands. The ode on the British Nation I hope to have done today and want proof copy of that part of Stowe you'd choose for the present magazine, that it may be compressed as far as possible...

I humbly entreat your answer, having not tasted anything since Tuesday evening I came in here, and my coat will be taken off my back, for the charge of the bed. So that I must go into prison naked, which is too shocking for me to think of."

[Poet Samuel Boyse, written to a printer/publisher Edward Cave]

Boyse wasn't exaggerating his penury. Engaged in an almost constant circuit between his lodgings and the pawn shop, he often had to go shirtless: at which times he would cut paper into strips and bind them round his wrists and neck to resemble the collar and cuffs he was lacking.

As a young man Samuel Johnson, a friend of Boyse, once scrimped enough money to redeem all Boyse's clothes back - only to find that two days later, they'd been pawned once more.

Where I admire the man, is that he never lost a taste for luxury, or a sense that he deserved it. Johnson recalled of him that even when he was ill from hunger:

"And some money was produced to purchase him a dinner, he got a bit of roast beef, but could not eat it without ketchup, and laid out the last half-guinea he possessed in truffles and mushrooms, eating them in bed, too, for want of clothes, or even a shirt to sit up in."

Drury Lane, 1698

Henri Misson, visiting London from France in the late 17th century, gives an excellent description of the interior of the theatre:

The Pit is an Amphitheatre, fill'd with Benches without Backboards, and adorn'd and cover'd with green Cloth. Men of Quality, particularly the younger Sort, some Ladies of Reputation and Virtue, and abundance of Damsels that haunt for Prey, sit all together in this Place, Higgledy-piggledy, chatter, toy, play, hear, hear not.

Farther up, against the Wall, under the first Gallery and just opposite to the Stage, rises another Amphitheatre, which is taken by persons of the best Quality, among whom are generally very few Men. The Galleries, whereof there are only two Rows, are fill'd with none but ordinary People, particularly the Upper one.

A closer view...

William Hogarth: The Laughing Audience, 1733

The Playhouse: A Satire

The Middle Galle'ry first demands our View;
The filth of Jakes, and stench of ev'ry Stew!
Here reeking Punks like Ev'ning Insects swarm;
The Polecat's Perfume much the Happier Charm...
Discreet in this, their Faces not to shew;
The Mask the best Complexion of the two.
Their Noses falling and their Eyes sunk in,
A wrinkl'd Forehead and a Parchment Skin...

Choak't with the stench of Brimstone, 'twill be fit
To Visit next the Boxes and the Pit,
And for the Muse a Nobler Scene prepare,
And let Her breathe awhile in Milder Air.
But such a sudden Glare invades her Eyes,
So vast a Crowd of diffe'rent Vanities,
She knows where not to fix her Rancour first;
So very Wicked all, that all are worst!...
Such Giddy Insects here for ever come,
And very little Dare, but much Presume:
Perpetually the Ladies Ears they Ply,
And whisper Slander at the Standers by:
Then laugh aloud; which now is grown a part
Of Play-house Breeding, and of Courtly Art.
The true Sign of Your Modish Beau Garson
Is Chatt'ring like a Ladies lewd Baboon,
Shewing their Teeth to charm some pretty creature;
For Grinning, amoung Fops, is held a Feature...

All People now, the Place is grown so ill,
Before they see a Play shou'd make their Will:
For with much more Security , a Man
Might take a three Years Voyage to Japan.

Robert Gould, 1685

The New Cast

Several chapters into the writing now, the cast has developed and changed slightly, so they need a bit of re-introducing. Taken clockwise, from 9 o'clock, we have:

Archie - a headstrong young Cambridge scholar, pulled from his studies by the death of his father which he will learn it is his duty - to his mother, to the world he grew up in, and to his own ambitions for a future as a scientist - to avenge;

Charley - a member of the 'theatrical gentry'; the teenage daughter of a theatre manager, and is herself a budding brilliant actress; she is a strange mixture of ebullient vanity and insecurity;

Veronique - woman of mystery; young mistress of Gian Carradino, an Italian nobleman and society darling; Veronique is fashionable and beautiful - but is she hiding something?

Susannah Pullen - former Drury Lane dancer, latterly actress, prompt and woman of all trades; she is the unmarried mother of Archie; she is resourceful, daring and still very lovely.

As to what they're up to: I'll keep you posted...

Hypotheses non fingo:

I do not invent hypotheses.

Isaac Newton

'And all the men and women merely players'...

We are placed in this world, as in great theatre, where the sources and causes of every event are entirely concealed from us; nor have we either sufficient wisdom to foresee, or power to prevent those ills, with which we are continually threatened. We hang in perpetual suspence between life and death, health and sickness, plenty and want; which are distributed amongst the human species by secret and unknown causes, whose operation is oft unexpected, and always unaccountable.

David Hume, The Natural History of Religion (1757)