“You have nothing to fear, Mrs. Darby,” said Miss Veigel, taking my mother’s hands as she escorted her to a table charmingly laid out for tea. “My husband earned his respect for more than his thespian talents. Have you attended the Theatre Royal since David assumed its management?” With a shake of her head, my mother allowed that she had not. “It will please you to know, then, that my husband discontinued the practice of permitting young gentlemen—and I use the word generously—to sit upon the stage. Should a young man wish to enjoy the proximity of one of Drury Lane’s lovely actresses, he can do so from the safety of a box or amid the riffraff from a place in the pit. And no longer are such types permitted to roam freely about the backstage rabbit warrens that form the corridors and changing rooms, entering a ladies’ dressing room at will or whim.” My mother exhaled, audibly put at ease by Miss Veigel’s remarks. “And as for my husband himself—David was once a bit of a rake with the ladies, it is true, but since our marriage, he has been a very good boy.” Miss Veigel smiled upon Garrick with great affection. “There is nothing with which I can reproach him. How many women, Mrs. Darby, of any stamp, can say that about their husbands?” Mother blushed scarlet.
The “very good boy” was now fifty-three years of age, entering the twilight of his illustrious career, yet with his wife’s good assistance he continued to cultivate a select number of protégées, preparing them for a life on the stage.
I wasted no time in assuring Mr. Garrick that such a life was my fondest dream, and that I felt honored beyond all measure simply by his invitation to recite for him. It was true, but in my young heart I’d hoped for ever so much more.
“The Theatre is a demanding mistress, Miss Darby. She expects you to worship her, night and day—body, mind, and soul, and is content with nothing less. She expects perfection in everything, has little patience for illness, and even less tolerance for sloth and slovenliness.”
“That doesn’t diminish my desire, sir.”
“Well, then!” He motioned for Mother and Miss Veigel to draw up their chairs beside his. “What will the spirited Miss Darby favor us with today?”
I had been practicing the speech of Jane Shore’s with which I had caught Mr. Hull’s attention, proud that I was now able to summon tears without the serendipitous presence of cat dander, and thus I began my recitation.
…Such is the fate unhappy women find—
“Stop!” cried Garrick.
“What have I done?”
“I am about to ask the very same thing. What do you think you are doing, child?”
I had remembered Mr. Hull’s injunction to speak loudly enough so that every balcony was filled with the sound of my voice, making each word count.
“That is not acting, Miss Darby,” said Garrick firmly. “It is declaiming. How can any of the words matter, or mean anything, when you give every one of them an equal weight?” I pondered this. “Now continue, pray, simply and directly as though you were speaking to me, as we are, right in my parlor. Raise not your voice this time, and let the words infuse you with emotion, not t’other way around.”
I began again.
And such is the curse entail’d upon our kind,
That man, the lawless libertine, may rove—
“Stop.” He had halted my speech just as my bosom was rising with passion over the injustices of the world. “Your natural voice is lovely to hear, Miss Darby. Doesn’t she remind you of dear Susanna Cibber, my sweet?” Miss Veigel assented.
I was secretly pleased to hear the same compliment that Mr. Hull had given me coming from the lips of the great Garrick.
Mr. Garrick’s eyes met mine. His penetrating gaze nearly paralyzed me. “Now, Miss Darby, perform—do not recite—the speech from the beginning—wait, don’t start until I give the cue. I should like to hear you do it with the same simplicity, the identical intensity of emotion, but loud enough to be heard in every one of the eighteen hundred seats in the Theatre Royal.”
I swallowed hard at what suddenly seemed a daunting task, then took a deep breath and faced my dragon. ’Twas then I realized that if I obeyed the words, they would take me where I wanted to go; and I was able to forget all, even that I was being judged in my meager efforts by the finest actor to tread the boards since Roscius overtook the Roman stage by storm. I performed my speech and awaited the verdict.
“I confess that your charm and your beauty convinced me from the first that you might have a career, but I needed to know that you possessed talent in equal measure. Mrs. Darby, your daughter shows tremendous promise, and I should like to take her on and present her in due time at Drury Lane.”
Suddenly I was a little girl again, laughing and clapping my hands the way I had done when Papa would return from one of his expeditions and place a pretty gewgaw in my tiny hands. “Mother, isn’t it wonderful?” I exclaimed.
She was crying too hard to reply. What was it that moved her to tears: maternal pride in my little performance that afternoon, or—ruminating upon the perils of a theatrical career—the dread of so many more to come?
Six
Big Plans
1772…age fourteen
One afternoon a couple of months later, I was
