“The Suspicious Husband,” “Othello,” “The Mock Doctor,” “Romeo and Juliet,” “The Devil To Pay,” “A Bold Stroke for a Wife,” and “Miss In Her Teens; or, A Medley of Lovers.”
Our squeamish age would find much to shock, and perhaps little to amuse, in many of those old plays. Congreve’s shameless muse set the pace, and the Nell Gwynns of the stage kept it. If we wonder that our ancestors could listen and look, will not our descendants wonder equally at us?
Before Hallam and his company came over to set up a professional standard, amateur theatricals were the rage. The Virginia Gazette in 1736 announces a performance of “The Beaux’ Stratagem by the gentlemen and ladies of this county,” and also that the students of the college are to give The Tragedy of Cato at the theatre. Somehow, Addison’s tragedies seem further removed from our sympathies than Congreve’s comedies, and we turn with relief to a form of amusement always in fashion and forever modern, the time-honored entertainment of feasting.
In 1744, a grand dinner was given by Governor Gooch to visiting statesmen at Annapolis. William Black, who was present, records in his journal that “Punch was served before dinner, which was sumptuous, with wines in great abundance, followed by strawberries and ice-cream, a great rarity.” These public banquets were momentous affairs, demanding a sound digestion and a steady head in those guests who wished to live to dine another day. Chastellux gives a vivid account of their customs. “The dinner,” he writes, “is served in the American or, if you will, in the English fashion, consisting of two courses, one comprehending the entrées, the roast meat and the warm side-dishes; the other, the sweet pastry and confectionery. When this is removed, the cloth is taken off, and apples, nuts, and chestnuts are served. It is then that healths are drunk.” This custom of drinking healths, he finds pleasant enough, inasmuch as it serves to stimulate and prolong conversation. But he says, “I find it an absurd and truly barbarous practice, the first time you drink, and at the beginning of the dinner, to call out successively to each individual, to let him know you drink his health. The actor in this ridiculous comedy is sometimes ready to die with thirst, whilst he is obliged to inquire the names, or catch the eyes, of twenty-five or thirty persons.”
The woes of the diner and winer do not, it seems, end with this general call, for he is constantly called, and having his sleeve pulled, to attract his attention, now this way, now that. “These general and partial attacks end in downright duels. They call to you from one end of the table to the other: ‘Sir, will you permit me to drink a glass of wine with you?’”
Allowing for some exaggeration on the part of the lively Frenchman, it is easy to see what quantities of Madeira and “Phyall” must have been drunk in those tournaments of courtesy, and I do not wonder to read in the journal of a young woman of the eighteenth century: “The gentlemen are returned from dinner. Both tipsy!”
“The Tuesday Club,” of Maryland, had many a jovial supper together. Their toasts always began with “The Ladies,” followed by “The King’s Majesty,” and after that “The Deluge.” I find a suggestive regulation made by this club, that each member should bring his own sand-box, “to save the carpet.”
Parson Bacon sanctified these convivial meetings by his presence and was, by all accounts, the ringleader of the boisterous revels. Jonathan Boucher, another clergyman, but of a very different type, was a great clubman too. He was one of the leading spirits of “The Hommony Club,” whose avowed object was “to promote innocent mirth and ingenious humor.”
The days of women’s clubs were still in the far future, and the chief excitement of the ladies was an occasional ball. The Maryland assemblies began at six o’clock in the evening, and were supposed to end at ten, though the young folks often coaxed and cajoled the authorities into later hours. Card parties were part of the entertainment, and whist was enlivened by playing for money. The supper was often furnished from the ladies’ kitchens and the gentlemen’s gamebags, and was a tempting one. The costumes were rich and imposing. A witness of one of these Maryland balls writes: “The gentlemen, dressed in short breeches, wore handsome knee-buckles, silk stockings, buckled pumps, etc. The ladies wore—God knows what; I don’t!”
Dancing and music were the chief branches of the eighteenth-century maiden’s education. I can fancy, as I read that “Patsy Custis and Milly Posey are gone to Colonel Mason’s to the dancing-school,” how they held up their full petticoats, and pointed out the toes of their red-heeled shoes, and dreamed of future conquests, although for one of them the tomb was already preparing its chill embrace.