Showing posts with label Handel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Handel. Show all posts

Thursday, 22 October 2009

In Search of Mrs Woffington (Part 2)


One of Dublin's grand Georgian thoroughfares

Apart from our trip to Teddington in Part 1. we also made a slightly more ambitious journey to Dublin, where Mrs Woffington was born and bred. Mainly I wanted to see the site where the famous 18th-century theatre, Smock Alley, had stood in the 1700s. It's still a narrow street but what I didn't realise was that there's a contemporary studio theatre on roughly the same spot (my photographs of it are here).

Wandering around Dublin with a modern A-Z and a photocopy of an 18th-century map was fascinating and memorable, but as with our trips to London, we had trouble finding anything much dating from Peg's childhood in the 1730s. Yes, Dublin is a truly magnificent Georgian city, but constantly we stumbled across the problem that the street plan was extensively remodelled by the Wide Streets Commission from the mid-1750s, so that the Dublin of the early 18th century no longer exists.

With a photocopy of Rocque's map of Dublin from 1756: the street plan of Temple Bar remains virtually unchanged but the buildings are different

The circumstances of Peg's childhood are surrounded by conjecture, but following the sudden death of her father (one writer claimed he fell off a ladder), debts began mounting and the Woffington family (mother, Peg and baby sister Polly) were forced to eke out a living in a low cabin, with Peg selling watercress door-to-door.

At some time around 1727 she seems to have been discovered by a celebrated rope-dancer called Madame Violante, who had set up a tumbling booth in Fownes Court and Peg got her first theatrical engagement, as a singer. Take a look at the picture below of Fownes Street Upper and despite the modern facades, the upper sections of the buildings are clearly early 18th-century panelled houses. These narrowly escaped demolition in the 1980s when the state transport company, CIE, proposed that a new bus station be built across the site.


Fownes Street Upper, Temple Bar

Of course, there was one thing we knew existed during Peg's lifetime and that was Dublin Castle: a powerful social and political symbol with a complex history. In the 18th century it would have been the Protestant Ascendancy's seat of power; early in the century it hosted the viceregal levee: a formal reception held just after the grandee had risen from bed, usually held on a Sunday. The Castle would also host the usual round of banquets, state balls and 'drawing rooms' (card parties for ladies), with the season ending on St Patrick's Day with a special ball.


The Castle as Peg would have known it: from Charles Brooking's
map of Dublin in 1728



Dublin Castle's 13th-century Norman Record Tower, 2007.

As you can see from the picture above, Dublin Castle is a Norman construction which has much in common with the castles of Wales with their round towers; the Castle still had a moat (formed by the River Poddle) in the Georgian period, but by this time it was redundant and filled with rubbish.

The British administration never rebuilt the medieval castle as a single piece of architecture however; derelict parts were patched here and there, resulting in the mix of buildings we see today. Under the gaze of the Wide Streets Commission, the gate at Cork Hill (below), the Guard House and Court Marshall Room were all completed in 1751, and the Upper Castle Yard itself was extensively remodelled, so even this isn't a true picture of early 18th-century Dublin. Only the old maps can come close to recreating the Dublin that Peg knew as a child and young woman.


Upper Yard, Dublin Castle, 2007



James Malton: Upper Yard, Dublin Caste, 1791.


Further Reading:

I was lucky enough to find several fantastic books that really helped me to imagine Dublin before the work of the Wide Streets Commission. I can highly recommend Peter Pearson's The Heart of Dublin: Resurgence of an Historic City which is an utterly passionate account of the unknown areas of Dublin; I'm indebted to Pearson's work throughout this blog post. I was also hugely excited to find - in the bargain bin of Dublin's City Hall gift shop - A Directory of Dublin for the Year 1738, published by the Dublin Corporation Public Libraries in 2000. I got a thrill when I looked up Margaret Woffington in the index and found her listed as 'actress, Theatre Royal, Aungier Street' and a resident of Jervis Street: a surprisingly well-to-do area, judging from the professions of her neighbours, north of the river. And although it depicts the new Dublin emerging in the final decade of the 18th century, Colin Smythe Ltd's pocket-sized edition of Malton's Georgian Dublin: 25 Aquatints is simply a joy to behold.

Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.

Subscribe now!

Saturday, 20 June 2009

Magical Drottningholm


Well, as promised, some photos from our trip to Drottningholm and some impressions of the Handel opera that we saw there, Ariodante.

Firstly, one of the things that delighted us about Sweden was the extraordinary care taken to preserve ordinary things, such as the turn-of-the-century steamer, s/s Drottningholm (above), which we used to access Drottningholm Palace (below). On our way to the Vasa Museum we also used the old tram system, that was also wonderfully cared for, though that's not to say Stockholm is an old-fashioned city - quite the opposite. It's just that the Swedes appreciate beautiful design, and it was great to see so much that was charming, well cared for, and above all, still in good working order.


Our tour of the Drottningholm Court Theatre was extrordinary, and an example of the Swedish knack for preservation. As we crowded into the tiny entrance hall, it dawned on us that, though the place had been carefully conserved, it was not actually restored - the walls and floors were battered and creaking, and the paint was flaking off, but we were - thrillingly - standing in a building which had been pretty much untouched since the 1760s.


Tourism itself has actually contributed quite a bit of damage to this fragile building (south facade, above). In 1980 about 43,000 tourists tramped through the building, and 18,000 saw performances there - so now bags have to be locked away and the guides are pretty careful to prevent people from leaning on or touching anything. When you see the fragile wall-coverings, you understand why, but who ever thought that 18th-century wallpaper was sewn together and nailed up in sheets? But that's what's marvellous about this place: noticing that the reality of a historical period is subtly different from what you imagined.


It was an exciting moment when, after the changing of the guard (above), we got to take our seats inside the auditorium, which is surprisingly intimate. There are some marvellous example of trompe-l'œil paintings of curtains on the boxes (done by the carpenter, Nils Ulfitz; you can just about see them in the picture below, to the left and the right) and also some curious boxes fronted by grills, presumably for secret assignations!

The theatre now seats double the amount of people it did in the 18th century; our seats were behind a kind of proscenium arch at the back which, appropriately, was where the poor people used to sit (a curtain would be dropped, screening them from the King, until the performance began). One of the curious and really effective modern interventions are the Drottningholm lights - electric candlebulbs that shimmer in their sockets like actual wax candles.


We never got to see the wooden stage machinery back-stage (although there's a video about it on the website). Pictures of ropes and driving mechanisms make it look like a ship, and indeed, sailors were traditionally employed as stage-hands. Nevertheless, Ariodante did call for a brief burst from the thunder machine, and the movement of the wooden waves at the back, and we of course witnessed the side flats sliding into place with a big clunk.

I think this produdction of Ariodante, coupled with the DVD we watched of Giulio Cesare, really helped us to get a better understanding of Handel's music (I was wrong about the surtitles by the way - Drottningholm has them in Swedish). Although Ariodante was broadly in 18th-century dress, I wasn't too keen on the fantastical touches of tartan, to suggest the Edinburgh setting, but then, I'm a bit of a purist. There was some lively singing and playing from the period-instrument orchestra, and in spite of the endurance test presented by sitting on wooden benches, we were utterly transported into another age.


I can't recommend Drottningholm enough - we're already planning our return visit next summer...

Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington, with the exception of the Drottningholms Slottsteater auditorium, by Bengt Wanselius.

 Subscribe now!

Thursday, 11 June 2009

Handel Without Tears

There’s been a lack of blogs lately thanks to RSI in my right wrist (one of the occupational hazards of journalism) but after a stern talking-to from the doctor, I’ve promised to mend my ways with proper posture etc. Anyway, this is a quick recommendation for a wonderful DVD we watched the other weekend – David McVicar’s production of Handel’s Giulio Cesare for Glyndebourne Festival Opera. We were both kind of dreading hours of da capo arias, but having read this review, we faced our fears, and found this to be a superbly dramatic production, more alive than any Handel we’ve heard, and with some gorgeous singing from the likes of Sarah Connolly and Angelika Kirchschlager. This was a warm-up for our impending trip to Drottningholm for Ariodante, where we’ll finally get to see a Handel opera fully staged.

 Subscribe now!

Wednesday, 27 May 2009

Handel at Drottningholm

Very excited since we've made plans to visit Drottningholm - Sweden's magical 18th-century court theatre - for Handel's Ariodante. I've bought a CD of the opera (conducted by the wonderful Nicholas McGegan) because my Handel collection is in its infancy and we're going to need a libretto (no surtitles at Drottningholm!) Can't wait to see what a difference it makes, seeing a Handel opera fully staged; we recently attended the Academy of Ancient Music's concert performance of Arianna in Creta, and though it was wonderful musically, the lack of costumes and setting just killed the drama for me. I'll also be hot-footing it to the Drottningholm Theatre Museum if I get half a chance... At least this makes up for missing the Battle of Quiberon Bay!

 Subscribe now!

Tuesday, 19 May 2009

Battle of Quiberon Bay


I’m just gutted because despite all my wheedling, I’ve missed the opportunity to get my hands on tickets for this amazing operatic event, which is showing next week at Bath International Festival. Marking Handel’s death and the year of an important naval battle (1759), Alcina Chorus and Ensemble, with some help from Portsmouth Model Boat Display Team, are actually recreating the Battle of Quiberon Bay in one of the historic Roman baths. Expect ‘sea shanties, music from Handel's operas (directed by Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment conductor Robert Howarth) and Handel's Water Music, radio-controlled models of 18th-century ships, fireworks and more’. It’s sold out, so if you don’t already have tickets in your clammy hands, then you’ll miss this awesome event. Booo!

 Subscribe now!

Tuesday, 3 February 2009

Coram Boys

We had some tickets for the British premiere of Korngold's Die Tote Stadt at the Royal Opera House this weekend, which was hugely exciting, but while we were in London we also had time to take in a couple of 18th-century museums: The Foundling Museum and Benjamin Franklin's House. They were totally different from one another; I'll post on Franklin shortly, but first, let me show you some snaps of The Foundling Museum in Bloomsbury.


Above is a statue of founder Captain Thomas Coram (you might recognise it from the Hogarth painting) and below is the exterior, with a bust of Coram over the door. Coram was a philanthropic sea captain who campaigned to create a 'hospital for the maintenance and education of exposed and deserted young children'. Hogarth was an early governor (he designed the uniforms for the children and the charity's coat of arms) and later, Handel gave the proceeds of a performance of Messiah to the foundation, as well as leaving a fair copy of the score to the hospital in his will.


I'm not sure why the original building was demolished in 1926, but today's museum (above, which stands adjacent to the original site of the Hospital) has some really impressive artefacts. On the ground floor we saw a fantastic exhibition on the Hospital's history, including some of the little tokens that were pinned to the children's clothing by parents for identification purposes, and original petitions from the mothers, some of which were very moving (a typical one states: 'I am sorry to be thus unfortunate an particular as it is intirely out of my power to suport [the child] as the father is absent. To had to my misfortune I have been deprived of parents ever since I have been five years old and have not a friend to apply to and no not in wat manner to support the enfant an I have thus been so unfortunate an only been a servent sence I was fourteen').


One thing I didn't know about the Hospital was that, because of the huge demand for charity, if a petitioner were successful she had to return with her child the following Saturday and take part in a ballot (pictured above), whereby she was given a bag and drew either a white ball (success) or a black ball (rejection). Incredibly, this took place in the Hospital chapel, with spectators positioned in the gallery above - it's difficult to imagine how distressing this must have been!


Coram, despite his ordinary background, managed to elicit an extraordinary amount of support for The Foundling Hospital, and it became to all intents and purposes, Britain’s first public exhibition space. Unfortunately I couldn't photograph them, but the museum includes several galleries, painstakingly reconstructed from the originals, and studded with works by Hogarth, Reynolds, Gainsborough, Wilson, Hayman, Highmore, Roubiliac and Rysbrack. The picture above is of the staircase, but even here we have a famous painting of Handel's librettist, the outspoken Charles Jennens (far left).


We found a temporary exhibition called Handel the Philanthropist on the top floor, stuffed full of gems from the Museum's own Gerald Coke Handel Collection. In the glass case above was a portrait of Susannah Cibber, a china figure of Kitty Clive and various Handel scores, though perhaps one of the most fascinating exhibits was Handel's last will and testament on a special stand alongside; you could see evidence of the deterioration in his eyesight as he amended his will over a period of years, and his signature became shakier.

This is a must-see for anyone interested in the 18th century - the shop alone has enough to occupy Handel fans for quite some (not least a copy of Christopher Hogwood's 2007 Handel biography). As you can see from the picture below, we did buy the tea towel :)



Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.

Subscribe now!

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

The Provoked Wife

I felt a bit bad about my Handel in the nude posting, so to make it up to him, I'm giving a shout-out to the Messiah, and the intriguing news that Stephen Fry is supposed to be making a biopic about the composer.

Now, I don't know much about this project, but I'm assuming that the screenplay will be drawing on an amazing book (sadly, out of print) by Mary Nash called The Provoked Wife: The Life and Times of Susannah Cibber. I acquired my copy (left) ages ago and talk about a blockbuster! It charts the sad, scandalous and, at times, downright bizarre, events in the life of this 18th-century actress and was so gripping I bored my boyfriend endlessly by reading huge sections out to him.

Anwyay, most of the book is devoted to Susannah's disastrous marriage to actor Theophilus Cibber and the celebrated 'alienation of affections' trial, but it also gives a touching portrayal of her relationship with Handel and her involvement, as a singer, with the premiere of the Messiah. Despite being pretty uncompromising, Handel actually reset several arias for Mrs Cibber's untrained voice and wrote He Was Despised especially for her (this was based on declamation rather than cantabile, which was easier for Cibber to sing). He clearly liked her tender, melancholy voice, and her expressiveness.



And of course, her shocking back-story brought that extra frisson to the Messiah's debut, and explains why, when she had finished singing, a tearful audience member cried out: 'Woman, for this all thy sins be forgiven thee!'

Subscribe now!

Wednesday, 10 December 2008

Handel... in the nude

It's funny what you stumble across on research trips. Here are a couple of pictures from a trip I did to Dublin. We paid a visit to Fishamble Street because I wanted to see the site of Neal's Musick-hall, where Handel's Messiah was premiered in April 1742, and we did actually find the remains of the doorway (below), which stands alongside what's now the Handel Hotel.


But as we were inspecting the gate, we caught sight of something in the courtyard beyond. A sculpture of Handel, perched on some organ pipes with his, er, kit off. Now, I don't know about you but I don't remember the maestro appearing in public without his wig, let alone his clothes, and he certainly wasn't that athletic. And if we're going to get all technical, he probably wouldn't even have conducted with a baton. But hey, that's the least of our worries.



I'd love to know who sculpted it, or what indeed Herr Handel would have made of it. I don't think he was known for his sense of humour!


 Subscribe now!