It is about a half hour before curtain. I am standing in my Victorian underwear surrounded by piles of fabric that will, in a short time, all go onto my body in layer after layer. I learned long ago that the first rule for a woman wearing replicated 19th century attire is to put your shoes on before you don your corset. It’s just too hard the other way round.
The Avery-Copp House is a sprawling, majestic dwelling built c1800. In a second floor bedchamber, photos of former occupants and a feast of antiques look on. They seem amused as I fling the hoop over my head. By now I can hear folks arriving and the hum of chatter downstairs. My palms don’t sweat like they used to before a show, and that makes tying the hoop about my waist and the petticoat that shortly followed much easier. The gown itself is next. Skirt first. The small snaps and hooks that fasten them are placed strategically so that I can do the entire thing up all by myself. I face the mirror, and take a few deep breaths. My diaphragm is somewhat compromised by the corset, but years of practice have helped me breathe from my upper register in these situations. Every year I wonder at the ladies who stood where I am standing as they prepared themselves to receive their Christmas guests. Did they get as excited as I am, I wonder? Though if it really were the 19th century, there is no way I, a mere actress, would ever be allowed up here in my lady's room! Oh, the irony... A light shawl around my shoulders completes the look and will protect my shoulders from the December chill as I greet arriving audience members in the foyer. But there is one more thing to do. I close my eyes. “Mom, Dad, thank you for sharing your love of this story with me. I'm honored to share it with others. Come with me on stage tonight. Thanks. I love you.” I can literally feel the buzz in the air as I descend the stairs. True Victorian ambiance gleams with the sparkle of garlands, decorations and candles. By the front door, a massive basket overflows with food donations. I can almost see Boz smile. Christmas treats bedeck the dining room table, ready to be devoured at the intermission. People are smiling and chatting. It is humbling to see folks who have come back year after year – some of them for eight straight in a row, since it all began. My little cup of tea, which is kindly made for me every year and served in a real cup and saucer, is ready in its customary place for one final pre-show gulp. By now the audience is seated in the parlor. I walk into the adjacent room, toward my iPhone and Bluetooth speaker (concealed on a shelf) and place my finger on the button as I summon Old Fezziwig’s spirit: “Fiddler, strike up Sir Roger de Coverley!” The infectious tune wafts through the rooms of the house, and all of us back stage (meaning in the now darkened dining room) start to bounce and jig. I cannot stand still before walking onstage. I just get too excited. This never gets old. It never will. As the music ends and I am introduced briefly, I glance into the performance space to the bookshelf on the upper part of the wall. It is the second shelf that is of special interest, for it is the one with all of Dickens’s books in order. He’ll be watching over my shoulder tonight. No pressure. I hear my name. It is time to keep my promise to the Carol, its Spirits, and its creator. Right. Let’s Fezziwig this place up! If you live in the area or your travels take you there, please do pay a visit to one of Groton’s hidden gems, the gorgeous Avery-Copp House in Groton, CT. It is a singular experience of a true Connecticut treasure, offering diverse programming throughout the year as well as a fantastic research archive.
1 Comment
Pauline
12/21/2018 05:00:55 pm
You really provide the magic!
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