Habits and men, with remnants of record touching the makers of bothDoran, Dr. (John)
Philosophy
Habits and men, with remnants of record touching the makers of both
Doran, Dr. (John)
Manners and customs
I have alluded to the proclamation against swords in 1724. It appears to
have been made in vain, for in 1755 I find the aristocrats still ruling
the theatre by power of naked weapons and impudence. Garrick received
from them this questionable support when he brought out the ‘Chinese
Festival,’ with Noverre and other foreign dancers from the neighbourhood
of “Zurich’s fair waters.” A war with France had just broken out, and the
mob were like Foote’s patriot gingerbread-maker in the Borough, who would
not tolerate three dancers from Switzerland because he hated the French.
The ochlocracy hissed; the aristocracy drew their swords to silence the
villains; the latter welcomed the battle, and they not only damaged the
theatre and many illustrious heads, but they pretty nearly destroyed
Garrick’s own private residence. Roscius lost nearly £4000 in this
quarrel, wherein swords were drawn and blood spilt that was of no value
to the manager; and the present Mr. Noverre, of Norwich (I believe),
can hardly make even a faint guess of the dire storm which greeted his
great-grandsire when he first cut an _entrechat_ on the boards of Old
Drury.
But actors had bloody frays of their own, and that too among the gentler
part of the profession. One I may mention, as it is connected with a
matter of dress. The charming George Anne Bellamy had procured from Paris
two gorgeous dresses, wherein to enact Statira in the ‘Rival Queens.’
Roxana was played by Peg Woffington; and she was so overcome with malice,
hatred, and all uncharitableness, when she saw herself eclipsed by the
dazzling glories of the resplendent Bellamy, that Peg at length attempted
to drive her off the stage, and with upheld dagger had wellnigh stabbed
her at the side-scenes. Alexander and a posse of chiefs with hard names
were at hand, but the less brilliantly-clad Roxana rolled Statira and her
spangled sack in the dust, pommelling her the while with the handle of
her dagger, and screaming aloud—
“Nor he, nor Heaven, shall shield thee from my justice;
Die, sorceress, die! and all my wrongs die with thee!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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