For the Mirror, &c.
“The manager, or the magistrates, or somebody is greatly to blame about the playhouse. I brought my family to the pit to see that great actor, Cooper, play Zanga. We sat in the pit the whole time the blackguards were throwing down various kinds of things upon our heads. Scraps of apples, nutshells in handfulls, and what is worse something I can’t well name—some about me said that brandy or strong grog was thrown down—it might be so once;—but it was not exactly that which fell on me and my family. Since then, I went to see him in Macbeth, and left my wife and daughter at home for fear; and the fellows above were as bad as before—and had not I luckily kept my hat on I should once have got my head broke with a hard heavy hiccory-nut that was thrown with all the force and spitefulness as if the person wanted to hurt somebody very severely.”
We agree with our correspondents that some prompt and effectual remedy ought to be applied to the evils of which they complain: and we are surprised it has not yet been done, because every person with whom any of us converses, makes pretty nearly the same complaint, and expresses the very same wish.
In every country there exist multitudes as well disposed as those now alluded to, to disturb the playhouse, and bring brutal riot within its walls—but they will not be allowed. Any one who reads Colquhoun’s account of London and its rabble, will perceive that there are people enough there ready to do offensive offices for the pure sake of offence and savageness; but not only the magistrates, but the audience themselves will not put up with it. The latter generally abate the nuisance in a summary way—they turn out the offender; and the law warrants, and if necessary aids them. If our audience suffer these encroachments what will be the fair conclusion, but that they concur with the offenders.
It was but a few nights ago, a company (of perhaps ten,) converted the boxes into a grog shop—brought jug and bottle, and glass, and tumbler into the front seats, and there caroused, laughing, talking aloud, and swearing aloud, even during the performance. On the night the Revenge was performed, even while Mr. Cooper was engaged in a most interesting scene, a boy, not in mean clothes either, stood up at the front corner of the gallery, roaring out and speaking as loud as he could to some one on the opposite side. Yet this, were it not for the time it happened, was to the surrounding tumult, as a dying sigh to the roar of a northwester.
It cannot be doubted that in a civilized society like this, some legal means must exist to put an end to these grievances. There are other grievances, however, that cannot be so immediately made the subject of redress by the magistrate, but which, nevertheless, require correction, and would never occur if every one who can afford to wear such a coat as gentlemen wear, could imitate the manners of gentlemen as well as they can ape their dress. By a number of well-coated persons of this kind, the time immemorial privileges of the theatre are violated, and its customary rights denied. Provided they think themselves able to scuffle it out by bodily strength they will indulge themselves at the expense of others—one of those will sit before a lady and refuse to take off his hat—another coming late will force his way contrary to all right and usage, before a person who has an hour before taken his seat—and if spoken to, utter surly defiance. Against every such unmannered intruder, the whole audience ought, for the establishment of the general right and the good old custom, to make common cause, and thrust him out by force. No doubt there are drawcansirs enough to push this offence as far as it will go. Let them know that there have been and still are drawcansirs in England, Ireland and Scotland—that Dublin particularly was once full of them; but that they were soon brought to manners by the just resentment of the audience—the gripe of the constable, and the contempt of every body.
[Footnotes]
[1.] Johnson’s Idler, No. 25.