heart!”
“My God! the dagger--it is real!” shrieked Peggy; but before she could
turn to fly, the other had sprung upon her, throwing her partly over a
couch, and holding her down by the throat while she stabbed her twice.
A hoarse cry came from Peg Woffington, and then she rolled off the couch
and fell limply to the stage, the backs of her hands rapping helplessly
on the boards as she fell.
The other actress stood over her for a moment with a smile; then she
looked strangely at the dagger which glistened in her hand. Then, with a
hysterical cry, she flung the weapon from her and fell back.
The curtain went down upon the roar of applause that came from every
part of the theatre. But though the applause was maintained, neither of
the actresses responded to the call. Several minutes had passed before
Garrick himself appeared and made a sign that he wished to speak. When
the house became silent, he explained to his patrons that both actresses
had swooned through the great demands which the scene had made upon
them, and would be unable to appear for the rest of the evening. Under
these melancholy circumstances, he hoped that no objection would be made
to the bringing on of the burletta immediately.
The audience seemed satisfied to forego the enjoyment of the ghost
scenes of the tragedy, and the burletta was proceeded with.
It was not thought advisable to let the audience know that Mrs.
Woffington was lying on a couch in her dressing room, while a surgeon
was binding up a wound made in her side by the dagger used by the
other actress. It was not until Garrick had examined the weapon that he
perceived it was not a stage blade, but a real one, which had been used
by Miss Hoppner. Fortunately, however, the point had been turned aside
by the steel in Peg Woffington's stays, so that it had only inflicted a
flesh wound.
In the course of a couple of hours Peggy had recovered consciousness,
and, though very weak, was still able to make an effort to captivate
the surgeon with her witty allusions to the privileges incidental to his
profession. She was so engaged, when Garrick entered the room and told
her that Miss Hoppner was weeping outside the door, but that he had
given orders that she was not to be admitted.
“Why should the poor girl not be admitted?” cried Peggy. “Should such
an accident as that which happened be treated as though it were murder?
Send her into the room, sir, and leave us alone together.”
Garrick protested, but Peggy insisted on having her own way, and the
moment Miss Hoppner was permitted to enter, she flung herself on her
knees at the side of the couch, weeping upon the hand that Peggy gave to
her.
When Garrick entered with Captain Joycelyn, a short time afterwards,
Peggy would not allow him to remain in the room. The Captain remained,
however, for some minutes, and when he left, Miss Hoppner was on his
arm. They crossed the stage together, and that was the last time she
ever trod that or any other stage, for Captain Joycelyn married her
within a month.
“Ah, friend Davy,” cried Peggy to Garrick, “there was, after all, some
sense in what Mr. Johnson said. We actors are, doubtless, great folk;
but 't were presumptuous to attempt to turn Nature into the handmaid
of Art. I have tried it, sir, and was only saved from disaster by
the excellence of the art of my stays-maker. Nay, the stage is not
Nature--it is but Nature seen on the surface of a mirror; and even then,
I protest, only when David Garrick is the actor, and Shakespeare's the
poet.”