CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VII.1798 to 1801.Partiality of George the Third for Theatrical Entertainments—Sheridan's kindness to Grimaldi—His domestic affliction and severe distress—The production of Harlequin Amulet a new era in Pantomime—Pigeon-fancying and Wagering—His first Provincial Excursion with Mrs. Baker, the eccentric Manageress—John Kemble and Jew Davis, with a new reading—Increased success at Maidstone and Canterbury—Polite interview with John Kemble.The summer passed pleasantly away, the whole of Grimaldi's spare time being devoted to the society of his wife and her parents, until the departure of the latter from London for Weymouth, of which theatre Mr. Hughes was the proprietor. It is worthy of remark, as a proof of the pleasure which George the Third derived from theatrical entertainments, that when the court were at Weymouth, he was in the habit of visiting the theatre at least four times a week; generally on such occasions commanding the performance, and taking with him a great number of the noblemen and ladies in his suite.Drury Lane opened for the season on the 15th of September, and Sadler's Wells closed ten days afterwards: but while the latter circumstance released Grimaldi from his arduous labours at one theatre, the former one did not tend to increase them at the other, for pantomime was again eschewed at Drury Lane, and "Blue Beard," "Feudal Times," and "Lodoiska" reigned paramount. At the commencement of the season he met Mr. Sheridan, when the following colloquy ensued:—"Well, Joe, still living—eh?""Yes, sir; and what's more, married as well.""Oho! Pretty young woman, Joe?""Very pretty, sir.""That's right! You must lead a domestic life, Joe: nothing like a domestic life for happiness, Joe: I lead a domestic life myself." And then came one of those twinkling glances which no one who ever saw them can forget the humour of."I mean to do so, sir.""Right. But, Joe, what will your poor little wife do while you are at the theatre of an evening? Very bad thing, Joe, to let a pretty young wife be alone of a night. I'll manage it for you, Joe: I'll put her name down upon the free list; herself and friend.—But, mind, it's a female friend, that's all, Joe; any other might be dangerous,—eh, Joe?" And away he went withoutpausing for a moment to listen to Grimaldi's expressions of gratitude for his thoughtful kindness. However, he did not omit performing his friendly offer, and his wife, availing herself of it, went to the theatre almost every night he played, sat in the front of the house until he had finished, and then they went home together.In this pleasant and quiet manner the autumn and winter passed rapidly away. In the following year, 1799, it became apparent that his young wife would shortly make him a father; and while this prospect increased the happiness and attention of her husband and parents, it added little to their slight stock of cares and troubles, for they were too happy and contented to entertain any other but cheerful anticipations of the result.There is little to induce one to dwell upon a sad and melancholy chapter in the homely life of every-day. After many months of hope, and some of fear, and many lingering changes from better to worse, and back and back again, his dear wife, whom he had loved from a boy with so much truth and feeling, and whose excellences to the last moment of his life, many years afterwards, were the old man's fondest theme, died."Poor Joe! Oh, Richard, be kind to poor Joe!" were the last words she uttered. They were addressed to her brother. A few minutes afterwards, he sat beside a corpse.They found in her pocket-book a few pencilled lines, beneath which she had written her wish that when she died they might be inscribed above her grave:—Earth walks on Earth like glittering gold;Earth says to Earth, We are but mould:Earth builds on Earth castles and towers;Earth says to Earth, All shall be ours.They were placed upon the tablet erected to her memory. She died on the 18th of October, 1799, and was buried in the family vault of Mr. Hughes, at St. James's, Clerkenwell.[25][25]Miss Maria Hughes, eldest daughter of Mr. Richard Hughes, proprietor of one fourth of Sadler's Wells, of which theatre he was also the resident manager, was married to Joe in 1800, and on October 18, in the same year, died in child-birth, in the twenty-fifth year of her age. She was not interred in the family vault, but in the graveyard of St. James's on Clerkenwell Green.In the first passion of his grief the widower went distracted. Nothing but the constant attention and vigilance of his friends, who never left him alone, would have prevented his laying violent hands upon his life. There were none to console him, except with sympathy, for his friends were hers, and all mourned no common loss.Mr. Richard Hughes, the brother, never forgot his sister's dying words, but proved himself under all circumstances and at all times Grimaldi's firm and steady friend. The poor fellowhaunted the scenes of his old hopes and happiness for two months, and was then summoned to the theatre to set the audience in a roar; and chalking over the seams which mental agony had worn in his face, was hailed with boisterous applause in the merry Christmas pantomime!The title of this pantomime, which was produced at Drury Lane, was, "Harlequin Amulet; or, the Magic of Mona;" it was written by Mr. Powell, and produced under the superintendence of Mr. James Byrne, the ballet-master. It was highly successful, running without intermission from the night of its production until Easter, 1800. This harlequinade was distinguished by several unusual features besides its great success; foremost among them was an entire change both in the conception of the character of Harlequin and in the costume. Before that time it had been customary to attire the Harlequin in a loose jacket and trousers, and it had been considered indispensable that he should be perpetually attitudinizing in five positions, and doing nothing else but passing instantaneously from one to the other, and never pausing without being in one of the five. All these conventional notions were abolished by Byrne, who this year made his first appearance as Harlequin, and made Harlequin a very original person to the play-going public. His attitudes and jumps were all new, and his dress was infinitely improved: the latter consisted of a white silk shape, fitting without a wrinkle, and into which the variegated silk patches were woven, the whole being profusely covered with spangles, and presenting a very sparkling appearance. The innovation was not resisted: the applause was enthusiastic; "nor," says Grimaldi, "was it undeserved; for, in my judgment, Mr. James Byrne[26]was at that time the best Harlequin on the boards, and never has been excelled, even if equalled, since that period."[26]Mr. James Byrne, father of Mr. Oscar Byrne, was one of the ballet at Drury lane in Garrick's time; and was also employed at Sadler's Wells in the seasons of 1775 and 1776. He died December 4, 1845, in the eighty-ninth year of his age. Mrs. Byrne, whom many may yet remember at Covent Garden Theatre, died a few months before her husband, on August 27, in her seventy-fourth year.The alteration soon became general, and has proved a lasting one, Harlequin having been ever since attired as upon this memorable occasion, in accordance with the improved taste of his then representative.Grimaldi's part in this production was a singularly arduous and wearying one: he had to perform Punch, and to change afterwards to Clown. He was so exceedingly successful in the first-mentioned part, that Mr. Sheridan wished him to preserve the character throughout,—a suggestion which he was compelled resolutely to oppose. His reason for doing so will not be considered extraordinary, when we inform the present generation that his personal decorations consisted of a large and heavyhump on his chest, and a ditto, ditto, on his back; a high sugar-loaf cap, a long-nosed mask, and heavy wooden shoes;—the weight of the whole dress, and of the humps, nose, and shoes especially, being exceedingly great. Having to exercise all his strength in this costume, and to perform a vast quantity of what in professional language is termed "comic business," he was compelled by fatigue, at the end of the sixth scene, to assume the Clown's dress, and so relieve himself from the immense weight which he had previously endured. "The part of Columbine," he tells us, "was supported by Miss Menage;[27]and admirably she sustained it. I thought at the time that, taking them together, I never saw so good a Harlequin and Columbine; and I still entertain the same opinion."[27]Miss Bella Menage, in September, 1804, became the wife of Mr. M. W. Sharp, the artist."Harlequin Amulet" being played every night until Easter, he had plenty to do: but although his body was fatigued, his mind was relieved by constant employment, and he had little time, in the short intervals between exertion and repose, to brood over the heavy misfortune which had befallen him. Immediately after his wife's death, he had removed from the scene of his loss to a house in Baynes' Row, and he gradually became more cheerful and composed.In this new habitation he devoted his leisure hours to the breeding of pigeons, and for this purpose had a room, which fanciers termed adormer, constructed at the top of his house, where he used to sit for hours together, watching the birds as they disported in the air above him. At one time he had upwards of sixty pigeons, all of the very first order and beauty, and many of them highly valuable: in proof of which, he notes down with great pride a bet, concerning one pigeon of peculiar talents, made with Mr. Lambert, himself a pigeon-fancier.This Mr. Lambert being, as Grimaldi says, "like myself, a pigeon-fancier, but, unlike myself, a confirmed boaster," took it into his head to declare and pronounce his birds superior in all respects to those in any other collection. This comprehensive declaration immediately brought all the neighbouring pigeon-breeders up in arms; and Grimaldi, taking up the gauntlet on behalf of the inmates of the "dormer," accepted a bet offered by Lambert, that there was no pigeon in his flight capable of accomplishing twenty miles in twenty minutes. The sum at stake was twenty pounds. The money was posted, the bird exhibited, the day on which the match should come off named, and the road over which the bird was to fly agreed upon—the course being from the twentieth mile-stone on the Great North Road to Grimaldi's house. At six o'clock in the morning, the bird was consigned to the care of a friend, with instructions to throw it up precisely as the clock struck twelve, at the appointed mile-stone,near St. Albans; and the friend and the pigeon, accompanied by a gentleman on behalf of the opposite party, started off, all parties concerned first setting their watches by Clerkenwell church. It was a very dismal day, the snow being very deep on the ground, and a heavy sleet falling, very much increasing the odds against the bird, the weather, of course, having great effect, and the snow frequently blinding it. There was no stipulation made, however, for fine weather; so at twelve o'clock the two parties, accompanied by several friends, took up their station in the dormer. In exactly nineteen minutes afterwards, the pigeon alighted on the roof of the house. An offer of twenty pounds was immediately made for the bird, but it was declined.The pigeons, however, did not always keep such good hours, or rather minutes; for sometimes they remained away so long on their aërial excursions, that their owner gave them up in despair. On one occasion they were absent upwards of four hours. As their owner was sitting disconsolately, concluding they were gone for ever, his attention was attracted by the apparently unaccountable behaviour of three birds who had been left behind, and who, with their heads elevated in the air, were all gazing with intense earnestness at one portion of the horizon. After straining his eyes for a length of time without avail, their master began to fancy that he discerned a small black speck a great height above him. He was not mistaken, for by and by the black speck turned out, to his infinite joy, to be the lost flight of pigeons returning home, after a journey probably of several hundred miles.When the pantomime had ceased to run, Grimaldi had but little to do at Drury Lane, his duties being limited to a combat or some such business, in "Lodoiska," "Feudal Times," and other spectacles, which he could well manage to reach the theatre in time for, after the performances at Sadler's Wells were over. Drury Lane closed in June, and re-opened in September, ten days after the season at Sadler's Wells had terminated; but as he did not expect to be called into active service until December, he played out of town, for the first time in his life, in the month of November, 1801.There was at that time among the Sadler's Wells company a clever man named Lund, who, in the vacation time, usually joined Mrs. Baker's company on the Rochester circuit. His benefit was fixed to take place at Rochester, on the 15th, and coming to town, he waited on Grimaldi and entreated him to play for him on the occasion. Whenever it was in his power to accede to such a request it was his invariable custom not to refuse; he therefore willingly returned an answer in the affirmative.He reached Rochester about noon on the day fixed for the benefit, rehearsed half-a-dozen pantomime scenes, and havingdined, went to the theatre, every portion of which was crammed before six o'clock. On his appearance, he was received with a tremendous shout of welcome; his two comic songs were each encored three times, and the whole performances went off with greatéclat. Mrs. Baker, the manager or manageress, at once offered him an engagement for the two following nights, the receipts of the house to be divided between them. His acceptance of this proposal delighted the old lady so much, that the arrangement was no sooner concluded than she straightway walked upon the stage, dressed in the bonnet and shawl in which she had been taking the money and giving the checks, and in an audible voice gave out the entertainments herself, to the immense delight of the audience, who shouted vociferously.This old lady appears to have been a very droll personage. She managed all her affairs herself, and her pecuniary matters were conducted on a principle quite her own. She never put her money out at interest, or employed it in any speculative or profitable manner, but kept it in six or eight large punch-bowls, which always stood upon the top shelf of a bureau, except when she was disposed to make herself particularly happy, and then she would take them down singly, and after treating herself with a sly look at their contents, put them up again.This old lady had a factotum to whom attached the elegant sobriquet of "Bony Long;" the gentleman's name being Long, and his appearance bony. At a supper after the play, at which the guests were Lund, Grimaldi, Henry and William Dowton (sons of the celebrated actor of that name), the manageress, and "Bony," it was arranged that Grimaldi should perform Scaramouch, in "Don Juan," on the following night. A slight difficulty occurred, in consequence of his having brought from London no other dress than a clown's; but Mrs. Baker provided against it by sending for one Mr. Palmer, then a respectable draper and tailor at Rochester, who, having received the actor's instructions, manufactured for him the best Scaramouch dress he ever wore. The assurances which were given the artist at the time that his abilities lay in the theatrical way were not without good foundation, for two years afterwards he left Rochester, came to London, and became principal master-tailor at Covent Garden Theatre. He held the situation for some years, and then removed to Drury Lane and filled the same office, which he still continues to hold.On the second night, the house was filled in every part, and a great number of persons were turned away. On the following evening, on which he made his last appearance, and repeated the part of Scaramouch together with that of Clown; the orchestra was turned into boxes, seats were fitted up on every inch of available room behind the scenes, and the receipts exceeded in amount those of any former occasion.At another supper that night with Mrs. Baker, he made anarrangement to join her company for a night or two, at Maidstone, in the following March, provided his London engagements would admit of his doing so. They were not at all behindhand with the money; for, at eight o'clock next morning, "Bony Long" repaired to his lodgings, taking with him an account of the two nights' receipts, Grimaldi's share whereof came to 160l., which was at once paid over to him, down upon the nail, all in three-shilling pieces. This was an addition to his baggage which he had not expected, and he was rather at a loss how to convey his loose silver up to town, when he was relieved by a tavern-keeper, who being as glad to take the silver as Grimaldi was to get notes, very soon made the exchange, to the satisfaction of all parties. Having had this satisfactory settlement with the old lady, Grimaldi took his leave, and returned to town, not at all displeased with the success which had attended his first professional excursion from London.At Christmas, "Harlequin Amulet" was revived at Drury Lane, in place of a new pantomime, and ran without interruption till the end of January following; drawing as much money as it had in the previous year. It was during this season, or about this time, that Grimaldi's old friend Davis, or "Jew Davis," as he was called, made his first appearance at Drury Lane. This is the man whose eccentricity gave rise to a ludicrous anecdote of John Kemble, of which the following is a correct version:Kemble was once "starring" in the north of England, and paid a visit to the provincial theatre in which Jew Davis was engaged, where he was announced for Hamlet. Every member of the little company was necessarily called into requisition, and Jew Davis was "cast" to play the first grave-digger. All went well until the first scene of the fifth act, being the identical one in which Davis was called upon to appear: and here the equanimity and good temper of Kemble were considerably shaken: the grave-digger's representative having contracted a habit of grimacing which, however valuable in burlesque or farce, was far from being at all desirable in tragedy, and least of all in that philosophical tragedy of which Hamlet is the hero. But if the actor had contracted a habit of grimacing upon his part, the audience upon its part had contracted an equally constant habit of laughing at him: so the great tragedian, moralizing over the skull of Yorick, was frequently interrupted by the loud roars of laughter attendant upon the grave-digger's strangely comical and increasing grins.This greatly excited the wrath of Kemble, and after the play was finished, he remonstrated somewhat angrily with Davis upon the subject, requesting that such "senseless buffoonery" might not be repeated in the event of their sustaining the same parts on any subsequent occasion. All this was far from answering the end proposed: the peculiarities of temper belonging to JewDavis were aroused, and he somewhat tartly replied that he did not wish to be taught his profession by Mr. Kemble. The latter took no further notice of the subject, but pursued the even tenour of his way with so beneficial an effect upon the treasury that his engagement was renewed for "a few nights more," and on the last of these "few nights" Hamlet was again the play performed.As before, all went well till the grave-diggers' scene commenced; when Kemble, while waiting for his "cue" to go on, listened bodingly to the roars of laughter which greeted the colloquy of Davis and his companion. At length he entered, and at the same moment, Davis having manufactured a grotesque visage, was received with a shout of laughter, which greatly tended to excite the anger of "King John." His first words were spoken, but failed to make any impression: and upon turning towards Davis, he discovered that worthy standing in the grave, displaying a series of highly unsuitable although richly comic grimaces.In an instant all Kemble's good temper vanished, and stamping furiously upon the stage, he expressed his anger and indignation in a muttered exclamation, closely resembling an oath. This ebullition of momentary excitement produced an odd and unexpected effect. No sooner did Davis hear the exclamation and the loud stamping of the angry actor, than he instantly raised his hands above his head in mock terror, and, clasping them together as if he were horrified by some dreadful spectacle, threw into his face an expression of intense terror, and uttered a frightful cry, half shout and half scream, which electrified his hearers. Having done this, he very coolly laid himself flat down in the grave, (of course disappearing from the view of the audience), nor could any entreaties prevail upon him to emerge from it, or to repeat one word more. The scene was done as well as it could be, without a grave-digger, and the audience, while it was proceeding, loudly expressed their apprehensions from time to time, "that some accident had happened to Mr. Davis."Some months after this, Sheridan happening to see Davis act in the provinces, and being struck with his talents, (he was considered the best stage Jew upon the boards,) engaged him for Drury Lane; and, in that theatre, on the first day of the ensuing season, he was formally introduced by Sheridan to John Kemble, then stage-manager. By the latter he was not immediately recognised, although Kemble evidently remembered having seen him somewhere; but, after a time, plainly devoted to consideration, he said—"Oh,—ah, ah! I recollect now. You, sir, you are the gentleman who suddenly went into the grave, and forgot to come out again, I think?"Davis admitted the fact without equivocation, and hastenedto apologise for his ill-timed jesting. The affair was related to Sheridan, to whom, it is needless to say, it afforded the most unbounded delight, and all three joining in a hearty laugh, dismissed the subject.When "Harlequin Amulet" was withdrawn, there was very little for Grimaldi to do during the rest of the season. On the 4th of March, therefore, in pursuance of his previous arrangement, he joined the old lady at Maidstone, and was announced for Scaramouch.The announcement of his name excited an unwonted sensation in this quiet little town. As early as half-past four o'clock in the afternoon, the street in front of the theatre was rendered quite impassable by the vast crowd of persons that surrounded the doors. Mrs. Baker, who had never beheld such a scene in her life-time, became at first very much delighted, and then very much frightened. After some consideration, she despatched a messenger for an extra quantity of constables, and upon their arrival, threw the doors open at once, previously placing herself in the pay-box, according to custom, to take the money."Now, then, pit or box, pit or gallery, box or pit?" was her constant and uninterrupted cry."Pit, pit!" from half-a-dozen voices, the owners clinging to the little desk to prevent themselves from being carried away by the crowd before they had paid."Then pay two shillings,—pass on, Tom-fool!" such was the old lady's invariable address to everybody on busy nights, without the slightest reference to their quality or condition.On this occasion of the doors being opened at five o'clock, when the house was quite full she locked up the box in which the money was deposited, and going round to the stage, ordered the performances to be commenced immediately, remarking, with a force of reasoning which it was impossible to controvert, that "the house could be but full, and being full to the ceiling now, they might just as well begin at once, and have it over so much the sooner." The performance accordingly began without delay, to the great satisfaction of the audience, and terminated shortly after nine o'clock.Grimaldi was very much caressed by the townspeople, and received several invitations to dinner next day from gentlemen residing in the neighbourhood; all of which he declined, however, being already engaged to the eccentric manageress, who would hardly allow him out of her sight. Happening to walk about the town in the course of the morning, he was recognised and saluted by the boys, in the same way as when he walked the streets of London. On the night of his second appearance, the house was again crowded, the door-keepers having managed, indeed, by some ingenious contrivance, to squeeze three pounds more into it than on the previous night. The first evening produced154l., and the second 157l.Of the gross sum, his share was 155l.17s., which was promptly paid to him after supper, on the second and last night.The old lady had no sooner handed it over through the ever useful Bony, than she proposed to Grimaldi to go on with them to Canterbury, and to act there for the next two nights upon similar terms. He no sooner signified his willingness to do so, than she directed bills for distribution to be made out, and sent to the printer's instantly. They were composed and printed by four o'clock in the morning. No sooner did they arrive wet from the press, than men on horseback were immediately despatched with them to Canterbury, about which city the whole impression was circulated and posted before nine o'clock. The old lady had theatres at Rochester, Maidstone, and Canterbury, besides many other towns in the circuit, and the size of the whole being very nearly the same, the scenery which was suitable to one fitted them all. Early in the morning, the whole company left Maidstone for Canterbury, whither Grimaldi followed in a post-chaise at his leisure. When he arrived there about one o'clock, everything was ready; no rehearsal was necessary, for there were the same performers, the same musicians, scene-shifters, and lamp-lighters. Having inspected the box-book, which notified that every takeable seat in the house was taken, he retired to Mrs. Baker's sitting-room, which was the very model of the one at Maidstone and at Rochester too, and found a good dinner awaiting his arrival. Here he was, and here they all were, in the city of Canterbury, about twenty miles from Maidstone, at one o'clock in the day, with the same scenery, dresses, decorations, and transformations as had been in use at the latter theatre lateovernight, surrounded by the same actors, male and female, and playing in the same pieces which had been represented by the same men and women, and the same adjuncts, fourteen hours before at Maidstone.He played here two nights, as had been agreed upon, to very nearly the same houses as at Maidstone; the first night's cash being 151l.3s., and the second 159l.17s., of which he received 155l.9s.6d.Early the next morning he returned to London with 311l.6s.6d.in his pocket, the profits he had acquired during an absence from the metropolis of only four days' duration.Shortly after his return to town, and about a week before Easter, he saw with great astonishment that it was announced, or, to use the theatrical term, "underlined," in the Drury Lane bills, that "Harlequin Amulet" would be revived at Easter, and that Mr. Grimaldi would sustain his original character. This announcement being in direct violation of his articles of agreement at Drury Lane, and wholly inconsistent with the terms of his engagement at Sadler's Wells, he had no alternative but atonce to wait upon Mr. John Kemble, the stage-manager of the former theatre, and explain to him the exact nature of his position.He found John Kemble at the theatre, who received him with all the grandeur and authority of demeanour which it was his habit to assume when he was about to insist upon something which he knew would be resisted. Grimaldi bowed, and Kemble formally and gravely touched his hat."Joe," said Kemble, with great dignity, "what is the matter?"In reply, Grimaldi briefly stated his case, pointing out that he was engaged by his articles at Drury to play in last pieces at and after Easter, but not in pantomime; that at Sadler's Wells he was bound to perform in the first piece; that these distinct engagements had never before been interfered with by the management of either theatre in the most remote manner upon any one occasion; and that, however much he regretted the inconvenience to which his refusal might give rise, he could not possibly perform the part for which he had been announced at Drury Lane.Kemble listened to these representations with a grave and unmoved countenance; and when Grimaldi had finished, after waiting a moment, as if to make certain that he had really concluded, rose from his seat, and said in a solemn tone, "Joe, one word here, sir, is as good as a thousand—youmustcome!"Joe felt excessively indignant at this, not merely becausemustis a disagreeable word in itself, but because he conceived that the tone in which it was uttered rendered it additionally disagreeable; so, saying at once what the feeling of the moment prompted, he replied, "Very good, sir. In reply tomust, there is only one thing that can very well be said:—I willnotcome, sir.""Will not, Joe,—eh?" said Kemble."I will not, sir," replied Grimaldi."Not!" said Kemble again, with great emphasis.Grimaldi repeated the monosyllable with equal vehemence."Then, Joe," said Kemble, taking off his hat, and bowing in a ghost-like manner, "I wish you a very good morning!"Grimaldi took off his hat, made another low bow, and wished Mr. Kemble good morning; and so they parted.Next day his name was taken from the bills, and that of some other performer, quite unknown to the London stage, was inserted instead; which performer, when he did come out, went in again—for he failed so signally that the pantomime was not played after the Monday night.In the short interval between this interview and the Easter holidays, Grimaldi was engaged in the study of a new part for Sadler's Wells, which was a very prominent character in a piecebearing the sonorous and attractive title of the "Great Devil."[28]He entertained very strong hopes that both the part and the piece would be very successful; and how far his expectations were borne out by subsequent occurrences, the next chapter will show.[28]The Serio-Comic Spectacle of "The Great Devil; or, The Robber of Genoa," was produced late in the season of 1801, early in September, and on the 14th of that month was performed for C. Dibdin's benefit. Nicola, by Mr. Grimaldi; Bridget, by Mrs. Davis; Gattie, some years afterwards distinguished for his performance of Mons. Morbleu, at Drury Lane, had also a singing part in the piece.CHAPTER VIII.1802 to 1803.Hard work to counterbalance great gains—His discharge from Drury Lane, and his discharge at Sadler's Wells—His return to the former house—Monk Lewis—Anecdote of him and Sheridan, and of Sheridan and the Prince of Wales—Grimaldi gains a Son and loses all his capital.The "Great Devil" came out on Easter Monday,[29]and its success entailed upon Grimaldi no inconsiderable degree of trouble and fatigue. He played two parts in it, and, to say nothing of such slight exertions as acting and fighting, had to change his dress no fewer than nineteen times in the progress of the piece. It made a great noise, and ran the whole season through.[29]Sadler's Wells Theatre, the interior of which had been wholly rebuilt since the close of the season, in 1801, opened on Easter Monday, April 19, 1802, with an occasional Burletta Prelude, entitled "Old Sadler's Ghost;" a new Comic Dance, called "The Jew Cobbler," in which M. Joubert, from Paris, as principal dancer, made his first appearance in England; the Serio-Comic Pantomime of "The Great Devil," with alterations and new dresses; and an entirely new Comic Pantomime, called "Harlequin Greenlander; or, The Whale Fishery." In "The Great Devil," Bologna, jun., after an absence of eight years, played the part of Satani, the Great Devil. Rudolpho, Mons. Gouriet; Nicola, Mr. Grimaldi; Count Ludovico, Mr. Hartland; Bridget, Mrs. Davis; the Countess, Madame St. Amand.As we had occasion to notice in the last chapter the ease with which he acquired a large sum of money by his professional exertions, and as we may have to describe other large gains hereafter, it may not be amiss to show in this place how much of fatigue and harassing duty those exertions involved, and how much of bodily toil and fatigue he had to endure before those gains could be counted.At Sadler's Wells he commenced the labour of the evening by playing a long and arduous part in the before-mentioned "Great Devil;" after this he played in some little burletta which immediately succeeded it; upon conclusion of that he was clown to the rope-dancer; and, as a wind-up to the entertainments, he appeared as clown in the pantomime, always singing two comic songs in the course of the piece, both of which were regularly encored. He had then to change his dress with all possiblespeed, and take a hurried walk, and often a rapid run, to Drury Lane, to perform in the last piece.[30][30]This summary of Joe's exertions is over-stated: in the Spectacles Joe generally had a part, particularly where combatants were employed; but not in any of the little burlettas alluded to, nor was he ever Clown to the rope: as Clown in the Pantomime, his name certainly appears in the Sadler's Wells' announcements; but when the pantomime was played on the same night and hour at either of the patent theatres, Joe's part at the Wells was played by substitutes—by Hartland or others; and by a clause in the articles of his engagement, Grimaldi appears to have always been in a position to play at Drury Lane and Covent Garden, to the exclusion of any demand on his services at Sadler's Wells.This immense fatigue, undergone six days out of every seven, left him at the conclusion of the week completely worn out and thoroughly exhausted, and, beyond all doubt, by taxing his bodily energies far beyond their natural powers, sowed the first seeds of that extreme debility and utter prostration of strength from which, in the latter years of his life, he suffered so much. The old man had a good right to say that, if his gains had been occasionally great, they were won by labour more than proportionate.His attention to his duties and invariable punctuality were always remarkable. To his possession in an eminent degree of these qualities, may be attributed the fact, that during the whole of his dramatic career, long and arduous as it was, he never once disappointed the public, or failed in his attendance at the theatre to perform any part for which he was cast.He continued to attend his duties as a member of the Drury Lane company for three months without finding that any violent consequences arose from his interview with John Kemble. The only perceptible difference was, that when they met, Kemble, instead of accosting him familiarly, as he had before been accustomed to do, would pull off his hat and make him a formal bow, which Grimaldi would return in precisely the same manner; so that their occasional meetings were characterised by something about half-way between politeness and absurdity. All this pleased Grimaldi very much, but rather surprised him too, for he had confidently expected that some rupture would have followed the announcement of his determination not to act. He was not very long, however, in finding that his original apprehensions were correct, for on the 26th of June he received the following epistle:—"Drury Lane Theatre."Sir,"I am requested by the proprietors to inform you that your services will be dispensed with for the next ensuing season."This notice was signed by Powell, the then prompter, and its contents considerably annoyed and irritated the person to whom it was addressed. To command him in the first place to perform what was out of his engagement and out of his power, and topunish him in the next by dispensing with his services, which of consequence involved his dispensing with his salary, seemed exceedingly harsh and unjust treatment. For a time he even contemplated bringing an action against Sheridan, against whom, under the terms of his agreement, he would in all probability have obtained a verdict; but he ultimately gave up all idea of seeking this mode of redress, and determined to consult his staunch and sincere friend Mr. Hughes, by whose advice he was always guided. To that gentleman's house he repaired, and showing him the notice he had received, inquired what in his opinion he had best do."Burn the letter," said Hughes, "and don't waste a minute in thinking about it. You shall go with me to Exeter as soon as the Sadler's Wells season is over, and stop there until it recommences. You shall have four pounds a week all the time, and a clear benefit. It will be strange if this does not turn out better for you than your present engagement at Drury Lane."He accepted the terms so kindly offered, without a moment's hesitation, and determining to be guided by the advice of Mr. Hughes, thought no more about the matter.At Sadler's Wells the summer season went on very briskly until August, when a circumstance occurred which impeded the course of his success for some time, and might have been attended with much more dangerous consequences. He played the first lieutenant of a band of robbers in the before-mentioned "Great Devil,"[31]and in one scene had a pistol secreted in his boot, which, at a certain point of interest, he drew forth, presented at some of the characters on the stage, and fired off, thus producing what is technically termed an effect; in the production of which on the evening of the 14th of August, he very unintentionally presented another effect, the consequences of which confined him to his bed for upwards of a month. While he was in the act of drawing out the pistol, the trigger by some accident caught in the loop of the boot, into which (the muzzle being downwards) its contents were immediately discharged. The boot itself puffed out to a great size, presenting a very laughter-moving appearance to everybody but the individual in it, who was suffering the most excruciating agony. Determined not to mar the effect ofthe scene, however, by leaving the stage before it was finished, he remained on until its conclusion; and then, when by the assistance of several persons the boot was got off it was found that the explosion had set fire to the stocking, which had been burning slowly all the time he had remained upon the stage; besides which, the wadding was still alight and resting upon the foot. He was taken home and placed under medical care; but the accident confined him to the house for more than a month.[31]The "Great Devil" ceased to be played at Sadler's Wells the last week in May, 1802; the accident particularized as having occurred on the 14th of August, was, therefore, not during the performance of that piece, but on the last night of the pantomime of "St. George," in which it was announced would be presented several unexampled and unparalleled combats, exclusive of the combat with the Dragon, which involves St. George in a shower of fire: the consequences, however, did not "confine him to his bed for upwards of a month," as the bill of Monday, August 30, mentions the performance of the new serio-comic Pantomime of "Zoa," in which would be performed an extraordinary combat of six, by Bologna, jun., Grimaldi, Gattie, Hartland, and others, to conclude with, fourth time, "The Wizard's Wake; or, Harlequin's Regeneration;" Harlequin, Mr. Bologna, jun.; Merlin, Mr. Gattie; Clown, Mr. Grimaldi.At length, after a tedious, and, as it appeared to him then, almost an interminable confinement, he resumed his duties at Sadler's Wells Theatre, and the part also. But the effect was never more produced; for from that time forth the pistol was worn in his belt, in compliance with the established usages of robber-chieftains upon the stage, who, at minor theatres especially, would be quite incomplete and out of character without a very broad black belt, with a huge buckle, and at least two brace of pistols stuck into it.During this illness he received great attention and kindness from Miss Bristow, one of the actresses at Drury Lane Theatre. She attended upon him every morning to assist in dressing the wound, and enlivened the hours which would otherwise have been very weary, by her company and conversation. In gratitude for her kindness, Grimaldi married her on the following Christmas Eve, and it may be as well to state in this place, that with her he lived very happily for more than thirty years; when she died.Drury Lane opened on the 30th of September, with "As You Like It," and "Blue Beard," Grimaldi's chief part in this piece was a combat in the last scene but one; which, being very effective, had always been regularly and vociferously applauded. It was not originally in the piece, but had been "invented," and arranged with appropriate music for the purpose of keeping the attention of the house engaged, while the last scene, which was a very heavy one, was being "set up." Now, if any fresh combatant had been ready in Grimaldi's place, very probably the piece might have gone off as well as it had theretofore, but Kemble, who was then stage-manager, as has been before stated, totally forgetting the reason of the combat's introduction, omitted to provide any substitute. The omission was pointed out at rehearsal, and then he gave directions that it should be altogether dispensed with.The effect of this order was very unsatisfactory both to himself and the public.There was a very full house at night, and the play went off as well as it could, and so did the afterpiece up to the time when the last scene should have been displayed; but here the stage-manager discovered his mistake too late. The last scene was not ready, it being quite impossible to prepare it in time, andthe consequence was, that the audience, instead of looking at the combat, were left to look at each other or at the empty stage, as they thought fit. Upon this, there gradually arose many hisses and other expressions of disapprobation, and at last some play-goer in the pit, who all at once remembered the combat, shouted out very loudly for it. The cry was instantly taken up and became universal: some demanded the combat, others required an apology for the omission of the combat, a few called upon Kemble to fight the combat himself, and a scene of great commotion ensued. The exhibition of the last scene, instead of allaying the tumult, only increased it, and when the curtain fell, it was in the midst of a storm of hisses and disapprobation.It so happened that Sheridan had been sitting in his own private box with a party of friends all the evening, frequently congratulating himself on the crowded state of the house, and repeatedly expatiating upon the admirable manner in which both pieces went off. He was consequently not a little annoyed at the sudden change in the temper of the audience; and not only that, but, as he knew nothing at all about the unlucky combat, very much confounded and amazed into the bargain. The moment the curtain was down, he rushed on to the stage, where the characters had formed a picture, and in a loud and alarming voice exclaimed—"Let no one stir!"Nobody did stir; and Sheridan walking to the middle of the proscenium, and standing with his back to the curtain, said in the most solemn manner,"In this affair I am determined to be satisfied, and I call upon somebody here to answer me one question. What is the cause of this infernal clamour?"This question was put in such an all-important way, that no one ventured to reply until some seconds had elapsed, when Barrymore, who played Blue Beard, stepped forward and said, that the fact was, there had formerly been a combat between Mr. Roffey and Joe, and the audience was dissatisfied at its not being done."And why was it not done, sir? Why was it not done? Where is Joe, sir?""Really, sir," replied Barrymore, "it is impossible for me to say where he may be. Our old friend Joe was dismissed at the close of the last season by the stage-manager."At this speech Sheridan fell into a great rage, said a great many angry things, and made a great many profoundly important statements, to the effect that he would be master of his own house, and that nobody should manage for him, and so forth; all of which was said in a manner more or less polite. He concluded by directing the "call" porter of the theatre to go immediately to "Joe's" house, and to request him to be upon the stage at twelve precisely next day. He then took off hishat with a great flourish, made a polite bow to the actors and actresses on the stage, and walked very solemnly away.He received Grimaldi very kindly next day, and reinstated him in the situation he had previously held, adding unasked a pound a week to his former salary, "in order," as he expressed himself, "that matters might be arranged in a manner profoundly satisfactory."On the day after, "Harlequin Amulet" flourished in the bills in large letters for the following Monday; a rehearsal was called, and during its progress Kemble took an opportunity of encountering Grimaldi, and said, with great good humour, that he was very glad to see him there again, and that he hoped it would be very long before they parted company. In this expression of feeling Grimaldi very heartily concurred; and so ended his discharge from Drury Lane Theatre, entailing upon him no more unpleasant consequences than the easily-borne infliction of an increased salary. So ended, also, the Exeter scheme, which was abandoned at once by Mr. Hughes, whose only object had been to serve his son-in-law."About this time," says Grimaldi, "I used frequently to see the late Mr. M. G. Lewis, commonly called Monk Lewis, on account of his being the author of a well-known novel, better known from its dramatic power than from its strait-laced propriety or morality of purpose. He was an effeminate looking man, almost constantly lounging about the green-room of Drury Lane, and entering into conversation with the ladies and gentlemen, but in a manner so peculiar, so namby-pamby (I cannot think at this moment of a more appropriate term), that it was far from pleasing a majority of those thus addressed. His writings prove him to have been a clever man; a consummation which his conversation would most certainly have failed signally in producing. I have often thought that Sheridan used to laugh in his sleeve at this gentleman; and I have, indeed, very good reason for believing that Lewis, upon many more occasions than one, was the undisguised butt of our manager. Be that as it may, Monk Lewis's play of the Castle Spectre was most undoubtedly a great card for Drury Lane; it drew immense houses, and almost invariably went off with loud applause. I have heard the following anecdote related, which, if true, clearly proves that Sheridan by no means thought so highly of this drama as did the public at large. One evening it chanced that these two companions were sitting at some tavern in the neighbourhood discussing the merits of a disputed question and a divided bottle, when Lewis, warming with his subject, offered to back his opinion with a bet."What will you wager?" inquired Sheridan, who began to doubt whether his was not the wrong side of the argument."I'll bet you one night's receipts of the Castle Spectre!" exclaimed the author."No," replied the manager; "that would be too heavy a wager for so trifling a matter. I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll bet you its intrinsic worth as a literary production!"Lewis received these little sallies from his lively acquaintance with the most perfect equanimity of temper, never manifesting annoyance by action further than by passing his hand through his light-coloured hair, or by word further than a murmured interjection of "Hum!" or "Hah!"There is another little anecdote in this place which we will also leave Grimaldi to tell in his own way."In the winter of the year I frequently had the honour of seeing his late Majesty George the Fourth, then Prince of Wales, who used to be much behind the scenes of Drury Lane, delighting everybody with his affability, his gentlemanly manners, and his witty remarks. On Twelfth Night, 1802, we all assembled in the green-room as usual on that anniversary at Drury Lane Theatre, to eat cake, given by the late Mr. Baddeley, who by his will left three guineas to be spent in the purchase of a Twelfth-cake for the company of that theatre. In the midst of our merriment, Sheridan, accompanied by the Prince, entered the apartment, and the former looking at the cake, and noticing a large crown with which it was surmounted, playfully said, 'It is not right that a crown should be the property of acake: what say you, George?' The Prince merely laughed: and Sheridan, taking up the crown, offered it to him, adding—"'Will you deign to accept this trifle?'"'Not so,' replied his highness: 'however it may be doubted, it is nevertheless true that I prefer the cake to the crown, after all.' And so, declining the crown, he partook of our feast with hilarity and condescension."There was no pantomime at Drury Lane, either in 1801 or 1802;[32]nor was any great novelty produced at Sadler's Wells inthe latter year. The year 1802, indeed, seems to have been productive of no melodramatic wonder whatever; the most important circumstance it brought to Grimaldi being the birth of a son on the 21st of November; an event which afforded him much joy and happiness.[32]Grimaldi appears to have been much circumscribed in his performances at the Wells in 1801. Dubois was Clown in the harlequinades, and between him and Joe, the comicalities of the season appear to have been divided; the comic songs being sung by Dubois, Grimaldi, and Davis. Among the extraordinary events of this season was the appearance in June of the late distinguished tragedian, Edmund Kean, as "Master Carey, the Pupil of Nature," who was announced to recite Rolla's celebrated address from the Tragedy of "Pizarro." There was something appropriate in his first appearance at the Wells: his great grandfather, Henry Carey, the illegitimate son of George Saville, Marquis of Halifax, and the avowed author and composer of the well-known ballad of "Sally in our Alley," wrote and composed many of the musical pieces for Sadler's Wells. Though often in great distress, and the author of many convivial songs, Harry Carey never employed his muse in opposition to the interests of morality. Poor Harry Carey, however, became at length the victim of poverty and despair, and hanged himself at his lodging in Warner-street, Clerkenwell, October 4, 1743. When found dead, he had but one halfpenny in his pocket. George Saville Carey was his posthumous child; at first a printer, he abandoned that calling for the stage, but his abilities did not ensure him success; and he became a lecturer and associate with Moses Kean in his imitations of popular actors, and Lectures on Mimicry. Carey had a daughter; and Moses Kean a brother, Edmund Kean, who made his first appearance on the stage at the Royalty Theatre, September 9, 1788. Edmund Kean was the father of the tragedian; and Nancy Carey gave him birth at her father's chambers in Gray's Inn. His mother called herself "Mrs." Carey, and played first tragedy woman at Richardson's Booth at Bartholomew and other fairs: bills are extant announcing parts played by Mrs. Carey and Master Carey. Moses Kean, the uncle of the tragedian, was a tailor, with a wooden leg; a convivial but in no respect a dissipated character. He was the original of those who professed to give imitations of the leading players—Kean's of Henderson, as Hamlet in the grave scene, was inimitable. His death was premature and singular. He lived at No. 8, Upper St. Martin's-lane, near the Horse Repository, and was an admirer of fine scenery—the changes in the clouds, and the majestic splendour of the heavens. One evening, he ascended to the roof of his residence, to enjoy an uninterrupted view of the setting sun, when rapt by the object before him and intent on the view, he lost his hold, fell into the street, and was killed. The tragedian's grandfather, George Saville Carey, like his father, died in great distress, July 14, 1807. After that period, Master Carey adopted his father's name, Edmund Kean, and subsequently ennobled the British stage by his transcendant personifications of Othello, Sir Giles Overreach, Richard III., and other characters—a meteor of no prolonged duration, but the effulgence of which will be long remembered.But if 1802 brought nothing remarkable with it, its successor did, for it was ushered in with an occurrence of a rather serious nature, the consequences of which were not very soon recovered. Whether it was ill-fortune or want of caution, or want of knowledge of worldly matters, it did so happen that whenever Grimaldi succeeded in scraping together a little money, so surely did he lose it afterwards in some strange and unforeseen manner. He had at that period been for some time acquainted with a very respected merchant of the city of London, named Charles Newland (not Abraham), who was supposed to have an immense capital embarked in business, who lived in very good style, keeping up a great appearance, and who was considered to be, in short, a very rich man. He called at Grimaldi's house one morning in February, and requesting a few minutes' private conversation, said hastily,"I dare say you will be surprised, Joe, when you hear what business I have come upon; but—but—although I am possessed of a great deal of wealth, it is all embarked in business, and I am at this moment very short of ready money; so I want you to lend me a few hundred pounds, if it is quite convenient." All this was said with a brisk and careless air, as if such slight trifles as "a few hundred pounds" were scarcely deserving of being named.Grimaldi had never touched the five hundred and odd pounds which he had picked up on Tower-hill, but had added enoughto make six hundred in all. This sum he hastened to place before his friend, assuring him, with great sincerity, that if he had possessed double or treble the amount, he would have been happy to have lent it him with the greatest readiness. The merchant expressed the gratification he derived from his friendship, and giving him a bill for the money at three months' date, shook his hand warmly, and left him.The bill was dishonoured; the merchant became bankrupt, left England for America, and died upon the passage out. And thus the contents of the net purse and the bundle of notes were lost as easily as they were gained, with the addition of some small savings besides.

CHAPTER VII.1798 to 1801.Partiality of George the Third for Theatrical Entertainments—Sheridan's kindness to Grimaldi—His domestic affliction and severe distress—The production of Harlequin Amulet a new era in Pantomime—Pigeon-fancying and Wagering—His first Provincial Excursion with Mrs. Baker, the eccentric Manageress—John Kemble and Jew Davis, with a new reading—Increased success at Maidstone and Canterbury—Polite interview with John Kemble.

1798 to 1801.

Partiality of George the Third for Theatrical Entertainments—Sheridan's kindness to Grimaldi—His domestic affliction and severe distress—The production of Harlequin Amulet a new era in Pantomime—Pigeon-fancying and Wagering—His first Provincial Excursion with Mrs. Baker, the eccentric Manageress—John Kemble and Jew Davis, with a new reading—Increased success at Maidstone and Canterbury—Polite interview with John Kemble.

The summer passed pleasantly away, the whole of Grimaldi's spare time being devoted to the society of his wife and her parents, until the departure of the latter from London for Weymouth, of which theatre Mr. Hughes was the proprietor. It is worthy of remark, as a proof of the pleasure which George the Third derived from theatrical entertainments, that when the court were at Weymouth, he was in the habit of visiting the theatre at least four times a week; generally on such occasions commanding the performance, and taking with him a great number of the noblemen and ladies in his suite.

Drury Lane opened for the season on the 15th of September, and Sadler's Wells closed ten days afterwards: but while the latter circumstance released Grimaldi from his arduous labours at one theatre, the former one did not tend to increase them at the other, for pantomime was again eschewed at Drury Lane, and "Blue Beard," "Feudal Times," and "Lodoiska" reigned paramount. At the commencement of the season he met Mr. Sheridan, when the following colloquy ensued:—

"Well, Joe, still living—eh?"

"Yes, sir; and what's more, married as well."

"Oho! Pretty young woman, Joe?"

"Very pretty, sir."

"That's right! You must lead a domestic life, Joe: nothing like a domestic life for happiness, Joe: I lead a domestic life myself." And then came one of those twinkling glances which no one who ever saw them can forget the humour of.

"I mean to do so, sir."

"Right. But, Joe, what will your poor little wife do while you are at the theatre of an evening? Very bad thing, Joe, to let a pretty young wife be alone of a night. I'll manage it for you, Joe: I'll put her name down upon the free list; herself and friend.—But, mind, it's a female friend, that's all, Joe; any other might be dangerous,—eh, Joe?" And away he went withoutpausing for a moment to listen to Grimaldi's expressions of gratitude for his thoughtful kindness. However, he did not omit performing his friendly offer, and his wife, availing herself of it, went to the theatre almost every night he played, sat in the front of the house until he had finished, and then they went home together.

In this pleasant and quiet manner the autumn and winter passed rapidly away. In the following year, 1799, it became apparent that his young wife would shortly make him a father; and while this prospect increased the happiness and attention of her husband and parents, it added little to their slight stock of cares and troubles, for they were too happy and contented to entertain any other but cheerful anticipations of the result.

There is little to induce one to dwell upon a sad and melancholy chapter in the homely life of every-day. After many months of hope, and some of fear, and many lingering changes from better to worse, and back and back again, his dear wife, whom he had loved from a boy with so much truth and feeling, and whose excellences to the last moment of his life, many years afterwards, were the old man's fondest theme, died.

"Poor Joe! Oh, Richard, be kind to poor Joe!" were the last words she uttered. They were addressed to her brother. A few minutes afterwards, he sat beside a corpse.

They found in her pocket-book a few pencilled lines, beneath which she had written her wish that when she died they might be inscribed above her grave:—

Earth walks on Earth like glittering gold;Earth says to Earth, We are but mould:Earth builds on Earth castles and towers;Earth says to Earth, All shall be ours.

Earth walks on Earth like glittering gold;Earth says to Earth, We are but mould:Earth builds on Earth castles and towers;Earth says to Earth, All shall be ours.

Earth walks on Earth like glittering gold;

Earth says to Earth, We are but mould:

Earth builds on Earth castles and towers;

Earth says to Earth, All shall be ours.

They were placed upon the tablet erected to her memory. She died on the 18th of October, 1799, and was buried in the family vault of Mr. Hughes, at St. James's, Clerkenwell.[25]

[25]Miss Maria Hughes, eldest daughter of Mr. Richard Hughes, proprietor of one fourth of Sadler's Wells, of which theatre he was also the resident manager, was married to Joe in 1800, and on October 18, in the same year, died in child-birth, in the twenty-fifth year of her age. She was not interred in the family vault, but in the graveyard of St. James's on Clerkenwell Green.

[25]Miss Maria Hughes, eldest daughter of Mr. Richard Hughes, proprietor of one fourth of Sadler's Wells, of which theatre he was also the resident manager, was married to Joe in 1800, and on October 18, in the same year, died in child-birth, in the twenty-fifth year of her age. She was not interred in the family vault, but in the graveyard of St. James's on Clerkenwell Green.

In the first passion of his grief the widower went distracted. Nothing but the constant attention and vigilance of his friends, who never left him alone, would have prevented his laying violent hands upon his life. There were none to console him, except with sympathy, for his friends were hers, and all mourned no common loss.

Mr. Richard Hughes, the brother, never forgot his sister's dying words, but proved himself under all circumstances and at all times Grimaldi's firm and steady friend. The poor fellowhaunted the scenes of his old hopes and happiness for two months, and was then summoned to the theatre to set the audience in a roar; and chalking over the seams which mental agony had worn in his face, was hailed with boisterous applause in the merry Christmas pantomime!

The title of this pantomime, which was produced at Drury Lane, was, "Harlequin Amulet; or, the Magic of Mona;" it was written by Mr. Powell, and produced under the superintendence of Mr. James Byrne, the ballet-master. It was highly successful, running without intermission from the night of its production until Easter, 1800. This harlequinade was distinguished by several unusual features besides its great success; foremost among them was an entire change both in the conception of the character of Harlequin and in the costume. Before that time it had been customary to attire the Harlequin in a loose jacket and trousers, and it had been considered indispensable that he should be perpetually attitudinizing in five positions, and doing nothing else but passing instantaneously from one to the other, and never pausing without being in one of the five. All these conventional notions were abolished by Byrne, who this year made his first appearance as Harlequin, and made Harlequin a very original person to the play-going public. His attitudes and jumps were all new, and his dress was infinitely improved: the latter consisted of a white silk shape, fitting without a wrinkle, and into which the variegated silk patches were woven, the whole being profusely covered with spangles, and presenting a very sparkling appearance. The innovation was not resisted: the applause was enthusiastic; "nor," says Grimaldi, "was it undeserved; for, in my judgment, Mr. James Byrne[26]was at that time the best Harlequin on the boards, and never has been excelled, even if equalled, since that period."

[26]Mr. James Byrne, father of Mr. Oscar Byrne, was one of the ballet at Drury lane in Garrick's time; and was also employed at Sadler's Wells in the seasons of 1775 and 1776. He died December 4, 1845, in the eighty-ninth year of his age. Mrs. Byrne, whom many may yet remember at Covent Garden Theatre, died a few months before her husband, on August 27, in her seventy-fourth year.

[26]Mr. James Byrne, father of Mr. Oscar Byrne, was one of the ballet at Drury lane in Garrick's time; and was also employed at Sadler's Wells in the seasons of 1775 and 1776. He died December 4, 1845, in the eighty-ninth year of his age. Mrs. Byrne, whom many may yet remember at Covent Garden Theatre, died a few months before her husband, on August 27, in her seventy-fourth year.

The alteration soon became general, and has proved a lasting one, Harlequin having been ever since attired as upon this memorable occasion, in accordance with the improved taste of his then representative.

Grimaldi's part in this production was a singularly arduous and wearying one: he had to perform Punch, and to change afterwards to Clown. He was so exceedingly successful in the first-mentioned part, that Mr. Sheridan wished him to preserve the character throughout,—a suggestion which he was compelled resolutely to oppose. His reason for doing so will not be considered extraordinary, when we inform the present generation that his personal decorations consisted of a large and heavyhump on his chest, and a ditto, ditto, on his back; a high sugar-loaf cap, a long-nosed mask, and heavy wooden shoes;—the weight of the whole dress, and of the humps, nose, and shoes especially, being exceedingly great. Having to exercise all his strength in this costume, and to perform a vast quantity of what in professional language is termed "comic business," he was compelled by fatigue, at the end of the sixth scene, to assume the Clown's dress, and so relieve himself from the immense weight which he had previously endured. "The part of Columbine," he tells us, "was supported by Miss Menage;[27]and admirably she sustained it. I thought at the time that, taking them together, I never saw so good a Harlequin and Columbine; and I still entertain the same opinion."

[27]Miss Bella Menage, in September, 1804, became the wife of Mr. M. W. Sharp, the artist.

[27]Miss Bella Menage, in September, 1804, became the wife of Mr. M. W. Sharp, the artist.

"Harlequin Amulet" being played every night until Easter, he had plenty to do: but although his body was fatigued, his mind was relieved by constant employment, and he had little time, in the short intervals between exertion and repose, to brood over the heavy misfortune which had befallen him. Immediately after his wife's death, he had removed from the scene of his loss to a house in Baynes' Row, and he gradually became more cheerful and composed.

In this new habitation he devoted his leisure hours to the breeding of pigeons, and for this purpose had a room, which fanciers termed adormer, constructed at the top of his house, where he used to sit for hours together, watching the birds as they disported in the air above him. At one time he had upwards of sixty pigeons, all of the very first order and beauty, and many of them highly valuable: in proof of which, he notes down with great pride a bet, concerning one pigeon of peculiar talents, made with Mr. Lambert, himself a pigeon-fancier.

This Mr. Lambert being, as Grimaldi says, "like myself, a pigeon-fancier, but, unlike myself, a confirmed boaster," took it into his head to declare and pronounce his birds superior in all respects to those in any other collection. This comprehensive declaration immediately brought all the neighbouring pigeon-breeders up in arms; and Grimaldi, taking up the gauntlet on behalf of the inmates of the "dormer," accepted a bet offered by Lambert, that there was no pigeon in his flight capable of accomplishing twenty miles in twenty minutes. The sum at stake was twenty pounds. The money was posted, the bird exhibited, the day on which the match should come off named, and the road over which the bird was to fly agreed upon—the course being from the twentieth mile-stone on the Great North Road to Grimaldi's house. At six o'clock in the morning, the bird was consigned to the care of a friend, with instructions to throw it up precisely as the clock struck twelve, at the appointed mile-stone,near St. Albans; and the friend and the pigeon, accompanied by a gentleman on behalf of the opposite party, started off, all parties concerned first setting their watches by Clerkenwell church. It was a very dismal day, the snow being very deep on the ground, and a heavy sleet falling, very much increasing the odds against the bird, the weather, of course, having great effect, and the snow frequently blinding it. There was no stipulation made, however, for fine weather; so at twelve o'clock the two parties, accompanied by several friends, took up their station in the dormer. In exactly nineteen minutes afterwards, the pigeon alighted on the roof of the house. An offer of twenty pounds was immediately made for the bird, but it was declined.

The pigeons, however, did not always keep such good hours, or rather minutes; for sometimes they remained away so long on their aërial excursions, that their owner gave them up in despair. On one occasion they were absent upwards of four hours. As their owner was sitting disconsolately, concluding they were gone for ever, his attention was attracted by the apparently unaccountable behaviour of three birds who had been left behind, and who, with their heads elevated in the air, were all gazing with intense earnestness at one portion of the horizon. After straining his eyes for a length of time without avail, their master began to fancy that he discerned a small black speck a great height above him. He was not mistaken, for by and by the black speck turned out, to his infinite joy, to be the lost flight of pigeons returning home, after a journey probably of several hundred miles.

When the pantomime had ceased to run, Grimaldi had but little to do at Drury Lane, his duties being limited to a combat or some such business, in "Lodoiska," "Feudal Times," and other spectacles, which he could well manage to reach the theatre in time for, after the performances at Sadler's Wells were over. Drury Lane closed in June, and re-opened in September, ten days after the season at Sadler's Wells had terminated; but as he did not expect to be called into active service until December, he played out of town, for the first time in his life, in the month of November, 1801.

There was at that time among the Sadler's Wells company a clever man named Lund, who, in the vacation time, usually joined Mrs. Baker's company on the Rochester circuit. His benefit was fixed to take place at Rochester, on the 15th, and coming to town, he waited on Grimaldi and entreated him to play for him on the occasion. Whenever it was in his power to accede to such a request it was his invariable custom not to refuse; he therefore willingly returned an answer in the affirmative.

He reached Rochester about noon on the day fixed for the benefit, rehearsed half-a-dozen pantomime scenes, and havingdined, went to the theatre, every portion of which was crammed before six o'clock. On his appearance, he was received with a tremendous shout of welcome; his two comic songs were each encored three times, and the whole performances went off with greatéclat. Mrs. Baker, the manager or manageress, at once offered him an engagement for the two following nights, the receipts of the house to be divided between them. His acceptance of this proposal delighted the old lady so much, that the arrangement was no sooner concluded than she straightway walked upon the stage, dressed in the bonnet and shawl in which she had been taking the money and giving the checks, and in an audible voice gave out the entertainments herself, to the immense delight of the audience, who shouted vociferously.

This old lady appears to have been a very droll personage. She managed all her affairs herself, and her pecuniary matters were conducted on a principle quite her own. She never put her money out at interest, or employed it in any speculative or profitable manner, but kept it in six or eight large punch-bowls, which always stood upon the top shelf of a bureau, except when she was disposed to make herself particularly happy, and then she would take them down singly, and after treating herself with a sly look at their contents, put them up again.

This old lady had a factotum to whom attached the elegant sobriquet of "Bony Long;" the gentleman's name being Long, and his appearance bony. At a supper after the play, at which the guests were Lund, Grimaldi, Henry and William Dowton (sons of the celebrated actor of that name), the manageress, and "Bony," it was arranged that Grimaldi should perform Scaramouch, in "Don Juan," on the following night. A slight difficulty occurred, in consequence of his having brought from London no other dress than a clown's; but Mrs. Baker provided against it by sending for one Mr. Palmer, then a respectable draper and tailor at Rochester, who, having received the actor's instructions, manufactured for him the best Scaramouch dress he ever wore. The assurances which were given the artist at the time that his abilities lay in the theatrical way were not without good foundation, for two years afterwards he left Rochester, came to London, and became principal master-tailor at Covent Garden Theatre. He held the situation for some years, and then removed to Drury Lane and filled the same office, which he still continues to hold.

On the second night, the house was filled in every part, and a great number of persons were turned away. On the following evening, on which he made his last appearance, and repeated the part of Scaramouch together with that of Clown; the orchestra was turned into boxes, seats were fitted up on every inch of available room behind the scenes, and the receipts exceeded in amount those of any former occasion.

At another supper that night with Mrs. Baker, he made anarrangement to join her company for a night or two, at Maidstone, in the following March, provided his London engagements would admit of his doing so. They were not at all behindhand with the money; for, at eight o'clock next morning, "Bony Long" repaired to his lodgings, taking with him an account of the two nights' receipts, Grimaldi's share whereof came to 160l., which was at once paid over to him, down upon the nail, all in three-shilling pieces. This was an addition to his baggage which he had not expected, and he was rather at a loss how to convey his loose silver up to town, when he was relieved by a tavern-keeper, who being as glad to take the silver as Grimaldi was to get notes, very soon made the exchange, to the satisfaction of all parties. Having had this satisfactory settlement with the old lady, Grimaldi took his leave, and returned to town, not at all displeased with the success which had attended his first professional excursion from London.

At Christmas, "Harlequin Amulet" was revived at Drury Lane, in place of a new pantomime, and ran without interruption till the end of January following; drawing as much money as it had in the previous year. It was during this season, or about this time, that Grimaldi's old friend Davis, or "Jew Davis," as he was called, made his first appearance at Drury Lane. This is the man whose eccentricity gave rise to a ludicrous anecdote of John Kemble, of which the following is a correct version:

Kemble was once "starring" in the north of England, and paid a visit to the provincial theatre in which Jew Davis was engaged, where he was announced for Hamlet. Every member of the little company was necessarily called into requisition, and Jew Davis was "cast" to play the first grave-digger. All went well until the first scene of the fifth act, being the identical one in which Davis was called upon to appear: and here the equanimity and good temper of Kemble were considerably shaken: the grave-digger's representative having contracted a habit of grimacing which, however valuable in burlesque or farce, was far from being at all desirable in tragedy, and least of all in that philosophical tragedy of which Hamlet is the hero. But if the actor had contracted a habit of grimacing upon his part, the audience upon its part had contracted an equally constant habit of laughing at him: so the great tragedian, moralizing over the skull of Yorick, was frequently interrupted by the loud roars of laughter attendant upon the grave-digger's strangely comical and increasing grins.

This greatly excited the wrath of Kemble, and after the play was finished, he remonstrated somewhat angrily with Davis upon the subject, requesting that such "senseless buffoonery" might not be repeated in the event of their sustaining the same parts on any subsequent occasion. All this was far from answering the end proposed: the peculiarities of temper belonging to JewDavis were aroused, and he somewhat tartly replied that he did not wish to be taught his profession by Mr. Kemble. The latter took no further notice of the subject, but pursued the even tenour of his way with so beneficial an effect upon the treasury that his engagement was renewed for "a few nights more," and on the last of these "few nights" Hamlet was again the play performed.

As before, all went well till the grave-diggers' scene commenced; when Kemble, while waiting for his "cue" to go on, listened bodingly to the roars of laughter which greeted the colloquy of Davis and his companion. At length he entered, and at the same moment, Davis having manufactured a grotesque visage, was received with a shout of laughter, which greatly tended to excite the anger of "King John." His first words were spoken, but failed to make any impression: and upon turning towards Davis, he discovered that worthy standing in the grave, displaying a series of highly unsuitable although richly comic grimaces.

In an instant all Kemble's good temper vanished, and stamping furiously upon the stage, he expressed his anger and indignation in a muttered exclamation, closely resembling an oath. This ebullition of momentary excitement produced an odd and unexpected effect. No sooner did Davis hear the exclamation and the loud stamping of the angry actor, than he instantly raised his hands above his head in mock terror, and, clasping them together as if he were horrified by some dreadful spectacle, threw into his face an expression of intense terror, and uttered a frightful cry, half shout and half scream, which electrified his hearers. Having done this, he very coolly laid himself flat down in the grave, (of course disappearing from the view of the audience), nor could any entreaties prevail upon him to emerge from it, or to repeat one word more. The scene was done as well as it could be, without a grave-digger, and the audience, while it was proceeding, loudly expressed their apprehensions from time to time, "that some accident had happened to Mr. Davis."

Some months after this, Sheridan happening to see Davis act in the provinces, and being struck with his talents, (he was considered the best stage Jew upon the boards,) engaged him for Drury Lane; and, in that theatre, on the first day of the ensuing season, he was formally introduced by Sheridan to John Kemble, then stage-manager. By the latter he was not immediately recognised, although Kemble evidently remembered having seen him somewhere; but, after a time, plainly devoted to consideration, he said—

"Oh,—ah, ah! I recollect now. You, sir, you are the gentleman who suddenly went into the grave, and forgot to come out again, I think?"

Davis admitted the fact without equivocation, and hastenedto apologise for his ill-timed jesting. The affair was related to Sheridan, to whom, it is needless to say, it afforded the most unbounded delight, and all three joining in a hearty laugh, dismissed the subject.

When "Harlequin Amulet" was withdrawn, there was very little for Grimaldi to do during the rest of the season. On the 4th of March, therefore, in pursuance of his previous arrangement, he joined the old lady at Maidstone, and was announced for Scaramouch.

The announcement of his name excited an unwonted sensation in this quiet little town. As early as half-past four o'clock in the afternoon, the street in front of the theatre was rendered quite impassable by the vast crowd of persons that surrounded the doors. Mrs. Baker, who had never beheld such a scene in her life-time, became at first very much delighted, and then very much frightened. After some consideration, she despatched a messenger for an extra quantity of constables, and upon their arrival, threw the doors open at once, previously placing herself in the pay-box, according to custom, to take the money.

"Now, then, pit or box, pit or gallery, box or pit?" was her constant and uninterrupted cry.

"Pit, pit!" from half-a-dozen voices, the owners clinging to the little desk to prevent themselves from being carried away by the crowd before they had paid.

"Then pay two shillings,—pass on, Tom-fool!" such was the old lady's invariable address to everybody on busy nights, without the slightest reference to their quality or condition.

On this occasion of the doors being opened at five o'clock, when the house was quite full she locked up the box in which the money was deposited, and going round to the stage, ordered the performances to be commenced immediately, remarking, with a force of reasoning which it was impossible to controvert, that "the house could be but full, and being full to the ceiling now, they might just as well begin at once, and have it over so much the sooner." The performance accordingly began without delay, to the great satisfaction of the audience, and terminated shortly after nine o'clock.

Grimaldi was very much caressed by the townspeople, and received several invitations to dinner next day from gentlemen residing in the neighbourhood; all of which he declined, however, being already engaged to the eccentric manageress, who would hardly allow him out of her sight. Happening to walk about the town in the course of the morning, he was recognised and saluted by the boys, in the same way as when he walked the streets of London. On the night of his second appearance, the house was again crowded, the door-keepers having managed, indeed, by some ingenious contrivance, to squeeze three pounds more into it than on the previous night. The first evening produced154l., and the second 157l.Of the gross sum, his share was 155l.17s., which was promptly paid to him after supper, on the second and last night.

The old lady had no sooner handed it over through the ever useful Bony, than she proposed to Grimaldi to go on with them to Canterbury, and to act there for the next two nights upon similar terms. He no sooner signified his willingness to do so, than she directed bills for distribution to be made out, and sent to the printer's instantly. They were composed and printed by four o'clock in the morning. No sooner did they arrive wet from the press, than men on horseback were immediately despatched with them to Canterbury, about which city the whole impression was circulated and posted before nine o'clock. The old lady had theatres at Rochester, Maidstone, and Canterbury, besides many other towns in the circuit, and the size of the whole being very nearly the same, the scenery which was suitable to one fitted them all. Early in the morning, the whole company left Maidstone for Canterbury, whither Grimaldi followed in a post-chaise at his leisure. When he arrived there about one o'clock, everything was ready; no rehearsal was necessary, for there were the same performers, the same musicians, scene-shifters, and lamp-lighters. Having inspected the box-book, which notified that every takeable seat in the house was taken, he retired to Mrs. Baker's sitting-room, which was the very model of the one at Maidstone and at Rochester too, and found a good dinner awaiting his arrival. Here he was, and here they all were, in the city of Canterbury, about twenty miles from Maidstone, at one o'clock in the day, with the same scenery, dresses, decorations, and transformations as had been in use at the latter theatre lateovernight, surrounded by the same actors, male and female, and playing in the same pieces which had been represented by the same men and women, and the same adjuncts, fourteen hours before at Maidstone.

He played here two nights, as had been agreed upon, to very nearly the same houses as at Maidstone; the first night's cash being 151l.3s., and the second 159l.17s., of which he received 155l.9s.6d.Early the next morning he returned to London with 311l.6s.6d.in his pocket, the profits he had acquired during an absence from the metropolis of only four days' duration.

Shortly after his return to town, and about a week before Easter, he saw with great astonishment that it was announced, or, to use the theatrical term, "underlined," in the Drury Lane bills, that "Harlequin Amulet" would be revived at Easter, and that Mr. Grimaldi would sustain his original character. This announcement being in direct violation of his articles of agreement at Drury Lane, and wholly inconsistent with the terms of his engagement at Sadler's Wells, he had no alternative but atonce to wait upon Mr. John Kemble, the stage-manager of the former theatre, and explain to him the exact nature of his position.

He found John Kemble at the theatre, who received him with all the grandeur and authority of demeanour which it was his habit to assume when he was about to insist upon something which he knew would be resisted. Grimaldi bowed, and Kemble formally and gravely touched his hat.

"Joe," said Kemble, with great dignity, "what is the matter?"

In reply, Grimaldi briefly stated his case, pointing out that he was engaged by his articles at Drury to play in last pieces at and after Easter, but not in pantomime; that at Sadler's Wells he was bound to perform in the first piece; that these distinct engagements had never before been interfered with by the management of either theatre in the most remote manner upon any one occasion; and that, however much he regretted the inconvenience to which his refusal might give rise, he could not possibly perform the part for which he had been announced at Drury Lane.

Kemble listened to these representations with a grave and unmoved countenance; and when Grimaldi had finished, after waiting a moment, as if to make certain that he had really concluded, rose from his seat, and said in a solemn tone, "Joe, one word here, sir, is as good as a thousand—youmustcome!"

Joe felt excessively indignant at this, not merely becausemustis a disagreeable word in itself, but because he conceived that the tone in which it was uttered rendered it additionally disagreeable; so, saying at once what the feeling of the moment prompted, he replied, "Very good, sir. In reply tomust, there is only one thing that can very well be said:—I willnotcome, sir."

"Will not, Joe,—eh?" said Kemble.

"I will not, sir," replied Grimaldi.

"Not!" said Kemble again, with great emphasis.

Grimaldi repeated the monosyllable with equal vehemence.

"Then, Joe," said Kemble, taking off his hat, and bowing in a ghost-like manner, "I wish you a very good morning!"

Grimaldi took off his hat, made another low bow, and wished Mr. Kemble good morning; and so they parted.

Next day his name was taken from the bills, and that of some other performer, quite unknown to the London stage, was inserted instead; which performer, when he did come out, went in again—for he failed so signally that the pantomime was not played after the Monday night.

In the short interval between this interview and the Easter holidays, Grimaldi was engaged in the study of a new part for Sadler's Wells, which was a very prominent character in a piecebearing the sonorous and attractive title of the "Great Devil."[28]He entertained very strong hopes that both the part and the piece would be very successful; and how far his expectations were borne out by subsequent occurrences, the next chapter will show.

[28]The Serio-Comic Spectacle of "The Great Devil; or, The Robber of Genoa," was produced late in the season of 1801, early in September, and on the 14th of that month was performed for C. Dibdin's benefit. Nicola, by Mr. Grimaldi; Bridget, by Mrs. Davis; Gattie, some years afterwards distinguished for his performance of Mons. Morbleu, at Drury Lane, had also a singing part in the piece.

[28]The Serio-Comic Spectacle of "The Great Devil; or, The Robber of Genoa," was produced late in the season of 1801, early in September, and on the 14th of that month was performed for C. Dibdin's benefit. Nicola, by Mr. Grimaldi; Bridget, by Mrs. Davis; Gattie, some years afterwards distinguished for his performance of Mons. Morbleu, at Drury Lane, had also a singing part in the piece.

CHAPTER VIII.1802 to 1803.Hard work to counterbalance great gains—His discharge from Drury Lane, and his discharge at Sadler's Wells—His return to the former house—Monk Lewis—Anecdote of him and Sheridan, and of Sheridan and the Prince of Wales—Grimaldi gains a Son and loses all his capital.

1802 to 1803.

Hard work to counterbalance great gains—His discharge from Drury Lane, and his discharge at Sadler's Wells—His return to the former house—Monk Lewis—Anecdote of him and Sheridan, and of Sheridan and the Prince of Wales—Grimaldi gains a Son and loses all his capital.

The "Great Devil" came out on Easter Monday,[29]and its success entailed upon Grimaldi no inconsiderable degree of trouble and fatigue. He played two parts in it, and, to say nothing of such slight exertions as acting and fighting, had to change his dress no fewer than nineteen times in the progress of the piece. It made a great noise, and ran the whole season through.

[29]Sadler's Wells Theatre, the interior of which had been wholly rebuilt since the close of the season, in 1801, opened on Easter Monday, April 19, 1802, with an occasional Burletta Prelude, entitled "Old Sadler's Ghost;" a new Comic Dance, called "The Jew Cobbler," in which M. Joubert, from Paris, as principal dancer, made his first appearance in England; the Serio-Comic Pantomime of "The Great Devil," with alterations and new dresses; and an entirely new Comic Pantomime, called "Harlequin Greenlander; or, The Whale Fishery." In "The Great Devil," Bologna, jun., after an absence of eight years, played the part of Satani, the Great Devil. Rudolpho, Mons. Gouriet; Nicola, Mr. Grimaldi; Count Ludovico, Mr. Hartland; Bridget, Mrs. Davis; the Countess, Madame St. Amand.

[29]Sadler's Wells Theatre, the interior of which had been wholly rebuilt since the close of the season, in 1801, opened on Easter Monday, April 19, 1802, with an occasional Burletta Prelude, entitled "Old Sadler's Ghost;" a new Comic Dance, called "The Jew Cobbler," in which M. Joubert, from Paris, as principal dancer, made his first appearance in England; the Serio-Comic Pantomime of "The Great Devil," with alterations and new dresses; and an entirely new Comic Pantomime, called "Harlequin Greenlander; or, The Whale Fishery." In "The Great Devil," Bologna, jun., after an absence of eight years, played the part of Satani, the Great Devil. Rudolpho, Mons. Gouriet; Nicola, Mr. Grimaldi; Count Ludovico, Mr. Hartland; Bridget, Mrs. Davis; the Countess, Madame St. Amand.

As we had occasion to notice in the last chapter the ease with which he acquired a large sum of money by his professional exertions, and as we may have to describe other large gains hereafter, it may not be amiss to show in this place how much of fatigue and harassing duty those exertions involved, and how much of bodily toil and fatigue he had to endure before those gains could be counted.

At Sadler's Wells he commenced the labour of the evening by playing a long and arduous part in the before-mentioned "Great Devil;" after this he played in some little burletta which immediately succeeded it; upon conclusion of that he was clown to the rope-dancer; and, as a wind-up to the entertainments, he appeared as clown in the pantomime, always singing two comic songs in the course of the piece, both of which were regularly encored. He had then to change his dress with all possiblespeed, and take a hurried walk, and often a rapid run, to Drury Lane, to perform in the last piece.[30]

[30]This summary of Joe's exertions is over-stated: in the Spectacles Joe generally had a part, particularly where combatants were employed; but not in any of the little burlettas alluded to, nor was he ever Clown to the rope: as Clown in the Pantomime, his name certainly appears in the Sadler's Wells' announcements; but when the pantomime was played on the same night and hour at either of the patent theatres, Joe's part at the Wells was played by substitutes—by Hartland or others; and by a clause in the articles of his engagement, Grimaldi appears to have always been in a position to play at Drury Lane and Covent Garden, to the exclusion of any demand on his services at Sadler's Wells.

[30]This summary of Joe's exertions is over-stated: in the Spectacles Joe generally had a part, particularly where combatants were employed; but not in any of the little burlettas alluded to, nor was he ever Clown to the rope: as Clown in the Pantomime, his name certainly appears in the Sadler's Wells' announcements; but when the pantomime was played on the same night and hour at either of the patent theatres, Joe's part at the Wells was played by substitutes—by Hartland or others; and by a clause in the articles of his engagement, Grimaldi appears to have always been in a position to play at Drury Lane and Covent Garden, to the exclusion of any demand on his services at Sadler's Wells.

This immense fatigue, undergone six days out of every seven, left him at the conclusion of the week completely worn out and thoroughly exhausted, and, beyond all doubt, by taxing his bodily energies far beyond their natural powers, sowed the first seeds of that extreme debility and utter prostration of strength from which, in the latter years of his life, he suffered so much. The old man had a good right to say that, if his gains had been occasionally great, they were won by labour more than proportionate.

His attention to his duties and invariable punctuality were always remarkable. To his possession in an eminent degree of these qualities, may be attributed the fact, that during the whole of his dramatic career, long and arduous as it was, he never once disappointed the public, or failed in his attendance at the theatre to perform any part for which he was cast.

He continued to attend his duties as a member of the Drury Lane company for three months without finding that any violent consequences arose from his interview with John Kemble. The only perceptible difference was, that when they met, Kemble, instead of accosting him familiarly, as he had before been accustomed to do, would pull off his hat and make him a formal bow, which Grimaldi would return in precisely the same manner; so that their occasional meetings were characterised by something about half-way between politeness and absurdity. All this pleased Grimaldi very much, but rather surprised him too, for he had confidently expected that some rupture would have followed the announcement of his determination not to act. He was not very long, however, in finding that his original apprehensions were correct, for on the 26th of June he received the following epistle:—

"Drury Lane Theatre."Sir,"I am requested by the proprietors to inform you that your services will be dispensed with for the next ensuing season."

"Drury Lane Theatre.

"Sir,

"I am requested by the proprietors to inform you that your services will be dispensed with for the next ensuing season."

This notice was signed by Powell, the then prompter, and its contents considerably annoyed and irritated the person to whom it was addressed. To command him in the first place to perform what was out of his engagement and out of his power, and topunish him in the next by dispensing with his services, which of consequence involved his dispensing with his salary, seemed exceedingly harsh and unjust treatment. For a time he even contemplated bringing an action against Sheridan, against whom, under the terms of his agreement, he would in all probability have obtained a verdict; but he ultimately gave up all idea of seeking this mode of redress, and determined to consult his staunch and sincere friend Mr. Hughes, by whose advice he was always guided. To that gentleman's house he repaired, and showing him the notice he had received, inquired what in his opinion he had best do.

"Burn the letter," said Hughes, "and don't waste a minute in thinking about it. You shall go with me to Exeter as soon as the Sadler's Wells season is over, and stop there until it recommences. You shall have four pounds a week all the time, and a clear benefit. It will be strange if this does not turn out better for you than your present engagement at Drury Lane."

He accepted the terms so kindly offered, without a moment's hesitation, and determining to be guided by the advice of Mr. Hughes, thought no more about the matter.

At Sadler's Wells the summer season went on very briskly until August, when a circumstance occurred which impeded the course of his success for some time, and might have been attended with much more dangerous consequences. He played the first lieutenant of a band of robbers in the before-mentioned "Great Devil,"[31]and in one scene had a pistol secreted in his boot, which, at a certain point of interest, he drew forth, presented at some of the characters on the stage, and fired off, thus producing what is technically termed an effect; in the production of which on the evening of the 14th of August, he very unintentionally presented another effect, the consequences of which confined him to his bed for upwards of a month. While he was in the act of drawing out the pistol, the trigger by some accident caught in the loop of the boot, into which (the muzzle being downwards) its contents were immediately discharged. The boot itself puffed out to a great size, presenting a very laughter-moving appearance to everybody but the individual in it, who was suffering the most excruciating agony. Determined not to mar the effect ofthe scene, however, by leaving the stage before it was finished, he remained on until its conclusion; and then, when by the assistance of several persons the boot was got off it was found that the explosion had set fire to the stocking, which had been burning slowly all the time he had remained upon the stage; besides which, the wadding was still alight and resting upon the foot. He was taken home and placed under medical care; but the accident confined him to the house for more than a month.

[31]The "Great Devil" ceased to be played at Sadler's Wells the last week in May, 1802; the accident particularized as having occurred on the 14th of August, was, therefore, not during the performance of that piece, but on the last night of the pantomime of "St. George," in which it was announced would be presented several unexampled and unparalleled combats, exclusive of the combat with the Dragon, which involves St. George in a shower of fire: the consequences, however, did not "confine him to his bed for upwards of a month," as the bill of Monday, August 30, mentions the performance of the new serio-comic Pantomime of "Zoa," in which would be performed an extraordinary combat of six, by Bologna, jun., Grimaldi, Gattie, Hartland, and others, to conclude with, fourth time, "The Wizard's Wake; or, Harlequin's Regeneration;" Harlequin, Mr. Bologna, jun.; Merlin, Mr. Gattie; Clown, Mr. Grimaldi.

[31]The "Great Devil" ceased to be played at Sadler's Wells the last week in May, 1802; the accident particularized as having occurred on the 14th of August, was, therefore, not during the performance of that piece, but on the last night of the pantomime of "St. George," in which it was announced would be presented several unexampled and unparalleled combats, exclusive of the combat with the Dragon, which involves St. George in a shower of fire: the consequences, however, did not "confine him to his bed for upwards of a month," as the bill of Monday, August 30, mentions the performance of the new serio-comic Pantomime of "Zoa," in which would be performed an extraordinary combat of six, by Bologna, jun., Grimaldi, Gattie, Hartland, and others, to conclude with, fourth time, "The Wizard's Wake; or, Harlequin's Regeneration;" Harlequin, Mr. Bologna, jun.; Merlin, Mr. Gattie; Clown, Mr. Grimaldi.

At length, after a tedious, and, as it appeared to him then, almost an interminable confinement, he resumed his duties at Sadler's Wells Theatre, and the part also. But the effect was never more produced; for from that time forth the pistol was worn in his belt, in compliance with the established usages of robber-chieftains upon the stage, who, at minor theatres especially, would be quite incomplete and out of character without a very broad black belt, with a huge buckle, and at least two brace of pistols stuck into it.

During this illness he received great attention and kindness from Miss Bristow, one of the actresses at Drury Lane Theatre. She attended upon him every morning to assist in dressing the wound, and enlivened the hours which would otherwise have been very weary, by her company and conversation. In gratitude for her kindness, Grimaldi married her on the following Christmas Eve, and it may be as well to state in this place, that with her he lived very happily for more than thirty years; when she died.

Drury Lane opened on the 30th of September, with "As You Like It," and "Blue Beard," Grimaldi's chief part in this piece was a combat in the last scene but one; which, being very effective, had always been regularly and vociferously applauded. It was not originally in the piece, but had been "invented," and arranged with appropriate music for the purpose of keeping the attention of the house engaged, while the last scene, which was a very heavy one, was being "set up." Now, if any fresh combatant had been ready in Grimaldi's place, very probably the piece might have gone off as well as it had theretofore, but Kemble, who was then stage-manager, as has been before stated, totally forgetting the reason of the combat's introduction, omitted to provide any substitute. The omission was pointed out at rehearsal, and then he gave directions that it should be altogether dispensed with.

The effect of this order was very unsatisfactory both to himself and the public.

There was a very full house at night, and the play went off as well as it could, and so did the afterpiece up to the time when the last scene should have been displayed; but here the stage-manager discovered his mistake too late. The last scene was not ready, it being quite impossible to prepare it in time, andthe consequence was, that the audience, instead of looking at the combat, were left to look at each other or at the empty stage, as they thought fit. Upon this, there gradually arose many hisses and other expressions of disapprobation, and at last some play-goer in the pit, who all at once remembered the combat, shouted out very loudly for it. The cry was instantly taken up and became universal: some demanded the combat, others required an apology for the omission of the combat, a few called upon Kemble to fight the combat himself, and a scene of great commotion ensued. The exhibition of the last scene, instead of allaying the tumult, only increased it, and when the curtain fell, it was in the midst of a storm of hisses and disapprobation.

It so happened that Sheridan had been sitting in his own private box with a party of friends all the evening, frequently congratulating himself on the crowded state of the house, and repeatedly expatiating upon the admirable manner in which both pieces went off. He was consequently not a little annoyed at the sudden change in the temper of the audience; and not only that, but, as he knew nothing at all about the unlucky combat, very much confounded and amazed into the bargain. The moment the curtain was down, he rushed on to the stage, where the characters had formed a picture, and in a loud and alarming voice exclaimed—

"Let no one stir!"

Nobody did stir; and Sheridan walking to the middle of the proscenium, and standing with his back to the curtain, said in the most solemn manner,

"In this affair I am determined to be satisfied, and I call upon somebody here to answer me one question. What is the cause of this infernal clamour?"

This question was put in such an all-important way, that no one ventured to reply until some seconds had elapsed, when Barrymore, who played Blue Beard, stepped forward and said, that the fact was, there had formerly been a combat between Mr. Roffey and Joe, and the audience was dissatisfied at its not being done.

"And why was it not done, sir? Why was it not done? Where is Joe, sir?"

"Really, sir," replied Barrymore, "it is impossible for me to say where he may be. Our old friend Joe was dismissed at the close of the last season by the stage-manager."

At this speech Sheridan fell into a great rage, said a great many angry things, and made a great many profoundly important statements, to the effect that he would be master of his own house, and that nobody should manage for him, and so forth; all of which was said in a manner more or less polite. He concluded by directing the "call" porter of the theatre to go immediately to "Joe's" house, and to request him to be upon the stage at twelve precisely next day. He then took off hishat with a great flourish, made a polite bow to the actors and actresses on the stage, and walked very solemnly away.

He received Grimaldi very kindly next day, and reinstated him in the situation he had previously held, adding unasked a pound a week to his former salary, "in order," as he expressed himself, "that matters might be arranged in a manner profoundly satisfactory."

On the day after, "Harlequin Amulet" flourished in the bills in large letters for the following Monday; a rehearsal was called, and during its progress Kemble took an opportunity of encountering Grimaldi, and said, with great good humour, that he was very glad to see him there again, and that he hoped it would be very long before they parted company. In this expression of feeling Grimaldi very heartily concurred; and so ended his discharge from Drury Lane Theatre, entailing upon him no more unpleasant consequences than the easily-borne infliction of an increased salary. So ended, also, the Exeter scheme, which was abandoned at once by Mr. Hughes, whose only object had been to serve his son-in-law.

"About this time," says Grimaldi, "I used frequently to see the late Mr. M. G. Lewis, commonly called Monk Lewis, on account of his being the author of a well-known novel, better known from its dramatic power than from its strait-laced propriety or morality of purpose. He was an effeminate looking man, almost constantly lounging about the green-room of Drury Lane, and entering into conversation with the ladies and gentlemen, but in a manner so peculiar, so namby-pamby (I cannot think at this moment of a more appropriate term), that it was far from pleasing a majority of those thus addressed. His writings prove him to have been a clever man; a consummation which his conversation would most certainly have failed signally in producing. I have often thought that Sheridan used to laugh in his sleeve at this gentleman; and I have, indeed, very good reason for believing that Lewis, upon many more occasions than one, was the undisguised butt of our manager. Be that as it may, Monk Lewis's play of the Castle Spectre was most undoubtedly a great card for Drury Lane; it drew immense houses, and almost invariably went off with loud applause. I have heard the following anecdote related, which, if true, clearly proves that Sheridan by no means thought so highly of this drama as did the public at large. One evening it chanced that these two companions were sitting at some tavern in the neighbourhood discussing the merits of a disputed question and a divided bottle, when Lewis, warming with his subject, offered to back his opinion with a bet.

"What will you wager?" inquired Sheridan, who began to doubt whether his was not the wrong side of the argument.

"I'll bet you one night's receipts of the Castle Spectre!" exclaimed the author.

"No," replied the manager; "that would be too heavy a wager for so trifling a matter. I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll bet you its intrinsic worth as a literary production!"

Lewis received these little sallies from his lively acquaintance with the most perfect equanimity of temper, never manifesting annoyance by action further than by passing his hand through his light-coloured hair, or by word further than a murmured interjection of "Hum!" or "Hah!"

There is another little anecdote in this place which we will also leave Grimaldi to tell in his own way.

"In the winter of the year I frequently had the honour of seeing his late Majesty George the Fourth, then Prince of Wales, who used to be much behind the scenes of Drury Lane, delighting everybody with his affability, his gentlemanly manners, and his witty remarks. On Twelfth Night, 1802, we all assembled in the green-room as usual on that anniversary at Drury Lane Theatre, to eat cake, given by the late Mr. Baddeley, who by his will left three guineas to be spent in the purchase of a Twelfth-cake for the company of that theatre. In the midst of our merriment, Sheridan, accompanied by the Prince, entered the apartment, and the former looking at the cake, and noticing a large crown with which it was surmounted, playfully said, 'It is not right that a crown should be the property of acake: what say you, George?' The Prince merely laughed: and Sheridan, taking up the crown, offered it to him, adding—

"'Will you deign to accept this trifle?'

"'Not so,' replied his highness: 'however it may be doubted, it is nevertheless true that I prefer the cake to the crown, after all.' And so, declining the crown, he partook of our feast with hilarity and condescension."

There was no pantomime at Drury Lane, either in 1801 or 1802;[32]nor was any great novelty produced at Sadler's Wells inthe latter year. The year 1802, indeed, seems to have been productive of no melodramatic wonder whatever; the most important circumstance it brought to Grimaldi being the birth of a son on the 21st of November; an event which afforded him much joy and happiness.

[32]Grimaldi appears to have been much circumscribed in his performances at the Wells in 1801. Dubois was Clown in the harlequinades, and between him and Joe, the comicalities of the season appear to have been divided; the comic songs being sung by Dubois, Grimaldi, and Davis. Among the extraordinary events of this season was the appearance in June of the late distinguished tragedian, Edmund Kean, as "Master Carey, the Pupil of Nature," who was announced to recite Rolla's celebrated address from the Tragedy of "Pizarro." There was something appropriate in his first appearance at the Wells: his great grandfather, Henry Carey, the illegitimate son of George Saville, Marquis of Halifax, and the avowed author and composer of the well-known ballad of "Sally in our Alley," wrote and composed many of the musical pieces for Sadler's Wells. Though often in great distress, and the author of many convivial songs, Harry Carey never employed his muse in opposition to the interests of morality. Poor Harry Carey, however, became at length the victim of poverty and despair, and hanged himself at his lodging in Warner-street, Clerkenwell, October 4, 1743. When found dead, he had but one halfpenny in his pocket. George Saville Carey was his posthumous child; at first a printer, he abandoned that calling for the stage, but his abilities did not ensure him success; and he became a lecturer and associate with Moses Kean in his imitations of popular actors, and Lectures on Mimicry. Carey had a daughter; and Moses Kean a brother, Edmund Kean, who made his first appearance on the stage at the Royalty Theatre, September 9, 1788. Edmund Kean was the father of the tragedian; and Nancy Carey gave him birth at her father's chambers in Gray's Inn. His mother called herself "Mrs." Carey, and played first tragedy woman at Richardson's Booth at Bartholomew and other fairs: bills are extant announcing parts played by Mrs. Carey and Master Carey. Moses Kean, the uncle of the tragedian, was a tailor, with a wooden leg; a convivial but in no respect a dissipated character. He was the original of those who professed to give imitations of the leading players—Kean's of Henderson, as Hamlet in the grave scene, was inimitable. His death was premature and singular. He lived at No. 8, Upper St. Martin's-lane, near the Horse Repository, and was an admirer of fine scenery—the changes in the clouds, and the majestic splendour of the heavens. One evening, he ascended to the roof of his residence, to enjoy an uninterrupted view of the setting sun, when rapt by the object before him and intent on the view, he lost his hold, fell into the street, and was killed. The tragedian's grandfather, George Saville Carey, like his father, died in great distress, July 14, 1807. After that period, Master Carey adopted his father's name, Edmund Kean, and subsequently ennobled the British stage by his transcendant personifications of Othello, Sir Giles Overreach, Richard III., and other characters—a meteor of no prolonged duration, but the effulgence of which will be long remembered.

[32]Grimaldi appears to have been much circumscribed in his performances at the Wells in 1801. Dubois was Clown in the harlequinades, and between him and Joe, the comicalities of the season appear to have been divided; the comic songs being sung by Dubois, Grimaldi, and Davis. Among the extraordinary events of this season was the appearance in June of the late distinguished tragedian, Edmund Kean, as "Master Carey, the Pupil of Nature," who was announced to recite Rolla's celebrated address from the Tragedy of "Pizarro." There was something appropriate in his first appearance at the Wells: his great grandfather, Henry Carey, the illegitimate son of George Saville, Marquis of Halifax, and the avowed author and composer of the well-known ballad of "Sally in our Alley," wrote and composed many of the musical pieces for Sadler's Wells. Though often in great distress, and the author of many convivial songs, Harry Carey never employed his muse in opposition to the interests of morality. Poor Harry Carey, however, became at length the victim of poverty and despair, and hanged himself at his lodging in Warner-street, Clerkenwell, October 4, 1743. When found dead, he had but one halfpenny in his pocket. George Saville Carey was his posthumous child; at first a printer, he abandoned that calling for the stage, but his abilities did not ensure him success; and he became a lecturer and associate with Moses Kean in his imitations of popular actors, and Lectures on Mimicry. Carey had a daughter; and Moses Kean a brother, Edmund Kean, who made his first appearance on the stage at the Royalty Theatre, September 9, 1788. Edmund Kean was the father of the tragedian; and Nancy Carey gave him birth at her father's chambers in Gray's Inn. His mother called herself "Mrs." Carey, and played first tragedy woman at Richardson's Booth at Bartholomew and other fairs: bills are extant announcing parts played by Mrs. Carey and Master Carey. Moses Kean, the uncle of the tragedian, was a tailor, with a wooden leg; a convivial but in no respect a dissipated character. He was the original of those who professed to give imitations of the leading players—Kean's of Henderson, as Hamlet in the grave scene, was inimitable. His death was premature and singular. He lived at No. 8, Upper St. Martin's-lane, near the Horse Repository, and was an admirer of fine scenery—the changes in the clouds, and the majestic splendour of the heavens. One evening, he ascended to the roof of his residence, to enjoy an uninterrupted view of the setting sun, when rapt by the object before him and intent on the view, he lost his hold, fell into the street, and was killed. The tragedian's grandfather, George Saville Carey, like his father, died in great distress, July 14, 1807. After that period, Master Carey adopted his father's name, Edmund Kean, and subsequently ennobled the British stage by his transcendant personifications of Othello, Sir Giles Overreach, Richard III., and other characters—a meteor of no prolonged duration, but the effulgence of which will be long remembered.

But if 1802 brought nothing remarkable with it, its successor did, for it was ushered in with an occurrence of a rather serious nature, the consequences of which were not very soon recovered. Whether it was ill-fortune or want of caution, or want of knowledge of worldly matters, it did so happen that whenever Grimaldi succeeded in scraping together a little money, so surely did he lose it afterwards in some strange and unforeseen manner. He had at that period been for some time acquainted with a very respected merchant of the city of London, named Charles Newland (not Abraham), who was supposed to have an immense capital embarked in business, who lived in very good style, keeping up a great appearance, and who was considered to be, in short, a very rich man. He called at Grimaldi's house one morning in February, and requesting a few minutes' private conversation, said hastily,

"I dare say you will be surprised, Joe, when you hear what business I have come upon; but—but—although I am possessed of a great deal of wealth, it is all embarked in business, and I am at this moment very short of ready money; so I want you to lend me a few hundred pounds, if it is quite convenient." All this was said with a brisk and careless air, as if such slight trifles as "a few hundred pounds" were scarcely deserving of being named.

Grimaldi had never touched the five hundred and odd pounds which he had picked up on Tower-hill, but had added enoughto make six hundred in all. This sum he hastened to place before his friend, assuring him, with great sincerity, that if he had possessed double or treble the amount, he would have been happy to have lent it him with the greatest readiness. The merchant expressed the gratification he derived from his friendship, and giving him a bill for the money at three months' date, shook his hand warmly, and left him.

The bill was dishonoured; the merchant became bankrupt, left England for America, and died upon the passage out. And thus the contents of the net purse and the bundle of notes were lost as easily as they were gained, with the addition of some small savings besides.

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