1788 to 1794.
The Father's real Death--His Will, and failure of the
Executor--Generous conduct of Grimaldi's Schoolmaster, and of
Mr. Wroughton, the Comedian--Kindness of Sheridan--Grimaldi's
industry and amusements--Fly catching--Expedition in search of
the "Dartford Blues"--Mrs. Jordan--Adventure on Clapham Common:
the piece of Tin--His first love and its consequences.
It has been stated in several publications that Grimaldi's father
died in 1787. It would appear from several passages in the memoranda
dictated by his son, that he expired on the 14th of March, 1788, of
dropsy, in the seventy-eighth year[12] of his age, and that he was
interred in the burial-ground attached to Exmouth-street Chapel; a spot
of ground in which, if it bore any resemblance at that time to its
present condition, he could have had very little room to walk about
and meditate when alive. He left a will, by which he directed all his
effects and jewels to be sold by public auction, and the proceeds to be
added to his funded property, which exceeded 15,000_l._; the whole of
the gross amount, he directed should be divided equally between the two
brothers as they respectively attained their majority. Mr. King,[13] to
whom allusion has already been made, was appointed co-executor with
a Mr. Joseph Hopwood, a lace manufacturer in Long-acre, at that time
supposed to possess not only an excellent business, but independent
property to a considerable amount besides. Shortly after they entered
upon their office, in consequence of Mr. King declining to act, the
whole of the estate fell to the management of Mr. Hopwood, who,
employing the whole of the brothers' capital in his trade, became a
bankrupt within a year, fled from England, and was never heard of
afterwards. By this unfortunate and unforeseen event, the brothers lost
the whole of their fortune, and were thrown upon their own resources
and exertions for the means of subsistence.
It is very creditable to all parties, and while it speaks highly for
the kind feeling of the friends of the widow, and her two sons, bears
high testimony to their conduct and behaviour, that no sooner was the
failure of the executor known than offers of assistance were heaped
upon them from all quarters. Mr. Ford, the Putney schoolmaster, offered
at once to receive Joseph into his school and to adopt him as his
own son; this offer being declined by his mother, Mr. Sheridan, who
was then proprietor of Drury Lane Theatre, raised the boy's salary,
unasked, to one pound per week, and permitted his mother, who was and
had been from her infancy a dancer at that establishment, to accept a
similar engagement at Sadler's Wells, which was, in fact, equivalent to
a double salary, both theatres being open together for a considerable
period of the year.
At Sadler's Wells, where Joseph appeared as usual in 1788,[14] shortly
after his father's death, they were not so liberal, nor was the aspect
of things so pleasing, his salary of fifteen shillings a-week being
very unceremoniously cut down to three, and his mother being politely
informed, upon her remonstrating, that if the alteration did not suit
her, he was at perfect liberty to transfer his valuable services to any
other house. Small as the pittance was, they could not afford to refuse
it; and at that salary he remained at Sadler's Wells for three years,
occasionally superintending the property-room, sometimes assisting in
the carpenter's, and sometimes in the painter's, and, in fact, lending
a hand wherever it was most needed.
When the defalcation of the executor took place, the family were
compelled to give up their comfortable establishment, and to seek for
lodgings of an inferior description. His mother knowing a Mr. and Mrs.
Bailey, who then resided in Great Wild-street, and who let lodgings,
applied to them, and there they lived, in three rooms on the first
floor, for several years. The brother could not be prevailed upon to
accept any regular engagement, for he thought and dreamt of nothing
but going to sea, and evinced the utmost detestation of the stage.
Sometimes, when boys were wanted in the play at Drury Lane, he was
sent for, and attended, for which he received a shilling per night;
but so great was his unwillingness and evident dissatisfaction on
such occasions, that Mr. Wroughton, the comedian, who, by purchasing
the property of Mr. King, became about this period[15] proprietor of
Sadler's Wells, stepped forward in the boy's behalf, and obtained for
him a situation on board an East-Indiaman, which then lay in the river,
and was about to sail almost immediately.
John was delighted when the prospect of realizing his ardent wishes
opened upon him so suddenly; but his raptures were diminished by the
discovery that an outfit was indispensable, and that it would cost
upwards of fifty pounds: a sum which, it is scarcely necessary to say,
his friends, in their reduced position, could not command. But the same
kind-hearted gentleman removed this obstacle, and with a generosity
and readiness which enhanced the value of the gift an hundredfold,
advanced, without security or obligation, the whole sum required,
merely saying, "Mind, John, when you come to be a captain you must pay
it me back again."
There is no difficulty in providing the necessaries for a voyage
to any part of the world when you have provided the first and most
important--money. In two days, John took his leave of his mother and
brother, and with his outfit, or kit, was safely deposited on board the
vessel in which a berth had been procured for him; but the boy, who was
of a rash, hasty, and inconsiderate temper, finding, on going on board,
that a delay of ten days would take place before the ship sailed, and
that a king's ship, which lay near her, was just then preparing to drop
down to Gravesend with the tide, actually swam from his own ship to
the other, entered himself as a seaman or cabin-boy on board the latter
in some feigned name,--what it was his friends never heard,--and so
sailed immediately, leaving every article of his outfit, down to the
commonest necessary of wearing apparel, on board the East-Indiaman,
on the books of which he had been entered through the kindness of Mr.
Wroughton. He disappeared in 1789, and he was not heard of, or from, or
seen, for fourteen years afterwards.
At this period of his life, Joseph was far from idle; he had to walk
from Drury Lane to Sadler's Wells every morning to attend rehearsals,
which then began at ten o'clock; to be back at Drury Lane to dinner
by two, or go without it; to be back again at Sadler's Wells in the
evening, in time for the commencement of the performances at six
o'clock; to go through uninterrupted labour from that time until eleven
o'clock, or later; and then to walk home again, repeatedly after having
changed his dress twenty times in the course of the night.
Occasionally, when the performances at Sadler's Wells were prolonged so
that the curtain fell very nearly at the same time as the concluding
piece at Drury Lane began, he was so pressed for time as to be
compelled to dart out of the former theatre at his utmost speed, and
never to stop until he reached his dressing-room at the latter. That he
could use his legs to pretty good advantage at this period of his life,
two anecdotes will sufficiently show.
On one occasion, when by unforeseen circumstances he was detained at
Sadler's Wells beyond the usual time, he and Mr. Fairbrother (the
father of the well-known theatrical printer), who, like himself, was
engaged at both theatres, and had agreed to accompany him that evening,
started hand-in-hand from Sadler's Wells theatre, and ran to the
stage-door of Drury Lane in eight minutes by the stop watches which
they carried. Grimaldi adds, that this was considered a great feat at
the time; and we should think it was.
Another night, during the time when the Drury Lane company were playing
at the Italian Opera-house in the Haymarket, in consequence of the old
theatre being pulled down and a new one built, Mr. Fairbrother and
himself, again put to their utmost speed by lack of time, ran from
Sadler's Wells to the Opera-house in fourteen minutes, meeting with no
other interruption by the way than one which occurred at the corner
of Lincoln's Inn Fields, where they unfortunately ran against and
overturned an infirm old lady, without having time enough to pick her
up again. After Grimaldi's business at the Opera-house was over, (he
had merely to walk in the procession in Cymon,) he ran back alone to
Sadler's Wells in thirteen minutes, and arrived just in time to dress
for Clown in the concluding pantomime.
For some years his life went on quietly enough, possessing very little
of anecdote or interest beyond his steady and certain rise in his
profession and in the estimation of the public, which, although very
important to him from the money he afterwards gained by it, and to the
public from the amusement which his peculiar excellence yielded them
for so many years, offers no material for our present purpose. This
gradual progress in the good opinion of the town exercised a material
influence on his receipts; for, in 1794, his salary at Drury Lane
was trebled, while his salary at Sadler's Wells had risen from three
shillings per week to four pounds. He lodged in Great Wild-street with
his mother all this time: their landlord had died, and the widow's
daughter, from accompanying Mrs. Grimaldi[16] to Sadler's Wells theatre,
had formed an acquaintance with, and married Mr. Robert Fairbrother, of
that establishment, and Drury Lane, upon which Mrs. Bailey, the widow,
took Mr. Fairbrother into partnership as a furrier, in which pursuit,
by industry and perseverance, he became eminently successful.
This circumstance would be scarcely worth mentioning, but that it shows
the industry and perseverance of Grimaldi, and the ease with which, by
the exercise of those qualities, a very young person may overcome all
the disadvantages and temptations incidental to the most precarious
walk of a precarious pursuit, and become a useful and respectable
member of society. He earned many a guinea from Mr. Fairbrother by
working at his trade, and availing himself of his instruction in his
leisure hours; and when he could do nothing in that way, he would go to
Newton-street, and assist his uncle and cousin, the carcase butchers,
for nothing; such was his unconquerable antipathy to being idle. He
does not inform us, whether it required a practical knowledge of
trade, to display that skill and address with which, in his subsequent
prosperity, he would diminish the joints of his customers as a baker,
or increase the weight of their meat as a butcher, but we hope, for the
credit of trade, that his morals in this respect were wholly imaginary.
These were his moments of occupation, but he contrived to find moments
of amusement besides, which were devoted to the breeding of pigeons,
and collecting of insects, which latter amusement he pursued with such
success, as to form a cabinet containing no fewer than 4000 specimens
of flies, "collected," he says, "at the expense of a great deal of
time, a great deal of money, and a great deal of vast and actual
labour,"--for all of which, no doubt, the entomologist will deem him
sufficiently rewarded. He appears in old age to have entertained a
peculiar relish for the recollection of these pursuits, and calls to
mind a part of Surrey where there was a very famous fly, and a part
of Kent where there was another famous fly; one of these was called
the Camberwell Beauty (which he adds was very ugly), and another, the
Dartford Blue, by which Dartford Blue he seems to have set great store;
and which were pursued and caught in the manner following, in June,
1794, when they regularly make their first appearance for the season.
Being engaged nightly at Sadler's Wells, he was obliged to wait
till he had finished his business upon the stage: then he returned
home, had supper, and shortly after midnight started off to walk to
Dartford, fifteen miles from town. Here he arrived about five o'clock
in the morning, and calling upon a friend of the name of Brooks, who
lived in the neighbourhood, and who was already stirring, he rested,
breakfasted, and sallied forth into the fields. His search was not very
profitable, however, for after some hours he only succeeded in bagging,
or bottling, one "Dartford Blue," with which he returned to his friend
perfectly satisfied. At one o'clock he bade his friend good by, walked
back to town, reached London by five, washed, took tea, and hurried to
Sadler's Wells. No time was to be lost--the fact of the appearance of
the "Dartford Blues" having been thoroughly established--in securing
more specimens; so on the same night, directly the pantomime was over,
and supper over, too, off he walked down to Dartford again, found the
friend up again, took a hasty breakfast again, and resumed his search
again. Meeting with better sport, and capturing no fewer than four
dozen Dartford Blues, he hurried back to the friend's; set them--an
important process, which consists in placing the insects in the
position in which their natural beauty can be best displayed--started
off with the Dartford Blues in his pocket for London once more, reached
home by four o'clock in the afternoon, washed, and took a hasty meal,
and then went to the theatre for the evening's performance.
As not half the necessary number of Blues had been taken, he had
decided upon another visit to Dartford that same night, and was
consequently much pleased to find that, from some unforeseen
circumstance, the pantomime was to be played first. By this means he
was enabled to leave London at nine o'clock, to reach Dartford at one,
to find a bed and supper ready, to meet a kind reception from his
friend, and finally to turn into bed, a little tired with the two days'
exertions. The next day was Sunday, so that he could indulge himself
without being obliged to return to town, and in the morning he caught
more flies than he wanted; so the rest of the day was devoted to quiet
sociality. He went to bed at ten o'clock, rose early next morning,
walked comfortably to town, and at noon was perfect in his part, at the
rehearsal on the stage at Drury Lane theatre.
It is probable that by such means as these, united to temperance and
sobriety, Grimaldi acquired many important bodily requisites for the
perfection which he afterwards attained. But his love of entomology,
or exercise, was not the only inducement in the case of the Dartford
Blues; he had, he says, another strong motive, and this was, the having
promised a little collection of insects to "one of the most charming
women of her age,"--the lamented Mrs. Jordan, at that time a member of
the Drury Lane company.
Upon one occasion he had held under his arm, during a morning
rehearsal, a box containing some specimens of flies: Mrs. Jordan was
much interested to know what could possibly be in the box that Grimaldi
carried about with him with so much care, and would not lose sight
of for an instant, and in reply to her inquiry whether it contained
anything pretty, he replied by exhibiting the flies.
He does not say whether these particular flies, which Mrs. Jordan
admired, were Dartford Blues, or not; but he gives us to understand,
that his skill in preserving and arranging insects was really very
great; that all this trouble and fatigue were undertaken in a spirit
of respectful gallantry to the most winning person of her time; and
that, having requested permission previously, he presented two frames
of insects to Mrs. Jordan, on the first day of the new season, and
immediately after she had finished the rehearsal of Rosalind in "As you
like it;" that Mrs. Jordan was delighted, that he was at least equally
so, that she took the frames away in her carriage, and warmed his heart
by telling him that his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence considered
the flies equal, if not superior, to any of the kind he had ever seen.
His only other companion in these trips, besides his Dartford friend,
was Robert Gomery, or "friend Bob," as he was called by his intimates,
at that time an actor at Sadler's Wells,[17] and for many years
afterwards a public favourite at the various minor theatres of the
metropolis; who is now, or was lately, enjoying a handsome independence
at Bath. With this friend he had a little adventure, which it was his
habit to relate with great glee.
One day, he had been fly-hunting with his friend, from early morning
until night, thinking of nothing but flies, until at length their
thoughts naturally turning to something more substantial, they halted
for refreshment.
"Bob," said Grimaldi, "I am very hungry."
"So am I," said Bob.
"There is a public-house," said Grimaldi.
"It is _just_ the very thing," observed the other.
It was a very neat public-house, and would have answered the purpose
admirably, but Grimaldi having no money, and very much doubting whether
his friend had either, did not respond to the sentiment quite so
cordially as he might have done.
"We had better go in," said the friend; "it is getting late--_you_
pay."
"No, no! you."
"I would in a minute," said his friend, "but I have not got any money."
Grimaldi thrust his hand into his right pocket with one of his queerest
faces, then into his left, then into his coat pockets, then into his
waistcoat, and finally took off his hat and looked into that; but there
was no money anywhere.
They still walked on towards the public-house, meditating with rueful
countenances, when Grimaldi spying something lying at the foot of a
tree, picked it up, and suddenly exclaimed, with a variety of winks and
nods, "Here's a sixpence."
The hungry friend's eyes brightened, but they quickly resumed their
gloomy expression as he rejoined, "It's a piece of tin!"
Grimaldi winked again, rubbed the sixpence or the piece of tin very
hard, and declared, putting it between his teeth by way of test, that
it was as good a sixpence as he would wish to see.
"I don't think it," said the friend, shaking his head.
"I'll tell you what," said Grimaldi, "we'll go to the public-house, and
ask the landlord whether it's a good one, or not. They always know."
To this the friend assented, and they hurried on, disputing all the way
whether it was really a sixpence, or not; a discovery which could not
be made at that time, when the currency was defaced and worn nearly
plain, with the ease with which it could be made at present.
The publican, a fat, jolly fellow, was standing at his door, talking to
a friend, and the house looked so uncommonly comfortable, that Gomery
whispered as they approached, that perhaps it might be best to have
some bread and cheese first, and ask about the sixpence afterwards.
Grimaldi nodded his entire assent, and they went in and ordered some
bread and cheese, and beer. Having taken the edge off their hunger,
they tossed up a farthing which Grimaldi happened to find in the corner
of some theretofore undiscovered pocket, to determine who should
present the "sixpence." The chance falling on himself, he walked up to
the bar, and with a very lofty air, and laying the questionable metal
down with a dignity quite his own, requested the landlord to take the
bill out of that.
"Just right, sir," said the landlord, looking at the strange face that
his customer assumed, and not at the sixpence.
"It's right, sir, is it?" asked Grimaldi, sternly.
"Quite," answered the landlord; "thank ye, gentlemen." And with this he
slipped the--whatever it was--into his pocket.
Gomery looked at Grimaldi, and Grimaldi, with a look and air which
baffle all description, walked out of the house, followed by his
friend.
"I never knew anything so lucky," he said, as they walked home to
supper--"it was quite a Providence--that sixpence."
"A piece of tin, you mean," said Gomery.
Which of the two it was, is uncertain, but Grimaldi often patronised
the same house afterwards, and as he never heard anything more about
the matter, he felt quite convinced that it was a real good sixpence.
In the early part of the year 1794, they quitted their lodgings in
Great Wild-street, and took a six-roomed house, in Penton-place,
Pentonville, with a garden attached; a part of this they let off to a
Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, who then belonged to Sadler's Wells; and in this
manner they lived for three years, during the whole of which period
his salaries steadily rose in amount, and he began to consider himself
quite independent.
At Easter,[18] Sadler's Wells opened as usual, and making a great hit
in a new part, his fame rapidly increased. At this time he found a new
acquaintance, which exercised a material influence upon his comfort and
happiness for many years. The intimacy commenced thus:--
When there was a rehearsal at Sadler's Wells, his mother, who was
engaged there as well as himself, was in the habit of remaining at the
theatre all day, taking her meals in her dressing-room, and occupying
herself with needlework. This she had done to avoid the long walk
in the middle of the day from Sadler's Wells to Great Wild-street,
and back again almost directly. It became a habit; and when they had
removed to Penton-place, and consequently were so much nearer the
theatre that it was no longer necessary, it still continued. Mr.
Hughes, who had now become principal proprietor of the theatre, and
who lived in the house attached to it, had several children, the
eldest of whom was Miss Maria Hughes, a young lady of considerable
accomplishments, who had always been much attached to Grimaldi's
mother, and who embraced every opportunity of being in her society.
Knowing the hours at which she was in the dressing-room during the day,
Miss Hughes was in the habit of taking her work, and sitting with her
from three or four o'clock until six, when the other female performers
beginning to arrive, she retired. Grimaldi was generally at the theatre
between four and five, always taking tea with his mother at the
last-named hour, and sitting with her until the arrival of the ladies
broke up the little party. In this way an intimacy arose between Miss
Hughes and himself, which ultimately ripened into feelings of a warmer
nature.
The day after he made his great hit in the new piece, he went as
usual to tea in the dressing-room, where Mrs. Lewis, their lodger,
who was the wardrobe-keeper of the theatre, happening to be present,
overwhelmed him with compliments on his great success. Miss Hughes was
there too, but she said nothing for a long time, and Grimaldi, who
would rather have heard her speak for a minute than Mrs. Lewis for an
hour, listened as patiently as he could to the encomiums which the good
woman lavished upon him. At length she stopped, as the best talkers
must now and then, to take breath, and then Miss Hughes, looking up,
said, with some hesitation, that she thought Mr. Grimaldi had played
the part uncommonly well; so well that she was certain there was no one
who could have done it at all like him.
Now, before he went into the room, he had turned the matter over in his
mind, and had come to the conclusion that if Miss Hughes praised his
acting he would reply by some neatly turned compliment to her, which
might afford some hint of the state of his feelings; and with this view
he had considered of a good many very smart ones, but somehow or other,
the young lady no sooner opened her lips in speech, than Grimaldi
opened his in admiration, and out flew all the compliments in empty
breath, without producing the slightest sound. He turned very red,
looked very funny, and felt very foolish. At length he made an awkward
bow, and turned to leave the room.
It was six o'clock, and the lady performers just then came in. As
he was always somewhat of a favourite among them, a few of the more
volatile and giddy--for there are a few such, in almost all companies,
theatrical or otherwise,--began first to praise his acting, and then to
rally him upon another subject.
"Now Joe has become such a favourite," said one, "he ought to look out
for a sweetheart."
Here Joe just glanced at Miss Hughes, and turned a deeper red than ever.
"Certainly he ought," said another. "Will any of us do Joe?"
Upon this Joe exhibited fresh symptoms of being uncomfortable, which
were hailed by a general burst of laughter.
"I'll tell you what, ladies," said Mrs. Lewis, "if I'm not greatly
mistaken, Joe has got a sweetheart already."
Another lady said, that to her certain knowledge he had two, and
another that he had three, and so on: he standing among them the whole
time, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, vexed to death to think that
Miss Hughes should hear these libels, and frightened out of his wits
lest she should be disposed to believe them.
At length he made his escape, and being induced, by the conversation
which had just passed, to ponder upon the matter, he was soon led
to the conclusion that the fair daughter of Mr. Hughes had made an
impression on his heart, and that, unless he could marry her, he
would marry nobody, and must be for ever miserable, with other like
deductions which young men are in the habit of making from similar
premises. The discovery was not unattended by many misgivings. The
great difference of station, then existing between them, appeared
to interpose an almost insurmountable obstacle in the way of their
marriage; and, further, he had no reason to suppose that the young
lady entertained for him any other sentiments than those with which
she might be naturally disposed to regard the son of a friend whom she
had known so long. These considerations rendered him as unhappy as the
most passionate lover could desire to be--he ate little, drank little,
slept less, lost his spirits; and, in short, exhibited a great variety
of symptoms sufficiently dangerous in any case, but particularly so in
one, where the patient had mainly to depend upon the preservation of
his powers of fun and comicality for a distant chance of the fulfilment
of his hopes.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] The newspapers, in March, 1788, noticed the death, on the 14th
of that month, of "Mr. Joseph Grimaldi, many years Ballet-Master at
Drury Lane Theatre, aged 72." Decastro, who notwithstanding his love of
gossip, and occasionally, by a too frequent repetition, perverting the
vein of his story, was no mean authority as regarded the old players,
most of whom are now--
Down among the dead men!
He used to assert that old Grimaldi died in Lambeth, at his apartments,
up a court within a door or two of the Pheasant public-house in
Stangate-street. Reference to the burial-register of St. Mary's,
Lambeth, elicited nothing as to his interment there; but on searching
the register belonging to Northampton Chapel, in Exmouth-street, we
found it there recorded "March 23, 1788, Mr. Joseph Grimaldi, from
Lambeth, aged 75." It will be observed, there is a difference of three
years in the age, as stated in the daily papers of the time, and in the
register of his burial. No stone, or other memorial, marks the spot
where his ashes lie.
The court in which Grimaldi died, in poverty, not wealth, was, till the
last destruction of Astley's Amphitheatre, under the tenancy of Ducrow,
called Theatre-court, or place; but the fire consumed the greater part,
and its site is now occupied by that portion of Batty's Amphitheatre
which is in the Palace New-road.
[13] The original Editor has been misinformed. We are sorry to have
to record that Signor Grimaldi had nothing to bequeath to any one; he
made no will; and a search at the Prerogative Office, Doctor's Commons,
for the two years following his death, is evidence of this, no probate
having issued thence.
[14] The season of 1788, at Sadler's Wells, was one of no common
interest. On Whitsun Monday, May 12, in a musical piece, entitled
"Saint Monday; or, a Cure for a Scold," Mr. Braham, then Master
Abrahams, made his first appearance. He is named in the bills of August
18, but appears soon after to have left Sadler's Wells, and on the 30th
of the same month had a benefit at the Royalty Theatre, Well-street,
near Goodman's-fields, as "Master Braham," when the celebrated tenor
singer, Leoni, his master, announced that as the last time of his
performing on the stage. Miss Shields, who appeared at Sadler's
Wells in the same piece on Whitsun Monday, became towards the end of
May, Mrs. Leffler. Two Frenchmen, named Duranie and Bois-Maison, as
pantomimists, eclipsed all their predecessors on that stage. Boyce, a
distinguished engraver, was the Harlequin, and by those who remember
him, he is eulogised as the most finished actor of the motley hero,
either in his own day, or since. On the benefit night of Joseph Dortor,
Clown to the rope, and Richer, the rope dancer, Miss Richer made her
first appearance on two slack wires, passing through a hoop, with a
pyramid of glasses on her head; and Master Richer performed on the
tight rope, with a skipping rope. Joseph Dortor, among other almost
incredible feats, drank a glass of wine backwards from the stage-floor,
beating a drum at the same time. Lawrence, the father of Joe's friend,
Richard Lawrence, threw a summerset over twelve men's heads, and Paul
Redigé, "The Little Devil," on October 1, threw a summerset over two
men on horseback, the riders having each a lighted candle on his head.
Dubois, as Clown to the Pantomime, had no superior in his time; and
the troop of Voltigeurs were pre-eminent for their agility, skill, and
daring.
[15] Further inquiries enable us to prove that King transferred his
right in Sadler's Wells to Messrs. Wroughton and Serjeant, at the close
of the year 1788.
[16] Mrs. Brooker.
[17] "Friend Bob" was not employed at Sadler's Wells till three years
later than 1794, when he personated, on May 29, 1797, one of the Spahis
in Tom Dibdin's "Sadak and Kalasrade."
[18] On Easter Monday, 1796, Sadler's Wells opened with Tom Dibdin's
Serio-Comic Entertainment called "The Talisman of Orosmanes; or,
Harlequin made Happy." Grimaldi enacted the part of the Hag Morad; the
principal characters in the action being King, Dibdin, the author, his
second season; Dubois, Master Grimaldi, as he was then designated in
the bills, and Mrs. Wybrow. Having in such company made a hit in this
part, his fame rapidly increased; and in the new harlequinade burletta,
entitled "Venus's Girdle; or, the World Bewitched," produced on the
1st of August in that year, Master Grimaldi played the part of the Old
Woman; his mother, Mrs. Brooker, Lady Simpleton. These entertainments
ran through the whole season.
It may not be out of place to notice that Philip Astley this year
announced as attractions at his Amphitheatre of Arts, Westminster
Bridge, "The most splendid Variety of Novel Amusements ever produced,
and which have been composed and arranged by the following celebrated
persons,--viz.
"Mons. Mercerot, principal Pastoral Dancer, Ballet Master, and
Pantomime Composer.
"Mons. Laurent, Performer of Action, Pierrot, and Pantomime Composer.
"Mr. West, Ballet Master, principal Buffo Dancer, Clown, and Pantomime
Composer.
"Mr. Lascelles Williamson, Ballet Master, principal Comic Dancer,
Harlequin, and Pantomime Composer. The above are the only Pupils of the
late celebrated Signor Grimaldi.
The bills added, "Messrs. Astleys most respectfully beg leave to
remark, that there never was at any Public Place of Entertainment so
many Ballet Masters, Pantomime Composers, &c., engaged at one and the
same time, possessing abilities equal to the above performers; their
exertions joined to those of Messrs. Astleys, must enable them to give
a greater variety than any other Public Place of Summer Amusement."
Williamson was not only the pupil of Signor Grimaldi, but was also his
son-in-law, having married Joe's sister, who was announced with him in
the Sadler's Wells bills in 1781, as Miss Grimaldi; she was engaged
with her husband as Mrs. Williamson at Astley's, and appears among
the Wizards and Witches, in the Dramatis Personæ of the Grand Comic
Pantomime, called "The Magician of the Rocks; or, Harlequin in London,"
produced there on Whitsun Monday. "Clown, Mr. West, after the manner of
his old Master, Grimaldi."