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.
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 possible
speed, and take a hurried walk, and often a rapid run, to Drury Lane,
to perform in the last piece.[30]
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 to punish 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 of the 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.
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, and the 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 his hat 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 a _cake_: 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 in the 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.
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 enough to 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.
FOOTNOTES:
[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.
[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.
[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.
[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.