1806 to 1807.
He returns to town, gets frozen to the roof of a coach on
the road, and pays his rent twice over when he arrives at
home--Mr. Charles Farley--His first appearance at Covent
Garden--Valentine and Orson--Production of "Mother Goose," and
its immense success--The mysterious Adventure of the Six Ladies
and the Six Gentlemen.
They were six days getting back to London, the weather being very
inclement, and the travelling very indifferent. Through a mistake of
the booking-office keeper, Grimaldi had to travel the earlier portion
of the road from Holyhead outside the coach. The cold was so intense,
and the frost so severe, that he actually got frozen to his seat; and
when the coach arrived at Red Landford, it was with some difficulty
that he was lifted off, and conveyed into an inn in a complete state
of exhaustion and helplessness. His feet were bathed in brandy, and
various other powerful stimulants applied with the view of restoring
suspended circulation, but several hours elapsed before he recovered,
and it was not until the following morning that he was enabled to
resume his journey towards London, where he at length arrived without
further hindrance or accident.
He had no sooner returned to town than an unpleasant circumstance
occurred, as if in especial illustration of his often-urged remark,
that he never had a sum of money but some unforeseen demand was made
upon him, or some extraordinary exigency arose.
He had been one morning to the City on business, and was somewhat
amazed on his return to find a broker and his assistant in the best
parlour, engaged in coolly taking an inventory of his goods and
chattels.
"What on earth is the meaning of this?" he inquired.
"Only an execution for rent," replied the broker, continuing his
instructions to his amanuensis; "Mirror in gilt frame, Villiam."
The tenant replied that it was quite impossible, and searching among
his papers, found and produced the receipt for his rent.
The broker looked it over with a cheerful smile, and then, with many
legal phrases, proceeded to apprise him that the landlord himself was
but a lessee, and that, in consequence of his not having paid his
rent, the head landlord had determined to seize upon whatever property
was found upon the premises.
Greatly annoyed at this information, he hurried to Mr. Hughes, his
constant adviser in all difficulties, to consult with him. Having
narrated the affair, Mr. Hughes asked what was the amount claimed.
"Eighty-four pounds."
"Well, then, Joe," said he, "you must pay it, or lose your furniture."
Accordingly he returned home very indignant, and handed over
the specified sum to the broker, who said nothing could be more
satisfactory, and walked away accompanied by his assistant.
The next morning the landlord came, and being ushered in, expressed
much trouble in his countenance, and said that he was very glad to see
Mr. Grimaldi and such a fine morning together.
"But I beg your pardon," he added; "I don't think you know me."
Grimaldi replied, that unless he was the gentleman who had imposed
upon him the necessity of paying his rent twice over, he had not the
pleasure of his acquaintance. At which remark the landlord assumed
a very penitent and disconsolate visage, declared his sorrow for
what had occurred, and, as some light reparation for the loss and
wrong, proposed to assign the lease to him. Grimaldi under all the
circumstances was extremely glad to accede to the proposal, and
cheerfully paid all the legal expenses contingent upon the transfer.
The upshot of the matter was, that, a very short time afterwards, he
received another communication from the same landlord, in which he
imparted the very unexpected fact, that either party to the lease had
a discretionary power of cancelling it at that period if he thought
proper, and that he intended to avail himself of the clause, unless
indeed Mr. Grimaldi would prefer retaining the house at an advanced
rent, which he was at liberty to do if he pleased. An inspection of the
deed proved but too clearly that this statement was correct: so the
eighty-four pounds were lost, together with the legal charges for the
assignment of the lease and the costs of the execution; and the burden
of an increased rent was imposed upon the unlucky tenant into the
bargain.
His old articles at Sadler's Wells expiring this year, he entered
into a fresh engagement, under which he bound himself to that theatre
for three years, at a weekly salary of twelve pounds and two clear
benefits. The pantomime produced at Easter was entitled, "Harlequin and
the Forty Virgins," and proved remarkably successful, running indeed
through the whole of the season. In this piece he sang a song called
"Me and my Neddy," which afterwards became highly popular and was in
everybody's mouth. Several presents were made to him by admirers of
his performance, and, among others, a very handsome watch, the face of
which was so contrived as to represent a portrait of himself in the act
of singing the romantic ditty just mentioned.
All this season the pantomime was played first, which arrangement
released him at half-past eight o'clock, thus affording him an
opportunity, which he enjoyed for the first time in his life, of being
abroad in the evening, in the spring and summer of the year. During the
greater portion of his life in those seasons, he had entered Sadler's
Wells every night at six o'clock, and remained there until twelve. The
novelty of being at liberty before it was yet dark was so great, that
he scarcely knew what to do with himself, sometimes strolling about
the streets in perfect astonishment at finding himself there, and then
turning home in pure lack of employment.
On the opening of Covent Garden Theatre in October,[38] he became first
acquainted with Mr. Farley, between whom and himself a very warm and
sincere friendship ever after existed. This gentleman inquired in what
character he would wish, to make his first appearance. He mentioned
Scaramouch in "Don Juan," which had been one of his most successful
parts at the other house; but Mr. Farley suggested Orson, in "Valentine
and Orson," urging that the drama, which had not been acted for several
years, had been very popular with the town, and that Orson was a
character well suited to his abilities, in which it was very probable
he would make a great hit. Grimaldi at once consented to play the part,
merely requesting that Mr. Farley would be good enough to give him some
instruction in it, as he had never seen any portion of the piece, and
was at some loss how to study the character. Mr. Farley readily agreed
to do so, and faithfully kept his word.
It has been sometimes said, and indeed stated in print, that Grimaldi
was a pupil and copyist of Dubois. No greater mistake can be made:
if he can be said to have been the pupil of anybody, Mr. Farley was
certainly his master, as he not only took infinite pains to instruct
him in the character of Orson, but afterwards gave him very valuable
advice and great assistance in getting up many other parts, in which he
was also highly successful.
He was very anxious about his first appearance at Covent Garden, and
studied Orson with great assiduity and application for some time. He
made his first appearance in the character on the 10th of October,
1806, Farley playing Valentine. The piece, which was received with most
decided success, was acted nearly every night until the production of
the pantomime at Christmas rendered its withdrawal imperative.
The part of Orson was in Grimaldi's opinion the most difficult he ever
had to play; the multitude of passions requiring to be portrayed, and
the rapid succession in which it was necessary to present them before
the spectators, involving an unusual share both of mental and physical
exertion upon the part of the performer. He played this character both
in town and country on many occasions, but the effect produced upon
him by the exertions of the last scene of the first act was always
the same. As soon as the act-drop fell, he would stagger off the
stage into a small room behind the prompter's box, and there sinking
into an arm-chair, give full vent to the emotions which he found it
impossible to suppress. He would sob and cry aloud, and suffer so much
from violent and agonizing spasms, that those about him, accustomed
as they at length became to the distressing scene, were very often in
doubt, up to the very moment of his being "called," whether he would
be able to go upon the stage for the second act. He never failed,
however; extraordinary as his sufferings were, his fear of not being
ready as the time for his call approached, and the exertions he made to
conquer those painful feelings, invariably enabled him to rally at the
necessary time,--a curious instance of the power of habit in enabling
him to struggle successfully with the weaknesses which no length of
habit, and no repetition of the same part, however frequent, were
sufficient to banish.
The effect produced on the audience by his personation of this
character was intense: it enhanced his reputation greatly, bringing
him before the public in quite a new line. The compliments and
congratulations which he received from persons ranking high in his own
profession, in literature, and in the fine arts, bore high testimony to
the merit and striking character of this singular performance.
Preparations now began to be made for the production of "Mother
Goose," destined to acquire a degree of popularity quite unprecedented
in the history of pantomime, and to occupy a place in the choicest
recollections of the play-goers of the time.
At Drury Lane, the Management, well knowing that great preparations
were making at Covent Garden for the production of a new harlequinade
on the 26th of December, and dreading the advantage they had gained in
securing Grimaldi, hurried on the preparations for their own pantomime,
and engaging Montgomery, who had acquired some celebrity at the Circus,
at a high salary, to play Clown, produced their pantomime on the 23rd,
thus gaining an advantage of three days over the other house. The
piece, however, partook infinitely more of the character of a spectacle
than a pantomime: the scenery and tricks were good, but the "business,"
as it is technically termed, was so wretched, that the audience began
to hiss before it was half over, and eventually grew so clamorous, that
it was deemed prudent to drop the curtain, long before the intended
conclusion of the piece. Grimaldi and his friend Bologna were present,
and were very far from regretting this failure. Up to that time Drury
Lane had always been more successful in pantomime than the other house;
and there is little doubt, that the production of this unsuccessful but
very splendid piece, three days before the usual time, was intended
not merely to crush the pantomime in preparation at Covent Garden, but
Grimaldi too, if possible.
They had a night rehearsal of "Mother Goose" on the ensuing evening,
and the performers were in a state of great anxiety and uncertainty as
to its fate. It had always been the custom to render a pantomime the
vehicle for the display of gorgeous scenery and splendid dresses; on
the last scene especially, the energies of every person in the theatre
connected with the decoration of the stage were profusely lavished,
the great question with the majority of the town being which pantomime
had the finest conclusion. Mother Goose had none of these accessories;
it had neither gorgeous processions, nor gaudy banners, nor splendid
scenery, nor showy dresses. There was not even a spangle used in the
piece, with the exception of those which decked the Harlequin's jacket,
and even they would have been dispensed with but for Grimaldi's advice.
The last scene too was as plain as possible, and the apprehensions of
the performers were proportionately rueful.
But all these doubts were speedily set at rest; for on the production
of the pantomime on the 26th of December, 1806, it was received with
the most deafening shouts of applause, and played for ninety-two
nights, being the whole remainder of the season. The houses it
drew were immense: the doors were no sooner open than the theatre
was filled; and every time it was played the applause seemed more
uproarious than before--another instance of the bad judgment of actors
in matters appertaining to their craft. "She stoops to conquer" was
doomed by the actors to inevitable failure up to the very moment when
the performances commenced (although in this case many eminent literary
men and critics of the time held the same opinion); and "The Honey
Moon" lay neglected on the manager's shelf for many years, it being
considered impossible that an audience would be found to sit out its
representation.
Grimaldi's opinion of Mother Goose--it may or may not be another
instance of the bad judgment of actors--always remained pretty much the
same, notwithstanding its great success. He considered the pantomime,
as a whole, a very indifferent one, and always declared his own part to
be one of the worst he ever played; nor was there a trick or situation
in the piece to which he had not been well accustomed for many years
before. However this may be, there is little doubt that the exertions
of Bologna and himself, as Harlequin and Clown, contributed in a
very important degree to the success of the piece; it being worthy
of remark, that whenever the pantomime has been played without the
original Harlequin and Clown, it has invariably gone off flatly, and
generally failed to draw.
On the 9th of June he took a benefit in conjunction with Bologna, upon
which occasion Mother Goose was played for the eighty-second[39] time.
The receipts amounted to 679_l._ 18_s._
During the run of this pantomime he fell curiously into a new and
mysterious circle of acquaintance. The mystery which over-hung them,
the manner of his introduction, their style of living, and his
subsequent discovery of their rank and title, are not a little curious.
On the 6th of January, 1807, a gentleman called at his house in Baynes'
Row, and desiring to see him was shown into the parlour. In this person
he was surprised to recognise his quondam friend Mackintosh who owned
the preserves. He apologised for calling, entered into conversation
with great ease, and trusted that the little trick he had played in
mere thoughtlessness might be completely forgiven. Being courteously
requested not to trouble himself by referring to it, Mr. Mackintosh
went on to say, that his mother had sold, not her mangle, but her inn,
and had retired to a distant part of the country; while he himself
having attached himself to business, had come to reside permanently in
London, and had taken a house and offices in Throgmorton-street, in the
City.
Mr. Mackintosh's appearance was extremely smart, his manners were
greatly improved, and altogether he had acquired much polish and
refinement since the days of the chaise-cart and the fustian jacket.
As, notwithstanding the absurd scrape into which he had led his
guests, he had treated them very hospitably, Grimaldi invited him to
dine on the following Sunday. He came in due course; his conversation
was jocose and amusing, and becoming a favourite at the house, he
frequently dined or supped there: Grimaldi and his wife occasionally
doing the same with him in Throgmorton-street, where he had a very
business-looking establishment, plainly but genteelly furnished.
About a month after his first calling, he waited upon Grimaldi
one morning, and said that some friends of his residing in
Charlotte-street, Fitzroy-square, were very anxious to make his
acquaintance, and wished much for his company at supper one evening
after he had finished at the theatre. Grimaldi, who if he had accepted
all the invitations he received at this period would have had very
little time for his profession, parried the request for some time,
alleging that he was a very domestic person, and that he preferred
adhering to his old custom of supping at home with his wife after
the play. Mackintosh, however, urged that his friends were very
wealthy people, that he would find them very useful and profitable
acquaintances, and by these and a thousand other persuasions, overcame
his disinclination to go. He consented, and an evening was fixed for
the visit.
On the appointed night, as soon as he had finished at the theatre, he
called a coach and directed the driver to set him down at the address
which Mackintosh had given him. The coach stopped before a very large
house, apparently handsomely furnished, and brilliantly lighted up. Not
having any idea that the man could possess friends who lived in such
style, he at first supposed that the driver had made a mistake; but
while they were discussing the point, Mackintosh, elegantly dressed,
darted out of the passage, and, taking his arm, conducted him into a
brilliant supper-room.
If the outside of the house had given him cause for astonishment, its
internal appearance redoubled his surprise. Everything was on a scale
of the most costly splendour: the spacious rooms were elegantly papered
and gilded, elegant chandeliers depended from the ceilings, the richest
carpets covered the floors, and the other furniture, too, was of the
most expensive description. The supper comprised a choice variety of
luxuries, and was splendidly served; the costliest wines of various
kinds and vintages sparkled upon the table.
There were just twelve persons in the supper-room, besides Mackintosh
and himself--to wit, six ladies and six gentlemen, who were all
introduced as married people. The first couple to whom he was
introduced were of course the host and hostess, Mr. and Mrs. Farmer,
who welcomed him with enchanting urbanity and condescension. Every
member of the party was beautifully dressed: the ladies wore jewellery
of the most brilliant description, the numerous attendants were in
handsome liveries, and the whole scene was so totally different from
anything he had anticipated that he was thoroughly bewildered, and
actually began to doubt the reality of what he saw. The politeness
of the gentlemen, and the graceful ease of the ladies, however, soon
restored his self-possession; while the delicious flavour of the
wines and dishes convinced him that with respect to that part of the
business, at all events, he was labouring under no delusion.
In eating, drinking, singing, and story-telling, the night wore on till
past five o'clock, when he was at length suffered to return home. A
recital of all the circumstances astonished his wife not a little; and
he was quite as much amazed at recollecting what he had seen, as she at
hearing of it.
A few days afterward, Mackintosh called again; hoped he had enjoyed
himself, was delighted to hear he had, and bore an invitation for the
next night.
To this Grimaldi urged all the objections he had before mentioned, and
added to them an expression of his unwillingness to leave his wife
at home. Mr. Mackintosh, with great forethought, had mentioned this
in Charlotte-street; he was commissioned to invite her, Mrs. Farmer
trusting she would come in a friendly way and excuse the formality of
her calling.
Well, there was no resisting this; so Grimaldi and his wife went to
Charlotte-street next night, and there were the rooms, and the six
ladies and the six gentlemen, and the chandeliers, and the wax-lights,
and the liveries, and, what was more to the purpose than all, the
supper, all over again.
There were several other parties after this; and then the six ladies
and the six gentlemen _would_ come and see Mr. Grimaldi at his own
house,--whereat Mrs. Grimaldi was rather vexed, inasmuch as they had
not one quarter so many spoons as the Charlotte-street people, and
no chandeliers at all. However, they were polite enough to say, that
they had never spent a more delightful evening; and as they talked and
laughed very much, and were very friendly and kind, the visit passed
off to the admiration of all parties.
There was some mystery about these great friends, which the worthy
couple were quite unable to solve. It did not appear that they were
connected by any other ties than those of friendship, and yet they
were always together, and never had a stranger among them; there were
always the same six ladies and the same six gentlemen, the only change
being in their dresses, which varied in make and colour, but never in
quality. Then they did not seem to be in any business, and there was a
something in the politeness of the gentlemen and the jocoseness of the
ladies which struck them as rather peculiar, although they could never
tell what it was. Grimaldi saw that they were not like the noblemen
and gentlemen he was in the habit of meeting in the green-rooms of
the theatres; and yet, notwithstanding that he pondered upon the
matter a great deal, he could not for the life of him discover in
what the difference consisted. His wife was in just the same state of
perplexity; but although they talked the matter over very often, they
never arrived at any tangible conclusion. While they were thinking
about it, the parties kept going on, and January and February passed
away.
On the 13th of March he had promised to act, in conjunction with
Messrs. Bartley, Simmons, Chapman, and Louis Bologna, at the Woolwich
Theatre, for the benefit of Mr. Lund. Chancing to mention the
circumstance at one of the Charlotte-street parties a few days before
the time, Mr. Farmer immediately proposed that he and the other five
gentlemen should accompany their excellent friend; that they should all
sup together at Woolwich after the theatre was over, and return to town
next day. This was immediately agreed to by all the party except one
gentleman, with the uncommon name of Jones, who had an appointment with
a nobleman, which it was impossible to postpone.
The five gentlemen were punctual, and they, Mackintosh, and Grimaldi,
started together. They dined at Woolwich, and afterwards adjourned to
the theatre, where the five gentlemen and Mackintosh went into the
boxes, and Grimaldi upon the stage. The five gentlemen talked very
loud, and applauded very much; and their magnificent appearance created
quite a sensation, not only among the audience, but the actors also.
They supped together at the hotel at which they had dined: slept there,
and returned to town next day; Mr. Farmer and the four gentlemen coming
home in a barouche; Mackintosh, Grimaldi, and some other professional
persons preferring to walk, for the benefit of the exercise.
Upon the way, Grimaldi sounded Mackintosh relative to the professions,
connexions, and prospects of his friends; but he evaded making any
reply, further than by observing, with an air of great respect, that
they were very wealthy people. He dined in Throgmorton-street a few
days afterwards, and again tried to penetrate the mystery, as did his
wife, who accompanied him. Mr. Mackintosh threw no light upon it, but
it was destined to be shortly revealed, as the next chapter will show.
FOOTNOTES:
[38] Covent Garden Theatre commenced the season of 1806-7, on September
15, with Colman's comedy of "John Bull," and the farce of the "Miser."
Mrs. Grimaldi was, on September 22, one of the singing-women in the
Anthem, sang in Shakspeare's play of "King Henry the Eighth:" Cardinal
Wolsey, Mr. Kemble; Queen Katharine, Mrs. Siddons. She was also on
October 6, one of the choral-witches in Macbeth; and on the 8th enacted
Dolly Trull in the Beggar's Opera: a part in which she appears to have
been cast on all future representations. On October 9, not the 10th,
Joe made his _début_ on the boards of old Covent Garden, as Orson, on
the revival of Tom Dibdin's "Valentine and Orson." Dubois had, on its
previous representation at that theatre, obtained unequivocal applause
from the art he displayed in his performance of Orson. Bologna, jun.
also made his first appearance, after an absence of two years, as the
"Sorcerer Agramant; or, The Green Knight." The part of the second
page in this piece, introduced to the stage a boy named Smalley, with
a surprising excellence of voice, who, by some kind soul was rescued
from wretchedness and obscurity, and will long be remembered by those
in whose recollection the performance of "Mother Goose" remains. "The
Cabin Boy," as sung by him, was long highly popular; every younker, who
fancied he had a voice, made that ballad the object of his execution.
It was warbled by men, women, and children; and Grimaldi obtained great
applause for his performance of Orson.
[39] On the night of the joint benefit of Grimaldi and Bologna, June
9, 1807, Macklin's "Man of the World," was performed; Sir Pertinax, by
Mr. Cooke; a new comic ballet, entitled "Poor Jack," Poor Jack, by Mr.
Bologna, jun. Joe also sang Dibdin's song of "The Country Club," often
previously sung by him at Sadler's Wells, with reiterated plaudits.
The evening's entertainments concluded with "Mother Goose," for the
eighty-eighth time, not the eighty-second.
In the preceding April, on the 16th, was produced at Covent Garden,
for the first time, a grand ballet of action, entitled "The Ogre and
Little Thumb; or, the Seven League Boots;" Anthropophagos, the Ogre,
Mr. Farley: Count Manfredi, Mr. Bologna, jun.; Scamperini, the Count's
Servant, Mr. Grimaldi; Little Thumb, Miss M. Bristow, her first
appearance.