1808 to 1809.
Covent Garden Theatre destroyed by fire--Grimaldi makes a trip to
Manchester: he meets with an accident there, and another at
Liverpool--The Sir Hugh Middleton Tavern at Sadler's Wells, and
a description of some of its frequenters, necessary to a full
understanding of the succeeding chapter.
Of course some unforeseen circumstance was to happen, and some
unexpected demand to be made on the money so easily earned. A short
time before he went to Birmingham, being short of cash, he had
commissioned a friend on whom he placed great reliance to get his bill
at one month for 150_l._ discounted. The friend put the bill into his
pocket-book, and promised to bring the money at night. Night came, but
the money did not: it had not arrived when he returned from Birmingham;
the friend was nowhere to be found, and he had soon afterwards the
satisfaction of paying the whole sum, without having received a
sixpence of the money.
During the season of 1808, at Sadler's Wells, the principal and most
successful part he had was in a burletta, called "Odd Fish; or, Mrs.
Scaite in the Seraglio." His two benefits were bumpers,[46] and the
theatre closed on the 26th of September, after another most profitable
campaign.
The Covent Garden season which had terminated on the 13th of July,[47]
recommenced on the 12th of September. Seven days afterwards the
theatre was burned to the ground, after the performance of "Pizarro,"
and the "Portrait of Cervantes." The company removed to the Italian
Opera-house, and subsequently to the Haymarket; but as Grimaldi was not
wanted, he availed himself of an offer to visit the Manchester theatre,
then managed by Messrs. Ward, Lewis, and Knight, and left town for that
purpose. There was a strong rivalry between the coach proprietors on
the road at that time, but for the safety of the passengers, it was
expressly understood between them, that the coaches should never be
allowed to pass each other, but that the coach which took the lead at
starting should retain it all the way through, unless any temporary
stoppage of the first vehicle enabled the second to assume the post
of honour. Grimaldi's coach was the last, and just as they were going
into Macclesfield, the Defiance, (which was the name of the other
coach,) stopping to change horses and to allow the passengers to take
tea, became entangled with the wheels of the second vehicle in the
darkness of the evening; and when the second coach overset, which it
did immediately, the empty Defiance fell upon the top of it so neatly
and dexterously, that the passengers were obliged to be dragged through
the two coaches before they could be extricated. Fortunately nobody
was much hurt, although Grimaldi was the worst off, for he was the
undermost, and five stout men (they carried six inside at that time)
fell on the top of him. The only disagreeable part of the matter was,
that they were delayed upwards of four hours, and that the unfortunate
Defiance was left both literally and figuratively _on_ the road for a
much longer time.
During this provincial trip, he played six nights at Manchester and one
at Liverpool, for which he received in all 251_l._ The only drawback
upon the expedition was, that he sustained two accidents, the effects
of which were quite bad enough, but might have been much more serious.
He arranged and got up a very pretty little pantomime called "Castles
in the Air," in which he of course played Clown. His first appearance
was to be from a large bowl, placed in the centre of the stage, and
labelled "Gooseberry Fool;"[48] to pass through which, it was necessary
for him to ascend from beneath the stage, through a trap-door which
the bowl concealed. On the first night of the piece he ascended from
below at the proper time; but when he gained the level of the stage,
the ropes which were attached to the trap broke, and he fell back into
the cellar, from which he had just risen. He was terribly shaken and
stunned by the fall, but quickly recovering himself, he ascended the
stairs, went on the stage, and played as though nothing had happened
to discompose him. In spite of his assumed calmness, however, he was
in agony during the whole of the first scene; but the pain wholly left
him as he went on, in the excitement of the part; and by the time he
had finished the pantomime, he was as well as he had been before its
commencement.
This was at Manchester. The Liverpool Theatre belonging to the same
managers, and being resorted to by the same company, they all travelled
thither for one night, for the purpose of playing "Castles in the
Air," as the afterpiece, having the same master-carpenter with them as
they had at Manchester. Grimaldi sought the man out, and explaining
to him the nature of the accident which had happened through his
negligence on the previous night, entreated him to render all secure
for that evening, and to prevent a repetition of the occurrence. This
he promised, but failed to do notwithstanding, for a precisely similar
accident took place here. Grimaldi had ascended to the stage, and got
his head through the bowl, when, as a shout of laughter and welcome
broke from the audience, the ropes gave way, and he was left struggling
in the trap. For a second or two he did not fall; for, having passed
through the trap nearly to his waist, he strove to support himself
by his arms. All his endeavours, however, were vain; the weight of
his body pulled him downwards, and the trap being small his elbows
were caught by the edges, and forced together above his head, thereby
straining his shoulders to such an extent that he thought his arms were
wrested from their sockets. He fell a considerable distance, and when
he rose from the ground, was in excessive pain. He managed with great
difficulty to crawl through the first scene, and then warming with his
exertions and kindling with the great applause he received, he rallied
successfully, and got through the part with flying colours.
When he reached his inn, which, now that the excitement of acting was
over, was a task of considerable difficulty, he was well rubbed with
the infallible embrocation, and put to bed in a very helpless state. On
the following morning, scarcely able to crawl, he was assisted into the
coach, and returned home.
Grimaldi acted very little at the Haymarket[49] with the Covent Garden
Company, till after Christmas, when "Mother Goose" was revived, with
a new last scene, representing the ruins of Covent Garden Theatre,
transformed by a touch of Harlequin's wand into a new and splendid
building. In March he sustained for the first time the character of
Kanko in "La Perouse." He took his benefit on the 23rd of May.[50]
The season terminated a few nights afterwards; and with it, it may
be incidentally observed, terminated the theatrical career of the
celebrated Lewis, who retired from the stage at this period.
Sadler's Wells presented no particular novelty in 1809.[51] Its chief
production was a piece called "Johnnie Armstrong," in which Grimaldi
played Kirstie, a kind of "Touchstone:" it was very successful, and the
season closed, as all the Sadler's Wells seasons did at that time, with
great profits.
Before adverting to the little adventure arising out of one of the
nocturnal rides to which reference has been already made, it will be
necessary to mention a few circumstances, upon which such interest as
it possesses mainly depends.
The pantomime was usually played first, at Sadler's Wells. When this
was the case Grimaldi was at liberty by about half-past eight: he would
sometimes call at the Sir Hugh Myddleton, and take a glass of wine and
water with some friends who frequented the house, and then start off in
his gig to Finchley.
He had several times met at this tavern a young man of the name of
George Hamilton, a working jeweller, residing somewhere in Clerkenwell,
a sociable good-tempered merry fellow enough, but rather too much
addicted to drinking and squandering his money. This man was very
sensitive upon the subject of trade, being, as the phrase goes, above
his business, having an ambition to be a gentleman, and resenting
any allusion to his occupation as a personal affront. He was a very
ingenious and skilful man at his business, and could earn a great deal
of money; but his companions suspected that these absurdities led him
into spending more than he could well afford. Grimaldi was so strongly
impressed with this opinion, that, with a good-hearted impulse, he
frequently felt tempted to remonstrate with him upon his folly. Their
slight intimacy, however, restrained him, and the man continued to take
his own course.
These were his mental peculiarities: he had a remarkable physical
peculiarity besides, wanting, either from an accident or a natural
defect, the third finger of his left hand. Whether he wished to conceal
this imperfection, or had some other defect in the same hand, is
uncertain; but he invariably kept his little finger in a bent position
beneath the palm of it; so that when he sat, or walked, as he usually
did, with his left hand half hidden in his pocket, the defect was not
observable; but when he suddenly changed his position, or drew forth
his hand in discourse, it had always the appearance of having only two
fingers upon it.
Grimaldi's first acquaintance with this person was in 1808, when he was
very frequently at Sadler's Wells, and the Sir Hugh Myddleton. At the
termination of the summer season he lost sight of him, in consequence
of his engagements taking him elsewhere; but in Easter 1809, when
Sadler's Wells re-opened, and Grimaldi resumed his habit of calling
at the tavern for half an hour or so, before driving out to Finchley,
he again encountered him. He had been married in the interval, and
frequently took his wife, a pretty young creature, to the tavern
with him, as at that time many tradesmen in the neighbourhood were
accustomed to do.
Grimaldi paid little attention to these circumstances at first; but
a change had come over the man which irresistibly attracted his
attention. He had become very violent and irritable,--had acquired a
nervous restlessness of manner, an occasional incoherence of speech,
a wildness of look, and betrayed many other indications of a mind
somewhat disordered. He dressed differently too: formerly he had been
neatly attired, and looked like a respectable, well-doing man; but now
he was showy and gaudy, wore a number of large rings and other articles
of cheap jewellery, and his desire to be thought a great man had
increased, greatly, so much so, indeed, that his declamations against
trade and all concerned in it, deeply affronted the worthies who were
wont to assemble at the Sir Hugh, and occasioned many disputes and
altercations.
All these things evidently made the wife very unhappy. Although
he usually abstained from drinking to his customary excess in her
presence, he said and did enough to make her wretched, and frequently,
when she thought she was unobserved, she would sit in a remote corner
and weep bitterly.
One night, Hamilton brought with him a new friend, a man of very
sinister appearance and marvellously ill-favoured countenance. They
were, or affected to be, both greatly intoxicated. The strange man
was introduced by his friend to Grimaldi, and began entering into
conversation with him; but as there was something remarkably repulsive
in his appearance, he rose and left the room.
The two men came together very often. Nobody knew who or what the
stranger was; nobody liked or even spoke to him; and it was constantly
observed that whenever Hamilton was in a state of gross intoxication,
he was in this person's company. The old visitors of the Sir Hugh shook
their heads mysteriously, and hoped he had not fallen into bad company;
although, truth to tell, they could not help thinking that appearances
were greatly against him.
One night Grimaldi was sitting alone in the room, reading the
newspaper, when Hamilton, the stranger, and the poor wife came in
together. The former was in a state of intoxication, so much so that he
could scarcely stand. The wife had evidently been crying, and seemed
truly wretched; but the strange man wore an air of dogged triumph that
made him look perfectly hideous.
Curious to see what passed, Grimaldi held the paper before his face,
and watched them closely. They did not recognise him, but walked to the
other end of the room. Hamilton hiccoughed forth an order for something
to drink, stammering in reply to the earnest entreaties of his wife,
that he would go home directly he had taken "this one glass more." It
was brought, but not tasted, for his head had fallen upon the table,
and he was fast asleep before the liquor came.
The man whom he had a minute before named for the first time--Archer
he called him--regarded his sleeping companion in silence for some
minutes, and then leaning behind him to reach the wife, who was on
the other side, touched her lightly on the shoulder. She looked up,
and he, pointing with a contemptuous air to the sleeping drunkard,
took her hand and pressed it in a manner which it was impossible to
misunderstand. She started indignantly from her seat, and darted at the
man a look which completely quelled him. He sat with his arms folded,
and his eyes fixed on the ground for above a quarter of an hour, and
then, suddenly rousing himself, tendered his assistance in attempting
to awaken the husband. His harsh voice and rough gestures accomplished
what the whispered persuasion of the wife had been unable to effect:
Hamilton awoke, emptied his glass, and they all left the apartment
together; she studiously avoiding any contact with the man called
Archer.
This little scene interested the observer much. He sat thinking upon
what had passed, so long, that he was upwards of an hour later than
usual in reaching home. He felt a strong inclination to speak to
Hamilton, and kindly but firmly to tell him what he had seen, and what
he thought. On consideration, however, he determined not to interfere,
deeming it more prudent to leave the issue to the good sense and proper
feeling of his wife, who evidently knew what danger threatened her, and
how to avert it.
The situation of these persons occupied so much of his thoughts, that
when he called as usual at the tavern next night, he felt a strong
anxiety to meet them there again. He was disappointed, for Hamilton
was seated in the room alone. He nodded as Grimaldi entered, and said,
"Are you going to Finchley to-night?"
"No," was the reply; "I wish I was: I have an engagement at my house
here in town which will prevent my doing so."
"I thought you always went there on summer evenings," said Hamilton,
glancing over the paper as he spoke, and speaking in an uninterested
and careless style.
"No, not always," said Grimaldi: "pretty nearly though--five nights out
of six."
"Then you'll go to-morrow?" asked Hamilton.
"Oh, certainly! to-morrow, and every night this week except to-night."
They exchanged a "Good-evening!" and parted.
It so happened that Grimaldi was reluctantly obliged to remain in town,
not only next night, but the night after also, in consequence of the
arrival in town of some country friends. On the third night, the 9th of
July, he called at the tavern to take his usual glass, before mounting
his gig, and, his mind being still occupied with thoughts of the poor
young woman and her dissipated husband, he inquired whether Hamilton
had been there that night. The reply was, he had not: he had not been
there for three evenings, or, in other words, since he had seen and
spoken to him.
When Grimaldi produced his purse to pay for the wine and water he had
drunk, he found he had nothing but two five-pound notes. He gave the
waiter one, requesting change, and put the other in his waistcoat
pocket. He usually carried notes in a pocket-book, but upon this
evening he did not happen to have it about him; in fact, he had
received the notes very unexpectedly while he was in the theatre, from
a person who owed him money. He put the change in his purse, got into
the gig, and drove homeward.
On that particular evening Grimaldi had a call to make in
Tottenham-court-road, which delayed him for some little time. As he was
passing through Kentish Town, a friend, who was standing at his door,
the weather being sultry, insisted upon his coming in and taking a
glass of wine: this detained him again, as they stood chatting for half
an hour or so; and by the time he had resumed his journey homewards it
was near the middle of the night.
FOOTNOTES:
[46] Grimaldi's two benefits at Sadler's Wells, were special favours
granted to him by his father-in-law, Mr. Hughes; but the burletta of
"Odd Fish; or, Mrs. Scaite in the Seraglio," was not performed in 1808.
Joe's parts this year were Clown in the pantomimes of "Harlequin's
Lottery," and "Harlequin Highflyer; or, Off She Goes." In the former,
he sang the afterwards popular ditty of the "Smithfield Bargain, or
Will Patty;" in the latter the songs of "Oh! my deary!" and "A Bull in
a China Shop." The season, which continued till November the first,
concluded with a grand Aquatic Romance, called the "Magic Minstrel;" in
this piece Grimaldi played Mulock; and Darnsit, afterwards of Covent
Garden, the part of Oberon, the Magic Minstrel. In the pantomime
of "Harlequin's Lottery," in which Mrs. Cawse, (who died in 1845,)
personated Fortune, the chief scenes had reference to Bish's far-famed
lottery offices.
[47] The season of 1807-8, at Covent Garden, closed June 27th, 1808,
not the 13th of July. That of 1808-9, began September 12th, and on
Monday 19th were performed "Pizarro," and the "Portrait of Cervantes."
About four o'clock on the following morning, flames were seen to issue
from the roof, alarm was given, but too late; in two hours more,
the whole theatre, all the adjacent buildings in Hart-street and
Bow-street, were a pile of smouldering ruins. The fire was occasioned
by leaving a German stove in the property-room, charged with fuel,
after the man had left; the pipe is supposed to have conducted the heat
to the roof, which by that means took fire. The Covent Garden Company
continued their season at the King's Theatre, from September 28th till
December 3rd, and removed to the Haymarket on December 5th.
[48] "Castles in the Air; or, Columbine Cowslip," was not produced till
the close of the season of 1809, at Sadler's Wells.
[49] Grimaldi was not in requisition for any part at the Haymarket,
till "Mother Goose" was revived with two new scenes, and subsequently a
third, on Monday, December 26, 1808. "La Perouse" was revived, "for the
first time these four years," on Thursday, January 26, 1809, and not
in March, as here stated. La Perouse was performed by Bologna, junior;
Madame Perouse, by Miss Bristow; Umba, by Miss Adams; Kanko, suitor to
Umba, by Mr. Grimaldi; their first appearance in those characters. The
eighteenth representation was on April 5th.
[50] On Joe's benefit night was performed the "Busy Body;" Marplot, by
Mr. Lewis; and "Mother Goose." Mr. Lewis took his final leave of the
stage, on the 29th, as the Copper Captain, in "Rule a Wife and Have a
Wife;" "The Ghost;" and "Valentine and Orson." The season terminated on
May 31st, with the "Exile," and "Valentine and Orson."
[51] Sadler's Wells opened at Easter, April 3, 1809, and in the
pantomime of "Fashion's Fool; or, The Aquatic Harlequin," Grimaldi
played Clown, and sang the songs of "Odd Fish," and the "Whip Club."
On Whit Monday, May 22, he played the Wild Man, in the Aquatic
Melodramatic Romance of "The Wild Man: or, Water Pageant." On July 31,
a new harlequinade, called "Castles in the Air; or, Columbine Cowslip,"
was produced. Grimaldi played Clown, with the Song of "Looney's
Lamentation for Miss Margery Muggins," and a quartetto caricatura,
called "Cut and Come Again; or, The Clown's Ordinary." On Mrs. C.
Dibdin's night, October 16, Grimaldi, in compliment to her, sang three
new songs, in addition to those pertaining to "Castles in the Air."