1809 to 1812.
Opening of the new Covent Garden Theatre--The Great O. P.
Rows--Grimaldi's first appearance as Clown in the public
streets--Temporary Embarrassments--Great success at Cheltenham
and Gloucester--He visits Berkeley Castle and is introduced to
Lord Byron--Fish Sauce and Apple Pie.
On the 18th of September in this year, the new theatre in Covent Garden
opened with Shakspeare's tragedy of Macbeth and the musical afterpiece
of The Quaker, with the following casts:--
MACBETH.
Duncan, King of Scotland Mr. Chapman.
Malcolm Mr. Claremont.
Donaldbain Mr. Menage.
Macbeth Mr. John Kemble.
Banquo Mr. Murray.
Fleance Miss Bristow.
Lenox Mr. Cresswell.
Rosse Mr. Brunton.
Witches Messrs. Blanchard, Farley and
Simmons.
Lady Macbeth Mrs. Siddons.
THE QUAKER.
Steady Mr. Incledon.
Lubin Mr. Taylor.
Solomon Mr. Liston.
Gillian Miss Bolton.
Floretta Mrs. Liston.
It was at this period that the great O. P. Row began, of which so
much has been said, and sung, and written, that little of novelty
or interest could accompany the description of it here. Everybody
knows that the O. P. Row originated in the indignation with which the
play-going public regarded an increase in the prices of admission of
one shilling each person to the boxes, and sixpence to the pit, with
which was coupled a considerable increase in the number of private
boxes; and everybody knows, moreover, that the before-mentioned
play-going public expressed their dissatisfaction night after night
in scenes of the most extraordinary and unparalelled nature. The
noises made by the audience utterly overwhelmed every attempt that the
actors could make to render themselves audible. Not a word that was
said on the stage could be distinguished even in the front row of
the pit, and the O. P. (Old Price) rioters, fearful that the exercise
of their voices would not create sufficient uproar, were in the habit
of bringing the most extraordinary variety of curious and ill-toned
instruments with them, to add to the noise and discordance of the
scene. One gentleman, who constantly seated himself in the boxes,
regaled himself and the company with a watchman's rattle, which he
sprang vigorously at short intervals throughout the performances;
another took his seat regularly every night in the centre of the pit,
armed with a large dustman's bell, which he rang with a perseverance
and strength of arm quite astounding to all beholders;[52] and a party
of three or four pleasant fellows brought live pigs, which were pinched
at the proper times, and added considerably to the effect of the
performances.
But rattles, bells, pigs, trumpets, French horns, sticks, umbrellas,
catcalls, and bugles, were not the only vocal weapons used upon these
occasions: Kemble was constantly called for, constantly came on, and
constantly went off again without being able to obtain a hearing.
Numbers of Bow-street officers were in regular attendance: whenever
they endeavoured to seize the ringleaders, the ringleaders were
defended by their partisans, and numerous fights (in one of which a
man was nearly killed) resulted. Scarce an evening passed without
flaming speeches being made from pit, boxes, and gallery; and sometimes
half-a-dozen speeches would be in course of delivery at the same time.
The greater portion of the time of the magistrates was occupied in
investigations connected with the disturbances, and this state of
things continued for nearly seventy nights. Placards were exhibited in
every part of the house, principally from the pit; of the quality of
which effusions the following may be taken as specimens:
"_Notice to the Public._--This house and furniture to be sold,
Messrs. John Kemble & Co. declining business."
"_Notice to the Public._--The workhouse in Covent Garden has been
repaired, and greatly enlarged for the use of the Public."
"_Cause of Justice._--John Bull _versus_ John Kemble--verdict for
the plaintiff."
A large coffin with the inscription, "Here lies the body of New
Prices, who died of the _whooping_-cough, Sept. 23, 1809, aged six
days."
The instant the performances began, the audience, who had been
previously sitting with their faces to the stage, as audiences
generally do, wheeled round to a man, and turned their backs upon it.
When they concluded, which, in consequence of the fearful uproar, was
frequently as early as half-past nine o'clock, they united in singing a
parody on "God save the King," of which the first verse ran thus:--
"God save great Johnny Bull,
Long live our noble Bull,
God save John Bull!
Send him victorious,
Loud and uproarious,
With lungs like Boreas;
God save John Bull!"
Then followed the O. P. dance and a variety of speeches, and then the
rioters would quietly disperse.
The opinions of the press being, as a matter of course, divided on
every question, were necessarily divided upon this. The _Times_ and
_Post_ supported the new system; in consequence of which a placard was
exhibited from the pit every evening for at least a week, with the
inscription,
"The Times and Post are bought and sold,
By Kemble's pride and Kemble's gold."
The _Chronicle_, on the other hand, took up the opposite side of the
question, and supported the O. P. rioters with great fervour and
constancy. In its columns one of the most popular of the numerous
squibs on the subject appeared, which is here inserted. It may be
necessary to premise that "Jack," was John Kemble; that the "Cat" was
Madame Catalani, then engaged at Covent Garden Theatre, and who was
much opposed at that time, in consequence of her being a foreigner; and
that the "boxes" were the new private boxes, among the great objects of
popular execration.
"THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.
"This is the House that Jack built.
"These are the boxes, let to the great, that visit the house that
Jack built.
"These are the pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great,
that visit the house that Jack built.
"This is the Cat, engaged to squall, to the poor in the
pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great, that visit the
house that Jack built.
"This is John Bull, with a bugle-horn, that hissed the Cat,
engaged to squall, to the poor in the pigeon-holes, over the
boxes, let to the great, that visit the house that Jack built.
"This is the thief-taker, shaven and shorn,
That took up John Bull, with his bugle-horn,
who hissed the Cat, engaged to squall, to the poor in the
pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great, that visit the
house that Jack built.
"This is the manager, full of scorn,
Who RAISED THE PRICES to the people forlorn,
And directed the thief-taker, shaven and shorn,
To take up John Bull, with his bugle-horn,
who hissed the Cat, engaged to squall, to the poor in the
pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great, that visit the
house that Jack built."
When this had gone on for several nights, Kemble sent for Grimaldi,
and said, that as the people would not hear dialogue they would
try pantomime, which might perhaps suit their tastes better, and
accordingly "Don Juan"[53] was put up for the next night, Grimaldi
sustaining his old part of Scaramouch. He was received on his entrance
with great applause, and it happened oddly enough that on that night
there was little or no disturbance. This circumstance, which he
naturally attributed in some degree to himself, pleased him amazingly,
as indeed it did Kemble also, who, shaking him cordially by the hand
when he came off, said, "Bravo, Joe! we have got them now; we'll act
this again to-morrow night." And so they did; but it appeared that
they had not "got them" either, for the uproar recommenced with, if
possible, greater fury than before, all the performers agreeing that
until that moment they had never heard such a mighty and indescribable
din.
Eventually, on the fifteenth of December,[54] the famous O. P. row
terminated, on the proprietors of the theatre lowering the charge of
admission to the pit, removing the obnoxious private boxes, rescinding
Madame Catalani's engagement, discharging Mr. James Brandon, house
and box book-keeper, who had rendered himself greatly offensive to
the O. P. people, abandoning all prosecutions against those who had
been required to answer for their misconduct at the sessions, and
offering a public apology. The ungracious task of making it, fell upon
Mr. Kemble, who delivered what it was deemed necessary to say, with
remarkable self-possession and dignity. It was received by the audience
with great applause, and a placard was immediately hoisted in the pit,
bearing the words, "We are satisfied;" it was speedily followed by a
similar announcement in the boxes; and thus terminated[55] the famous O.
P. war, wholly unparalleled in dramatic or indeed in any other annals.
At Christmas, "Harlequin Pedlar, or the Haunted Well," was produced: it
met with very great success, being played fifty-two nights. In March,
1810, Grimaldi first appeared as Skirmish in "The Deserter of Naples;"
and "Mother Goose" was again played. The theatre closed in July, and
re-opened in October.[56] Nothing particular new was done that season
at Sadler's Wells. At Christmas, 1810, he appeared, as usual, in the
Covent Garden pantomime, which was called "Harlequin Asmodeus, or
Cupid on Crutches." It was acted for forty-six nights, and was played
occasionally until May, 1811.[57]
During this month he had to play Clown at both theatres, the pantomime
being acted as the first piece at Sadler's Wells, and as the last piece
at Covent Garden. Not having time to change his dress, and indeed
having no reason for doing so if he had, in consequence of his playing
the same character at both houses, he was accustomed to have a coach
in waiting, into which he threw himself the moment he had finished at
Sadler's Wells, and was straightway carried to Covent Garden to begin
again.
One night it so happened that by some forgetfulness or mistake on the
part of the driver, the coach which usually came for him failed to
make its appearance. It was a very wet night, and not having a moment
to lose, he sent for another. After a considerable interval, during
which he was in an agony of fear lest the Covent Garden stage should
be kept waiting, the messenger returned in a breathless state with the
information that there was not a coach to be got. There was only one
desperate alternative, and that was to run through the streets. Knowing
that his appearance at Covent Garden must by this time be necessary, he
made up his mind to do it, and started off at once.
[Illustration: George Cruikshank
_Appearing in Public._]
The night being very dark, he got on pretty well at first; but when he
came into the streets of Clerkenwell, where the lights of the shops
showed him in his Clown's dress running along at full speed, people
began to grow rather astonished. First, a few people turned round to
look after him, and then a few more, and so on until there were a great
many, and at last, one man who met him at a street corner, recognising
the favourite, gave a loud shout of, "Here's Joe Grimaldi!"
This was enough. Off set Grimaldi faster than ever, and on came the
mob, shouting, huzzaing, screaming out his name, throwing up their
caps and hats, and exhibiting every manifestation of delight. He ran
into Holborn with several hundred people at his heels, and being lucky
enough to find a coach there, jumped in. But this only increased the
pressure of the crowd, who followed the vehicle with great speed and
perseverance; when, suddenly poking his head out of the window, he gave
one of his famous and well-known laughs. Upon this the crowd raised
many roars of laughter and applause, and hastily agreed, as with one
accord, that they would see him safe and sound to Covent Garden. So,
the coach went on surrounded by the dirtiest body-guard that was ever
beheld, not one of whom, deserted his post, until Grimaldi had been
safely deposited at the stage-door; when, after raising a vociferous
cheer, such of them as had money rushed round to the gallery-doors,
and making their appearance in the front just as he came on the stage,
set up a boisterous shout of, "Here he is again!" and cheered him
enthusiastically, to the infinite amusement of every person in the
theatre who had got wind of the story.
In the season of 1811, "The Great Devil" was revived at Sadler's
Wells:[58] he played a part in it in which he was highly successful and
applauded to the very echo. In July, he injured his chest severely by
falling upon a tight-rope, and was obliged for several weeks to give
up all his theatrical engagements. He reappeared at Covent Garden in
October following,[59] playing in "Asmodeus," "Mother Goose," "Valentine
and Orson," and "Raymond and Agnes;" in the latter piece he supported,
for the first time, the part of Robert. On the 26th of December the
new pantomime appeared; it was called "Harlequin and Padmanaba, or the
Golden Fish," and went off very well.
One of his earlier appearances in the regular drama occurred in the
following June (1812),[60] when, for his own benefit, he played Acres in
"The Rivals." The house was a very good one, and he cleared upwards of
two hundred pounds by it.
This year was rendered remarkable to him by some temporary
embarrassments into which he was plunged, partly, he says, by the great
expense consequent upon keeping a country as well as a town house,
and partly by the great extravagance of his wife, who, although an
excellent woman, had, like everybody else, some fault; hers was a love
of dress which almost amounted to a mania. Finding that retrenchment
must be the order of the day, he gave up his house at Finchley,
discharged his groom, sold his horse and gig, and placed his affairs in
the hands of Mr. Harmer, the solicitor, to whom circumstances had so
oddly introduced him a few years before. Seven or eight months served
to bring affairs into the right train again; by the end of that time
every one of his creditors had been paid to the last penny of their
demands.
In 1812, there was nothing particularly worthy of notice at Sadler's
Wells. His second benefit, which took place in October, was a great
one, the receipts being two hundred and twenty-five pounds. It was
supposed the theatre would not hold more than two hundred pounds, but
no benefit of his ever brought him less than two hundred and ten; and
indeed one, which we shall presently have occasion to mention, produced
nearly two hundred and seventy pounds--whether those who contributed
this sum were all in the theatre at one period or not, we cannot of
course pretend to say.
In the latter end of this month, he entered into an engagement to
perform for two nights with Mr. Watson of the Cheltenham theatre,
who arranged to give him a clear half of whatever the receipts might
be. Previously to leaving town, he consulted with Mr. Hughes about
this speculation, who told him that Cheltenham was a bad theatrical
town, on account of its having many other amusements; but still he
fancied he might clear his expenses, and perhaps forty or fifty pounds
besides. At the appointed time he left London, having received a
species of half-notice from Mr. Harris, that he would not be wanted
at Covent Garden: and on the next night, played Scaramouch and sang
Tippitywitchet with great _éclat_ at Cheltenham. The following evening
he played Clown in a little pantomime of his own concoction.
The house was full on each occasion, the performances gave perfect
satisfaction, and he was induced by the manager to stay in that part of
the country two days longer, and to go to Gloucester, nine miles off,
at which place he likewise had a theatre. Thither they started early on
the following morning, played the same pieces as at Cheltenham, and met
with an equal degree of success.
After the performances were over, Mr. Watson and he supped together;
and when the cloth was removed, the former said,
"Now, Joe, I can only allow you to take one glass of punch, time is so
very precious."
"I do not understand you," replied Grimaldi.
"Why, what I mean is, that it is now twelve o'clock, and time to go to
bed," he answered.
"Oh! with all my heart," said Grimaldi. "But this is something new, I
suspect, with you. Last night, I remember, it was three hours later
than this, before you suffered me to retire; and the night previous it
was later even than that."
"Ay, ay," replied Watson; "but to-night we had perhaps better get to
bed soon, as to-morrow I want you to go out rather early with me."
"What do you call rather early?" inquired Grimaldi.
"Why, let me see, we must start before three," answered the manager.
"Indeed!" said Grimaldi; "then I shall wish you good-night at once;"
and so saying, without any loss of time, he went to his chamber.
After they had stepped into a chaise next day, he found that their
destination was Berkeley Castle, to which its host had sent them a
special invitation, and that their morning's amusement was to consist
of coursing.
He had the honour of an acquaintance with Colonel Berkeley, (now Lord
Segrave,) at whose table he was occasionally in the habit of dining,
and upon their arrival at the castle was most hospitably received.
The castle was full of company. Several noblemen were there, as well
as distinguished commoners: among the former was Lord Byron, whom
he had frequently seen, and who always patronized his benefits at
Covent Garden, but with whom he had never conversed. Colonel Berkeley
introduced him to such of the company as he was unacquainted with, and,
in common with the rest, to Lord Byron, who instantly advanced towards
him, and, making several low bows, expressed in very hyperbolical
terms his "great and unbounded satisfaction in becoming acquainted with
a man of such rare and profound talents," &c. &c.
Perceiving that his lordship was disposed to be facetious at
his expense, Grimaldi felt half inclined to reply in a similar
strain; but, reflecting that he might give offence by doing so,
abstained--resolving, however, not to go entirely unrevenged for the
joke which he was evidently playing him: he returned all the bows
and congees threefold, and as soon as the ceremonious introduction
was over, made a face at Colonel Berkeley, expressive of mingled
gratification and suspicion, which threw those around into a roar of
laughter; while Byron, who did not see it, looked round for the cause
of the merriment in a manner which redoubled it at once.
"Grimaldi," said the Colonel, "after breakfast, at which meal we expect
your company and that of Mr. Watson, you shall have a course with the
greyhounds yonder; then you must return and dine with us. We will have
dinner early, so that you can reach the theatre in time to perform."
To this, he had no further reply to make, than to express his gratitude
for such consideration and kindness. After they had taken a plentiful
meal, they went out with the dogs, and had some famous sport. Hares
were so plentiful that they started twenty-seven in one field; and the
day being fine, and the novelty great, Grimaldi was highly delighted
with the proceedings.
Upon their return to the castle, they found most of the party with whom
they had breakfasted assembled together, and shortly afterwards they
sat down to dinner. Lord Byron sat on Grimaldi's left, and a young
nobleman whom he knew very well, from his being constantly behind the
scenes at Covent Garden, but whose name he could not recollect, on his
right.
"Grimaldi," whispered this young nobleman, just as dinner commenced,
"did you ever meet Byron before?"
"Never, my lord," answered Grimaldi: "that is, never to converse with
him."
"Then, of course, you have not met him at a dinner-party?"
"Never, my lord."
"Well, then," continued the young gentleman, who, as anybody but
Grimaldi would have seen, was playing on his simplicity in conjunction
with Lord Byron, "I will tell you why I asked these questions: I was
anxious, if you should chance not to know his lordship's peculiarities,
to point out to you one trifling but still distinguishing one, to which
if you happen to oppose yourself, he will infallibly take a dislike
to you; and I need not assure you that it is always best for a public
character to be on good terms rather than bad with such men."
Grimaldi bowed his thanks, and really did feel very grateful.
"What I allude to is simply this," added his noble friend: "Byron
is very courteous at the dinner-table, but does not like to have his
courtesy thrown away, or slighted; I would recommend you, if he asks
you to take anything, as he is almost sure to do, no matter whether it
be to eat or drink, not to refuse."
"I am very much obliged to you, my lord," was Grimaldi's reply: "in
fact, I look upon your kindness as a great personal favour, and I shall
carefully act upon your recommendation."
And so he did, and so indeed he had plenty of opportunities of doing;
for Lord Byron asked him to partake of so many things, none of which
he liked to decline, that at last he was quite gorged, and was almost
fearful that if it lasted much longer, he should be unable to perform
that night at Gloucester.
Towards the end of the repast his lordship invited him to eat a little
apple-tart, which he thought he could manage, the more especially as he
was very fond of it; he therefore acquiesced, with many thanks; and the
tart being placed before him, commenced operations. Byron looked at him
for a moment, and then said, with much seeming surprise--
"Why, Mr. Grimaldi, do you not take soy with your tart?"
"Soy, my lord?"
"Yes, soy: it is very good with salmon, and therefore it must be nice
with apple-pie."
Poor Grimaldi did not see the analogy, and was upon the point of
saying so; but his friend on his right touched his elbow, when
recollecting what he had previously communicated, he bowed assent to
Byron's proposal, and proceeded to pour some of the fish-sauce over
the tart. After one or two vain attempts to swallow a mouthful of
the vile mess, he addressed Lord Byron with considerable formality,
begging him to observe, "that no one could do more justice than himself
to his kindness, but that he really trusted he would forgive his
declining to eat the mixture he had recommended; as, however much the
confession might savour of bad taste, he really did not relish soy with
apple-tart."
He was much relieved by Byron's taking the apology in very good part,
and by the rest of the company laughing most heartily--at what, he
says, he cannot possibly tell, _unless_ it had been determined to put
a joke upon him. We should imagine that it had been; but, in any case,
should be strongly disposed to say, that a great deal more of innate
politeness was displayed on the side of simplicity than on that of
nobility.
Shortly afterwards they took their leave and returned to Gloucester,
where they found the theatre crowded as before. The performances went
off as well as possible; and after all was over, Watson presented him
with one hundred and ninety-five pounds as his share.
At seven o'clock next morning he was on his road to London, where he
arrived that night.
Early on the following morning, he waited upon his friend, Mr. Hughes;
and having reminded him that "Cheltenham was a very bad theatrical
town, on account of its spas and other amusements, but that still it
was possible forty or fifty pounds might be made there," triumphantly
exhibited his one hundred and ninety-four pounds.
In the evening he called at Covent Garden, and saw Mr. H. Harris,
who informed him that Mr. Dimond, of the Bath and Bristol theatres,
wished to engage him for five weeks--that his terms were twenty-five
pounds per week, with half a clear benefit at each of the places named;
and that if he liked to go, he was at perfect liberty to do so, the
proprietors of Covent Garden not needing his services until Christmas.
His salary was to be paid, however, just as though he were performing.
Of this liberality he gladly availed himself; and after expressing his
gratitude, wrote to Dimond, accepting the proposal. A week after he had
returned from Gloucester, he left town for Bath.
FOOTNOTES:
[52] The gentleman who made notes of Grimaldi's recollections subjoins
a note to the effect, that the gentleman who rang the bell is a
personal acquaintance of his, and that he has repeatedly heard him
mention the circumstance, which he looks back upon now as an act of
thoughtless folly, but which he considered then as the performance of a
sacred duty to the public. He was at that time in his nonage, studying
(after a manner) the law; he is now, and has long been, editor of a
newspaper published in Sussex.
[53] The tragic pantomimic ballet of "Don Juan" was one of the pieces
intended for representation, and for which new dresses and properties
had to be prepared, without reference to the Old Price Riots, and
was played for the first time in the New Theatre on November 20;
Scaramouch, by Mr. Grimaldi; Donna Anna, by Miss Bristow. The piece was
performed several nights in succession.
[54] Kemble this night played Penruddock, in the "Wheel of Fortune;"
the afterpiece, "The Blind Boy."
[55] It was resumed on the opening of the season of 1810-11; the
private boxes remaining the same; on September 18th the theatre closed;
the obnoxious boxes were rendered free to the public, and on the 24th,
peace was finally established.
[56] The "Deserter of Naples" was revived at Covent Garden on May 23,
1810, not in March; nor in fact was this Grimaldi's first appearance as
Skirmish. He had in the last season, in the Old Theatre, played that
part for Mr. Charles Taylor's benefit, June 3, 1808. After its revival
in May, the "Deserter of Naples" was repeated a few nights during
the remnant of that season. "Mother Goose" was again revived on June
12th. The theatre closed on July 6th, and re-opened for the season of
1810-11, on September 10th, not October, as here stated.
[57] Grimaldi in this pantomime introduced the happiest of his
creations--the vegetable pugilistic figure. On the night of his benefit
at Covent Garden, June 25th, Joe played Acres in the "Rivals," as
the bills announced, "for this night only." "Harlequin and Asmodeus"
followed, for the forty-sixth time. The season terminated on July 24,
1811.
[58] Sadler's Wells opened on Easter Monday, April 15, 1811, with
"Dulce Domum;" Clown, Mr. Grimaldi, with two new songs, "A Peep at
Turkey," and "Massena's Retreat." "Harlequin and Blue Beard" followed
on July 15, in which Joe, in the character of Clown, sang "Mr. Greig
and Mrs. Snap; or, Bubble, Squeak, and Pettitoes." The season extended
till October. At Covent Garden, September 30th, "Raymond and Agnes"
was revived, and the parts of Jaques and Robert, sons of Baptiste the
robber, were played by Grimaldi and Cardoza; and on boxing-night,
December 26th, the new pantomime called "Harlequin and Padmanaba; or,
The Golden Fish," in which Grimaldi played Cayfacat Adhri, the Persian
cook, afterwards Clown. This entertainment was highly attractive:
several embossed prints were published of Joe's drolly transformed
vehicle, drawn by a pair of dogs, to ridicule the superb curricle of a
West Indian gentleman better known as Mr. Romeo Coates.
[59] Covent Garden commenced the season of 1811-12, in September, not
October. Joe, on September 11th, played Kanko, in "La Perouse;" on the
16th, Clown in "Harlequin and Asmodeus;" on the 26th, Orson; and on the
30th of the same month, in "Raymond and Agnes." Norman played Joe's
part of Baptiste the robber; Grimaldi and Cardoza for the first time
represented his sons Jaques and Robert, by which a change productive of
greater scenic power was effected.
[60] Grimaldi played Acres at Covent Garden theatre, June 25, 1811. On
the night of his benefit, June 24, 1812, "Cato" was performed, followed
by the pantomime of "Harlequin Padmanaba," for the forty-ninth or
fiftieth representation that season.