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MEMOIRS
OF
JOSEPH GRIMALDI
EDITED
BY "BOZ"
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET
PRESERVATIC
GEORGE CRUIKSHAM
Price 2s. each, boards.
The Greatest Plague of Life; or, The Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Servant. Edited by the BROTHERS MAYHEW- With Illustrations by GEOBOB CRUIKSHANK.
Whom to Marry and How to Get Married ; or, The Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Husband. Edited by the UROTHEES MAYHEW, and Illustrated by GEOBGB CBUIKSHANK.
Mornings at Bow Street. With Steel Frontispiece and 21 Illustrations by GEOBGB CBUIKSHANK.
A AD .£> G-?6U
630272
^. 3
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER
IT is some years now, since we first conceived a strong vene- ration for Clowns, and an intense anxiety to know what they did with themselves out of pantomime time, and off the stage. As a child, we were accustomed to pester our relations and friends with questions out of number concerning these gentry; — whether their appetite for sausages and such like wares was always the same, and if so, at whose expense they were main- tained; whether they were ever taken up for pilfering other people's goods, or were forgiven by everybody because it was only done in fun ; how it was they got such beautiful com- plexions, and where they lived; and whether they were born Clowns, or gradually turned into Clowns as they grew up. On these and a thousand other points our curiosity was insatiable. Nor were our speculations confined to Clowns alone : they ex- tended to Harlequins, Pantaloons, and Columbines, all of whom we believed to be real and veritable personages, existing in the same forms and characters all the year round. How often have we wished that the Pantaloon were our god-father ! and how often thought that to marry a Columbine would be to attain the highest pitch of all human felicity !
The delights — the ten thousand million delights of a panto- mime— come streaming upon us now, — even of the pantomime which came lumbering down in Richardson's waggons at fair- time to the dull little town in which we had the honour to be brought up, and which a long row of small boys, with frills as
Vi INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
white as they could be washed, and hands as clean as they would come, were taken to behold the glories of, in fair daylight.
"We feel again all the pride of standing in a body on the plat- form, the observed of all observers in the crowd below, while the junior usher pays away twenty-four ninepences to a stout gentleman under a Gothic arch, with a hoop of variegated lamps swinging over his head. Again we catch a glimpse (too brief, alas !) of the lady with a green parasol in her hand, on the out- side stage of the next show but one, who supports herself on one foot, on the back of a majestic horse, blotting-paper co- loured and white; and once again our eyes open wide with wonder, and our hearts throb with emotion, as we deliver our card-board check into the very hands of the Harlequin himself, who, all glittering with spangles, and dazzling with many colours, deigns to give us a word of encouragement and com- mendation as we pass into the booth !
But what was this — even this — to the glories of the inside, where, amid the smell of saw-dust, and orange-peel, sweeter far than violets to youthful noses, the first play being over, the lovers united, the ghost appeased, the baron killed, and every- thing made comfortable and pleasant, — the pantomime itself began! "What words can describe the deep gloom of the opening scene, where a crafty magician holding a young lady in bondage was discovered, studying an enchanted book to the soft music of a gong ! — or in what terms can we express the thrill of ecstasy with which, his magic power opposed by su- perior art, we beheld the monster himself converted into Clown ! "What mattered it that the stage was three yards wide, and four deep? we never saw it. "We had no eyes, ears, or corporeal senses, but for the pantomime. And when its short career was r-jn, and the baron previously slaughtered, coming forward with hia hand upon his heart, announced that for that favour Mr. Richardson returned his most sincere thanks, and the per- io/jnaiicea would commence again in a quarter of an hour, what
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. Vll
jest could equal the effects of tlie Baron's indignation and sur- prise, when the Clown, unexpectedly peeping from behind the curtain, requested the audience " not to believe it, for it was all gammon!" Who but a Clown could have called forth the roar of laughter that succeeded; and what witchery but a Clown's could have caused the junior usher himself to declare aloud, as he shook his sides and smote his knee in a moment of irrepres- sible joy, that that was the very best thing he had ever heard said!
"We have lost that clown now ; — he is still alive, though, for •we saw him only the day before last Bartholomew Fair, eating a real saveloy, and we are sorry to say he had deserted to the illegitimate drama, for he was seated on one of " Clark's Circus'* waggons: — we have lost that Clown and that pantomime, but our relish for the entertainment still remains unimpaired. Each successive Boxing-day finds us in the same state of high excite- ment and expectation. On that eventful day, when new panto- mimes are played for the first time at the two great theatres, and at twenty or thirty of the little ones, we still gloat as formerly upon the bills which set forth tempting descriptions of the scenery in staring red and black letters, and still fall down upon our knees, with other men and boys, upon the pavement by shop-doors, to read them down to the very last line. J^ay. we still peruse with all eagerness and avidity the exclusive accounts of the coming wonders in the theatrical newspapers of the Sunday before, and still believe them as devoutly as we did before twenty years' experience had shown us that they are always wrong.
With these feelings upon the subject of pantomimes, it is no matter of surprise that when we first heard that Grimaldi had left some memoirs of his life behind him, we were in a perfect fever until we had pemsed the manuscript. It was no sooner placed in our hands by " the adventurous and spirited pub- lisher,"— (if our recollection serve us, this is the customary stylo
yiii INTEODUCTOEY CHA.PTEE.
of the complimentary little paragraphs regarding new books which usually precede advertisements about Savory's clocks in the newspapers,) — than we sat down at once and read it everf word.
See how pleasantly things come about, if you let them take their own course ! This mention of the manuscript brings us at once to the very point we are anxious to reach, and which we should have gained long ago, if we had not travelled into those Irrelevant remarks concerning pantomimic representations.
For about a year before his death, Grimaldi was employed in writing a full account of his life and adventures. It was his chief occupation and amusement; and as people who write their own lives, even in the midst of very many occupations, often find time to extend them to a most inordinate length, it is no wonder that his account of himself was exceedingly voluminous.
This manuscript was confided to Mr. Thomas Egerton Wilks : to alter and revise, with a view to its publication. Mr. Wilks, who was well acquainted with Grimaldi and his connexions, applied himself to the task of condensing it throughout, and wholly expunging considerable portions, which, so far as the public were concerned, possessed neither interest nor amusement, he likewise interspersed here and there the substance of such personal anecdotes as he had gleaned from the writer in desultory conversation. While he was thus engaged, Grimaldi died.
Mr. Wilks having by the commencement of September con- cluded his labours, offered the manuscript to the present pub- lisher, by whom it was shortly afterwards purchased uncondi- tionally, with the full consent and concurrence of Mr. Eichard Hughes, Grimaldi's executor.
The present Editor of these Memoirs has felt it necessary to say thus much in explanation of their origin, in order to es- tablish beyond doubt the unquestionable authenticity of the memoirs they contain.
His ovrn share in them is stated in a few words. Being much
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. IX
struck by several incidents in the manuscript — such as the de- scription of Gximaldi's infancy, the burglary, the brother's return from sea under the extraordinary circumstances detailed, the adventure of the man with the two fingers on his left hand, the account of Mackintosh and his friends, and many other passages, — and thinking that they might be related in a more attractive manner, (they were at that time told in the first person, as if by Grimaldi himself, although they had necessarily lost any original manner which his recital might have imparted to them ;) he accepted a proposal from the publisher to edit the book, and has edited it to the best of his ability, altering its form throughout, and making such other alterations as he con- ceived would improve the narration of the facts, without any departure from the facts themselves.
He has merely to add, that there has been no book-making in this case. He has not swelled the quantity of matter, but materially abridged it. The account of Grimaldi's first courtship may appear lengthy in its present form; but it has undergoiio a double and most comprehensive process of abridgment. The old man was garrulous upon a subject on which the youth had felt so keenly; and as the feeling did him honour in both stages of life, the Editor has not had the heart to reduce it further.
Here is the book, then, at last. After so much pains from so many hands — including the good right hand of G-EORGE CRUIK- SHANK, which has seldom been better exercised, — he humbly hopes it may find favour with the public.
DOUGHTY STREET, Frbntaiy, 1S38.
CONTENTS.
introductory Chapter page v
CHAPTER I.
His Grandfather and Father — His Birth and first appearance at Drury Lane Theatre and at Sadler's Wells — His Father's severity — Miss Farren — The Earl of Derby and the Wig — the Fortune-box and Charity's reward — His Father's pretended Death, and the beha- viour of himself and his brother thereupon 1
CHAPTER II.
1788 to 1794.
The Father's real Death — His Will, and failure of the Executor — Generous conduct of Grimaldi's Schoolmaster, and of Mr. Wroughton the Comedian — Smart running against time — Kind- ness of Sheridan — Grimaldi's industry and amusements — Fly~ catching — Expedition in search of the " Dartford Blues "—Mrs. Jordan — Adventure on Clapham Common : the piece of Tin — His first Lve and its consequences 17
CHAPTER III.
1794 to 1797.
Grimaldi falls in Love — His success — He meets with an accident which brings the Reader acquainted with that invaluable specific "Grimaldi's Embrocation" — He rises gradually in his Profession — The Pentonville Gang of Burglars , . 28
CHAPTER IT.
1797 to 1798.
The Thieves make a second attempt ; alarmed by their perse- verance, Grimaldi repairs to Hatton Garden — Interview with Mr. Trott ; ingenious device of that gentleman, and its result on the fchird visit of the Burglars — Comparative attractions of Pantomime
Xli CONTENTS.
and Spectacle — Trip to Gravesend and Chatham — Disagreeable recognition of a good-humoured friend, and an agreeable mode of journeying recommended to all Travellers 40
CHAPTER Y.
1798.
An extraordinary circumstance concerning himself, with another extraordinary circumstance concerning his Grandfather — Specimen of a laconic epistle, and an account of two interviews with Mr. Hughes, in the latter of which a benevolent gentleman is duly re- warded for his trouble — Preparations for his marriage — Fatiguing effects of his exertions at the Theatre 51
CHAPTER VI.
1798.
Tribulations connected with " Old Lucas," the constable, with an account of the subsequent proceedings before Mr. Blamire, the magistrate, at Hatton Garden, and the mysterious appearance of a silver staff — A guinea wager with a jocose friend on the Dartford Road— The Prince of Wales, Sheridan, and the Crockery Girl . 62
CHAPTER VII.
1798 to 1801.
Partiality of George the Third for Theatrical Entertainments — Sheridan's kindness to Grimaldi — His domestic affliction and severe distress — The production of Harlequin Amulet a new era in Panto- mime— Pigeon-fancying and Wagering — His first Provincial Excur- sion with Mrs. Baker, the eccentric Manageress — John Kemble and Jew Davis, with a new reading — Increased success at Maidstone and Canterbury — Polite interview with John Kemble ; .... 76
CHAPTER VIII.
1801 to 1803.
Hard work to counterbalance great gains — Hits (lisscnaige 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 gg
CONTENTS. Xiii
CHAPTER IX.
1803.
Containing a very extraordinary incident well worthy of the reader's attention 97
CHAPTER X.
1803 to 1805.
Bologna and his Family — An Excursion into Kent with that per- sonage—Mr. Mackintosh, the gentleman of landed property, and his preserves — A great day's sporting ; and a scene at the Garrick's Head in Bow Street, between a Landlord, a Gamekeeper, Bologna and Grimaldi 106
CHAPTER XL
1805 to 1806.
Stage Affairs and Stage Quarrels — Mr. Graham, the Bow Street Magistrate and Drury Lane Manager — Mr. Peake — Grimaldi is introduced to Mr. Harris by John Kemble — Leaves Drury Lane Theatre and engages at Covent Garden — Mortification of the autho- rities at "the other house" — He joins Charles Dibdin's Company and visits Dublin — The wet Theatre — III success of the speculation, and great success of his own Benefit — Observations on the com- parative strength of Whisky Punch and Rum Punch, with interest- ing experiment 115
CHAPTER XIL
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 Gentle- men 124
CHAPTER XIII.
1807.
The mystery cleared up chiefly through the instrumentality of Mr. Alderman Harmer ; and the characters of the Six Ladies and the Six Gentlemen are satisfactorily explained — The Trial of Mackin- tosh for Burglary — Its result • • « • 133
XIV COXTEMS.
CHAPTEll XIV.
1807 to 1808.
Bradbury, the Clown — His voluntary confinement in a Madhouse, to screen an "Honourable" Thief — His release, strange conduct, subsequent career, and death — Dreadful Accident at Sadler's Wells —The night-drives to Finchley — Trip to Birmingham — Mr. Mac- ready, the Manager and his curious Stage-properties — Sudden recal to Town 148
CHAPTER XV.
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 Myddleton Tavern at Sadler's Wells, and a description of some of its frequenters, necessary to a full under- standing of the succeeding chapter 158
CHAPTER XVI.
1809. Grimaldi 'a Adventure on flighgate Hill, and its consequences . 1G5
CHAPTER XVII.
1809 to 1812.
Opening of the new Covent Garden Theatre — The great 0. 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 172
CHAPTER XVIII.
1812 to 1816.
A Clergyman's Dinner-party at Bath — First Appearance of Gri- maldi's Son, and Death of his old friend Mr. Hughes— Grimaldi plays at three Theatres on one night, and has his salary stopped for his pains— His severe illness— Second journey to Bath — Davidge, "Billy Coombes" and the Chest — Facetiousness of the aforesaid Billy 183
CONTLNTS. r.-V
CHAPTER XIX.
1816 to 1817.
He quits Sadler's "VVells in consequence of a disagreement with the Proprietors — Lord Byron — Retirement of John Kemble — Im- mense success of Grimaldi in the provinces, and his great gains — A scene in a Barber's Shop 194
CHAPTER XX.
1817.
More provincial success — Bologna and his economy — Comparative clearness of Welsh Rare-bits and Partridges — Remarkably odd modes of saving money 203
CHAPTER XXI.
1817 to 1818.
Production of "Baron Munchausen" — Anecdote of Eliar the Har- lequin, showing how he jumped through the Moon and put his hand out — Grimaldi becomes a Proprietor of Sadler's Wells — Anecdotes of the late Duke of York, Sir Godfrey Webster, a Gold Snuff box, his late Majesty, Newcastle Salmon, and a Coal Mine . . . 209
CHAPTER XXII.
1818 to 1823.
Proht and Loss — Appearance of his Son at Covent Garden — His last engagement at Sadler's Wells — Accommodation of the Giants in the Dublin Pavilion — Alarming state of his health — His engagement at the Cobui-g — The liberality of Mr. Harris — Rapid decay of Gri- :naldi's constitution, his great sufferings, and last performance at Oovent Garden — He visits Cheltenham and Birmingham with great luccess — Colonel Berkeley, Mr. Charles Kemble, and Mr. Buna 218
CHAPTER XXIIL
1823 to 1827.
Grimaldi's great afflictions augmented by the dissipation and recklessness of his Son — Compelled to retire from Covent Garden Theatre, where he is succeeded by him — New Speculation at Sadler's \7ells — Changes in the system of Management, and their results — — -Sir James Scarlett and a blushing Witness 22
XVI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXIV.
1828.
Great kindness of Miss Kelly towards Grimaldi — His farewell benefit at Sadler's Wells ; last appearance, and farewell address — He makes preparations for one more appearance at Covent GardeM, but, in a conversation with Mr. Charles Kemble, meets with a dis- appointment— In consequence of Lord Segrave's benevolent inter- ference, a benefit is arranged for him at Drury Lane— His last inter- view with Mr. Charles Kemble and Fawcett 236
CHAPTER XXV. 1828 to 1836.
The farewell benefit at Dmry Lane — Grimaldi's last appearance and parting address — The Drury Lane Theatrical Fund, and its prompt reply to his communication — Miserable career and death of his Son — His Wife dies, and he returns from Woolwich (whither he had previously removed) to London — His retirement . . 244
CHAPTER XXVI. Conclusion , 253
MEMOIRS
OP
JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
CHAPTER I.
LLis Grandfather and Father— His Birth and first appearance at Drury Lana Theatre, and at Sadler's Wells— His Father's severity— Miss Farren— The Earl of Derby and the Wig — The Fortune-box and Charity's reward — His Father's pretended death, and the behaviour of himself and his brother thereupon.
THE paternal grandfather of Joseph Grimaldi was well known, both to the French and Italian public, as an eminent dancer, possessing a most extraordinary degree of strength and agility, — qualities which, being brought into full play by the constant exercise of his frame in his professional duties, acquired for him the distinguishing appellation of "Iron Legs." JDibdin, in his History of the Stage, relates several anecdotes of his prowess in these respects, many of which are current elsewhere, though the authority on which they rest would appear from his grand- son's testimony to be somewhat doubtful ; the best known of these, however, is perfectly true. Jumping extremely high one night in some performance on the stage, possibly in a fit of en- thusiasm occasioned by the august presence of the Turkish Ambassador, who, witn his suite, occupied the stage-box, he actually broke one of the chandeliers which in those times hung above the stage doors ; and one of the glass drops was struck with some violence against the eye or countenance of the Turkish Ambassador aforesaid. The dignity of this great personage being much affronted, a formal complaint was made to the Court of Erance, who gravely commanded "Iron Legs" to apologize, which " Iron Legs" did in due form, to the great amusement of himself, and the court, and the public ; and, in short, of everybody else but the exalted gentleman whose person
r
2 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
had been grievously outraged. The mighty affair terminated in the appearance of a squib, which has been thus translated : —
Hail, Iron Legs ! immortal pair,
Agile, firm knit, and peerless, That skim the earth, or vault in air,
Aspiring high and fearless. Glory of Paris ! outdoing compeers,
Brave pair ! may nothing hurt ye ; Scatter at will our chandeliers,
And tweak the nose of Turkey. And should a too presumptuous foe
But dare these shores to land on, His well-kicked men shall quickly know
"We've Iron Legs to stand on.
This circumstance occurred on the French stage. The first Grimaldi* who appeared in England was the father of the sub-
* Giuseppe Grimaldi was really " Iron Legs ;" of the grandfather no parti- culars are known. The father of our Joe was originally a pantomime actor at the fairs in Italy and France, at the time these fairs supplied the French Theatre with some of the finest dancers that have conferred distinction on that stage. His first employment in England was at the King's Theatre in the Haymarket, where the lighter kind of ballet proving attractive, similar dances were intro- duced early in the season 1758, 1759, on the boards of Drury Lane and Covent Garden Theatres. At the former, under Garrick's management, a new panto- mime dance, entitled "The Millers," was performed for the first time, October 12th, 1758 ; in which Signor Grimaldi, it was announced, made his first appear- ance on the English Stage. A writer in the "London Chronicle," in rei'erence to this piece, observes, as regards the debutant — " Grimaldi is a man of great strength and agility ; he indeed treads the air. If he has any fault, he is rather too comical ; and from some feats of his performing, which I have been a witness to, at the King's Theatre, in the Haymarket, those spectators will see him, it is my opinion, with most pleasure, who are least solicitous whether he breaks his neck, or not." In reference to the dance of "The Millers," composed by Grimaldi, then deemed an innovation, he continues : —
" Some people hold dancing to be below the dignity of a regular theatre ; but I can by no means subscribe to their opinion, since one of the principal ends of every theatre, is to delight ; and everything that can contribute to that purpose, under proper restrictions, has an undoubted right to a place there. I shall not affect to show my learning, by adding, the ancients not only admitted dancing, but thought it a necessary ornament in the performance of the most celebrated tragedies.
" The French in this kind of merit, for many years carried all before them ; but of late the Italians seem to have the start of them ; and it must be allowed, the latter are much better actors, which, in the comic dance that now almost everywhere prevails, is infinitely more requisite, than those graceful postures and movements on which the French dancers for the most part pique them- selves; but in this case a vast deal depends on the Maitre de Ballet; and whoever composed ' The Millers,' has, I think, shown himself a man of genius ; the figure of the contra-danse being pleasingly intricate, and the whole admirably well adapted to the music. I cannot, however, help observing, he has been indebted to Don Quixote ; for when Signor Grimaldi comes in asleep on his ass, it is stolen from under him in the same manner that Gines de Passamont robs poor Sancho of his, and the same joy is testified by both parties in the re- covery of the beloved brute."
The Drury Lane play-bill, October 10, 1761, announced as "not acted this season," a Comedy called the Confederacy; Brass, Mr. King; Flippanta, Mrs. Clive. At the end of Act II. an entertainment of Dancing, called the Italian Gardener, by Signor Grimaldi, Miss Baker, &c. Garrick's Pageant of the Coronation concluded the night's diversion.
From his first appearance in October, 1758, Grimaldi continued at Drury Lane
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI. 8
ject of these Memoirs, and the son of " Iron Legs," who, holding the appointment of Dentist to Queen Charlotte, came to England in that capacity in 1760 ; he was a native of Genoa, and long before his arrival in this country had attained considerable distinction in his profession. We have not many instances of the union of the two professions of dentist and dancing-master ; but Grimaldi, possessing a taste for both pursuits, and a much higher relish for the latter than the former, obtained leave to resign his situation about the Q,ueen, soon after his arrival in this country, and commenced giving lessons in dancing and
as Maitre de Ballet, Primo Buffo, Clown, Pantaloon, or Cherokee, or any part required in the ballet, till his death. The dancers, it would appear, were not paid during the whole season, but for certain periods ; in the interim they were employed, under certain restrictions, at other places of amusement. Those belonging to Drury Lane, in G-arrick's time, were in the summer months, and from Easter to Michaelmas attached to Sadler's Wells ; and in the bills which announced the opening of that suburban theatre, at Easter, 1763 and 1764, Signor Grimaldi appears as Maitre de Ballet, and chief dancer. On May 1, in the latter year, Grimaldi, and an English dancer named Aldridge, of considerable eminence in his profession, jointly had a benefit; Shakspeare's "Tempest" was performed, as also the pantomime of " Fortunatus, '" Harlequin by Signor Grimaldi. In the September of the same year, at Sadler's Wells, the Signo- had another benefit; the bill of the evening is subjoined :
FOB THE BENEFIT OF SIGNOR GRIMALDI.
AT SADLEK'S WELLS, ISLINGTON".
On Wednesday, September 19, 1764, will be exhibited a Variety of New
Performances.
Dancing both serious and comic, viz.:— 1. " The Miller's Dance," by Signor
Duval, Signor Amoire, Signora Mercueius, Mrs, Preston, and others. — 2. "The
Shoemakers," by Signor Grimaldi, Signor Amoire, Miss Wilkinson, and others.
— 3. " The Country Wedding," by Signor Duval, Signor Amoire, Signora Mer-
cucius, Miss Wilkinson, and Signor Grimaldi, and others.
And by particular desire, for that night only,
A Double Hornpipe by Master Cape and Miss Taylor.
Tumbling by Mr. Sturgess, Signor Pedro, and Mr. Garman,
Singing by Mr. Prentice, Mr. Cooke, and Miss Brown.
With a variety of Curious Performances by
THE VENETIAN AND HIS CHILDREN.
The Wire by Master Wilkinson.
The Musical Glasses by Miss Wilkinson, accompanied by Master Wilkinson. The whole to conclude with a New Entertainment of Music and Dancing, called
DON QUIXOTE.
Harlequin .... Mr. Banks.
Don Quixote, Mr. Niepekcr SancLr,, Mr. Warner.
Columbire . . . Miss Wilkinson. The Paintings, Music, and Habits, are all entirely New.
Pit and Boxes, 2s. 6d. Gallery, Is. 6d.
To begin exactly at Six.] [Vivant Rex et Regina.]
Tickets and Places to be had of Signor Grimaldi, at the New Tunbridge Wells ;
and he begs the favour of those Ladies and Gentlemen, who have already
taken Places, to send their servants by Half-an-Hour after Four o'clock.
At Drury Lane, December 26, in the sameyear, was performed the Tragedy
«f " The Eari of Essex •" at the end of Act IV. a Dance called "The Irish Lilt/'
B 2
4 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
fencing, occasionally giving his pupils a taste of his quality in his old capacity. In those days of minuets and cotillions, private dancing was a much more laborious and serious affair than it is at present ; and the younger branches of the nobility and gentry- kept Mr. Grimaldi in pretty constant occupation. In many scattered notices of OUR Grimaldi's life, it has been stated that the father lost his situation at court in consequence of the rude- ness of his behaviour, and some disrespect which he had shown the King ; an accusation which his son always took very much to heart, and which the continual patronage of the King and Queen, bestowed upon him publicly, on all possible occasions, sufficiently proves to be unfounded.
His new career being highly successful, Mr. Grimaldi was appointed ballet-master of old Drury Lane Theatre and Sadler's Wells, with which he coupled the situation of primo buffo ; in this double capacity he became a very great favourite with the public, and their majesties, who were nearly every week accus- tomed to command some pantomime of which Grimaldi was the hero. He bore the reputation of being a very honest man, and a very charitable one, never turning a deaf ear to the entreaties of the distressed, but always willing, by every means in his power, to relieve the numerous reduced and wretched persons irho applied to him for assistance. It may be added — and his «on always mentioned it with just pride-^-that he was never known to be inebriated : a rather scarce virtue among players of later times, and one which men of far higher rank in their profession would do well to profit by.
He appears to have been a very singular and eccentric man. It would be difficult to account for the little traits of his cha- racter which are developed in the earlier pages of this book, unless this circumstance were borne in mind. He purchased a small quantity of ground at Lambeth once, part of which was laid out as a garden ; he entered into possession of it in the very depth of a most inclement winter, but he was so impatient to ascertain how this garden would look in full bloom, that, finding it quite impossible to wait till the coming of spring and summer gradually developed its beauties, he had it at once decorated with an immense quantity of artificial
by Mr. Aldridge, Miss Baker, and others. After which, not performed these three years, an Entertainment in Italian Grotesque Characters, called " Queen Mab." Harlequin, by Mr. Hooker; Pantaloon, by Signor Grimaldi ; Silvio, by Mr. Baddeley ; Puck, Master Cape ; Queen Mab, by Miss Ford : Columbine, by Miss Baker. The facetious Ned Eooker, principal Harlequin at Drury Lane, was a painter of great excellence : his paintings and drawings are still held in high repute, and Lis theatrical scenery was not surpassed in his time: some of it was in use till recently at the Haymarket Theatre.
Grimaldi continued at Sadler's Wells till the close of the season of 1767, and never afterwards was employed there. Signor Spinacuti and his "funam- buhstical" monkey, so took the town by surprise in 1768, that dancinz at that theatre was altogether thrown into the back-Around.
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GBI21ALDI. 5
flowers, and tlie branches of all the trees bent beneath the weight of the most luxuriant foliage, and the most abundant crops of fruit, all, it is needless to say, artificial also.
A singular trait in this individual's character, was a vague and profound dread of the 14th day of the month. At its ap- proach he was always nervous, disquieted, and anxious • directly it had passed he was another man again, and invariably ex- claimed, in his broken English, " Ah ! now I am safe for anoder month." If this circumstance were unaccompanied by any singular coincidence it would be scarcely worth mentioning; but it is remarkable that he actually died on the 14th day of March ; and that he was born, christened, and married on the 1 4th of the month.
There are other anecdotes of the same kind told of Henri Q,uatre, and others ; this one is undoubtedly true, and it may be added to the list of coincidences or presentiments, or by whatever name the reader pleases to call them, as a veracious and well- authenticated instance.
These are not the only odd characteristics of the man. He was a most morbidly sensitive and melancholy being, and enter- tained a horror of death almost indescribable. He was in the habit of wandering about churchyards and burying-places, for hours together, and would speculate on the diseases of which the persons whose remains occupied the graves he walked among, had died; figure their death-beds, and wonder how many of them had been buried alive in a fit or a trance : a pos- sibility which he shuddered to think of, and which haunted him both through life and at its close. Such an effect had this fear upon his mind, that he left express directions in his will that, before his coffin should be fastened down, his head should be severed from his body, and the operation was actually performed in the presence of several persons.
It is a curious circumstance, that death, which always filled his mind with the most gloomy and horrible reflections, and which in his unoccupied moments can hardly be said to have been ever absent from his thoughts, should have been chosen by him as the subject of one of his most popular scenes in the pan- tomimes of the time. Among many others of the same nature, he invented the well-known skeleton scene for the clown, which was very popular in those days, and is still occasionally repre- sented. Whether it be true, that the hypochondriac is most prone to laugh at the things which most annoy and terrify him in private, as a man who believes in the appearance of spirits upon earth is always the foremost to express his unbelief ; or whether these gloomy ideas haunted the unfortunate man's mind so much, that even his merriment assumed a ghastly hue, and Ms comicality sought for grotesque objects in the grave and the charnel-house, the fact is equally remarkable.
This was the same man who, in the time of Lord Greorge Gordon's riots, when people, for the purpose of protecting their
6 MEMOIUS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
houses from the fury of the mob, inscribed upon their doors the words " No Popery,"— actually, with the view of keeping in the right with all plrtSs, and preventing the possioihty ol oftendmg any by his form of worship, wrote up "No religion at all; which announcement appeared in large characters in front oi his house, in Little Russell-street.* The idea was perfectly successful; but whether from the humour of the description, or because the rioters did not happen to go down that particular street, we are unable to determine. . .
On the 18th of December, 1779, the year in which Garrick died, Joseph Grimaldi, " Old Joe," was born, in Stanhope-street, t Clare-market ; a part of the town then as now, much frequented bv theatrical people, in consequence of its vicinity to tne theatres. At the period of his birth, his eccentric lather was sixty-five years old, and twenty-fi ve months afterwards another son was born to him— Joseph's only brother. ,
The child did not remain very long in a state of helpless and unprofitable infancy, for at the age of one year and eleven, months he was brought out by his father on the boards of Old Drury, where he made his first bow and his first tumble, t Ihe
* Henry Angelo, in his Keminiscences, gives a different version of this story. "The father of Grimaldi, for many years the favourite clown, was my dancing- master when I was a boy, and encouraged my harlequin and monkey tricks ; he re- lated the anecdote to me, himself, and I am therefore justified in repeating it. At the time of the riots, in June, 1780, he resided in a front room, on the second floor in Holborn, on the same side of the way near to Bed Lion Square, when the mob passing by the house, and Grimaldi being a foreigner, they thought he must be a papist. On hearing he lived there, they all stopped, and there was a general shouting ; a cry of 'No Popery !' was raised, and they were about to assail the house, when Grimaldi, who had been listening all the time, and knew their motives, put his head out of the window from the second floor, and making comical grimaces, called out, ' Genteelrnen, in dis hose dere be no religion at all.' Laughing at their mistake, the mob proceeded on, first giving him three huzzas, though his house, unlike all the otbers, had not written on the door — ' No
t Joe, from some erroneous information he had received, always stated he was born in Stanhope-street, Clare-market, December 18, 1779 ; he mentioned this in his farewell address at Sadler's Wells, and again subscribed that date at the end of his autobiographical notes. He was in error : a reference to the baptismal register of St. Clement's Danes, proved ho was born on December 18, 1778, and that he was baptized as the son of Joseph and Kebecea, on the 28th of the same month and year. From this entry, it might be inferred that Joe was legitimate ; but we are sorry to be compelled to record that he was not so. Kebecca was Mrs. Brooker, who had been from her infancy a dancer at Drury Lane, and subsequently, at Sadler's Wells, played old women, or anything to render herself generally useful. Mr. Hughes and others who well remember her, describe her as having been a short, stout, very dark woman. The same baptismal register from 1773 to 1788, h»s been carefully inspected, bu no men- tion occurs of Joe's only brother, John Baptist, or of any other of the Grimaldi fcniily.
J Joe's first appearance was at Sadler's Wells, not at Drury Lane; the an- nouncement bill for the opening on April 16, Easter Monday, 1781, of the former theatre, tells us of Dancing by Mr. Le Mercier, Mr. Languish, Master and Misa Grimaldi, and Mrs. Button. Here we see Joe, and his sister Mary, afterwards Mrs. Williamson, thrust forward sufGciently early to earn their bread. Grimaldi, in his farewell address, on his last appearance at Sadler's Wells, pathetically
MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GTC31ALDI. 7
piece in which his precocious powers were displayed was the well-known pantomime of Robinson Crusoe, in wnich the father sustained the part of the Shipwrecked Mariner, and the son performed that of the Little Clown. The child's success was complete ; he was instantly placed on the establishment, ac- corded a magniiicent weekly salary of fifteen shillings, and every succeeding year was brought forward in some new and pro- minent part. He became a favourite behind the curtain as well as before it, being henceforth distinguished in the green-room as " Clever little Joe ;" and Joe he was called to the last day of his life.
In 1782, he first appeared at Sadler's Wells, in the arduous character of a monkey ; and here he was fortunate enough to excite as much approbation, as he had previously elicited in the part of clown at Drury Lane. He immediately became a member of the regular company at this theatre, as he had done at the other ; and here he remained (one season only excepted) until the termination of his professional life, forty-nine years afterwards.
Now that he had made, or rather that his father had made for him, two engagements, by which he was bound to appear at two theatres on the same evening, and at very nearly the same time, his labours began in earnest. They would have been arduous for a man, much more so for a cnild ; and it will be obvious, that if at any one portion of his life his gains were very great, the actual toil both of mind and body by which they were purchased was at least equally so. The stage-stricken young gentlemen who hang about Sadler's Wells, and Astleys, and the Surrey, and private theatres of all kinds, and who long to embrace the theatrical profession because it is " so eas^," little dream of all the anxieties and hardships, and privations and sorrows, which make the sum of most actors' lives.
We have already remarked that the father of Grimaldi was an eccentric man ; he appears to have been peculiarly eccentric, and rather unpleasantly so, in the correction of his son. Tha
alluded to this fact—" at a very early age, before that of three years, I was in- troduced to the public, by my father, at this theatre."
That Joe did not play the "Little Clown" in Sheridan's Pantomime of "Robin- son Crusoe," is evident from the construction of the drama. On January 29, 1781, after the " Winter's Tale," Florizel, Mr. Brereton ; Perdita, Mrs. Brereton, afterwards Mrs. J. P. Kemble ; and Hermione, Miss Farren; was performed, for the first time, " Robinson Crusoe ; or, Harlequin Friday." The bill of the night lets us know, that the principal characters were by Mr. Wright, Mr. Grimaldi, Mr. Delpini, Mr. Suett, Mr. Gaudry, and Miss Collett. This panto- mime was performed thirty-eight times that season. Grimaldi played Friday, not the " Shipwrecked Mariner;" and the probability is, that young Joe made his first appearance on the boards of Old Drury, in the Pantomime of 1782, entitled " The Triumph of Mirth ; or, Harlequin's Wedding," the principal characters in which were by Wright, Grimaldi, and Delphmi. There were many minor persons of the drama.
£ MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
child "being bred up to play all kinds of fantastic tricks, was as much a clown, a monkey, 'or anything- else that was droll and ridiculous, off the stage, as on it ; and being incited thereto by the occupants of the green-room, used to skip and tumble about as much for their diversion as that of the public. All this was carefully concealed from the father, who, whenever he did happen to observe any of the child's pranks, always < admi- nistered the same punishment— a sound thrashing ; terminating in his being lifted up by the hair of the head, and stuck in a corner, whence his father, with a severe countenance and awful voice, would tell him "to venture to move at his peril."
Venture to move, however, he did, for no sooner would the father disappear, than all the cries and tears of the boy would disappear too ; and with many of those winks and grins which afterwards became so popular, he would recommence his pan- tomime with greater vigour than ever ; indeed, nothing could ever stop him but the cry of " Joe ! Joe ! here's your father !" upon which the boy would dart back into the old corner, and begin crying again as if he had never left off.
This became quite a regular amusement in course of time, and whether the father was coming or not, the caution used to be given for the mere pleasure of seeing "Joe" run back to his corner; this "Joe" very soon discovered, and often confounding the warning with the joke, received more severe beatings than before, from him whom he very properly describes in his manu- script as his "severe but excellent parent." On one of these occasions, when he was dressed for his favourite part of the little clown in Eobinson Crusoe, with his face painted in exact imitation of his father's, which appears to have been part of the fun of the scene, the old gentleman brought him into the green- room, and placing him in his usual solitary corner, gave him strict directions not to stir an inch, on pain of being thrashed, and left him.
The Earl of Derby, who was at that time in the constant habit of frequenting the green-room, happened to walk in at the moment, and seeing a lonesome-looking little boy dressed and painted after a manner very inconsistent with his solitary air, good-naturedly called him towards him.
" Hollo ! here, my boy, come here !" said the Earl.
Joe made a wonderful and astonishing face, but remained where he was. The Earl laughed heartily, and looked round for an explanation.
" He dare not move !" explained Miss Farren, to whom his lordship was then much attached, and whom he afterwards married ; " his father will beat him if he does."
"Indeed !" said his lordship. At which Joe, by way of con- firmation, made another face more extraordinary than his former contortions.
'•I think," said his lordship, laughing again, " the boy is not
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GKDIALD1. D
Unite so much afraid of his father as you suppose. Come here, sir!"
With this, he held up half-a-crown, and the child, perfectly- well knowing the value of money, darted from his corner, seized it with pantomimic suddenness, and was darting back again, when the Earl caught him by the arm.
" Here, Joe !" said the Earl, " take off your wig and throw it in the fire, and here's another half-crown for you.'
!STo sooner said than done. Off came the wig, — into the fire it went ; a roar of laughter arose ; the child capered about with a half-crown in each hand; the Earl, alarmed for^ the conse- quences to the boy, busied himself to extricate the wig with the tongs and poker ; and the father, in full dress for the Ship- wrecked Mariner, rushed into the room at the same moment It was lucky for "Little Joe" that Lord Derby promptly and humanely interfered, or it is exceedingly probable that his father would have prevented any chance of his being buried alive at all events, by killing him outright.
As it was, the matter could not be compromised without his receiving a smart beating, which made him cry very bitterly ; and the tears running down his face, which was painted "an inch thick," came to the "complexion at last," in parts, and made him look as much like a little clown as like a little human being, to neither of which characters he bore the most distant resemblance. He was "called" almost immediately afterwards, and the father being in a violent rage, had not noticed the circumstance until the little object came on the stage, when a general roar of laughter directed his attention to his grotesque countenance. Becoming more violent than before, he fell upon him at once, and beat him severely, and the child roared vociferously. This was all taken by the audience as a most capital joke; shouts of laughter and peals of applause shook the house ; and the newspapers next morning declared, that it was perfectly wonderful to see a mere child perform so naturally, and highly creditable to his father's talents as a teacher !
This is no bad illustration of some of the miseries of a poor actor's life. The jest on the lip, and the tear in the eye, the merriment on the mouth, and the aching of the heart, have called down the same shouts of laughter and peals of applause a hundred times. Characters in a state of starvation are almost invariably laughed at upon the stage ; — the audience have had their dinner.
The bitterest portion of the boy's punishment was the being deprived of the five shillings, which the excellent parent put into his own pocket, possibly because he received the child's salary also, and in order that everything might be, as Gold- smith's Bear-leader has it, "in a concatenation accordingly," The Earl gave him half-a-crown every time he saw him after-
10 MEMOIBS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
wards though, and the child had good cause for regret when his lordship married Miss Farren,* and left the green-room.
At Sadler's Wells he became a favourite almost as speedily as at Drury Lane. King, the comedian,t who was principal pro-
* Miss Farren, previously to her marriage with the Earl of Derby, took her final leave of the stage, as Lady Teazle, in "The School for Scandal," April 8, 1797.
t Tom King was the manager of Sadler's Wells Theatre from Easter, 1772, till the close of the season, 1782; when, on Sheridan's resignation as manager of Drury Lane, King succeeded him in September, 1782, and relinquished the management of Sadler's Wells to Wroughton, whose term commenced at Easter, 1783. We have already explained that Joe's father was not employed at Sadler's Wells in 1781; and yet, perhaps in consideration of Master and Miss, Signer Grimaldi had a benefit at that theatre, on Thursday, September 12, 1782 ; the usual diversions were announced, but he did not take any part in the business of the evening. The bills announced, " Tickets and Places to be had only of Mr. Grimaldi, at No. 5, Princes Street, Drury Lane, and opposite Sadler's Wells Gate." Signer Placido's night followed on Monday, September 16, when, with other new amusements, was introduced " A new Pantomime Dance, for the first time, called ' The Woodcutter ; or, the Lucky Mischance/ characters by Mr. Dupuis, then principal dancer at the Wells, Mr. Meunier, Mr. Grimaldi, Mrs. Button, Signer Placido, and the Little Devil, being their first Pantomimical performance in this kingdom." This was the only appearance of Signer Grimaldi at the Wells in 1782 ; for which, possibly, he was paid by Placido.
Young Joe's introduction to Sadler's Wells, in 1781, as also the benefit here noticed, in 1782, were kindnesses probably rendered to Grimaldi by Tom King, during the last two years of his management.
Beynolds, the dramatist, was wont to relate a droll story of the Signer, which may not improperly be told here. " Walking one day in Pall Mafl with Tom King, we met the celebrated clown, Grimaldi, father of Joe Grimaldi, approach, .tig us with a face of the most ludicrous astonishment and delight, when he exclaimed : ' Oh, vatt a clevare fellow dat Sheridan is ! — shall I tell you ?— oui — yes ; I vill, bien done. I could no nevare see him at de theatre, so je vais chez lui, to his house in Hertford-street, muffled in de great coat, and I say, 'Domestiquel — you hear?' 'Yes, Sare.' 'Veil, den, tell your master, dat Mistare— you know, de Mayor of Stafford be below.' Domestique fly ; and on de instant I vas shown into de drawing-room. In von more minuet, Sheridan leave his dinner party, enter de room hastily — stop suddenly, and say, ' How dare you, Grim, play me such a trick ?' Then putting himself into von grand passion, he go on : ' Go, Sare ! — get out of my house !' ' Begar,' say I, placing
not, morbleu ! I shall — '
" ' Oh !' interrupted dis clevare man, 'if I must, Grim, I must,' and as if he vare trfes-presse"— vary hurry, he write de draft, and pushing it into my hand, he squeeze it, and I do push it into my pocket. Eh bien! — veil, den, I do make haste to de banquier, and giving it to de clerks, I say, vitement, ' four tens, if you please, Sare. 'Four tens!' he say, with much surprise; 'de draft be only for four pounds !' O, vat a clevare fellow dat Sheridan is ! Veil, den, I Ray, ' If you please, Sare, donnez-moi done, dose four pounds.' And den he say, ' Call again to-morrow.' Next day, I meet de manager in de street, and I say, 1 Mistare Sheridan ! have you forget ?' and den he laugh, and say, ' Vy, Grim, I recollected afterwards— I left out de 0 !' O, vat a clevare fellow dat Sheridan is !' "
Again meeting Grimaldi, some months afterwards, Eeynolds asked him, irhether the manager had found means to pay him the amount of his dishonoured cheque. He replied in the affirmative ; but with a look and tone of voice so altered, it seemed as if the successful adroitness of Sheridan's ruse centre ruse, had^ afforded him more enjoyment, and given him a higher opinion of the manage* a clevare fellow," than the mere passing business affair of paying him Mg
MEMOIES OP JOSEPH GEIMALDI. 11
prietor of the former theatre and acting manager of the latter, took a great deal of notice of him, and occasionally gave the child a guinea to huy a rouking-horse or a cart, or some toy that struck his fancy. During the run of the iirst piece in which he played at Sadler's Wells, he produced his first serious effect, which, hut for the good fortune which seems to have attended him in such cases, might have prevented his subsequent ap- pearance on any stage. ^ He played a monkey, and had to accompany the clown (his father) throughout the piece. In one of the scenes, the clown used to lead him on by a chain attached to his waist, and with this chain he would swing him round and round, at arm's length, with the utmost velocity. One evening, when this feat was in the act of performance, the chain broke, and he was hurled a considerable distance into the pit, fortunately without sustaining the slightest injury; for he was flung by a miracle into the very arms^ of an old gentleman who was sitting gazing at the stage with intense interest.
Among the many persons who in this early stage of his career behaved with great kindness to him, were the famous rope- dancers, Mr, and Mrs. liedige, then called Le Petit Diable, * and La Belle Espagnole ; who often gave him a guinea to buy some childish luxury, which his father invariably took away and deposited in a box, with his name written outside, which he would lock very carefully, and then, giving the boy the key, say, " Mind, Joe, ven I die, dat is your vortune." Eventually he lost both the box and the fortune, as will hereafter appear.
As he had now nearly four months vacant out of every twelve, the run of the Christmas pantomime at Drury Lane seldom exceeding a month, and Sadler's Wells not opening until Easter, he was sent for that period of the year to a boarding-school at Putney, kept by a Mr. .Ford, of whose kindness and goodness of heart to him on a later occasion of his life, he spoke, when an old man, with the deepest gratitude. He fell in here with many schoolfellows who afterwards became connected one way or another with dramatic pursuits, among whom was Mr. Henry Harris, of Covent Garden Theatre. We do not find that any of these schoolfellows afterwards became pantomime actors ; but recollecting the humour and vivacity of the boy, the wonder to us is, that they were not all clowns when they grew up.
* Paulo KedigcS, " Le Petit Diable," made his first appearance at Sadler's Wells with Placide, the " French Voltigeur," under the Italianised name of Signer Placido, on Easter Monday, 1781, on the same night with young Joe. La Belle Espagnole, whomAngelo describes as "a very beautiful woman," made her first appearance at the same theatre, on April 1, 17s5 ; having, as the bills expressed it, " been celebrated at Paris ail the winter, for her very elegant and wonderful performances." She soon after became the wife of the " Little Devil." Paulo, the late clown, was their son, and might be almost said to have been born within the walls of that theatre. The manager's attentions to this beautiful Spaniard were the cause of much jealousy to Mrs. Wroughton, and some ludicrous Btoriee are still afloat.
12 MEMOIlls or JOSEPH GBDtALDI.
In the Christmas of 1782, he appeared in his second character* at Drury Lane, called " Harlequin Junior ; or, the Magic Cestus,' in which he represented a demon, sent by some opposing magi- cian to counteract the power of the harlequin. In this, as in his preceding part, he was fortunate enough to meet with great applause; and from this period his reputation was made, although it naturally increased with his years, strength, and improvement.
In the following Easterf he repeated the monkey at Sadler's "Wells without the pit effect. As the piece was withdrawn at the end of a month, and he had nothing to do for the remainder of the season, he again repaired to Putney.
In Christmas 1783, he once more appeared at Drury Lane, in a pantomime called "Hurly Burly." J In this piece he had to represent, not only the old part of the monkey, but that of a cat besides ; and in sustaining the latter character he met with an accident, his speedy recovery from which would almost induce one to believe that he had so completely identified himself with the character as to have eight additional chances for his life. The dress he wore was so clumsily contrived, that when it was sewn upon him he could not see before him ; consequently, as he was running about the stage, he fell down a trap-door, which had been left open to represent a well, and tumbled down a distance of forty feet, > thereby breaking his collar-bone, and inflicting several contusions upon his body. He was immediately conveyed home, and placed under the care of a surgeon, but he did not recover soon enough to appear any more that season at Drury Lane, although at Easter he performed at Sadler's Wells as usual.
* The pantomime of " Harlequin Junior ; or, the Magic Cestua," was per- formed for the first time, on Wednesday, January 7, 1784, not Christmas, 1782 ; and was highly successful, from the excellence of the characters, the beautiful scenery, and the new deceptions — Grimaldi, as Clown, obtruding into a hot- house, became suddenly transformed into a fine large water-melon ; in another scene, changed into a goose, his affected airs in displaying his tail in the peacock style, set the house in roars of laughter. The change of the Bank of Paris into an air-balloon, was a trick that obtained a full plaudit. So great, in fact, was the attraction, it was not only frequently performed during the remainder of the season, 1783-4, but also in that of 1784-5, being revived on September 28, 1784, and repeated in lieu of a new pantomime, on December 27, in that year, and it ran its full complement of representations as a new piece.
t We do not find that at Easter, 1784, any piece was withdrawn in which a monkey was likely to be introduced. The Sieur Scaglioni's troop of Dancing Dogs, and their sagacious manoeuvres, made up speedily for the losses of the previous season. The pantomime was entitled " The Enchanted Wood ; or,
Larlequm s Vagaries ;" a dance called the " Fricassee ;" and the w; ole concluded
ith the " Death and Revival of Harlequin," which " ran" the whole of the
b'.'-lSOH.
1 A pantomimical oho, entitled «« The Caldron," in which Gnmaldi played
Clown, was produced at Drury-lane, September 27, 1785, performed a few nights,
and withdrawn The pantomime of " Hurly Burly : or, the Fairv ol the Wells,"
'M p,r£?aUCed,f?r 'K6. "r,st time> on December 26, m that year, and not at Christ-
Swoewftd *ldl played " clodPate," the Clown, in this piece : it was very
MEMOIBS OP JOSEPH GBIMALDI. 13
In the summer of this year, he used to be allowed, ae a mark of high and special favour, to spend every alternate Sunday at the house of his mother's father, "who," says Grimaldi himself, " resided in Newton-street, Holborn, and was a carcase butcher, doing a prodigious business ; besides which, he kept the Blooms- bury slaughter-house, and, at the time of his death, had done so for more than sixty years." With this grandfather, "Joe" was a great favourite ; and as he was very much indulged and petted when he went to see him, he used to look forward to every visit with great anxiety. His father, upon his part, was most anxious that he should support the credit of the family upon these occasions, and, after great deliberation, and much consultation with tailors, the "little clown" was attired for one of these Sunday excursions in the following style. On his back he wore a green coat, embroidered with almost as many artificial flowers as his father had put in the garden at Lambeth ; beneath this there shone a satin waistcoat of dazzling whiteness; and beneath that again were a pair of green cloth breeches (the word existed in those days) richly embroidered. His legs were fitted into white silk stockings, and his feet into shoes with brilliant paste buckles, of which he also wore another resplendent pair at his knees : he had a laced shirt, cravat, and ruffles ; a cocked-hat upon his head ; a small watch set with diamonds — theatrical, we_ suppose— in his fob ; and a little cane in his hand, which he switched to and fro as our clowns may do now.
Being thus thoroughly equipped for starting, he was taken in for his father's inspection : the old gentleman was pleased to signify his entire approbation with his appearance, and, after kissing him in the moment of his gratification, demanded the key of the " fortune-box." The key being got with some diffi- culty out of one of the pockets of the green smalls, the bottom of which might be somewhere near the buckles, the old gentleman took a guinea out of the box, and, putting it into the boy's pocket, said, " Dere now. you are a gentleman, and something more — you have got a guinea in your pocket." The box having been carefully locked, and the key returned to the owner of the "fortune," off he started, receiving strict injunctions to be home by eight o'clock. The father would not allow anybody to attend him, on the ground that he was a gentleman, and consequently perfectly able to take care of himself ; so away he went, to walk all the way from Little Eussel-street, Drury-lane, to Newton- street, Holborn.
The child's appearance in the street excited considerable curiosity, as the appearance of any other child, alone, in such a costume, might very probably have done ; but he was a public character besides, and the astonishment was proportionate. "Hollo!" qried one boy, "here's 'Little Joe!' " "Get along," said another, " it's the monkey." A third, thought it was the " bear dresaad for a dance*" and the fourth suggested "it might
14 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMA.LDI.
"be the cat going out to a party," while the more sedate passengers could not help laughing heartily, and saying how ridiculous it was to trust such a child in the streets alone. However, he walked on, with various singular grimaces, until he stopped to look at a female of miserable appearance, who was reclining on the pavement, and whose diseased and destitute aspect had already collected a crowd. The boy stopped, like others, and hearing her tale of distress, became so touched, that he thrust his hand into his pocket, and having at last found the bottom of it. pulled out his guinea, which was the only coin he had, and slipped it into her hand ; then away he walked again with a greater air than before.
The sight of the embroidered coat, and breeches, and the paste buckles, and the satin waistcoat and cocked-hat, had astonished the crowd not a little in the outset ; but directly it was understood that the small owner of these articles had given the woman a guinea, a great number of people collected around him, and began shouting and staring by turns most earnestly. The boy, not at all abashed, headed the crowd, and walked on very deliberately, with a train a street or two long behind him, until he fortunately encountered a friend of his father's, who no sooner saw the concourse that attended him, than he took him in his arms and carried him, despite a few kicks and strug- gles, in all his brilliant attire, to his grandfather's housej where he spent the day very much to the satisfaction of all parties concerned.
"When he got safely home at night, the father referred to his watch, and finding that he had returned home punctual to the appointed time, kissed him, extolled him for paying such strict attention to his instructions, examined his dress, discovered satisfactorily that no injury had been done to his clothes, and concluded by asking for the key of the " fortune-box," and the guinea. The boy, at first, quite forgot the morning adventure ; but, after rummaging his pockets for the guinea, and not find- ing it, he recollected what had occurred, and, falling upon the knees of the knee-smalls, confessed it all, and implored for- giveness.
The father was puzzled ; he was always giving away money in charity himself, and he could scarcely reprimand the child for doing the same. He looked at him for some seconds with a perplexed countenance, and then, contenting himself with simply saying, " I'll beat you," sent him to bed.
Among the eccentricities of the old gentleman, one — certainly not his most amiable one — was, that whatever he promised he performed ; and that when, as in this case, he promised to thrash the boy, he would very coolly let the matter stand over for months, but never forget it in the end. This was ingenious, inasmuch as it doubled, or trebled, or quadrupled the punish- ment, giving the unhappy little victim all the additional pain
MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI. 15
of anticipating it for a long time, with the certainty of enduring it in the end. Four or five months after this occurrence, and when the child had not given his father any new cause of offence, he suddenly called him to him one day, and communi- cated the intelligence that he was going to heat him forthwith. Hereupon the boy began to cry most piteously, and faltered forth the inquiry, "Oh! father, what for ?"— " Remember tha guinea !" said the father. And he gave him a caning which he remembered to the last day of his life.
The family consisted at this time of the father, mother, Joe, his only brother John Baptist, three or four female servants, and a man of colour who acted as footman, and was dignified with the appellation of "Black Sam."
The father was extremely hospitable, and fond of company ; he rarely dined alone, and on certain gala days, of which Christmas-eve was one, had a very large party, upon which occasions his really splendid service of plate, together with vari- ous costly articles of bijouterie, were laid out for the admiration of the guests. Upon one Christmas-eve, when the dining-parlour was decorated and prepared with all due gorgeousness and splendour, the two boys, accompanied by Black Sam, stole into it, and began to pass various encomiums on its beautiful appear- ance.
" Ah !" said Sam, in reply to some remark of the brothers, " and when old Massa die, all dese fine things vill be yours."
Both the boys were much struck with this remark, and espe- cially John, the younger, who, being extremely young, probably thought much less about death than his father, and accordingly exclaimed, without the least reserve or delicacy, that he should be exceedingly glad if all these fine things were his.
Nothing more was said upon the subject. Black Sam went to his work, the boys commenced a game of play, and nobody thought any more of the matter except the father himself, who, passing the door of the room at the moment the remarks were made, distinctly heard them. He pondered over the matter for some days, and at length, with the view of ascertaining the dispositions of his two sons, formed a singular resolution, still connected with the topic ever upwards in his mind, and deter~ mined to feign himself dead. Me caused himself to be laid out in the drawing-room, covered with a sheet, and had the room darkened, the windows closed, and all the usual ceremonies which accompany death, performed. All this being done, and the servants duly instructed, the two boys were cautiously in- formed that their father had died suddenly, and were at once hurried into the room where he lay, in order that he might hear them give vent to their real feelings.*
* A similar scene has been frequently represented on the stage. It is probable that the father derived the notion from some play in which he had acted, or which he had seen performed.
16 MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GRIHALD1.
When Joe was brought into the dark room on so short a notice, his sensations were rather complicated, but they speedily resolved themselves into a firm persuasion that his father was not dead, A variety of causes led him to this conclusion, among which the most prominent were, his having very recently seen his father in the best health ; and, besides several half-suppressed winks and blinks from Black Sam, his observing, by looking closely at the sheet, that his deceased parent still breathed. With very little hesitation the boy perceived what line of conduct he ought to adopt, and at once bursting into a roar of the most distracted grief, flung himself upon the floor, and rolled about in a seeming transport of anguish.
John, not having seen so much of public life as his brother, was not so cunning, and perceiving in his father's death nothing but a relief from flogging and books (for both of which he had a great dislike), and the immediate possession of m all ^the plate in the dining room, skipped about the room, indulging in various snatches of song, and, snapping his fingers, declared that he was glad to hear it.
" 0 ! you cruel boy," said Joe, in a passion of tears, "hadn't you any love for your dear father ? Oh ! what would I give to see him alive again !"
" Oh! never mind," replied the brother; "don't be such a fool as to cry ; we can have the cuckoo-clock all to ourselves now."
This was more than the deceased could bear. He jumped from the bier, opened the shutters, threw off the sheet, and attacked his younger son most unmercifully; while Joe, not knowing what might be his own fate, ran and hid himself in the coal-cellar, where he was discovered some four hours after- wards, by Black Sam, fast asleep, who carried him to his father, who had been anxiously in search of him, and by whom he was received with every demonstration of affection, as the son who truly and sincerely loved him.
From this period, up to the year 1788, he continued regularly employed upon the same salaries as he had originally receiver! both at Drury Lane and Sadler's Wells.
JtEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
CHAPTER IT
1788 to 1794.
T!i« Father's real Death— His Will, and failure of the Executor— Generous con. duct of Grimaldi's Schoolmaster, and of Mr. Wroughton, the Comedian — Kindness of Sheridan — Grimaldi's industry and amusements — Fly catching — Expedition in search of the " Dartford Blues" — Mrs. Jordan — Adventure on Clapham Common : the piece of Tin — His first love and its consequences.
IT has been stated in several publications that Grrimaldi's father died in 1787. It would appear from several passages in the memoranda dictated by his son, that he expired on the 14th of March, 1788, of dropsy, in the seventy-eighth year* of his age, and that he was interred in the burial-ground attached to Ex mouth-street Chapel ; a spot of ground in which, if it bore any resemblance at that time to its present condition, he could have had very little room to walk about and meditate when alive. He left a will, by which he directed all his effects and jewels to be sold by public auction, and the proceeds to be added to his funded property, which exceeded 15,000^.; the whole of the gross amount, he directed should be divided equally between the two brothers as they respectively attained their majority. Mr. King,t to whom allusion has already been made, was appointed
of
aged 72. ^ m ^ m
by a too frequent repetition, perverting"the vein of his s'tory, was no mean authority as regarded the old players, most of whom are now —
Down among the dead men !
He used to assert that old Grimaldi died in Lambeth, at his apartments, up a court within a door or two of the Pheasant public-house in Stangate-street. Reference to the burial-register of St. Mary's, Lambeth, elicited nothing as to his interment there ; but on searching the register belonging to Northampton Chapel, in Exmouth-street, we found it there recorded "March 23, 1788, Mr. Joseph Grimaldi, from Lambeth, aged 75." It will be observed, there is a dif- ference of three years in the age, as stated in the daily papers of the time, and in the register or his burial. No stone, or other memorial, marks the spot where his ashes lie.
The court in which Grimaldi died, in poverty, not wealth, was, till the last destruction of Astley's Amphitheatre, under the tenancy of Ducrow, called Theatre-court, or place ; but the fire consumed the greater part, and its site is now occupied by that portion of Batty's Amphitheatre which is in the Palace New-road.
t The original Editor has been misinformed. We are sorry to have to record that Signor Grimaldi had nothing to bequeath to any one ; he made no will ; and i search at the Prerogative Office, Doctor's Commons, for the two years following his death, is evidence of this, no probate having issued thence.
C
18 MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
co-executor with a Mr. Joseph Hopwood, a lace manufacturer in Long-acre, at that time supposed to possess not only an excel- lent business, hut independent property to a considerable amount besides. Shortly after they entered upon their office, in conse- quence of Mr. Tung declining to act, the whole of the estate fell to the management of Mr. Hopwood, who, employing the whole of the brothers' capital in his trade, became a bankrupt within a year, fled from England, and was never heard of afterwards. By this unfortunate and unforeseen event, the brothers lost the whole of their fortune, and were thrown upon their own resources and exertions for the means of subsistence.
It is very creditable to all parties, and while it speaks highly for the kind feeling of the friends of the widow, and her two sons, bears high testimony to their conduct and behaviour, that no sooner was the failure of the executor known than offers of assistance were heaped upon them from all quarters. Mr. Ford, the Putney schoolmaster, offered at once to receive Joseph into his school and to adopt him as his own son ; this offer being declined by his mother, Mr. Sheridan, who was then proprietor of Drury Lane Theatre, raised the boy's salary, unasked, to one pound per week, and permitted his mother, who was and had been from her infancy a dancer at that establishment, to accept a similar engagement at Sadler's Wells, which was, in fact, equivalent to a double salary, both theatres being open together for a considerable period of the year.
At Sadler's Wells, where Joseph appeared as usual in 1788,* shortly after his father's death, they were not so liberal, nor was the aspect of things so pleasing, his salary of fifteen shillings a- week being very unceremoniously cut down to three, and his mother being politely informed, upon her remonstrating, that if
* The season of 1788, at Sadler's Wells, was one of no common interest. On Whitsun Monday, May 12, in a musical piece, entitled " Saint Monday ; or, a Cure for a Scold," Mr. Braham, then Master Abrahams, made his first appear- ance. He is named in the bills of August 18, but appears soon after to have left Sadler's Wells, and on the 30th of the same month had a benefit at the Eoyalty Theatre, Well-street, near Goodman' s-flelds, as " Master Braham," when the celebrated tenor singer, Leoni, his master, announced that as the last time of his performing on the stage. Miss Shields, who appeared at Sadler's Wells in the same piece on Whitsun Monday, became towards the end of May, Mrs. Leffler. Two Frenchmen, named Duranie and Bois-Maispn, as pantomimists, eclipsed all their predecessors on that stage. Boyce, a distinguished engraver, was the Harlequin, and by those who remember him, he is eulogised as the most finished actor of the motley hero, either in his own day, or since. On the benefit night of Joseph Dortor, Clown to the rope, and Eicher, the rope dancer, Miss Eicher made her first appearance on two slack wires, passing through a hoop, with a pyramid of glasses on her head ; and Master Eicher performed on the tight rope, with a skipping rope. Joseph Dortor, among other almost incredible feats, drank a glass of wine backwards from the stage-floor, beating a drum at the same time. Lawrence, the father of Joe's friend, Bichard Lawrence, threw a summerset over twelve men's heads, and Paul Eedige", " The Little Devil," on October 1, threw a summerset over two men on horseback, the riders having each a lighted candle on his head. Dubois,- as Clown to the Pantomime, had no euperior in his time ; and the troop of Voltigeura were pre-emineinfi for their agility, skill, and d«rinfl.
MEMOLRS OP JOSEPH GBIMALDI* 19
the alteration did not suit her, he was at perfect liberty to transfer his valuable services to any other house. Small as the pittance was, they could not afford to refuse it ; and at that salary he remained at Sadler's "Wells for three years, occasionally superintending the property-room, sometimes assisting in the carpenter's, and sometimes in the painter's, and, in fact, lending a hand wherever it was most needed.
When the defalcation of the executor took place, the family were compelled to give up their comfortable establishment, and to seek for lodgings of an inferior description. His mother knowing a Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, who then resided in Great Wild-street, and who let lodgings, applied to them, and there they lived, in three rooms on the first floor, for several years. The brother could not be prevailed upon to accept any regular engagement, for he thought and dreamt of nothing but going to sea, and evinced the utmost detestation of the stage. Sometimes, when boys were wanted in the play at Drury Lane, he was sent for, and attended, for which he received a shilling per night ; but so great was his unwillingness and evident dissatisfaction on such occasions, that Mr. Wroughton, the comedian, who, by purchasing the property of Mr. King, became about this period* proprietor of Sadler's Wells, stepped forward in the boy's behalf, and obtained for him a situation on board an East-Indiaman, which then lay. in the river, and was about to sail almost imme- diately.
John was delighted when the prospect of realizing his ardent wishes opened upon him so suddenly ; but his raptures were diminished by the discovery that an outfit was indispensable, and that it would cost upwards of fifty pounds : a sum which, it is scarcely necessary to say, his friends, in their reduced posi- tion, could not command. But the same kind-hearted gentleman removed this obstacle, and with a generosity and readiness which enhanced the value of the gift an hundredfold, advanced, without security or obligation, the whole sum required, merely saying, " Mind, John, when you come to be a captain you must pay it me back again."
There is no diificulty in providing the necessaries for a voyage to any part of the world when you have provided the first and most important — money. In two days, John took his leave of his mother and brother, and with his outfit, or kit, was safely deposited on board the vessel in which a berth had been pro- cured for him ; but the boy, who was of a rash, hasty, and in- considerate temper, finding, on going on board, that a delay of ten days would take place before the ship sailed, and that a king's ship, which lay near her, was just then preparing to drop down to Gravesend with the tide, actually swam from his
* Further inquiries enable us to prove that King transferred his right in Sadler's Wells to Messrs. Wroughton and Serjeant, at the close of the year 17& 0 2
20 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
own ship to the other, entered himself as a seaman or cabin-boy on board the latter in some feigned name, — what it was his friends never heard, — and so sailed immediately, leaving every article of his outfit, down to the commonest necessary of wearing apparel, on board the East-Indiaman, on the books of which he had been entered through the kindness of Mr. Wroughton. He disappeared in 1789, and he was not heard of, or from, or seen, for fourteen years afterwards.
At this period of his life, Joseph was far from idle ; he had to walk from Drury Lane to Sadler's "Wells every morning to attend rehearsals, which then began at ten o'clock ; to be back at Drury Lane to dinner by two, or go without it ; to be back again at Sadler's "Wells in the evening, in time for the com- mencement of the performances at six o'clock ; to go through uninterrupted labour from that time until eleven o'clock, or later ; and then to walk home again, repeatedly after having changed his dress twenty times in the course of the night.
Occasionally, when the performances at Sadler's Wells were prolonged so that the curtain fell very nearly at the same time as the concluding piece at Drury Lane began, he was so pressed for time as to be compelled to dart out of the former theatre at his utmost speed, and never to stop until he reached his dressing- room at the latter. That he could use his legs to pretty good advan- tage at this period of his life, two anecdotes will sufficiently show.
On one occasion, when by unforeseen circumstances he was detained at Sadler's Wells beyond the usual time, he and Mr. Fairbrother (the father of the well-known theatrical printer), who, like himself, was engaged at both theatres, and had agreed to accompany him that evening, started hand-in-hand from Sadler's Wells theatre, and ran to the stage-door of Drury Lane in eight minutes by the stop watches which they carried. Grimaldi adds, that this was considered a great feat at the time ; and we should think it was.
Another night, during the time when the Drury Lane com- pany were playing at the Italian Opera-house in the Haymarket, in consequence of the old theatre being pulled down and a new- one built, Mr. Fairbrother and himself, again put to their utmost speed by lack of time, ran from Sadler's Wells to the Opera-house in fourteen minutes, meeting with no other inter- ruption ^ by the way than one which occurred at the corner of Lincoln's Inn Fields, where they unfortunately ran against and overturned an infirm old lady, without having time enough to pick her up again. After Grimaldi's business at the Opera- house was over, (he had merely to walk in the procession in Cymon,) he ran back alone to Sadler's Wells in thirteen minutes, and arrived just in time to dress for Clown in the concluding pantomime.
t For some years his life went on quietly enough, possessing very little of anecdote or interest beyond his steady and certain rise
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI. 21
in his profession and in the estimation of the public, which, although very important to him from the money ne afterwards gained by it, and to the public from the amusement which his peculiar excellence yielded them for so many years, offers no material for our present purpose. This gradual progress in the good opinion of the town exercised a material influence on his receipts ; for, in 1794, his salary at Drury Lane was trebled, while his salary at Sadler's Wells had risen from three shillings per week to four pounds. He lodged in Great Wild-street with his mother all this time: their landlord had died, and the widow's daughter, from accompanying Mrs. Grimaldi*to Sadler's Wells theatre, had formed an acquaintance with, and married Mr. Robert Fairbrother, of that establishment, and Drury Lane, upon which Mrs. Bailey, the widow, took Mr. Fairbrother into partnership as a furrier, in which pursuit, by industry and per- severance, ne became eminently successful.
This circumstance would be scarcely worth mentioning, but that it shows the industry and perseverance of Grimaldi, and the ease with which, by the exercise of those qualities, a very young person may overcome all the disadvantages and tempta- tions incidental to the most precarious walk of a precarious pursuit, and become a useful and respectable member of society. He earned many a guinea from Mr. Fairbrother by working at his trade, and availing himself of his instruction in his leisure hours ; and when he could do nothing in that way, he would go to Newton- street, and assist his uncle and cousin, the carcase butchers, for nothing ; such was his unconquerable antipathy to being idle. He does not inform us, whether it required a prac- tical knowledge of trade, to display that skill and address with which, in his subsequent prosperity, he would diminish the joints of his customers as a baker, or increase the weight of their meat as a butcher, but we hope, for the credit of trade, that his morals in this respect were wholly imaginary.
These were his moments of occupation, but he contrived to find moments of amusement besides, which were devoted to the breeding of pigeons, and collecting of insects, which latter amusement he pursued with such success, as to form a cabinet containing no fewer than 4000 specimens of flies, " collected," he says, " at the expense of a great deal of time, a great deal of money, and a great deal of vast and actual labour,"— for all of which, no doubt, the entomologist will deem him sufficiently rewarded. He appears in old age to have entertained a peculiar relish for the recollection of these pursuits, and calls to mind a part of Surrey where there was a very famous fly, and a part of Kent where there was another famous fly ; one of these was called the Camberwell Beauty (which he adds was very ugly), and another, the Dartford Blue, by which Dartford Blue he seems to have set great store ; and which were pursued and * Mrs. Brooker.
22 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
caught in the manner following, in June, 1794, when they regu- larly make their first appearance for the season.
Being engaged nightly at Sadler's Wells, he was obliged to wait till he had finished his business upon the stage : then he returned home, had supper, and shortly after midnight started off" to walk to Dartford, fifteen miles from town. Here he arrived about five o'clock in the morning, and calling upon a friend of the name of Brooks, who lived in the neighbourhood, and who was already stirring, he rested, breakfasted, and sallied forth into the fields. His search was not very profitable, however, for after some hours he only succeeded in bagging, or bottling, one " Dartford Blue," with which he returned to his friend perfectly satisfied. At one o'clock he bade his friend good by, walked back to town, reached London by five, washed, took tea, and hurried to Sadler's Wells. No time was to be lost— the fact of the appearance of the "Dartford Blues" having been thoroughly established — in securing more specimens ; so on the same night, directly the pantomime was over, and supper over, too, oft he walked down to Dartford again, found the friend up again, took a hasty breakfast again, and resumed his search again. Meeting with better sport, and capturing no fewer than four dozen Dartford Blues, he hurried back to the friend's ; set them — an important process, which consists in placing the insects in the position in which their natural beauty can be best displayed —started off with the Dartford Blues in his pocket for London once more, reached home by four o'clock in the afternoon, washed, and took a hasty meal, and then went to the theatre for the evening's performance.
As not half the necessary number of Blues had been taken, he had decided upon another visit to Dartford that same night, and was consequently much pleased to find that, from some un- foreseen circumstance, the pantomime was to be played first. By this means he was enabled to leave London at nine o'clock, to reach Dartford at one, to find a bed and supper ready, to meet a kind reception from his friend, and finally to turn into bed, a little tired with the two days' exertions. The next day was Sunday, so that he could indulge himself without being obliged to return to town, and in the morning he caught more Hies than he wanted ; so the rest of the day was devoted to quiet sociality. He went to bed at ten o'clock, rose early next morning, walked comfortably to town, and at noon was perfect in his part, at the rehearsal on the stage at Drury Lane theatre.
It is probable that by such means as these, united to tem- perance and sobriety, Grimaldi acquired many important bodily requisites for the perfection which he afterwards attained. But his love of entomology, or exercise, was not the only induce- ment in the case of the Dartford Blues ; he had, he says, another strong motive, and this was, the having promised a little collec- tion of insects to " one of the most charming women of her
MEMOIRS OP JOSEPH GRIMALDI. 23
age," — the lamented Mrs. Jordan, at that time a member of the Drury Lane company.
Upon one occasion he had held under his arm, during a morn- ing rehearsal, a box containing some specimens of Hies : Mrs. Jordan was much interested to know what could possibly be in the box that Grimaldi carried about with him with so much care, and would not lose sight of for an instant, and in reply to her inquiry whether it contained anything pretty, he replied by exhibiting the Hies.
He does not say whether these particular flies, which Mrs. Jordan admired, were Dartford Blues, or not ; but he gives us to understand, that his skill in preserving and arranging in- sects was really very great ; that all this trouble and fatigue were undertaken in a spirit of respectful gallantry to the most winning person of her time ; and that, having requested per- mission previously, he presented two frames of insects to Mrs. Jordan, on the first day of the new season, and immediately after she had finished the rehearsal of Rosalind in " As you like it;" that Mrs. Jordan was delighted, that he was ^ at least equally so, that she took the frames away in her carriage, and Warmed his heart by telling him that his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence considered the flies equal, if not superior, to any of the kind he had ever seen.
His only other companion in these trips, besides his Dartford friend, was Robert Gomery, or " friend- Bob," as he was called by his intimates, at that time an actor at Sadler's Wells,* and for many years afterwards a public favourite at the various minor theatres of the metropolis ; who is now, or was lately, enjoying a handsome independence at Bath. With this friend he had a little adventure, which it was his habit to relate with great glee.
One day, he had been fly-hunting with his friend, from early morning until night, thinking of nothing but flies, until at length their thoughts naturally turning to something more sub- stantial, they halted for refreshment.
" Bob," said Grimaldi, " I am very hungry."
" So am I," said Bob.
" There is a public-house," said Grimaldi.
" It is just tne very thing," observed the other.
It was a very neat public-house, and would have answered the purpose admirably, but Grimaldi having no money, and very much doubting whether his friend had either, did not respond to the sentiment quite so cordially as he might have done.
" We had better go in," saiii the friend ; " it is getting late — you pay."
* " Friend Bob" was not employed at Sadler's Wells till three years later than 1794, when he personated, on May 29, 1797. or« of the Spahis in Tom Dibdin'B " Sadak and Kalasrade."
24 MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
" JSTo, no ! you."
" I would in a minute," said his friend, " but I have not got any money."
Grimalai thrust his hand into his right pocket with one of his queerest faces, then into his left, then into his coat pockets, then into his waistcoat, and finally took off his hat and looked into that ; but there was no money anywhere.
They still walked on towards the public-house, meditating with rueful countenances, when Grimaldi spying something lying at the foot of a tree, picked it up, and suddenly exclaimed, with a variety of winks and nods, " Here's a sixpence."
The hungry friend's eyes brightened, but they quickly re- sumed their gloomy expression as he rejoined, " It's a piece of tin I"
Grimaldi winked again, rubbed the sixpence or the piece of tin very hard, and declared, putting it between his teeth by way of test, that it was as good a sixpence as he would wish to see.
" I don't think it," said the friend, shaking his head.
" I'll tell you what," said Grimaldi, " we'll go to the public- house, and ask the landlord whether it's a good one, or not. They always know."
To this the friend assented, and they hurried on, disputing all the way whether it was really a sixpence, or not ; a discovery which could not be made at that time, when the currency was defaced and worn nearly plain, with the ease with which it could be made at present.
The publican, a fat, jolly fellow, was standing at his door, talking to a friend, and the house looked so uncommonly com- fortable^ that Gomery whispered as they approached, that perhaps it might be best to have some bread and cheese first, and ask about the sixpence afterwards.
Grimaldi nodded his entire assent, and they went in and ordered some bread and cheese, and beer. Having taken the edge off their ^hunger, they tossed up a farthing which Grimaldi happened to find in the corner of some theretofore undiscovered pocket, to determine who should present the " sixpence." The chance falling on himself, he walked up to the bar, and with a very lofty air, and laying the questionable metal down with a dignity quite his own, requested the landlord to take the bill out of that.
" Just right, sir," said the landlord, looking at the strange face that his customer assumed, and not at the sixpence.
" It's right, sir, is it r" asked Grimaldi, sternly.
"Quite," answered the landlord; "thank ye, gentlemen.5* And with this he slipped the— whatever it was— into his pocket.
Gomery looked at Grimaldi, and Grimaldi, with a look and air which baffle all description, walked out of the house, followed by his friend.
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
25
" I never knew anything so lucky/' he said, as they walked home to supper — "it was quite a Providence — that sixpence."
" A piece of tin, you mean," said Gromery.
Which of the two it was, is uncertain, but Grimaldi often patronised the same house afterwards, and as he never heard anything more about the matter, he felt quite convinced that it was a real good sixpence.
In the early part of the year 1794, they quitted their lodgings in Great Wild-street, and took a six-roomed house, in Penton- place, Pentonville, with a garden attached ; a part of this they let off to a Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, who then belonged to Sadler's Wells ; and in this manner they lived £or three years, during the whole of which period his salaries steadily rose in amount, and he began to consider himself quite independent.
At Easter,* Sadler's Wells opened as usual, and making a great hit in a new part, his fame rapidly increased. At this time he found a new acquaintance, which exercised a material influence upon his comfort and happiness for many years. The intimacy commenced thus : —
When there was a rehearsal at Sadler's Wells, his mother, who was engaged there as well as himself, was in the habit of
* On Easter Monday, 1796, Sadler's "Wells opened with Tom Dibdin's Serio- Comic Entertainment called " The Talisman of Orosmanes ; or, Harlequin made Happy." Grimaldi enacted the part of the Hag Morad ; the principal characters in the action being King, Dibdin, the author, his second season ; Dubois, Master Grimaldi, as he was then designated in the bills, and Mrs. Wybrow. Having in such company made a hit in this part, his fame rapidly increased ; and in the new Harlequinade Burletta, entitled "Venus's Girdle; or, the World Bewitched," produced on the 1st of August in that year, Master Grimaldi played the part of the Old Woman; his mother, Mrs. Brooker, Lady Simpleton. These entertainments ran through the whole season.
It may not be out of place to notice that Philip Astley this year announced as attractions at his Amphitheatre of Arts, Westminster Bridge, " The most splendid Variety of Novel Amusements ever produced, and which have been composed and arranged by the following celebrated persons, — viz.
" Mons. Mercerot, principal Pastoral Dancer, Ballet Master, and Pantomime Composer.
" Mons. Laurent, Performer of Action, Pierrot, and Pantomime Composer.
" Mr. West, Ballet Master, principal Buffo Dancer, Clown, and Pantomime Composer.
" Mr. Lassells Williamson, Ballet Master, principal Comic Dancer, Harlequin, and Pantomime Composer. The above are the only Pupils of the late cele- brated Signor Grimaldi.
The bills added, "Messrs. Astleys most respectfully beg leave to remark, that there never was at any Public Place of Entertainment so many Ballet Masters, Pantomime Composers, &c., ensaged at one and the same time, pos- sessing abilities equal to the above performers ; their exertions joined to those of Messrs. Astleys, must enable them to give a greater variety than any other Public Place of Summer Amusement."
Williamson was not only the pupil of Signor Grimaldi, but was also his son- in-law, having married Joe's sister, who was announced with him in the Sadler's Wells bills in 1781, as Miss Grimaldi; she was engaged with her husband as Mrs. Williamson at Astley's, and appears among the Wizards and Witches, in the Dramatis Personse of the Grand Comic Pantomime, called "The Ma- gician of the Rocks ; or, Harlequin in London," produced there on Whitsun Monday. " Clown, Mr. West, after the manner of his old Master, Grimaldi."
26 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALD1.
remaining at the theatre all day, taking her meals in her dress- ing-room, and occupying herself with needle-work. This she had done to avoid the long walk in the middle of the day from Sadler's Wells to Great Wild-street, and back again almost directly. It became a habit ; and when they had removed to Penton-place, and consequently were so much nearer the theatre that it was no longer necessary, it still continued. Mr. Hughes, who had now become principal proprietor of the theatre, and who lived in the l^use attached to it, had several children, the eldest of whom was Miss Maria Hughes, a young lady of con- siderable accomplishments, who had always been much attached to Grimaldi's mother, and who embraced every _ opportunity of being in her society. Knowing the hours at which she was in the dressing-room during the day, Miss Hughes was in the habit of taking her work, and sitting with her from three or four o'clock until six, when the other female performers begin- ning to arrive, she retired. Grimaldi was generally at the theatre between four and five, always taking tea with his mother at the last-named hour, and sitting with her until the arrival of the ladies broke up the little party. In this way an intimacy arose between Miss Hughes and himself, which ultimately ripened into feelings of a warmer nature.
The day after he made his great hit in the new piece, he went as usual to tea in the dressing-room, where Mrs. Lewis, their lodger, who was the wardrobe-keeper of the theatre, happening to be present, overwhelmed him with complim'ents on his great success. Miss Hughes was there too, but she said nothing for a long time, and Grimaldi, who would rather have heard her speak for a minute than Mrs. Lewis for an hour, listened as patiently as he could to the encomiums which the good woman lavished upon him. At length she stopped, as the best talkers must now and then, to take breath, and then Miss Hughes, looking up, said, with some hesitation, that she thought Mr. Grimaldi had played the part uncommonly well ; so well that she was certain there was no one who could have done it at all like him.
Now, before he went into the room, he had turned the matter over in his mind, and had come to the conclusion that if Mis? Hughes praised his acting he would reply by some neatly turned compliment to her, which might afford some hint of the state of his feelings ; and with this view he had considered of a good many very smart ones, but somehow or other, the young lady no sooner opened her lips in speech, than Grimaldi opened his in admiration, and out new all the compliments in empty breath, without producing the slightest sound. He turned very red, looked very funny, and felt very foolish. At length he made an awkward bow, and turned to leave the room.
It was six o'clock, and the lady performers just then came in. As he was always somewhat of a favourite among them, a few of the more volatile and giddy — for there are a few such, in almost
MEMOIRS OP JOSEPH GRIMALDI. 27
all companies, theatrical or otherwise, — began first to praise hia acting1, and then to rally him upon another subject.
" Now Joe has become such a favourite," said one, " he ought to look out for a sweetheart."
Here Joe just glanced at Miss Hughes, and turned a deeper red than ever.
" Certainly he ought," said another. " Will any of ns do Joe ?"
Upon this Joe exhibited fresh symptoms of being uncomfort- able, which were hailed by a general burst of laughter.
"I'll tell you what, ladies," said Mrs. Lewis, "if I'm not greatly mistaken, Joe has got a sweetheart already."
Another lady said, that to her certain knowledge he had two, and another that he had three, and so on: he standing: amon? them the whole time, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, vexed to death to think that Miss Hughes should hear these libels, and frightened out of his wits lest she should be disposed to believe them.
At length he made his escape, and being induced, by the con- versation which had just passed, to ponder upon the matter, he was soon led to the conclusion that the fair daughter of Mr. Hughes had made an impression on his heart, and that, unless he could marry her, he would marry nobody, and must be for ever miserable, with other like deductions which young men are in the habit of making from similar premises. The discovery was not unattended by many misgivings. The great difference of station, then existing between them, appeared to interpose an almost insurmountable obstacle in the way of their marriage ; and, further, he had no reason to suppose that the young lady entertained for him any other sentiments than those with which she might be naturally disposed to regard the son of a friend whom she had known so long. These considerations rendered him as unhappy as the most passionate lover could desire to be • he ate little, drank little, slept less, lost his spirits ; and, in short, exhibited a great variety of symptoms sufficiently dan- gerous in any case, but particularly so in one, where the patient had mainly to depend upon the preservation of his powers of fun and comicality for a distant chance of the fulfilment of hia hopes.
28 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
CHAPTER III.
1794 to 1797.
Grimaldi falls in love— His success — He meets with an accident, which brings the Reader acquainted with that invaluable specific, " Grimaldi's Embro- cation"— He rises gradually in his Profession — The Pentonville Gang of Burglars.
IT is scarcely to be supposed that such, a sudden and complete change in the merry genius of the theatre could escape the observation of those around him, far less of his mother, who, as he had been her constant and affectionate companion, observed him with anxious solicitude. Various hints and soundings, and indirect inquiries, were the consequence, but they were far from eliciting the truth ; he was ill, fatigued by constant exertion in difficult parts, and that was all that his friends could gather from him.
There was another circumstance which puzzled the lady mother more than all. This was, that he never visited the dressing-room, whither he had been accustomed regularly tc resort ; and that he either took tea before he went to the theatre, or not at all. The truth was, that he was quite unable to endure the facetiousness of the ladies in the presence of Miss Hughes ; the more so, because he fancied that his annoyance seemed to afford that young lady considerable amusement ; and rather than find this the case, he determined to relinquish the pleasure of her society.
So matters stood for some weeks, when one night, having occasion during the performances to repair to the wardrobe for some _ articles of dress, he hastily entered, and instead of dis- covering his old friend, Mrs. Lewis, found himself confronted and alone with Mr. Hughes's daughter.
In these cases, if the lady exhibit emotion, the gentleman gains courage ; but Miss Hughes exhibited no emotion, merely saying,
" Why, Joe, I have not seen you for a fortnight ; where have you been hiding ! How is it that I never see you at tea now ?" The tone of kindness in which this was said, somewhat re- assured the lover, so he made an effort to speak, and got as far as, " I'm not well."
MEMOmS OF JOSEPH GRTMALDI. 29
" Not well !" said the young lady. And she said it so kindly that all poor Joe's emotion returned ; and being really ill ana weak, ana very sensitive withal, he made an eifort or two to look cheerful, and burst into tears.
The young lady looked at him for a moment or two quite surprised, and then said, in a tone of earnest commiseration, "I see that you are not well, and that you are very much changed : what is the matter with you ? Pray tell me."
At this inquiry, the young man, who seems to have inherited all the sensitiveness of his father's character without its worst points, threw himself into a chair, and cried like a child, vainly endeavouring to stammer out a few words, which were wholly unintelligible. Miss Hughes gently endeavoured to soothe him, and at that moment, Mrs. Lewis, suddenly entering the room, surprised them in this very sentimental situation ; upon which Grimaldi, thinking he must have made himself very ridiculous, jumped up and ran away.
Mrs. Lewis being older in years, and in such matters too, than either Miss Hughes or her devoted admirer, kept her own counsel, thought over what she had seen, and discreetly pre- sented herself before Grimaldi next day, when, after a sleepless night, he was sauntering moodily about the garden, aggravating- all the doubts, and diminishing all the hopes that involved themselves with the object nearest his heart.
" Dear me, Joe !" exclaimed the old lady, " how wretched you do look 1 Why, what is the matter ? "
He tried an excuse or two, but reposing great trust in the sagacity and sincerity of his questioner, and sadly wanting a confidante, he first solemnly bound her to secrecy, and then told his tale. Mrs. Lewis at once took upon herself the office of a go-between ; undertook to sound Miss Hughes without delay ; and counselled Grimaldi to prepare a letter containing a full statement of his feelings, which, if the conversation between herself and Miss Hughes on that very evening were propitious, should be delivered on the following.
Accordingly, he devoted all his leisure time that day to the composition of various epistles, and the spoiling of many sheets of paper, with the view to setting down his feelings in the very best and appropriate terms he could po'ssibly employ. One com- plete letter was finished at last, although even that was not half powerful enough ; and going to the theatre, and carefully avoid- ing the old dressing-room, he went through his part with greater eclat than before. Having hastily changed his dress, he hurried to Mrs. Lewis's room, where that good lady at once detailed all the circumstances that had occurred since the morn- ing, which she thought conclusive, but which the lover feared were not.
It seems that Mrs. Lewis had embraced the first opportunity of being left alone with Miss Hughes to return to the old sub-
30 MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
ject of Joe's looking very ill ; to which Miss Hughes replied, that he certainly did, and said it, too, according to the matured opinion of Mrs. "Lewis, as if she had been longing to introduce the subject without exactly knowing how.
" What can be the matter with him ?" said Miss Hughes.
" I have found it out, Miss," said Mrs. Lewis ; " Joe is in love."
" In love ! " said Miss Hughes.
" Over head and ears," replied Mrs. Lewis ; " I never saw any poor dear young man in such a state."
"Who is the lady?" asked Miss Hughes, inspecting some object that lay near her with every appearance of unconcern.
" That's a secret," said Mrs. Lewis ; " I know her name ; she does not know he is in love with her yet ; but I am going to give her a letter to-morrow night, telling her all about it."
" I should like to know her name," said Miss Hughes.
"Why, "returned Mrs. Lewis, "you see I promised Joe not to tell ; but as you are so very anxious to know, I can let you into the secret without breaking my word : you shall see the direction of the letter."
Miss Hughes was quite delighted with the idea, and left the room, after making an appointment for the ensuing evening for that purpose.
Such was Mrs. Lewis's tale in brief; after hearing which, Gbrimaldi, who, not being so well acquainted with the subject, was not so sanguine, went home to bed, but not to sleep : his thoughts wavering between his friend's communication, and the love-letter, of which he could not help thinking that he could still polish up a sentence or two with considerable advantage.
The next morning was one of great agitation, and when Mrs. Lewis posted off to the theatre with the important epistle in her pocket, the lover fell into such a tremor of anxiety and suspense, that he was quite unconscious how the day passed : he could stay away from the theatre no longer than five o'clock, at which time he hurried down to ascertain the fate of his letter.
" I have not been able to give it yet," said Mrs. Lewis, softly, " but do you just go to the dressing-room ; she is there : — only look at her, and guess whether she cares for you or not."
He went, and saw Miss Hughes looking very pale, with traces of tears on her face. Six o'clock soon came, and the young ladyt hurrying to the room of the confidante, eagerly inquired whether she had got Joe's letter.
" I have," said Mrs. Lewis, looking very sly.
" Oh ! pray let me see it," said Miss Hughes : "I am so anxious to know who the lady is, and so desirous that Joe should be happy."
" Why, upon my word," said Mrs. Lewis, " I think I should be doing wrong if I showed it to you, unless Joe said I might." " Wrong !" echoed the young lady ; " oh ! if you only knew
MEMOIRS OP JOSEPH GE1MALDI. 31
how much I have suffered since last night !" Here she paused for some moments, and added, with some violence of tone and manner, that if that suspense lasted much longer, she should go mad.
"Hey-day! Miss Maria," exclaimed Mrs. Lewis, — "mad! Why, surely you cannot have been so imprudent as to have formed an attachment to Joe yourself? But you shall see the letter, as you wish it ; there is only one thing you must promise, and that is, to plead Joe's cause with the lady herself."
Miss Hughes hesitated, faltered, and at length said, she would try.
At this point of the discourse, Mrs. Lewis produced the la- boured composition, and placed it in her hand.
Miss Hughes raised the letter, glanced at the direction, saw her own name written as plainly as the nervous fingers of its agitated writer would permit, let it fall to the ground, and sunk into the arms of Mrs. Lewis.
While this scene was acting in a private room, Grimaldi was acting upon the public stage ; and conscious that his hopes de- pended upon his exertions, he did not suffer his anxieties, great as they were, to interfere with his performance. Towards the conclusion of the first piece he heard somebody enter Mr. Hughes' s box — and there sat the object of all his anxiety.
" She has got the letter," thought the trembling actor ; " she must have decided by this time."
He would have given all he possessed to have known what had passed,— when the business of the stage calling him to the front, exactly facing the box in which she sat, their eyes met, and she nodded and smiled. This was not the first time that Miss Hughes had nodded and smiled to Joseph Grimaldi, but it threw him into a state of confusion and agitation which at once deprived him of all consciousness of what he was about. He never heard that he did not finish the scene in which he was engaged at the moment, and he always supposed, in consequence, that he did so : but how, or in what manner, he never could imagine, not having the slightest recollection of anything that passed.
It is singular enough that throughout the whole of Ohimaldi's existence, which was a chequered one enough, even at those years when other children are kept in the cradle or the nursery, there always seemed some odd connexion between his good and bad fortune ; no great pleasure appeared to come to him un- accompanied by some accident or mischance : he mentions the fact more than once, and lays great stress upon it.
On this very night, a heavy platform, on which ten men were standing, broke down, and fell upon him as he stood underneath ; a severe contusion of the shoulder was the consequence, and he was carried home immediately. Remedies were applied without loss of time, but he suffere^ intense pain all night ; it gradually
I
32 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDT.
abated towards morning, in consequence of the inestimable virtues of a certain embrocation, which he always kept ready in case of such accidents, and which was prepared from a recipe left him by his father, which, having performed a great many cures, he afterwards gave to one Mr. Chamberlaine, a surgeon of Clerkenwell, who christened it, in acknowledgment, " Gri- maldi's Embrocation," and used it in his general practice some years with perfect success. Before he was carried from the theatre, however, he had had the presence of mind to beg Mrs. Lewis to be called to him, and to request her to com- municate the nature of the accident to Miss Hughes (who had quitted the box before it occurred) as cautiously as she could. This, Mrs. Lewis, who appears to have been admirably qualified for the task ^ in which she was engaged, and to pos- sess quite a diplomatic relish for negotiation, undertook and performed.
There is no need to lengthen this part of his history, which, however interesting, and most honourably so, to the old man himself, who in the last days of his life looked back with undi- minished interest and affection to the early time when he first became acquainted with the excellence of a lady, to whom he was tenderly attached, and whose affection he never forgot or trifled with, would possess but few attractions for the general reader. The main result is quickly told : he was lying on a sofa next day, with his arm in a sling, when Miss Hughes visited him, and did not affect to disguise her solicitude for his recovery ; and, in short, by returning his affection, made him the happiest man, or rather boy (for he was not yet quite sixteen), in the world.
There was only one thing that damped his joy, and this was, Miss Hughes's firm and steadfast refusal to continue any corre- spondence or communication with him unknown to her parents. Nor is it unnatural that this announcement should have occa- sioned him some uneasiness, when their relative situations in life are taken into consideration ; Mr. Hughes being a man of considerable property, and Grimaldi entirely dependent on his own exertions for support.
He made use of every persuasion in his power to induce th* young lady to alter her determination ; he failed to effect any- thing beyond the compromise, that for the present she would only mention their attachment to her mother, upon whose kind- ness and secrecy she was certain she could rely. This was done, and Mrs. Hughes, finding that her daughter's happiness de- pended on her decision, offered no opposition, merely, remarking that their extreme youth forbade all idea of marriage at that time. Three years elapsed before Mr. Hughes was made ac- quainted with the secret.
After this, his time passed away happily enough ; he saw Miss Hughes every evening in his mother's presence, and every
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI. 33
Sunday she spent with them. All this time his reputation was rapidly increasing ; almost every new part he played rendered him a greater favourite than before, and altogether his lot in life was a cheerful and contented one.
At this period, the only inhabitants of the house in Penton- place were Grimaldi and his mother, and Mrs. Lewis, of whom honourable mention has been so often made in the present chapter, together with her husband ; there was no servant in the house ; a girl that had lived with them some time having gone into the country to see her friends, and no other having been engaged in her absence.
One night in the middle of August, a "night rehearsal" was called at Sadler's Wells. For the information of those who are unacquainted with theatrical matters, it may be well to state that a " night rehearsal" takes place after the other performances of the evening are over, and the public have left the house. Being an inconvenient and fatiguing ceremony, it is never re- sorted to, but when some very heavy piece (that is, one on a very extensive scale) is to be produced on a short notice. In this instance a new piece was to be played on the following Monday, of which the performers knew very little, and there being no time to lose, a " night rehearsal" was called, the natural consequence of which would be the detention of the company at the theatre until four o'clock in the morning at least. Mr. Lewis, having notice of the rehearsal in common with the other performers, locked up their dwelling-house, being the last person who left it ; brought the street-door key with him, and nanded it over to Mr. Grimaldi.
But after the performances were over, which was shortly after eleven o'clock, when the curtain was raised, and the performers, assembling on the stage, prepared to commence the rehearsal, the stage-manager addressed the company in the following un- expected and very agreeable terms : —
"Ladies and Gentlemen, as the new drama will not be pro- duced, as was originally intended, on Monday next, but is de- ferred until that night week, we shall not be compelled to trouble you with a rehearsal to-night."
This notification occasioned a very quick dispersion of the performers, who, very unexpectedly released from an onerous attendance, hurried home. Grimaldi, having something to do at the theatre which would occupy him about ten minutes, sent his mother and his friend Mrs. Lewis forward to prepare supper, and followed them shortly afterwards, accompanied by Mr Lewis and two other performers attached to the theatre.
When the females reached home they found to their great sur- prise that the garden gate was open.
" Dear me !" said Mrs. Grimaldi,* "how careless this is of Mr. Lewis !"
* Mrs. Brooker.
34 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
It was, undoubtedly ; for at that time a most notorious gang of thieves infested that suburb of London; — it was a suburb then. Several of the boldest had been hung, and others trans- ported, but these punishments had no^ effect upon their more lucky companions, who committed their depredations with, if possible, increased hardihood and daring-.
They were not a little surprised, after crossing the garden, to find that not only was the garden-gate open, but that the street- door was unlocked ; and pushing it gently open, they observed the reflection of a light at the end of the passage, upon which of course they both cried " Thieves !" and screamed for help. A man who was employed at Sadler's Wells happened to be passing at the time, and tendered his assistance.
" Do you wait here with Mrs. Lewis a minute," said Grimaldi's mother, " and I will go into the house ; don't mind me unless you hear me scream ; then come to my assistance." So saying, she courageously entered the passage, descended the stairs, entered the kitchen, hastily struck a light, and on lighting a candle and looking round, discovered that the place had been plundered of almost everything it contained.
She was running up stairs to communicate their loss, when Grimaldi and his friends arrived. Hearing what had occurred, they entered the house in a body, and proceeded to search it, narrowly, thinking it probable that some of the thieves, sur- prised upon the premises, might be still lurking there. In they rushed, the party augmented by the arrival of two watchmen, — chosen, as the majority of that line body of men invariably were, with a specific view to their old age and infirmities,— and began their inspection : the women screaming and crying, and the men all shouting together.
The house was in a state of great disorder and confusion, but no thieves were to be seen; the cupboards were forced,_the drawers had been broken open, and every article they contained had been removed, with the solitary exception of a small net shawl, which had been worked by Miss Hughes, and given by her to her chosen mother-in-law.
Leaving the others^to search the house, and the females^to be- wail their loss, which was really a very severe one, Grimaldi beckoned a Mr. King, one of the persons who had accompanied him home from the theatre, and suggested in a whisper that they should search the garden together.
King readily complied, and he having armed himself with a heavy stick, and Grimaldi with an old broad-sword which he had hastily snatched from its peg on the first alarm, they crept cautiously into the back garuen, which was separated from those of the houses on either side by a wall from three to four feet high, and from a very extensive piece of pasture-land be- yond it at the bottom, by another wall two or three feet higher. It was a dark night, and they groped about the garden for
MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GBlJttAiDI. 35
some time, but found nobody. Grimaldi sprang upon the higher wall, and looking over the lower one, descried a man in the act of jumping from the wall of the next garden. Upon seeing another figure the robber paused, and taking it for that of his comrade in the darkness of the night, cried softly, "Hush I hush! is that you?"
" Yes !" replied Grimaldi, getting as near him as he could. Seeing that the man, recognising the voice as a strange one, was about to jump down, he dealt him a heavy blow with the broad- sword. He yelled out loudly, and stopping for an instant, as if in extreme pain, dropped to the ground, limped off a few paces, and was lost in the darkness.
Grimaldi shouted to his friend to follow him through the back gate, but seeing, from his station on the wall, that he and the thief took directly opposite courses, he leapt into the field, and set off at full speed. He was stopped in the very outset of his career, by tumbling over a cow, which was lying on the ground, in which involuntary pantomimic feat he would most probably have cut his own head oft* with the weapon he carried, if his theatrical practice as a fencer had not taught him to carry edge tools with caution.
The companion having taken a little run by himself, soon returned out of breath, to say he had seen nobody, and they re- entered the house, where by the light of the candle it was seen that the sword was covered with blood.
The constable of the night had arrived by this time ; and a couple of watchmen bearing large lanterns, to show the thieves they were coming, issued forth into the field, in hopes of taking the offenders alive or dead — they would have preferred t the latter ; — and of recovering any of the stolen property that might be scattered about. The direction which the wounded man had taken having been pointed out, they began to explore, by very slow degrees.
Bustling about, striving to raise the spirits of the party, and beginning to stow away in their proper places such articles as the thieves had condescended to leave, one of the first things Grimaldi chanced to light upon was Miss Hughes's shawl.
" Maria's gift, at all events," he said, taking it up and giving it a slight wave in his hand ; when out fell a lozenge-box upon the floor, much more heavily than a lozenge-box with any ordi- nary lozenges inside would do.
Upon this the mother clapped her hands, and set up a louder scream than she had given vent to when she found the house robbed.
" My money ! my money !" she screamed.
"It can't be helped, my dear madam,3' said everybody; " think of poor Mrs. Lewis ; she is quite as badly off."
"Oh, I don't mean that," was the reply. "Oh! thank Heaven, they didn't find my money." So with many half-
D 2
36 MEMOIE.S OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
frantic exclamations, she picked up the lozenge-box, and there, sure enough, were thirty-seven guineas, (it was completely full,) which had lain securely concealed beneath the shawl !
They sat down to supper ; but although Mrs. Grimaldi* now cheered up wonderfully, and quite rallied her friend upon her low spirits, poor Mrs. Lewis, who had found no lozenge-box, was quite unable to overcome her loss. Supper over, and some hot potations, which the fright had rendered absolutely neces- sary, despatched, the friends departed, and the usual inmates of the house were left alone to make such preparations for passing the night as they deemed fitting.
They were ludicrous enough : upon comparing notes, it was found that nobody could sleep alone, upon which they came to the conclusion, that they had better all sleep in the same room. For this purpose, a mattress was dragged into the front parlour, upon which the two females bestowed themselves with- out undressing ; Lewis sat _in an easy chair ; and Grimaldi, having loaded two pistols, wiped the sanguinary stains from the broadsword, and laid it by his side, drew another easy-chair near the door, and there mounted guard.
All had been quiet for some time, and they were falling asleep, when they were startled by a long loud knocking at the back- door, which led into the garden. They all started up and gazed upon each other, with looks of considerable dismay. The females would have screamed, only they were too frightened ; and the men would have laughed it off, but they were quite unable from the same cause to muster the faintest smile.
Grimaldi was the first to recover the sudden shock, which the supposed return of the robbers had communicated to the party, and turning to Lewis, said, with one of his oddest looks,
" You had better go to the back-door, old boy, and see who it is/*
Mr. Lewis did not appear quite satisfied upon the point. He reflected for a short time, and looking with a very blank face at his wife, said he was much obliged to Mr. Grimaldi, but he 'vould rather not.
In this dilemma, it was arranged that Lewis should wait in the passage, and that Grimaldi should creep softly up stairs, and re- connoitre the enemy from the window above — a plan which Lewis thought much more feasible, and which was at once put in execution.
While these deliberations were going forward, the knocking had continued without cessation, and it now began to assume a subdued and confidential tone, which, instead of subduing their alarm, rather tended to increase it. Armed with the two^pistols and the broadsword, and looking much more like llobinson Crusoe than either the " Shipwrecked Mariner, "* or tho
* Mra. Brocket.
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GETMALDI. 57
"Little Clown," Grimaldi thrust his head out of the window, and hailed the people below, in a voice which, between agitation and a desire to communicate to the neighbours the full benefit of the discussion, was something akin to that in which his well- known cry of " Here we are !" afterwards acquired so much popularity.
It was between two and three o'clock in the morning, — the day was breaking, and the light increasing fast. He could descry two men at the door heavily laden with something, but with what he could not discern. All he could see was, that it was not fire-arms^ and that was a comfort.
"Hollo ! hollo !" he shouted out of the window, displaying the brace of pistols and the broadsword to the best advantage ; " what's the matter there ?" Here he coughed very fiercely, and again demanded what was the matter.
" Why, sir," replied one of the men, looking up, and hold- ing on his hat as he did so, "we thought we should never wake ye."
" And what did you want to wake me for ?" was the natural inquiry.
m "Why, the property!" replied both the men at the same time.
" The what ?" inquired the master of the house, taking in the broadsword, and putting the pistols on the window-sill.
" The property !" replied the two men, pettishly. " Here we have been a-iooking over the field all this time, and have found the property."
!No further conversation was necessary. The door was opened, and the watchmen entered bearing two large sacks, which they had stumbled on in the field, and the females, falling on their knees before them, began dragging forth their contents in an agony of impatience. After a lengthened examination, it was found that the sacks contained every article that had been taken away; that not one, however trifling, was missing; and that they had come into possession, besides, of a complete and exten- sive assortment of nouse-breaking tools, including centre-bit, picklock, keys, screws, dark lanterns, a file, and a crow-bar. The watchmen were dismissed with ten shillings, and as many thousand thanks, and the party breakfasted in a much more comfortable manner than that in which they had supped on the previous night.
The conversation naturally turned upon the robbery, and various conjectures and surmises were hazarded relative to the persons by whom it had been committed. It appeared perfectly evident that the thieves, whoever they were, must have obtained information of the expected night rehearsal at Sadler's Wells ; it was equally clear that if the rehearsal had not been most for- tunately postponed, they would not only have lost everything they possessed, but the thieves would have got clear oif with the
38 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
booty into the bargain. It was worthy of remark, that the house had never been attempted when the servant girl was at home, and the females were half inclined to attach suspicion to her ; but on reflection it seemed unlikely that she was implicated in the transaction, for she was the daughter of very respectable parents, not to mention her uncle having held the situation of master-tailor to the theatre for forty years, and her aunt having served the family in the same capacity as the girl herself. In addition to these considerations, she had been well brought up,, had always appeared strictly honest, and had already lived m the house for nearly four years. Upon these grounds it was re- solved that the girl could not be a party to the attempt.
But whoever committed the burglary, it was necessary that the house should be well secured, with which view a carpenter was sent for, and a great supply of extra bolts and bars were placed upon the different doors. Notwithstanding these precautions, however, and the additional security which they necessarily afforded, the females were very nervous for a long time, and the falling of a plate, or slamming of a door, or a loud ringing at the bell, or above all, the twopenny postman after dark, was sufficient to throw them into the extremity of terror. Being determined not to leave the house, in future, without somebody to take care of it while the family were at the theatre, they resolved, after many pros and cons, to engage for the purpose, a very trust- worthy man, who was employed as a watchman to the theatre,, but was not required to attend until eleven o'clock at night, by which time, at all events, some _ of the family would be able to reach home. The man was hired, and commenced his watch, on the night after the robbery; and there he continued to remain, every evening, until the return of the servant girl from the country released him from further attendance.
The agitation and surprise of this girl were very great, when she was informed of what had occurred, but they did not appear to be the emotions of a guilty person. All agreed that there was no good ground of suspicion against her. She was asked if she would be afraid to be left alone in the house after what had taken place, when she declared that she was not afraid of any thieves, and that she would willingly sit up alone, as she had been accustomed to do ; merely stipulating that she should be albwed to light a fire in Lewis's sitting room, for the purpose of inducing robbers to suppose that the family were at home, and that she should be provided with a large rattle, with which to alarm the neighbours at any appearance of danger. Both re- quests were complied with; and as an additional precaution, the street watchman, whose box was within a few yards of the door, was fee'd to be on the alert, to keep a sharp eye upon the house, and to attend to any summons from within, whenever it might be made.
The thieves, whoever they were, were very wanton fellows.
MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GE.IMALDI. 39
and added outrage to plunder, for with the most heartless cruelty, and an absence of all taste for scientific pursuits, which woiild stigmatise them at once as occupying a very low grade in. their profession, had broken open a closet in Grimaldi's room, containing his chosen cabinet of insects, including Dartford .Blues, which, either because it was not portable, or because they thought it of no value, attaching no importance to flies, they most recklessly and barbarously destroyed. With the exception of one small box, they utterly annihilated the whole collection, including even his models, drawings, and colours : it would have taken years to replace them, if the collector had been most indefatigable ; and it would have cost at least 200?. to have replaced them by purchase. This unforeseen calamity put a total stop to the fly-catching, so collecting together his nets, and cases, and the only box which was not destroyed, he gave them all away next day to an acquaintance who had a taste for such things, and never more employed himself in a similar manner.
After the lapse of a short time, the arrangements and precau- tions infused renewed confidence into the inmates of the house, and they began to feel more secure than they had yet done since the robbery ; a fortnight had now passed over, and they strengthened themselves with the reflection, that the thieves having met with so disagreeable a reception, one of them at least having been severely wounded, were very unlikely to renew the attempt.
But well founded as these conjectures > might seem, they reckoned without their host, for on the third night, after the girl's return, they made a fresh atta.ck, for which we will re- serve a fresh chapter.
•40 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIHALDI.
CHAPTER IV.
1797 to 1798.
The thieves make a second attempt ; alarmed by their perseverance, Grimaldi repairs to Hatton Garden — Interview with Mr. Trott ; ingenious device of that gentleman and its result on the third visit of the Burglars — Comparative attractions of Pantomime and Spectacle — Trip to Gravesend and Chatham — Disagreeable recognition of a good-humoured friend, and an agreeable mode of journejing recommended to all Travellers.
ON the _ third night,— the previous two having passed in per- fect quiet and security^, — the servant girl was at work in the kitchen, when she fancied she heard a sound as if some person were attempting to force open the garden-door. She thought it merely the effect of fancy at first, but the noise continuing, she went softly up stairs into the passage, and on looking towards the door, saw that the latch was moved up and down several times by a hand outside, while some person pushed violently against the door itself.
The poor girl being very much frightened, her first impulse was to scream violently ; but so far were her cries from deterring the persons outside from persisting in their attempt, that they only seemed to press it with redoubled vigour. Indeed, ?/o violent were their exertions, as if irritated by the noise the girl made, that the door was very nearly forced from its position, in which state it was discovered on a subsequent inspection. If it had not been proof against the attacks of the thieves, the girl would assuredly have been murdered. Recovering her presence of mind, however, on finding that they could not force an en- trance^ she ran to the street-door, flung it open, and had immediate recourse to the rattle, which she wielded with such hearty good will, that the watchman and half the neighbour- hood were quickly on the spot. Immediate search was made for the robbers in the rear of the house, but they had thought it prudent to escape quietly.
Upon the return of the family, all their old apprehensions were revived, and their former fears were increased tenfold by the bold and daring nature of this second attempt. Watch was kept all night, the watchers starting at the slightest sound ; rest was out of the question, and nothing but dismay and con- tusion prevailed.
The ^ext morning it was resolved that the house should be lortined with additional strength, and that when these precau-
MEMOIKS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
tions had been taken, Grimaldi should repair to the police-office of the district, state his case to the sitting: magistrate, and claim the assistance of the constituted authorities.
Having had bars of iron, and plates of iron, and patent locks^ and a variety of ingenious defences affixed to the interior of the garden-door, which, when fastened with all these appurtenances, appeared nearly impregnable, Grimaldi accordingly walked down to Hatton Garden, with the view of backing the locks and bolts with the aid of the executive.
There was at that time a very shrewd, knowing officer attached to that establishment, whose name was Trott. This Trott was occasionally employed to assist the regular constables at the theatre, when they expected a great house ; and G-rimaldi no sooner stepped into the passage, than walking up to him, Trott accosted him with : —
" How do, master ?"
" How do you do ?"
" Pretty well, thankee, master ; I was just going to call up at your place."
" AJi !" said tho other, " you have heard of it, then ?"
" Yes, I have heard of it," said Mr. Trott, with a grin, " and heard a great deal more about it than you know on, master."
"You don't surely mean to say that you have apprehended the burglars r"
" No, no, I don't mean that ; I wish I did : they have been one too many for me as yet. Why, when they first started in business there worn't fewer than twenty men in that gang. Sixteen or seventeen on 'em have been hung or transported, and the rest is them that has been at your house. They have got a hiding-place somewhere in Pentonville. I'll tell you what, master," said Trott, taking the other by the button, and speak- ing in a hoarse whisper, "they are the worst of the lot ; up to everything they are ; and take my word for it, Mr. Grimaldi, they'll stick at nothing."
Grimaldi looked anything but pleased at this intelligence, and Trott observing his disturbed countenance, added, —
"Don't you be alarmed, master; what they want is, their revenge for their former disappointment. That's what it is," said Trott, nodding his head sagaciously.
" It appears very extraordinary," said Grimaldi. " This is a very distressing situation to be placed in."
" Why, so it is," said the officer, after a little consideration ; — " so it is, when you consider that they never talk without doing. But don't be afraid, Mr. Grimaldi."
" Oh no, I'm not," replied the other ; adding, in as cool a manner as he could assume, *' they came again last night."
"I know that," said the officer. "I'll let you into another secret, master. They are coming again to-night."
" Again to-night ! exclaimed Grimaldi.
42 MEMOIBS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
" As sure as fate," replied the officer, nodding to a friend who was passing down the street on the other side of the way, — " and if your establishment an't large enough, and powerful enough to resist 'em — "
" Large and powerful enough !" exclaimed the other, — *"' why there are only three women and one other male person besides myself in the house."
'"Ah !" said Mr. Trott, " that isn't near enoiigh."
"Enough! no!" rejoined Grimaldi ; "and it would kill my mother."
"I dare say it would," acquiesced the officer; "my mother was killed in a similar manner."
This, like the rest of the officer's discourse, was far from con- solatory, and Grimaldi looked anxiously in his face for something like a ray of hope.
Mr. Trott meditated for some short time, and then, looking up with his head on one side, said, " I think I see a way now, master."
" What is it ? What do you propose ? I'm agreeable to any- thing," said Grimaldi, in a most accommodating manner.
" Never mind that," said the officer. " You put yourself into mv hands, and I'll be the saving of your property, and the taking of them."
Grimaldi burst into many expressions of admiration and gratitude, and put his hand into Mr. Trott's hands, as an earnest of his readiness to deposit himself there.
" Only rid us," said Grimaldi, " of these dreadful visitors, who really keep us in a state of perpetual misery, and anything you think proper^to accept shall be cheerfully paid you." "
The officer replied, Ayith many moral observations on the duties of police-officers, their incorruptible honesty, their zeal, and rigid discharge of the functions reposed in them. If Mr. Grimaldi would do his duty to his country, and prosecute them to conviction^ that was all he required.
To this, Grimaldi, not having any precise idea of the expense of a prosecution, readily assented, and the officer declared he should be sufficiently repaid by the pleasing consciousness of having done his duty. He did not consider it necessary to add. that a reward had been offered for the apprehension of the same offenders, payable on their conviction.
m They walked back to the house together, and the officer having inspected it with the practised eye of an experienced person., declared himself thoroughly satisfied, and stated that if his injunctions were strictly attended to, he had no doubt his final operations would be completely successful.
" It will be necessary," said Trott, speaking with great pomp
and _ grandeur, as the inmates assembled round him to hear his
oration, — " it will be necessary to take every portable article out
: the back kitchen, the parlour, and the bed-room, and to give
me up the entire possession of this house fey one night ; at least
1IE3IOIKS OF JOSEPH GimiALDI. 43
until such time as I shall have laid my hand upon these here gentlemen."
It is needless to say that this proposition was agreed to, and that the females at once went about clearing the rooms as the officer had directed. At five o'clock in the afternoon he returned, and the keys of the house were delivered up to him. These arrangements having been made, the family departed to the theatre as usual, leaving Mr. Trott alone in the house ; for the servant girl had been sent away to a neighbour's by his desire, whether from any feeling of delicacy on the part of Mr. Trott, (who was a married man,) or from any apprehension that she might impede his operations, we are not informed.
The officer remained alone in the house, taking care not to go near any of the windows until it was dark, when two of his colleagues, coming by appointment to _ the garden-door, were stealthily admitted into the house. Having carefully scrutinised the whole place, they disposed themselves in the following order. One man locked and bolted in the front kitchen, another locked and bolted himself in the sitting-room above stairs, and Mr. Trott, the presiding genius, in the front-parlour towards the street ; the last-named gentleman having, before he retired into ambuscade, bolted and barred the back-door, and only locked the front one.
Here they remained for some time, solitary enough, no doubt, for there was not a light in the house, and each man being fastened in a room by himself was as much alone as if there had been no one else in the place. The time seemed unusually long ; they listened intently, and were occasionally deceived for an instant by some noise in the street, but it soon subsided again, and all was silent as before.
At length, some time after night-fall, a low knock came to the street-door. No attention being paid to it, the knock was re- peated, and this time it was rather louder. It echoed through the house, but no one stirred. After a short interval, as if the person outside had been listening and had satisfied himself, a slight rattling was heard at the keyhole, and, the lock being- picked, the footsteps of two men were heard in the passage.
They quietly bolted the door after them, and pulling from beneath their coats a couple of dark lanterns, walked softly up stairs. Finding the door of the front-room locked, they came down again, and tried the front-parlour, which was also locked, whereat, Mr. Trott, who was listening with his ear close to the handle, laughed ^immoderately, but without noise.
Unsuccessful in these two attempts, they went down stairs, and with some surprise found one of the kitchens locked, and the other open. Only stopping just to peep into the open one, they once more ascended to the passage.
" Well," said one of the men, as he came up the kitchen stairs, "we have got it all to ourselves to-night, anyway, so we had better not lose any time Hollo I" —
44 MEMOIES OF JOSEPH
" What's the matter?" said the other, looking back.
"Look here!" rejoined his comrade, pointing to the garden- door, with the bolts, and iron plates, and patent locks, — '* here's protection — here's security for a friend. These have been put on since we were here afore ; we might have tried to get in for everlasting."
" We had better stick it open," said the other man, " and then if there's any game in front, we can get off as we did t'other night."
" Easily said. How do you do it ?" said the first speaker . *' it will take no end of time, and make no end of noise, to undo all these things. We had better look sharp. There's no re- hearsal to-night, remember."
At this, they both laughed, and determining to take the front-parlour first, picked the lock without more ado. This done, they pushed against the door to open it, but were unable to do so by reason of the bolts inside, which Mr. Trott had taken good care to thrust into the staples as far as they would possi- bly go.
"This is a rum game!" said one of the fellows, giving the door a kick, "it wont open !"
"Never mind, let it be," said the other man; "there's a spring or something. The back kitchen's open ; we had better begin ^ there; we know there's some property here, because we took it away before. Show yourself smart, and bring the bag."
As the speaker stooped to trim his lantern, the other man joined him, and said, with an oath and a chuckle —
" Shouldn't you like to know who it was as struck you with the sword, Tom ?"
" I wish I did," growled the other ; " I'd put a knife in him before many days was over. Come on."
.They went down stairs, and Trott, softly gliding from his hiding-place, double-locked the street-door, and put the key in • his^pocket. He then stationed himself at the top of the kitchen stairs, where he listened with great glee to the exclamations of surprise and astonishment which escaped the robbers, as they opened drawer after drawer, and found them all empty.
" Everything taken away !" — said one of the men : " what the devil does this mean ?"
The officer, by way of reply, fired a pistol charged only with blank powder, down the stairs, and retreated expeditiously to his parlour.
This being the signal, the sound was instantly followed by the noise of the other two officers unlocking and unbolting the doors vj hiding-places. The thieves, scrambling up stairs, rushed quickly to the street-door, but, in consequence of its being locked, they were unable to escape ; were easily made prisoners, handcuffed, and borne away in triumph.
MEMOIES OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI. 45
The affair was all over, and the house restored to order, when ^he family came home. The officer who had been despatched to jring the servant home, and left behind to bear her company in lase any of the companions of the thieves should pay the house a visit, took his departure as soon as they appeared, bearing with him a large sack left behind by the robbers, which con- tained as extensive an assortment of the implements of their trade, as had been so fortunately captured on their first ap- pearance.
Grimaldi appeared at Hatton Garden the next morning, and was introduced to the prisoners for the first time. His testi- mony haying been taken, and the evidence of Mr. Trott and his men received, by which the identity of the criminals was clearly proved, they were fully committed for trial, and Grimaldi was bound over to prosecute. They were tried at the ensuing Ses- sions; the jury at once found them guilty, and they were transported for life.
This anecdote, which is narrated in every particular precisely as the circumstances occurred, affords a striking and curious picture of the state of society in and about London, in this respect, at the very close of the last century. The bold and daring highwaymen who took the air at Hounslow, Bagshot, JFinchley, and a hundred other places of quite fashionable resort, had ceased to canter their blood-horses over heath and road in search of plunder, but there still existed in the capital and its environs, common and poorer gangs of thieves, whose depreda- tions were conducted with a daring, and disregard of conse- quences, which to the citizens of this age is wholly extraordinary. One attempt at robbery similar to that which has just been de- scribed, committed now-a-days in such a spot, would fill the public papers for a month; but three such attempts on the same house, and by the same men, would set all London, and all the country for thirty miles round to boot, in a ferment of wonder and indignation.
It was proved, on the examination of these men at the police- office, that they were the only remaining members of a band of thieves called the "Pentonville Robbers," and the prosecutor and his family congratulated themselves not a little upon the fact, inasmuch as it relieved them from the apprehension that Jhere were any more of their companions left behind who might feel disposed to revenge their fate.
This was Grimaldi's first visit to a police-office. His next appearance on the same scene was under very different circum- stances. But of this anon.
The fears of the family had been so thoroughly roused, and their dreams were haunted by such constant visions of the Pen- tonville Robbers, that the house grew irksome and distressing, especially to the females. Moreover, Grimaldi now began to think it nigh time that his marriage should take pkce ; and, as
48 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI.
now that he had gained the mother's approval, he did not so entirely despair of succeeding with the father, he resolved to take a larger house, and to furnish and fit it up handsomely, on a scale proportionate to his increased means. He naturally trusted that Mr. Hughes would be more disposed to entrust hia daughter's happiness to his charge when he found that her suitor was enabled to provide her with a comfortable, if not an elegant home, and to support her in a sphere of life not very distantly removed from that in which her father's fortunes and possessions entitled her to be placed.
Accordingly, he gave notice to the landlord of the ill-fated house in Penton-place, that he should quit it in the following March ; and accompanied by Miss Hughes, to whom, as he very properly says, " of course" he referred everything, they wan- dered about the whole neighbourhood in search of some house that would be more suitable to them. Pento'n-street^was the St. James's of Pentonville, the Regent's Park of the City-road, in those days ; and here he was fortunate enough to secure the house No. 37, which was forthwith furnished and fitted up, agreeably to the taste and direction of Miss Hughes herself.
He had plenty of time to devote to the contemplation of his expected happiness, and the complete preparation of his new residence, for Sadler's Wells Theatre was then closed, — the season terminating at that time at the end of October, — and as lie was never wanted at Drury Lane until Christmas, and not much then, unless they produced a pantomime, his theatrical avocations were not of a very heavy or burdensome description.
This year, too, the proprietors of Drury Lane, in pursuance of a custom to which they had adhered for some years, produced an expensive pageant instead of a pantomime ; an alteration, in Grimaldi's opinion, very little for the better, if not positively for the worse. It having been the established custom for many years to produce a pantomime at Christmas, the public naturally looked for it; and although such pieces as "Blue Beard," " Feudal Times," " Lodoiska," and others of the same class, •undoubtedly drew money to the house, still it is questionable whether they were so profitable to the treasury as the panto- mimes at_Covent Garden. If we may judge from the result, they certainly were not, for after several years' trial, during the whole of which time pantomimes were annually produced at Covent Garden, the Christmas pantomime was again brought forward at Drury Lane, to the exclusion of spectacle.
He played in all these^ pieces, "Blue Beard," and so forth; yet his parts being of a trilling description, occupied no time in the getting up, and as he infinitely preferred the company of Miss Hughes to that of a theatrical audience, he was well pleased. By the end of February, the whitewashers, carpenters, uphol- sterers, even the painters, had left the Penton-street mansion, and there being no pantomime, it seemed a very eligible period for being married at once.
MEMOIRS OP JOSEPH GEIMALDI. *7
Grimaldi told Miss Hughes that he thought so : Miss Hughes replied that he had only to gain her father^ consent in the first instance, and then the day should be fixed without more ado.
This was precisely what the lover was most anxious to avoid, for two reasons : firstly, because it involved the very probable postponement of his happiness; and secondly, because the ob- taining this consent was an a,wkward process. At last he recol- lected that in consequence of Mr. Hughes being out of town, it was quite impossible to ask him.
"Very good," said Miss Hughes; "everything happens for the best. I am sure you would never venture to speak to him on the subject, so you had far better write. He will not keep you long in suspense, I know, for he is quite certain to answer your letter by return of post."
Mr. Hughes was then at Exeter ; and as it certainly did ap- pear to his destined son-in-law a much better course to write than to speak, even if he had been in London, he sat down without delay, and, after various trials, produced such a letter as he thought would be most likely to find its way to the father's heart. Miss Hughes approving of the contents, it was re-read, copied, punctuated, folded, and posted.
Next day the lady was obliged to leave town, to spend a short time with some friends at Gravesend ; and the lover, very much to his annoyance and regret, was fain to stay behind, and con- sole himself as he best could, in his mistress's absence, and the absence of a reply from her father, to which he naturally looked forward with considerable impatience and anxiety.
Five days passed away, and still no letter came ; and poor Grimaldi, being left to his own fears and apprehensions, was reduced to the most desperate and dismal forebodings. Having no employment at the theatre, and nothing to dp but to think of his mistress and his letter, he was almost beside himself with anxiety and suspense. It was with no small pleasure, then, that he received a note from Miss Hughes, entreating him to take a trip down to Gravesend in one of the sailing-boats on the following Sunday, as he could return by the same conveyance on the same night. Of course he was not slow to avail himself of the invitation; so he took shipping at the Tower on the morning of the day appointed, and readied the place of his destination in pretty good time. The only water communication was by sailing- boats ; and as at that time people were not independent of wind and tide, and everything but steam, the passengers were quite satisfied to get down when they did.
He found Miss Hughes waiting for him at the landing-place, and getting into a " tide" m coach, they proceeded to Chatham, Miss Hughes informing him that she had made a confidant or her brother, who was stationed there, and that they purposed spending the day together.
" And now, Joe." said Miss Hughes, when he had expressed
48 MEMOIKS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
the pleasure which this arrangement afforded him, " tell me everything that has happened. What does my father say ?"
"My dear," replied Grimaldi, "he says nothing at all; he has not answered my letter."
"Not answered your letter!" said the lady: "his punctuality
" So I have always heard," replied Grimaldi: "but so it is ; I have not heard a syllable."
" Then you must write again, Joe," said Miss Hughes, " im- mediately, without the least delay. Let me see, — you cannot very well write to-day, but to-morrow you must not fail : I cannot account for his silence."
" Nor I," said Grimaldi.
" Unless, indeed," said Miss Hughes, " some extraordinary business has driven your letter from his memory."
As people always endeavour to believe what they hope, they were not long in determining that it must be so. Dismissing the subject from their minds, they spent the day happily, in company with young Mr. Hughes, and returning to Gravesend in the evening by another tide coach, Grimaldi was on board the sailing-boat shortly before eleven o'clock; it being arranged that Miss Hughes was to follow on the next Saturday.
In the cabin of the boat he found Mr. De Cleve,* at that time treasurer of Sadler's Wells. There are jealousies in theatres, as there are in courts, ball-rooms, and boarding-schools ; and this Mr. De Cleve was jealous of Grimaldi — not because he stood in his way, for he had no touch of comedy in his composition, but because he had eclipsed, and indeed altogether outshone, one
•Vincent de Cleve, facetiously nick-named among his associates, " Polly de Cleve," not from any efl'eminacy of character or manner, or his almost intolerable abuse of the King's English by the constant utterance of the most flagrant cock- neyisms, but for his Marplot qualities, which ever prompted him to pry into everybody's business, and create by his interference the most vexatious mischief. He \vasan odd fish. Talent he had; he was no contemptible composer and musician, and in his office, as treasurer to the Wells for many years, strictly honest. Between Sadler's Wells and the Angel was an old building, immediately opposite Lady Owen's Almshouses, now also demolished, called Goose Farm ; it belonged to Mr. Laycock, the cow-keeper of Islington ; but had ceased to be a farm-house ; and was divided into tenements ; the first and second floors were each divided into two suites of apartments. On the first floor in that next the Wells, resided John Cawse, the artist, whose daughters subsequently distin- guished themselves as vocalists of no common power, and made their debut in 1820 at Sadler's Wells, where the late Mrs. Cawse was also an actress.
The suite next the Angel was occupied by the mother and sister of Charles and Thomas Dibdin ; during the management of the Wells by the former, the sister, a short squab figure, generally the last among the figurantes, came on among villagers and mobs ; but under other lessees was not employed, and died 21 Clerkenweil Poor-House. De Cleve occupied the rooms on the second floor aoove the Dibdins : but all have ceased to exist ; and Joe, to use a common ex- pression, outlived nis enemy. A grave stone, laid flat, in the churchyard of St. Mary's, Lambeth, marks the spot where lie buried, Mrs. Frances De Cleve, who died in her thirtieth year, May 3, 1795; and her husband, the busy meddler, Vincent de Cleve, who died July 30, 1827, aged 67.
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDI. 49
Mr. Hartland, " a very clever and worthy man," says Grimaldi, who was at that time also engaged as a pantomimic and melo- dramatic actor at Sadler's Wells. Mr. De Cleve, tliinking for his friends as well as himself, hated Grimaldi most cordially, and the meeting was consequently by no means an agreeable one to him ; for if he had chanced to set eyes upon Miss Hughes, great mischief-making and turmoil would be the inevitable consequence.
" In the name of wonder, Grimaldi," said this agreeable cha- racter, " what are you doing here ?"
" Going back to London," replied Grimaldi, " as I suppose most of us are."
" That is not what I meant," said De Cleve : " what I meant was, to ask you what business might have taken you to Graves- end ?"
"Oh! no business at all," replied the other: "directly I landed, I went off by the tide-coach to Chatham."
"Indeed !" said the other.
" Yes," said Grimaldi.
The treasurer looked rather puzzled at this, sufficiently show- ing by his manner that he had been hunting about Gravesend all day in search of the young man. He remained silent a short time, and then said, " I only asked because I thought you might have had a dinner engagement at Gravesend, perhaps,— with a young lady, even. Who knows ?"
This little sarcasm on the part of the worthy treasurer con- vinced Grimaldi, that having somewhere picked up the informa- tion that Miss Hughes was at Gravesend, and having heard afterwards from Mrs. Lewis, or somebody at the theatre, that Grimaldi was going to the same place, he had followed him' thither with the amiable intention of playing the spy, and watching his proceedings. If he had observed the young people together, his mischievous intentions would have been completely successful ; but the tide-coach had balked him, and Mr. De Cleve' s good-natured arrangements were futile.
Grimaldi laughed in his sleeve as the real state of the case
£ resented itself to his mind ; and feeling well pleased that he ad not seen them together, in the absence of any reply from Mr. De Cleve, he ascended to the deck, and left the treasurer to his meditations.
Upon the deck, on a green bench with a back to it, and arms besides, there sat a neighbour, and a neighbour's wife, and the neighbour's wife's sister, and a very pretty girl, who was the neighbour's wife's sister's friend. There was just room for one more on the bench, and they insisted upon Mr. Grimaldi occu- pying the vacant seat, which he readily did, for they were remaining on deck to avoid the closeness of the cabin, and ha preferred the cold air of the night to the cold heart of Mr. Ds Cleve.
50 MEMOIBS OF JOSEPH GEIMALDT.
So down he sat next to the pretty friend ; and the pretty friend being wrapped in a very large seaman's coat, it was suggested by the neighbour, who was a wag in his way, that she ought to lend a bit of it to Mr. Grimaldi, who looked very cold. After a great deal of blushing and giggling, the young lady put her left arm through the left arm of the coat, and Grimaldi put his right arm through the right arm of the coat, to the great admiration of the whole party, and after the manner in which they show the giants' coats at the fairs. They sat in this way during the whole voyage, and Grimaldi always declared that it was a very comfortable way of travelling, as no doubt it is.
"Laugh away !" he_said, as die party gave vent to their de- light in bursts of merriment. " If we had only something here to warm us internally as well as the great-coat does externally, we would laugh all night."
" What should you recommend for that purpose r" asked the neighbour.
"Brandy," said the friend.
"Then," rejoined the neighbour, "if you were a harlequin, instead of a clown, you could not have conjured it up quicker." And with these words, the neighbour, who was a plump, red- faced, merry fellow, held up with both hands a large heavy stone bottle, with an inverted drinking-horn resting on the bung ; and having laughed very much at his own forethought, he set the stone bottle down, and sat himself on the top of it.
It was the only thing wanting to complete the mirth of the party, and very merry they were. It was a fine moonlight night, cold, but healthy and fresh, and it passed pleasantly and quickly away. The day had broken before they reached Billingsgate- stairs; the stone-bottle was empty, the neighbour asleep, Grimaldi and the young lady buttoned up in the great-coat, and the wife and daughter very jocose and good-humoured.
Here they parted: the neighbour's family went home in a hackney-coach, and Grimaldi, bidding them f^od-bye, walked away to Gracechurch-street, not forgetting to thank the young lady for her humanity and coo^assion.
He had occasion to call at a coach-office in Gracechurch- street ; but finding that it was not yet open (for it was very early), and not feeling at all fatigued by his journey, he deter- mined to walk about the city for a couple of hours or so, and then to return to the coach-office. By so doing, he would pass away the time till the office opened, gain an opportunity of looking about him in that part of London, to which he was quite a stranger, and avoid disturbing *he family at home until a more seasonable hour. So he made up his mind to walk the two hours away, and turned back for &at purpose.
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GELMALDI. fl
CHAPTER V.
1798.
An extraordinary circumstance concerning himself, with another extraordinary circumstance concerning his grandfather — Specimen of a laconic epistle, and an account of two interviews with Mr. Hughes, in the latter of which a bene- volent gentleman is duly rewarded for his trouble — Preparations for his marriage— Fatiguing effects of his exertions at the Theatre.
IT was now broad day. The sun had risen, and was shedding a fine mild light over the quiet street. The crowd so soon to be let loose upon them was not yet stirring, and the only people visible were the passengers who had landed from the boats, or who had just entered London by other early conveyances. Al- though he had lived in London all his life, he knew far less about it than many country people who have visited it once or twice ; and so unacquainted was he with the particular quarter of the city in which he found himself, that he had never even seen the Tower of London. He walked down to look at that ; and then he stared at the buildings round about, and the churches, and a thousand objects which no one but a loiterer ever bestows a glance upon ; and so was walking on pleasantly enough, when all at once he struck his foot against something which was lying on the pavement.
Looking down to see what it was, he perceived, to his great surprise, a richly-ornamented net purse, of a very large size, filled with gold coin.
He was perfectly paralyzed by the sight. He looked at it again and again without daring to touch it. Then, by a sudden impulse, he glanced cautiously round, and seeing that he was wholly unobserved, and that there was not a solitary being within sight, he picked up the purse and thrust it into his pocket.
As he stooped for this purpose, he observed, lying on the ground on very nearly the same spot, a small bundle of papers tied round with a piece of string. He picked them up too, mechanically. What was his astonishment, on examining this last discovery more narrowly, to find that the bundle was com- posed exclusively of bank-notes !
There was still nobody to be seen : there were no passers-by, no sound of footsteps in the adjacent streets. He lingered about the spot for more than an hour, eagerly scrutinizing the faces
E2
6J MEMOIKS OE JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
o± the people, who now began passing to and fro, with looks which themselves almost seemed to inquire whether they had lost anything. No ! there was no inquiry, no searching ; no person ran distractedly past him, or groped among the mud by the pavement's side. It was evidently of no use waiting there ; and, quite tired of doing so, he turned and walked slowly back to the coach-office in Gracechurch-street. He met or overtook no person on the road who appeared to have lost anything, far less the immense sum of money (for such it appeared to him) that he had found.
All this time, and for hours afterwards, he was in a state of turmoil and agitation almost inconceivable. He felt as if he had committed some dreadful theft, and feared discovery, and the shameful punishment which must follow it. His legs trembled beneath him so that he could scarcely walk, his heart beat violently, and the perspiration started on his face.
The more he reflected upon the precise nature of his situation, the more distressed and apprehensive he became. Suppose the money were to be found upon him by_ the loser, who would believe him, when he declared that he picked it up in the street? Would it not appear much more probable that he had stolen it? and if such a charge were brought against him, by what evi- dence could he rebut it ? As these thoughts, and twenty such, passed through his mind, he was more than once tempted to draw the money from his pocket, fling it on the pavement, and take to his heels ; which he was only restrained from doing by reflecting, that if he were observed and questioned, his answers might at once lead him to be accused of a charge of robbery, in which case he would be as badly off as if he were in the grasp of the real loser. It would appear at first sight a very lucky thing to find such a purse ; but Grimaldi thought himself far from fortunate as these torturing thoughts filled his mind.
When he got to Gracechurch-street, he found the coach-office still closely shut, and turning towards home through Coleman- streetand Finsbury- square, he passed into the City-road, which then, with the exception of a few houses in the immediate neighbourhood of the Angel at Islington, was entirely lined on both sides with the grounds of market-gardeners. This was a favourable place to count the treasure ; so, sitting down upon a bank in a retired spot, just where the Eagle Tavern now stands, he examined his prize. The gold in the purse was all in guineas. ^ The whole contents of the bundle were in bank-notes, varying in their amounts from five to fifty pounds each. And this was all there was ; no memorandum, no card, no scrap of paper, no document of any kind whatever, afforded the slightest clue to the name or residence of the owner. Besides the money, there was nothing but the piece of string which kept the notes together, and the handsome silk net purse before mentioned, Which held the gold.
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRlMALDj.. 53
He could not count the money then, for his fingers trembled so that he could scarcely separate the notes, and he was so con- fused and bewildered that he could not reckon the gold. He counted it shortly after he reached home, though, and found that there were 380 guineas, and 200?. in notes, making in the whole the sum of 599 1.
He reached home between seven and eight o'clock, where, going instantly to bed, he remained sound asleep for several hours. There was no news respecting the money, which he longed to appropriate to his own use ; so he put it carefully by, determining of course to abstain rigidly from doing so, and to use all possible means to discover the owner.
He did not forget the advice of Miss Hughes in the hurry and excitement consequent upon his morning's adventure, but wrote another epistle to the father, recapitulating the substance of a former letter, and begged to be favoured with a reply.
Having despatched this to the post-office, he devoted the remainder of the day to a serious consideration of the line of action it would be most proper to adopt with regard to the five- hundred and ninety-nine pounds so suddenly acquired. Even- tually, he resolved to consult an old and esteemed friend of his father's, upon whose judgment he knew he might depend, and whose best advice he felt satisfied he could command.
This determination he carried into execution that same evening ; and after a long conversation with the gentleman in question, during which he met all the young man's natural and probably apparent inclination to apply the money to his own occasions and views with arguments and remarks which were wholly unanswerable, he submitted to be guided by him, and acted accordingly.
For a whole week the two ^ friends carefully examined every paper which was published in London, if not in the hope, at least in the expectation, of seeing the loss advertised ; but, strange as it may seem, nothing of the kind appeared. At the end of the period named, an advertisement, of which the fol- lowing is a copy, (their joint production,) appeared in the daily papers : —
"Found by a gentleman in the streets of London, some money, which will be restored to the owner upon his giving a satisfac- tory account of the manner of its loss, its amount, the numbers of the notes, &c. &c."
To this was appended a full and particular address : but, not- withstanding all these precautions, notwithstanding the pub- licity that was given to the advertisement, and notwithstanding' that the announcement was frequently repeated, — from that hour to the very last moment of nis life, Grimaldi never heard one word or syllable regarding the treasure he had so singularly acquired ; nor was he ever troubled with any one application relative to the notice.
A somewhat similar circumstance occurred to his maternal
54 MEMOIRS OP JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
grandfather.* He was in the habit of attending Leadenhall Market early every Thursday morning, and as he_ frequently made large purchases, his purse was generally well lined. Upon one occasion, he took with him nearly four hundred pounds, principally in gold and silver, which formed a tolerably large bagful, the weight of which rather impeded his progress. When he arrived near the Royal Exchange, he found that his shoe had become unbuckled, and taking from his pocket the bag, which •would otherwise have prevented his stooping, (for he was a cor- pulent man), he placed it upon a neighbouring post, and then proceeded to adjust his buckle. This done, he went quietly on to market, thinking nothing of the purse or its contents until some time afterwards, when, having to pay for a heavy purchase, he missed it, and after some consideration recollected the place where he had left it. He hurried to the spot. Although more than three quarters of an hour had elapsed since he_ had left it in the prominent situation already described, there it remained safe and untouched on the top of the post in the open street !
Tour anxious days (he had both money and a wife at stake) gassed heavily away, but on the fifth, Saturday — a reply arrived irqm Mr. Hughes, which being probably one of the shortest epistles ever received through the hands of the general postman, is subjoined verbatim.
"LEAR JOE,—
" Expect to see me in a few days.
"Yours truly,
" E. HUGHES/'
If there was nothing decidedly favourable to be drawn from this brief onorfeau, there was at least nothing very appalling to his hopes: it was evident that Mr. Hughes was not greatly offended at his presumption, and probable that he might be eventually induced to give his consent to Grimaldi's marriage with his daughter. This conclusion, to which he speedily came, tended greatly to elevate his spirits ; nor did they meet with any check from the sudden appearance of Miss Hughes from Graves- end.
The meeting was a joyful one on both sides. As soon as their mutual greetings were over, he showed her her father's letter, of which she appeared to take but little notice.
"Why, Maria!" he exclaimed, with some surprise, "you Scarcely look upon this letter, and seem to care little or nothing1 about it!"
" To tell you the truth, Joe," answered Miss Hughes, smiling, "my father has already arrived in town : I found him at home when I got there two or three hours back, and he desired me to tell you that he wishes to see you on Monday morning1, if you will call at the theatre."
* The slaughterman and carcase-butcher of Bloomsbury, and Newton-street,
MEMOIKS OP JOSEPH GKQIALD1 55
Cpon hearing this, all the old nervous symptoms returned, and he felt as though he were about to receive a hnal death-blow to his hopes.
"You may venture to take courage, I think," said Miss Hughes ; "L have very little fear or doubt upon the subject."
Her admirer had a good deal of both ; but he was somewhat re-assured by the young lady's manner, and her conviction that her father, who had always treated her most kindly and indul- gently, would not desert her then. Comforted by discussing the probabilities of success, and all the happiness that was to follow it, they spent the remainder of the clay happily enough, and looked forward as calmly as they could to the Monday which was to decide their fate.
The following ^ day — Sunday — was rather a wearisome one, being occupied with speculations as to what the morrow would bring forth. , However, long as it seemed, the night arrived at last ; and though that was long too, Monday morning succeeded it as usual- Concealing his inward agitation as best he might, he walked to the theatre, and there in the treasury found Mr. Hughes. He was received very kindly, but, after some trivial conver- sation, was much astonished by Mr. Hughes saying, " So you are going to leave Sadler's Wells, and all your old Mends, merely because you can get a trifle more elsewhere, — eh, Joe ?"
He was so amazed at this, he could scarcely speak, but quickly recovering, said, " I can assure you, sir, that no such idea ever entered my head ; — in fact, even if I wished such a thing, which, Heaven knows, is furthest from my thoughts ! I could not do so, being- under articles to you."
" You forget," replied Mr. Hughes, somewhat sternly, "your articles have expired here."
And so they had, and so he had forgotten, and so he was con- strained to confess.
" It is rather odd," continued Mr. Hughes, " that so impor- tant a circumstance should have escaped your memory : but tell me, do you know Mr. Cross ? "
Mr. Cross was manager of the Circus, now the Surrey Theatre, and had repeatedly made Grimaldi offers to leave Sadler's Wells, and join his company. He had done so, indeed, only a few days prior to this conversation, offering to allow him to name his own terms. But these and other similar invitations he had firmly declined, being unwilling for many reasons to leave the theatre to which he had been accustomed all his life.
From this observation of Mr. Hughes, and the manner in which it was made, it was obvious to him that some one had endeavoured to injure him in that gentleman's opinion; and fortunately chancing to have in his pocket-book the letters he had received from Mr. Cross, and copies of his own replies, he lost no time in clearing himself of the charge.
" My dear sir," he said, " I do not know Mr. Cross personally,
56 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
but very well as a correspondent, inasmuch as lie has repeatedly written, offering engagements to me, all of which I have de- clined ;" and he placed the papers before him.
The perusal of these letters seemed to satisfy Mr. Hughes, who returned them, and said smilingly, "Well then, we'll talk about a fresh engagement here, as you prefer old quarters. Let me see : your salary is now four pounds per week : — well, I will engage you for three seasons, and the terms shall be these : for the first season, six pounds per week ; for the second, seven ; and for the third, eight. Will that do ? "
He readily agreed to a proposition which, handsome in itself, greatly exceeded anything he had anticipated. As Mr. Hughes seemed anxious to have the affair settled, and Grimaldiwas perfectly content that it should be, two witnesses were sent for, and the articles were drawn up, and signed upon the spot.
Then again they were left alone, and after a few moments more of desultory conversation, Mr. Hughes rose, saying, " I shall see you, I suppose, in the evening, as I am going to Drury Lane to see Blue Beard." He advanced towards the door as he spoke, and then suddenly turning round, added, "Have you anything else to say to me ?"
Now was the time, or never. Screwing his courage to the sticking-place, Grimaldi proceeded to place before Mr. Hughes his hopes and prospects, strongly urging that his own happiness and that of his daughter depended upon his consent being given to their marriage.
Mr. Hughes had thought over the subject well, and displayed by no means that displeasure which the young man's anxious fears had prophesied ; he urged the youth of both parties as an argument against acceding to their wishes, but finally gave his consent, and by so doing transported the lover with joy.
Mr. Hughes advanced to the door of the room, and throwing it open, as he went out, said to his daughter, who chanced to be sitting in the next room, " Maria, Joe is here : you had better come and welcome him."
Miss Hughes came like a dutiful daughter, and did welcome her faithful admirer, as he well deserved for his true-hearted and constant affection. In the happiness of the moment, the fact that the door of the room was standing wide open quite escaped the notice of both, who never once recollected the possibility of any third person being an unseen witness to the interview.
This was a red-letter day in Grimaldi's calendar; he had nothing to do in the evening at Drury Lane until the last scene but one of Blue Beard, so went shopping with his future wife, buying divers articles of plate, and such other small wares as young housekeepers require.
On hurrying to the theatre at night, he found Mr. Hughes anxiously regarding the machinery of the last scene in Blue Beard, wnich he was about getting up at the Exeter Theatre.
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GJHHALDl. 57
" This machinery is very intricate, Joe," said the father-in- law upon seeing him.
" You are right, sir," replied Joe ; " and, what is more, it works very badly."
" So I should expect," was the reply ; " and as I am afraid we shall not manage this very well in the country, I wish I could improve it."
Among the numerous modes of employing any spare time to which Grimaldi resorted for the improvement of a vacant hour, the invention of model transformations and pantomime tricks held a foremost place at that time, and did, though in a limited degree, to the close of his life.
At the time of his death he had many excellent models of this description, besides several which he sold to Mr. Bunn so re- cently as a few months prior to December, 1836, all of which were used in the pantomime of " Harlequin and Gammer Gurton," produced at Drury Lane on the 26th of that month. He rarely allowed any machinery which came under his notice, especially if a little peculiar, to pass without modelling it upon a small scale. He had a complete model of the skele- ton " business" in Blue Beard ; and not merely that, but an im- provement of his own besides, by which the intricate nature of the change might be avoided, and many useless Haps dispensed with.
Nervously anxious to elevate himself as much as possible in the opinion of Mr. Hughes at this particular juncture, he eagerly explained to him the nature of his alterations, as far as the models were concerned, and plainly perceived he was agree- ably surprised at the communication. He begged his acceptance of models, both of the original mechanism, and of his o\yn improved version of it ; and Mr. Hughes, in reply, invited him to breakfast on the following morning, and requested him to bring both models with him, This he failed not to do. It hap- pened that a rather ludicrous scene awaited him.
He had one or two enemies connected at that time with Sadler's Wells, who allowed their professional envy to impel them to divers acts of small malignity. One of these persons, having been told of his saluting Miss Hughes, by a servant girl with whom he chanced to be acquainted, and who had witnessed the action, sought and obtained an interview that evening with the father upon his return from Drury Lane, and stated the circumstance to him, enlarging and embellishing the details with divers comments upon the ingratitude of Grimaldi in seducing the affections of a young lady so much above him, and making various wise and touching reflections most in vogue on such occasions.
Mr. Hughes heard all this with a calmness which first of all astonished the speaker, but which he eventually attributed tu concentrated rage. After he had finished his speech, the former
58 MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
quietly said, ""Will you favour me by coming here at nine o'clock to-morrow morning, sir ?"
" Most certainly," was the reply.
" Allow me, however, at once," continued Mr. Hughes, " to express my thanks for your kindness in informing me of that which so nearly concerns my domestic happiness. "Will you take a glass of madeira ?"
"I thank you, sir," answered the other.
The wine was brought and drunk, and the friend departed, congratulating himself, as he walked away, upon having " settled Joe's business ;" which indeed he had, but not after the fashion he expected or intended.
As to Grimaldi, he was up with the lark, arranging the machinery and making it look and work to the best advantage ; in which having succeed id to his heart's content, he put the models he had promised Mr. Hughes into his pocket, and walked down to his house to breakfast, agreeably to the arrangement of the night before. ,
Upon his arrival, he was told that breakfast was not quite ready, and likewise that Mr. Hughes wished to see him imme- diately in the treasury, where he was then awaiting his arrival. There was something in the manner of the servant- girl (the same, by-the-by, who had told of the kissing), as she said this, which induced him involuntarily to fear some ill, and, without knowing exactly why, he began to apprehend those thousand and one impossible, or at least improbable, evils, the dread of which torments the man nervously afraid of losing some treasure
" Is Mr. Hughes alone ?" he asked.
"No, sir," answered the girl: "there is a gentleman with him ;"— and then she mentioned a name which increased his apprehensions. However, plucking up all his courage, he ad- vanced to the appointed chamber, and in two minutes found himself in the presence of Mr. Hughes and his accuser.
The former received him coldly ; the latter turned away when he saw him, without vouchsafing a word.
" Come in, sir," said Mr. Hughes, " and close the door after you." He did as he was told ; never, either before or after- wards, feeling so strangely like a criminal.
"Mr. Grimaldi,'^ continued Mr. Hughes, with a mingled for- mality and solemnity which appalled him, "I have something very important to communicate to you — in fact, I have had a charge preferred against you of a most serious description, sir."
" Indeed, sir !"
" Yes, indeed, sir !" said the enemy, with a look very like one ot triumph.
" It is true," replied Mr. Hughes, " and I fear you will not be able to clear yourself from it : however, in justice to you, the
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI. 59
charge shall be fully stated in your own presence. Repeat, sir, if you please," he continued, addressing the accuser, " what you told me last night."
And repeat it he did, in a speech, replete with malignity, and not destitute of oratorical merit : in which he dwelt upon the serpent-like duplicity with which young Grimaldi had stolen into the bosom of a happy and hospitable family for the purpose of robbing a father and mother of their beloved daughter, and dragging down from her own respectable sphere a young and inexperienced girl, to visit her with all the sorrows consequent upon limited means, and the needy home of a struggling actor.
It was with inexpressible astonishment that he heard all this ; but still greater was his astonishment at witnessing the de- meanour of Mr. Hughes, who heard this lengthened oration with a settled frown of attention, as though what he heard alike excited his profound consideration and anger ; occasionally, too, vouchsafing an encouraging nod to the speaker, which was any- thing but encouraging to the other party.
"You are quite right," said Mr. Hughes, at length; on hearing which, Grimaldi felt quite wrong. " You are quite right— nothing can justify such actions, except one thing, and that is — "
"Mr. Hughes," interrupted the friend, "I know your kind heart well, — so well, that I can perceive your charitable feelings are even now striving to discover some excuse or palliation for this offence ; but permit me, as a disinterested observer, to tell you that nothing can justify a man in winning the affections of a young girl infinitely above him, and, at the same time, the daughter of one to whom he is so greatly indebted."
"Will you listen to me for half a minute?" inquired Mr. Hughes, in a peculiarly calm tone.
" Certainly, sir," answered the other.
" "Well, then, I was going to observe, at the moment when you somewhat rudely interrupted me, that I quite agreed with you, and that nothing can justify a man in acting in the manner you have described, unless, indeed, he has obtained the sanction of the young lady's parents ; in which case, he is, of course, at liberty to win her affections as soon as he likes, and she likes to let him."
"Assuredly, sir," responded the other; "but in the present instance—-**
" But in the present instance," interrupted Mr. Hughes, " that happens to be the case. My daughter Maria has my full permission to marry Mr. Grimaldi ; and I have no doubt she will avail herself of that permission in the course of a very few weeks."
The accuser was dumb-foundered, and Grimaldi was delighted — now, for the first time perceiving that Mr. Hughes had been amusing himself at the expense of the mischief-maker.
60 MEMOIRS OE JOSEPH GRIMALDI.
"Nevertheless," said Mr. Hughes, turning to his accepted son-in-law with a grave face, but through all the gravity of which he could perceive a struggling smile, — "Nevertheless, you acted very wrong, Mr. Grimaldi, in kissing my daughter so publicly ; and I beg that whenever, for the future, you and she deem it essential to indulge in such amusements, it may be done in private. This is rendered necessary by the laws which at present govern society, and I am certain will be far more con- sonant to the feelings and delicacy of the young lady in ques- tion."
With these words Mr. Hughes made a low bow to the officious and disinterested individual who had made the speech, and, opening the door, called to the servants "to show the gentleman out." Then turning to Grimaldi, he took him by the arm, and walked towards the breakfast-room, declaring that the meal had been waiting half an hour or more, that the coffee would be cold, and Maria quite tired of waiting for him.
From this moment the course of true love ran smooth for once : and Mr. Hughes, in all his subsequent behaviour to Grimaldi sufficiently evinced his high sense of the innate worth of a young man, who, under very adverse circumstances and with many temptations to contend against, had behaved with so much honesty and candour.
On the Saturday after this pleasant termination of a scene which threatened to be attended with very different results, the house in Penton-street was taken possession of, and next Easter Sunday the young couple were asked in church for the iirst time. Sadler's Wells opened as usual on Easter Monday,* and Grimaldi appeared in a new part, a more prominent one than
• Sadler's Wells, on Easter Monday, April 9, 1798, opened with a Prelude, entitled, " Easter Monday ; or, a Peep at the Wells." The prolocutory cha- racters by Dubois and Mrs. Davis : m the concluding scene were introduced the whole Company, and a Ballet Divertissement ; the dances by the Missea Bruguiers, their first appearances, and by Mr. King, who, it will be remembered, in the recital of the alarm created by the Pentonville robbers, is said, "while armed with a heavy stick, to have crept cautiously into the back garden, groped about, and soon returned out of breath." The amusements of the evenine con-
our. j^aviB, »nu jjur. JLTUDOIS, .miss uruguier, ana Mrs. Jtoney. Joe lor the first time, on the bill of the day, has the honourable distinction of Mr. prefixed to his name ; hitherto it was " Master Grimaldi." On Monday, July 30, was produced a new Grand Comic Spectacle and Harlequinade, called " Blue Beard, Black Beard, Bed Beard, and Grey Beard ;" in which the motley hero of Pantomime, it was announced, would respectfully endeavour to keep up the spirit of the old English adage,
" 'Tis merry in Hall, when Beards wag all,"
in the novel character of Harlequin Dutch Skipper. Harlequin Skipper, Mr. King; Plutus, Blue Beard, Mr. Barnett; Mars, Black Beard, Mr. Davis; Saturn, Grey Beard, Mr. Grimaldi ; Mynheer Eed Beard, Mr. Gomery ; Dutch Clown, Mr. Dubois ; and Columbine, Miss Bruguier. The Pantomime was highly attractive, and exhibited, amongst other excellent scenes, one in moving perspective, showing the effect of a balloon descending among the clouds
7O3IOIKS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI. 61
he had yet had, and one which increased his reputation con- siderably.
At this time, in consequence of his great exertions in this character, after four or five months of comparative rest, he began to feel some of those wastings of strength and prostrations of energy, to which this class of performers are more peculiarly exposed, and which leave them, if they attain old age, as they left Grimaldi himself, in a state of great bodily infirmity and suffering. He was cheered throughout the play ; but the applause of the audience only spirited him to increased exer- tions, and at the close of the performances he was so exhausted and worn out that he could scarcely stand. It was with great difficulty that he reached his home, although the distance was so very slight ; and immediately on doing so, he was obliged to be put to bed.
He was wont in after-life frequently to remark, that if at one period of his career his gains were great, his labours were at least equally so, and deserved the return. He spoke from sad experience of their effects at that time, and he spoke the truth. It must be a very high salary, indeed, that could ever repay a man — and especially a feeling, sensitive man, as Grimaldi really was — for premature old age and early decay.
He awoke at eleven o'clock next day invigorated and re- freshed ; — this long rest was an extraordinary indulgence for him to take, for it was his constant habit to be up and clressed by seven o'clock or earlier, either attending to his pigeons, practising the violin, occupying himself in constructing such little models as have been before mentioned, or employing him- self in some way. Idleness wearied him more than labour ; he never could understand the gratification which many people seem to derive from having nothing to do.
It is customary on the morning after a new piece to " call " it upon the stage with a view_ of condensing it where it will admit of condensation, and making such improvements as the expe- rience of one night may have suggested. All the performers engaged in the piece of course attend these " calls," as any alterations will necessarily affect the dialogue of their parts, or some portions of the stage business connected with them.
Being one of the principal actors in the new drama, it was indispensably necessary that he should attend, and accordingly, much mortified at finding it so late, he dressed with all possible despatch, and set forth towards the theatre.
62 MEMOIRS OP JOSEPH
CHAPTER VI.
1798,
Tribulations connected with "Old Lucas," the constable, with an account of the subsequent proceedings before Mr. Blamire, the magistrate, at Hatton Garden, and the mysterious appearance of a silver staff— A guinea wager •with a jocose friend on the Dartford-road — The Prince of "Wales, Sheridan, and the Crockery Girl.
AT this time all the ground upon which Claremont, Myddle- ton, Lloyd, and Wilmington Squares have since been built, together with the numberless streets which diverge from them in all directions, was then pasture-land or garden-ground, bear- ing the name of Sadler's Wells Fields. Across these fields it was of course necessary that Grimaldi should pass and repass in going to and returning from the theatre. Upon this particular morning, a mob, consisting of at least a thousand persons, were actively engaged here in hunting an over- driven ox, — a diver- sion then in very high repute among the lower orders _ of the metropolis, but which is now, happily for the lives and limbs of the more peaceable part of the community, falling into desue- tude : there not being^ quite so many open spaces or waste grounds to chase oxen in, as there used to be a quarter of a cen- tury ago. The mob was a very dense one, comprised of the worst characters ; and perceiving that it would be a task of some difficulty to clear a passage through it, he paused for a minute or two, deliberating whether he had not better turn back at once and take the longer but less obstructed route by the Angel at Islington, when a young gentleman whom he had never seen beforej after eyeing him with some curiosity, walked up and said —
" Is not your name Grimaldi, sir?"
"Yes, sir, it is," replied the other. "Pray, may I inquire why you ask the question ?"
"Because," answered the stranger, pointing to a man who stood among a little group of people hard by, — " because I just now heard that gentleman mention it to a companion."
The person whom the young man pointed out was a very well known character about Clerkenwell and its vicinity, being an object of detestation with the whole of the neighbourhood. _ This man was Lucas, — "Old Lucas" was his familiar appellation, — and he filled the imposing office of parish constable. Parish constables are seldom very popular in their own districts, but
OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI. 63
Old Lucas was more unpopular than any man of the same class ; and if the stories which are current of him be correct, with very good reason, unless the man was dreadfully belied. In short, he was a desperate villain. It was very generally understood of him, that where no real accusation existed against a man, his course of proceeding was to invent a false one, and to bolster it up with the most unblushing perjury, and an _ ingenious system of false evidence, which he had never any difficulty in obtaining, for the purpose of pocketing certain small sums which, under the title of " expenses," were paid upon the conviction of the culprit.
Being well acquainted with this man's reputation, Grimaldi was much astonished, and not at all pleasantly so, by the infor- mation he had just received ; and he inquired with considerable anxiety and apprehension, whether the young man was quite certain that it was his name which the constable had mentioned.
" Quite certain," was the reply. " I can't have made any mistake upon the subject, because he wrote it down in his book. '
" Wrote it down in his book !" exclaimed Grimaldi.
" Yes, he did, indeed," replied the other : " and more than that, I heard him say to another man beside him, that * he could lay hold of you whenever he wanted you.' "
" The devil he did !" exclaimed Grimaldi. " What on earth can he want with me ? Well, sir, at all events I have to thank you for your kindness in informing me, although I am not much wiser on the point than I was before."
Exchanging bows with the stranger, they separated ; the young man mixing with the crowd, and Grimaldi turning back, and going to the theatre by the longest road, with the double object of avoiding Old Lucas and keeping out of the way of the mad ox.
Having to attend to his business immediately on his arrival at the theatre, the circumstance escaped his memory, nor did it occur to him again until he returned thither in the evening, shortly before the performances commenced, when being re- minded of it by some accidental occurrence, he related the morn- ing's conversation to some of his more immediate associates, among whom were Dubois, a celebrated comic actor, another performer of the name of Davis, and Richer, a very renowned rope-dancer. His communication, however, elicited no more sympathetic reception than a general burst of laughter, which having subsided, they fell to bantering the unfortunate object of Old Lucas's machinations.
" That fellow Lucas," said Dubois, assuming a grave face, " is a most confirmed scoundrel; he would stick at nothing, not even at Joe's life, to gain a few pounds, or perhaps even a few shillings."
Joe looked none the happier for this observation, and another friend took up the subject.
64 MEMOIES OF JOSEPH
"Lucas, — Lucas," said Richer; "that is the old man who wears spectacles, isn't it ?"
" That's the man," replied Dubois ; " the constable, you know. He hasn't written your name down in his book for nothing, Joe, take my word for that."
" Precisely my opinion," said Davis; "he means to make a regular property out of him. Don't be frightened, Joe, that's all."
These prophetic warnings had a very serious effect upon the
with which the officer meant to charge him; one suggesting that it was murder, another that he thought it was forgery, (which made no great difference in the end, the offence being punished with the same penalty,) and a third good-naturedly remarking that perhaps it might not be quite so bad, after all, although certainly Lucas did possess such weight with the magistrates, that it was invariably two to one against the unfor- tunate person whom he charged with any offence.
Although he was at no loss to discern and appreciate the raillery of his friends, Grimaldi could not divest himself of some nervous apprehensions connected with the adventure of the morning : when, just as he was revolving in his mind all the im- probabilities of the officer's entertaining any designs against him, one of the messengers of the theatre abruptly entered the room in which they were all seated, and announced that Mr. Grimaldi was wanted directly at the stage-door.
" Who wants me ?" inquired Grimaldi, turning rather pale.
" It's a person in spectacles," replied the messenger, looking at the rest of the company, and hesitating.
" A person in spectacles !" echoed the other, more agitated than before. " Did he give you his name, or do you know who he is •'
" 0 yes, I know who he is," answered the messenger^ with something between a smile and a gasp : — " it's Old Lucas."
Upon this, there arose a roar of laughter, in which the mes- senger joined. Grimaldi was quite petrified, and stood rooted to the spot, looking from one to another with a face in which dismay and fear were visibly depicted.
Having exhausted themselves with laughing, his companions, regarding his unhappy face, began to grow serious, and Dubois said,
"Joe, my boy, a joke's a joke, you know. We have had one with you, and that was all fair enough, and it's all over ; but if there is anything really serious in this matter, we will prove ourselves your friends, and support you against this old rascal in any way in our power."
All the others said something of the same sort, for which Grimaldi thanked them very heartily, being really in a state of great discomfort, and entertaining many dismal forebodings
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRlMALDl 00
It was then proposed that everybody present should accompany him in a body to the stage-door, and be witnesses to anything that the thief- taker had to say or do ; it being determined beforehand that in the event of his being insolent, he should be summarily put into the New Eiver. Accordingly, they went down in a body, bearing Joe in the centre ; and sure enough at the door stood Old Lucas in proprid persona.
" Now, then, what's the matter ?" said the leader of the guard ; upon which Grimaldi summoned up courage, and echoing the inquiry, said, " What's the matter ?" too.
" You must come with me to Hatton Garden," said the con- stable, in a gruff voice. " Come, I can't afford to lose any more time."
Here arose a great outcry, mingled with various exclamations of, " Where's your warrant ?" and many consignments of Mr. Lucas to the warmest of all known regions.
" Where's your warrant ?" cried Davis, when the noise had in some measure subsided.
The officer deigned no direct reply to this inquiry, but looking at Grimaldi, demanded whether he was ready; in answer to which question the whole party shouted " No !" with tremendous emphasis.
" Look here, Lucas," said Dubois, stepping forward ; " you are an old scoundrel ! — no one knows that oetter, or perhaps could prove it easier, than I. Now, so far as concerns Mr. Grimaldi, all we have got to say is, either show us a warrant which autho- rizes you to take him into custody, or take yourself into custody and take yourself off under penalty of a ducking.
This speech was received with a shout of applause, not only by the speaker's companions, but by several idlers who had gathered round.
" I'm not a-talking to you, Mr. Dubois," said Lucas, as soon as he could make himself heard; — "Mr. Grimaldi's my man. Now, sir, will you come along with me ?"
' Not without a warrant," said the rope-dancer.
1 Not without a warrant," added Davis.
' Not upon any consideration whatever," said Dubois.
1 Don't attempt to touch him without a warrant ; or — "
' Or what ?" inquired Lucas ; " or what, Mr. Dubois ? eh, sir !"
The answer was lost in a general chorus of " The Eiver !"
This intimation, pronounced in a very determined manner, had a visible effect upon the officer, who at once assuming a more subdued tone, said,
" Fact is, that I've not got a warrant ; (a shout of derision ;) fact is, it's not often that I'm asked for warrants, because people generally knows that I'm in authority, and thinks that's suffi cient. (Another.) However, if Mr. Grimaldi and his frienda press the objection, I shall not urge his going with me now, pro- vided he promises and they promises on his behalf to attend at
(W MEMOIUS OF JOSEKE GEIMALDI.
Hatton Garden Office, afore Mr. Blamire, at eleven o'clock to- Taorrow morning."
This compromise was at once acceded to, and Old Lucas turned to go away ; but he did not entirely escape even upon this occa- sion, for while the above conversation was going: forward at the door, the muster of people collected around had increased to a pretty large concourse. The greater part of them knew by sight Doth Grimaldi and the constable ; and as the latter was about to depart, the lookers-on pressed round him, and a voice from the crowd cried out, "What's the matter, Joe?"
" The matter is this, gentlemen," said Dubois, returning to the top of the steps, and speaking with great vehemence and gesticulation : — " This rascal, gentlemen," pointing to the constable, " wants to drag Joe Grimaldi to prison, gentlemen."
" What for ? — what for ?" cried the crowd.
"Tor doing nothing at all, gentlemen," replied the orator, who had reserved the loudest key of his voice for the concluding point.
This announcement was at once received with a general yell, which caused the constable to quicken his pace very consider- ably. The mob quickened theirs also, and in a few seconds the whole area of Sadler's Wells yard rang with whoops and yells almost as loud as those which had assailed the ox in the morn- ing ; and Mr. Lucas made the best of his way to his dwelling, amidst a shower of _ mud, rotten apples, and other such missiles. The performances in the theatre went off as usual. After all was over, Grimaldi returEed home to supper, having been pre- viously assured by his friends that they would one and all accompany him to the Police-office in the_ morning, and having previously arranged so as to secure as a witness the young gen- tleman who had given the first information regarding the views and intentions of the worthy thief- taker.
At the appointed hour, Grimaldi and his friends repaired to the Police-office, and were duly presented to Mr. Blamire, the sitting magistrate, who, having received them with much polite- ness, requested Old Lucas, who was then and there in attendance, to state Ms case, which he forthwith proceeded to do.
He deposed, with great steadiness of nerve, that Joseph Grimaldi had been guilty of hunting, and inciting and inducing other persons to hunt, an over-driven ox, in the fields of Pen- tonville, much to the hazard and danger of his Majesty's sub- jects, much to the worry and irritation of the animal, and greatly to the hazard of his being lashed into a state of furious insanity. Mr. Lucas deposed to having seen with his own eyes the offence committed, and in corroboration of his eyesight produced Ms companions of the morning, who confirmed his evidence in every particular. This, Mr. Lucas said, was