Part 7

'Nowhere was the Royal cause to take so brave or noble a form as among the Cornishmen. Cornwall stood apart from the general life of England: cut off from it not only by differences of blood and speech, but by the feudal tendencies of its people, who clung with a Celtic loyalty to their local chieftains, and suffered their fidelity to the Crown to determine their own. They had as yet done little more than keep the war out of their own county; but the march of a small Parliamentary force under Lord Stamford upon Launceston, forced them into action. A little brave band of Cornishmen gathered around the chivalrous _Sir Bevil Greenvil_, "so destitute of provisions that the best officers had but a biscuit a day," and with only a handful of powder for the whole force; but, starving and out-numbered as they were, they scaled the steep rise of Stratton Hill, sword in hand, and drove Stamford back to Exeter, with a loss of two thousand men, his ordnance and baggage train. Sir Ralph Hopton, the best of the Royalist generals, took the command of their army as it advanced into Somerset, and drew the stress of the war into the west. Essex despatched a picked force under Sir William Waller to check their advance; but Somerset was already lost ere he reached Bath, and the Cornishmen stormed his strong position on Lansdowne Hill in the teeth of his guns.'

[32] Sir Bevill Grenville was forty-eight years of age at the time of his death, as appears by the following record of his birth in the parish register at Kilkhampton:

'Bevell, the sonne of the worshipful Bernarde Greynville, Esquire, was borne and baptized at Brinn in Cornwall, Ao. Dni. 1595.'

In the margin, 'Marche 1595, borne the 23d day; baptized the 25th day of Marche.'

[33] Sir Bevill's name and memory were of course long revered in the family. Mrs. Delany was particularly anxious that it should be always borne by some member of it, and it may be convenient to note here that his grandson, Sir Bevill Grenville, was Governor of Barbadoes, in 1704 (cf. Rawlinson, A 271, Bodleian Library), a major-general in the army, and M.P. for Fowey, 1685-89.

[34] Echard gives some interesting details respecting the conduct of this delicate business; and Masson refers to it in his 'Life of Milton' (vol. v.)

[35] The following extract from Pepys is so amusing that I cannot forbear inserting it: 'This afternoon Mr. Ed. Pickering told me in what a sad, poor condition for clothes and money the King was, and all his attendants, when he came to him first from my Lord, their clothes not being worth forty shillings the best of them. And how overjoyed the King was when Sir J. Greenville brought him some money: so joyful, that he called the Princess Royal and Duke of York to look upon it as it lay in the portmanteau before it was taken out.'

[36] This appears the more probable from the following passage, which occurs in Lyte's 'History of Eton College' (p. 269): 'The keen competition for Fellowships, which we have noticed at the period of the Restoration, continued almost throughout the reign of Charles II. Sir John Grenville was not satisfied with having procured the Provostship for his kinsman, Nicholas Monk, and applied to the King for a Fellowship for his own brother. The vacancy caused by the death of Grey had just been filled up, but it was arranged that Denis Grenville should have the next. But, though the letter in his favour was confirmed sixteen months later, the Fellowship which Meredith resigned on his promotion to the Provostship, was granted by the forgetful King to Dr. Heaver, of Windsor. The Grenvilles were naturally indignant at such treatment, and the King had to write to the Provost and Fellows, explaining that the late appointment had been made in consequence of Laud's decree of 1634, which annexed a Fellowship at Eton to the Vicarage of Windsor, and once more bidding them reserve the next place for Grenville, whose family had rendered such eminent services to the Royalist cause.

[37] 'Comperts and Considerations.'

[38] He had also published previously some other sermons; a letter written to the Clergy of his Archdeaconry; and 'Counsel and Directions, Divine and Moral, in plain and familiar Letters of Advice to a Young Gentleman' (his nephew, Thomas Higgons), 'soon after his admission into a College in Oxon;' and his Memoirs, some of them of a painfully personal character, were edited by the Surtees Society in 1865.

[39] It is indeed said that James promised him, on his restoration, the Archbishopric of York (a post which, as we have seen, was once before filled by a member of the Grenville family).

[40] Cf. Wood's 'Athenæ Oxonienses,' vol. iv., col. 498; and the 'Fasti Oxonienses,' part ii., cols. 229-326.

[41] A Mr. Beaumont, a Durham clergyman, is believed to have written a 'Narrative of the Life of Dean Grenville.'

[42] Many of the Grenville portraits are in the possession of this family.

_INCLEDON_,

THE SINGER.

_INCLEDON_,

THE SINGER.

'The British National Singer.'

HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE III.

An artist might have a worse subject for a picture than the interview to which we are about to refer. The Vicar of Manaccan, the Rev. Richard Polwhele, of Polwhele, ever busy in gathering information about Cornwall and Cornishmen, one day near the beginning of the present century, rides over to the quaint and pretty little fishing-cove of Coverack, near the Lizard, to have a chat with old Mrs. Loveday Incledon, the mother of the 'rantin' roarin' blade' (the youngest, I fancy, of a somewhat numerous family) who forms the subject of this memoir. Polwhele probably passed through the quiet little village of St. Keverne (with--that unusual sight in Cornwall--a tall _spire_ and a large church), where our hero was born. Reaching Coverack, the worthy Vicar doubtless opened the siege in due form, and with regular approaches to the old lady; but all his skill and blandishments were in vain. She would tell him plenty about the rebellion of '45, and repeat many scraps of old ballads referring to it; but not one word would she say about her _son_, then in the meridian of his fame. It was, however, probably she who told Polwhele that all the Incledons were musical, and that her boy Benjamin's aunt was celebrated for her rendering of 'Black-eyed Susan;'--but in the end the Vicar had to remount his nag, and return to his snug Vicarage of Manaccan, not much wiser than when he left it in the morning.

Whether Incledon's mother's reticence was due to old age, or to the almost invariable reluctance of elderly people in the country to discuss family affairs with '_strangers_,' it would be hard to say; but it could scarcely be because the mention of her son's name and career gave her pain; for in her declining years he was the main source of her support till she died, after her husband, in 1808, eighty-one years of age. Incledon's father was a member of the medical profession, but probably not entitled to be described, as he was in some of the books of the day, as 'a respectable _physician_.' There is, however, a cosy little inn at St. Keverne, and on one of the stone posts of the back-door I have seen, deeply cut, the letters 'MICHAEL INCLEDON.' This would seem to give us perhaps the only clue now left to the home, during his boyhood, of the finest English singer of his day.

Cornwall has always been celebrated for the rich quality of its bass voices, but is not remarkable for the number or excellence of those of the tenor register. Incledon may almost be said to have possessed both; for, in his prime, his natural voice ranged from A to G (fourteen notes), and his singularly sweet and powerful falsetto from D to E or F (ten notes). It is not difficult to understand that, even more than a hundred years ago, the fame of a fine voice might travel eastward as far as Exeter Cathedral, where Jackson, whose once popular 'Te Deum' and many pleasing ballads and duets are familiar to most of us, then held the post of organist; and accordingly, under him was little Incledon placed about the year 1772, when eight years old. His voice delighted everybody, and he became 'a little idol.'

Bernard, who wrote the 'Theatrical Retrospections,' made Incledon's acquaintance whilst he was under Dr. Jackson's care, and says he did not at that time perceive anything remarkable in his voice or style. The boy was then a tall, lanky lad of fifteen, chiefly noticeable for his 'courage, gratefulness, and love of the water'--in fact, adds Bernard, more Newfoundland dog than boy. A gentleman of Exeter offered a money reward to any lad who would swim out to a certain moored boat, with a rope on his shoulders, and swim back with it again. The task, however, baffled all the Exeter boys, till young Incledon made the attempt, and, when he had earned the prize, handed the money immediately to a poor widow who had been kind to him. Bernard seems to have been a good friend of Incledon's through life; and Davy, the composer, whose acquaintance was also made about this time, was another. He, too, was a Cornishman, according to some writers,[43] and was Incledon's 'coach' when any new part or song had to be prepared. It was through Bernard that Incledon got his first start in life, at Bath, to which event reference will shortly be made.

But Incledon has not yet left Exeter (although it is not altogether improbable that he had already attempted[44] to do so), and here he continued his duties as chorister for awhile. It is said that when Judge Nares attended service at Exeter Cathedral, he was so entranced by the boy Incledon's singing 'Let the Soul live,' that he burst into tears, and at the end of the service sent the little fellow a present of five guineas. After having failed altogether to trace this piece of music, I am indebted to my friend, Mr. W. H. Cummings, the eminent tenor, and the biographer of Purcell, for the suggestion that it is probably part of one of Jackson's unpublished anthems.

Either the imposed restraint, and the punctuality and decorum of the Cathedral services, were too much for him, or (according to another suggestion) he was witness of some Cathedral scandal which it was thought desirable to keep quiet; at any rate, when about fifteen years old, Master Incledon at length successfully broke his fetters, and went as a sailor in his Majesty's navy, on board the _Formidable_, Captain Cleland, with whom he sailed to the West Indies. There he afterwards changed his ship, and joined the _Raisonnable_. He remained in the navy for about four years, and was present in more than one action; notably, whilst on board the _Formidable_ of 90 guns, in the famous fight of 12th April, 1782, between Lord Rodney (then Sir Geo. Brydges Rodney) and the French Admiral, Comte de Grasse, in the West Indian Archipelago,--when, after a fight which lasted the livelong day, and during which 9,000 French and Spaniards were killed and wounded, the British victory saved Jamaica from the enemy, and revived the then drooping fortunes of England.

Incledon seems to have made himself a great favourite amongst all classes on board the fleet, who were not only delighted by his magnificent singing, but also welcomed a boon companion. Admirals Pigot and Hughes were almost always singing glees and catches with the lad. The atmosphere must have been very congenial to him; and it was probably during this period of his life that he not only contracted the low tastes and hard-drinking habits which disfigured his career, yet, doubtless, he also now acquired that sea-faring style which enabled him to sing 'The Storm,'[45] 'Cease, rude Boreas! blustering railer,' etc., in such a way as they have never been sung before or since,

'In notes with many a winding bout Of linkèd sweetness long drawn out With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running.'

Admiral Lord Hervey became one of his chief patrons; and, in conjunction with Lord Mulgrave, Admiral Pigot, and others, on Incledon's return to England in 1783, these officers introduced him to Sheridan and to Colman--'the modern Terence,' as the latter was called--with a view to Incledon's appearing on the stage. It was not usual in those days for managers to fail to carry out the wishes of noble and influential patrons; but neither Sheridan nor Colman, whose practised eyes probably at once discovered that Incledon was no actor,--nor ever likely to make one--that his pronunciation was coarse, and that moreover his face and figure were somewhat sailor-like and ungainly,--could be prevailed upon to give the aspirant for histrionic honours, then in his nineteenth year, even a _trial_.

Not to be balked, however, in his intentions, our hero proceeded to Southampton, where Collins's itinerant dramatic company was then performing; and here he made his _début_ as Alfonso in 'The Castle of Andalusia,' with what result I have been unable to discover, though it would be interesting to learn; his salary (very acceptable, small as it was) was only some ten or fifteen shillings a week. He remained with this company for about a year, travelling with them to Winchester, and thence on foot to Bath, where he arrived 'with his last shilling in his pocket.' At Bath his great musical talents seem first to have been recognised--yet even there tardily, as he was for a long time engaged merely as a chorus singer, and was still miserably paid accordingly; though his salary was now raised to thirty shillings a week. His first appearance as a soloist is said to have been as Edwin, in 'Robin Hood.'

But one night Incledon had to sing a song 'between the acts'--an old practice, now fallen into disuse, but then prevalent at many theatres, and which afforded amusement to the audience whilst the cumbrous scenes were being slowly shifted by few and clumsy hands. One of the audience happened to be Rauzzini, an Italian singer and teacher at the fashionable watering-place; and he (notwithstanding his usual contempt for English singers) instantly detected the exceptional range and quality of Incledon's voice. He is said to have rushed behind the scenes, exclaiming: 'Incledon! Sare! I tank you for the pleasure you af give me: you vas de fus Engleesh singer I have hear vat can sing. Sare! you af got a voice--you af got a voice!' On another occasion, Incledon, at the conclusion of one of his ballads, made a roulade in a way altogether his own--rolling his voice grandly up like the surge of the sea, till, touching the top note, it died away in sweetness--causing Rauzzini to ejaculate: 'Coot Cot! it vas vere lucky dere vas some roof dere, or dat fellow vould be hear by de ainshels in hev'n.' Rauzzini at once became his friend; and, for six or seven years, his instructor; and Incledon, who now joined the 'Noblemen's and Gentlemen's Glee Club,' was at length on the high-road to success.

The London stage was, however, still the object of his ambition; and in the summers of 1786 to 1789, he at length succeeded in procuring engagements at Vauxhall Gardens, which resulted in a great triumph. His singing of 'The Lass of Richmond Hill' was, especially, so popular, that copies of the song were sold at one shilling each, instead of the usual sixpence. Still, Vauxhall was not 'the stage;' and, indeed, the regular actors looked down upon the Vauxhall performers as being artists of an inferior rank, so that poor Incledon's engagement there rather retarded than hastened the gratification of his wishes. At length actors' jealousies and managers' reluctance all had to give way to the sheer force of Incledon's unsurpassable voice and growing fame; and on the 20th January, 1790,[46] he made his _début_ at Covent Garden in the character of Dermot in 'The Poor Soldier.' His engagement was for three years, at £6, £7, and £8 a week. The applause with which he was received was general and sincere; his success was assured; and he became, from his rollicking, generous, sailor-like disposition, a favourite, both before and behind the scenes. He was always either playing off practical jokes upon others, or becoming the butt of them himself; and the latter was notably the case whenever Incledon was about to take his 'benefit.' On these occasions he was always very anxious about his success, and so credulous, that he believed all that the theatrical wags told him. Inquiring on one occasion as to how the list of his patrons was progressing, he was informed that 'the Marquis of Piccadilly' had just taken some tickets, and that 'the Duke of Windsor' had written for a box. 'Ah!' says Incledon, 'he must be one of the Royal Family, I suppose.' He was further delighted--or seemed to be so--when he was told that 'Lord Highgate' and the 'Bishop of Gravesend' were also coming.

But the author of the 'Records of a Stage Veteran' asserts that Incledon was not so silly or unlearned as he pretended to be, and could give a Roland (often coarse enough) for an Oliver. When some of the poorer actresses, relying upon his open-handed generosity, used to besiege him in the cold weather for donations to purchase flannel, they always got some money from him; but they not unfrequently repaired forthwith to the 'Brown Bear,' and invested it in egg-flip, which in consequence, it is said, soon came to bear the _alias_ of 'flannel' in the green-room. When Incledon found this out, he took his revenge by sprinkling some 'flannel' with ipecacuanha, and so saved his pocket from similar forays for the future. In 1804, he joined the Duke of Cumberland's sharp-shooters; but, being so fat, the story goes that he and Cooke were generally last of the skirmishers. On one occasion he gave a butcher-boy a shilling to carry his gun for him, and, on another, a shilling to a little girl to carry his sword, which was always getting between his legs; and he thus appeared with his two young subalterns on parade.

On the 26th February, 1791, Shield's operetta of 'The Woodman' was brought out at Covent Garden; and Incledon, now earning a salary of £16 a week, or £2 more than was then paid to any other English singer, enraptured all his hearers by the way in which he sang 'The Streamlet.' 'The Cabinet,' in which operetta he sang during the winter of 1804, with Braham and Storace, was also, like 'The English Fleet,' highly popular with the public; but Incledon's favourite part was Captain Macheath in the 'Beggar's Opera'--to play which he used to say he would always willingly get up in the middle of the night. And here it may be observed, that Braham gradually delegated to Incledon most of his younger _rôles_; but Dibdin tells us that, as Incledon's fame advanced, he had to be very cautious, in writing for the stage, to allot equally prominent parts to Incledon and to Braham. 'If one had a ballad, the other was also to have one; each a martial or a hunting song; each a bravura; and if they were to have a duet, each one was to lead alternately.' As an illustration of the relations which existed between the singer and the librettist, I may quote a letter which, about the year 1807, Incledon wrote to Dibdin from Norwich:

'DEAR TOM,

'You have on many occasions expressed a wish to serve me: you have it now in your power. I am much distressed for two comic songs for my new entertainment: one to be sung by an Irishman, and I should wish it complimentary to that country; the other to be sung by a funny tailor. Mr. Horn, a very clever young man now with me, will set them. We opened here on Saturday--receipts £103; and I expect nearly as much this night. I shall be at Bury St. Edmund's on Saturday and Sunday next: if you can let me have them by that time, I shall be greatly obliged to you; if not, I shall be at Lynn on the following Wednesday. With best compliments to Mrs. Dibdin,

'I am, dear Tom, 'Your friend, 'C. INCLEDON. 'P.S. D--n such paper.'

Incledon seems to have been at this time devotedly attached to his profession, and was perfectly furious when hoarseness or any other form of illness prevented his appearing in public. He was now in the zenith of his fame, and a musical critic of the period has thus described his voice and style:

'His natural voice was full and open, neither partaking of the reed nor the string, and was sent forth without the smallest artifice; such was its ductility, that when he sang pianissimo, it retained its original quality. His falsetto was rich and brilliant, but totally unlike the other. He took it without preparation, according to circumstances, either about D, E, or F; or, ascending an octave, which was his most frequent custom, he could use it with facility, and execute in it ornaments of a certain class with volubility and sweetness. His shake was good, and his intonation much more correct than is common to singers so imperfectly educated. His pronunciation of words, however, was thick, coarse, and vulgar. His forte was ballad; and ballad not of the modern cast of whining or rant or sentiment, but the original, manly, energetic strain of an earlier and better age of English poesy and English song-writing: such as "Black-eyed Susan," and "The Storm," the bold and cheering hunting-song, or the love-song of Shield, breathing the chaste, simple grace of genuine English melody.'

Nearly all accounts agree in saying that (notwithstanding Incledon's own very decided opinion to the contrary) he was no _actor_. Not even his friend and biographer Parkes, the oboe-player, who, with Shield the composer, lived much with Incledon, would allow him to have possessed _this_ merit. Indeed, the story is told that when Incledon was on one occasion enraged at hearing that, on the performance of one of the oratorios at a certain cathedral, the bishop had determined that neither Incledon nor any other _actor_ should sing in such a place, and on such an occasion, Bannister said to our hero, with mock seriousness, 'Incledon, if I were you I should make him _prove his words_.' Notwithstanding, however, Incledon's obtuseness on some points, he must have possessed a fund of genuine humour, as the following anecdote will show: When he and the elder Mathews (who, by the way, was singularly successful in imitating his friend, notwithstanding their great difference in person) were once playing together at Leicester, Incledon was much in want of a drab suit in which to appear in the character of 'Steady,' a Quaker; so, seeing a portly member of the Society of Friends, a druggist, standing at his shop-door, Incledon entered, consumed some quack medicine or other, and laid his hard case before the Quaker. This he did with such admirable tact that he actually succeeded in persuading the good-natured druggist not only to lend him the desired clothes, but also to appear secretly (against his convictions, of course) at the performance. Truth, however, compels me to add that the roguish songster's success was partly due to his unblushing statement that he and his family were themselves formerly Quakers!

Incledon used also, during Lent, to appear in oratorio, though apparently not with so much success as in performances of secular music. He was not so vain of his own voice as not to be very fond of concerted vocal music. His singing of 'All's Well' with Braham may perhaps be remembered by a few who are still alive; but probably all those who heard Incledon at the old 'Glee Club,' singing with Shield, Johnstone, Bannister the elder, Dignum, C. Ashley, and Parkes, have 'gone over to the majority.' The jolly fellows used to meet every alternate Sunday night at the Garrick's Head Coffee House, in Bow Street.[47]