Part 30

The history in little of this theatrical tumult is as follows:--The newly-built Covent Garden Theatre opened on the 18th September, 1809, when a cry of "Old Prices" (afterwards diminished to O. P.) burst out from every part of the house. This continued and increased in violence till the 23rd, when rattles, drums, whistles, and cat-calls having completely drowned the voices of the actors, Mr. Kemble, the stage-manager, came forward and said that a committee of gentlemen had undertaken to examine the finances of the concern, and that until they were prepared with their report the theatre would continue closed. "Name them!" was shouted from all sides. The names were declared, _viz._ Sir Charles Price, the Solicitor-General, the Recorder of London, the Governor of the Bank, and Mr. Angerstein. "All shareholders!" bawled a wag from the gallery. In a few days the theatre re-opened; the public paid no attention to the report of the referees, and the tumult was renewed for several weeks with even increased violence. The proprietors now sent in hired bruisers, to _mill_ the refractory into subjection. This irritated most of their former friends, and, amongst the rest, the annotator, who accordingly wrote the song of "Heigh-ho, says Kemble," which was caught up by the ballad-singers, and sung under Mr. Kemble's house-windows in Great Russell Street. A dinner was given at the Crown and Anchor Tavern, in the Strand, to celebrate the victory obtained by W. Clifford in his action against Brandon the box-keeper, for assaulting him for wearing the letters O. P. in his hat. At this dinner Mr. Kemble attended, and matters were compromised by allowing the advanced price (seven shillings) to the boxes. A former riot of a similar sort occurred at the same theatre (in the year 1792), when the price to the boxes was raised from five shillings to six. That tumult, however, only lasted three nights.[38]

[38] Note to _Rejected Addresses_. Edition 1861.

Origin of "Paul Pry."[39]

Mr. Poole, the author of this very successful comedy, tells us that the idea of the character of Paul Pry was suggested by the following anecdote, related to him many years before he wrote the piece by a beloved friend.

[39] See _Liston_, page 391.

An idle old lady, living in a narrow street, had passed so much of her time in watching the affairs of her neighbours, that she at length acquired the power of distinguishing the sound of every knocker within hearing. It happened that she fell ill, and was for several days confined to her bed. Unable to observe in person what was going on without, she stationed her maid at the window as a substitute for the performance of that duty. But Betty soon grew weary of the occupation; she became careless in her reports--impertinent and tetchy when reprimanded for her negligence.

"Betty, what _are_ you thinking about? Don't you hear a double knock at No. 9? Who is it?"

"The first-floor lodger, ma'am."

"Betty! Betty! I declare I must give you warning. Why don't you tell me what that knock is at No. 54?"

"Why, Lord! ma'am, it is only the baker with pies."

"_Pies_, Betty! what _can_ they want with pies at 54?--they had pies yesterday!"

"Of this very point," says Mr. Poole, "I have availed myself. Let me add, that _Paul Pry_ was never intended as the representative of any one individual, but a class. Like the melancholy of Jaques, he is 'compounded of many simples,' and I could mention five or six who were unconscious contributors to the character. Though it should have been so often, but erroneously, supposed to have been drawn after some particular person, is, perhaps, complimentary to the general truth of the delineation.

"With respect to the play generally, I may say that it is original: it is original in structure, plot, character, and dialogue--such as they are--the only imitation I am aware of is to be found in part of the business in which Mrs. Subtle is engaged; whilst writing those scenes I had strongly in my recollection _Le Vieux Célibataire_. But even the title I have adopted is considerably altered and modified by the necessity of adapting it to the exigencies of a different plot."

Mrs. Garrick.

In the autumn of 1822, we well remember the appearance in the print-shops of a small whole-length etching of Mrs. Garrick, who had died three or four days previously, having outlived her celebrated husband three-and-forty years.

John Thomas Smith notes: "1822. In October this year the venerable Mrs. Garrick departed this life when seated in her armchair, in the front drawing-room of her house in the Adelphi Terrace." [The first floor of which is now occupied by the Literary Fund Society.] "She had ordered her maid-servants to place two or three gowns upon chairs to determine in which she would appear at Drury Lane Theatre that evening, it being a private view of Mr. Elliston's improvements for the season. Perhaps no lady in public and private life held a more unexceptionable character. She was visited by persons of the first rank; even our late Queen Charlotte, who had honoured her with a visit at Hampton, found her peeling onions for pickling. The gracious queen commanded a knife to be brought, saying 'I will peel some onions too.' The late King George IV. and King William IV., as well as other branches of the Royal Family, frequently honoured her with visits."

In the year previous to her death, Mrs. Garrick went to the British Museum to inspect the collection of the portraits of Garrick which Dr. Burney had made. She was delighted with these portraits, many of which were totally unknown to her. Her observations on some of them were very interesting, particularly that by Dance, as Richard III. Of that painter she stated that, in the course of his painting the picture, Mr. Garrick had agreed to give him two hundred guineas for it. One day, at Mr. Garrick's dining table, where Dance had always been a welcome guest, he observed that Sir Watkin Williams Wynne, who had seen the picture, spontaneously offered him two hundred guineas for it. "Did you tell him it was for me?" questioned Garrick. "No, I did not."--"Then you mean to let him have it?" Garrick rejoined. "Yes, I believe I shall," replied the painter. "However," added Mrs. Garrick, "my husband was very good: he bought me a handsome looking-glass, which cost him more than the agreed price of the picture; and that was put up in the place where Dance's picture was to have hung."

"Mrs. Garrick, being about to quit her seat, said she would be glad to see me at Hampton. 'Madame,' said Mr. Smith, 'you are very good, but you would oblige me exceedingly by honouring me with your signature on this day.' 'What do you ask me for? I have not taken a pen in my hands for many months. Stay, let me compose myself; don't hurry me, and I will see what I can do. Would you like it written with my spectacles on, or without?' Preferring the latter, she wrote, 'E. M. Garrick,' but not without some exertion.

"'I suppose now, sir, you wish to know my age. I was born at Vienna, the 29th of February, 1724, though my coachman insists upon it that I am above a hundred. I was married at the parish of St. Giles at eight o'clock in the morning, and immediately afterwards in the chapel of the Portuguese Ambassador, in South Audley Street.'"

A day or two after Mrs. Garrick's death, Mr. Smith went to the Adelphi, to know if a day had been fixed for the funeral. "No," replied George Harris, one of Mrs. Garrick's confidential servants, "but I will let you know when it is to take place. Would you like to see her? She is in her coffin."--"Yes I should." Upon entering the back room on the first floor, in which Mrs. Garrick died, Mr. Smith found the deceased's two female servants standing by her remains. He made a drawing of her, and intended to have etched it. "Pray, do tell me," said Smith to one of the maids, "why is the coffin covered with sheets?"--"They are their wedding sheets, in which both Mr. and Mrs. Garrick wished to have died." Mr. Smith was told that one of these attentive women had incurred her mistress's displeasure by kindly pouring out a cup of tea, and handing it to her in her chair: "Put it down, you hussy: do you think I cannot help myself." She took it herself, and a short time after she had put it to her lips, she died.

This lady continued her practice of swearing now and then, particularly when anyone attempted to impose upon her. A stonemason brought in his bill, with an overcharge of sixpence more than the sum agreed upon; on which occasion he endeavoured to appease her rage by thus addressing her: "My dear Madam, do consider--" "My dear Madam! what do you mean, you d--d fellow? Get out of the house immediately. My dear Madam, indeed!"

On the day of the funeral Smith went with Miss Macaulay, the authoress, to see the venerable lady interred; but when they arrived at Westminster Abbey, they were refused admittance by a person who said: "If it be your wish to see the waxwork, you must come when the funeral's over, and you will then be admitted into Poet's Corner, by a man who is stationed at the door to receive your money."

"Curse the waxwork!" said Smith, "this lady and I came to see Mrs. Garrick's remains placed in the grave."--"Ah, well, you can't come in; the Dean won't allow it."--"As soon as the ceremony was over," says Smith, "we were admitted for sixpence at the Poet's Corner, and there we saw the earth that surrounded the grave, and no more, as we refused to pay the demands of the showmen of the Abbey."

Horace Walpole, though he wrote a bitter letter upon Garrick's funeral, and some strange opinions of his acting, left some good-humoured remarks upon Mrs. Garrick: he writes to Miss Hannah More: "Mrs. Garrick I have scarcely seen this whole summer. She is a liberal Pomona to me, I will not say an Eve, for though she reaches fruit to me, she will never let me in, as if I were a boy, and would rob her orchard."

Mathews, a Spanish Ambassador.

Mathews once personated a Spanish Ambassador; a frolic enacted by him at an inn at Dartford. An account of the freak was written by Tom Hill, who took part in the scene, acting as Mathews's interpreter. He called it his "Recollections of his Excellency the Spanish Ambassador's visit to Captain Selby, on board the _Prince Regent_ one of his Majesty's frigates stationed at the Nore, by the Interpreter."

The party hired a private coach, of large capacity, and extremely showy, to convey them to Gravesend as the _suite_ of Mathews, who personated an ambassador from Madrid to the English Government, and four smart lads, who were entrusted with the secret by the payment of a liberal fee. The drivers proved faithful to their promise. When they arrived at the posting-house at Dartford, one of the drivers dismounted, and communicated to the inn-keeper the character of the nobleman (Mathews) inside the coach, and that his mission to London had been attended with the happiest result. The report spread through Dartford like wildfire, and in about ten minutes the carriage (having by previous arrangement been detained) was surrounded by at least two hundred people, all with cheers and gratulations, anxious to gain a view of the important personage, who, decked out with nearly twenty different stage jewels, representing sham orders, bowed with obsequious dignity to the assembled multitude. It was settled that the party should dine and sleep at the Falcon Tavern, Gravesend, where a sumptuous dinner was provided for his Excellency and _suite_. Previously, however, to dinner-time, and to heighten the joke, they promenaded the town and its environs, followed by a large assemblage of men, women, and children at a respectful distance, all of whom preserved the greatest decorum. The interpreter (Mr. Hill) seemed to communicate and explain to the Ambassador whatever was of interest in their perambulation. On their return to the inn, the crowd gradually dispersed. The dinner was served in a sumptuous style, and two or three additional waiters, dressed in their holiday clothes, were hired for the occasion.

The ambassador, by medium of his interpreter, asked for two soups, and a portion of four different dishes of fish with oil, vinegar, mustard, pepper, salt, and sugar, in the same plate, which, _apparently_ to the eyes of the waiters, and to their utter astonishment and surprise, he eagerly devoured. The waiters had been cautioned by one of the _suite_ not to notice the manner in which his Excellency ate his dinner, lest it should offend him; and their occasional absence from the room gave Mathews or his companion an opportunity of depositing the incongruous medley in the ashes under the grate--a large fire having been provided. The ambassador continued to mingle the remaining viands, during dinner, in a similar heterogeneous way. The chamber in which his Excellency slept was brilliantly illuminated with wax-candles, and in one corner of the room a table was fitted up, under the direction of one of the party, to represent an oratory, with such appropriate apparatus as could best be procured. A private sailing-barge was moored at the stairs by the fountain early the next morning, to convey the ambassador and his attendants to the _Prince Regent_ at the Nore. The people again assembled in vast multitudes to witness the embarkation. Carpets were placed on the stairs at the water's edge, for the state and comfort of his Excellency; who, the instant he entered the barge, turned round and bade a grateful farewell to the multitude, at the same time placing his hand upon his bosom, and taking off his huge cocked hat. The captain of the barge, a supremely illiterate, good-humoured cockney, was introduced most ceremoniously to the ambassador, and purposely placed on his right hand. It is impossible to describe the variety of absurd and extravagant stratagems practised on the credulity of the captain by Mathews, and with consummate success, until the barge arrived in sight of the King's frigate, which by a previous understanding, recognized the ambassador by signals. The officers were all dressed in full uniform, and prepared to receive him. When on board, the whole party threw off their disguises, and were entertained by Captain Selby with a splendid dinner, to which the lieutenants of the ship were invited.

After the banquet, Mathews, in his own character, kept the company in high spirits by his incomparable mimic powers for more than ten hours, incorporating with admirable effect the entire narrative of the journey to Gravesend, and his, "acts and deeds" at the Falcon. Towards the close of the feast, and about half-an-hour before the party took their departure, in order to give the commander and his officers "a touch of his quality," Mathews assumed his ambassadorial attire, and the captain of the barge, still in ignorance of the joke, was introduced into the cabin, between whom and his Excellency an indescribable scene of rich burlesque was enacted. The party left the ship for Gravesend at four o'clock in the morning--Mathews, in his "habit as he lived," with the addition of a pair of spectacles, which he had a peculiar way of wearing to conceal his identity, even from the most acute observer. Mathews again resumed his station by the side of the captain, as a person who had left the frigate for a temporary purpose. The simple captain recounted to Mathews all that the Spanish ambassador had enacted, both in his transit from Gravesend to the Nore, and whilst he (the captain) was permitted to join the festive board in the cabin, with singular fidelity, and to the great amusement of the original party, who, during the whole of this ambassadorial excursion, never lost their gravity, except when they were left to themselves. They landed at Gravesend, and from thence departed to London, luxuriating upon the hoax.

Grimaldi, the Clown.

Joseph Grimaldi had for his paternal grandfather a dancer, so vigorous as to rejoice in the appellation of "Iron Legs." His son, the father of _our_ Grimaldi, was a native of Genoa, and in 1760 came to England as dentist to Queen Charlotte. He soon, however, resigned this situation, commenced dancing and fencing-master, and was appointed ballet-master of Drury Lane Theatre and Sadler's Wells with the post of primo buffo. He was an honest and charitable man, and was never known to be inebriated, though he was very eccentric. He had a vague and profound dread of the fourteenth day of the month: at its approach he was always nervous, disquieted, and anxious; directly it had passed he was another man again, and invariably exclaimed, in his broken English, "Ah! now I am safe for anoder month." It is remarkable that he actually died on the fourteenth day of March; and that he was born, christened, and married on the fourteenth of the month. This was the same man who, in the time of Lord George Gordon's Riots, when people for the purpose of protecting their 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 parties, and preventing the possibility of offending any by his form of worship, wrote up "No Religion at all," which announcement appeared in large characters in front of his house in Little Russell Street: the protective idea was perfectly successful.

Joseph Grimaldi, our "Joe," was born out of wedlock on the 18th of December, 1778, in Stanhope Street, Clare Market; his mother being Rebecca Brooker, who had been from her infancy a dancer at Drury Lane, and subsequently at Sadler's Wells played old women. Joe's eccentric father was then more than seventy years old; and twenty-five months afterwards was born another son, Joseph's only brother.

_Our_ Joe Grimaldi, at the age of one year and eleven months, was brought out by his father, on the boards of Old Drury, as "the little clown," in the pantomime of _Robinson Crusoe_, at a salary of 15_s._ per week. In 1781 he first appeared at Sadler's Wells, in the arduous character of a monkey: here he remained (one season only excepted) until the termination of his professional career, forty-nine years afterwards, when in his farewell address, at Sadler's Wells, he said:--"At a very early age, before that of three years, I was introduced to the public by my father, at this theatre." This is not very clear, since it would seem to contradict the statement of his having appeared at Drury Lane. During the first piece in which little Joe played at Sadler's Wells, he had nearly lost his life: in one of the scenes, the clown, his father, was swinging him as a monkey, round and round by a chain, which broke, and he was hurled a considerable distance into the pit, fortunately into the very arms of an old gentleman who was sitting gazing at the stage with intense interest.

At this time, "the little clown's" full-dress was embroidered coat and breeches, silk stockings, paste buckles, and cocked-hat; and a guinea in his pocket, which he one day gave to a distressed woman, for which act his father gave him a caning (though not till five months after), which he remembered as long as he lived. Old Grimaldi died in 1788, leaving 1,500_l._, but the executor becoming bankrupt, the two sons lost the whole of their fortune. Joe stuck to the stage, and at Drury Lane Mr. Sheridan raised his salary, unasked, to 1_l._ a-week. His leisure was now passed in breeding pigeons and collecting insects; of the latter he had a cabinet of 4,000 specimens. He now removed with his mother to Pentonville, where the house is to this day pointed out in Penton Place. About this time, early one morning, Joe found near the Tower of London a purse of gold coin and a bundle of Bank-notes, which, on his way home, he sat down to count upon the spot where now stands the Eagle Tavern, in the City Road. There were 380 guineas and 200_l._ in notes, making in the whole 599_l._ Grimaldi repeatedly advertised in the daily newspapers the finding of the money, but he never heard a syllable regarding the treasure he had so singularly acquired. His maternal grandfather, it appears, once left a purse of gold, nearly 400_l._, upon a post near the Royal Exchange, and found it there untouched after the lapse of nearly an hour.

Joe Grimaldi appeared, as usual, at Sadler's Wells in 1788, but at this time his salary of fifteen shillings a-week was reduced to three, on which pittance he remained for three years, making himself generally useful: in 1794, he had grown so popular at Sadler's Wells, that his salary had risen from three shillings to four pounds. In 1800, Joe married Miss Maria Hughes, eldest daughter of a proprietor and the resident manager of Sadler's Wells: she died in the same year, and was interred in the grave-yard of St. James's, Clerkenwell, where the following was inscribed on a tablet at her request:--

"Earth walks on earth like glittering gold; Earth says to earth we are but mould; Earth builds on earth castles and towers; Earth says to earth all shall be ours."

On Monday, March 17th, 1828, Grimaldi took his farewell benefit at Sadler's Wells, when he delivered an address, and the whole concluded "with a brilliant display of fireworks, expressive of Grimaldi's thanks." He, however, played a short time in 1832, and then quitted the Wells finally. After this premature retirement from the stage, poor Joe lived at No. 33, Southampton Street, Pentonville, in a house which was furnished for him by his friends. At this time he frequented the coffee-room of the Marquis of Cornwallis tavern, the proprietor of which, considering his infirmity, or the loss of the use of his lower extremity, used to fetch him on his back, and take him home in the same manner. On May 31st, 1837, he was thus brought to the coffee-room and seemed quite exhilarated, his conversation, and humour, and anecdotes smacking of the vivacity of former years. He was carried home as usual; he retired to rest, and next morning was found dead in his bed. On June 5th, he was buried in the ground of St. James's Chapel, Pentonville, next to the grave of his friend, Charles Dibdin: his grave-stone states his age at fifty-eight years.

Thomas Hood wrote this touching "Ode to Joseph Grimaldi, senior," upon his retirement:--

"Joseph! they say thou'st left the stage To toddle down the hill of life, And taste the flannell'd ease of age Apart from pantomimic strife. 'Retir'd' (for Young would call it so)-- 'The world shut out'--in Pleasant Row.

"And hast thou really washt at last, From each white cheek the red half-moon? And all thy public clownship cast, To play the private pantaloon? All youth--all ages--yet to be, Shall have a heavy miss of thee.

"Thou didst not preach to make us wise-- Thou hadst no finger in our schooling-- Thou didst not lure us to the skies; Thy simple, simple trade was--Fooling! And yet, Heav'n knows! we could--we can Much 'better spare a better man!'

* * * * *

"But Joseph--everybody's Joe-- Is gone; and grieve I will and must! As Hamlet did for Yorick, so Will I for thee (though not yet dust): And talk as he did when he missed The kissing crust, that he had kiss'd!

"Ah, where is now thy rolling head! Thy winking, reeling, _drunken_ eyes, (As old Catullus would have said), Thy oven-mouth, that swallow'd pies-- Enormous hunger--monstrous drowth! Thy pockets greedy as thy mouth!

"Ah! where thy ears so often cuff'd! Thy funny, flapping, filching hands! Thy partridge body always stuff'd With waifs and strays and contrabands! Thy foot, like Berkeley's Foote--for why? 'Twas often made to wipe an eye.