Joseph Grimaldi

1809 to 1812.

Opening of the new Covent Garden Theatre—The Great O. P. Rows—Grimaldi's first appearance as Clown in the public streets—Temporary Embarrassments—Great success at Cheltenham and Gloucester—He visits Berkeley Castle and is introduced to Lord Byron—Fish Sauce and Apple Pie.

On the 18th of September in this year, the new theatre in Covent Garden opened with Shakspeare's tragedy of Macbeth and the musical afterpiece of The Quaker, with the following casts:—

MACBETH.

THE QUAKER.

It was at this period that the great O. P. Row began, of which so much has been said, and sung, and written, that little of novelty or interest could accompany the description of it here. Everybody knows that the O. P. Row originated in the indignation with which the play-going public regarded an increase in the prices of admission of one shilling each person to the boxes, and sixpence to the pit, with which was coupled a considerable increase in the number of private boxes; and everybody knows, moreover, that the before-mentioned play-going public expressed their dissatisfaction night after night in scenes of the most extraordinary and unparalelled nature. The noises made by the audience utterly overwhelmed every attempt that the actors could make to render themselves audible. Not a word that was said on the stage could be distinguished even in the front row of the pit, and the O. P. (Old Price) rioters, fearful that the exercise of their voices would not create sufficient uproar, were in the habit of bringing the most extraordinary variety of curious and ill-toned instruments with them, to add to the noise and discordance of the scene. One gentleman, who constantly seated himself in the boxes, regaled himself and the company with a watchman's rattle, which he sprang vigorously at short intervals throughout the performances; another took his seat regularly every night in the centre of the pit, armed with a large dustman's bell, which he rang with a perseverance and strength of arm quite astounding to all beholders;[52] and a party of three or four pleasant fellows brought live pigs, which were pinched at the proper times, and added considerably to the effect of the performances.

But rattles, bells, pigs, trumpets, French horns, sticks, umbrellas, catcalls, and bugles, were not the only vocal weapons used upon these occasions: Kemble was constantly called for, constantly came on, and constantly went off again without being able to obtain a hearing. Numbers of Bow-street officers were in regular attendance: whenever they endeavoured to seize the ringleaders, the ringleaders were defended by their partisans, and numerous fights (in one of which a man was nearly killed) resulted. Scarce an evening passed without flaming speeches being made from pit, boxes, and gallery; and sometimes half-a-dozen speeches would be in course of delivery at the same time. The greater portion of the time of the magistrates was occupied in investigations connected with the disturbances, and this state of things continued for nearly seventy nights. Placards were exhibited in every part of the house, principally from the pit; of the quality of which effusions the following may be taken as specimens:

"Notice to the Public.—This house and furniture to be sold, Messrs. John Kemble & Co. declining business."

"Notice to the Public.—The workhouse in Covent Garden has been repaired, and greatly enlarged for the use of the Public."

"Cause of Justice.—John Bull versus John Kemble—verdict for the plaintiff."

A large coffin with the inscription, "Here lies the body of New Prices, who died of the whooping-cough, Sept. 23, 1809, aged six days."

The instant the performances began, the audience, who had been previously sitting with their faces to the stage, as audiences generally do, wheeled round to a man, and turned their backs upon it. When they concluded, which, in consequence of the fearful uproar, was frequently as early as half-past nine o'clock, they united in singing a parody on "God save the King," of which the first verse ran thus:—

Then followed the O. P. dance and a variety of speeches, and then the rioters would quietly disperse.

The opinions of the press being, as a matter of course, divided on every question, were necessarily divided upon this. The Times and Post supported the new system; in consequence of which a placard was exhibited from the pit every evening for at least a week, with the inscription,

The Chronicle, on the other hand, took up the opposite side of the question, and supported the O. P. rioters with great fervour and constancy. In its columns one of the most popular of the numerous squibs on the subject appeared, which is here inserted. It may be necessary to premise that "Jack," was John Kemble; that the "Cat" was Madame Catalani, then engaged at Covent Garden Theatre, and who was much opposed at that time, in consequence of her being a foreigner; and that the "boxes" were the new private boxes, among the great objects of popular execration.

"THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.

"This is the House that Jack built.

"These are the boxes, let to the great, that visit the house that Jack built.

"These are the pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great, that visit the house that Jack built.

"This is the Cat, engaged to squall, to the poor in the pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great, that visit the house that Jack built.

"This is John Bull, with a bugle-horn, that hissed the Cat, engaged to squall, to the poor in the pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great, that visit the house that Jack built.

"This is the thief-taker, shaven and shorn,
That took up John Bull, with his bugle-horn,
who hissed the Cat, engaged to squall, to the poor in the pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great, that visit the house that Jack built.

"This is the manager, full of scorn,
Who RAISED THE PRICES to the people forlorn,
And directed the thief-taker, shaven and shorn,
To take up John Bull, with his bugle-horn,
who hissed the Cat, engaged to squall, to the poor in the pigeon-holes, over the boxes, let to the great, that visit the house that Jack built."

When this had gone on for several nights, Kemble sent for Grimaldi, and said, that as the people would not hear dialogue they would try pantomime, which might perhaps suit their tastes better, and accordingly "Don Juan"[53] was put up for the next night, Grimaldi sustaining his old part of Scaramouch. He was received on his entrance with great applause, and it happened oddly enough that on that night there was little or no disturbance. This circumstance, which he naturally attributed in some degree to himself, pleased him amazingly, as indeed it did Kemble also, who, shaking him cordially by the hand when he came off, said, "Bravo, Joe! we have got them now; we'll act this again to-morrow night." And so they did; but it appeared that they had not "got them" either, for the uproar recommenced with, if possible, greater fury than before, all the performers agreeing that until that moment they had never heard such a mighty and indescribable din.

Eventually, on the fifteenth of December,[54] the famous O. P. row terminated, on the proprietors of the theatre lowering the charge of admission to the pit, removing the obnoxious private boxes, rescinding Madame Catalani's engagement, discharging Mr. James Brandon, house and box book-keeper, who had rendered himself greatly offensive to the O. P. people, abandoning all prosecutions against those who had been required to answer for their misconduct at the sessions, and offering a public apology. The ungracious task of making it, fell upon Mr. Kemble, who delivered what it was deemed necessary to say, with remarkable self-possession and dignity. It was received by the audience with great applause, and a placard was immediately hoisted in the pit, bearing the words, "We are satisfied;" it was speedily followed by a similar announcement in the boxes; and thus terminated[55] the famous O. P. war, wholly unparalleled in dramatic or indeed in any other annals.

At Christmas, "Harlequin Pedlar, or the Haunted Well," was produced: it met with very great success, being played fifty-two nights. In March, 1810, Grimaldi first appeared as Skirmish in "The Deserter of Naples;" and "Mother Goose" was again played. The theatre closed in July, and re-opened in October.[56] Nothing particular new was done that season at Sadler's Wells. At Christmas, 1810, he appeared, as usual, in the Covent Garden pantomime, which was called "Harlequin Asmodeus, or Cupid on Crutches." It was acted for forty-six nights, and was played occasionally until May, 1811.[57]

During this month he had to play Clown at both theatres, the pantomime being acted as the first piece at Sadler's Wells, and as the last piece at Covent Garden. Not having time to change his dress, and indeed having no reason for doing so if he had, in consequence of his playing the same character at both houses, he was accustomed to have a coach in waiting, into which he threw himself the moment he had finished at Sadler's Wells, and was straightway carried to Covent Garden to begin again.

One night it so happened that by some forgetfulness or mistake on the part of the driver, the coach which usually came for him failed to make its appearance. It was a very wet night, and not having a moment to lose, he sent for another. After a considerable interval, during which he was in an agony of fear lest the Covent Garden stage should be kept waiting, the messenger returned in a breathless state with the information that there was not a coach to be got. There was only one desperate alternative, and that was to run through the streets. Knowing that his appearance at Covent Garden must by this time be necessary, he made up his mind to do it, and started off at once.

The night being very dark, he got on pretty well at first; but when he came into the streets of Clerkenwell, where the lights of the shops showed him in his Clown's dress running along at full speed, people began to grow rather astonished. First, a few people turned round to look after him, and then a few more, and so on until there were a great many, and at last, one man who met him at a street corner, recognising the favourite, gave a loud shout of, "Here's Joe Grimaldi!"

This was enough. Off set Grimaldi faster than ever, and on came the mob, shouting, huzzaing, screaming out his name, throwing up their caps and hats, and exhibiting every manifestation of delight. He ran into Holborn with several hundred people at his heels, and being lucky enough to find a coach there, jumped in. But this only increased the pressure of the crowd, who followed the vehicle with great speed and perseverance; when, suddenly poking his head out of the window, he gave one of his famous and well-known laughs. Upon this the crowd raised many roars of laughter and applause, and hastily agreed, as with one accord, that they would see him safe and sound to Covent Garden. So, the coach went on surrounded by the dirtiest body-guard that was ever beheld, not one of whom, deserted his post, until Grimaldi had been safely deposited at the stage-door; when, after raising a vociferous cheer, such of them as had money rushed round to the gallery-doors, and making their appearance in the front just as he came on the stage, set up a boisterous shout of, "Here he is again!" and cheered him enthusiastically, to the infinite amusement of every person in the theatre who had got wind of the story.

In the season of 1811, "The Great Devil" was revived at Sadler's Wells:[58] he played a part in it in which he was highly successful and applauded to the very echo. In July, he injured his chest severely by falling upon a tight-rope, and was obliged for several weeks to give up all his theatrical engagements. He reappeared at Covent Garden in October following,[59] playing in "Asmodeus," "Mother Goose," "Valentine and Orson," and "Raymond and Agnes;" in the latter piece he supported, for the first time, the part of Robert. On the 26th of December the new pantomime appeared; it was called "Harlequin and Padmanaba, or the Golden Fish," and went off very well.

One of his earlier appearances in the regular drama occurred in the following June (1812),[60] when, for his own benefit, he played Acres in "The Rivals." The house was a very good one, and he cleared upwards of two hundred pounds by it.

This year was rendered remarkable to him by some temporary embarrassments into which he was plunged, partly, he says, by the great expense consequent upon keeping a country as well as a town house, and partly by the great extravagance of his wife, who, although an excellent woman, had, like everybody else, some fault; hers was a love of dress which almost amounted to a mania. Finding that retrenchment must be the order of the day, he gave up his house at Finchley, discharged his groom, sold his horse and gig, and placed his affairs in the hands of Mr. Harmer, the solicitor, to whom circumstances had so oddly introduced him a few years before. Seven or eight months served to bring affairs into the right train again; by the end of that time every one of his creditors had been paid to the last penny of their demands.

In 1812, there was nothing particularly worthy of notice at Sadler's Wells. His second benefit, which took place in October, was a great one, the receipts being two hundred and twenty-five pounds. It was supposed the theatre would not hold more than two hundred pounds, but no benefit of his ever brought him less than two hundred and ten; and indeed one, which we shall presently have occasion to mention, produced nearly two hundred and seventy pounds—whether those who contributed this sum were all in the theatre at one period or not, we cannot of course pretend to say.

In the latter end of this month, he entered into an engagement to perform for two nights with Mr. Watson of the Cheltenham theatre, who arranged to give him a clear half of whatever the receipts might be. Previously to leaving town, he consulted with Mr. Hughes about this speculation, who told him that Cheltenham was a bad theatrical town, on account of its having many other amusements; but still he fancied he might clear his expenses, and perhaps forty or fifty pounds besides. At the appointed time he left London, having received a species of half-notice from Mr. Harris, that he would not be wanted at Covent Garden: and on the next night, played Scaramouch and sang Tippitywitchet with great Éclat at Cheltenham. The following evening he played Clown in a little pantomime of his own concoction.

The house was full on each occasion, the performances gave perfect satisfaction, and he was induced by the manager to stay in that part of the country two days longer, and to go to Gloucester, nine miles off, at which place he likewise had a theatre. Thither they started early on the following morning, played the same pieces as at Cheltenham, and met with an equal degree of success.

After the performances were over, Mr. Watson and he supped together; and when the cloth was removed, the former said,

"Now, Joe, I can only allow you to take one glass of punch, time is so very precious."

"I do not understand you," replied Grimaldi.

"Why, what I mean is, that it is now twelve o'clock, and time to go to bed," he answered.

"Oh! with all my heart," said Grimaldi. "But this is something new, I suspect, with you. Last night, I remember, it was three hours later than this, before you suffered me to retire; and the night previous it was later even than that."

"Ay, ay," replied Watson; "but to-night we had perhaps better get to bed soon, as to-morrow I want you to go out rather early with me."

"What do you call rather early?" inquired Grimaldi.

"Why, let me see, we must start before three," answered the manager.

"Indeed!" said Grimaldi; "then I shall wish you good-night at once;" and so saying, without any loss of time, he went to his chamber. After they had stepped into a chaise next day, he found that their destination was Berkeley Castle, to which its host had sent them a special invitation, and that their morning's amusement was to consist of coursing.

He had the honour of an acquaintance with Colonel Berkeley, (now Lord Segrave,) at whose table he was occasionally in the habit of dining, and upon their arrival at the castle was most hospitably received. The castle was full of company. Several noblemen were there, as well as distinguished commoners: among the former was Lord Byron, whom he had frequently seen, and who always patronized his benefits at Covent Garden, but with whom he had never conversed. Colonel Berkeley introduced him to such of the company as he was unacquainted with, and, in common with the rest, to Lord Byron, who instantly advanced towards him, and, making several low bows, expressed in very hyperbolical terms his "great and unbounded satisfaction in becoming acquainted with a man of such rare and profound talents," &c. &c.

Perceiving that his lordship was disposed to be facetious at his expense, Grimaldi felt half inclined to reply in a similar strain; but, reflecting that he might give offence by doing so, abstained—resolving, however, not to go entirely unrevenged for the joke which he was evidently playing him: he returned all the bows and congees threefold, and as soon as the ceremonious introduction was over, made a face at Colonel Berkeley, expressive of mingled gratification and suspicion, which threw those around into a roar of laughter; while Byron, who did not see it, looked round for the cause of the merriment in a manner which redoubled it at once.

"Grimaldi," said the Colonel, "after breakfast, at which meal we expect your company and that of Mr. Watson, you shall have a course with the greyhounds yonder; then you must return and dine with us. We will have dinner early, so that you can reach the theatre in time to perform."

To this, he had no further reply to make, than to express his gratitude for such consideration and kindness. After they had taken a plentiful meal, they went out with the dogs, and had some famous sport. Hares were so plentiful that they started twenty-seven in one field; and the day being fine, and the novelty great, Grimaldi was highly delighted with the proceedings.

Upon their return to the castle, they found most of the party with whom they had breakfasted assembled together, and shortly afterwards they sat down to dinner. Lord Byron sat on Grimaldi's left, and a young nobleman whom he knew very well, from his being constantly behind the scenes at Covent Garden, but whose name he could not recollect, on his right.

"Grimaldi," whispered this young nobleman, just as dinner commenced, "did you ever meet Byron before?"

"Never, my lord," answered Grimaldi: "that is, never to converse with him."

"Then, of course, you have not met him at a dinner-party?"

"Never, my lord."

"Well, then," continued the young gentleman, who, as anybody but Grimaldi would have seen, was playing on his simplicity in conjunction with Lord Byron, "I will tell you why I asked these questions: I was anxious, if you should chance not to know his lordship's peculiarities, to point out to you one trifling but still distinguishing one, to which if you happen to oppose yourself, he will infallibly take a dislike to you; and I need not assure you that it is always best for a public character to be on good terms rather than bad with such men."

Grimaldi bowed his thanks, and really did feel very grateful.

"What I allude to is simply this," added his noble friend: "Byron is very courteous at the dinner-table, but does not like to have his courtesy thrown away, or slighted; I would recommend you, if he asks you to take anything, as he is almost sure to do, no matter whether it be to eat or drink, not to refuse."

"I am very much obliged to you, my lord," was Grimaldi's reply: "in fact, I look upon your kindness as a great personal favour, and I shall carefully act upon your recommendation."

And so he did, and so indeed he had plenty of opportunities of doing; for Lord Byron asked him to partake of so many things, none of which he liked to decline, that at last he was quite gorged, and was almost fearful that if it lasted much longer, he should be unable to perform that night at Gloucester.

Towards the end of the repast his lordship invited him to eat a little apple-tart, which he thought he could manage, the more especially as he was very fond of it; he therefore acquiesced, with many thanks; and the tart being placed before him, commenced operations. Byron looked at him for a moment, and then said, with much seeming surprise—

"Why, Mr. Grimaldi, do you not take soy with your tart?"

"Soy, my lord?"

"Yes, soy: it is very good with salmon, and therefore it must be nice with apple-pie."

Poor Grimaldi did not see the analogy, and was upon the point of saying so; but his friend on his right touched his elbow, when recollecting what he had previously communicated, he bowed assent to Byron's proposal, and proceeded to pour some of the fish-sauce over the tart. After one or two vain attempts to swallow a mouthful of the vile mess, he addressed Lord Byron with considerable formality, begging him to observe, "that no one could do more justice than himself to his kindness, but that he really trusted he would forgive his declining to eat the mixture he had recommended; as, however much the confession might savour of bad taste, he really did not relish soy with apple-tart."

He was much relieved by Byron's taking the apology in very good part, and by the rest of the company laughing most heartily—at what, he says, he cannot possibly tell, unless it had been determined to put a joke upon him. We should imagine that it had been; but, in any case, should be strongly disposed to say, that a great deal more of innate politeness was displayed on the side of simplicity than on that of nobility.

Shortly afterwards they took their leave and returned to Gloucester, where they found the theatre crowded as before. The performances went off as well as possible; and after all was over, Watson presented him with one hundred and ninety-five pounds as his share.

At seven o'clock next morning he was on his road to London, where he arrived that night.

Early on the following morning, he waited upon his friend, Mr. Hughes; and having reminded him that "Cheltenham was a very bad theatrical town, on account of its spas and other amusements, but that still it was possible forty or fifty pounds might be made there," triumphantly exhibited his one hundred and ninety-four pounds.

In the evening he called at Covent Garden, and saw Mr. H. Harris, who informed him that Mr. Dimond, of the Bath and Bristol theatres, wished to engage him for five weeks—that his terms were twenty-five pounds per week, with half a clear benefit at each of the places named; and that if he liked to go, he was at perfect liberty to do so, the proprietors of Covent Garden not needing his services until Christmas. His salary was to be paid, however, just as though he were performing.

Of this liberality he gladly availed himself; and after expressing his gratitude, wrote to Dimond, accepting the proposal. A week after he had returned from Gloucester, he left town for Bath.