Kemble took his farewell of the stage on June 23, 1817, playing Coriolanus at Covent Garden. He spoke a short valedictory address, and of course was rapturously cheered. As he hurried off the stage, a gentleman in the pit handed Talma, the celebrated French actor, who was in the orchestra, a white satin scarf, embroidered with a laurel wreath, begging that he would throw it on the stage, which he did. The manager was called for, and came, went through the farce of asking whether it was intended for Mr. Kemble, and assured the audience that he would give it to the great tragedian "with heartfelt gratification."
Clowns are not responsible beings, at least on the stage, or, according to the following anecdote, off it. July 2, 1818: "Usher, the Clown of the Coburg Theatre (opened on the 9th of May), in consequence of a wager, set off in a machine like a washing-tub, drawn by four geese, at half-past twelve o'clock, from below Southwark Bridge, and passed under four bridges, and arrived at half-past two at Cumberland Gardens. A pole extended from the machine in which he sat, to which the geese were harnessed. For some time they were quite tractable, and he went on swimmingly, but, at times, they were quite restive, and not easily managed. A great number of persons accompanied him in boats, and several viewed the whimsical expedition from the bridges. After completing it he offered, for a wager of one hundred guineas, to return thence through the centre arch of London Bridge; but no person would accept the challenge." A Clown named Barry did the same about thirty-five or forty years ago, I think.
Clowns did not dress then as they do now, as we see in the illustration of a Clown and a Grasshopper in the pantomime of "Jack and Jill," performed at the Lyceum in 1812.
A CLOWN AND A GRASSHOPPER.
