Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi

by Joseph Grimaldi

The great attraction of this benefit of 1814[65] was the first appearance on any stage, of his son, who performed "Friday" in "Robinson Crusoe," Grimaldi playing the latter part himself, and thus introducing his son to the public in the same piece in which his father had brought him forward thirty-three years before. For six weeks previous to the début, the pains he had taken to render him master of the character, and the drillings he gave him were innumerable, although they rather arose from the nervousness of the father than from any lack of intelligence on the part of the son, who not only rapidly acquired the instructions communicated to him, but in many instances improved upon them considerably. His intended appearance was kept a profound secret until within a week of the night on which he was to perform; and when the announcement was at length made, the demand for tickets and places was immense. The result was, that the benefit not only turned out, as has already been mentioned, the best Grimaldi ever had, but the reception of the son was enthusiastic, and his exertions were both applauded by the public and commended in the newspapers. It may appear a mere matter of course to say that the father considered the performance the best that he had ever seen; but long afterwards, when the boy was dead, and censure or praise was alike powerless to assist or harm him, Grimaldi expressed, in the same strong terms, his high opinion of his abilities, and his conviction that had he been only moderate and temperate in the commonest degree, he must in a few years have equalled, if not greatly excelled, anything which he himself had achieved in his very best days.

[65] Bologna, jun., and Grimaldi, had jointly their benefit at Covent Garden on June 29th, 1814: when were performed O'Keeffe's "Our Way in France;" Lord Winlove, by Mr. Incledon; the Melo-Dramatic Piece, "For England Ho!" and for the fourth time these five years, "Harlequin and Mother Goose;" with the favourite scene of the Dog-Cart; and the "Oyster Duet," with the "Dissection of Harlequin."

On the 20th of December following, he sustained a severe loss in the death of his constant and sincere friend, Mr. Richard Hughes, who had been his well-wisher and adviser from infancy, and whose relationship to his first wife gave him a strong and lasting claim on his regard. As another instance of the severe and mental trials which an actor has to undergo, it may be mentioned that during the time his friend was lying dead, he was engaged for many hours each day in rehearsing broadly humorous pantomime, and that, as if to render the contrast more striking, the burial being fixed for the 26th of the month, he was compelled to rehearse part of his Clown's character on the stage, to run to the funeral, to get back from the churchyard to the theatre to finish the rehearsal, and to exert all his comic powers at night to set the audience in a roar.

This pantomime was founded upon the story of Whittington and his Cat, and had a very extended run. On the night of its production, his spirits were so affected by the calamity he had sustained, that it was with great difficulty he could go through his part, in which he had very nearly failed. He succeeded by a strong effort in finishing the piece; and although his health paid very dearly for this and other efforts of the same nature, the constant bustle and excitement of his professional duties aided in recovering him, and enabling him to act with his accustomed vivacity.

The harlequinade of "The Talking Bird" was produced at Sadler's Wells this season, in which he first enacted the Bird and afterwards the Clown. During the run of this pantomime he performed the remarkable feat of playing three very heavy parts (two of them Clowns) at three different theatres on the same night. He was intimately acquainted with a Mr. Hayward, who, being married to a clever actress at the Surrey, one Miss Dely, begged him as a great favour to act for her at that theatre on her benefit night. He asked and obtained permission from the proprietors of Sadler's Wells, but could not do the same at Covent Garden, as Mr. Harris was absent from town. He did not think it a point of any great importance, however, inasmuch as he had not been called upon to act for some time, and nothing was then announced in which it was at all likely he would be wanted. Unfortunately, on the very night of the benefit, "La Perouse," in which he acted, was advertised at Covent Garden. In this dilemma, he hurried over the water, explained the circumstance, and pointed out the impossibility of his performing at the Surrey.

But the Surrey people who had advertised him stoutly contending that there was no impossibility in the case, assured him that all would be right; that he should play there first, then go to Sadler's Wells, and then to Covent Garden to finish the evening. To the end that he should be in good time at each house, it was proposed that a chaise, with the best horses that could be procured, should be provided, and held in readiness to carry him at the greatest possible speed from place to place.

Not having the heart to disappoint the parties interested, he consented to this arrangement. At the Surrey, he played with Bologna in the pantomime; the moment it was over, he jumped into a chaise and four that was waiting at the door, and started for Sadler's Wells. Bologna accompanied him to see the issue of the proceeding, and, by dashing through the streets at a most extraordinary pace, they reached Sadler's Wells just at the commencement of the overture for the pantomime. Hurrying to re-paint his face, which had been very much bedaubed by the rain, which poured upon it, as he looked out of the chaise-window entreating the postboys to drive a little slower, and thrusting himself into the dress of the "Talking Bird," he was ready at the instant when the call-boy told him he was wanted. There still remained Covent Garden, and towards the close of the pantomime he grew very anxious, looking constantly towards the sides of the stage to see if Bologna was still there; for as he was the Perouse of the night, and was wanted a full half-hour before him, he felt something like security so long as he remained. At length the pantomime was over, and once more taking their seats in the same chaise, they drove at the same furious pace to Covent Garden, and were ready dressed and in the green-room before the first bars of the overture had been played. This change of dress assisted greatly in recovering him from his fatigue, and he went through the third part as well as the first, feeling no greater exhaustion at the close of the performances than was usual with him on an ordinary night. The only refreshment which he took during the whole evening was one glass of warm ale and a biscuit. He plumed himself very much on this feat; for although he had played clown at two theatres for twenty-eight nights successively, he considered it something out of the common way, and triumphed in it greatly.

He had a specimen next day of the spirit which Fawcett still cherished towards him, and which, but for the kindness of Mr. Harris, might have injured him severely on many occasions. Applying as usual at the treasury for his weekly salary of ten pounds, he was informed by the treasurer, with great politeness and apparent regret, that he had received orders from Mr. Fawcett to stop it for that week. He instantly posted off in search of that gentleman, and upon finding him, requested to know why his salary was not to be paid.

"Because, sir," replied Mr. Fawcett,—"because you have thought fit to play at the Surrey Theatre without mentioning the matter to us, or asking our permission."