"Joe," said Mr. Hughes, gravely, "is this the first meeting you have attended?"
"Yes."
"Ah, then I do not wonder you have misunderstood me. What I meant was, that the loss to each person is 333l. 13s., the gross loss being six times that sum."
This communication was a very unexpected blow to all his hopes; but as there was nothing better to be done, he paid his share of the money at once with as good a grace as he could assume, having thus gratified his wish to become a proprietor of Sadler's Wells by the expenditure, first, of a large sum of money for his shares, and secondly, of another sum of upwards of 330l. at the end of the first season.
Grimaldi anticipated other heavy demands upon his provincial gains of 1817 and 1818, and bitterly regretted having connected himself with the establishment in any other way than as a salaried actor.
The Christmas pantomime at Covent Garden was entitled "Baron Munchausen,"[71] and proved as successful as its predecessors had done for some years. During its run, a circumstance occurred worthy of mention, as an instance of the brutality of a man belonging to the theatre.
[71] "Baron Munchausen; or, the Fountain of Love," first performed on December 26, 1818. Harlequin, Mr. Ellar; Clown, Mr. Grimaldi; Pantaloon, Mr. Norman; Columbine, Miss F. Dennett.
One night, a fellow engaged as a carpenter, and whose business it likewise was to assist in holding a carpet in which the pantomime characters are caught when they jump through the scenes, went to Ellar, who was the Harlequin, and holding up the carpet, said that it was very dry, thereby intimating in the cant phrase that he required something to drink. Ellar, from some cause or other, either because he had already fee'd the men liberally, or was engaged at the moment in conversation, returned some slight answer, unaccompanied by the required gratuity, and the fellow went away grumbling. On the following evening, Ellar was informed that the man had been heard to talk about being revenged upon him: he only laughed at the threat, however, and all went on as usual until the third night afterwards, when, as he and Grimaldi were on the stage together, in the scene where he used to jump through the "moon," and after the former had given the cue for him to take the leap, he was surprised to observe that he hesitated, and still more so when, drawing close to him, he said, in a whisper, "I am afraid they don't mean to catch me. I have knocked three times against the scene, and asked if they were ready; but nobody has said a word in reply."
"It's impossible," whispered Grimaldi: "I don't believe there is a man in the theatre who would dream of such a thing. Jump, man, jump."