It was with no trifling difficulty that Grimaldi reached the conclusion of this little speech, although the audience cheered loudly, and gave him every possible expression of encouragement and sympathy. When he had finished, he still stood in the same place, bewildered and motionless, his feelings being so greatly excited, that the little power illness had left wholly deserted him. In this condition he stood for a minute or two, when Mr. Harley, who was at the side scene, commiserating his emotion, kindly advanced and led him off the stage, assisted by his son. As a token of his respect and gratitude, Grimaldi took off a new wig which he wore on the occasion, and presented it to Mr. Harley, together with the original address, which he held in his hand. Our friend has them both, carefully preserved in a small museum of wigs, autographs, portraits, and other memorials of the most distinguished men in every branch of the profession, of which for upwards of twenty-eight years he has been deservedly one of the most popular members.
Having been led into a private room, and strengthened with a couple of glasses of Madeira, Grimaldi had to sustain another, and a scarcely less severe trial, in receiving the farewells and good wishes of his old associates. The street was thronged with people, who were waiting to see him come out, and as he entered the coach, which stood at the stage door, gave him three hearty cheers, amid which he drove off. But all was not over yet, for hundreds followed the vehicle until it reached his house, and upon getting out he was again hailed with a similar overwhelming shout of approbation and regard; nor could the crowd be prevailed upon to disperse until he had appeared on the top of the steps, and made his farewell bow.
Grimaldi was too exhausted and nervous, after the trying scenes through which he had just passed, to make any calculation that night of what the benefit had produced; but the next day, being somewhat recovered, he entered into the matter, and found the result to be as follows:—The house cost him 210l., the printing 70l. more, making the expenses 280l. The money taken at the doors amounted to rather more than 400l., besides which he sold 150l. worth of tickets, making a total of 550l. Deducting the expenses, the clear profits of the benefit amounted to 270l.
There was another source of great profit, which must not be forgotten, namely, the number of anonymous communications Grimaldi received, enclosing sums of money, and wishing him a happy retirement. He received six letters, each containing 20l., eleven containing 10l., and sixteen containing 5l. each. Thus, the amount forwarded by unknown hands was no less than 310l., which, added to the amount of profits just mentioned, makes the gross sum realized by this last benefit 580l., besides the 315l. which he had cleared at Sadler's Wells.
The highest tribute that can be paid to those who in secret forwarded their munificent donations, or to those who rendered him their valuable professional assistance, or to that large number who came forward to cheer the last public moments of a man who had so often, and so successfully, beguiled their leisure hours, is, that they smoothed the hard bed of premature and crippled old age, and rendered the slow decline of a life, scarcely in years past its prime, peaceful and contented. This benefit closed his theatrical existence, and filled his heart with deep and lasting emotions of gratitude.
Only one more circumstance connected with Grimaldi's theatrical existence remains to be told, and to that one we most anxiously and emphatically invite the attention of all who admire the drama—and what man of thought or feeling does not?—of all those who devote themselves to the cause of real charity—and of all those who now, reaping large gains from the exercise of a glittering and dazzling profession, forget that youth and strength will not last for ever, and that the more intoxicating their triumphs now, the more probable is the advent of a time of adversity and decay.
Counting over his gains, and dwelling upon his helpless state, Grimaldi was not long in finding that even now, whenever his little salary at Sadler's Wells should cease, he would not have adequate means of support. There was only one source to which he could apply for relief, and to that source he at once turned.
It is well known to all our readers, that two charitable societies exist in London, called the Drury Lane and Covent Garden Theatrical Funds. They are distinct bodies, but were established with the same great and benevolent object. Every actor who, throughout his engagement at either of the large theatres, contributes a certain portion of his earnings to one of these funds, is entitled, if he should ever be reduced to the necessity of seeking it, to an annuity in proportion to the time for which he has contributed. To one of these most excellent institutions,—the Drury Lane Theatrical Fund,—Grimaldi had belonged for more than thirty years, promoting its interests not merely by his subscription, but by every means in his power. Feeling that in his hour of need and distress he had some claim upon its funds, he addressed the secretary, and stated the situation to which he was reduced. Early on the following morning he was visited by the gentleman to whom he had applied, who informed him that he was awarded a pension of 100l. a-year for the remainder of his life, and that he was deputed to pay him immediately the amount of one quarter in advance. His fears vanished at once, and he felt that want at all events could never be his portion.[92]
[92] Mr. Harley, as master of the Drury Lane Fund, at the Annual Dinner of that glorious charity, in the June following Grimaldi's death, thus alluded to the assistance which the benevolence of their patrons had conferred on the distinguished mime:—"Yet shall delicacy suffer no violence in adducing one example, for death has hushed his cock-crowing cachination and uproarious merriment. The mortal Jupiter of practical joke—the Michael Angelo of buffoonery, who, if he was Grim-all-day, was sure to make you chuckle at night, he was rendered happy by your bounty. Yes, sirs, this star of eccentric brilliancy in the laughing hemisphere of fun and drollery—this comical reminiscence of 'Me and my Neddy,' 'Mother Goose,' 'Hot Cockles,' and 'Tippitywitchet,' would have set in sorrow but for this institution. You raised his drooping spirit, borne down by domestic calamity; you sustained his sinking frame, prostrated by premature decrepitude; and sheltered him in honourable retirement! Away then with the gloom of fanaticism and the cant of hypocrisy, obscuring the bright face of wit and genius! This is true philanthropy, that buries not its gold in ostentatious charity, but builds its hospital in the human heart."
It can be observed at no better place than this, that all applications for relief from these funds are known only to the respective committees, and that the names of all annuitants are kept strictly secret during their lives; that the distribution of their property is confided to gentlemen accustomed to act with the utmost delicacy and discrimination, and that some of the greatest ornaments of the English stage have been relieved in their old age, when their powers of amusing and delighting were gone,—not as poor pensioners, or objects of compassion, but as persons who, not forgetting their poor brethren in their affluence, were not themselves forgotten, when unexpected misfortune or sickness fell upon them.