"'Not so,' replied his highness: 'however it may be doubted, it is nevertheless true that I prefer the cake to the crown, after all.' And so, declining the crown, he partook of our feast with hilarity and condescension."
There was no pantomime at Drury Lane, either in 1801 or 1802;[32] nor was any great novelty produced at Sadler's Wells in the latter year. The year 1802, indeed, seems to have been productive of no melodramatic wonder whatever; the most important circumstance it brought to Grimaldi being the birth of a son on the 21st of November; an event which afforded him much joy and happiness.
[32] Grimaldi appears to have been much circumscribed in his performances at the Wells in 1801. Dubois was Clown in the harlequinades, and between him and Joe, the comicalities of the season appear to have been divided; the comic songs being sung by Dubois, Grimaldi, and Davis. Among the extraordinary events of this season was the appearance in June of the late distinguished tragedian, Edmund Kean, as "Master Carey, the Pupil of Nature," who was announced to recite Rolla's celebrated address from the Tragedy of "Pizarro." There was something appropriate in his first appearance at the Wells: his great grandfather, Henry Carey, the illegitimate son of George Saville, Marquis of Halifax, and the avowed author and composer of the well-known ballad of "Sally in our Alley," wrote and composed many of the musical pieces for Sadler's Wells. Though often in great distress, and the author of many convivial songs, Harry Carey never employed his muse in opposition to the interests of morality. Poor Harry Carey, however, became at length the victim of poverty and despair, and hanged himself at his lodging in Warner-street, Clerkenwell, October 4, 1743. When found dead, he had but one halfpenny in his pocket. George Saville Carey was his posthumous child; at first a printer, he abandoned that calling for the stage, but his abilities did not ensure him success; and he became a lecturer and associate with Moses Kean in his imitations of popular actors, and Lectures on Mimicry. Carey had a daughter; and Moses Kean a brother, Edmund Kean, who made his first appearance on the stage at the Royalty Theatre, September 9, 1788. Edmund Kean was the father of the tragedian; and Nancy Carey gave him birth at her father's chambers in Gray's Inn. His mother called herself "Mrs." Carey, and played first tragedy woman at Richardson's Booth at Bartholomew and other fairs: bills are extant announcing parts played by Mrs. Carey and Master Carey. Moses Kean, the uncle of the tragedian, was a tailor, with a wooden leg; a convivial but in no respect a dissipated character. He was the original of those who professed to give imitations of the leading players—Kean's of Henderson, as Hamlet in the grave scene, was inimitable. His death was premature and singular. He lived at No. 8, Upper St. Martin's-lane, near the Horse Repository, and was an admirer of fine scenery—the changes in the clouds, and the majestic splendour of the heavens. One evening, he ascended to the roof of his residence, to enjoy an uninterrupted view of the setting sun, when rapt by the object before him and intent on the view, he lost his hold, fell into the street, and was killed. The tragedian's grandfather, George Saville Carey, like his father, died in great distress, July 14, 1807. After that period, Master Carey adopted his father's name, Edmund Kean, and subsequently ennobled the British stage by his transcendant personifications of Othello, Sir Giles Overreach, Richard III., and other characters—a meteor of no prolonged duration, but the effulgence of which will be long remembered.
But if 1802 brought nothing remarkable with it, its successor did, for it was ushered in with an occurrence of a rather serious nature, the consequences of which were not very soon recovered. Whether it was ill-fortune or want of caution, or want of knowledge of worldly matters, it did so happen that whenever Grimaldi succeeded in scraping together a little money, so surely did he lose it afterwards in some strange and unforeseen manner. He had at that period been for some time acquainted with a very respected merchant of the city of London, named Charles Newland (not Abraham), who was supposed to have an immense capital embarked in business, who lived in very good style, keeping up a great appearance, and who was considered to be, in short, a very rich man. He called at Grimaldi's house one morning in February, and requesting a few minutes' private conversation, said hastily,
"I dare say you will be surprised, Joe, when you hear what business I have come upon; but—but—although I am possessed of a great deal of wealth, it is all embarked in business, and I am at this moment very short of ready money; so I want you to lend me a few hundred pounds, if it is quite convenient." All this was said with a brisk and careless air, as if such slight trifles as "a few hundred pounds" were scarcely deserving of being named.
Grimaldi had never touched the five hundred and odd pounds which he had picked up on Tower-hill, but had added enough to make six hundred in all. This sum he hastened to place before his friend, assuring him, with great sincerity, that if he had possessed double or treble the amount, he would have been happy to have lent it him with the greatest readiness. The merchant expressed the gratification he derived from his friendship, and giving him a bill for the money at three months' date, shook his hand warmly, and left him.
The bill was dishonoured; the merchant became bankrupt, left England for America, and died upon the passage out. And thus the contents of the net purse and the bundle of notes were lost as easily as they were gained, with the addition of some small savings besides.