He was never averse to a joke upon his own ugliness, and once made a wager with Lord Chesterfield that the latter would not be able, within a certain given time, to produce a more ugly man in all London. The time elapsed; and Heidegger won the wager. Yet he could never be persuaded to have his portrait painted, even though requested by the King, and urged by all his friends to comply with the royal wish. The facetious Duke of Montagu, the concoctor of the memorable bottle-conjuror hoax at the Haymarket, had recourse to stratagem to obtain Heidegger’s likeness, which afterwards gave rise to a laughable adventure. He gave a dinner at the Devil Tavern, near Temple Bar, to several of his friends and acquaintances, selecting those whom he knew to be the least accessible to the effects of wine, and the most likely to indulge in vinous conviviality. Heidegger was one of the guests, and, in a few hours after dinner, became so very much inebriated that he was carried out of the room in a state of insensibility, and laid upon a bed.
An artist in wax, a daughter of the famous Mrs. Salmon, was ready to play her part in the plot, and quickly made a mould of Heidegger’s face in plaster. From this a mask was made; and all that remained to be done was to learn from his valet what clothes he would wear on a certain night, and procure a similar suit and a man of the same stature. All this the Duke accomplished before a masked ball took place, at which the King had promised to be present, and the band of the Opera House was to play in a gallery. The night came; and as the King entered, accompanied by the Countess of Yarmouth, Heidegger directed the band to play the national anthem. He had scarcely turned his back, however, when the counterfeit Heidegger told them to play “Charlie over the water.”
Consternation fell upon all the assembly at the sound of the treasonable strains; everybody looked at everybody else, wondering what the playing of a Jacobite air in the presence of the King might presage. Heidegger ran to the orchestra, and swore, stamped, and raved, accusing the musicians of being drunk, or of being bribed by some secret enemy to bring about his ruin. The treasonable melody ceased, and the loyal strains of the national anthem saluted the royal ears. Heidegger had no sooner left the room, however, than his double stepped forward, and standing before the music-gallery, swore at the musicians as Heidegger had done, imitating his voice, and again directed them to play “Charlie over the water.” The musicians, knowing his eccentricity, and likewise his addiction to inebriety, shrugged their shoulders, and obeyed. Some officers of the Guards resented the affront to the King by attempting to ascend to the gallery for the purpose of kicking the musicians out; but the Duke of Cumberland, who, as well as the King and his fair companion, was in the plot, interposed and calmed them.
The company were thrown into confusion, however, and cries of “shame! shame!” arose on every side. Heidegger, bursting with rage, again rushed in, and began to rave and swear at the musicians. The music ceased; and the Duke of Montagu persuaded Heidegger to go to the King, and make an apology for the band, representing that His Majesty was very angry. The counterfeit Heidegger immediately took the same course, and, as soon as Heidegger had made the best apology his agitation would permit, the former stepped to his side and said, “Indeed, sire, it was not my fault, but that devil’s in my likeness.” Heidegger faced about, pale and speechless, staring with widely dilated eyes at his double. The Duke of Montagu then told the latter to take off his mask, and the frolic ended; but Heidegger swore that he would never attend any public entertainment again, unless that witch, the wax-work woman, broke the mould and melted the mask before him.
In 1742, the first place in Bartholomew Fair was again held, but for the last time, by Hippisley and Chapman, who revived the ever-popular Scapin in what they called “the most humorous and diverting droll, called Scaramouch Scapin or the Old Miser caught in a Sack,” the managers playing the same characters as in 1740. Hallam had made his last appearance at the fair in the preceding year, and his booth was now held by Turbutt and Yates, who set it up opposite the hospital gate, and produced The Loves of King Edward IV. and Jane Shore. Yates personated Sir Anthony Lackbrains, Turbutt was Captain Blunderbuss, and Mrs. Yates, Flora. A new aspirant to public favour appeared in Goodwin, whose booth stood opposite the White Hart, near Cow Lane, and presented a three act comedy, called The Intriguing Footman, followed by a pantomimic entertainment “between a soldier, a sailor, a tinker, a tailor, and Buxom Joan of Deptford.” Fawkes and Pinchbeck announced that “Punch’s celebrated company of comical tragedians from the Haymarket,” would perform The Tragedy of Tragedies, “being the most comical and whimsical tragedy that was ever tragedized by any tragical company of comedians, called The Humours of Covent Garden, by Henry Fielding, Esq.”
In 1743, the erection of theatrical booths in Smithfield was prohibited by a resolution of the Court of Aldermen, and the interdict was repeated in the following year. The prohibition did not extend to Southwark Fair, however, though held by the Corporation; for Yates was there in the former year, with a strong company from the theatres royal playing Love for Love, with Woodward as Tattle, Macklin as Ben, Arthur as Foresight, Mrs. Yates as Mrs. Frail, and Miss Bradshaw as Miss Prue. The after-piece was The Lying Valet, in which Yates appeared as Sharp, and his wife as Kitty Pry.
It was in 1744 that the famous Turkish wire-walker appeared at Bartholomew Fair, where he performed without a balancing-pole, at the height of thirty-five feet. He juggled while on the wire with what were supposed to be oranges; but this feat lost much of its marvellousness on his dropping one of them, which revealed by the sound that it was a painted ball of lead. He had formidable rivals in the celebrated Violantes, man and wife, the latter of whom far exceeded in skill and daring the famous Dutch woman of the latter years of the seventeenth century. These Italian artistes, like the Turk, performed at a considerable height, which, while it does not require greater skill, gives the performance a much more sensational character.
Violante is the slack-rope performer introduced by Hogarth in his picture of Southwark Fair. The following feat is recorded of the artiste by Malcolm, in his ‘Londinium Redivivus,’ in connection with the building of the church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields:—“Soon after the completion of the steeple, an adventurous Italian, named Violante, descended from the arches, head foremost, on a rope stretched across St. Martin’s Lane to the Royal Mews; the princesses being present, and many eminent persons.” Hogarth has introduced, in the background of his picture, another performer of this feat, namely, Cadman, who lost his life in 1740 in an attempt to descend from a church steeple in Shrewsbury. The epitaph on his gravestone sets forth the circumstances of the catastrophe as follows:—
“Let this small monument record the name
Of Cadman, and to future times proclaim
Here, by an attempt to fly from this high spire,
Across the Sabrine stream, he did acquire
His fatal end. ’Twas not for want of skill,
Or courage to perform the task, he fell:
No, no—a faulty cord, being drawn too tight,
Hurried his soul on high to take her flight,
Which bid the body here beneath good night.”
The fairs of London were in the zenith of their fame during the period embraced in this chapter. During the second quarter of the eighteenth century, they were resorted to by all classes of the people, even by royalty; and the theatrical booths by which they were attended boasted the best talent in the profession. They were not only regarded as the nurseries of histrionic ability, as the provincial theatres afterwards came to be regarded, but witnessed the efforts to please of the best actors of the London theatres, when in the noon of their success and popularity. Cibber, Quin, Macklin, Woodward, Shuter, did not disdain to appear before a Bartholomew Fair audience, nor Fielding to furnish them with the early gushings of his humour. The inimitable Hogarth made the light of his peculiar genius shine upon them, and the memories of the old showmen are preserved in more than one of his pictures.