"One point only remains for me to intrude upon Your Royal Highness's consideration, but it is of a nature fit only for personal communication. I therefore conclude, with again entreating Your Royal Highness to continue and extend the indulgence which the imperfections in my character have so often received from you, and yet to be assured that there never did exist to Monarch, Prince, or man, a firmer or purer attachment than I feel, and to my death shall feel, to you, my gracious Prince and Master."
CHAPTER X.
DESTRUCTION OF THE THEATRE OF DRURY-LANE BY FIRE.—MR. WHITBREAD.—PLAN FOR A THIRD THEATRE.—ILLNESS OF THE KING.—REGENCY. LORD OBEY AND LORD GRENVILLE.—CONDUCT OF MR. SHERIDAN.—HIS VINDICATION OF HIMSELF.
With the details of the embarrassments of Drury-Lane Theatre, I have endeavored, as little as possible, to encumber the attention of the reader. This part of my subject would, indeed, require a volume to itself. The successive partnerships entered into with Mr. Grubb and Mr. Richardson,—the different Trust-deeds for the general and individual property,—the various creations of shares,—the controversies between the Trustees and Proprietors, as to the obligations of the Deed of 1793, which ended in a Chancery-suit in 1799,—the perpetual entanglements of the property which Sheridan's private debts occasioned, and which even the friendship and skill of Mr. Adam were wearied out in endeavoring to rectify,—all this would lead to such a mass of details and correspondence as, though I have waded through it myself, it is by no means necessary to inflict upon others.
The great source of the involvements, both of Sheridan himself and of the concern, is to be found in the enormous excess of the expense of rebuilding the Theatre in 1793, over the amount stated by the architect in his estimate. This amount was 75,000_l_.; and the sum of 150,000£. then raised by subscription, would, it was calculated, in addition to defraying this charge, pay off also the mortgage-debts with which the Theatre was encumbered. It was soon found, however, that the expense of building the House alone would exceed the whole amount raised by subscription; and, notwithstanding the advance of a considerable sum beyond the estimate, the Theatre was delivered in n very unfinished state into the hands of the proprietors,—only part of the mortgage-debts was paid off, and, altogether a debt of 70,000£ was left upon the property. This debt Mr. Sheridan and the other proprietors took, voluntarily, and, as it has been thought, inconsiderately, upon themselves,—the builders, by their contracts, having no legal claim upon them,—and the payment of it being at various times enforced, not only against the theatre, but against the private property of Mr. Sheridan, involved both in a degree of embarrassment from which there appeared no hope of extricating them.
Such was the state of this luckless property,—and it would have been difficult to imagine any change for the worse that could befall it,—when, early in the present year, an event occurred, that seemed to fill up at once the measure of its ruin. On the night of the 24th of February, while the House of Commons was occupied with Mr. Ponsonby's motion on the Conduct of the War in Spain, and Mr. Sheridan was in attendance, with the intention, no doubt, of speaking, the House was suddenly illuminated by a blaze of light; and, the Debate being interrupted, it was ascertained that the Theatre of Drury-Lane was on fire. A motion was made to adjourn; but Mr. Sheridan said with much calmness, that "whatever might be the extent of the private calamity, he hoped it would not interfere with the public business of the country." He then left the House; and, proceeding to Drury-Lane, witnessed, with a fortitude which strongly interested all who observed him, the entire destruction of his property. [Footnote: It is said that, as he sat at the Piazza Coffee-house, during the fire, taking some refreshment, a friend of his having remarked on the philosophic calmness with which he bore his misfortune, Sheridan answered, "A man may surely be allowed to take a glass of wine by his own fire-side."
Without vouching for the authenticity or novelty of this anecdote, (which may have been, for aught I know, like the wandering Jew, a regular attendant upon all fires, since the time of Hierocles,) I give it as I heard it.]
Among his losses on the occasion there was one which, from being associated with feelings of other times, may have affected him, perhaps, more deeply than many that were far more serious. A harpsichord, that had belonged to his first wife, and had long survived her sweet voice in silent widowhood, was, with other articles of furniture that had been moved from Somerset-House to the Theatre, lost in the flames.
The ruin thus brought upon this immense property seemed, for a time, beyond all hope of retrieval. The embarrassments of the concern were known to have been so great, and such a swarm of litigious claims lay slumbering under those ashes, that it is not surprising the public should have been slow and unwilling to touch them. Nothing, indeed, short of the intrepid zeal of Mr. Whitbread could have ventured upon the task of remedying so complex a calamity; nor could any industry less persevering have compassed the miracle of rebuilding and re-animating that edifice, among the many-tongued claims that beset and perplexed his enterprise.
In the following interesting letter to him from Sheridan, we trace the first steps of his friendly interference on the occasion:—