Grimaldi, the Clown
Joseph Grimaldi had for his paternal grandfather a dancer, so vigorous as to rejoice in the appellation of “Iron Legs.” His son, the father of our Grimaldi, was a native of Genoa, and in 1760 came to England as dentist to Queen Charlotte. He soon, however, resigned this situation, commenced dancing and fencing-master, and was appointed ballet-master of Drury Lane Theatre and Sadler’s Wells with the post of primo buffo. He was an honest and charitable man, and was never known to be inebriated, though he was very eccentric. He had a vague and profound dread of the fourteenth day of the month: at its approach he was always nervous, disquieted, and anxious; directly it had passed he was another man again, and invariably exclaimed, in his broken English, “Ah! now I am safe for anoder month.” It is remarkable that he actually died on the fourteenth day of March; and that he was born, christened, and married on the fourteenth of the month. This was the same man who, in the time of Lord George Gordon’s Riots, when people for the purpose of protecting their houses from the fury of the mob, inscribed upon their doors the words “No Popery,” actually with the view of keeping in the right with all parties, and preventing the possibility of offending any by his form of worship, wrote up “No Religion at all,” which announcement appeared in large characters in front of his house in Little Russell Street: the protective idea was perfectly successful.
Joseph Grimaldi, our “Joe,” was born out of wedlock on the 18th of December, 1778, in Stanhope Street, Clare Market; his mother being Rebecca Brooker, who had been from her infancy a dancer at Drury Lane, and subsequently at Sadler’s Wells played old women. Joe’s eccentric father was then more than seventy years old; and twenty-five months afterwards was born another son, Joseph’s only brother.
Our Joe Grimaldi, at the age of one year and eleven months, was brought out by his father, on the boards of Old Drury, as “the little clown,” in the pantomime of Robinson Crusoe, at a salary of 15s. per week. In 1781 he first appeared at Sadler’s Wells, in the arduous character of a monkey: here he remained (one season only excepted) until the termination of his professional career, forty-nine years afterwards, when in his farewell address, at Sadler’s Wells, he said:—“At a very early age, before that of three years, I was introduced to the public by my father, at this theatre.” This is not very clear, since it would seem to contradict the statement of his having appeared at Drury Lane. During the first piece in which little Joe played at Sadler’s Wells, he had nearly lost his life: in one of the scenes, the clown, his father, was swinging him as a monkey, round and round by a chain, which broke, and he was hurled a considerable distance into the pit, fortunately into the very arms of an old gentleman who was sitting gazing at the stage with intense interest.
At this time, “the little clown’s” full-dress was embroidered coat and breeches, silk stockings, paste buckles, and cocked-hat; and a guinea in his pocket, which he one day gave to a distressed woman, for which act his father gave him a caning (though not till five months after), which he remembered as long as he lived. Old Grimaldi died in 1788, leaving 1,500l., but the executor becoming bankrupt, the two sons lost the whole of their fortune. Joe stuck to the stage, and at Drury Lane Mr. Sheridan raised his salary, unasked, to 1l. a-week. His leisure was now passed in breeding pigeons and collecting insects; of the latter he had a cabinet of 4,000 specimens. He now removed with his mother to Pentonville, where the house is to this day pointed out in Penton Place. About this time, early one morning, Joe found near the Tower of London a purse of gold coin and a bundle of Bank-notes, which, on his way home, he sat down to count upon the spot where now stands the Eagle Tavern, in the City Road. There were 380 guineas and 200l. in notes, making in the whole 599l. Grimaldi repeatedly advertised in the daily newspapers the finding of the money, but he never heard a syllable regarding the treasure he had so singularly acquired. His maternal grandfather, it appears, once left a purse of gold, nearly 400l., upon a post near the Royal Exchange, and found it there untouched after the lapse of nearly an hour.
Joe Grimaldi appeared, as usual, at Sadler’s Wells in 1788, but at this time his salary of fifteen shillings a-week was reduced to three, on which pittance he remained for three years, making himself generally useful: in 1794, he had grown so popular at Sadler’s Wells, that his salary had risen from three shillings to four pounds. In 1800, Joe married Miss Maria Hughes, eldest daughter of a proprietor and the resident manager of Sadler’s Wells: she died in the same year, and was interred in the grave-yard of St. James’s, Clerkenwell, where the following was inscribed on a tablet at her request:—
“Earth walks on earth like glittering gold;
Earth says to earth we are but mould;
Earth builds on earth castles and towers;
Earth says to earth all shall be ours.”
On Monday, March 17th, 1828, Grimaldi took his farewell benefit at Sadler’s Wells, when he delivered an address, and the whole concluded “with a brilliant display of fireworks, expressive of Grimaldi’s thanks.” He, however, played a short time in 1832, and then quitted the Wells finally. After this premature retirement from the stage, poor Joe lived at No. 33, Southampton Street, Pentonville, in a house which was furnished for him by his friends. At this time he frequented the coffee-room of the Marquis of Cornwallis tavern, the proprietor of which, considering his infirmity, or the loss of the use of his lower extremity, used to fetch him on his back, and take him home in the same manner. On May 31st, 1837, he was thus brought to the coffee-room and seemed quite exhilarated, his conversation, and humour, and anecdotes smacking of the vivacity of former years. He was carried home as usual; he retired to rest, and next morning was found dead in his bed. On June 5th, he was buried in the ground of St. James’s Chapel, Pentonville, next to the grave of his friend, Charles Dibdin: his grave-stone states his age at fifty-eight years.
Thomas Hood wrote this touching “Ode to Joseph Grimaldi, senior,” upon his retirement:—
“Joseph! they say thou’st left the stage
To toddle down the hill of life,
And taste the flannell’d ease of age
Apart from pantomimic strife.
‘Retir’d’ (for Young would call it so)—
‘The world shut out’—in Pleasant Row.
“And hast thou really washt at last,
From each white cheek the red half-moon?
And all thy public clownship cast,
To play the private pantaloon?
All youth—all ages—yet to be,
Shall have a heavy miss of thee.
“Thou didst not preach to make us wise—
Thou hadst no finger in our schooling—
Thou didst not lure us to the skies;
Thy simple, simple trade was—Fooling!
And yet, Heav’n knows! we could—we can
Much ‘better spare a better man!’
“But Joseph—everybody’s Joe—
Is gone; and grieve I will and must!
As Hamlet did for Yorick, so
Will I for thee (though not yet dust):
And talk as he did when he missed
The kissing crust, that he had kiss’d!
“Ah, where is now thy rolling head!
Thy winking, reeling, drunken eyes,
(As old Catullus would have said),
Thy oven-mouth, that swallow’d pies—
Enormous hunger—monstrous drowth!
Thy pockets greedy as thy mouth!
“Ah! where thy ears so often cuff’d!
Thy funny, flapping, filching hands!
Thy partridge body always stuff’d
With waifs and strays and contrabands!
Thy foot, like Berkeley’s Foote—for why?
’Twas often made to wipe an eye.
“Ah, where thy legs—that witty pair?
For ’great wits jump’—and so did they!
Lord! how they leap’d in lamp-light air!
Caper’d and bounced, and strode away.
That years should tame the legs, alack!
I’ve seen spring through an almanack!
“For who, like thee, could ever stride
Some dozen paces to the mile!
The motley, medley coach provide;
Or, like Joe Frankenstein, compile
The vegetable man complete!
A proper Covent Garden feat.
“Oh, who, like thee, could ever drink,
Or eat, swill, swallow—bolt, and choke!
Nod, weep, and hiccup—sneeze, and wink!
Thy very yawn was quite a joke!
Though Joseph junior acts not ill,
‘There’s no Fool like the old Fool’ still!
“Joseph, farewell! dear, funny Joe!
We met with mirth—we part in pain!
For many a long, long year must go
Ere fun can see thy like again;
For Nature does not keep great stores
Of perfect clowns—that are not boors!”