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MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE, 
 PUBLIC AND PRIVATE ADVENTURES, 
 
 OF 
 
 MADAME VESTRIS: 
 
 OF THE 
 THEATRES ROYAL DRURY LANE, COVENT GARDEN, OLYMPIC AND HAYMARKET, 
 
 WITH 
 
 INTERESTING and AMUSING ANECDOTES 
 
 OF 
 
 CELEBEATED CHARACTERS IN THE FASHIONABLE WORLD, 
 
 DETAILING AN INTERESTING VARIETY OF 
 
 SINGULARLY CUKIOUS AND AMUSING SCENES, 
 
 AS PERFORMED BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED, THE 
 
 Amorous Confessions of Madame Vestris, 
 
 CAREFULLY SELECTED BY 
 
 CHARLES MOLLOY W M E, ESQ., 
 
 FROM A 
 
 SERIES of LETTERS WRITTEN by MADAME 
 
 TO 
 
 H .A. 1ST ID SO JVC IE CT .A-CIKI, 
 
 IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND 
 
 MOST CURIOUS ANECDOTES 
 
 OF 
 
 MANY EMINENT ROUES AND DEBAUCHEES OP THE DAY; WITH 
 
 VARIOUS OTHERS OP PUBLIC NOTORIETY. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 
 1839 
 
THE 
 
 Life of Madame Vestris. 
 
 THE absurd falsehoods which have from time to time issued 
 from the press, concerning this justly .•celebr'ated female, 
 call imperatively for a memoir which shall give a correct account 
 of her ancestry, birth, parentage, and connections, and which 
 shall not be disfigured by a single 'word -of untruth',— the writer, 
 from a personal knowledge of the facts, having it in his power to 
 challenge any contradiction. 
 
 The grandfather of Madame Vestris, the immortal F. Barto- 
 lozzi, was a native of Florence, and is well known to have been 
 the greatest copperplate engraver the world ever produced. He 
 lived many years in a state of comparative indigence, from which, 
 however, he was extricated, in consequence of the fame he acquired 
 by engraving the well-known beautiful copperplate of the Death 
 of the Earl of Chatham, in the House of Lords, from a painting 
 by Copley, the father of the present Baron Lyndhurst. For this 
 admirable performance he received the sum of two thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 After this (as he termed it) "sloice of dam gud loke" he 
 continued to reside in England for some time in a state of com- 
 fort. At length he accepted very liberal offers from the Portu- 
 guese government to go to Lisbon, where, on his arrival, he was 
 received by the lovers of the fine arts with open arms, and where 
 his great talents soon procured for him the honour of knighthood. 
 He died at Lisbon, shortly after he had completed the Portrait of 
 the Prince Royal of Portugal, at the advanced age of 87 or 88 
 years. 
 
 It may be considered worthy of remark, in this place, that in 
 consequence of Signor Bartolozzi having been so instrumental, by 
 his vast talent, in promoting the trade in copperplate prints in 
 this country, the British government offered him a pension of 
 four hundred pounds a year, on the condition, however, that he 
 should reside in England. But this offer coming after he had 
 made his engagement with the Portuguese government, and 
 indeed after he had sold off all his household and other property, 
 he left England for ever. 
 
4 TnE Life op 
 
 But to return to the immediate subject of the present memoir : 
 Sir F. Bartolozzi's only offspring, G. Bartolozzi, was born at 
 Rome, and had come to England with his father. His mother 
 was never in this country. At first, he followed the occupation 
 of his father ; but, not being able to endure confinement, he at 
 length became a picture dealer, and general trader in everything 
 that might present itself in his various journeys to and from 
 Italy. Indeed, he was so very successful, that in a few years he 
 accumulated an independent fortune, and purchased an estate at 
 Venice, with a country residence, about fifty miles distant from 
 that celebrated city. 
 
 There he expected to pass his life in peace and affluence ; which 
 indeed he would have done, but for the ravages of the French 
 army under General .Buonaparte, whose troops swept away all the 
 valuables and movables that they could lay their hands on, 
 without compunction, leaving the poor Venetians without a 
 zechino, either in their bank or public funds. Thus was Signor 
 Bartolozzi, among thousands of others, hurled in a moment from 
 the height of prosperity into the very gulph of poverty and 
 distress ; and the only means which remained to him of procuring 
 a subsistence, was the pursuit of the profession of his late father. 
 He accordingly resumed it ; but not meeting with the expected 
 success he became involved, and was subject to many serious 
 vicissitudes. 
 
 It is now time that we refer to Madame Bartolozzi, the 
 mother of our heroine : 
 
 Mademoiselle Theresa Janson was the daughter of M. Janson, 
 the first dancing master of his age in Germany, his native land. 
 He was brought to this country by Earl Spencer and Lord Mul- 
 grave, under whose patronage Miss Janson likewise immediately 
 commenced teaching that beautiful and graceful art. Several 
 of the very highest families benefitted by her instructions, and 
 she was eminently successful ; so much so, indeed, that she and 
 her brother, Mr. L. Janson (who taught dancing only, because he 
 was bred to it by paternal authority — music being his decided 
 forte), realized rather more than two thousand pounds per annum. 
 They resided at No. 14, Great Marlborough-street, and they were 
 both musical pupils of the immortal Clementi. 
 
 Miss Janson was one of the most noted performers of her time 
 on the pianoforte ; but her father's income being sufficient, she, 
 during his life, had no occasion to make use of her abilities 
 further than to contribute to the amusement of her father's 
 guests, who were generally persons of the very highest rank and 
 fashion. Many costly entertainments were given by old Mr. 
 
Madame Vestris. 5 
 
 Janson ; but this extravagant expenditure of his income at length 
 brought him into difficulties, and he became insolvent. 
 
 About the commencement of the year 1795, Miss Theresa 
 Janson was first introduced to Mr. G. Bartolozzi, at a musical 
 party at Colonel Hamilton's, of pugilistic notoriety. Signor 
 Bartolozzi was a very fine violin and tenor player, and could 
 boast of having introduced into this country the very first double 
 bass player in the world, Signor Dragonetti, the very prop of the 
 orchestra of the Italian Opera House. 
 
 Miss Janson being a very fine girl, and known to possess great 
 talent, it is no wonder that she had so many suitors. Among the 
 rest, Mr. Rice, an eminent and wealthy East India merchant, 
 made her an offer of his hand and fortune. But G. Bartolozzi 
 was preferi'ed and accepted by all parties. 
 
 The original intention of Signor Bartolozzi was to return 
 immediately to his property in Italy ; for the facts we are now 
 recording occurred previously to the wreck of that gentleman's 
 affairs ; but he now changed his mind, and took a small house 
 near that of the father of his intended bride, at Northend, near 
 Walham-green, where he intended to reside, whilst he settled 
 some affairs in England. 
 
 Old Mr. Janson's circumstances were every day growing still 
 more desperate ; but their real state was not made known to 
 Bartolozzi. Janson had promised to give his daughter one 
 hundred pounds to defray travelling charges ; but Bartolozzi 
 rather unexpectedly, and for the reasons above stated, requested 
 the advance of the money to purchase some furniture for the 
 house he had recently taken. This was a death blow to poor 
 Janson, as it was utterly out of his power to comply with the 
 request. Indeed it must have prevented the union altogether, 
 but for the following occurrence : 
 
 Janson told his daughter that if anyone could be found to 
 discount a bill for one hundred pounds, at six or eight months, he 
 would give her the money. She was, however, unable to succeed 
 in finding such a person. This caused her great affliction ; when 
 fortunately, the most intimate friend of her brother stepped in by 
 chance, and he being made acquainted with the cause, said, " I 
 will advance the money on your father's note at twelve months, 
 provided your brother do indorse it." To this the brother having 
 consented, a bill was drawn up the same evening, a cheque given 
 for the amount (on Sir R. C. Glynn, by C. F. Rathart, Esq.); 
 and the cash was presented to Bartolozzi the following morning, 
 as if from old Janson's pocket. 
 
 A licence was now procured, and the marriage ceremony was 
 
6 The Life of 
 
 performed at St. James's church. It was again celebrated by a 
 Catholic priest during the ensuing May. 
 
 After spending the honeymooon at the Star aud Garter, at 
 Richmond, the bride and bridegi'oom went to their residence at 
 Northend, where they resided for some time. 
 
 Here Mrs. Bartolozzi suffered a double miscarriage. In less 
 than twelve months, they removed to the upper part of the house 
 of Mr. Wetherell, upholsterer, No. 72, Dean-street, Soho, where 
 our hero was born in the year 1797. 
 
 Many silly wagers and bets having been made respecting the 
 exact age of Madame Yestris, all persons interested are hereby 
 informed of the real date of her birth, and that she is consequently 
 at this moment forty-one years of age. The writer of this memoir 
 was in the house in question, at the very moment of her birth ; 
 and he had the infant prodigy placed in his arms, within a very 
 few hours after her first appearance on the " Stage of Life." 
 Being, moreover, a near relative of the lady, he ought surely to 
 be considered a competent person to fix the date and place of 
 her birth. 
 
 When Mrs. Bartolozzi was sufficiently recovered to bear the 
 fatigue of travelling, she, with her husband and our heroine, left 
 England for Paris, in company with a Mr. Thompson, a gentleman 
 of great wealth, residing at Topsham. 
 
 From the capital of France, Mr. Bartolozzi proceeded to 
 Vienna to prepare for the reception of his wife, whom he left 
 under the care of the friend of the Janson family, the Marquis 
 del Campo, ambassador to the Court of England, from the king 
 of Naples. 
 
 In due time Mrs. Bartolozzi joined her husband at Vienna ; 
 and the family, soon after, going to Venice, remained there until 
 the ravages of the French army (as before stated) had deprived 
 Bartolozzi of his estates, and forced them to return to England. 
 He took apartments in Oxford-street, the lower part of the house 
 being occupied by Mr. (now Sir Peter) Laurie, who at that time 
 carried on the business of a saddler and harness maker. 
 
 Our heroine, when about four years of age, was sent to school 
 at Little Chelsea, where she received her first musical lessons 
 from the celebrated Dr. Jay. Here, however, she did not long 
 remain. Her masterly spirit, even at this period of her life, 
 could not brook control ; and having evinced a great inclination 
 for vocal music, neither threats nor persuasion could prevail on 
 her to pursue her studies on the pianoforte, which was soon 
 entirely neglected. 
 
 The rich tones of her voice, as she warbled her untutored melo- 
 
Madame Vestris. 7 
 
 dies from room to room, together with the extraordinary graces of 
 her person, which every day exhibited some new beauty, soon 
 attracted the attention of several eminent professors, each of whom 
 seemed to vie with the others in their anxiety to obtain her as a 
 pupil. She received instructions from many gratuitously ; but her 
 principal knowledge was derived from Dominico Corri, and 
 Rosetti, the soprano opera singer, under whose able tuition, she in 
 a few months gave evident tokens of the great eminence at which 
 she was destined afterwards to arrive. It was, however, owing, 
 in a great measure, to her own industry and perseverance. She 
 was indefatigable in her studies, and never lost an hour which 
 she could appropriate to the purpose of improvement ; and some 
 months before she had completed her thirteenth year, she had 
 sung at several of the concerts of the nobility, where her powers 
 were greeted with the most enthusiastic shouts of admiration and 
 applause. 
 
 At this time her father's chief means of existence were derived 
 from teaching drawing to the younger members of several families 
 of the first distinction, whose patronage would doubtless have been 
 sufficient to have insured him all the necessaries and probably 
 many of the luxuries of life, but for his inveterate love of the 
 game of chess, at which he was considered an excellent player ; 
 and at this his favourite amusement, he lost a great deal of 
 valuable time, which for the benefit of his family, he might have 
 employed much better. To this, and to his love of company, 
 which involved him in the habit of giving expensive parties, his 
 ultimate downfall may in a great measure be attributed. 
 
 Meantime, Miss Bartolozzi continued to improve in beauty and 
 accomplishments, till she reached her fifteenth year, when, at a 
 party given by her father, she was introduced to Signor Armand 
 Vestris, then principal dancer and ballet master to the Italian 
 Opera House. From that moment he became a constant visitor at 
 the house of Bartolozzi, who was shortly after called from London, 
 by his friend and patron, Mr. Shepherd, an eminent cloth- worker, 
 at Uley, in Gloucestershire. His absence was a fortunate incident 
 for the affairs of our youthful lovers. Vestris sought every 
 opportunity of meeting her alone ; and as he was a young man of 
 great personal attractions and polished address, it is no wonder 
 that he succeeded in making an impression on her heart. 
 
 Mr. Bartolozzi never suspected the tender intimacy that subsisted 
 between his daughter and his accomplished guest ; and there is no 
 knowing to what lengths the intimacy might have proceeded, had 
 not Mr. Louis Janson, the maternal uncle of our heroine, written 
 to Bartolozzi, stating what he had observed, and requesting his 
 
8 The Life of 
 
 speedy return. Bartolozzi, on the receipt of this letter, notwith- 
 standing that lie had made a very advantageous engagement to 
 remain with Mr. Shepherd for some time, in order to instruct the 
 younger branches of his family in music and drawing, immediately 
 returned to London, and waiting on Vestris, demanded of him the 
 nature of his attentions to his daughter. A satisfactory explana- 
 tion took place, in conseqence of which, an early day was 
 appointed for the marriage, which accordingly took place in St. 
 Martin's Church (Jan. 28, 1814), when the bride wanted a few 
 days to complete her sixteenth year ; and, to render the union 
 more binding, the ceremony was again performed by a Roman 
 Catholic Priest. 
 
 Up to this period, the conduct of our heroine was most 
 exemplary. Whatsoever the envenomed breath of slander may 
 whisper to the contrary, we do not hesitate to affirm, that she 
 came to her husband's arms a spotless virgin. 
 
 Shortly after her marriage, Madame Vestris made her first 
 appearance on a stage in Winter's celebrated opera II Ratto de 
 Proserpino, with the greatest success. Vestris, intoxicated with 
 vanity, launched out into every extravagance, in consequence of 
 which his affairs became embarrassed, and before the close of the 
 season he was arrested, and ultimately took the benefit of the 
 Insolvent Act. 
 
 In order to avert the tedium of solitude during the time Vestris 
 was incarcerated, our youthful bride passed the greater portion of 
 her time, in company with a young unmarried lady named 
 W — b — r, to whom she was warmly attached : she was about two 
 years older than our heroine, but had a much maturer judgment 
 in peculiar matters, and by way of airing, they frequently strolled 
 through the parks together. They were one day returning from 
 their walk, and just by the corner of Carl ton-house garden wall, 
 were met by a gentleman of elegant appearance, about forty years 
 of age. He appeared struck with their persons and attempted to 
 draw them into conversation ; their first impulse was to run away 
 from him, but his manners were so amiable and engaging, that 
 they insensibly became less timid. His questions as to where 
 they were going, if they were related, did they always go out 
 together, &c, were made in so kind a manner, that they found it 
 was impossible not to give him an answer; he seemed vastly 
 surprised, on being informed by our heroine, that she was already 
 married; but in order to disguise the truth, she gave him to 
 understand that her husband was then on the Continent, upon 
 business that might detain him for several weeks. His joy was 
 most excessive — he appeared perfectly enchanted at having made 
 
Madame Vestris. 9 
 
 the acquaintance of two such charming creatures ; but although 
 he was equally polite to both, it was to our heroine that his con- 
 versation and attention was more particularly addressed. When 
 they arrived at the passage under the treasury, this amiable 
 gentleman left them, but not before securing a promise to meet 
 him the next day in the park. Accordingly at the appointed 
 time, our anxious friends were to be seon wending their way to 
 the place of meeting. As they proceeded, Miss W — b — r made 
 several remarks — such as, she thought the gentleman was too old; 
 but her scruples vanished, when with a look of peculiar archness, 
 her companion answered, — never mind Rose ; young and silly as 
 I am, it strikes me, that he will be the more discreet. 
 
 On entering the park, the fine dark eyes of Miss W — b — r r 
 lighted up with pleasure, on perceiving their acquaintance of the 
 previous day, accompanied by another gentleman younger than 
 himself, of a most elegant form, and enchanting figure. Allow 
 me, said he, advancing to meet them, allow me, ladies, to present 
 my most intimate and particular friend ; he is worthy, be assured, 
 to complete our little society. The fair friends were for a 
 moment, both struck dumb, at the very familiar way of disposing 
 of them, as if they had been his secure property. Nevertheless, 
 his success was sure : there was something about him which com- 
 manded their respect, giddy as they were, independent of the 
 amorous desires with which their young bosoms were heaving. 
 
 The tender expressions of the Beaux, soon removed the restraint 
 of their lovely companions, who innocently expressed their fear of 
 being seen with them, by any of their acquaintances. This was 
 exactly what the gallants wanted, and they immediately hastened 
 to dissipate their alarm, by saying, — Ladies : Moments so precious 
 ought not to be idly wasted ; and fortune having been so favour- 
 able to us, as to bring us acquainted with so much beauty, we 
 trust that you will accord us all the time you can spare, to pass in 
 our company. This way, he cried, conducting them through a 
 small gate which led into New-street, Spring-gardens, up a flight 
 of steps ; just there in this street, pointing with his finger, at a 
 friend's house, I have provided a small refreshment, which I trust 
 you will not refuse partaking of ; there unseen, we may cement 
 the friendship already so auspiciously commenced. 
 
 At this proposition, the females regarded each other anxiously, 
 and quitting the arms of their unknown sparks, pronounced a 
 refusal, but which I believe, they were both sorry for in secret. 
 The gentlemen then conjured them to consent, protesting in the 
 delicacy of their intentions ; they still refused, but at the same 
 time continued to approach the house ; it was at the corner of a,, 
 
10 The Life op 
 
 court, leading out by the side of the Admiralty. After new 
 prayers on the one part, and refusals on the other, partly supported 
 hy a natural feeling of modesty, or, perhaps, a little fear, which 
 they could not overcome ; but which at last began to yield to their 
 increased persuasions. Miss W — b — r first gave way, and entered 
 the fatal door. Lucy Vestris like a young lamb, who seeing the 
 example set, followed into the slaughter house, and the portal 
 opened upon an hitherto unsullied wife, and spotless virgin, who, 
 when it gave them egress, had very little to boast of on either head. 
 
 An old woman ushered them up stairs, where they found a table 
 laid out with every delicacy ; they took their seats, and a repast 
 followed, of which none of the party stood in need ; after which, 
 the admirer of our heroine, prevailed on her to accompany him 
 into an adjoining apartment, for the purpose of inspecting some 
 exquisite paintings, which though beautifully executed, were of 
 such a nature, that her youthful cheeks were suffused with blushes. 
 
 Her friend, Miss W — b — r, had not been idle, during the time 
 occupied by the events we have been relating, but as we are not 
 recording her adventures, suffice it to say, that the vain and giddy 
 girl returned that evening to her parent's home, a perfect woman. 
 
 Previous to parting, a meeting was proposed for the next day 
 at the same place, and George, for such was the name by which 
 he requested her to call him ; placed on her finger a brilliant ring, 
 and dropped into her bosom, a purse, which, on her afterwards 
 examining, she found to contain in bank notes and gold, upwards 
 of fifty guineas. The partner of Miss W — b — r, was equally 
 generous to her; and when they returned to their respective 
 homes, they bewildered themselves in conjecture who their friends 
 could really be, for two females, the liberality of their gifts 
 appeared most extraordinary. 
 
 Madame and Miss W — b — r, as may be readily supposed, failed 
 not to be at the rendezvous, again at the appointed time. They 
 walked past the house several times, and began to feel excessively 
 mortified, at finding their/rime^ less punctual. At length the door 
 opened, and they beheld the same woman who had waited on 
 them the day before descend the steps. She immediately recog- 
 nized, and accosting them, requested they would follow her. 
 They, believing her to have been sent by their friends, complied, 
 but to their astonishment were received not by the parties they 
 expected but by a well-dressed lady, whose manners although 
 engaging made them both feel a sensation of shame and anxiety 
 at being thus introduced to a perfect stranger. She quickly per- 
 ceived their embarrassment, to remove which, after conducting 
 them into a parlour, she said, my dear young ladies, be without 
 
Madame Vestris. 11 
 
 fear — this is rny house, where you will be respected. I trust to 
 merit your greatest confidence. To day you will not see either of 
 the two gentlemen you met yesterday, nor was it their intention 
 to meet you again ; you will not in the least regret their loss when 
 you know how much they are unworthy of your consideration 
 It is impossible to conceive the astonishment of the disappointed 
 friends at this address. They would have directly retired, but 
 Mrs. Green, for such was the lady's name, detained them, saying 
 you have been deceived my lovely friends, but trust in me you 
 shall be consoled — nay, do not blush, at your age and without 
 experience it is very easy to become dupes to seducers like them 
 — forget those ingrates, my dears, believe me, you should never 
 attach yourself to any particular man, merely for the pleasures he 
 procures you — the friend of to-day is as good as he of yesterday. 
 I have lived much longer than you, follow my counsels — you will 
 find them answer your purpose, the only favour I ask in return 
 will be your friendship. In this manner she kept talking on, till 
 interrupted by our heroine saying they were much obliged to her, 
 but begged she would now permit them to bid her good day, 
 
 Stay, my dear young friends, she answered, when we are better 
 acquainted you will judge differently ; come, allow me to guide 
 your pleasures — you will find here everything conducted with the 
 greatest privacy, none can discover you here. Madame, replied 
 Miss W — b — r, receive our thanks for all your obliging offers, but 
 at present you must permit ustodepart. — A moment my dear young 
 friend, she said, addressing herself particularly to our heroine, 
 tell me, have you a fortune, — no, indeed, madame, she replied, 
 nothing of the kind. Ah, and she smiled, then a jewel or so will 
 not spoil your toilet table, or a Well filled purse prove a great 
 incumbrance — besides do you think I don't know what you came 
 here for yesterday 1 oh, I know all your little affairs, it is quite 
 usual ; believe me, many discreet women and girls, amiable and 
 really as beautiful as yourselves, frequent my house — here they 
 can enjoy pleasure in every variety and never fear satiety — come, 
 no silly observations, and I'll engage you will thank me heartily 
 when you have passed a short time with the gentlemen I intend 
 introducing to you presently. But Madam, would it not be better 
 for us, after being thus deceived, not to plunge deeper into the 
 same fault ? Fault, my love, it was the wisest thing you could do 
 — but peace, my dear creatures, some one rings — come do not 
 look like children. Two men of distinguished manners were then 
 familiarly presented by Mrs. Green. After the introduction, she 
 inquired how they were — oh, marvellous well, replied one of them, 
 but are these the ladies you spoke of — indeed you have not belied 
 
12 The Life of 
 
 them in calling them charming, said the speaker, approaching 
 Vestris — I never saw anything so interesting, and he politely 
 kissed her cheek. — Gentlemen, said Mrs. Green, will you take 
 some chocolate. Certainly, was the reply, but let it be upstairs. 
 They were accordingly chaperoned into the very rooms which had 
 been the scene of the previous day's frolic. Whilst the chocolate 
 was preparing, their new acquaintances endeavoured to amuse the 
 ladies with tender speeches, to which to tell the truth, they 
 searcely made any reply, being both in great uncertainty as to 
 what they should do. For an instant they retired to one of the 
 window recesses, and in a low voice took each other's opinion, but 
 at this moment, the refreshments coming in, their gallants con- 
 ducted them to the table. 
 
 During the repast, a very significant conversation was kept up 
 between Mrs. Green and the gentleman who had attached himself 
 to our heroine, in half words and equivoques, which they alone 
 comprehended. Presently Mrs. Green, who appeared to be in 
 .high spirits in having procured such valuable society for her 
 friends, arose, saying, she was sure both couples would be very 
 happy. On her retiring, Miss W — b — r's friend conducted her 
 into an adjoining apartment — and the admirer of frail Lucy 
 having locked the door, they were left to themselves. 
 
 In rather less than two hours our fair adventurers left the 
 house on their return home. Satisfaction and delight beamed in 
 the lovely eyes of Miss W — b — r, while on the contrary, those of 
 Madame Vestris bore evident signs of discontent ; and it was long 
 before her companion could elicit from her the cause of her 
 inquietude. Miss W — b — r spoke in the most rapturous terms of 
 her admirer, and became every moment more pressing to be 
 informed of the manner in which the lover of her friend had 
 acquitted himself. At length she answered very pettishly — for 
 heaven's sake ask no more questions, my companion was by no 
 means the sort of man his appearance promised. 
 
 Mons. Vestris, after obtaining his liberty by the insolvent act, 
 returned to his duties at the Opera House, and being naturally 
 proud of his wife, and not liking her to be out of his sight, 
 frequently took her with him behind the scenes, when he was 
 called to attend a morning rehearsal. 
 
 One day she was thrown into the utmost confusion on entering 
 the green-room with her husband, by perceiving the very two men 
 who had first seduced Miss W — b — r and herself from the path 
 of virtue, at Mrs. Green's. Luckily, being well wrapped up and 
 having on a thick white veil, they had no opportunity of seeing 
 her countenance ; the deference with which they were treated 
 
Madame Vestris. 13 
 
 confirmed at once her previous surmises, that they were gentle- 
 men of the first water ; but words cannot describe her astonish- 
 ment, when she discovered that George was no other than his late 
 Majesty George the Fourth, and his companion was no less a per- 
 sonage than the Marquis of Hertford. 
 
 Vestris's continued attentions were such as not to afford any 
 chance of a faux pas, although there were many whose rank 
 allowed the entre behind the scenes of the opera, who cast sheep's 
 eyes at her, and several direct and magnificent offers were made 
 her as she stood at the side wings watching with interest the 
 pirouettings of her husband ; but whether it was owing to an 
 increasing affection on her part towards him, or that some remains 
 of virtue was whispering within her the folly and danger of her 
 past conduct, we know not, but every offer was indignantly 
 rejected, and Vestris, towards the close of the season, finding him- 
 self involved in new difficulties, left England for Paris, taking 
 with him his wife and pupil, Miss Julia Mori. This lady was 
 induced to accompany him, on the promise that he would procure 
 for her an advantageous engagement. During the whole of the 
 preceding season she had been a figurante at the Opera, and it was 
 strongly surmised that many of the hours which should have been 
 occupied in the practice of dancing, were passed in practices of a 
 less difficult and more pleasing nature both to master and pupil. 
 
 At Calais, all the seats in the Diligence were engaged except 
 one. Vestris, therefore, chose the cabriolet, which would contain 
 three persons, Miss Mori, having a slight cold, preferred the 
 vacant seat inside the Diligence — and that they might travel 
 more at their ease, Vestris paid for the three places in the 
 cabriolet and off they went to Paris. About eight or nine miles 
 on the other side of Boulogne, the Diligence stopped for a minute 
 or so at a place called Samers, and Monsieur, the conductor, 
 coming out of the inn, after making his bow with the usual 
 grimace, informed Vestris that a young lady was within, who had 
 a most pressing occasion to get to Paris as quickly as possible, 
 and would feel it the greatest favour if she could be permitted to 
 pay for the vacant place in the cabriolet. 
 
 " Is she handsome ?" enquired Vestris. 
 
 " Magnifique," answered the conductor. 
 
 "What do you say, Lucy — shall we ?" — "Oh, certainly," said 
 she ; and the consent thus obtained, in the lady came, with a 
 beautiful Blenheim lap dog under her arm. This was our heroine s 
 first introduction to the present Lady Langford, then passing 
 under the name of Louisa Villebois, but whose real name was 
 Louisa Rhodes ; she was then a most interesting woman, and 
 gifted with a tongue that would wheedle the devil. 
 
14 The Life of 
 
 Well, off again went the Diligence. It then became a question 
 where the little Blenheim should be stowed. Vestris was all 
 politeness, and tying the little dog up in a handkerchief, pinned 
 it over his head to the leather of the cabriolet, and before morn- 
 ing, was rewarded for his pains by being covered with a saline 
 shower, which, falling from the little pet, deluged his cheek and 
 bosom — the ladies could not restrain their laughter, and were 
 nearly electrified with delight at his disgust whilst undergoing 
 purification at the inn of Beauvais. 
 
 At length they arrived in Paris, and following Miss Villebois' 
 example, took up their abode at the hotel Montmorency, on the 
 boulevard of that name. The intimacy of Madame Vestris and 
 Miss Villebois increased daily, although she could not but observe 
 that his attentions to that lady became every day more pointed ; 
 she also remarked that his suspicions of his own countrymen were 
 not so strong as of the English. Of this she said nothing being 
 well pleased with his increased confidence. She however, 
 mentioned it to Miss Villebois, who laughed and said, 
 
 " Ah, you have more right to be suspicious of him than he has 
 of you." 
 
 " How so," enquired the other. 
 
 " Prom ise to keep your temper, I'll let you intoa secret." 
 
 The promise was made. 
 
 " Well, then, your spouse is making love to me." 
 
 " I thought as much, and am very glad to hear it ; give him all 
 the encouragement you think fit, only let me have an opportunity 
 of finding him out." 
 
 "Agreed," said Villebois. 
 
 Soon after Vestris hired very comfortable lodgings in the Rue 
 Lafitte, running out of the Italian Boulevard, in which they were 
 soon installed. Miss Villebois, who was perfectly aufait in Paris, 
 soon made our heroine acquainted with all the fashionable parts 
 of the town, such as the Rue St. Honore, Palais Royal, Rue 
 Rivoli, &c, &c. One day, as they were walking down the Rue 
 de la Paix, on their way to the Tuileries Gardens, each dressed in 
 the pink of fashion, and speaking as well as looking like native 
 French women, whom should they meet but Liston and Fred 
 Yates, buttoned up to the throat in their blue surtouts and black 
 stocks, swaggering along, and doing a little bit of the military ; 
 luckily the veil of Madame Vestris was down, so they did not 
 recognise her — Villebois was not known to them. Yates stopped, 
 and believing them to be French ladies, with his usual impudence 
 introduced himself to Villebois ; Liston would have gone on, but 
 Yates held him fast by the arm. After some general conversation, 
 
Madame Vestris. 15 
 
 Villebois, who knew them as well as Vestris, said to Yates — 
 
 " Militaire, je Crois V 
 
 " Oui, Mademoiselle," said Yates, with a long ha ! hum ! and 
 rubbing up his black stock. 
 
 " Quel Regiment, Monsieur ?" 
 
 Yates turned his head to Liston, and speaking English, believing 
 neither of them understood it, enquired — 
 
 "What regiment shall I tell her, John?" 
 
 " Oh, damn her eyes," said Liston, " tell her the Guards, to be 
 sure." 
 
 On this, Louisa, dropping them a most formal curtesy, to their 
 great astonishment, replied in equally plain English, but a little 
 more polished — 
 
 " Gentlemen, I am sorry to say we never form any acquaintance 
 with the fourth regiment of Guards." 
 
 It is unnecessary to inform our readers that the fourth regiment 
 of Guards signifies black-g\ia,rds — and away the ladies went, 
 leaving the two comedians dumbfoundered. Liston actually 
 blushed — with regard to Yates, such a thing was entirely out of 
 the question. 
 
 In the same house with the Vestrises resided Pellissier, the 
 French comedian, who was one of the best tempered and most 
 handsome of Frenchmen (Count D'Orsay not excepted), that 
 Madame had ever seen. 
 
 Well, this Monsieur Pellissier occupied a suite of rooms on the 
 floor above that of Vestris, and from the house forming an angle, 
 as many houses do in Paris, his bedroom window was directly 
 opposite to Madame's, on the floor above. His window opened 
 in the centre from top to bottom, like those of a drawing-room, 
 consequently, when standing at it, the whole of his fine statue- 
 like person was visible. Knowing well the time when Vestris 
 would be out, and perhaps from the peculiar knowledge and 
 experience he must have possessed, he beckoned her upstairs. 
 His handsome face, dark sparkling eyes, and agreeable gentleman- 
 like person, were very great auxiliaries, and very great pro- 
 vocatives to a lady who never listened to reason whenever her 
 passions or inclination urged her on. Fascinated by the sight, 
 she hurried on her shawl and bonnet, and, pretending to go out, 
 slipped upstairs, and found Pellissier standing at the door of his 
 apartment ready to receive her : — in cases like these, delays are 
 folly. Pellissier was prompt to act, and never did he play a part 
 with such vigour and animation as he now displayed. 
 
 Although Pellissier was so well able to please a woman, like 
 most handsome actors, he was a vain-boasting, empty-headed fool, 
 
16 The Life of 
 
 and could not conceal his satisfaction at having cuckolded Vestris. 
 One evening, whilst the whole party were standing in the green 
 room of the Academie Royale, Pellissier held up the two fore- 
 fingers of his right hand just over the back part of Monsieur 
 Vestris's head, so as to represent horns ; not considering that his 
 victim stood before a large mirror, in which the whole of the 
 impudent proceeding was instantly detected. Vestris took no 
 notice for the moment ; but the result was, that after carefully 
 watching, Madame was at last caught in flagitium "delinquo;" 
 but not before she had attained sufficient evidence of his adultery 
 both with his pupil Julia Mori and Miss Villebois, afterwards 
 Lady Langford. 
 
 Shortly after this, Vestris having secured for himself and his 
 pupil an engagement of eight years at Naples, left his young and 
 fascinating bride in Paris entirely without protection or support, 
 in the second year of their marriage, and where she was com- 
 pelled to accept an engagement at several of the Parisian 
 theatres. At one of which (we believe the Odeon), she first 
 beheld Windham Anstruther, who paid her every attention, and 
 so far insinuated himself into her good graces as to draw from 
 her the avowal of a wish that she had met with him at an earlier 
 period, while both her hand and heart were disengaged. 
 
 Anstruther, who had heard nothing of our heroine's misconduct, 
 and fervently believing that he himself was the first and only 
 man who had succeeded in making an impression on her heart, 
 endeavoured to convince her of the folly of remaining constant 
 to a husband who had so cruelly deserted her, but all in vain. 
 So excellent an actress was she, that believing her virtue was 
 impregnable, he pretended to have discovered a flaw in her 
 marriage articles, by which in England the union would be 
 declared null and void. He even assured her that he had 
 sufficient influence to procure the passing of a bill which would 
 release her from her vows, when he would instantly make her his 
 wife. By arguments such as these she finally suffered herself to 
 be persuaded, and accepted his protection. A child (the only 
 one she ever bore) was the consequence of this connection ; it 
 died, however, at an early age. 
 
 On arriving in England they came to London, and took apart- 
 ments at Mr. Harrison's, the New Hummums Tavern, in Covent 
 Garden, and hired them under the name of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Anstruther. 
 
 It does not appear that Mr. or Mrs. Bartolozzi evinced any 
 resentment at the conduct of their daughter. On the contrary, 
 Mrs. Bartolozzi, for a time, was often heard to speak of Anstruther 
 
Madame Vestris. 17 
 
 in the most respectful terms. She, however, changed her opinion 
 shortly after his arrival in England, in consequence of the 
 following affair : — 
 
 It seems that Anstruther, in a letter written to Mrs. Barto- 
 lozzi from Paris, had promised to present her, on his reaching 
 England, with two hundred pounds, for the purpose of redeeming 
 certain jewels, &c, which she had been compelled to pledge. 
 But when she reminded him of his promise, though he acknow- 
 ledged the letter, yet he desired her to produce it, as he was 
 convinced she was mistaken as to the amount. The letter, 
 however, had been long since destroyed ; upon her stating which 
 he handed her a twenty pound note, saying, "There, mother-in- 
 law, you must have read the cipher twice ! " This disappointment 
 she never forgave ; and instead of the " generous, kind soul," 
 he was now " a mean, shabby fellow, whose word was not worth 
 one single dump ! " 
 
 Anstruther's sole dependence, at this time, was on an allow- 
 ance from his mother, and on the liberality of his elder brother; 
 which being very inadequate to support him in the extravagant 
 style in which he was living with our heroine at the Hummums, 
 he found himself, in a short time, greatly involved in debt, and in 
 consequence he was arrested and conveyed to the King's Bench 
 He afterwards took the Rules, and removed to a lodging within 
 their limits, in Melina Place, Lambeth. During this timf 
 Madame Yestris, by her professional exertions, greatly contri- 
 buted to their mutual support ; but finding that, notwithstanding 
 the change in the state of his affairs, he still continued the same 
 thoughtless extravagance, to such an excess that, towards the end 
 of each week, they were frequently at a loss for ohe wherewithal 
 even to provide a comfortable meal (though her salary was 
 considerable). She determined on a separation ; and, after some 
 angry words had been exchanged, they parted. 
 
 She then took lodgings for herself, mother, and sister, in 
 Bridges Street, Covent Garden. This she did on her sister's 
 account, to whom she was warmly attached; and, being per- 
 fectly aware that her mother would do anything for money, and 
 scruple not even to sacrifice her own child to the highest bidder, 
 she determined to keep a watchful eye upon her. 
 
 Here she had resided but a very short time, when Elliston, 
 struck with her extraordinary beauty, a recommendation of 
 greater moment with him than the most brilliant talents, offered 
 her very liberal terms, for the season he was then commencing 
 at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. She selected the part of 
 Zella in the Siege of Belgrade for her debut, and was received 
 
18 The Life of 
 
 with universal shouts of applause by a house crowded to suffo- 
 cation in every part. This important occurrence in the life of 
 our heroine took place on the 18th of February, 1819. This was 
 followed by many other characters of similar rank, in all of which 
 she was well received ; but it was reserved for Giovanni, in the 
 musical burletta of " Giovanni in London," to call forth reiterated 
 bursts of applause, and cause Fame to sound her trumpet with 
 unusual force, so that the treasury of old Drury experienced the 
 beneficial effect. 
 
 After this, she filled the character of Captain Macheath with 
 equal eclat ; it may, therefore, be imagined, she did not suffer 
 from the annoyance of female delicacy ; no timidity or obstrusive 
 modesty clouded her powers ; but entire self-possession gave to 
 each part its full force ; nor was a look, inuendo, or attitude 
 wanting to pourtray the accomplished rake or libertine high- 
 wayman. 
 
 Madame Vestris' fame soon spread, and brought to her offers 
 of the most lucrative nature from the Birmingham, Edinburgh, 
 and other theatres, where she performed in succession. 
 
 To make her stick to the breeches, Mr. Elliston voluntarily 
 raised her salary, and her Macheath continued to attract over- 
 flowing houses. She was sensible of the hold she had got of the 
 public opinion, and very wisely did not make bad use of it. She 
 never shammed sick to render herself important, and see what 
 effect disappointment would have upon the town — a common 
 trick with many ; one of our first-rate singers in particular. 
 Vestris was always found at her post, and did justice to that 
 public which so nobly patronized her. 
 
 At the close of the season our heroine, now exalted on the 
 pinnacle of fame, retired into a private station to repose npon 
 her laurels, and prepare for fresh achievements. 
 
 The reader will be well aware that with all this fame and 
 fortune pouring upon her, Madame did not want for lovers. 
 No ! she was beset by them on every side ; they swarmed round 
 her like flies round a honey-pot on a day in June. The papers 
 teemed with verses in her praise, and presents from unknown 
 persons came daily to her door. 
 
 She conducted herself with good generalship, and though every 
 one knew she had left her husband, no one was certain she would 
 admit of a lover. 
 
 However, Captain Best — and who has not heard of him? — 
 managed to scrape an acquaintance with our heroine, and hovered 
 around her like an ignus fatuus. He paid for all her singing and 
 dancing masters who attended her in Brydges-street, and also for 
 
Madame Vestris. 19 
 
 those who waited upon her sister Josephine. I do not like to 
 give a man a worse name than he deserves, but this captain's 
 connection with these two sisters does not do honour to his name. 
 There are some people not squeamish, so far as regards relation- 
 ship in connection. 
 
 This extraordinary character assumed an influence over 
 Madame's mind, which perhaps she was not aware of. He quite 
 imperceptibly stole into her good graces; and he accompanied 
 her in all her provincial engagements (for she had accepted of 
 many by the advice of her friend), and was to her as an immoral 
 Mentor, — for virtuous ideas never flowed from a polluted source. 
 
 It was found convenient for the circumstances of Madam 
 Vestris, that country air would do her service, and she accordingly 
 accepted of an engagement at Manchester, to play for seven 
 nights for one hundred pounds. 
 
 At Manchester our heroine was received with decided appro- 
 bation. It was not known that she was going to appear till four 
 in the afternoon, and the house was literally besieged by applicants 
 for entrance. 
 
 The manager, a good-humoured fellow, gave every facility to his 
 new actress, and her reception was such that it fully answered 
 his expectations. The receipts of the house were four hundred 
 pounds, a sum which had never been received before, and astonished 
 the treasurer, old Tom Carleton. 
 
 On the following day the proprietor waited on Madame Vestris 
 and presented her with a nosegay of roses and different flowers. 
 She received it very kindly, and on laying it on her toilet, out 
 dropped thirty guineas. She was so pleased with this manner 
 of paying her a compliment, that she sat down and wrote a 
 note, of which the following is a verbatim copy : — 
 
 "Dear Sir, — I will play to-night as 'Cowslip,' in 'The 
 Agreeable Surprize,' — and to-morrow, as ' Don Giovanni.' You 
 are a queer fellow — I wish to oblige you. Vestris." 
 
 The succeeding nights were all overflowing houses, and the 
 Manchester Theatre became the life and soul of the town. 
 
 At Manchester she succeeded in gaining public estimation, but 
 she did not in private life hold forth her powers of mimicking 
 virtue upon the stage. Captain Best abandoned our heroine at 
 Manchester, and travelled off to London with Lady Bennet — a 
 lady whose husband has of late become notorious. 
 
 There was nothing on the part of Madame Vestris which would 
 have given the smallest countenance for such a separation. But 
 Best wanted money, and would have linked himself to the devil 
 
20 The Life of 
 
 to have got it. Vestris had a great regard for him, and after his 
 absence she kept her room, and even her bed, for some days. 
 
 She was aroused from her reverie by Lord Derby ; he insisted 
 upon her appearing, and enforced his arguments by the joyful 
 appearance of a fifty pound bank-note. Madame Vestris arose 
 from her lethargy, and began to delight the town as usual. The 
 house was every night full, and the managers were happy. 
 
 I may be expected to say something on the abdication of 
 Captain Best ; he merely left our heroine because Lady Bennett 
 could pay him better. He did not reckon well, for the lady left 
 him for Mr. Osborne, and he had no remedy but to ' grin and 
 bear it.' 
 
 At Manchester our heroine became acquainted with Major 
 Brookes, and this unfortunate man was her cicisbeo for several 
 months. He was called out and shot, a circumstance too well 
 known to be dilated upon. Madame Vestris had nothing to do 
 with it ; the quarrel was one of a private nature, and the deadly 
 settlement rested only with the two persons concerned. 
 
 From Manchester our heroine went to Liverpool, and was 
 received into the mansion of Colonel Atherton, at Walton Hall. 
 He gave her his protection, and ensured her his patronage. He 
 had then the command of the Liverpool Volunteer Cavalry, and 
 his name went a great way in recommendation of any sort. 
 
 The part that Madame Vestris chose for her first exhibition 
 was one in which she has not figured of late, — ' Cowslip,' in ' the 
 Agreeable Surprise.' Breeches then were not in her contempla- 
 tion, and being so much admired in petticoats, she had no idea of 
 changing her dress. I am one of those who think very little of 
 this ' Cowslip ' — it is not natural, and never gives delight ; it is 
 an abortion of the author's brain ; he thrusts it into the farce 
 merely as a stop-gap ; it filled up his scenes and he was content. 
 It ought never to be repeated. 
 
 One of the best parts that Madame Vestris ever performed is 
 the 'Page,' in the 'Marriage of Figaro.' But she delights so 
 much in outre affairs, that it is impossible to confine her to the 
 legitimate drama. 
 
 At Liverpool she came forth as 'Macheath,' and, as might be 
 expected, attracted all the taste of the town. She was placarded 
 on every wall, and her likeness stuck in the window of every 
 print-shop. The town rang with her praises, and for twenty- 
 seven nights Macheath was received with cheers by a Liverpool 
 audience. She did not attempt any other breeches character, 
 and left Liverpool with a tolerably fair fame. 
 
 Her performances at the theatre delighted all, and she had a 
 benefit which produced her £500. 
 
Madame Vestris. 21 
 
 On leaving the theatre she had a slight altercation with Lord 
 Derby, and he swore she should not depart before the holidays. 
 How it was settled I do not know, but she remained at the castle 
 three weeks after her engagement at the theatre had expired. 
 
 Lord Derby was a very rum fellow ; he married an actress, and 
 had all his life been acting. But it is no matter, I have nothing 
 to do with him, and must push on in my old way. 
 
 On her appearance at Liverpool a singular circumstance: 
 occurred : — Sir Eyre Coote sat in a box near the stage, and he left 
 it with haste ; appearing behind the scenes, he asked for Madame 
 "Vestris ; she made her appearance, and he presented her with a 
 bank-note of twenty pounds value. This action needs no com- 
 ment. Our heroine, I believe, never, before or afterwards, saw 
 the donor. 
 
 No sooner had Madame Vestris concluded her engagement at 
 Liverpool than she started for Birmingham, where she appeared, 
 and was most kindly received. She had the fortune to be encored 
 twice, and became such a favourite that the whole town echoed 
 her praise. Her first appearance was as ' Macheath,' and she 
 gained thunders of applause. 
 
 It was not, however, her performance of 'Macheath,' that 
 fixed her reputation with the town upon a basis not to be shaken, 
 it only prepared the way for her future fame. When she came 
 forward in ' Don Giovanni,' she electrified the town, and every 
 evening hundreds went from the doors of the theatre disappointed 
 at refusing admittance. 
 
 As I before remarked, her friend Captain Best was the man to 
 whom she was indebted for her musical education being completed, 
 and, after the success of her ' Don Giovanni in London,' she could 
 have gone to any theatre in the country upon her own terms. 
 
 During her journey to the north, Captain Best attended her very 
 closely, yet at Manchester he gave her the go-by, and took up 
 with another lady. The eclat that she had gained in London 
 followed her into the country, and at Liverpool and Dublin she 
 made most excellent harvests, and returned to London with an 
 overflowing purse. 
 
 For a length of time discord had been raging betwixt our 
 heroine and her mother — a lady by no means calculated to secure 
 the estimation of her children, or any other person. She did not 
 like living alone, and took unto herself a young husband, named 
 Burke. He was an Irishman, and only married her from an idea 
 that she possessed some property — he soon found out his mistake, 
 and took French leave, nor even said * Farewell.' 
 
 This wedding so much displeased the Vestris, that she gutted 
 
22 The Life of 
 
 the house in Brydges Street, and went to live at a boot-maker's 
 in Newport Street ; whether he had got the length of her foot, I 
 am not aware, but it was a suspicious place for her to take up her 
 abode. Moreover, this boot-maker was a gallant man, and had 
 to support five natural children, which he had by five different 
 servant girls. A very virtuous woman would not have relished 
 occupying his lodgings. But I can only surmise upon this 
 Occasion, and therefore drop it as a thing undefinable. 
 
 The young Josephine of course remained with her mother, and 
 Madame Vestris was their chief support. She used almost every 
 day to call and take her sister out ; as to her mother she totally 
 neglected her, and I believe did not speak to her once in a week. 
 Mrs. Burke could not live very comfortably upon the pittance 
 allowed by her daughter, and her own charms were too old for 
 speculation; she therefore resolved to try what her youngest child 
 could do. 
 
 I apprehend there is not one individual acquainted with the 
 town who has not heard of the noble Lord Petersham, the present 
 Earl of Harrington, so celebrated for his elegant manner of 
 bowing, and his whiskers and mustachios. He had long danced 
 attendance upon the little pretty Josephine, whom he wished to 
 entrap in his snares ; but the little coquette always kept him in 
 play, but never would buckle to. It is a fact which at the time 
 made much noise ; all the papers of the day were filled by the 
 circumstances. 
 
 It was said, the mother with an inhumanity and total want of 
 feeling, bartered with Lord Petersham to dispose of her child ; 
 she was then not 14 years of age, and consequently could only be 
 designated a child. The bargain was for five hundred pounds, 
 three of which were paid down upon the nail, and a time 
 appointed, but the young lady resisted and screamed violently, 
 arousing the neighbours with her cries, so that the noble Lord 
 was glad to make a precipitate retreat, execrating the old mother, 
 and regretting his three hundred pounds. 
 
 Madame Vestris made herself very busy upon this strange 
 occasion, and took her sister away from her mother. Captain 
 Best also made himself very busy, and carried letters to and from 
 Petersham to Madame Burke and Josephine : several of them 
 were published at the time. The following are the only ones of 
 consequence worth being recorded in this narrative : — 
 
 TO MRS. BURKE, BRYDGES STREET. 
 
 Dear Madam, — I had no wish to do anything improper to 
 your daughter ; she has forgiven me, and I am ready to receive 
 her, if she choose to place herself voluntarily under my protec- 
 tion. Petersham. 
 
Madame Vestris. 23 
 
 hungerford coffee house sunday morning. 
 
 Captain Best's compliments to Mrs. Burke, and would be glad 
 to see her on ' she knows what,' at two o'clock this afternoon. It 
 may all be settled without the public knowing anything about it; 
 they have known more about it than there was any occasion, if 
 discretion had been used. Mrs. Burke, Brydges Street. 
 
 TO JOSEPHINE BARTOLOZZI — MONDAY MORNING. 
 
 My dear Girl, — I would be very happy to see you, at any 
 time to-day, at the New Hummums. You know how I love you, 
 and that I never meant to offend you ; but under peculiar circum- 
 stances I could not refrain from acting as I did. You should be 
 less pretty if you expect to escape a lover's passionate addresses 
 in private. Pray do not disappoint me. Petersham. 
 
 Pall Mall. 
 
 Dear Jos. — Why delay, after saying you would come. I will 
 be at Spring Gardens all the afternoon ; let your wardrobe go to 
 the devil, we can purchase another. I think ' she ' has no cause 
 to grumble, but has been too well paid. If she attempts to 
 molest you after you are with me, I will set Fletcher at her, and 
 then she must hold her peace. Enclosed you have a trifle, and 
 make all the haste you can. I am miserable by day, and at night 
 cannot sleep for dreaming about you. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 To my dear girl. Petersham 
 
 spring garden terrace — 15th mid-day 
 My dear Jos. — You have totally disappointed me. Surely when 
 we parted in Leicester Square, it was clearly understood upon 
 what terms we were to meet again. There can be no necessity 
 for your remaining with your mother, when your sister offers her 
 house as an asylum until you choose to come oo me, where you 
 know you will be secure, and, I hope, happy. You cannot doubt 
 my honour — or if you want my hand you shall have it. Pray let 
 me see you this day, at five o'clock, under the Opera House 
 Arcade. I will do anything you can wish — but no more of your 
 mother. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 To my dear girl. Petersham. 
 
 There were a great many more letters published, but none of 
 any consequence except the above. 
 
 Whether the noble lord's epistolary correspondence, or his 
 verbal eloquence prevailed, is not known unto me, but that he did 
 succeed was evident, for a few days after the famous ' fracas,' 
 (when the public papers teemed with execrations against Mother 
 
24 The Life of 
 
 Burke and the noble lord,) the young lady, whose case had excited 
 so much sympathy, appeared in the stage box at Drury Lane 
 Theatre, with her sister and Lord Petersham. 
 
 There was no sham upon this occasion ; all was reality, and the 
 world at once gave the Vestris credit for having settled the point 
 in a manner peculiar to herself, leaving the old woman out of the 
 question. In fact, the mistake seems, in the first instance, to have 
 been in his lordship's having presented the three hundred pounds 
 to the mother instead of the daughter. No woman likes to be 
 sold by another, however willing she may be to sell herself. 
 
 The Vestris soon procured an engagement at the King's Theatre 
 on the most advantageous terms, and for several seasons she was 
 the leading star of the west. She, however, kept two strings to 
 her bow, and formed an engagement at the Haymarket with her 
 early friend, Morris, where she took much better than at the 
 Opera ; her ' Macheath ' and • Don Giovanni ' being the chief 
 attraction ; but of late she has appeared as the ' Page Victor,' 
 with uncommon success. In 1823, she removed from Newport 
 Street, to Curzon Street, Mayfair, the scene of many an odd 
 freak, which we shall come to. 
 
 It must not be forgotten, that there was then engaged at the 
 Italian Opera, a Mr. Charles Vestris, and his lady, both persons 
 of truly excellent character ; and a very happy couple. The 
 similarity of names occasioned many a mistake, and some of them 
 are worth relating. 
 
 One evening, in the green-room, a letter was brought to Mrs. 
 Charles Vestris, by the call-boy of the house ? she perceived it 
 was franked by a peer — and she broke it open, not much attend- 
 ing to the direction. A small paper dropt out of the letter, 
 which Charles Vestris picked up ; it was a bank-note for six 
 hundred pounds, and alarmed the dancing hero not a little. 
 
 He snatched the paper from the hand of his wife and read it 
 with horror. The tenor of it was thus : — 
 
 HOLYHEAD, MARCH 18TH, 1822. 
 
 My dear Child, — How distressed was I at leaving town with- 
 out being able to take leave of you ; it was your fault, not mine ; 
 you could have kept at home during the early part of the day. I 
 expect to return in about a month, and till then you must make 
 yourself easy. I enclose you a note which I put in my pocket- 
 book on the Saturday morning, purposely for your use, but you 
 missed it by not keeping your word. You may judge of my 
 affection for you when I declare I have not left myself ten pounds, 
 after sending you the enclosure. I must borrow from Skinner, 
 until I reach Dublin, if the wind should hold foul as it does at 
 
Madame Vestris. 25 
 
 present. I will not forget the pebbles, but I doubt if they can be 
 got sufficiently good for the necklace. Should I come through 
 Edinburgh I will try to get you some Cairngorm pebbles of the 
 yellow kind ; they are more splendid than the Brazilian diamonds 
 sold by Mawe, in the Strand, and much about the same price. 
 Let me have a letter from you on receipt of this, and direct it to 
 me, at Glenarm Castle — I calculate I shall be there ten days or a 
 fortnight ; and you can also write to me at Cork, where I am 
 obliged to remain for a week, and pay respects to all the d — d 
 tradesmen and their wives, or my son will lose his election. I 
 requested Moore to write me a song to your favourite tune ; he 
 promised and did not perform — it is his way — he is selfish in the 
 extreme, and is so overpaid for his writings he imagines there is 
 none like him. You may go to Hamlet's, if you like, and get the 
 teapot ; show him this, and he will place it to my account ; do 
 not pay him on any terms, for I believe he owed me a balance 
 since our last settlement. I hope you will not go any more to 
 Highgate ; the fellow is, at best, but a coachmaker, and you will 
 never make anything of him, for he is mean beyond all expression, 
 and if I am not misinformed will soon appear in the Gazette. 
 Pray take care of your health, and do not leave off the cork soles, 
 they will keep you from cold, and are neither ugly nor inconvenient. 
 God bless you. Adieu. Belmore. 
 
 P.S. — I mean to have a slap at Cathcart, if I meet him in 
 Dublin, but only as far as talking goes, for he is not worth 
 powder and shot. 
 
 To Madame Vestris, Tichfield Street. 
 
 This letter had been duly delivered, and was carried to the 
 Theatre by a servant, who delivered it to the usual green-room 
 messenger. The contents of the above letter convinced Mr. C. 
 Vestris that it was not for his wife ; — he well knew for whom it 
 was meant, nevertheless he pocketed the bank-note, and refused 
 to surrender it, though he handed the letter to the fair lady for 
 whom it was intended. The law was resorted to upon this 
 occasion, but in the mean time, the noble lord who had sent the 
 note arrived in London, and it was delivered up to her for whom 
 it was intended. 
 
 At the house in Curzon Street, May Fair, Madame kept three 
 servants in the character of ' maids,' beside a cook and four 
 menials in livery. All this required cash in abundance, and her 
 friend found it — he was no churl, and she always took care to let 
 the capital accumulate which was earned by her industry. 
 Attended by her black servant she sported away at the theatre, 
 and was seldom attended by her friend. 
 
26 The Life op 
 
 Her ' Don Giovanni ' attracted most crowded houses, and she 
 had her salary at the Haymarket raised to twenty-five pounds per 
 night, and she often performed three and four times during the 
 week. 
 
 She was very partial at one time to sauntering under the 
 facade of the Opera House, with that truly good christian every 
 one knew, y'clept Charles Wright ; whether she loved him or his 
 claret, I do not know — nor do I care. 
 
 One evening, after the Opera was over, she remained to rather 
 an early hour in the morning, and was escorted home by Lord 
 Benning and Sir Francis Leforey ; what business these honour- 
 able men had with the lady at such an out of the way hour of 
 the night may be guessed at ; but certes they went home with 
 her, and found all her servants in bed. This was 'not very 
 respectful,' as we have it in the farce of ' Raising the Wind,' and 
 the consequences were rather disastrous. The parlour window 
 was discovered to be open, and on proceeding to her bed- 
 chamber, the lady found her escrutoire had been opened, and all 
 her jewels pilfered, to the amount of two thousand pounds. 
 
 The robber had passed the butler's pantry, where fifteen 
 hundred pounds worth of plate was deposited, and also the 
 drawing-room, where a gold repeater and some trinkets lay, worth 
 three hundred guineas. He proceeded to the lady's sleeping 
 apartment, and after securing her jewels, had gone down and 
 made his exit again by the window. 
 
 The noble Lord and the Baronet went to Bow Street, and 
 called sir Richard Birnie out of his bed, who gave directions for 
 a look out after the robber. The account appeared in the 
 newspapers, but no more ; there were no handbills published 
 offering a reward, nor was anything more ever heard of the 
 transaction. 
 
 The robber must have been well acquainted with the premises 
 to open the windows by a spring so cleverly, and find his way to 
 her bedroom with such facility. Why she held her tongue upon 
 the occasion nobody knows, but for a certainty, Madame put up 
 with her loss, and never after opened her lips upon the transaction. 
 
 There was a report that the person who committed this depre- 
 dation was Captain T , the friend of Lord Byron; who 
 
 after his death went and joined the Turks, and was murdered in 
 a grove near Athens. I have no authority for this, but the 
 common report that was then ripe upon the town. 
 
 These things are not to be believed on any one's ' ipse dixit,' 
 but it must be admitted, that it was more likely a friend than a 
 foe that penetrated to the lady's chamber, or she would not so 
 
Madame Vestris. 27 
 
 soon have become silent on the subject. This is one of the many 
 stories told of Madame, I am inclined to attribute her forbearance 
 to her goodness of heart ; she had no wish to prosecute those for 
 whom she once had a friendship — for her heart is really good. 
 
 Her first trip after this was to Liverpool ; she succeeded a 
 general favourite, Miss Sarah Booth, but her fame had gone 
 before her, and she was, even before her appearance, stamped as 
 a favourite of the town. At Liverpool it is not of much con- 
 sequence to date her very great notoriety ; suffice it to say, that 
 young Foster was her very great friend, and patronized her the 
 whole season. 
 
 Madame now began to attach herself entirely to the Opera, 
 and her friends much less attended her. I do not say that she 
 had acted ill to them, but she had not done well, and had, in 
 truth, broken faith with all her followers. She had such good 
 engagements, that she cared little for faith, and made an engage- 
 ment which she never executed. For instance, she never went 
 to the Haymarket, though she was bound to do so ; and when 
 Morris told her she had forfeited her engagement, ' Very well,' 
 said she, ' go to Coutts's and receive the penalty.' It was three 
 hundred pounds. She never did appear in that season at the 
 Haymarket, and of course paid the fine. 
 
 There was, at the time of this affair, a man upon the town, 
 named Dick Wilson ; he had gained much money by his gambling 
 transactions, and contrived to keep up a tolerable good name ; 
 how he managed it I do not know, but so it was the case. I 
 believe, if a man can only keep up outward appearances, no one 
 will enquire into his internal concerns. 
 
 Dick had a fine handsome person and elegant manners to dis- 
 pose of, and he took care to do so to the best advantage. He 
 met our heroine one night very late, when a man was accosting 
 her very rudely. Dick, I suppose from principle, at once knocked 
 him down, and thence escorted the lady home. 
 
 Effects and causes are very widely different from each other. 
 Dick, on a certainty, did not emerge from the dwelling in Cur- 
 zon-street on that night, and next day they were , seen travelling 
 arm in arm to the rehearsal ! 
 
 Some fellows possess the devil's luck and their own ; and Love 
 appears to tumble by chance on those who least merit his 
 favours. Whatever was the reason I am not capable of telling, 
 but the gentleman enjoyed the lady's good graces for several 
 months, and was her constant attendant at the Opera and Hay- 
 market Theatre. He was so polite, that no woman would have 
 refused his attention. Poor Dick was considered as ' a happy 
 
28 The Life of 
 
 man,' until one day he was found near the Tower afloat on the 
 river, and ' dead as a herring.' An inquest was held upon his 
 body, and a verdict returned of ' found drowned.' 
 
 Madame, when she was told of Dick's death, instantly ordered 
 his funeral obsequies to be performed at Rotherhithe Church, 
 with all due decency. But she was never heard to express a 
 word of regret for his death, or a wish for his being alive. I 
 suppose she entertained neither ; nor had a single wish to perform 
 1 The Dead Alive.' 
 
 We have been for some time sporting on the errors and failings 
 of an amiable woman ; let me call the attention of the reader to 
 a more serious subject, — one which does honour to the heart of 
 our heroine, and proves, whatever her course of life may have 
 been, she never lost the opportunity of doing an act of kindness. 
 
 She had in her walks picked up a little girl called Emma. 
 This little child was every way an interesting creature, and soon 
 became nearly domesticated at her house. Her parents were in 
 an humble condition, and soon after this circumstance died. 
 This did not abate the kind attention of Madame, who continued 
 attached to the child, and took it to her home, where she nursed 
 it as a mother. I know not how her time was now occupied, 
 but believe she had no engagement for more than a year, nor had 
 she any occasion to seek one. The infant which she now took 
 under her care, was, like Billy Austin with the late Queen, 
 supposed to be her own ; but it was not the case. She never had 
 a child that lived, and it is not very probable she will now ; but 
 for four years she paid more attention to it than if it had been 
 her own, and when it died saw it respectfully buried, and put on 
 mourning. 
 
 I know from experience how easily a person becomes attached 
 to children when about four or five years of age, their artless 
 prattling is so interesting, and their smiles so endearing, that they 
 wind round the heart as though they were bound to it by the 
 most tender ties. 
 
 Not long after this event, Madame procured an engagement in 
 Dublin, where she no sooner appeared than she fascinated all the 
 Paddies. In breeches, they pronounced her a perfect Adonis, or 
 Ganymede ; fitted to be the lover of Venus, or the cup-bearer to 
 Jove ; and in perfect petticoats, they avowed she was a perfect 
 angel. I apprehend, Mahomet's angels, (the houris) and Irish 
 angels, are of the same class ; partaking of flesh and blood, and 
 indulging in all the tender passions to an excess. 
 
 Madame had not long been on the Dublin boards, ere she had 
 a host of lovers in her train, and was often seen under the pillars 
 
Madame Vestris. 29 
 
 of the Parliament House — I beg pardon, I mean no offence — the 
 Bank ; for old Ireland no longer boasts the honour of holding in 
 her arms a corrupt set of her representatives — men who would — 
 
 " Their crimes on government still lay, 
 And pawn their sordid souls for pay." 
 
 In Dublin she most assuredly formed a connection which might 
 have led to matrimony if she had pleased. But it did not,, and 
 she kept on ' the even tenor of her way.' 
 
 There was a young lord at this time much attached to our 
 heroine ; he was on the point of marriage with the daughter of 
 the prime minister of England ; and even a day had been named. 
 His dashing through the capital of Hibernia with the lady in his 
 barouche, knocked up all, and a family meeting was the con- 
 sequence. It ended very well, and indeed an agreement she held 
 in her hand, for two thousand pounds, she voluntarily gave up, 
 and left to the generosity of the family what should be done for her. 
 
 Not anything was ever done, and she left Dublin minus in 
 every thing but her charms. These were rather upon the in- 
 crease, and in proportion as she became more plump, she became 
 more beautiful. 
 
 She went away from Dublin to the north of Ireland, and at 
 Belfast had the constant patronage of the noble Marquis of 
 Donegal. 
 
 At Belfast she was the object of universal admiration, and Mr. 
 Jocelyn's son became much attached to her. — I knew him well ; 
 he had not a great deal of intellect, nor was he well read in 
 anything but sporting anecdotes, but he had a good heart, and 
 never missed an opportunity of performing a good action. 
 
 He had a country seat near the town of Carrickfergus ; it was 
 a mere cottage, situated on a ledge of rocks, overlooking the sea. 
 It is not five miles distant from the residence of Sir George Hill, 
 the representative of the city of Londonderry. To this cottage 
 madame attended him, and spent a whole summer. She used to 
 come to Belfast every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday to perform, 
 and made a tolerably rich harvest. 
 
 She visited the city of Londonderry, and was met there with 
 much approbation. She enjoyed the patronage of Mr. Anderson 
 and Alderman Lackey, and was also highly noticed by the Mac 
 Causlands of Balmore. There she visited the families of Hart 
 and Thompson, and General Hart, the member of the then par- 
 liament, was particular in his attentions to her. 
 
 A curious circumstance happened on the coast. Madame was 
 always partial to fishing, and went out one morning to throw a 
 line, in company with Captain Thompson, of Green Cottage. It 
 
30 The Life op 
 
 came on to rain, and they took shelter under a tilted boat. 
 Young Jocelyn, I suppose, had some suspicion of his darling, and 
 took a peep ; he did not relish the sight ; and two days after 
 gave Captain Thompson a civil dismissal from his residence. 
 Madame was not dismissed. 
 
 "It is difficult to cut our female connections ; we loath and 
 linger upon them, until we are almost persuaded they are the 
 virtuous characters they assume, and that we have been wrong 
 in our opinion." 
 
 She went to Nelson's Hotel with Jocelyn, and remained there 
 for three months. It was on the Bankside that the duel was 
 fought between Jocelyn and Capt. Thompson. Dr. Hamilton 
 bore the challenge to Thompson, who was in bed ; he read it ; 
 and said, ' Why, I do not know for what I am to fight him, but 
 since he has called me out, damme me, I'll meet him ; say eleven 
 o'clock.' ' Would not, sir,' said the doctor, who was one of the 
 most kind hearted fellows I ever knew (he once saved my life by 
 medical skill), 'an apology save the danger of this meeting?' 
 ' Damn danger, I never knew him,' replied the Captain, ' I'll 
 have a fly at him, at eleven, on the Bankside.' 'Will you, sir?' 
 ' I will, by the sacred God ! ' This was an oath of his he used on 
 board ship, and never broke. A sailor called up for an offence 
 was certain of punishment when he heard the above oath. He 
 once flew in a passion with the writer, and swore he would try 
 him by a court-martial ; he pledged it with the same oath. I 
 was tried and acquitted, with a slight reprimand. Captain 
 Thompson I met next day, when I had been appointed first 
 lieutenant of the Clyde ; we were both in full uniform ; I touched 
 my hat, as in duty bound ; he came up and shook me by the 
 hand, and afterwards we were good friends, and fought side by 
 side at the battle in Basque Roads. 
 
 He met Jocelyn on the Bankside, and had for his second, little 
 Lyons, then on the impress service. He had certainly committed 
 a 'faux pas,' but he resolutely declared to all around that, if 
 asked for an apology for anything said or done, he would willingly 
 have made it, but having been called out, he would, right or 
 wrong, never apologize.' 
 
 The consequences of the duel are well known, and the news- 
 paper tales of Madame's standing on the walls of Londonderry, 
 and witnessing it, are quite untrue. The duel took place beyond 
 the Rope-walk, and could not be seen from the walls j and our 
 heroine was, at the time, thirty miles from the spot, being on a 
 visit with Captain Hill, at his villa, near Coleraine. Captain 
 Hill was not then, as he is now, Collector of the Port of London- 
 
Madame Vestris. 31 
 
 derry, but he entertained Madame at this time for the sole 
 purpose of keeping her out of the way of the duel. 
 
 Jocelyn was not famed for courage, and had once submitted to 
 be kicked out of a public company ; he however displayed, on this 
 occasion, some spirit, and stood a brace of shots manfully ; he 
 fell by the third, and Captain Thompson saw him conveyed to the 
 hotel ; he was there carefully attended by three medical men, but 
 died on the third day, and that is all. 
 
 Nothing heroical attended his death, nor anything mean ; he 
 slumbered into eternity, and Madame expressed some small con- 
 cern for his untimely end. He deserved a better fate, — but 
 young men are fools where women come in the way. He had a 
 tolerably good fortune, and two beautiful sisters, who are since 
 married to peers. I have seen him on many occasions, and never 
 drove out of his way, except by the influence of wine. He has 
 displayed his talents in verse more than once, and some of his 
 lines written upon our heroine are worthy of being preserved 
 from oblivion. 
 
 From the time that Madame took up her abode in Curzon- 
 street, May Fair, she launched out into extravagancies most 
 unbounded. Her equipage was very gay, and she dashed about 
 town more like a duchess than an actress. A fortune of eleven 
 thousands was melted down to not so many hundreds, in a very 
 few years, and her favoured lover is now, in a great degree 
 dependent upon her for support. 
 
 The establishment in Curzon Street, May Fair, was on a most 
 extravagant scale, and parties were given by Madame every 
 evening when she had no employment at ' the treatment of the 
 people,' as Lord Byron called theatrical performances. Men of 
 all ranks attended her levees ; and her protector, who furnished 
 the means became only a ' shadow and a name.' 
 
 This career lasted some few years, when who the deuce should 
 come in the way but the honourable Captain C — t — y ; he was a 
 man calculated to create mirth and jollity more than any man I 
 ever knew ; his only fault was being too fond of six thousand a 
 year ; his pay and pensions might make it a thousand more. 
 
 He was a fashionable man, and a friend of the highest man in 
 the State — at all events, he was honoured with an invitation to 
 all his private parties, and had the high honour of his arm, often 
 when in public. 
 
 The Captain became on very intimate terms with our heroine, 
 and escorted her everywhere ; they were seen at ' Court, at Ball, 
 at Opera, Play ;' and the most dashing appearances on the town, 
 were the honourable Captain and Madame. 
 
32 The Life of 
 
 They went to Brighton and sported away in fine style. They 
 made trips to the Devil's Dyke, and at the Curds and Whey 
 House they spent many jovial days. 
 
 Madame Yestris is a genuine lover of liberty, which even the 
 managers of the theatres were, and are, not able to control. 
 When Abbot engaged her for the Dublin Theatre, he announced 
 her for a certain day ; the day came, but no Vestris made her 
 appearance ; a week passed — another — and another : she remained 
 still non est inventus ; three weeks of houses crowded in expecta- 
 tion, put Paddy out of all patience, and he murmured loudly 
 against the manager, who in despair put his foot on board the 
 steamer, and made his way up to London. The lady was not at 
 her residence, nor did they know where she was. He imagined 
 she had passed him on the road to Holyhead, and took a seat in 
 the mail to return to Hibernia. He was waiting in the coffee- 
 room at Hatchett's, when, accidently casting his eye upon a 
 newspaper, he read under the head of Brighton : — 
 
 " Madame Yestris still continues to promenade the Steyne, and 
 perform her ablutions daily in the ocean ; she looks in lovely 
 health, but does not perform at our theatre, though strongly 
 solicited to do so." 
 
 " Whew !" went the manager, in a tone as long and as loud as 
 my uncle Toby's lillabullero, and ordering a post-chaise, drove off, 
 forfeiting his coach hire, and forgetting his trunk, which went to 
 Dublin before him — he never missed it until he was in want of a 
 clean shirt and then he thought it had been stolen, so overjoyed 
 was he to have got scent of the fugitive. He found her snugly 
 lodged at Brighton. She had totally forgotten her engagement, 
 and welcomed him as an old friend come to pay her a friendly 
 visit. With ghastly looks he told his tale — ' that he was ruined 
 in the good opinion of the citizens of Dublin for ever.' She made 
 every effort to repair the evil her absence of mind had occasioned, 
 and set out with him that evening in a post-chaise and four. 
 
 When she came out in Dublin she was going to make an 
 apology, but the Paddies received her with cheers and would not 
 suffer it. 
 
 This one instance will serve to display her careless habits, and 
 thoughtless way of treating the most serious engagement ; it is a 
 habit she acquired in early youth, and will never throw off till 
 her old age arrives, and probably not then, nor till death strips her 
 of all faults and foibles. 
 
 She has always been accounted, with truth, one of the most 
 generous women upon the public stage, though some of the prints 
 of the day have held her out as fleecing her friends, being meanly 
 
Madame Yestris. 33 
 
 avaricious ; we know to the contrary, and will proceed to give a 
 few instances that have come to our knowledge from a source 
 which we know to be purely correct. 
 
 Upon an occasion when our heroine had been performing at the 
 Cork Theatre, she had her horses put to her carriage, and was on 
 the point of starting ; an old gentleman, who had been very 
 attentive to her, came to take leave, and lamented the necessity 
 of her being obliged to quit Cork so suddenly, in order to fulfil an 
 engagement elsewhere, adding, 'had you remained, it was in 
 contemplation to have asked you to perform for the benefit of the 
 Roman Catholic Charity School.' She was sorry that her engage- 
 ment would not admit of an hour's delay ; • but,' said she, ' I can 
 spare them this out of what the bounty of my Cork friends have 
 bestowed upon me,' at the same time presenting him three five 
 pound notes. 
 
 The story of her humanity to the soldier's family is well known. 
 
 She was travelling in a glass coach to Dublin, and was about 
 ten miles from it, when she got out to walk up a hill, and 
 view the scenery from its summit ; it was a scorching hot summer's 
 day, and on the hill top she found sitting on the grass, a woman 
 with one child at her breast, and two at her knee, mere infants. 
 She questioned her, and elicited from her that her husband was a 
 soldier, who had just come from abroad, and was in Kilmainham 
 barracks ; she had travelled one hundred and fifty miles, and 
 carried the three babes all the way, except now and then getting 
 a lift in a farmer's cart, and they often refused her that, when 
 they knew she was a soldier's wife. — The sympathy of our heroine 
 was awakened — she ordered from a little road-side public-house, 
 as much bread and cheese and beer, (the place afforded nothing 
 else) as they could eat, for they were neaily starving, and 
 bundling them inside of the carriage, she herself mounted the 
 coach-box, and in this manner conveyed them to Dublin. She 
 set them down near Kilmainham, and gave the woman a one- 
 pound note ; the carriage drove off, leaving the poor woman on her 
 knees calling on the Holy Virgin to bless • the angel in the shay.' 
 
 There is not anything vicious in the composition of Madame 
 Vestris — quite the contrary ; she has numerous good points about 
 her — charity, humanity, forgiveness, liberality, good-humour, 
 mercy, and compassion ; these, surely, more than counterbalance 
 her little failings, which, such as they are, she bears upon her 
 own head, and she alone will have to answer for. She certainly 
 prefers going through life laughing and loving, singing and dancing, 
 to fasting and praying, verily does she believe with Shakspere, 
 
 " Let me play the fool, 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come." 
 
34 The Life of 
 
 And who is there who possesses a grain of reason that will not 
 approve her choice ; canting bigots and enthusiastic fools may 
 hold up their hands and cry shame, but they should learn one 
 act of charity, such as that we have narrated above is better than 
 going three times a day to church, and reaching home with your 
 purse string closed against humanity. 
 
 But the case above narrated is not the only one which we can 
 bring forward to prove our assertion of her exceeding charity. 
 The following instances of generosity and good feeling, are 
 authenticated facts. 
 
 A young man who had been engaged to play subordinate parts 
 at the Olympic during her management, was imprudent enough to 
 enter a cold bath while in a state of perspiration, a severe and 
 protracted illness was the consequence, which ended in his demise. 
 A subscription was commenced by his brother actors for the pur- 
 pose of enabling his disconsolate widow to bury him with decency; 
 on the petition being shown to Madame, she exclaimed, " poor 
 fellow, has he received his salary during his illness?" on being 
 answered in the negative, she instantly wrote an order on her 
 treasurer for the amount, desired the money already collected to 
 be given to the widow, and the undertaker's bill be sent to her 
 when she discharged it; she afterwards gave the poor young 
 woman a situation in the wardrobe of the theatre, and she has we 
 believe held a similar situation ever since. 
 
 The following occurrence is likewise worthy of record. A 
 young female chorister whose sister was a vocalist of great 
 celebrity, but lately deceased, married previous to the season and 
 shortly became in that interesting situation which ladies wish to 
 be who love their lords. She still however continued her profes- 
 sional duties till her situation was too obvious to be concealed. 
 Madame one evening on meeting her behind the scenes, thus 
 accosted her, " Mrs. M — , I fear your health will be affected if 
 you exert yourself by attending here every evening. I beg you 
 will remain at home until your hour of trial be past and the 
 moment your health is sufficiently re-established your situation 
 will be open for you, you will find no difficulty at the Treasury on 
 Saturday, keep yourself quiet, good night, God bless you." The 
 young lady gratefully accepted the indulgence thus offered and 
 her salary continued to be paid in full until she was enabled to 
 resume her duties at the theatre. 
 
 As we wish however to be impartial, we are sorry to admit 
 that Madame Vestris, notwithstanding her many good qualities, 
 is in the habit of acting, occasionally, in a very tyrannical man- 
 ner towards those whom adverse fortune has placed beneath her, 
 
Madame Vestris. 35 
 
 should they be so unfortunate as to incur her displeasure. Of 
 this overbearing conduct, the writer was an eye witness one 
 evening, during the performance of the Beggar's Opera at the 
 theatre royal Covent Garden, in which our heroine sustained her 
 favourite character of Captain Macheath, the late Mr. J. Isaacs 
 was cast for Mat o' the Mint. Madame having performed 
 Macheath for a number of nights at the Hay market theatre, did 
 not think proper to attend even one rehearsal at Covent Garden. 
 Mr. Isaacs studied the part allotted to him very carefully ; and 
 certainly no man could go on the stage more perfectly prepared, 
 he having, to use a theatrical phrase, made himself " dead up in 
 the part." It appears, however, that the prompt-book of the 
 Haymarket had been slightly altered, at her request, in order to 
 bring into her part what is professionally termed " a bit of fat," 
 alias " a clap-trap," of which alteration Mr. Isaacs was perfectly 
 ignorant ; for such was the genuine urbanity of that gentleman, 
 that had Madame made the circumstance known to him, he would, 
 without a murmur, have adapted his own part to that of her 
 Macheath. 
 
 The performance at night proceeded steadily on, till the scene 
 where Macheath enters to the gang, to give them instructions as 
 to their respective routes, &c. In the midst of the dialogue, 
 Madame suddenly stopped, as if waiting for a cue. 
 
 Poor Isaacs being rather nervous, began to fidget ; while 
 Madame, advancing towards him, exclaimed with a frown, " Go 
 on, sir." 
 
 " Madame," replied he, " I have given you the cue." 
 
 " 'Tis false, sir ! " 
 
 " I beg pardon, Madame, I have not omitted a single word." 
 
 She answered, and in a tone so loud as to be heard by a great 
 portion of the audience, " I say 'tis false, sir, and I'll not speak 
 another line till I have my cue;" and, carelessly tapping her 
 boots with her cane, she swaggered up the stage, and seating 
 herself on the table, sat for some time swinging her crossed legs 
 to and fro. 
 
 The audience now perceiving very clearly that something was 
 wrong, began to express their disapprobation by violent hisses. 
 
 Not knowing what else to do in this harrowing situation, poor 
 Isaacs commenced his solo, "Let us take the road," which with 
 the chorus, finishes the scene. 
 
 No sooner were they fairly off the stage than Madame, stepping 
 up to Isaacs like a little fury, exclaimed, " How dare you, sir, 
 insult me in this manner before the audience ? " 
 
 " My dear Madame, nothing was further from my thoughts ; 
 
36 The Life op 
 
 nor can I even now imagine how I have displeased you." 
 
 " Well, Sir, I tell you once more that I will never again go on 
 the stage with a man who is so glaringly imperfect in his part." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Madame, I am perfect to the letter : indeed 
 I have played the part so very frequently, that I could almost 
 venture to repeat it backwards." 
 
 " I don't care, Sir, how often you have attempted the part : I 
 have performed Macheath at the Haymarket and other Theatres, 
 without any unpleasant occurrence taking place ; and had you, 
 Sir, been sufficiently perfect, it would have been so now." 
 
 " But, Madame, I cannot be expected to be able to play a part 
 by instinct ; and had you attended at rehearsal this mor 
 
 " Sir," interrupted she, " I shall attend to what rehearsals I 
 think proper. Am I to be accountable to you, sir, for my actions? 
 I shall appeal to the Manager to protect me from insult." 
 
 " I hope, Madame (answered Isaacs), you will allow me to 
 speak. So far from meditating insult, I was about to observe that 
 if you had attended to but one rehearsal, I would with pleasure 
 have studied my part with the alterations marked in the Hay- 
 market prompt Book." 
 
 "Dcr't talk to me, Sir. I tell you, you don't know your part. 
 There i no alteration in the Haymarket prompt-book ; and I 
 repeat Six', that I will never again be seen on the same stage with 
 you." 
 
 " Upon my word Madame, it is extremely hard to be accused 
 so unjustly. Allow me to appeal to Mr. Parsloe (the prompter) 
 and if I have not spoken every line according to his books, I 
 shall not only be ready to make an apology but to submit to any 
 fine the management may think proper to inflict." — Mr. Parsloe 
 produced the book from which it appeared that Mr. Isaacs was 
 perfectly correct. 
 
 Madame was ready to burst with rage and vexation, and on 
 the call-boy's informing her that the stage waited, it was with 
 the greatest difficulty that the manager, the late J. Faucet, could 
 prevail on her to appear again before the audience. 
 
 In the midst of her next song, her feeling seemed to overpower 
 her : she burst into tears and rushed from the stage ! Madame is 
 an excellent actress. After a lapse of a few minutes, Mr. Faucet 
 came forward with an apology — He stated that Madame Vestris 
 having suddenly become seriously indisposed, claimed the indul- 
 gence of the audience. She would endeavour to go through the 
 dialogue, if they would allow the singing to be omitted. 
 
 Thus through her own obstinacy, the feelings of a worthy man 
 (for that such was Mr. Isaacs, none who had the honour of his 
 
Madame Vestris. 37 
 
 acquaintance, can deny) were keenly wounded, and the audience 
 deprived of the principal portion of their entertainment ; as it is 
 well known that the second act of the Beggars Opera is nearly all 
 vocal, every note of which was on this occasion omitted. 
 
 In pursuing a lady's course through a merry life, I always bear 
 in mind those lines of O'Keefe : — 
 
 " Be to her faults a little blind, 
 Be to her virtues very kind." 
 
 And was on the point of adding — 
 
 " Let all her ways be unconfined," 
 when I recollected there was no occasion for it in this case, a 
 more unconfined bird never wantoned on balmy wings than our 
 heroine ; and I am sure that man is not yet born that would be 
 able to control her, or restrain her, from doing anything she 
 would set her mind upon. Her husband made it an excuse for 
 leaving her that she was of such a combustible temper, the house 
 was filled with explosions of passion, and she • worried his life 
 out.' These were his own words ; and it was very ungallant to 
 charge such a lovely creature with worrying a man like a bull- 
 dog until his life was extinct. There were other ways by which 
 she was more likely to have killed him. 
 
 In Ireland Madame Yestris was so decidedly a favourite that 
 it is to be wondered why she did not oftener go there. She has 
 had annual offers of engagements, on the most liberal terms, and 
 has seldom accepted them. There is something attractive in the 
 meridian of London which rivets female performers to the metro- 
 polis, for no doubt it is there only that talent and beauty are 
 properly appreciated and rewarded. It was in Ireland that 
 
 Madame formed her celebrated connection with Lord V 1, 
 
 which lasted for such a length of time as to induce the public to 
 believe that she was at length mated to a man of her own taste, 
 and one able to gratify her in all respects. 
 
 But this connection was put an end to by the father of Lord 
 
 V 1 stopping the supplies ; and as Madame knew that love 
 
 could not dwell long with poverty, she broke off a connection, 
 without regret, for, though custom could not stale her infinite 
 variety ! yet with her paramour it had brought about its usual 
 effect, he had become flat, stale, and unprofitable, and this to one 
 who liked the thing for the thing itself, was a sufficient cause of 
 separation. Indeed love itself has no refinements without wealth, 
 it is a course sensual passion, soon excited, soon gratified, in which 
 the reason, the mind, the life, hath no part. And this was the 
 great charm of our heroine ; she was all spirit, fire, and animation • 
 
38 The Life op 
 
 her resources are infinite ; and no one has ever passed a night in 
 her company without owning it. 
 
 Her popularity was now at its height ; offers of engagements 
 at extraordinary salaries were daily arriving from various 
 managers, provincial and metropolitan. Authors were continually 
 presenting pieces, the principal parts of which were written 
 expressly for her j and when she could be prevailed on to accept a 
 character, the success of the piece was considered certain. She 
 possesses excellent judgment; and it has very rarely occurred 
 that a play of which she had spoken favourably at the reading 
 has been known to fail in representation. 
 
 The various amatory adventures in which she was known to 
 have sustained such prominent parts are at once so notorious, 
 that very little excuse need be offered for mentioning the names 
 of Tom Duncombe, the present patriotic member for Finsbury ; 
 John Philipson, Esq. (handsome Jack as he was called) ; Lord 
 Castlereagh, the favourite now of Grisi ; and, though last, not 
 least, her present husband Charles Matthews, who deserted the 
 profession of an architect, to which his celebrated father educated 
 him, to become a devotee and professor of the histrionic art in 
 which his success has been such as to cause surprise that any 
 other line of business should ever have been chosen for him. 
 
 With regard to her amours with the individuals above named 
 there is but little to be said, our readers must, therefore, excuse 
 our attempting to dilute our pages with dry and uninteresting 
 details. But there are other individuals who have been indulged 
 with a participation in her favours, concerning whose amours 
 some rather curious anecdotes may be related. 
 
 There is a singular story related of her when in Paris. Young 
 Lord P — , an ignorant and impudent young puppy, pestered her 
 with his attentions, and at length she consented to receive him at 
 her lodgings. 
 
 " Even at the midnight hour, 
 When spectres rise, and spells have power." 
 
 For this favour some hundred francs were laid down, and as 
 the bell tolled twelve he entered the mansion of bliss, and was 
 cautiously ushered into his charmer's bedroom ; where he was as 
 happy as heart could wish, and blest beyond compare, in his own 
 opinion. When day broke, he found to his horror that he was 
 in bed with a black woman, who had only one eye, and not any 
 nose. Those who had passed the joke upon him, rushed into his 
 bedroom to turn him into ridicule. There is an old saying, 
 " Joan is as good as her mistress in the dark," and if this young 
 amoroso had departed before day, he would have ever after the 
 
Madame Vestris. 39 
 
 satisfaction of reflecting he had been caressing an angel instead 
 of a devil. He departed, vowing vengeance, which he never 
 executed, and some years after became one of the favoured swains 
 of her who had played him this scurvy trick. 
 
 During the time when Madame resided in Curzon Street, that 
 is to say during the heyday of her gay life, she, from an affecta- 
 tion of religion, for the design could not be real, hired a pew in 
 Curzon Street Chapel, and who the deuce did she take it from 
 but a lady unfortunately known too well about the town, Lady 
 Perceval, afterwards Countess of Egremont. This lady, there- 
 fore, sold her pew, and Madame was the lovely purchaser ; sixty 
 pounds was paid for a seat never meant to be occupied, and 
 which never had been occupied except by a servant for years. 
 There was a motive on both sides ; Lady Perceval had occasion 
 for the cash, and Madame for the pew. There used to come to 
 this chapel a very devout old man about seventy years old ; he 
 was a bachelor (that is to say a single man), and very rich, and, 
 therefore, was an object worth our heroine's attention. She set 
 her sparklers at work, and under the semblance of religion, 
 caught the old devotee's attention ; he was really a man of true 
 religion, perhaps to an excess bordering upon superstition. 
 
 There was a time in my life when I would have ridiculed such 
 a character, and made him the object of bitter sarcasm ; but time, 
 and some extraordinary experience of God's goodness, have given 
 me different opinions. I am not a whit more l'eligous than I was 
 twenty years ago, though that additional twenty has brought me 
 nearer to the grave. I love a pretty girl as dearly as ever, and 
 whilst I depict the frailties of a lovely woman, I do not by any 
 means censure her conduct. Women, when they profess an 
 inclination to levity are necessary to mankind ; they keep the 
 lead of love on its way, and are no more to be blamed for their 
 natural propensities being gratified, than the elephant in Exeter 
 Change that went mad for a companion. 
 
 This old man took a fancy to our heroine, and accosted her one 
 day as she was going out of the chapel, in a very friendly way, 
 and hoped she had been edified by the discourse she had heard 
 from the lips of the preacher. She acknowledged she had, and 
 with primitive humility courtesied, and thank him for the interest 
 he took in her salvation. 
 
 So young and so pious, thought the old man, she is worth 
 looking after, and he invited her to his house, in Alfred Place, 
 Tottenham Court Road. He lived in good style, kept his 
 carriage, and servants in livery, and made it a rule to have three 
 courses served up at his table — though he was a very temperate 
 
40 The Life op 
 
 man, and seldom tasted of anything but soup, fish, and apple pie. 
 
 I apprehend that the town-acquainted reader knows well that I 
 allude to Colonel Mordaunt, the East Indian Nabob ; he was said 
 to have brought from that country five hundred thousand pounds. 
 I firmly believe he brought double that sum, but wasted a great 
 portion of it on Bible and Missionary Societies. 
 
 His career in India was rather a peaceable one, as he principally 
 was British resident, at one of the native towns ; and excepting 
 the battle of Tanjore, was never engaged in a military operation 
 during the twenty -two years of residence in India. It is but 
 justice to his memory to state, that in the despatches sent home 
 it was stated — " The gallantry of Major Mordaunt ensured a 
 victory when every regiment had been driven from their position; 
 he snatched the colours from his ensign, and spurred his horse 
 into the water, calling on his men (two hundred Sepoys and four 
 hundred Europeans) to follow. They gained the left bank, and 
 in a charge, without firing one musket, overthrew three thousand 
 of the enemy. He pursued his success, and after storming the 
 fort returned, and forced back the left wing of the enemy, 
 securing us a complete triumph. I am concerned to say, he has 
 received a musket ball in his shoulder, and three severe sabre 
 wounds. I recommend him strongly to attention. 
 
 CORNWALLIS." 
 
 Upon his return to England, possessed of an immense fortune, 
 he was granted, a retiring pension by the East India Company. 
 He assumed the character of a religious man, and it is fair to 
 presume he was sincere. I do believe he was — and at the time 
 he made his acquaintance with our heroine he was in the possession 
 of all his faculties, only attached to Mother Church more than 
 reason would call right. She visited him openly at his house, 
 and in fact he was never a day without seeing her. 
 
 The time came that the Colonel should make his exit from the 
 stage of existence ; he felt his end approaching, and had himself 
 removed to the Well-Walk, at Hampstead. Thither our heroine 
 accompanied him, and nursed him with a mother's care for six 
 months. He then died, and she was left solitary. 
 
 The will was read, and to her utter disappointment, her keenest 
 chagrin, she was not provided for as she had hoped and expected. 
 She was left the interest of eight thousand pounds for life, and 
 then it was to go to his grandchildren after her death. 
 
 Many years ago, Madame was caricatured driving in a curricle 
 with two boys, one on each side of her. It was understood at 
 the time that these two young noblemen met her on an excursion 
 to Richmond. She was accompanied by Tom Steele and his 
 
Madame Vestris. 41 
 
 lady ; they had dined, and evening was closing fast. She wanted 
 to return, but so rivetted were her male protectors to their bottle, 
 that they swore they would not budge an inch till they had 
 finished another bottle a-piece. 
 
 In this extremity, she herself came into the yard, and urged 
 the ostler to make haste, and put the horses to the carriage. 
 She was recognized in the court by Lord V 1, and his brother. 
 
 " Oh, my God, is it you ! What is the matter 1 Why are you 
 so agitated V 
 
 " So happy am I to see you," said she, "for now I have some 
 one to protect me." "And happy am I to afford it you," replied 
 his lordship, " what are you about 1 — what can we do ?" "Why 
 see me safe to London ; my male protectors are not able to pro- 
 tect themselves, for they are tipsy, and my female friend appears 
 resolved to make a night of it with them." " Well then," replied 
 Lord V., " come along ; our boat is down below ; let them make 
 a night of it, and be d — d ; if they are half seas over, we'll soon 
 be on the river, and they cannot catch us ; come along, there's 
 my arm." 
 
 Madame gladly took hold, and they were soon on board ; and, 
 with the exception of calling at three or four places, for a little 
 refreshment, they did not stop anywhere, till they reached 
 Whitehall Stairs. 
 
 Lord V. being a little over officious in rendering that assistance 
 which he wanted himself, pulled Madame into the water. There 
 was no danger, but she got wet above her hips, and was from 
 necessity obliged to go to his lordship's for warmth. She was 
 soon swathed in the housekeeper's clothes ; cordials were at 
 once administered, and all the perils of the deep forgotten over a 
 jovial supper. 
 
 On the following evening Lord V, his brother, and Madame 
 Vestris, appeared, en/amille, in a box at Co vent Garden Theatre. 
 
 Scandal then let loose her venomed tongue, and the carica- 
 turists began to exercise their spiteful ingenuity. Madame 
 Vestris was pictured as driving two boys in a curricle. The 
 allusion was well understood, but in fact these two boys were, 
 the first, 22 ; the second, 18 years old. So much for the truth of 
 caricatures. 
 
 His lordship had a cousin, married to a Captain in the Navy, 
 who at this time had a ship at Deptford. Our heroine, ever 
 heedless of what the world said, when she knew her intentions 
 were innocent, accompanied them on a visit to this captain's ship, 
 where they spent the day in mirth and harmony with each other. 
 
 There is always some broad humour passing on board a man 
 
42 The Life op 
 
 of war, and on this occasion a ludicrous incident occurred. Miss 
 C, of Drury Lane, was one of the party, and seated near the 
 hatchway, when the female part of the company were thrown 
 
 into dreadful consternation by the entrance of a mouse. 
 
 The little intruder flew for protection under the petticoats of Miss 
 C, who in great agony bawled out for help. A lieutenant flew 
 to her assistance, and caught the rakish mouse, Miss C. all the 
 while crying, " he's in my pocket ! he's in my pocket !" 
 
 This sally was well received, and the mouse created so much 
 merriment, the party did not break up till next morning. 
 There are always plenty of hammocks, cots, cabins, and good- 
 natured fellows to accommodate ladies on ship board, and they 
 may sleep as soundly and securely there as if they were in a 
 nunnery if they please. 
 
 This ship excursion led to an offer from a celebrated admiral, 
 supposed to be a little cracked, to carry her to Malta, where he 
 promised to make her chief of the opera, and pledged himself she 
 should receive a large salary. Tempting as was the proposition 
 she declined it, and preferred remaining in London, where her 
 person too well known was then making a little noise about town. 
 
 He had accomplishments sufficient to induce any young lady to 
 hover round the halo of his bright blue eyes. 
 
 In Dublin our heroine had two admirers : Lieutenant D. of the 
 Dragoon Guards, and Captain H., who was on half-pay, and had 
 a cottage at Black Rock, which is a very pretty spot on the sea 
 coast, four miles from the city, and where, on Sundays and 
 holidays, the citizens throng in crowds for pleasure. The place is 
 truly lovely. 
 
 Madame Vestris had been with a party to spend the day there : 
 fishing and boat-sailing in the morning, and dining with Captain 
 H. in his cottage. 
 
 Some days after, Mr. D. met Captain H., and told him, " he 
 should not have acted so to him, had he entertained the Vestris, 
 but would have asked him to join the party." The Captain 
 protested he knew not of their coming ; it was a friendly visit, 
 and they took him by surprise. This, (which was true), Mr. D. 
 disbelieved, and high words ensued, the latter calling the former 
 "gaol-bird," (he had been confined in prison for debt.) 
 
 A challenge to meet next morning passed, and as in Ireland 
 they make no secret of those things, but crowds assemble to 
 witness a duel as if it were a show for amusement ; when Madame 
 Vestris drove up to Mr. D's door to speak to him on business, 
 the servant's reply was, — 
 
 " Arrah, madman, and aint he gone to his lawyers, to make his 
 
Madame Vestris. 43 
 
 will, seeing he's going to fight for a duel to-morrow morning." 
 This greatly alarmed her, and she got from Pat all the particulars. 
 
 She, by perseverance, brought the parties together, and effected 
 a reconciliation, keeping seconds and all with her to dinner. 
 Such a woman was not likely to urge her best friend to venture 
 his life on any occasion. 
 
 I omitted in its proper place to mention one circumstance, if 
 any place can be improper for an attempt to follow the footsteps 
 of such a wayward being, week by week, or month by month, 
 would be futile ; so we must catch her wherever we can, without 
 enquiring what brought her to the place, or from whence she 
 came. "When she quitted her apartments in Brydges Street, she 
 removed to a boot-makers in Newport Market. 
 
 Madame, during the time that she lived singly, was rather low 
 in her ideas of residence, from a policy with which I am unac- 
 quainted, or perfectly indifferent where she pillowed. Her lodging 
 in Brydges Street was only two doors from White Hart Yard ; 
 the greatest sink of juvenile depravity in London, and 
 
 " With many a fool and midnight murder stain'd ;" 
 
 but then she had some excuse, its being near the theatre, and 
 convenient for her dressing at home, and going ready armed in 
 cap-a-pie, in the same manner that Mrs. W. "West sallies out 
 from the bookseller's under cover of a grey cloak, and has only a 
 hop, step, and jump, into the stage door. 
 
 Why, Madame Vestris, in the receipt of such a handsome 
 salary, and surrounded by so many liberal friends, should choose 
 (as Mary Anne Clarke said) to lodge with the Emperor of 
 Morocco, alias, a cobbler in Newport Market, it is difficult to 
 conjecture. 
 
 I should much like to see this mender of soles ; if he be a very 
 handsome fellow, like him who mended the hole in the Countess 
 of Berwick's shoe. I might give a shrewd guess, for his shop 
 having the preference to more elegant and commodius lodgings. 
 Lord ! I should as soon think of looking for the Rev. Rowland 
 Hill, on a Sacrament Sunday, in mother Wood's Bagnio, as for 
 the Vestris in Newport Market. I should be apt to say in 
 earnest, what Hamlet does in jest, " You are a fishmonger ;" I 
 should not then be far wrong, for she was certainly an odd fish, 
 as ever revelled out of water ; something like an eel, you may 
 attack it on the head as much as you please, and make no 
 impression, but to bring at once under your control, you must 
 seize it by the tail, and your object is accomplished. 
 
 Butchers are more famous for possessing the stupidity of an ox, 
 
44 The Life op 
 
 than the frolicsome gaiety of the innocent lamb, and in such a 
 low market as Newport, we would expect the most vulgar and 
 stupid rascals. " The toad wears yet a precious jewel in its 
 head," and diamonds are dug out of dirty clay. I have heard of 
 an impudent compliment paid to our heroine by a Newport 
 butcher : to her whose ruling passion is vanity, flattery from any 
 one must be acceptable, provided it is not too far from the truth. 
 
 She was in the market, and searching for a leg of mutton ; to 
 which she is as partial, as His Royal Highness the Duke of York 
 is to liver and bacon. She could not find one to suit her, and a 
 gallant knight of the steel patiently unhooked her about a dozen ; 
 — none suited her fancy, and she peevishly exclaimed, " you have 
 a miserable show of meat to-day, I'll be hanged if you have a 
 good leg in your shop." 
 
 The butcher bowed, smiled, and said, "and I'll suffer to be 
 hanged ma'am, if I have not now in my shop, two of the finest 
 legs in England ;" he pointed to her ladyship's pretty pedestals. 
 Such a compliment, and from such a quarter, surprised, and 
 confused her, though very seldom, as Jack tar has it, "taken 
 aback with any breeze, fair or foul." 
 
 Any leg the witty butcher pleased was ordered home, and paid 
 for at any price he chose to set upon it. The lower orders 
 frequently slip out much better things than those studied by their 
 superiors, the professed wits of the day ; for instance, Madame 
 Vestris sent a young man (one of the play-house porters), to call 
 her servant to come to her in the green-room ; the lad remained 
 too long, and had been tippling in place of looking for " Mungo." 
 
 He returned to say, " that he could not find him anywhere. 
 " Why, sirrah," said the enraged Don Giovanni, " you have never 
 looked for him I am sure, he is only in the streeet." " Oh !" 
 replied the lad, " Madame ; being in the street, 'tis no wonder I 
 missed him, for as he is a black man, I had no chance of seeing 
 him in the dark." 
 
 I am not aware how long her ladyship sojourned at the shoe- 
 maker's in Newport market ; but even there she unconsciously 
 made her conquests, for her appearance and manner, acted upon 
 all ranks and conditions of men, who bowed the knee to the 
 sorceress. The words of Sheridan seem to have been written for 
 her : — 
 
 "To you no soul shall bear deceit, 
 
 No stranger offer wrong ; 
 For friends in all the ag'd you'll meet, 
 And lovers in the young." 
 
 Everybody has heard of Grafton House, where Mr. Flint sells 
 
Madame Vestris. 45 
 
 his haberdashery goods ten times cheaper than any man in the 
 "whole world," and, therefore, cannot afford to wrap any purchase 
 up in a piece of paper. He employs in the shop near Newport 
 Market, some twenty journeymen, all dapper — 
 
 " Fellows of figure, and worthy of a lady's eye," 
 
 who he finds, from experience, are a wonderful attraction to 
 draw on female customers. Madame was a customer for the 
 little odds and ends she had occasion for to trim her theatrical 
 robes with, and as she is very chatty and familiar, often talked 
 to the deputy foreman, a handsome young man, named Smith. 
 The writer knew him, and has talked to him at Slaughter's, in 
 St. Martin's Lane, many an evening before he was acquainted 
 with his profession; he was polite and well-bred, — shrewd and 
 intelligent, and once held an ensign's commission in the army ; 
 but lagging behind at an engagement, he came under the censure 
 of his superiors, and to avoid the consequences of a court-martial, 
 (which under the discipline of Lord Wellington, often led to 
 opening the organ of courage by a bullet in the brain), he wisely 
 scampered from the Pyrenees to Lisbon, and escaped to England, 
 where he engaged in a pursuit more congenial to his soul, — 
 measuring ribbons and calico, and dealing out needles and pins 
 behind Mr. Flint's counter. The lad was right; many a one, 
 like him, have been seized with a fit of timidity without the 
 sense to make so able a retreat, — that part of warfare he had at 
 all events learnt, and it was the only thing he benefitted by 
 during a rough campaign. 
 
 Poor Smith incontinently fell in love with his fair customer, 
 who from going to the shop in her dishabille, he set down as 
 some lady's maid. The first proof he gave of his passion was by 
 wrapping her silk and spangles up in white paper, — the next by 
 enquiring " if she was married 1 " — a very rational way of com- 
 mencing business. The lady, who loves a joke as well as George 
 Colman, encouraged the deception. " She was not married," — 
 "her mistress advised her to have nothing to do with the men," 
 and " she had never seen one to her liking." 
 
 Those who have seen her perform The Country Girl, &c, may 
 imagine what effect her delivery of such sentences would have 
 upon the doting and simple shopman. He was ravished with 
 delight; and Madame used to carry her female friends to the 
 shop to hear the amorous things her " silk and twist Adonis " 
 (so she named him) said to her. She forbade him to watch her 
 home, under the penalty of never speaking to him again. This 
 lasted till Smith became very importunate, and openly offered to 
 
46 The Life of 
 
 marry her; he had a sum of three hundred pounds, and they 
 would have a shop of their own. Madame thought it cruel to 
 carry the joke on further, and resolved to open his eyes. 
 
 One day she presented him with a box order for Drury Lane, 
 which she said was given to her by her mistress, and promised 
 that "though she should not accompany him, he should see her 
 there." He drest in his proudest, and flew to the house, taking 
 his seat near the stage as she had directed him, where he waited 
 with fond impatience for the arrival of the condescending fair. 
 Every time the box-door moved he started, and turned his head 
 as if a bailiff had tapped him on the shoulder; and was so fidgetty 
 that those near him imagined he was either insane or drunk. 
 
 The play passed over and no appearance of his Dulcinea. The 
 Othello of Kean, and the Desdemona of Mrs. W. West, gave poor 
 Smith the horrors ; and when the curtain dropped he went out 
 and primed himself with two or three goes of brandy and water. 
 
 He had fixed himself in his original place, which felt to him 
 like Damiens' bed of burning steel, — and at length the curtain 
 rose ; he heeded it not, for his attention was rivetted to the 
 box-door, in expectation of his charmer. A loud and long 
 clapping made him turn to see the cause — he stared — " rubbed 
 his eyes, and rubbed again," — and at last groaning, he cried, " by 
 heavens it is her ! " and rushed into the lobby ; he there enquired 
 and was told who she was, and the box-keeper informed him she 
 lived in Newport Market. All his visions of love faded away, 
 and he saw he had been merely made a plaything of. To avoid 
 Madame (for he had no hope) he removed to a shop near Clarges 
 Street, Piccadilly, where the writer often saw him in passing, 
 looking as one not likely to be in love again. 
 
 The writer can very well remember when this story about 
 Smith was first whispered in private, and then reached the public 
 ear. Madame was not one likely to keep a secret, and so much 
 inclined to provoke mirth in others, she made no secret of the 
 joke she had played, but said she was very ready to do anything 
 in her power to serve him ; and as he had a penchant for lady's 
 maids, could recommend him to Lady Lanesborough, who had 
 always three or four of those secret-keepers, to dispose of on 
 moderate terms. 
 
 There was some little cruelty in this flirtation, but Madame 
 had heard the story of Smith's flight from the Pyrenees, and, 
 therefore, had a contemptible opinion of him ; for no woman, 
 from the most exalted in life, down to the lowest that crawl the 
 streets in quest of prey, but what despises a coward. 
 
 Madame Vestris played some curious pranks while she remained 
 
Madame Vestris. 47 
 
 at Newport Market. I should be glad to know if Madame 
 recollects the tavern kept by Mr. W. near Leicester Street, and 
 that kept by his brother near Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields ; 
 she must — she cannot have forgotten these scenes of her achieve- 
 ments. Suppose I enliven the tedium of this closing scene with 
 one or two anecdotes of her cobbling history ; she need not be at 
 all ashamed of them, but I know she is not prone to blushing, 
 and here goes. 
 
 Mr. W., a man of some consequence, though a gin spinner, is 
 of portly size, and has good humour depicted in his every feature; 
 he is a bon vivant, keeps a gig and a country house, and has, 
 perhaps, every morn he rises, ten thousand pounds in his power. 
 He is a man who mingles much with nobility, and his opinion is 
 always taken by the dons on the merits of pugilists and horses, 
 for he is accounted an excellent judge. It was he who made a 
 wager with the Prince of Wales, that in one half hour fifty 
 women would come to his bar for something to drink, and forty 
 of them should be made to acknowledge themselves strumpets. 
 He won the wager, and with ease. This original had a room up 
 stairs elegantly furnished,— nay, sumptuously, and there enter- 
 tained his friends with all the luxuries of the season : for he was 
 (and is) one of the most liberal men in the world. 
 
 He used on every Friday to have a " select hop," or private 
 dance, to which he invited all his young friends, — I say young, 
 for Mr. W. was in his fortieth year. This was the Jubilee day 
 of the week, and a pleasanter skip in an obscure way was never 
 known. 
 
 W. had the honour to select and buy horses for Sir Benjamin 
 Bloomfield, and was his confidential friend — in the stable. He 
 also frequented the theatres, and made one ir> the Green-room 
 from his intimacy with the great John Kemble, who assiduously 
 courted the friendship of Mr. W.; and on the few weeks pre- 
 ceding his benefit, regularly called and took a bottle of Yin de 
 Grave with him in his bar cabin. W. was aware of his selfish 
 motives, and used to say, "he is so clever, so agreeable, and of 
 so great talents, I totally forget his avarice." 
 
 The neighbouring shopkeepers' daughters and sons were atten- 
 dants upon this troop, and John Kemble sate by as a spectator, 
 while Madame and her friends 
 
 " Tript it on the light fantastic toe." 
 
 Here it was she became acquainted with young Britton, an 
 officer in the service of the Honourable East India Company, 
 who had returned home to recruit his health, and made it ten 
 
48 The Life of 
 
 times worse than when he left the shores of Hindostan. He had 
 a small income, independent of his commission, and was a gay- 
 fellow, — aye, and a handsome fellow too ; which was no small 
 recommendation in the eyes of a lady. 
 
 Mr. W. one night had a superlative party, and Madame, Lieut. 
 B., and all his chief friends were present. The dance was 
 merrily kept up till midnight, and then the whole descended to 
 sup in the lower dining-room. Madame Vestris and Lieut. 
 Britton were proved to be " non est inventus." Their absence 
 excited some alarm, and excited, amongst the ladies, great 
 curiosity. Where they went, or whether they went in company, 
 could not be ascertained then, but 
 
 " Murder will out." 
 
 W. was partial to a trip to Ramsgate, and in the course of a 
 few days drove down thither with his dogs and fishing tackle. 
 On the Dover road he met with his fair friend and Lieut. B., 
 arm in arm, and looking unutterable things at each other. They 
 were emerging from a small coppice, and appeared in as much 
 confusion as hunted hares. 
 
 Reader I am the last man in the world to imagine evil, and 
 the first to catch at the idea of pleasure. "What they were doing 
 in the coppice you or I reader have no right to suppose, suffice it 
 to say that they both seemed as though they had been doing 
 nothing of which they repented. Mr. W. accosted them, and 
 they all returned to Ramsgate, where they spent a happy day 
 together. This may be called one of Madame's bold freaks ; but 
 at the same time it must be confessed that report did aver that 
 Mr. B. was a near relation, and this may be true, — relationships 
 ever so near admit of a closer connexion, and truly I am very- 
 much afraid that on this occasion consanguinity was out of the 
 question. 
 
 But to proceed with our history. In May, 1830, Madame 
 Vestris became sole lessee of the Olympic Theatre. For some 
 years previous to the Olympic having been taken by Madame 
 Vestris it was considered by the profession as a most unprofitable 
 concern ; it has at various periods been opened by theatrical 
 speculators ; among whom we remember the late Mr. Elliston ; 
 Mr. Frampton, then landlord of the King of Prussia, next door 
 to the theatre ; the late Mr. Oxberry, father to the facetious little 
 comedian of the present day : and Mr. Wild ; all of whom, with 
 the exception of the first named gentleman, retired, after a brief 
 season of two or three months, with considerable loss. Mr. 
 Elliston was chiefly indebted for his suceess to the production of 
 
Madame Vestris. 49 
 
 Rochester, a very peculiar and cleverly constructed pantomime, 
 entitled, " Broad Grins or Harlequin Mag and Harlequin Fag," 
 and the never-tiring, " Giovanni in London," which was originally 
 produced at this theatre under the successful management of 
 Mr. Elliston, and was the vehicle for introducing Mr. Keeley to a 
 London audience in the character ef Lepporella. On Mr. Elliston 
 relinquishing the management, the theatre sunk into obscurity ; 
 and, when it was occasionally opened for a short period, the 
 gallery was the only part of the house at which money was taken, 
 the pit and boxes being nightly more than two-thirds filled with 
 orders, and by parties of by no means aristocratic appearance. 
 In fact, it was a matter of no little surprise to the neighbourhood 
 when they beheld even a hackney coach at the box entrance. 
 Where can be found a greater proof of the popularity of Madame 
 Vestris, than by comparing the state of the Olympic during her 
 sway with the period alluded to 1 For several seasons the house 
 was crammed to suffocation within a few minutes of the doors 
 being opened ; the carriages of the most distinguished families 
 nightly stopped the way, extending from the theatre more than 
 midway up Drury Lane ; and her boxes exhibited a display of 
 beauty and fashion not to be excelled by any theatre in Europe. 
 Nay, so great was the demand for places that at the commence- 
 ment, we believe, of the third season of her triumphant career, 
 she was induced to take away the gallery altogether, and substi- 
 tute a spacious and elegant tier of boxes in its place. The result 
 justified her most sanguine expectations — the experiment proved 
 entirely successful. In fact, the elegant chasteness of the entire 
 decorations of the theatre obtained it the reputation of being the 
 most unique and splendid establishment in London. 
 
 During the time when Madame ruled over the destinies of the 
 Olympic Theatre, the most celebrated performers were amongst 
 her company. Of these we may briefly speak of Liston, Farren 
 Keely, Mrs. Orger, Mr. S. Vining, Miss Murray, Mrs. Nesbitt, 
 &c. It was through her unrivalled judgment that Charles 
 Matthews had the opportunity of making his appearance on the 
 London Boards. She believed that he had the stuff within him 
 which might be turned to advantage, and the result has not 
 deceived her expectations. 
 
 In the year 1838 a report became prevalent that Madame 
 Vestris had again changed her name. Various were the opinions 
 in the public mind as to the degree of credence to be given to 
 the rumour, which was at length settled by announcement that 
 the marriage between herself and Mr. C. Matthews had actually 
 taken place. Shortly after which she, with her newly acquired 
 
50 The Life of 
 
 husband, embarked in the Great Western steamer for the United 
 States, where they had accepted an engagement for twelve months 
 at an enormous salary. Here, however, although at first well 
 received, circumstances occurred which gave the Yankees cause 
 for changing their opinions, and the result was, that after a short 
 sojourn they were compelled to return to England and again took 
 up their quarters at the Olympic. From this house at the com- 
 mencement of the season 1840, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Matthews 
 became the lessees of Covent Garden, where the exquisite taste 
 of Madame was still shown in the manner in which she continued 
 to put those productions which she accepted, or those revivors 
 which she decided on upon the stage. Who that has witnessed 
 The Midsummer NigMs Dream ; The Merry Wives of Windsor ; 
 The Spanish Curate ; The London Assurance, &c., can deny the 
 truth of our assertion. 
 
 We come in the last place to speak of the personal appearance, 
 the character and talents of Madame Yestris. Madame is in person 
 about the middle height, neither sinking into insignificance on the 
 one hand, nor dilating into the extensive on the other ; her hair 
 is of a dark brown, long and luxuriant ; her features classical ; 
 her figure full, round, and voluptuous ; her facial beauties consist 
 more in quickness of eye and an arch vivacity than anything 
 besides ; her face as a whole is striking but it will not bear to be 
 criticised, feature by feature ; it would never do for a Yenus de 
 Medicis though her figure doubtless would, for her bust and limbs 
 are cast in nature's happiest mould, and her limbs are so 
 symmetrically formed that we may say of her as it was once said 
 of Absalom, from the crown of the head to the sole of her foot 
 she is without blemish, perhaps no woman ever boasted so pure 
 and fair a skin. 
 
 "As white as snow and pure as monumental alabaster." 
 
 She is in fact formed to be the envy of her own sex and the 
 admiration of the other. Nor does the arch destroyer time 
 appear to make much difference with her. Her way of life is now 
 fast verging towards the sere and yellow leaf, yet does she appear 
 almost the same as when we first saw her, a little stouter perhaps 
 but lively and active as ever, with none of those little tell-tale 
 crow's feet to show the progress of the arch enemy to beauty. 
 Yerily may we say of her as Shakspeare sings of Cleopatra. 
 
 " Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety. Other women cloy 
 The appetites they raise, but she makes hungry 
 Where most she satisfies." 
 
 Madame Yestris is off the stage the same that she is on — the 
 
Madame Vestris. 51 
 
 same vivacious fascinating being — the same arch expression — the 
 same easy manners; she is in fact ;•*«';' ' .',■"' 
 
 " The child of social mirth', and love." 
 But this happy temperament was' net always her ippftior'., .when 
 she occupied apartments in the J early 1 part of her' caVeei' 'near 
 White Hart Yard, she has been heard many and many a time to 
 call, "come along Josephine and try to amuse me for I have been 
 in the horrors all day," at the same time her looks bespoke the 
 sentiments of her heart ; certes at that period she often laboured 
 under a deep depression of spirits. There is not a greater dif- 
 ference between the wildness of an American savage and a man in 
 a state of civilization, than there is to be found in the character 
 of women and of those too, whose habits of life being the same, 
 were likely, from coming always in contact, to acquire a generality 
 of manner ; and both in society and domestic privacy, practise 
 the same errors, virtues, and vice. 
 
 The fact that it is not so, proves the truth of that maxim of 
 Jean Jacques Rousseau — that Providence never formed two beings 
 alike in any two peculiarities of mind and temper. — Even the 
 happiest married couple, who have lived together for years, with- 
 out a cloud to overshadow their sunshine of joy, will be found, on 
 examination, to be directly opposite in every tone of the mind ; 
 but habit, the force of habit, had brought them to live together 
 in sociality, as a Lion in old Exeter Change had imbibed an 
 affection for the little spaniel bitch, it was at first supposed he 
 would have destroyed. 
 
 Of all people living in community together, one would be apt 
 to suppose public performers most likely to imbibe the same sen- 
 timents, morals and manners, — but the reverse is the fact. To 
 use an expressive old saying, they are all as different as " chalk 
 from cheese." 
 
 Mr. Macready, the tragedian, is proud, haughty, and imperious; 
 supercilious, arrogant, and overbearing in his manners : chilling, 
 and distant to all of his profession ; with a high opinion of the 
 importance of his talents. 
 
 Mr. Young, of equal, if not superior rank in his profession, is 
 social, affable, and condescending; kind to his inferiors — never 
 boasting of his talents, and without the smallest taint of profes- 
 sional arrogance or low born pride. 
 
 Liston, that facetious fellow, whose countenance set the most 
 misanthropic into good humour, before his speaking, and in 
 acting convulsed them with laughter — when off the stage was a 
 serious, steady, contemplative man, much addicted to 'melancholy 
 
52 The Life of 
 
 musing ;' and few can believe it to be so. Those acquainted with 
 the wanderings of the; human mind will readily credit it. Lord 
 Byron alludes to' this -variety, as it respects the female sex, when 
 he writes^- „.-,...,, , » 
 
 *'. . v . "• tAih; little -thought h& what thy heart, Gulnare — 
 
 When soft could feel, and when incens'd could dare." 
 
 There is a story of French texture, of a comedian who, like 
 Liston, kept the audience in a roar. A gentleman became inti- 
 mate with another at a Coffee-house, who appeared always in the 
 most deplorable and miserable state of mind. The latter one 
 day asked his friend what he should do to be cured of this hypo- 
 chondriacal affection. 'Go,' said he, 'to the theatre, and seethe 
 performances of such a one.' (I forget the name.) 'Alas, sir,' 
 said he, ' I am myself that unhappy man." 
 
 'Tis a certain fact that Liston is similarly situated, and by no 
 means a jovial companion at the social board. 
 
 Terry, who was a serious and contemplative man, a kind of 
 Penruddock on the boards, and so partial to the performance of 
 serious parts, was in private life one of the merriest, laughing, 
 and joking fellows that ever enlivened a social party. 
 
 Harley, so lively on the mimic scenes is, in private life, a 
 serious, plodding, stock-jobbing man, always keeping the main 
 chance in view. Well may we exclaim with that excellent 
 judge of human nature, Mr. Pope, who says in his Essay on Man, 
 that he — 
 
 '"Midst all the countless numbers of his kind, 
 Can scarcely meet with one congenial mind." 
 
 Lively and animated as Miss Chester was in her performances, 
 she was of a steady deportment in her private life, and never dis- 
 played any of that arch vivacity which characterised her Beatrice, 
 and other parts completely her own. 
 
 Mrs. Nesbitt on the other hand is perhaps one of the best ex- 
 amples of the contrary with whom we are acquainted. She is 
 the same off the boards as she is on ; and those who have witnessed 
 her Constance in the Love Chase, may thence infer her general 
 character for it would almost appear that she had sat for the 
 character, arch and vivacious, a regular romp acting on the im- 
 pulse of the moment and speaking the words that first present 
 themselves, she is the very life and soul of every society which is 
 fortunate enough to obtain her presence. An anecdote we beg to 
 relate of her, from our own personal knowledge which may give 
 our readers some insight into her character. 
 
 Mrs. Nesbitt one evening when we were fortunate enough to 
 be present made her appearance in the Green Room of the theatre 
 
Madame Vestris. 53 
 
 at which she was engaged, habited for the part she was about to 
 perform, the jewels which she wore attracted the attention of one 
 of the other ladies. Mrs. Nesbitt remarking this, exclaimed 
 " ah ! you may look my dear, they're real I know, for I spouted 
 them once for two hundred !" She herself joined heartily in the 
 roar of laughter which followed this naive exclamation. 
 
 Of Madame as an actress we must next speak. Her first 
 appearance really on the London boards, was in the latter part of 
 the season of 1816. She chose the part of Lilla in the Siege of 
 Belgrade and was received with universal acclamation from all 
 parts of a bumper house. 
 
 There is not anything in the part worthy of a first-rate per- 
 former, and the piece is altogether an incongruous mass of insipidity. 
 She, however, succeeded in throwing into it more interest than 
 any one had done previously ; but the applause she received was 
 from a pre-disposition in John Bull to be kind to her, on account 
 of her fame which had heralded her from Paris. 
 
 To have had an engagement at Paris, is quite sufficient recom- 
 mendation to an English manager, even though the person figured 
 in a low capacity ; and John Bull is too proud to be thought 
 behind his neighbours in taste and judgment. 
 
 The Morning Post of that day, very sapiently remarked, that 
 Lord Byron and his friends were in the house, and at the end of 
 the performance his lordship went behind the scenes to compli- 
 ment the lady on her extraordinary success, and wish her joy. It 
 might be so, for as the Dutchman says, " No ding is nimpossible 
 mid Got," but unfortunately for the veracity of public prints, and 
 the honour of our heroine, Lord Byron was then busied in shoot- 
 ing doves over the hills of Ravenna. 
 
 But the character in which she made the greatest noise, and 
 to which her real success was to be attributed were her Captain 
 Mackheath in the Beggar's Opera, and her Don Giovanni. — 
 Lovely as she always appeared in a woman's dress — all bewitching 
 in her laced tucker, and braided locks, she never reached the 
 acme of her reputation till she threw off female delicacy and 
 undertook at once to teach us how women looked arrayed in 
 breeches. Macheath was the first breeches part in which the 
 Vestris made her appearance in Drury Lane. The beautiful pro- 
 portion of her limbs, the manly nonchalance of her manner, and 
 the arch way in which she played and gave the songs made the 
 audience forget she was a woman. This character raised her 
 reputation above the reach of all her enemies ; the town rang 
 with her praises and every print shop was decorated with her 
 
54 The Life op 
 
 likeness, the following song made its appearance at the time and 
 we make no apology for giving it entire. 
 
 What a breast — what an eye ! what a foot, leg, and thigh, 
 What wonderful things she has shown us, 
 
 Round hips, swelling sides, and masculine strides — 
 Proclaim her an English Adonis ! 
 
 In Macheath how she leers, and unprincipled appears, 
 
 And tips off the bumpers so jolly, 
 And then, oh, so blest, on two bosoms to rest, 
 
 And change from a Lucy to Polly. 
 
 Her very hair and style would corrupt with a smile — 
 
 Let a virgin resist if she can ; 
 Her ambrosial kisses seem heavenly blisses — 
 
 What a pity she is not a man. 
 
 Then in Don Giovanni, she puts life into many, 
 And delights with her glees and her catches ; 
 
 Her best friend at will, she can gracefully kill, 
 And the wife of his bosom debauches. 
 
 The profligate youth she depicts with much truth, 
 
 All admire the villain and liar. 
 In bed-chamber scenes, where you see through the screens, 
 
 No rake on the town can come nigh her. 
 
 Her example so gay leads all the young astray, 
 
 And the old lick their lips as they grin ; 
 And think, if she would, why, mayhap, they still could 
 
 Have the pleasure and the power still to sin. 
 
 How alarming is beauty when ankle and shoe-tie 
 
 Peep out like a bird from the nest, 
 They are like heralds of delight, and morn, noon, and night, 
 
 Fond fancy can point out the rest. 
 
 Then, be breeches on the go, 
 
 Which appears with such grace upon many ; 
 But Vestris to please, must her lovely limbs squeeze, 
 
 In the pantaloons of Don Giovanni. 
 
 For our own parts we must candidly confess that we are not 
 partial to witnessing a delicate woman assume a masculine part, 
 and thus strut and fret her hour upon the stage. To my mind 
 the shape of a fine woman is seen to more advantage — more 
 delightful to the eye and heart through the wavings of white 
 satin or silk, than the light costume of flesh-coloured pantaloons 
 or slashed doublets of chamois leather. There is something more 
 to be guessed at and which is the more endearing from being 
 concealed. 
 
 A man may well thus exclaim when a woman is all but in a 
 
Madame Vestris. 55 
 
 state of nudity, the lightness and colour of the dress often being 
 made to appear like nature, unblushingly exposing herself to ful- 
 some admiration, but whether the taste be a bad or good one ; 
 Madame no sooner appeared in breeches — no sooner had she 
 committed this breach of female modesty, than every buck and 
 blood in London crowded to the theatre to see her — not greater 
 crowds attended the death of the elephant, the buffoonery of 
 Matthews, the exhibition of the fortunately ugly mug of Liston. 
 
 When Madame performed Macheath in Dublin to crowded and 
 applauding audiences, Lord Mathew observed to Dr. Durgin that 
 her appearance was not masculine enough to impress one with the 
 idea of a bold and daring highway robber. " It is very true," 
 replied the doctor, " but as small as she is, I make no doubt if she 
 told your lordship to stand and deliver, you would very readily 
 obey and look d — d foolish after your purse was empty." 
 
 Several of my readers who remember the hey-day of Madame's 
 fame have, no doubt, heard of a celebrated " nabob," (so every 
 one is called that comes laden with wealth from India) nicknamed 
 " Kang-Kook," why, as we do not pretend to comprehend the 
 wit of Bombay — we are at a loss to guess. He brought home 
 the character of a brave and fortunate soldier, and some thousand 
 lacks of rupees, to circulate in the land of his fathers. 
 
 As the first step to notoriety, and a certain mode of being 
 introduced to the first company, he procured a seat in Parliament, 
 and voted for the minister. An introduction at Court and all the 
 fashionable etceteras, immediately followed as matter of course, 
 and he soon became eminent in bon ton. 
 
 Kang-Kook was no gambler, but he knew to whom to lose a 
 few hundreds, when he had a favour to ask ; and he sent not a 
 few of his natural sons to India, in rising situations, for which 
 they were all qualified by talents and age. 
 
 He also made himself conspicuous in the annals of gallantry — 
 not by a " crim. con." that was too expensive for Kang-Kook, 
 who knows the value of a rupee as well as any Indian Rajah — 
 but by taking into keeping the eldest Miss English, the dress- 
 maker, in Tottenham-court Road, and afterwards of Sackville 
 Street, Piccadilly. 
 
 But we must proceed with her other characters. It is impossible 
 to witness her rambles in Don Giovanni, and withhold the meed 
 of just praise. It is an excellent libertine performance, which, 
 whilst you admire, is accompanied with feelings of regret that 
 such superlative talents were so grossly misapplied. 
 
 In petticoats our heroine shines most where the part is one of 
 a boisterous nature ; her Juliana, in the Honey Moon, is a fine 
 
56 The Life op 
 
 display of ability. In the dance where the Farmer says, "I 
 always kiss where I like," and she retorts with " and so do I," 
 her significant look always calls down thunders of applause : 
 and the air with which she utters " Duke or no Duke, I will be 
 a Duchess !" is a superlative specimen of the proud, petulant, and 
 disappointed minx. Yet even here, where she excels all her 
 rivals, she is not contented with her meed of applause, but 
 aspires to perform the Duke, in preference to Juliana ; she has 
 done so in the country, and in private where plays are got up for 
 amusement, and noblemen are the actors. 
 
 At a certain theatre in St. James's Square, she has shown off 
 as the Duke, and also as Petruchio in the Taming of the Shrew ; 
 acting the heroes one night, and the heroines another. The 
 applause she received in the latter exceeded the former, and 
 caused her to secede, and say, " that a blind man was as good a 
 judge of acting as Lord H. and his squinting relations." 
 
 We are among those who admire her most in her natural 
 dress ; if she be really partial to broad characters, her Miss 
 Hoyden is a perfect delineation of vulgar simplicity, and she has 
 given most excellent effect to Nell, in the Devil to Pay. These, 
 and such parts, though rude and boisterous, are not inconsistent 
 with her sex and female propriety ; and one of the prettiest 
 pieces of acting ever seen, is her Cowslip, in the Agreeable 
 Surprise. 
 
 Her voice is a sweet tenor, and has no superior since Miss 
 Tree left the stage ; she uses no flourishes, no falsetto tones, and 
 possesses one qualification, rarely found in modern signers who 
 have formed their taste upon the Italian school. Her voice is 
 not all musical tones ; you can distinguish the words, and 
 comprehend the meaning of what she is singing. 
 
 If we take Madame Vestris all in all, she is a most valuable 
 actress, and possesses more universal talent than any comic lady 
 we know. Chester once excelled her in eloquence, but never 
 could reach her vivacity ; Nesbitt beats her in playfulness, but 
 fails to equal her archness and assumed simplicity. 
 
 Wanting personal charms, our heroine would never have 
 advanced higher than the reach of a third-rate actress; with 
 them she has risen to be the first low comic actress on the 
 London boards, our respect strives to do her impartial justice, 
 always leaning to the most favourable side. Every person 
 differs in opinion as to the merits of dramatic representations, 
 and these remarks (by an individual who pretends not to be 
 immaculate in his judgment, and would not presume to dictate 
 to his readers), must be taken as the impression of one who sees 
 
Madame Vestris. 57 
 
 not with a lover's eye, but through the perspective of sober 
 opinion, and expects no one to give him credit that has an 
 opportunity of going to the theatre and witnessing in propria 
 persona the performances of this fascinating woman. In her 
 very worst parts he will find much to give him satisfaction, 
 and in her very best something surpassing his most sanguine 
 expectations. 
 
 And in no one instance will he ever feel disgusted, or inclined 
 to breathe a hiss at anything she does, serious, humorous, or 
 ridiculous. No one can see her without being instantly pre- 
 possessed in her favour ; her appearance steals away the under- 
 standing before she opens her seductive lips, and enchants you 
 with heavenly sounds. 
 
 Her vocal powers require not any notice ; all admit them to 
 be delightful ; and as long as cherries ripen with the summer, 
 will her reputation as an English songstress last in musical 
 fame 
 
 As a manager, everyone who has had an opportunity of so 
 doing, speaks of her in the highest possible terms. Any of our 
 readers who may doubt this have nothing to do but to turn to 
 the published copy of Leigh Hunt's Legend of Florence, where 
 he will find a tribute from that excellent-hearted man to the 
 goodness and simplicity of Madame Vestris. Of her charitable 
 feeling to those who are under her we have already afforded, we 
 think, sufficient examples. 
 
 Her unkind conduct to her mother has been a prolific topic, 
 and there is but little doubt but it was set going by the old lady 
 herself, who would not be satisfied if she received all her 
 daughter's salary. The woman who could sell her daughter for 
 a paltry five hundred pounds, is capable of anything, however 
 base, mean, and vile, and should be avoided as a "thief in the 
 night," or " the pestilence that cometh at noon-day," — " oh, my 
 soul, come not thou into her secrets." Madame, notwithstanding 
 this woman never acted a mother's part towards her, was for a 
 long while her stay and support, which is highly to her credit ; 
 she conscientiously did her duty to one who merits not the 
 homage of a child. 
 
 With regard to her conduct to her first husband, we think that 
 every thing which has been said proves that it was on his side 
 that the first error was committed. 
 
 As for poor Armand Vestris, all his gallantries are over ; he 
 has followed Hans Holbein in the Dance of Death, and will 
 never shake a leg on earth again. His faults die with him, if he 
 had more than the common lot of mortals, and may the memory 
 
58 The Life of 
 
 of his victims live to animate those he has left behind on the 
 mimic scene. 
 
 " Life's but a walking shadow, 
 
 A po >r player, that struts and frets 
 
 His hour upon the stage, 
 
 And then is heard no more." 
 
 Vestris died somewhere on the continent, for he had studiously 
 kept out of the way of his wife for many years ; a circumstance 
 which, no doubt, "wrung her tender heart," and made her wet 
 her couch — with nightly tears. 
 
 No one would have known that he had tript into the tomb if 
 his wife had not announced it by appearing in widow's weeds, 
 smiling and parading under the facade of the King's Theatre, 
 with her weepers on, as much as to say, " To be let and entered 
 upon immediately, these very desirable premises, <&c." 
 
 She might truly say, with a face arrayed in smiles — 
 
 " I have that ' within' which passeth show; 
 These but the trappings and the weeds of woe." 
 
 We have purposely abstained from entering into much detail 
 relative to the later period of her career, for two very obvious 
 reasons. First, because it has not been distinguished by any 
 very remarkable circumstance ; and secondly, because it must 
 be in the recollection of almost all our readers. We shall there- 
 fore perform this portion of our self-imposed task in a much 
 more concise manner than we have hitherto done. 
 
 Some few years ago Madame Yestris became the lessee of 
 the Olympic Theatre, an establishment which up to this period 
 has proved the ruin of every one who had engaged in the 
 speculation. But undaunted by these reverses which to less 
 spirited individuals would necessarily have appeared dread 
 omens, she felt convinced that good management might yet 
 retrieve its fallen fortunes, and she set about the task in right 
 earnest, surrounded by a company of the first-rate actors in 
 comedy, amongst whom we must not omit to mention Liston, 
 who was in his own proper person a tower of strength, with 
 the aid of authors of the greatest celebrity ; not, however, 
 neglecting those whose talents were hid beneath a less known 
 name. The little theatre was each night assailed by crowds of 
 anxious auditors, and the widow of Wych Street was the 
 sorceress who attracted thousands of the king's liegemen, " by 
 her so potent art." But a great point of her success was the 
 novel practice of attending strictly to what may be termed the 
 " mise en scene," or as the actor would say, the getting up of the 
 piece in lieu of imitating other managers and representing the 
 
Madame Vestris. 59 
 
 drawing room of a modern mansion by a wretchedly daubed 
 scene with a couple of rush-bottomed chairs ; she took a bolder 
 (and as it ultimately proved) a more successful flight. The 
 floor was decked with carpet, mahogany or rosewood chairs 
 were ranged along the walls, while pianos, sideboards and the 
 numerous etceteras of a lady of fashion, and then what dinners ! 
 not the quarter of a pound of beef and penny buster of a cook's 
 shop, but real right down chickens backed up with beakers of 
 claret, and glorious bumpers of port ; so much so indeed, that we 
 ourselves have ofttimes longed to join the actors on the mimic 
 scene and quaff from the beaker, 
 
 " With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
 And purple stained month." 
 
 The plan succeeded and for three seasons she enjoyed a great 
 share of public patronage chequered however by some disasters 
 amongst which we may notice the defalcation of her brother-in- 
 law and treasurer Mr. Anderson, her own bankruptcy and the 
 subsequent superseding of the fiat. Here it was that she became 
 acquainted with her present liege lord Mr. Charles Matthews 
 the son of the lamented mimic of that name ; he had just given 
 up the mangement of the Adelphi where his success was any- 
 thing but commensurate with his exertions. While conversing 
 with her upon various topics, he one day expressed a wish to 
 make an attempt on the boards, and Madame at once offered her 
 theatre as the scene of his debut. " The old and young stager," 
 was at once written for him. He appeared and was successful, 
 for who could fail when urged on by the bright eyes of Madame 
 and cheered by her applause ? The final result may readily be 
 guessed; on the one side was a lovely woman, ardent in tem- 
 perament, radiant in charms, glowing with iove ; while on the 
 other, we find a young man entering into life, and whom gratitude 
 as well as passion urged to adore the divinity who had made his 
 success. 
 
 They were married, the parish church of Kensington echoed 
 these "lovers vows" the clerk gave away the "fair penitent" 
 and within " three weeks after marriage" Madame and Charley 
 took " a flight to America." Here for a time they were well 
 received, but some vagabond Yankee having breathed the voice 
 of slander against them, the sunshine of their career was soon 
 overcast ; Shakspeare says, 
 
 " Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow ; 
 Thou shalt not avoid calumny." 
 
 And so true it was. The word was uttered, and the storm 
 which nothing could quell was raised and burst above their 
 
€0 The Life of 
 
 heads. At first it was a whisper, a light breeze, a gentle zephyr, 
 scarcely perceptible, gliding as a still small voice gently o'er the 
 ground till by degrees spreading around it came by a crafty 
 entrance into the ears of those who afterwards were both her 
 accusers and judges. Then at length flitting from place to place 
 it swept along like the tempest, or the thunder-storm ; anon, it 
 rushed headlong spreading round with redoubled fury, or to use 
 the words of Byron, 
 
 " The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain, 
 The envious who but but breathe in other pain ; 
 Behold the host delighting to deprave, 
 Who track the steps of glory to the grave. 
 Watch every fault that daring genius owes, 
 Half to the ardour which its birth bestows, 
 Distort the truth, accumulate the lie, 
 .And pile the pyramid of calumny." . 
 
 Everything which could be done by her as a gentlewoman, 
 was done; nay, she even '■'■stooped to conquer," but it was no 
 use. Madame and Charles were "all in the wrong" their 
 " honey moon" was clouded by the storm of disapprobation ; 
 their " lofty projects " failed, and finding that this was not the 
 way "how to grow rich" they resolved to sail "for England-ho" 
 To the Londoners however, this was an " agreeable surprise," 
 for the little theatre — which by the way during her absence, 
 had been anything but successful — was again an " open house." 
 Two seasons back Madame became the lessee of the Theatre 
 Royal Covent Garden, while the same liberal management dis- 
 tinguished her as had hitherto made her name celebrated as a 
 manager at the smaller house in Wych Street. Her success 
 however was not as it should be, and she was compelled at the 
 end of the season to yield the regions of government, into the 
 hands of Mr. Charles Kemble, under whose auspices the theatre 
 did next again unclose its doors. 
 
 We have with much trouble and assiduity collected as many 
 amusing anecdotes of our heroine as we could depend upon. We 
 are sensible there are many more floating on the stream of 
 fashion and folly, but they are nearly all fictitious, and of a more 
 dubious nature j and some so much to her discredit, we have at 
 once rejected them as untrue. 
 
 In the history of such a sylph, who is driven to and fro like 
 the gossamer or thistle-down, on the varying breeze of a May 
 day, we may have been led into the same trifling mistakes ; it is 
 unavoidable, but they will be found very few, and our truths 
 overoalancing them all. Our industry has been excited to the 
 utmost, we have gleaned from every quarter our anecdotes of her 
 
Madame Vestbis. 61 
 
 life, and have left nothing worth gathering ; we trust we have 
 kept our word, to give wit without indecency, intrigue free from 
 disgust, and gay good-humour, void of offence. 
 
 Although we have had a moral end in view throughout, we 
 leave it to be drawn by the reader as his fanny lists, convinced, 
 that the young and the old of both sexes, the sage, and the 
 coxcomb, the married man and the bachelor, the wife and the old 
 maid, and her who is neither maid or wife, will experience the 
 most pleasing sensations from cherishing in their heart's core this 
 record of the striking virtues and amiable feelings of one of the 
 most fascinating actresses that ever trod the London boards. 
 
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