John Philip Kemble was London’s leading Shakespearean actor in the early decades of the nineteenth century. Once, on his way home from a night of revelry, a thoroughly inebriated Kemble was seized by an irresistible urge to ride a rhino. The obvious place to fulfill his wish was at the city’s famous menagerie, the Exeter Change, in the Strand. When his request was turned down by a sleepy keeper—it was 4:15 in the morning—he demanded to see the owner, Stephen Polito, at once, which prompted this exchange:
Kemble: Mr. Polito, I presume. [Polito bowed.] You know me, I presume?
Polito: Very well, Sir. You are Mr. Kemble, of Drury Lane Theatre.
Kemble: Right, good Polito! Sir, I am seized with an unaccountable, an uncontrollable fancy. You have a rhinoceros?
Polito: Yes, Sir.
Kemble: My desire is to have a ride on its back.
Polito: Mr. Kemble, you astonish me!
Kemble: I mean to astonish the whole world. I intend to ride your rhinoceros up Southampton Road to Covent Garden market!
Polito: It is next to an impossibility.
An offer of ten guineas magically overcame the next-to-impossibility and the rhinoceros was duly produced: Kemble climbed on board and was cheered by the early morning crowd upon arrival at Covent Garden. Having accomplished what he set out to do, Kemble staggered off, very different from the stern and noble Romans he portrayed on stage.
Kemble’s rhino ride is just one of the many priceless details found in Caroline
