A few words more just to lay further stress on the importance of

Pantomime, and then to return to our History. Take any part in any play,

strip from it in its enactment the whole of its gesture language, could

we realise that the actor appearing in it was portraying nature for us?

Replace the Pantomime so essential to the part, and the character

becomes--or rather should become if properly played--a creature of flesh

and blood the same as ourselves. Pantomime, on the other hand, does not

require words to be spoken to express its meaning, as it is quite

expressible without.

A contemporary account of the production of the Pantomime "Harlequin Dr.

Faustus," at Drury Lane Theatre, forms interesting reading, in addition

to providing a contrast with present-day Pantomime.

Every action is executed to different agreeable music, so adapted that

it properly expresses what is going forward; in the machinery there is

something so highly surprising that words cannot give a full idea of it.

The effects described seem to be marvellous, considering the state of

theatrical mechanism. A devil riding on a fiery dragon rides swiftly

across the stage. Two country men and women enter to be told their

fortunes, when Dr. Faustus waves his wand, and four pictures turn out of

the scenes opposite, representing a judge and a soldier, a dressed lady,

and a lady in riding habit; the scene changes to the outside of a

handsome house, when the louting men, running in, place their backs

against the door. The front of the house turns, and at the same instant

the machine turns, a supper ready dressed rises up. The countrymen's

wives remain with the Doctor, who (afterwards) goes out. He beckons the

table, and it follows him. Punch, Scaramouch, and Pierrot are next met

by the Doctor, who invites them into a banquet. The table ascends into

the air. He waves his wand, and asses' ears appear at the sides of their

heads. A usurer lending money to Dr. Faustus demands a limb as

security, and cuts off the Doctor's leg, several legs appear on the

scene, and the Doctor strikes a woman's leg with his wand, which

immediately flies from the rest, and fixes to the Doctor's stump, who

dances with it ridiculously. The next scene opens, disclosing the

Doctor's study. He enters affrighted, and the clock strikes one; the

figures of Time and Death appear. Several devils enter and tear him in

pieces, some sink, some fly out, each bearing a limb of him. The last,

which is the grand scene, is the most magnificent that ever appeared on

the English stage--all the gods and goddesses discovered with the

apotheosis of Diana, ascending into the air.

The tricks that formed part and parcel of the Pantomimes, in causing

surprise and wonderment, placed Harlequin, for his extraordinary feats,

in the first rank of magicians. Oftentimes, however, they were the cause

of many accidents.

Chetwood--William Rufus Chetwood--who had, in the eighteenth century, a

bookseller's shop in Covent Garden, and was, for twenty years, prompter

for Drury Lane, a writer of four plays, and a volume of sketches of the

actors whom he had met, says:--"A tumbler at the Haymarket beat the

breath out of his body by an accident, and which raised such vociferous

applause that lasted the poor man's life, for he never breathed more.

Indeed, his wife had this comfort, when the truth was known, pity

succeeded to the roar of applause. Another accident occurred in the

Pantomime of 'Dr. Faustus' (previously referred to), at Lincoln's Inn

Fields Theatre, where a machine in the working threw the mock Pierrot

down headlong with such force that the poor man broke a plank on the

stage with his fall, and expired; another was sorely maimed that he did

not survive many days; and a third, one of the softer sex, broke her

thigh."

Vandermere, the Harlequin, one of the most agile that ever trod the

stage, on one occasion, in the pursuit by the Clown, leaped through a

window on to the stage, a full thirteen feet. Performing at the Dublin

theatre one night, having a prodigious leap to make, the persons behind

the scenes not being ready to receive him in the customary blanket, he

fell upon the stage and was badly bruised. This accident occasioned him

to take a solemn oath that he would never take another leap upon the

stage; nor did he violate his oath, for when he afterwards played

Harlequin another actor of his size, and of considerable activity was

equipped with the parti-coloured habit, and when a leap was necessary

Vandermere passed off on one side of the stage as Dawson--Vandermere's

understudy--entered at the other, and undertook it.

How little do we know of the tragic ending of these poor unhappy

Pantomimists' lives. Their names even have not been handed down to us,

and they, like probably many more with whose quips and quiddities we

have laughed at with infinite zest, have long since gone "to that bourne

from whence no traveller returns," and perhaps, "unwept, unhonoured, and

unsung."

On February 12, 1739, Rich produced, at Covent Garden (opened in

December 1732, with Congreve's "Way of the World"), "Orpheus and

Eurydice." On the mounting something like £2,000 were spent.

Rich devised the scenario and comic scenes. Lewis Theobald wrote the

libretto, and George Lambert--founder of the Beefsteak Club--painted the

scenery. Hippisley played Clown, Manager Rich was the Harlequin, and

Signor Grimaldi, father of the celebrated Mime, to be noted further on,

was the Pantaloon. This is the first instance of a member of the

Grimaldi family (says Mr. W.J. Lawrence) appearing in English Pantomime.

The following was the argument and the curious arrangement of the

scenes:--Interlude I.--Rhodope, Queen of Thrace, practising art magic,

makes love to Orpheus. He rejects her love. She is enraged. A serpent

appears who receives Rhodope's commands, and these ended, glides off the

stage. Here the comic part begins. In the Opera (as practically it was)

a scene takes place between Orpheus and Eurydice. Eurydice's heel is

pierced by the serpent, behind the scenes. She dies on the stage--after

which the comic part is continued. Interlude II. Scene: Hell. Pluto and

Orpheus enter. Orpheus prevails on Pluto to restore Eurydice to him.

Ascalox tells Orpheus that Eurydice shall follow him, but that if he

should look back at her before they shall have passed the bounds of

Hell, she will die again. Orpheus turns back to look for Eurydice,

Fiends carry her away. After this the comic part is resumed. Interlude

III.--Orpheus again rejects Rhodope's solicitations. Departs. The scene

draws, and discovers Orpheus slain. Several Baccants enter in a

triumphant manner. They bring in the lyre and chaplet of Orpheus.

Rhodope stabs herself. The piece concludes with the remainder of the

comic part.

"'The Scots Magazine' for March, 1740, says:--'Orpheus and Eurydice'

draws the whole town to Covent Garden, whether for the Opera itself (the

words of which are miserable stuff) or for the Pantomimical Interlude,

with which it is intermixed, I cannot determine. The music is pretty

good, and the tricks are not foolisher than usual, and some have said

that they have more meaning than most that have preceded them. The

performance is grand as to the scenery. What pleases everybody is a

regular growth of trees, represented more like nature than what has yet

been seen upon the stage, and the representation of a serpent so lively

as to frighten half the ladies who see it. It is, indeed, curious in its

kind, being wholly a piece of machinery, that enters, performs its

exercise of head, body, and tail in a most surprising manner, and makes

behind the curtain with a velocity scarcely credible. It is about a foot

and a half in circumference of the thickest part, and far exceeds the

former custom of stuffing a bag into such likeness. It is believed to

have cost more than £200; and when the multitude of wings, springs,

etc., whereof it consists, are considered, the charge will not appear

extravagant. The whole Royal family have been to see this performance;

and, from what can be judged, everybody else will see it before the end

of the season, the house being every day full at 3 o'clock, though

seldom empty till after eleven."

Sam Hoole--father of the translator of Tasso and Ariosto--was Rich's

chief machinist at this period, and the inventor of this famous serpent.

He had, according to Cumberland, a shop where he sold mechanical toys.

Having a large stock of serpent toys left on his hands he became a

ruined and bankrupt man.

"Orpheus and Eurydice" was revived by Rich in 1747, and again in 1755;

when it ran 31 nights. In 1768 it was reproduced by his successors at

Covent Garden. In October, 1787, it was again put in the bill, and this

time by Royal Command, it was said.

Of the number of Pantomimes brought out by Rich I shall not dilate on,

and those that I have referred to will, doubtless, show what all these

"plays without words" were like.

During the summer season of 1761, at Drury Lane, Murphy and Foote

endeavoured

"From Pantomime to free the stage

And combat all the ministers of the age,"

by ridiculing the popular amusement in having the character of Harlequin

hung in full view of the audience in a play entitled "The Wishes." When

the catastrophe was at hand Murphy whispered to Cumberland: "If they

don't damn this, they deserve to be damned themselves!" No sooner were

the words uttered than a turbulent mob in the pit broke out, and quickly

put an end to the dire fatality with which Pantomime and its hero,

Harlequin, were threatened.

Christopher Rich gave the first engagement to the afterwards celebrated

actress, Mrs. Oldfield, and, previously, a similar kindness to Robert

Wilks, about the year 1690, at the salary of fifteen shillings a week,

with two shillings and sixpence deducted for teaching him to dance.

Another famous performer, Macklin, was also introduced to the stage by

this family.

At the Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre, in 1721, there was a memorable

riot, caused by some drunken aristocratic beaux, owing to an alleged

insult, which one of their number was supposed to have received. The

beau referred to, a noble Earl, had crossed the stage whilst Macbeth and

his lady were upon it, in order to speak to a companion who was lolling

in the wings. Rich told the noble Earl that for his indecorum he would

not be allowed behind the scenes again, which so incensed the latter

that he gave Manager Rich a smart slap on the face, which Rich returned.

Swords then were drawn, and between the actors and the beaux a free

fight ensued, which ended in the former driving the latter out of the

theatre. The rioters, however, again obtained access, and rushing into

the boxes, cut down the hangings, besides doing other damage, when, led

by Quin and a number of constables, several of the beaux were captured,

and taken before the magistrates. The end of it all was that the matter

was compromised; but, in order to prevent a recurrence of such

disorderly scenes, a guard should attend the performances. The custom of

having the military in attendance at our theatres--which the above

affray was the primary cause--was in vogue for over a hundred years

after this event.

Rich lived to see Pantomimes firmly established at Drury Lane and Covent

Garden. Drury Lane did, for a few years, discard it in favour of

spectacle, but ultimately found it advisable to return to Pantomime.

At the beginning of the 'sixties of the eighteenth century--1761--died

the father of Harlequins in England, and also--as he has been called--of

English Pantomimes, and there is, I believe, a costly tomb erected to

his memory in Hillingdon Church-yard, Middlesex.

Rich left Covent Garden Theatre to his son-in-law, Beard, the vocalist,

with the not unpleasant restriction, however, that the property should

be sold when £60,000 was bid for it, and for which sum it ultimately

passed into the hands of Harris, Colman, and their partners.

CHAPTER XVI.

Joseph Grimaldi.

The year 1778 marks an epoch in the History of Pantomime, as just over

three-quarters of a century before marked another epoch, the

introduction of Pantomimes to the English stage. On December 18th, 1778,

was born Joseph Grimaldi--afterwards the Prince of Clowns, and the son

of Giuseppe Grimaldi ("Iron Legs"). Joe's first appearance was at

Sadler's Wells on April 16, Easter Monday, 1781, he not being quite

three years old. Dickens, in the "Memoirs of Grimaldi," has given us

from the Clown's own diary, which Grimaldi kept close up to the time of

his death, on May, 31st, 1837, a full and true account of the life of

this remarkably clever Pantomimist. To add to what Dickens has written

of "Only a Clown" (which doubtless the reader is already acquainted

with) would only be like painting the lily; and, perhaps, I cannot do

better in honouring his memory than by quoting the words of Mr. Harley

at the annual dinner of the Drury Lane Fund, spoken in the June

following Grimaldi's death:--"Yet, shall delicacy suffer no violence in

adducing one example, for death has hushed his cock-crowing cachination,

and uproarious merriment. The mortal Jupiter of practical Joke, the

Michael Angelo of buffoonery, who, if he was _Grim-all-day_, was sure to

make you chuckle at night."

A contemporary writer of Grimaldi's days thus eulogises the Prince of

Clowns:--

As a Clown, Mr. Grimaldi is perfectly unrivalled. Other performers of

the part may be droll in their generation; but, which of them can for a

moment compete with the Covent Garden hero in acute observation upon the

foibles and absurdities of society, and his happy talent of holding them

up to ridicule. He is the finest practical satyrist that ever existed.

He does not, like many Clowns, content himself with raising a

horse-laugh by contortions and grimaces, but tickles the fancy, and

excites the risibility of an audience by devices as varied as they are

ingenious. "He uses his folly as a stalking-horse, under cover of which

he shoots his wit;" and fully deserves the encomium bestowed upon him by

Kemble, who, it is said, pronounced him to be "the best low comedian

upon the stage."

There are few things, we think, more delightful than a Pantomime--that

is, a _good_ Pantomime, such as is usually produced at Covent Garden. We

know there are a set of solemn pompous mortals about town, who express

much dignified horror at the absurdities of these things, and declaim

very fluently, in good set terms, upon the necessity of their abolition.

Such fellows as these are ever your dullest of blockheads. Conscious of

their lack of ideas, they think to earn the reputation of men of

sterling sense, by inveighing continually against what _they_ deem to be

frivolity; while they only expose more clearly to all observers the sad

vacuum which exists in their _pericraniums_. Far, far from us be such

dullards, and such opinions; and let us continue to laugh heartily at

our Pantomimes, undisturbed by their tedious harangues; "Do they think,

because they are _wise_, there shall be no more cakes and ale?" The man

who refuses to smile at the humours of Grimaldi is made of bad

materials--_hic niger est_--let no such man be trusted!

Can there possibly be a more captivating sight than that which the

theatre presents nightly, of hundreds of beautiful children all happy

and laughing, "as if a master-spring constrained them all;" and filled

with delight, unalloyed and unbounded, at the performance of one man?

And shall that man go without his due meed of praise? Never be it said!

No, Joey! When we forget thee, may our right hand forget its cunning! We

owe thee much for the delight thou hast already afforded us; and rely

upon thee, with confident expectation, for many a future hour of gay

forgetfulness. Well do we remember, in our boyish dreams of bliss, how

prominent a feature thou didst stand amongst the anticipated enjoyments

of Christmas; how the thoughts of home, of kindred, and release from

school, were rendered ten-fold more delightful by the idea of thy motley

garb and mirth-inspiring voice, which ever formed the greatest enjoyment

our holidays afforded. Heaven be praised, we still are children in some

respects, for we still feel gladdened by thy gambols, as heartily as we

did years ago, when we made our periodical escape from the terrors of

our old pedagogue's frown, and went with Aunt Bridget ("Happier than

ourselves the while") to banquet upon the Pantomimic treat provided for

us. "All wisdom is folly," says the philosopher; but we often incline to

think the converse of the proposition correct, when we see thee put thy

antic disposition on, and set the audience in a roar by the magic of thy

powers.

It is thought by many persons that Grimaldi is seen to greater advantage

on the small stage of Sadler's Wells, than on the more capacious one of

Covent Garden; but, this is an opinion with which we cannot coincide. He

always appears to us more at his ease at the latter house; to come forth

exulting in his power, and exclaiming, "Ay, marry, here my soul hath

elbow-room." His engagement there has certainly been a lucrative

speculation for the proprietors. "Mother Goose," we believe, drew more

money than any other piece which has been produced during the present

century; and no Pantomime since brought forward at Covent Garden has

been unsuccessful; which is mainly to be attributed to his inimitable

performance of Clown. It is scarcely possible for language to do justice

to his unequalled powers of gesture and expression. Do our readers

recollect a Pantomime some years ago, in which he was introduced begging

a tart from a pieman? The simple expression, "May I?" with the look and

action which accompanied it, are impressed upon our recollection, as

forming one of the finest pieces of acting we ever witnessed. Indeed,

let the subject be what it may, it never fails to become highly amusing

in the hands of Grimaldi; whether it is to rob a pieman, or open an

oyster, imitate a chimney-sweep, or a dandy, grasp a red-hot poker, or

devour a pudding, take snuff, sneeze, make love, mimic a tragedian,

cheat his master, pick a pocket, beat a watchman, or nurse a child, it

is all performed in so admirably humorous and extravagantly natural a

manner, that spectators of the most saturnine disposition are

irresistibly moved to laughter.

Mr. Grimaldi also possesses great merit in Pantomimic performances of a

different character, which all are aware of, who have ever seen him in

the melodrama, called "Perouse," and other pieces of the same

description.

We cannot better terminate this article, than with a poetical tribute to

his powers, addressed to him by one of the authors of "Horace in

London," who appears to have had a true relish of his subject:--

Facetious Mime! thou enemy of gloom,

Grandson of Momus, blithe and debonair,

Who, aping Pan, with an inverted broom,

Can'st brush the cobwebs from the brows of care.

Our gallery gods immortalize thy song;

Thy Newgate thefts impart ecstatic pleasure;

Thou bid'st a Jew's harp charm a Christian throng,

A Gothic salt-box teem with attic treasure.

When Harlequin, entangled in thy clue,

By magic seeks to dissipate the strife,

Thy furtive fingers snatch his faulchion too;

The luckless wizard loses wand and wife.

The fabled egg from thee obtains its gold;

Thou sett'st the mind from critic bondage loose,

Where male and female cacklers, young and old,

Birds of a feather, hail the sacred Goose.

Even pious souls, from Bunyan's durance free,

At Sadler's Wells applaud thy agile wit,

Forget old Care while they remember thee,

"Laugh the heart's laugh," and haunt the jovial pit.

Long may'st thou guard the prize thy humour won,

Long hold thy court in Pantomimic state,

And, to the equipoise of English fun,

Exalt the lowly, and bring down the great.

Again we are told "That his Pantomime was such that you could fancy he

would have been the Pulcinello of the Italians, the Harlequin of the

French, that he could have returned a smart repartee from Carlin. His

motions, eccentric as they were, were evidently not a mere lesson from

the gymnasium; there was a will and mind overflowing with, nay living

upon fun, real fun. He was so extravagantly natural, that the most

saturnine looker-on acknowledged his sway; and neither the wise, the

proud, or the fair, the young nor the old, were ashamed to laugh till

tears coursed down their cheeks at Joe and his comicalities."

Grimaldi used sometimes to play in two different Pantomimes at two

different theatres, when he would have to go through some twenty scenes.

Unlike the painting of the face with a few patches adopted by the

modern Clown, Grimaldi used to give one the idea of a greedy boy, who

had covered himself with jam in robbing from a cupboard. Grimaldi

dressed the part like a Clown should be dressed. His trousers were large

and baggy, and were fastened to his jacket, and round his neck he wore a

schoolboy's frill--part of the dress, in all probability, borrowed from

the Spanish Captain and the French Pierrot.

At Drury Lane on Friday, June 27, 1828, he took his farewell benefit.

The following being the bill:--

Mr. Grimaldi's Farewell Benefit,

On Friday, June 27th, 1828,

will be performed

JONATHAN IN ENGLAND,

after which

A MUSICAL MELANGE,

To be succeeded by

THE ADOPTED CHILD,

and concluded by

HARLEQUIN HOAX,

In which Mr. Grimaldi will act Clown in one scene,

sing a song, and speak his

FAREWELL ADDRESS.

With the reader's permisson, I will give, from his "Memoirs," the

address he spoke:--

"Ladies and Gentlemen:--In putting off the Clown's garment, allow me to

drop also the Clown's taciturnity, and address you in a few parting

sentences. I entered early on this course of life, and leave it

prematurely. Eight-and-forty years only have passed over my head--but I

am going as fast down the hill of life as that older Joe--John Anderson.

Like vaulting ambition, I have overleaped myself, and pay the penalty in

an advanced old age. If I have now any aptitude for tumbling it is

through bodily infirmity, for I am worse on my feet than I used to be on

my head. It is four years since I jumped my last jump--filched my last

oyster--boiled my last sausage--and set in for retirement. Not quite so

well provided for, I must acknowledge, as in the days of my Clownship,

for then, I dare say, some of you remember, I used to have a fowl in one

pocket and sauce for it in the other.

"To-night has seen me assume the motley for a short time--it clung to my

skin as I took it off, and the old cap and bells rang mournfully as I

quitted them for ever.

"With the same respectful feelings as ever do I find myself in your

presence--in the presence of my last audience--this kindly assemblage so

happily contradicting the adage that a favourite has no friends. For the

benvolence that brought you hither--accept, ladies and gentlemen, my

warmest and most grateful thanks, and believe, that of one and all,

Joseph Grimaldi takes a double leave, with a farewell on his lips, and a

tear in his eyes.

"Farewell! That you and yours may ever enjoy that greatest earthly

good--health, is the sincere wish of your faithful and obliged servant.

God bless you all!"

Poor Joe was buried in the burying-ground of St. James' Chapel, on

Pentonville Hill, and in a grave next to his friend, Charles Dibdin. May

the earth lie lightly over him!

CHAPTER XVII.

Plots of the old form of Pantomimes--A description of "Harlequin and the

Ogress; or the Sleeping Beauty of the Wood," produced at Covent

Garden--Grimaldi, _Père et Fils_--Tom Ellar, the Harlequin, and Barnes,

the Pantaloon--An account of the first production of the "House that

Jack built," at Covent Garden--Spectacular display--Antiquity and Origin

of some Pantomimic devices--Devoto, Angelo, and French, the Scenic

Artists--Transparencies--Beverley--Transformation Scenes.

Of the plots of the old form of Pantomime and what these entertainments

were generally like, graphically, does Planché describe them.

How different (he says) were the Christmas Pantomimes of my younger

days. A pretty story--a nursery tale--dramatically told, in which "the

course of true love never did run smooth," formed the opening; the

characters being a cross-grained old father, with a pretty daughter, who

had two suitors--one a poor young fellow, whom she preferred, the other

a wealthy fop, whose pretensions were, of course, favoured by the

father. There was also a body servant of some sort in the old man's

establishment. At the moment when the young lady was about to be

forcibly married to the fop she despised, or, on the point of eloping

with the youth of her choice, the good fairy made her appearance, and,

changing the refractory pair into Harlequin and Columbine, the old

curmudgeon into Pantaloon, and the body servant into Clown: the two

latter in company with the rejected "lover," as he was called, commenced

the pursuit of the happy pair, and the "comic business" consisted of a

dozen or more cleverly constructed scenes, in which all the tricks and

changes had a meaning, and were introduced as contrivances to favour the

escape of Harlequin and Columbine, when too closely followed by their

enemies. There was as regular a plot as might be found in a melodrama.

An interest in the chase which increased the admiration of the ingenuity

and the enjoyment of the fun of the tricks, by which the runaways

escaped capture, till the inevitable "dark scene" came, a cavern or a

forest, in which they were overtaken, seized, and the magic wand, which

had so uniformly aided them, snatched from the grasp of the despairing

Harlequin, and flourished in triumph by the Clown. Again at the critical

moment the protecting fairy appeared, and, exacting the consent of the

father to the marriage of the devoted couple, transported the whole

party to what was really a grand last scene, which everybody did wait

for. There was some congruity, some dramatic construction, in such

Pantomimes; and then the acting. For it was acting, and first-rate

acting.

To give the reader a further insight into the old form of Christmas

Pantomimes, I cull the following from "The Drama," a contemporary

magazine of the period (1822):--

In compliance with the long-established custom of gratifying the holiday

visitors of the theatres with Pantomimic representations at this season

of year, a new piece of that description was produced at this theatre

(Covent Garden) last night, December 26th, 1822, under the title of

"Harlequin and the Ogress; or the Sleeping Beauty of the Wood." The

introductory story is taken from the well-known tale of "The Sleeping

Beauty," in "Mother Bunch's Fairy Tales," which had before been

"melodramatised," but had not hitherto been taken for the groundwork of

a Harlequinade.

The piece opens in one of the fabled grand caverns under the Pyramids of

Egypt, in which the three fatal sisters of Mother Bunch's Mythology are

seen spinning and winding a ball of golden thread, the fastening of

which to the wrist of the Sleeping Beauty is intended to add another

century to the duration of her life, and of the power which the Ogress,

or Fairy, has exercised over her, and her possessions, for the preceding

hundred years. The ball having been completed, with the due quantum of

magic incantation in such cases prescribed, is consigned to the care of

Grim Gribber, the porter of the castle, with directions to attach it to

the wrist of the lady in the chamber of sleep, whither he accordingly

proceeds for that purpose; but overcome by the soporific influences of

the atmosphere of that enchanted place, he falls into a deep sleep ere

his task is accomplished. The Prince Azoff, with his Squire Abnab,

straying from a hunting party into the enchanted cedar grove, encounters

the Fairy Blue-bell, protector of the Sleeping Beauty, who imparts to

the Prince the story of her enchantment, furnishes him with a magic

flower to protect him from the influence of the Ogress, and instructs

him in the means of releasing the Beauty at the expiration of the term

of her first enchanted sleep, which is then drawing to a close. In the

amazement which seizes the Prince on finding himself in the chamber of

sleep, at the splendour of everything around him, and the sight of the

Sleeping Beauty with her surrounding train of attendants, whose

faculties are all enchained in the same preternatural slumber, he lets

fall the magic flower, and becomes thereby subject to the power of the

Ogress, from which he is, however, rescued on the instant by the

protecting interference of the Fairy Blue-bell. But in punishment of his

neglect, he is condemned to wander for a time in search of happiness

with the now-awakened Beauty, pursued by the relentless Ogress and her

servant, Grim Gribber. The whole of the persons engaged in the scene now

undergo the prescriptive Pantomimic changes, and the ordinary succession

of Harlequinade adventures, tricks, and transformations ensue.

Our old favourites, the Grimaldis, father and son, Mr. Ellar as

Harlequin, and Mr. Barnes as Pantaloon, were hailed, on their

appearance, with the warmth of greeting to which their excellence in

their several parts fully entitles them, and displayed their wonted

drollery, gracefulness, and agility: and Miss Brissak, who, for the

first time, appeared as Columbine, acquitted herself with tolerable

credit, and was very well received.

The scenery in general was marked with that characteristic beauty and

highly-finished excellence, which have long distinguished the

productions of this theatre: and the panoramic series of views of the

River Thames, from Greenwich to the Nore, on the passage of the Royal

flotilla for Scotland, and its arrival in Leith Roads, probably surpass

everything of the kind before exhibited. There are several diverting

tricks and ingenious changes. Grimaldi's equipment of a patent safety

coach at Brighton, in particular was highly amusing. The machinery,

which is, in many instances, of a most complicated description, worked

remarkably well for a first night's exhibition; and the whole went off

with a degree of _eclat_, which must have been exceedingly gratifying to

the managers, as auguring the probability of such a lengthened run for

the piece as may amply recompense the pains and expense which have been

so lavishly bestowed in its preparation. The house was filled in every

part, and the announcement of the Pantomime's repetition was received

with the most clamorous approbation, undisturbed by a single dissentient

voice.

The first production of "The House that Jack Built," at Covent Garden,

on December 26, 1824, also reads interestingly:--

The Pantomime is before us, and we should ill-repay the pleasure it

afforded us, if we did not acknowledge and make public its excellence.

The name implies the source from which it is taken, and we had,

therefore, the supreme pleasure of renewing our friendship with those

very old acquaintances, the "Priest all shaven and shorn, the maiden all

forlorn, the cow with the crumpled horn, the dog that worried the cat,

that killed the rat, that eat up the malt, that lay in the House that

Jack built." This, of course, gave us, as it appeared to do many others,

great pleasure, "For should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never

brought to mind." Mr. Farley, however, who supports (like an Atlas) all

the weight of bringing forward these annual pieces of fun and foolery,

and who appears to be as learned in the mystic lore of "hoary

antiquity," as he is in the mysteries of all the wonders of the tricks,

changes, and mechanism of the Pantomimic world, has let us this time

into a secret, which will doubtless cause much erudite argument, and

pros and cons from various sage antiquarians for months to come, in that

invaluable work of old Sylvanus Urban, 'yclept the "Gentlemen's

Magazine." As the play-bills on which this important piece of

information is to be found, will doubtless be bought up by all the

mystogogii of the Metropolis, and shortly become scarce, we shall take

the liberty of inserting it in our imperishable pages, for the benefit,

not only of posterity, but for those of our own day, who are infected

with the building mania, and who, we think, ought to make Mr. Farley

some very valuable present to mark their sense of the obligation they

are under to him, in consequence of the benefit which must accrue to

them from it. It appears from this fragment in what manner Jack became

possessed of his house, and which it never before occurred to us, to

enquire. Thus then the mystery is elucidated by Mr. Farley.

Jack's Wager;

"By virtue of one of our forest charters, if a man do build a dwelling

upon common land, from sun-set to sun-rise, and enclose a piece of

ground, wherein there shall be a tree growing, a beast feeding, a fire

kindled, and provision in the pot, such dwelling shall be freely held by

the builder, anything to the contrary, nevertheless, notwithstanding."

Forest Laws.

Accordingly Jack, in the opening scene, is represented just before

nightfall, as completing his dwelling, by putting on the chimney pot as

the finishing stroke; he then claims his bride, Rosebud, from her

father, Gaffer Gandy, who refuses his consent, having determined on

bestowing her hand on one Squire Sap. Jack, in despair, repairs to Poor

Robin, the village astrologer, who is intently observing an eclipse of

the moon (which, by-the-bye, is most excellently managed), and relates

his griefs. The old man cheers his drooping spirits, by casting his

nativity and finding by his observations, that Jack's stars are of the

most benign influence, and that all his wishes shall be fulfilled. The

marriage of the maiden all forlorn with the Squire is on the point of

being completed, when Venus (one of whose doves had been preserved by

Jack) dispatches Cupid to the assistance of the despairing lovers, by

the magic of whose powerful wand the usual Pantomimic changes are

effected in a trice--Jack becomes Harlequin; Rosebud, Columbine;

Gaffer, Pantaloon; the Squire, the Lover; and the Priest, the Clown.

Mirth, revelry, fun, frolic, and joviality are now the order of the day,

and the scene changes to a view of Hyde Park and the Serpentine River on

a frosty morning in January: in which is represented, with admirable

effect, a display of patent skating. An oil cloth is spread upon the

stage, a group comprised of various laughable characters are assembled

on it, and skate about with as much rapidity, and precisely as though it

were a sheet of ice. The adroit skill of old stagers on the slippery

surface, with the clumsy awkwardness and terror of novices in the art,

are well represented. A prodigious fat man makes his appearance; when a

race is called for, he, of course, tries his prowess, when the ice

cracking beneath the heavy weight assembled on it gives way with a heavy

crash, and "Fatty" is consigned to a watery bed. Assistance is

immediately tendered, when, by Harlequin's power, a lean and shrivelled

spirit of the deep rises from below to the great alarm of the beholders,

and whose limbs continue to expand till his head touches the clouds. The

whole of the scene is one of the most laughable and best managed in the

Pantomime. Kew Gardens, on a May-day morning, is also a very pleasing

scene, in which some pretty Morris dancing is introduced. The Barber's

shop, in which shaving by steam is hit off, is excellent in its way, but

not so well understood in its details, as to make it equally effective

in representation. Vauxhall Bridge, and the Gardens which succeeds it,

are also charmingly painted by the Grieves, and from hence the Clown

and Pantaloon take an "Aeronautic excursion" to Paris. This is a

revolving scene--the balloon ascends--and the English landscape

gradually recedes from the view--the gradual approach of night--the

rising of the moon--the passing of the balloon through heavy clouds--and

the return of day, are beautifully represented; the sea covered with

ships, is seen in distant perspective with the French coast; a

bird's-eye view of Paris follows, and the balloon safely descends in the

gardens of the Tuileries. The adjoining palace, mansions, and gardens

being brilliantly illuminated, give the scene a most splendid and

picturesque effect. A variety of other scenes, but far too numerous to

mention individually, deserve the highest applause, particularly the

village of Bow, Leadenhall Market, with a change to an illuminated civic

feast in the Guildhall; Burlington Arcade at night, and the village of

Ganderclue by sunrise. The Temple of Iris, formed of the "radiant

panoply of the heavenly arch," by Grieve, is most brilliant.

The advent of Pantomime, early in the eighteenth century, gave a special

fillip to spectacular display, as they were all announced to be set off

with "new scenery, decorations, and flyings."

Some of the stage devices of Pantomime are of considerable antiquity;

as, for instance, the basket-work hobby-horses, that figured as far back

as the old English Morris dances, to be revived in the French ballet of

the seventeenth century, and, in after years, in English Pantomime.

The Pantomime donkey is at least, we are told, 200 years old. In

"_Arlequin Mercure Galant_," produced in Paris in 1682, by the Italian

Comedians, Harlequin made his entrance on a moke's back--and the

merriment afterwards being greatly enhanced when Master "Neddy," with

Pan seated on its back, suddenly came in two, to the consternation of

the beholders. To the Italian Pantomime Comedians we owe many of our

stage devices and tricks. The statue scene in "Frivolity," played by the

Messrs. Leopolds, was introduced by the Italians in "_Arlequin Lingere

du Palais_," when this piece was performed at Paris in 1682. Again, the

device of cutting a hole in a portrait for an eaves-dropper's head to be

inserted, was used in "_Columbine Avocat_" as far back as 1685.

In "_Arlequin Lingere du Palais_," played at the Hotel de Bourgogne in

October, 1682, there was represented two stalls--an underclothier's and

a confectioner's. Harlequin dressed half like a man and half like a

woman, with a mask on each side of his face to match presides in this

dual capacity at both stalls. Pasquariel, who comes to buy, is utterly

bewildered, and is made the target of both jests and missiles of

monsieur of the confectioners, and mademoiselle of the adjoining stall.

Possibly the shop scenes in our English Harlequinades may have

originated from this. A similar idea to the above was given in O'Keefe's

Pantomime of "Harlequin Teague; or the Giants' Causeway," performed at

the Haymarket in 1782. Charles Bannister appeared in this Pantomime and

sang a duet as a giant with two heads, one side representing a gentleman

of quality, and the other a hunting squire. Mrs. German Reed, about

1855, appeared representing two old women, between whom an imaginary

conversation was held, Mrs. Reed turning first one side of her face to

the audience, and then the other. Fred Maccabe, in his "Essence of

Faust," had also a similar allusion, and by many "transformation

dancers" was it used. The antiquity of many other devices could be

noted, but I must desist, yet I cannot help remarking that even here we

have more exemplifications of history repeating itself.

Scenical representations and mechanical devices in Italy had long been

made a fine art, and an English traveller and critic observes that our

painting compared to theirs is only daubing. I find among their

decorations statues of marble, alabaster, palaces, colonnades,

galleries, and sketches of architecture; pieces of perspective that

deceive the judgment as well as the eye; prospects of a prodigious

extent in spaces not thirty feet deep. As for their machines I can't

think it in the power of human wit to carry their inventions further. In

1697, I saw at Venice an elephant discovered on the stage, when, in an

instant, an army was seen in its place; the soldiers, having by the

disposition of their shields, given so true a representation of it as if

it had been a real elephant.

In Rome, at the Theatre Capranio, in 1698, there was a ghost of a woman

surrounded by guards. This phantom, extending her arms and unfolding her

clothes, was, with one motion, transformed into a perfect palace, with

its front, its wings, body, and courtyard. The guards, striking their

halberds on the stage, were immediately turned into so many waterworks,

cascades, and trees, that formed a charming garden before the palace. At

the same theatre, in the opera "_Nerone Infante_," the interior of hell

was shown. Here part of the stage opened, and discovered a scene

underneath, representing several caves, full of infernal spirits, that

flew about, discharging fire and smoke, on another side the river of

Lethe and Charon's boat. Upon this landing a prodigious monster

appeared, whose mouth opening to the great horror of the spectators,

covered the front wings of the remaining part of the stage. Within his

jaws was discovered a throne of fire, and a multitude of monstrous

snakes, on which Pluto sat. After this the great monster, expanding his

wings, began to move very slowly towards the audience. Under his body

appeared a great multitude of devils, who formed themselves into a

ballet, and plunged, one after the other, into the opening of the floor.

The great monster was in an instant transformed into an innumerable

multitude of broad white butterflies, which flew all into the pit, and

so low that some often touched the hats of several of the spectators,

and at last they disappeared. During this circumstance, which

sufficiently employed the eyes of the spectators, the stage was

refitted, and the scene changed into a beautiful garden, with which the

third act began.

The scene painter, Devoto, painted the scenery and decorations for the

Goodman's Fields Theatre, where, it is interesting to note, David

Garrick made his first _London_ appearance in 1741. His first appearance

on any stage had been made at Ipswich on Tuesday, 21st July, in the same

year, under the name of Lyddall. Garrick, during his time, introduced

many novelties in the way of scenery and transparencies, acting on the

suggestions of Signor Seivandoni, the scenic artist at the Opera-house,

and the fencing master, Dominico Angelo. These transparencies became the

talk of London, and it has been known for several plays to have been

written so as to introduce them. The first transparent scene is said to

have been the "Enchanted Wood," introduced in "Harlequin's Invasion," at

Drury Lane, the painter being one French, the scenic artist of the

theatre.

Beverley, the scene painter for Madame Vestris, half a century ago,

brought fairy, or Pantomime, scenes to great perfection. Leopold Wagner,

speaking of them, says:--"We have it upon the authority of Mr. Planché

that these were almost entirely due to the skilled efforts and successes

of Mr. William Beverley, who, in the nature of Extravaganza, so

impressed the public with his fine talents as an artist upon theatrical

canvas, that gorgeous scenes became quite the rage, and how, year after

year, Mr. Beverley's powers were taxed to the utmost to outdo his

former triumphs, and how the most costly materials and complicated

machinery were annually put into requisition until the managers began to

suffer."

Speaking of the production on the 26th December, 1849, of "The Island of

Jewels," Planché says, "The novel, and yet exceedingly simple, falling

of the leaves of a palm tree, which discovered six fairies, supporting a

coronet of jewels, produced such an effect as I scarcely remember having

witnessed on any similar occasion up to that period. The last scene

became the first in the estimation of the management. The most

complicated machinery, the most costly materials were annually put into

requisition, until their bacon was so buttered that it was impossible to

save it. Nothing was considered brilliant but the _last_ scene. Dutch

metal was in the ascendant. It was no longer even painting, it was

upholstery. Mrs. Charles Mathews herself informed me that she had paid

between £60 and £70 for gold tissue for the dresses of the

Supernumeraries alone." I wonder what Mrs. Mathews would say if she

could now visit this terrestrial sphere of ours?

All this love of spectacular display soon began to supersede the good

old-fashioned Christmas Pantomimes.

In his work, "Behind the Scenes," Mr. Fitzgerald very graphically

describes the Transformation scene of later days, and now becoming

nearly as obsolete as the Harlequinade. All will recall in some

elaborate transformation scene how quietly and gradually it is evoked.

First the gauzes lift slowly one behind the other--perhaps the most

pleasing of all scenic effects--giving glimpses of the Realms of Bliss

seen beyond in a tantalising fashion. Then is revealed a kind of half

glorified country, clouds and banks evidently concealing much. Always a

sort of pathetic, and, at the same time, exultant strain rises, and is

repeated as the changes go on; now we hear the faint tinkle--signal to

those aloft on the "bridges" to open more glories. Now some of the banks

begin to part slowly, showing realms of light with a few divine

beings--fairies--rising slowly here and there. More breaks beyond, and

more fairies rising with a pyramid of these ladies beginning to mount

slowly in the centre. Thus it goes on, the lights streaming on full in

every colour and from every quarter in the richest effulgence. In some

of the more daring efforts the _femmes suspendues_ seem to float in the

air or rest on the frail support of sprays or branches of trees. While,

finally, at the back of all the most glorious paradise of all will open,

revealing the pure empyrean itself, and some fair spirit aloft in a

cloud among the stars; the apex of all. Then all motion ceases; the work

is complete; the fumes of crimson, red, and blue fire begin to rise at

the wings; the music bursts into a crash of exultation; and, possibly to

the general disenchantment, a burly man, in a black frock coat, steps

out from the side and bows awkwardly. Then, to a shrill whistle, the

first scene of the Harlequinade closes in, and shuts out the brilliant

vision.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Pantomimic Families--Giuseppe Grimaldi--James Byrne, the Harlequin and

Inventor of the modern Harlequin's dress--Joseph Grimaldi, Junior--The

Bologna Family--Tom Ellar--The Ridgways--The Bradburys--The

Montgomerys---The Paynes--The Marshalls--Charles and Richard

Stilt--Richard Flexmore--Tom Gray--The Paulos--Dubois--Arthur and

Charles Leclerq--"Jimmy" Barnes--Famous Pantaloons--Miss Farren--Mrs.

Siddons--Columbines--Notable Actors in Pantomime.

In the histrionic profession the genius of hereditary is shown over and

over again; and no more so than in Pantomimic families. For, if blessed

with a numerous progeny, the sons became--the eldest, of course, could

only, as the place of honour, be Clown--the others, Harlequins,

Pantaloons; the daughters, Columbines; and, perhaps, Harlequinas.

In the last chapter but one I have referred to Grimaldi's father,

Giuseppe Grimaldi, "Iron Legs," and now let us recall something more of

the sire of so worthy a son.

As a dancer--as his father was before him--and Pantomimist, Giuseppe

Grimaldi, before coming to England, had appeared at the fairs of France

and Italy. In 1758 Giuseppe made his first appearance on the stage of

Drury Lane, under Garrick's management, in a new Pantomime dance,

entitled, "The Millers."

For some thirty years afterwards the Signor continued to be a member of

the Drury Lane _corps de ballet_, and appearing as Clown, Harlequin, and

Pantaloon.

In 1764, Giuseppe played Harlequin in a Clown-less Pantomime at Sadler's

Wells, and in the Drury Lane Pantomime of the same year, though there

were Harlequin, Pantaloon, and Columbine in it, there was no Clown.

Drury Lane was then only open in the winter, and Sadler's Wells in the

summer months.

A notable Harlequin was Mr. James Byrne, the ballet-master. "Mr. Byrne,"

says Grimaldi, in his "Memoirs," "was the best Harlequin on the boards,

and never has been excelled, or even equalled, since that period."

Mr. Byrne came of a well-known dancing family, and to him we owe the

introduction of the tight-fitting dress worn by Harlequin. Until the

production of the Pantomime of "Harlequin Amulet, or the Magic of Mona,"

at Drury Lane Theatre, written by Mr. Powell, produced at Christmas,

1799, by Mr. Byrne, and which ran until Easter, 1800--it had been the

loose jacket and trousers of the ancient Mimes. It had also been

considered indispensable that Harlequin should be continually

attitudinising in the five different positions of Admiration,

Flirtation, Thought, Defiance, and Determination; and continually

passing from one to the other without pausing. Byrne, for newer

attitudes, abolished these postures, but long afterwards the old form of

posing was, and is still, retained by the exponents of Harlequin.

In this Pantomime, Byrne, as Harlequin, appeared in a white silk

close-fitting shape, fitting without a wrinkle, and into which the

variegated colours of time-honoured memory were woven, and covered with

spangles, presenting a very bright appearance.

Mr. Byrne, also gave the character of Harlequin an entirely new reading.

The colours of Harlequin's dress had every one a significance, as

follows:--Red, temper; blue, love; yellow, jealousy; brown or mauve,

constancy. When Harlequin wore his mask down he was supposed to be

invisible. On his mask he had two bumps, denoting knowledge on the one

hand, and thought on the other, whilst in his cap he wore a hare's foot,

and a worked device on his shoes, indicating flight and speed. Can we

not from the bumps of knowledge and the hare's foot trace the

characteristics of the god Mercury, which, as previously stated, was the

prototype of Harlequin. With the bat, or magic sword, the gift from the

fairies to him, Harlequin was supposed to be invulnerable, and if he

lost his sword he would fall into the power of the Clown.

Byrne's innovation was not resisted, and it was well received, and ever

since this memorable occasion, the character of Harlequin has, for the

most part, been dressed as Byrne dressed it. The significance of the

present-day variegated colours of Harlequin's costume are somewhat

different to the above, and denote: red, fire; blue, water; yellow, air;

and black, earth. These--the four elements--are typical of the regions

governed by Mercury.

Mr. Byrne was at Drury Lane in the time of Garrick. He died December

4th, 1845, in the eighty-ninth year of his age. Mrs. Byrne, who was also

a dancer, pre-deceasing her husband by a few months in her

seventy-fourth year.

Joseph Grimaldi, son of "Old Joe," made, at twelve years of age, his

first appearance at Sadler's Wells in 1814, playing Man Friday to his

father's Robinson Crusoe. For several years both father and son played

together in various Pantomimes; and it was thought that before young Joe

there was a brilliant future. This, however, was soon dissipated, as he

embarked upon vicious courses, and through a blow on the head received

in some brawl "He became a wild and furious savage; he was frequently

attacked with dreadful fits of epilepsy, and continually committed

actions which nothing but insanity could prompt. In 1828 he had a

decided attack of insanity, and was confined in a strait waistcoat in

his father's house for some time."

From engagements at Drury Lane, Sadler's Wells, the Pavilion and the

Surrey Theatre in turn, he was dismissed, finally "Falling into the

lowest state of wretchedness and poverty. His dress had fallen to rags,

his feet were thrust into two worn-out slippers, his face was pale with

disease, and squalid with dirt and want, and he was steeped in

degradation." This unhappy life came to a final close in a public-house

in Pitt Street, off the Tottenham Court Road.

Signor Pietro Bologna, a country-man and friend of Giuseppe Grimaldi,

Joe Grimaldi's father, brought with him from Genoa his wife, two sons

and a daughter. They were all Mimes, and, in a Pantomime produced in

1795, entitled, "The Magic Feast," Signor Bologna was Clown, and his

son, "Jack" Bologna, was Harlequin; the latter being also Harlequin to

Grimaldi's Clown, both at Covent Garden and Sadler's Wells. "Jack"

Bologna married a sister of Mary Bristow, Joe Grimaldi's second wife,

and the mother of poor young Joe.

Tom Ellar was another famous Harlequin, first making his appearance at

the Royalty, Goodman's Fields, in 1808. For several seasons he played

Harlequin at Covent Garden.

Many years ago penny portraits of Mr. Ellar "In his favourite character

of Harlequin," were published by a Mr. Skelt, or a Mr. Park, of Long

Lane, Smithfield, and were the delight of those, who, if living now, are

old and gray.

Tom Ellar died April 8, 1842, aged 62. Previous to his death he must

have fallen upon evil days, as Thackeray, in 1840, wrote: "Tom, who

comes bounding home from school, has the doctor's account in his trunk,

and his father goes to sleep at the Pantomime to which he takes him.

_Pater infelix_, you too, have laughed at Clown, and the magic wand of

spangled Harlequin: what delightful enchantment did it wave round you in

the golden days 'when George the Third was King?' But our Clown lies in

his grave; and our Harlequin Ellar, prince of many of our enchanted

islands, was he not at Bow Street the other day, in his dirty, faded,

tattered motley--seized as a law breaker for acting at a penny theatre,

after having well nigh starved in the streets, where nobody would listen

to his old guitar? No one gave a shilling to bless him: not one of us

who owe him so much!"

Another Pantomime family were the Ridgways. Tom Ridgway was Clown under

Madame Vestris's management at Covent Garden.

There have been several Bradburys since the time of Grimaldi's great

rival, Robert Bradbury, died July 21, 1831, who wore on his person nine

strong "pads," in order to go through some extraordinary feats.

The Montgomerys; the Paynes, Harry and Fred; nor should the name of "Old

Billy" Payne be omitted. "Billy" Payne it was, it will be remembered,

who, in 1833, helped, from the stage of Covent Garden, the dying Edmund

Kean.

Then there were the Marshalls, Harry and Joseph; Charles and Richard

Stilt; and a very original and amusing Clown, Richard Flexmore, died

August 20, 1860, aged 36. Tom Gray, a famous Clown of Covent Garden,

died January 28th, 1768, aged upwards of 100 years; the Paulo family of

Pantomimists; Dubois, Arthur and Charles Leclerq, Walter Hilyard, and

many, many others.

In the 'twenties and 'thirties a popular and famous Pantaloon was

"Jimmy" Barnes, died September 28th, 1838. Barnes, in the summer of

1830, was engaged to play in an English company at Paris, but they had

hardly commenced to perform when the Revolution of July broke out. Some

years afterwards Barnes published in "Bentley's Miscellany," from his

old original M.S., an amusing and illustrated account of his wanderings.

Amongst other Pantaloons there have been--Thomas Blanchard, died August

20, 1859, aged 72; William Lynch, died June 29, 1861, aged 78; R.

Norman, died September 16, 1858, aged 70; George Tanner, died February

8, 1870; and Paulo, a member of Mr. Charles Kean's Company at the

Princess's Theatre, had as Pantaloon appeared in many Pantomimes. It is

a notable fact that a good number of our Mimes were long-livers.

Long before Miss Farren, afterwards Countess of Derby (died April 21,

1829), first charmed a London audience, we hear of her in 1772 at

Wakefield in one of her first parts--if not her first--that of

Columbine. She could both sing well and dance gracefully. One of the

earliest "parts" that even the great Mrs. Siddons (that afterwards was),

when a young girl, played, was in connection with Pantomime, as Combes

remembered to have seen her "Standing by the side of her father's stage,

and knocking a pair of snuffers against a candle-stick to imitate the

sound of a wind-mill, during the representation of some Harlequinade."

In days gone by Madame Leclerq, Carlotta Leclerq, Charles Kean's

Columbine in the seasons of 1850-1-2, E. Dennett, Emma Boleno, died

October 18th, 1867, aged 35; Marie Charles, who died from an accident by

fire, Pavilion Theatre, January 21, 1864, and others have won

considerable fame in the part of Columbine.

Amongst those who have played Harlequin in days gone by, have been the

elder Kean, and the well-known actor, Mr. Wilson Barrett, who, early in

his career, played this part for an extra two shillings and sixpence

"thrown in," to augment his then weekly salary of seventeen shillings

and sixpence; whilst Sir Henry Irving tells us that he also has appeared

in Pantomime, in the character of a wicked fairy, named Venoma, in days

since past, for a small monetary emolument.

CHAPTER XIX.

Popular Pantomime subjects--Poor Pantomime Librettos--Pantomime subjects

of our progenitors--The various versions of "Aladdin"--"The Babes in the

Wood"--"Blue Beard"--"Beauty and the Beast"--"Cinderella"--"Dick

Whittington"--"The House that Jack Built"--"Jack the Giant

Killer"--"Jack and the Beanstalk"--"Red Riding Hood"--"The Sleeping

Beauty in the Wood"--Unlucky subjects--"Ali Baba and the Forty

Thieves"--"The Fair One with Golden Locks"--The source of "Sindbad the

Sailor" and "Robinson Crusoe."

It may be of interest in this History of Pantomime to note the origin of

some of our most popular present day Pantomime subjects, besides showing

many of our present day Pantomime libretto writers that in such

well-known themes as "Aladdin," "Cinderella," and others, there is no

need to cast their stories pretty much in the same groove, year after

year, when by drawing on the fairy-lore of the East much that is new and

original, for present-day English Pantomimes, is waiting the attention

of their skill and ingenuity.

Though the stories of popular English Pantomimes are practically the

same each year (why I do not know), yet, not content with this, in many

of our large cities and towns we frequently see the same Pantomime title

not only "billed" at one theatre, but perhaps at several others. This

clashing and clashing year after year with one another's titles (I say

nothing about the "plots," as these, in many instances, only consist of

a half-penny worth of author to an intolerable deal of music-hall gag),

cannot but, I have long been of opinion, adversely affect the box-office

receipts, unless, of course, the Pantomime-goer makes a point of "doing

the round," so to speak, which, however, is not generally the case.

As Pantomime writers in the early days there were Thomas Dibdin, son of

Charles Dibdin, the writer of nautical ballads, Pocock and Sheridan.

Dibdin was one of the best of Pantomime librettists, and from the years

1771 to 1841 his prolific pen, as a writer of Pantomimes, was never

idle, as from it came some thirty-three Pantomimes, and all successes.

Amongst other literary luminaries, in after years, as writers of

Pantomime Extravaganzas, there were J.R. Planché, E.L. Blanchard, W.

Brough, Mark Lemon, H.J. Byron, Wilton Jones, and John Francis McArdle.

History always repeats itself we know, and poor Pantomime books were not

unknown as far back as half a century ago, as the subjoined parody on

the "Burial of Sir John Moore," by the late Albert Smith plainly

shows:--

Not a laugh was heard, not a topical joke,

As its corse to oblivion we hurried;

Not a paper a word in its favour spoke

On the Pantomime going to be buried.

We buried it after the Boxing Night,

The folks from the galleries turning;

For 'twas plain it would scarcely pay for the light

Of the star in the last act burning.

No useless play-bill put forth a puff,

How splendid the public had found it,

But it lay like a piece that had been called "stuff,"

With a very wet blanket around it.

After this digression for one brief moment more, let us take a passing

glance at some of the Pantomime subjects which our progenitors delighted

in. They had not the continual ringing of the changes on half-a-dozen

Pantomime subjects, as we have at present, but revelled in such

attractions as "Harlequin Don Quixote," "The Triumph of Mirth, or

Harlequin's Wedding," "The Enchanted Wood or Harlequin's Vagaries,"

"Hurly Burly, or the Fairy of the Wells," "Blue Beard, Black Beard, and

Grey Beard," and many others. However, to return.

Of the Pantomime subjects, whose origin we are going to enquire into,

let us first commence with "Aladdin."

According to the many versions of this popular story in Europe and Asia,

it would seem that its origin originally was of Buddhist extraction. In

our common English version of "Aladdin," in "The Arabian Nights," which

was taken from Galland's French version, it is doubtless an Eastern

picture. It does not occur, however, in any known Arabian text (says

Mr. Clouston, in "Popular Tales," and to whose work I am indebted for

much of the information for this chapter) of "The Thousand and One

Nights" (_Elf Laila wa Laila_), although the chief incidents are found

in many Asiatic fictions, and it had become orally current in Greece and

Italy before it was published by Galland. A popular Italian version,

which presents a close analogy to the familiar story of "Aladdin"

(properly "_Alá-u-d-Din_," signifying "Exaltation of the Faith") is

given by Miss M.H. Busk, in her "Folklore of Rome," under the title of

"How Cajusse was married."

A good natured looking old man one day knocks at the door of a poor

tailor out of work; his son, opening the door, is told by the old man

that he is his uncle, and he gives him half a piastre to buy a good

dinner. When the tailor comes home--he was absent at the time--he is

surprised to hear the old man claim him as a brother, but finding him so

rich he does not dispute the matter. After the old man had lived some

time with the tailor and his family, literally defraying all the

household expenses, he finds it necessary to depart, and with the

tailor's consent takes the boy Cajusse with him, in order that he may

learn some useful business. But no sooner do they get outside the town

than he tells Cajusse that it is all a dodge. "I'm not your uncle," he

says, "I want a strong, daring boy to do something I am too old to do.

I'm a wizard--don't attempt to escape for you can't." Cajusse, not a bit

frightened, asks him what it is he wants him to do; and the wizard

raises a flat stone from the ground, and orders him to go down, and

after he gets to the bottom of the cave to proceed until he comes to a

beautiful garden, where he will see a fierce dog keeping watch. "Here's

bread for him. Don't look back when you hear sounds behind you. On a

shelf you will see an old lantern; take it down, and bring it to me." So

saying the wizard gave Cajusse a ring, in case anything awkward should

happen to him after he had got the lantern, when he had only to rub the

ring, and wish for deliverance. Cajusse finds precious stones hanging

like frost from the trees in the garden underground, and he fills his

pocket with them. Returning to the entrance of the cave, he refuses to

give up the lantern till he has been drawn out; so the wizard thinking

merely to frighten him replaces the stone. Cajusse finding himself thus

entrapped rubs the ring, when instantly the Slave of the Ring appears,

and the youth at once orders the table to be laid for dinner. He then

calls for his mother and father, and they all have an unusually good

meal. Some time afterwards, Cajusse had returned home, the town was

illuminated, one day in honour of the marriage of the Sultan's daughter

to the Vizier's son. He sends his mother to the palace with a basket of

jewels, and, to demand the Sultan's daughter in marriage. The Sultan is

astounded at the purity of the gems, and says he will give his answer in

a month. At the end of the same week the Grand Vizier's son is married

to the Princess. Cajusse rubs his lantern and says "Go to-night and take

the daughter of the Sultan and lay her on a poor pallet in our

outhouse." This is done, and Cajusse begins to talk to her, but she is

far too frightened to answer. The Sultan learns of his daughter's

whereabouts, and does not know what to make of the strange business. The

son of the Vizier complains to his father that his wife disappears every

night, and comes back just before dawn. Cajusse now sends his mother to

the Sultan with three more baskets full of jewels, and the Sultan tells

her he may come and see him at the palace. Having received this message,

Cajusse rubs the lantern, gets a dress of gold and silver, a richly

caparisoned horse, four pages with rich dresses to ride behind them, and

one to go before, distributing money to the people. Cajusse is next

married to the Princess, and they live together in a most magnificent

palace with great happiness. By-and-bye the old wizard hears of this,

and resolves to obtain the lantern by hook or by crook. Disguising

himself as a pedlar he comes to the palace calling out the familiar "New

lamps for old." By this means he obtains the precious lamp, and

immediately transports the palace and the princess to an island in the

high seas. Cajusse, by the aid of the magic ring, quickly follows, to

find his princess a prisoner in the power of the wizard. He then gives

her this advice: "Make a feast to-night; say you'll marry the old wizard

if he'll tell you what thing would be fatal to him, and you will guard

him against it." The princess gets from the magician the fatal secret.

"One must go into a far distant forest," he says "Where there is a beast

called the hydra, and cut off his seven heads. If the middle head is

split open a leveret will jump out and run off. If the leveret is split

open, a bird will fly out. If the bird is caught and opened, in its body

is a precious stone, and should that be placed under my pillow I shall

die." Cajusse accomplishes all these things, and gives the life-stone to

the princess, together with a bottle of opium. The princess drugs the

wizard's wine, and when he had laid his head on his pillow (under which

was the stone) he gave three terrible yells, turned himself round three

times, and was dead. After thus ridding themselves of their enemy,

Cajusse and his bride lived happy ever afterwards.

Aladdin's adventure with the magician in the enchanted cave has also its

counterpart in Germany (see Grimms' German Collection).

Another "Aladdin" version is the tale of Marúf, the last in the Búlák

and Calcutta printed Arabic texts of the "Book of Marúf" in "The

Thousand and One Nights." The story is to the effect that Marúf had

given out that he was a rich man, under which false pretence he marries

the Sultan's daughter. The tale he spread about was that he was

expecting the arrival of a rich caravan, which contained all his

princely wealth. After they were married, Marúf confesses to his wife

the imposture he has practised on them. She urges him to fly, or his

head would be forfeited, and procures him a disguise to flee the

country. He does so, and, whilst journeying through a village, he sees a

man ploughing in a field, whom he asks for food. Whilst the latter is

away, Marúf continues the ploughing, where the man had left off, and

the ploughshare strikes against something hard in the ground, which

turns out to be an iron ring in a marble slab. He pulls at the ring, and

Marúf discovers a small room covered with gold, emeralds, rubies, and

other precious stones. He also discovers a coffer of crystal, having a

little box, containing a diamond in its entirety. Desirous of knowing

what the box further contains, he finds a plain gold ring, with strange

talismanic characters engraved thereon. Placing the ring on his finger,

he is suddenly confronted by the Genii of the Ring, who demands to know

what are his commands. Marúf desires the Genii to transport all the

treasure to the earth, when mules and servants appear, and carry it to

the city which Marúf had left, much to the chagrin of the Vizier, who

did not like Marúf. Marúf, during a great feast prepared for the

occasion, tells the Sultan how he became possessed of the treasure, when

the Sultan begs the loan of the ring, which Marúf hands to the Vizier to

give him, and which no sooner does he get, than he commands the Genii to

convey Marúf to some desert island, and leave him to die. The Vizier

also serves the Sultan the same way, and then he turns his attention to

"Mrs. Marúf," whom he threatens with death if she refuses to marry him.

At a banquet she makes the Vizier drunk, obtains possession of the ring,

secures the return of Marúf and the Sultan, and the decapitation of the

Vizier.

The "Babes in the Wood" was registered on the books of Stationers' Hall

as a ballad as far back as 1595.

To take another familiar Pantomime subject, "Blue Beard," this story is

said to have been invented as a satire on our King Henry VIII. There is

little doubt, however, of it originating from a very ancient source; and

to afford the reader all the possible information on the subject, a

writer in "The Drama," a magazine of the beginning of the last century

has the following, though he does not state his authority for the

information:--

As this extraordinary personage has long been the theme, not only of

children's early study and terror, it will be gratifying to peruse the

character of that being who really existed, and who was distinguished in

horror and derision by the strange appellation of "Blue Beard."

He was the famous Gilles, Marquis de Laval, a Mareschal of France, and a

General of uncommon intrepidity, who greatly distinguished himself in

the reigns of Charles VI. and VII., by his courage, particularly against

the English, when they invaded France. He rendered such services to his

country, which were sufficient to immortalize his name, had he not for

ever tarnished his glory by the most terrible and cruel murders,

blasphemies, and licentiousness of every kind. His revenues were

princely; but his prodigality was sufficient to render even an Emperor a

bankrupt. Wherever he went he had in his suite a seraglio, a band of

players, a company of musicians, a society of sorcerers and magicians,

an almost incredible number of cooks, packs of dogs of various kinds,

and above 200 led horses. Mezerai, an author of great repute, says,

that he encouraged and maintained men who called themselves sorcerers,

to discover hidden treasures, and corrupted young persons of both sexes

to attach themselves to him, and afterwards killed them for the sake of

their blood, which was requisite to form his charms and incantations.

These horrid excesses may be believed, when we reflect on the age of

ignorance and barbarism in which they were certainly too often

practised. He was at length, for a state crime against the Duke of

Brittany, sentenced to be burnt alive in a field at Nantz in 1440, but

the Duke, who was present at his execution, so far mitigated the

sentence, that he was first strangled, then burnt, and his ashes buried.

Though he was descended from one of the most illustrious families in

France, he declared, previous to his death, that all his terrible

excesses were owing to his wretched education.

"Blue Beard" was first dramatised at Paris, in 1746, when "_Barbe Bleu_"

was thus announced:--_Pantomime_--_representée par la troupe des

Comediens Pantomimes, Foir St. Laurent_. It was afterwards dramatised at

the Earl of Barrymore's Theatre, Wargrave, Berks., and in 1791. After

that the subject was produced at Covent Garden Theatre as a Pantomime.

"Beauty and the Beast," the latter a white bear, is to be found in

"Popular Tales from the Norse," by Mr. Dasent, and in the collection of

"Popular Tales from the German" by the Brothers Grimm. As a ballad the

story of "Beauty and the Beast" is a very old one.

"Cinderella" is to be found in the language of every European country.

In ancient Hindu legends it appears; in tales related by the Greek poets

it is also to be found.

The story of "Cinderella," according to the ancient Hindu legends, is

that of the Sun and the Dawn. Cinderella has been likened to Aurora, the

Spirit of the Dawn, and the fairy Prince of the legend is the morning

Sun, ever closely pursuing her to make her his bride. The Hindu legend

of the lost slipper is that a wealthy Rajah's beautiful daughter was

born with a golden necklace, which contained her soul, and, if the

necklace was taken off and worn by someone else, the Princess would die.

The Rajah gave her on her birthday a pair of slippers with ornaments of

gold and gems upon them. The princess went out upon a mountain to gather

flowers, and whilst stooping there to pluck the flowers, one of her

slippers fell into the forest below. A Prince, who was hunting, picked

up the slipper, and was so charmed with it that he said he would make

the wearer his wife. He made his wish known, but no one came to claim

the slipper; at length word was given to the Prince where to find the

Rajah's daughter; and shortly afterwards they were married. One of the

wives of the Prince, being jealous of the Rajah's daughter, stole the

necklace, put it on her own neck, and then the Rajah's daughter died.

The Prince, afterwards, found out the secret of the necklace, and got it

back again, and put it on his dead wife's neck, and she came to life,

and they lived ever afterwards in the greatest harmony.

The ancient Grecian version of "Cinderella" is that of the story of a

beautiful woman named Rhodope, who, whilst bathing, an eagle flew away

with one of her slippers to Egypt, and dropped it in the lap of the King

as he sat at Memphis on the judgment seat. The King was so attracted by

the smallness and beauty of the slipper that he fell in love with the

wearer, and afterwards made her his wife.

In Tuscany, Persia, Norway, Denmark, Russia, the story of "Dick

Whittington" is well known. In all probability, like many other fairy

tales, its origin was from a Buddhist source. The English version, that

the Lord Mayor Whittington was the poor ill-used boy he is represented

to have been in the popular tale seems quite impossible, since according

to Stow (mentions Mr. Clouston) he was the son of Sir Richard

Whittington, Knight. The story was current in Europe in the thirteenth

century. In the chronicle of Albert, Abbot of the Convent of St. Mary of

Slade, written at that period, it is related that there were two

citizens of Venice, one of whom was rich, the other poor. It fortuned

that the rich man went abroad to trade, and the poor man gave him as his

venture two cats, the sale of which, as in our tale of the renowned

"Dick Whittington," procured him great wealth.

On September 21st, 1668, Pepys makes mention in his diary of going to

Southwark Fair, and of seeing the puppet show of "Whittington," which he

says "was pretty to see." A Pantomime on the subject was also given by

Rich early in the eighteenth century.

In Tuscany, the "Dick Whittington" story runs that in the fifteenth

century, a Genoese merchant, who presented two cats to the King, was

rewarded by him with rich presents.

In Norway, a poor boy, having found a box full of silver money under a

stone, emptied the box and its contents into a lake--one piece, however,

floated, which he kept, believing it to be _good_. His mother, hearing

of this, thrust him out of doors; and he eventually obtained employment

in a merchant's house. The merchant, having to make a voyage to foreign

parts, he asked each of his servants what he should "venture" for him.

The poor boy offered all he had, the silver penny, of which he was still

the possessor. With this the merchant purchased a cat, and sailed away,

but the vessel in which he was in was driven out of her course on to the

shores of a strange country. The merchant going ashore went to an inn,

and, in a room, he saw the table laid for dinner, with a long rod for

each man who sat at it. When the meat was set on the table, out swarmed

thousands of mice, and each one who sat at the table beat them off with

his rod. The cat was brought into service, and sold for a hundred

dollars, and soon put an end to the career of the mice. When the

merchant had weighed anchor, much to his surprise, he saw the cat

sitting at the mast head. Again foul weather came on, and again the

vessel was driven to another strange country, where the mice were just

as numerous as before. The cat was called in, sold this time for two

hundred dollars, and away the merchant sailed. No sooner, however, was

he at sea, than the cat once more appeared before him. The vessel was

again driven out of her course to another strange country, over-run with

rats this time, when poor pussy was sold a third time, for the sum of

three hundred dollars. Again the cat made its appearance; and the

merchant thinking to do the poor boy out of his money, a dreadful storm

arose, which only subsided on the merchant making a vow that the boy

should have every penny. When he arrived home the merchant faithfully

kept his promise, gave the boy the six hundred dollars, and the hand of

his daughter besides.

A Breton legend of the story of "Dick Whittington" runs that three sons

go to seek their fortune, the eldest of whom, Yvon, possesses a cat. The

cat again plays an important part. Yvon becomes the friend of the Lord

of the Manor, and has gold and diamonds bestowed upon him in galore.

The Russian version is that a poor little orphan boy buys a cat, which

some mischievous boys were teasing, for three copecks (about a penny).

Taken into the service of a merchant the latter goes to a distant

country, accompanied by the cat of the orphan boy. Puss making sad work

of some rats, which threatened to make an end of the merchant in the

inn, which he occupied. He ultimately sold the cat to the landlord for a

sack full of gold. Returning home, on his way thither, he thought how

foolish it would be to give all the money to the boy. Whereupon a

dreadful storm arose, and the vessel, in which was the merchant, was in

danger of sinking. The merchant, knowing that the storm had arisen

through his change of purpose, prayed to heaven for forgiveness, when

the sea became calm, and the vessel arrived safely in port, when the

merchant paid over to the orphan boy all the wealth obtained by the sale

of the cat.

In the Persian version, unlike the other legends, the cat is owned by a

poor widow, who had been impoverished through her sons, and was left

with only a cat. The sale of the cat produces great wealth; and the

widow, Kayser, immediately sends for her sons to share her

newly-acquired fortune. What follows is different to the other versions

of these wonderful cat stories. The sons only too eager to share the

wealth of their mother, fit out many vessels, and begin to trade largely

with India and Arabia. Thinking that to acquire wealth by commerce

alone, rather slow work, they turned pirates, and were a source of

trouble and annoyance to the neighbouring states, till about 1230 A.D.,

when they were reduced to vassalage under Persian rule.

"The House that Jack Built" has its prototype in a sacred hymn in the

Talmud of the Hebrews.

"Jack, the Giant Killer" and "Jack and the Beanstalk" are two very

ancient themes coming from the North, of the time, it is said, of King

Arthur, and of the days when "Giants were upon the earth." The

well-known cry of the giants in these legends--

"Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum,

I smell the blood of an Englishman;

Be he alive or be he dead,

I'll grind his bones to make my bread,"

is also referred to by Shakespeare in "King Lear," in Act III., Scene 5,

when Edgar sings:--

"Child Rowland to the dark Tower came;

His word was still, fee, foh, and fum,

I smell the blood of an Englishman."

The English version of the story of "Jack the Giant Killer," must,

therefore, be older than the time of Elizabeth. It is also a strange and

significant fact that amongst the Zulus, and the inhabitants of the Fiji

Islands, there are similar legends of the story of "Jack and the

Beanstalk."

The story of "Jack and the Beanstalk" is also to be found in old Hindoo

tales, in which the beans denote abundance. The Russians have a story in

which a bean falls to the ground, and an old man, the Sun, climbs up by

it to heaven. "The ogre in the land above the skies," observes Mr.

Baring Gould, "who was once the all-father, possessed three treasures--a

harp, which played of itself enchanting music; bags of gold and

diamonds; and a hen which daily laid a golden egg. The harp is the

wind, the bags of gold are the clouds dropping the sparkling rain, and

the golden egg laid every day by the red hen is the producing sun." The

same idea in "Jack and the Beanstalk" occurs in the fairy legends of the

North and the East, as well as in Grecian stories.

In "Jack the Giant Killer," the gifts given to Jack are found in Tartar,

Hindoo, Scandinavian, and German legends.

Now let us note briefly the origin of "Red Riding Hood" and "The

Sleeping Beauty in the Wood." All the other fairy stories that we know

of are to be found in other countries, and springing originally from

Asia, where they were made ages and ages ago.

The Wolf in the story of "Red Riding Hood" has been likened to the days

of our own "Bluff King Hal," owing to the latter's suppression of the

monasteries, and Red Riding Hood herself, whom the Wolf subsequently

eats, with her hood and habit, was supposed to be typical of the

monastic orders.

The Hindoo's version of the "Red Riding Hood" story is a pretty and

fanciful one. Their idea was that there was always a great Dragon

endeavouring to devour Indra, the Sun god, and to prevent the Sun from

shining upon the earth, Indra ultimately overcomes the Dragon. Red

Riding Hood, with her warm habit, is supposed to be the setting sun

casting its red and glittering rays as it sinks to rest. The old

Grandmother is Mother Earth; and the Wolf, the Dragon; and when all is

dark and still, the Wolf swallows the Grandmother, namely, the Earth;

and afterwards, as Night has fallen, the Evening Sun. The Huntsman

denotes the Morning Sun, and he chases away all the dark clouds gathered

during the night, and by doing so kills the Wolf; recovers the old

Grandmother Earth, and brings to life again, Little Red Riding Hood.

Another version (observes Mr. T. Bunce) is that the Wolf is the dark,

and dreary winter, that kills the Earth with frost, but when spring

comes again it brings the Earth and the Sun back to life.

In "The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood," the maiden has been likened to the

Morning dawn, and the young Prince, who awakens her, with a kiss, to the

Sun.

"Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves," in concluding this chapter, I may say,

with "The Fair One with Golden Locks," forms to the superstitious the

only two unlucky Pantomime subjects.

"Sindbad, the Sailor," taken from the "Arabian Nights," has its origin

in Persian and Arabian tales.

Of all our Pantomime subjects, "Robinson Crusoe," seems to be the only

one we can properly lay claim to as being "of our own make," so to

speak, and written by Daniel De Foe, and, in the main, from the

imagination. De Foe, it has been stated, derived his idea for this

story from the adventures of one, Alexander Selkirk, a Scotchman, who

had been a castaway on the Island of Juan Fernandez. The first portion

of "Robinson Crusoe" appeared in "The Family Instructor," in 1719, of

which De Foe was the founder. It, at once, sprang into popularity, and

has left its author undying fame. De Foe was born about 1660 in the

parish of St. Giles, Cripplegate, died 26th April, 1731, and was buried

in Bunhill Fields.

CHAPTER XX.

Pantomime in America.

Pantomime, in America, had not a very long run, it being killed by the

farcical comedy. Mr. E.L. Blanchard supposes that "Mother Goose" was the

first Pantomime played in America, but this is an error, as it was not

until 1786, when Garrick's "Harlequin's Invasion," and R. Pocock's

"Robinson Crusoe" were played at the John Street Theatre, New York, that

Pantomime made its advent in America. "Mother Goose" was afterwards

played, but it did not suit the Yankee's taste. Rich's Harlequin, Gay of

"The Beggars Opera," produced at Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre, and which

it is said made "Rich Gay, and Gay Rich," also went to America, and

where, it is said, he became the Chief of an Indian tribe in the Far

West. In the South Sea Bubble Gay held some £20,000. His friends advised

him to sell, but he dreamed of greatness and splendour, and refused

their counsel. Ultimately, both the profit and the principal was lost,

and Gay sunk under the calamity so low that his life became in danger.

American Pantomimes consisted of a semi-pastoral "opening," performed

almost entirely in dumb show, and a big trick Harlequinade, and down to

the time of Pantomime's decease in America was it played like this.

George L. Fox made Pantomime highly popular in America. Born in May of

1825, he, as an actor and comedian in Yankee and Irish parts, held his

own in popularity with the great Joseph Jefferson.

Fox might be properly termed "The Grimaldi of America," as he was the

representative Clown of the land of the stars and stripes. His Clown's

parts he dressed like Grimaldi, and with the whitened face and bald head

of Pierrot, the French type of Clown.

The year that "Mother Goose" came to New York saw the introduction of a

French troupe of Pantomimists, known as the Ravels. In imitation of

these performers Fox introduced in the 'fifties ballet Pantomimes, and

several Ravelsque pieces like "The Red Gnome" and "The Schoolmaster"

with good results.

In 1862 Fox was at the Bowery Theatre, and, during his occupation of the

same, he did much to popularise Pantomime. Half a dozen years afterwards

we find him at the Olympic Theatre, New York, where he produced "Humpty

Dumpty," which ran 483 nights, and for five years, till 1873, it held

its place, on and off, in the bill. Altogether it was played 943 times.

Fox, from this, was known as Humpty Dumpty, and, strangely enough, also,

the Americans for long enough afterwards called every Pantomime "Humpty

Dumpty."

Fox was a very good mimic, imitating all the Hamlets of the day, besides

being a good melodramatic actor. He died October 24th, 1877, at

Cambridge, Mass., of softening of the brain.

Tony Denier, a pupil of the Ravels, and a quondam friend of Fox, next

took Fox's place in the estimation of the American public. Of Denier, we

are told that he arrived in Boston in 1852, with the proverbial

half-crown in his pocket. He was of French extraction, and descended

from one of the best French families. In 1863 he was with P.T. Barnum,

and appearing as a one-legged dancer. In 1868, he went into Pantomime,

toured "Humpty Dumpty," and for some twenty years afterwards kept the

Pantomimic ball merrily rolling until his retirement at Chicago into

private life. Denier made Harlequinade tricks a speciality.

Pantomime in America may be said to have lived about a quarter of a

century; but in the autumn of this year (1901) Pantomime, as we now know

it in this country, made its first appearance at the Broadway Theatre,

New York, when last year's Drury Lane annual, "The Sleeping Beauty and

the Beast," was successfully presented. It is very probable that this

class of entertainment will become very popular in America.

CHAPTER XXI.

Pantomimes made more attractive--The Restrictive Policy of the Patent

Houses--"Mother Goose" and "George Barnwell" at Covent Garden--Lively

Audiences--"Jane Shore"--"Harlequin Pat and Harlequin Bat"--"The first

speaking opening"--Extravagence in Extravaganzas--The doom of the old

form of Pantomime--Its revival in a new form--A piece of pure

Pantomime--Present day Mimetic Art--"_L'Enfant Prodigue_"--A

retrospect--The old with the new, and conclusion.

Pantomimes, as they grew, were made more and more attractive, "new

scenery, decorations, and flyings" were introduced, and with new

"flyings," of course, more accidents.

The restrictive policy adopted by the Patent theatres--till the repeal

of their patents (1843)--towards the minor houses, which gave to the

former the sole and only right of performing the "legitimate" was, by

the minor theatres, infringed in many ways. The means adopted was the

employment of Pantomime in the depiction of plays adapted and considered

suitable for the minor theatres. These were entirely carried on by

action, and when the actor could not express something that had to be

explained, like the names of characters, a scroll, with the necessary

details inscribed thereon, was unrolled in full view of the audience.

These entertainments were very popular at the close of the eighteenth

century, and they were also the means of providing some first-class

Pantomimists--as, for instance, Bologna and D'Egville.

In a couple of volumes by Mr. J.C. Cross, entitled, "Circusiana," the

author of many of these old "dumb shows," the reader can see what they

were like. The scripts of these plays consisted, like our ancient

"Platts" and the Italian Scenarios, of principally stage directions.

John Palmer, the actor who died on the stage of the Theatre Royal,

Liverpool--now used for the purpose of a cold storage--after uttering,

in the part of "The Stranger," the words "There is another and a better

world," found that, after building his theatre, the Royalty, in

Wellclose Square, that he was prohibited its use, used to give

Pantomimic representations, and just in a similar way as what the minor

theatres did, as mentioned above.

It is amusing to note how the titles of some of Shakespeare's

works--which at one time the Patent theatres had the monopoly--were got

over; "Hamlet" has been known to have been played as "Methinks I see my

Father;" "Othello," as "Is He Jealous?;" "Romeo and Juliet," as "How to

Die for Love;" "The Merchant of Venice," under "Diamond Cut Diamond,"

and so on. Music and dancing also were introduced _ad lib_ into these

performances.

The Pantomime of "Mother Goose," produced at Covent Garden, December 29,

1806, which ran 92 nights, was preceded by "George Barnwell," and

brought some £20,000 into the theatre treasury. Strangely enough, for

about thirty years, it was the unvarying rule to play "George Barnwell"

at this theatre on a Boxing Night, which, from all accounts, owing to

the liveliness of the gods and goddesses assembled on these

occasions--the Tragedy was as much a Pantomime as the Pantomime proper

that followed. Of these "merry moments" Dibdin recalls that Tragedies,

Comedies, and Operas were doomed to suffer all the complicated

combinations of "Pray ask that gentleman to sit down," "Take off your

hat?" and the like. "But the moment," continues Dibdin, "the curtain

goes up (on the Pantomime), if any unfortunate gentleman speaks a word

they make no reply, _but throw him over directly_."

Seemingly afterwards, at Pantomime time, "Barnwell" was discarded in

favour of "Jane Shore," as in "The Theatrical Magazine" we find a writer

penning the following:--

A few years since it was the established rule to play "George Barnwell,"

by way, we suppose, of a "great moral lesson" to the apprentices of

London. In this age of innovation this venerable custom has been broken

down, but the principle seems not wholly to have been abandoned. "Jane

Shore" has supplanted "Barnwell," and the anxieties of the age, are, it

would appear, now directed towards the softer sex. Seriously speaking,

we consider these Christmas selections as exceedingly absurd. Visitants

at this period of the year frequent the theatre less for the purpose of

seeing the play than the Pantomime, and at both theatres it was this

evening their chief, and almost only, attraction; for the tragedy of

Rowe, which is of very little merit, derived but trifling interest or

effect from the performers who personated the prominent characters.

Moreover the lessons of the pulpit have unfortunately but too slight an

influence on those who attend them, and we are rather fearful the moral

benefits to be derived from these stage lectures, to the apprentices and

servants of the metropolis, do not countervail the loss of pleasure

sustained by those who would be so much better pleased; and, therefore,

perhaps, taught by a lively comedy, satirising some of the light vices

or laughable follies of the age. We trust this theatrical nuisance will

be for the future reformed; we can almost excuse the holiday folks for

being turbulent, when we reflect upon the insult offered to their

understandings, in the treatment they receive on these occasions.

In 1830, at Covent Garden Theatre, Peake introduced into the Pantomime

of "Harlequin Pat, and Harlequin Bat" a "speaking opening." Pantomime,

however, pursued the even tenour of its way until the production at the

Adelphi, about 1857, of a Pantomime, with a "burlesque opening," and

"the thin end of the wedge" was provided, written by Mark Lemon. In the

Harlequinade, Madame Celeste appeared as Harlequin _à la Watteau_, and

Miss Mary Keeley was the Columbine. These Extravaganzas, from the pen of

Planché, with scenery by Beverley, and all under the management of

Vestris, afterwards became quite the rage.

I have previously referred to the excellence of Beverley's scenes under

the _regime_ of Madame Vestris. Extravagance in Extravaganzas, like "The

Blue Bird," "Once Upon a Time," and the like, caused the managers, in

the matter of scenery, to enter into serious competition with one

another.

Pantomime, it was thought, was doomed, as its decease at this epoch

seemed impending. It managed, however, to come again into popular

favour, but in a very different shape. Instead of the usual comic

Pantomime it was played by two different sets of performers, and having

no connection with one another. The opening scenes, like a soap bubble,

began to grow larger and larger, the double plot was abandoned, the

Transformation scene became the principal feature, and a long

Harlequinade at the _end_.

In the Pantomime of "Red Riding Hood," written by F.W. Green, and

produced at Her Majesty's Theatre, during the 'eighties, an effort was

made to compose and invent a piece of pure Pantomime. The Vokes family,

J.T. Powers, and others, appeared in this Pantomime.

In France and Italy particularly, the Mimetic Art still flourishes; but

in this country it is practically a lost Art. One of the best examples,

and most successful, we have had in recent years of this ancient form

of entertainment in this country was that of "_L'Enfant Prodigue_,"

played by Mdlle. Jane May and a French Company of Pantomimists. There

are, however, several other very brilliant Pantomimists excellent in

their Art, like the Martinetti troupe, the two brothers Renad, and the

Leopolds.

"It is a pity (observes Dickens, in 'The Theatre') that the knowledge of

it (Pantomime) cannot be more extended among our modern actors and

actresses, so few of whom understand anything about the effectiveness of

appropriate gesture. A few lessons in the business of Harlequin would

teach many a young man, for instance, the simple lesson that arms may be

moved with advantage from the shoulder as well as from the elbow; and so

we should get rid of one of the awkwardest, ugliest, and commonest of

modern stage tricks. And there would be nothing derogatory in the study.

Many of our most distinguished actors have graduated in Pantomime."

Mr. Davenport Adams, writing in "The Theatre," for January, 1882, on the

decline of Pantomime, says:--

"We may say of present-day Pantomime that the trail of the music-hall is

over it all. I admit the extreme ability of certain music-hall

comedians. I object, however, altogether, to the intrusion of such

artists into the domain of Pantomime, and I do so because they, and

others not so able, bring with them, so to speak, an atmosphere which it

is sad to see imported into the theatre. They bring with them, not only

their songs, which, when offensive in their wording, are sometimes made

doubly dangerous by their tunefulness; not only their dances, which are

usually vulgar, when they are not inane, but their style and manner and

'gags,' which are generally the most deplorable of all. The objection to

music-hall artists on the stage is, not only that they take the bread

out of the mouths of 'the profession,' which is a minor consideration

for the public, but that they have the effect of familiarising general

audiences, and children especially, with a style and a kind of singing,

dancing, and 'business' which, however it may be relished by a certain

class of the population, ought steadily to be confined to its original

habitat. The managers are, of course, very much to blame, for it is by

their permission, if not by their desire, that youthful ears are regaled

with 'W'st, w'st, w'st,' and similar elegant compositions. Such songs as

these would not be tolerated by _paterfamilias_ in his drawing-room,

yet, when he takes his children to the Pantomime, they are the most

prominent portion of the entertainment."

In the last century, Pantomimes, in the form so dear to our forefathers,

sometimes twice yearly--at Easter and Christmas--were given. The comic

and other scenes were in that true sense of the word humorous and funny.

The reason was not far to seek, as they were all played by _actors_. The

music-hall had not, as far as Pantomime was concerned, made such inroads

as at the present time it has done into the dramatic profession. Clown,

to _pater_ and _materfamilias_, and others, was a source of genuine

enjoyment; and though they may have passed the sere and yellow leaf of

age, the laughs and hearty merriment of their grand-children gathered

around them made them think of other days, when they were young

themselves. Picture them all, dear reader, sitting in the Family

Circle--now termed the Dress Circle--a happy party with smiling and

contented faces, laughing at some _genuine acting_--Pantomime though it

be--no _double entendre_ songs, and nothing to be ashamed of.

To the young a visit to the Pantomime was invariably a yearly occurrence

to be joyfully remembered till the next Boxing Day came round again. Do

they, or can they, understand Pantomime in its present form? I very much

doubt it.

When towards the close of the 'fifties, and the double plot was

abandoned, the character of Harlequin began to be played by women, the

origin of what is now known as the "principal boy," and some acrobatic

turns, or other speciality business, began to be introduced during the

course of the Pantomime, which greatly discounted the efforts of

Harlequin and Clown.

Another competitor that took up the running to the abolition of Clown

and his companions, was the music-hall, which began introducing

Pantomimes and ballets. The first to do this, some years ago, was the

Canterbury, other halls soon following suit.

The managers of the theatres took up arms, with the result that various

decisions, chiefly averse to the music-halls, were obtained. A decision

of the Court of Common Pleas left the music-halls in a position to give

ballets with costume and scenic effects without any such control or

precautions as was exercised in theatres under the Lord Chamberlain's

authority. The duration of the litigation was all owing to the vague

definition "Stageplays in the 6 and 7 Vict. c. 68," and of "Music,

dancing and public entertainments in the Act 25, Geo. II., c. 30."

Of present-day Pantomime, with the immense sums spent annually on its

gorgeous spectacular display and costly dresses, there is no necessity

for me here to dilate upon, as it is a subject that is well known to us

all. All that is beautiful about it is due principally to the scenic

artists and the costumiers. The best parts are, as a general rule,

allotted to music-hall "stars," whose names will draw the most money.

And the followers of Thespis have, until the reign of King Pantomime is

over, to take oftentimes second-class places in the Pantomimic form of

entertainment of the present day.

In the old days everyone looked forward to the performances of Clown and

his companions; but little by little their business went, until finally

this has dwindled down to about one or two scenes--which, in some few

instances is still retained.

And now to formally "ring down," and in writing the "tag," there is, I

may say, with the sound of the prompter's bell, a melancholy ring as the

passing knell of Clown and his merry companions, and the "tag," as it

were, their epitaph.

Pantomimes--as our forefathers knew them--have become a thing of the

past, and the survivors, Clown and his comrades, the former whose quips

and quiddities, in childhood's happy days, many of us still lovingly

remember; the wonderment with which we gazed at the magical tricks

wrought by Harlequin and his wand; the quaint conceits and ambling gait

of Pantaloon; and, last but not least, bewitching Columbine, with whom,

most likely as each year came round, in youthful ardour we fell anew in

love's toils, are all rapidly vanishing into the dim and distant past,

and to live in the future only in the memory.

CURTAIN.