The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit,That in one hour of meditationThey would perform anything in action.
These Extemporal plays were witnessed much nearer than in Italy—at theTheâtre des Italiensat Paris—for one of the characters replies:—
I have seen the like,In Paris, among the French tragedians.
Ben Jonson has mentioned the Italian "Extemporal Plays," in his "Case is Altered"; and an Italiancommedianteand his company were in London in 1578, who probably let our players into many a secret.
Evil times, with the advent of the Commonwealth, soon fell upon our theatres, and when they, as well as plays, were suppressed by order of the Puritan Parliament, some of the actors followed the Royalist cause (we do not hear of any taking the side of the Parliament), and lost their lives fighting for the king. Others attempted to enact plays in secret, but these performances more often than not, caused the actors incarceration in some prison. At Holland House, in Kensington, many of these secret performances, by the aid of bribery, took place. To give timely warning of the performances Mr. Wright, in his "Historia Histronica," mentions that "Alexander Goff, the woman-actor, was the jackal to give notice of time and place to the lovers of the drama."
All this however, could not, and would not, keep the spirit of the drama alive. The theatres were, we know, totally suppressed, "so there might be no more plaies acted." Play-goers there were, as I have shown, but they never knew when, in witnessing a performance, they might be seized by the military, to be fined or imprisoned, or perhaps both. A more lengthy reign of "Dramatic Terror" than what we had at this period, would, in all probability, have left us little or no trace of the Drama of this country. But a saviour was at hand, and that was Pantomime.
Pantomime, as previously stated, kept alive for ages, after the downfall of the Roman Empire, the Dramatic Art, and during the Commonwealth of this country, it practically did the same for us.
Owing to the exigences of the times, one Robert Cox, an actor of considerable genius, after the fashion of the Extemporal Comedies of Italy, invented a series of dramatic exhibitions at the Red Bull Theatre (where the first English actress made her appearance December 8, 1660) and elsewhere, under the guise of rope-dancing, a number of comic scenes from Shakespeare, Shirley, Marston, Beaumont, and Fletcher, and others. Cox's exhibitions, known as "Humours" or "Drolleries," were collected by Marsh, and reprinted (1672) by Francis Kirkman, the author and book-seller. This collection is entitled "The Wits, or Sport upon Sport, in select pieces of Drollery, digested into scenes by way of dialogue. Together with variety of Humours of several nations fitted for the pleasure and content of all persons, either in Court, City, Country, or Camp."
Of these "Humours" Kirkman observes, "As meanly as you may now think of these Drolls, they were then acted by the best comedians; and, I may say, by some that then exceeded all now living; the incomparable Robert Cox, who was not only the principal actor, but also the contriver and author of most of these farces. How I have heard him cried up for his John Swabber, and Simpleton the Smith; in which he being to appear with a large piece of bread and butter, I have frequently known several of the female spectators and auditors to long for it; and once that well-known natural, Jack Adams of Clerkenwell, seeing him with bread and butter on the stage, and knowing him, cried out, 'Cuz! Cuz! give me some!' to the great pleasure of the audience. And so naturally did he act the smith's part, that being at a fair in a country town, and that farce being presented the only master-smith of the town came to him, saying, 'Well, although your father speaks so ill of you, yet when the fair is done, if you will come and work with me, I will give you twelve pence a week more than I give any other journeyman.' Thus was he taken for a smith bred, that was, indeed, as much of any trade."
With the death of the Lord Protector, Cromwell, "The merry rattle of Monk's drums coming up the Gray's Inn Road, welcomed by thousands of dusty spectators," the return of Charles II., 1660, and though Charles was more a lover of the stage than of the drama, the theatre again recovered its credit, and to vigorously flourish once more.
The year 1702 marks the appearance of the first Pantomime introduced to the English stage, written by John Weaver, a friend of Addison and Steele's, and entitled "Tavern Bilkers." It was produced at Drury Lane.
The author was by profession a dancing-master; his name is not to be found in any biographical dictionary, yet, it is evident that the "little dapper, cheerful man" had brains in his head as well as talent in his heels.
John Weaver was the son of a Mr. Weaver, whom the Duke of Ormond, the Chancellor of Oxford, licensed in 1676 to exercise the profession of a dancing-master within the university. The date of his birth is unknown, but we first hear of him as stage-managing the production of his own Pantomime at Drury Lane, 1702, an entertainment which he described as one of "dancing, action, and motion." The latter would appear to have been a failure, as in his "History of the Mimes and Pantomimes," published in 1728, Weaver states that his next attempt on similar lines did not take place until many years afterwards—not until the year 1716, in fact. In 1716 Weaver was back in London producing two burlesque Pantomimes, "The Loves of Mars and Venus," and "Perseus and Andromeda." At Drury Lane, in the following year, "Orpheus and Eurydice," and "Harlequin Turn'd Judge," was produced, and "Cupid and Bacchus" in 1719. Weaver also wrote many treatises on dancing, some of which were highly commended by Steele.
Another Pantomime of Weaver's was "The Judgment of Paris"—date uncertain—performed by the author's pupils "in the great room over the Market-house," Shrewsbury—in which town he had taken up his residence—in the year 1750. John Weaver died September 28th, 1760, and was buried at St. Chads, Shrewsbury.
The mention above of "Perseus and Andromeda" calls to mind that there were several pieces of this name. One of them was severely commented on in "The Grub-Street Journal" of April 8, 1731. Its title was:—"Perseus and Andromeda; or the Flying Lovers, in five Interludes, three serious and two comic. The serious composed by Monsieur Roger, the comic by John Weaver, dancing-masters."
It is only just to assign to Weaver the entire credit of being the first to introduce Pantomimes on the English stage, though the author's original bent was "scenical dancing," or ballet dancing, by representations of historical incidents with graceful motion. In his "History of Pantomimes" the author is careful to distinguish between those entertainments where "Grin and grimace usurp the passions and affections of the mind," and those where "A nice address and management of the passions take up the thoughts of the performer." "Spectators," says Weaver, in 1730, or thereabouts, "are now so pandering away their applause on interpolations of pseudo-players, merry Andrews, tumblers, and rope dancers; and are but rarely touched with, or encourage a natural player or just Pantomime."
It was, however, left to John Rich to place Pantomime on a firm footing. Before dealing with Rich and his Pantomimes, which I shall treat of in the next chapter, it is appropriate here to note how Pantomimes generally came to be introduced on the English stage.
Colley Cibber mentions:—About this time the patentee (Rich) having very near finished his house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, began to think of forming a new company; and, in the meantime, found it necessary to apply for leave to employ them. By the weak defence he had always made against the several attacks upon his interests, and former Government of the theatre (Drury Lane), it might be a question, if his house had been ready, in the Queen's (Anne) time, whether he would then have had the spirit to ask, or interest enough to obtain leave to use it; but in the following reign, as it did not appear he had done anything to forfeit the right of his patent, he prevailed with Mr. Craggs, the younger, to lay his case before the king, which he did in so effectual a manner that (as Mr. Craggs himself told me) his Majesty was pleased to say upon it, "That he remembered when he had been in England before, in King Charles's time, there had been two theatres in London; and as the patent seemed to be a lawful grant, he saw no reason why two play-houses might not be continued."
The suspension of the patent being thus taken off, the younger multitude seemed to call aloud for two play-houses! Many desired another, from the common notion, that two would always create emulation, in the actors. Others too were as eager for them, from the natural ill-will that follows the fortunate or prosperous in any undertaking. Of this low malevolence we had, now and then, remarkable instances; we had been forced to dismiss an audience of a hundred and fifty pounds, from a disturbance spirited up, by obscure people, who never gave any better reason for it than that it was their fancy to support the idle complaint of one rival actress against another, in their several pretensions to the chief part in a new tragedy. But as this tumult seemed only to be the wantonness of English liberty, I shall not presume to lay any further censure upon it.
Now, notwithstanding this public desire of re-establishing two houses; and though I have allowed the former actors greatly our superiors; and the managers I am speaking of not to have been without their private errors, yet under all these disadvantages, it is certain, the stage, for twenty years before this time, had never been in so flourishing a condition.
But, in what I have said, I would not be understood to be an advocate for two play-houses; for we shall soon find that two sets of actors, tolerated in the same place, have constantly ended in the corruption of the theatre; of which the auxiliary entertainments, that have so barbarously supplied the defects of weak action, have, for some years past, been a flagrant instance; it may not, therefore, be here improper to shew how our childish Pantomimes first came to take so gross a possession of the stage.
I have upon several occasions, already observed, that when one company is too hard for another, the lower in reputation has always been forced to exhibit fine newfangled foppery, to draw the multitude after them; of these expedients, singing and dancing had formerly been most effectual; but, at the time I am speaking of, our English music had been so discountenanced since the taste of Italian Operas prevailed, that it was to no purpose to pretend to it. Dancing, therefore, was now the only weight, in the opposite scale, and as the new theatre sometimes found their account in it, it could not be safe for us wholly to neglect it.
Cibber's antagonistical views towards Pantomime were shared, as we shall see, by a good many others.
Booth, however, a greater actor than Cibber, and a tragedian to boot, took a more business-like view of the proceedings, thinking thin houses the greatest indignity the stage could suffer. "Men of taste and judgment (said he) must necessarily form but a small proportion of the spectators at a theatre, and if a greater number of people were enticed to sit out a play because a Pantomime was tacked to it, the Pantomime did good service to all concerned. Besides, if people of position and taste could, if so minded, leave before the nonsense commenced—an opportunity they do not seem to have embraced since Booth reminded the opponents of Pantomime how Italian opera had drawn the nobility and gentry away from the play-houses, as appeared by the melancholy testimony of their receipts, until Pantomime came to the rescue when pit and gallery were better filled, and the boxes too put on a nobler appearance."
It was in 1717 that Rich devised this new form of entertainment, though it was not till 1724, when "The Necromancer, or History of Dr. Faustus" was produced by Rich, which took the town by storm, that Pantomime became such a rage. It has been stated that what induced Rich to turn his attention to Pantomime was the bringing over of a German, named Swartz, who had two performing dogs that could dance. They were engaged at £10 a night; and brought full houses. However, be this as it may, in the "Daily Courant," of December 20, 1717, we find him, advertising for his "Italian Mimic Scenes"—as he, for long enough, so termed his Pantomimes—as follows:—
"Harlequin Executed: a new Italian Mimic Scene between aScaramouch, a Harlequin, a Country Farmer, his Wife, andothers."
Of Rich and his early Pantomimes, Davies observes:—
John Rich was the son of Christopher Rich, formerly patentee of Drury Lane Theatre, and he imbibed from his father adislike of people with whom he was obliged to live and converse. His father wished to acquire wealth by French dancers and Italian singers, than by the united skill of the most accomplished comedians. The son inherited the same taste, and when he came into the patent, with his brother Christopher, of Drury Lane, and after having ineffectually tried his talent for acting in the part of the Earl of Essex, and other important characters, he applied himself to the study of Pantomimical representations at Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre. To retrieve the credit of his theatre Rich created a species of dramatic composition unknown to this, and, I believe, to any other country, which he called Pantomime. It consisted of two parts, one serious, the other comic; by the help of gay scenes, fine habits, grand dances, appropriate music, and other decorations, he exhibited a story from "Ovid's Metamorphosis," or some other fabulous history. Between the pauses of the acts he interwove a comic fable, consisting chiefly of the courtship of Harlequin and Columbine, with a variety of surprising adventures and tricks, which were produced by the magic wand of Harlequin; such as the sudden transformation of palaces and temples to huts and cottages; of men and women into wheelbarrows and joint stools; of trees turned to houses; colonnades to beds of tulips; and mechanics' hops into serpents and ostriches.
It is a most remarkable fact that the Pantomimes that Rich brought out, all of them could be written down as successes. In the exhibition of his Pantomimes, Mr. Rich always displayed the greatest taste. He had also acquired a considerable reputation as a performer of the motley hero under the name of "Lun Junr," as he was so designated on the bills at that time, and he was the first performer who rendered the character of Harlequin at all intelligible in this country. To others he taught the art of silent, but expressive, action, the interpreter of the mind. Feeling was pre-eminent in his Miming; and he used to render the scene of a separation with Columbine as graphic as it was affecting. Excellent were his "statue scenes" and his "catching the butterfly;" so also were his other dumb show performances.
Of Rich, Garrick wrote:—
"When Lun appeared with matchless art and whim,He gave the power of speech to every limb;Though masked and mute conveyed his quick intent,And told in frolic's gestures all he meant."
Rich, however, erred in thinking himself a better actor than a Pantomimist; and, in fact, he thought himself a finer actor than the great Garrick himself. "You should seemeplay Richard!" was a favourite cry of his.
In 1782, after seeing the Pantomime of "Robinson Crusoe," Walpole said, "How unlike the Pantomimes of Rich, which were full of wit, and coherent, and carried on by a story."
As I have shown above, Rich had, like many other people, his own particular little idiosyncrasies, and when in the season 1746-7 he netted nearly £9,000 from his Pantomimes, to the chagrin of Garrick and Quin, he was very angry and much annoyed because he, as Harlequin, had contributed little or nothing. Another mannerism of his was to despise the regular drama on these occasions, and he has been known to look at the packed audience through a small hole in the curtain, and then ejaculate, "Ah! you are there, you fools, are you? Much good may it do you!"
Rich used to address everyone as "Mister." On one occasion Foote, being incensed at being so addressed, asked Rich why he did not call him by his name. "Don't be angry," says Rich, "I sometimes forget my own name." "I know," replied Foote, "that you can't write your own name, but I wonder you should forget it."
The first of Rich's successes was "Harlequin Sorcerer." On its production Pope wrote:—
"Behold a sober sorcerer riseSwift to whose wand a winged volume flies;All sudden, gorgon's hiss and dragon's glare,And ten horned fiends and giants rush to war.Hell rises, heaven descends, and dance on earth,Gods, imps and monsters, music, rage and mirth,A fire, a jig, a battle, and a ball,Till one wide conflagration swallows all;Thence a new world to nature's laws unknown,Breaks out refulgent with a heaven its own;Another Cynthia her new journey runs,And other planets circle after suns.The forests dance, the rivers upwards rise,Whales sport in woods, and dolphins in the skies;At last, to give the whole creation grace,Lo! one vast egg produces human race."
Of Harlequin, in "Harlequin Sorcerer," being hatched from an egg by the rays of the sun. This has been called a master-piece of Rich's Miming "From the first chipping of the egg (says Jackson) his receiving of motion, his feeling of the ground, his standing upright, to his quick Harlequin trip round the empty shell, through the whole progression, every limb had its tongue, and every motion a voice."
As probably occurring in "Harlequin Sorcerer," there is an amusing incident. The belief in the possibility of a supernatural appearance on the stage existed (says an old writer) about the beginning of the eighteenth century. A dance of infernals having to be exhibited, they were represented in dresses of black and red, with fiery eyes and snaky locks, and garnished with every pendage of horror. They were twelve in number. In the middle of their performance, while intent upon the figure in which they had been completely practised, an actor of some humour, who had been accommodated with a spare dress, appeared among them. He was, if possible, more terrific than the rest, and seemed to the beholders as designed by the conductor for the principal fiend. His fellow furies took the alarm; they knew he did not belong to them, and they judged him an infernal in earnest. Their fears were excited, a general panic ensued, and the whole group fled different ways; some to their dressing-rooms, and others, through the streets, to their own homes, in order to avoid the destruction which they believed to be coming upon them, for the profane mockery they had been guilty of. The odd devil wasnon inventus. He took himself invisibly away, through fears of another kind. He was, however, seen by many, in imagination, to fly through the roof of the house, and they fancied themselves almost suffocated by the stench he had left behind. The confusion of the audience is scarcely to be described. They retired to their families, informing them of this supposed appearance of the devil, with many of his additional frolics in the exploit. So thoroughly was its reality believed that every official assurance which could be made the following day did not entirely counteract the idea. The explanation was given by Rich himself, in the presence of his friend Bencraft, the contriver, and perhaps the actor of the scheme, which he designed only as an innocent affair, to confuse the dancers, without adverting to the serious consequences which succeeded.
I have met with another author, who, in giving an account of this transaction, places it as a much earlier period, and says it was during the performance of "Dr. Faustus," and that when the devil took flight he carried away with him the roof of the theatre. This story may be alluded to in a very curious work, entitled, "The Blacke Booke" (a proper depository), "London, printed in black letter, by T.C. for Jeffery Chorlton, 1604." "The light burning serjant Lucifer" says of one, running away through fear of fire at a brothel, "Hee had a head of hayre like one of my divells in 'Doctor Faustus,' when the olde theatre crakt and frighted the audience."
Emulating Rich, Drury Lane then followed with "Mars and Venus," of which Colley Cibber says: Was formed into something more than motion without meaning into a connected presentation of dances in character, wherein the passions were so happily expressed, and the whole story so intelligibly told by a mute narration of gesture only, that even thinking spectators allowed it to be both a pleasing and a rational entertainment; though, at the same time, from our distrust of its reception we durst not venture to decorate it with any extraordinary expense of scenes or habits; but upon the success of this attempt it was rightly concluded that if a visible expense in both were added to something of the same nature, it could not fail of drawing the town proportionately after it.
From this original hint there (but every way unequal to it) sprang forth that succession of monstrous medlies, that have so long infested the stage, and which arose upon one another alternately, at both houses, outvying in expense, like contending bribes on both sides at an election, to secure a majority of the multitude.
If I am asked (after condemning these fooleries myself) how I came to assent or continue my share of expense to them? I have no better excuse for my error, than confessing it. I did it against my conscience, and had not virtue enough to starve by opposing a multitude that would have been too hard for me.
("The Drama's laws the Drama's patrons give," has always been an axiom of the stage; and worthy Colley Cibber, notwithstanding his antagonism, and the rivalry of Rich, had too good a knowledge of this truism not to do otherwise but follow the popular voice.)
Notwithstanding then (Cibber continues) this, our compliance with the vulgar taste, we generally made use of these Pantomimes, but as crutches to our weakest plays. Nor were we so lost to all sense of what was valuable, as to dishonor our best authors in such bad company. We still had a due respect to several select plays, that were able to be their own support; and in which we found constant account, without painting and patching them out.... It is a reproach to a sensible people to let folly so quickly govern their pleasures.
Henry Fielding, the novelist, was one of Harlequin's assailants. "The comic part of the English Pantomimes," he says, "being duller than anything before shown on the stage could only be set off by the superlative dulness of the serious portion, in which the gods and goddesses were so insufferably tedious, that Harlequin was always a relief from still worse company." Eager for theatrical reform, the "Weekly Miscellany" of 1732, said that plays were not intended for tradesmen, and denounced Pantomimes as infamous.
Another competitor, who entered the lists against Rich, was Thormond, a dancing-master, and at Drury Lane Theatre he produced "Dr. Faustus," in 1733. Speaking of this Pantomime, Pasquin mentions that "An account is very honestly published, to save people the trouble of going to see it."
In a Pantomime produced at Drury Lane in the following year, there were Macklin, Theo. Cibber (who ultimately lost his life by shipwreck in the Irish Sea, in company with a troupe of Pantomimists), Mrs. Clive, and Mrs. Cibber. At the performance it was announced that the money paid would be returned to anyone who went out before the overture; but no one availed themselves of the concession. Commenting on the occurrence, a contemporary writer observes:—"Happy is it that we live in an age of taste, when the dumb eloquence and natural wit and humour of Harlequin are justly preferred to the whining of Tragedy, or the vulgarity of Comedy."
Garrick, at Drury Lane, finding his audience with no heart for tragedy, and that they must have Pantomime, very wisely said, "If you won't come to 'Lear' and 'Hamlet,' I must give you Harlequin." And Harlequin he did give them, in the person of Woodward, one of the best of Harlequins that ever trod the stage. A contemporary print of the time, represents Woodward being weighed in one scale, with all the great actors of the day in the other, and Woodward makes them all kick the beam.
To satirise the prevailing fashion, Garrick penned the following:—
They in the drama find no joys,But doat on mimicry and toys;Thus, when a dance is on my bill,Nobility my boxes fill;Or send three days before the timeTo crowd a new-made Pantomime.
Garrick's success, however, was, I am of opinion, undoubtedly owing to his being such a clever Pantomimist. "We saw him," says Grimm, "play the dagger scene in 'Macbeth' in a room in his ordinary dress, without any stage illusion; and, as he followed with his eyes the air-drawn dagger, he became so grand that the assembly broke into a cry of general admiration. Who would believe that this same man, a moment after, counterfeited, with equal perfection, a pastry cook's boy, who, carrying a tray of tartlets on his head, and gaping about him at the corner of the street, lets his tray fall, and, at first stupified by the accident, bursts at last into a fit of crying?"
All our great actors have been good Mimics, and herein, doubtless, lies the secret of their success. The mere intonation of words unaccompanied by a strict knowledge of "that dumb, silent language," Pantomime, is onlyparroting. Herein, therefore, lies the true imitativeness of the actor, andthe natural form of acting. The word actor "Is a name only given to the persons in a dramatic work,because they ought to be in continual action during the performance of it." It does not mean that the actor is to stand still, and to be in action only with his tongue when speaking his "lines." No! he bears the honoured name of actor, and he should bring the full power of gesture language—Pantomime—that he has at his control into play in order to be convincing in the character that, for the time being, he is.
Action (mentions Betterton, in his "History of the English Stage," 1741), can never be in its perfection but on the stage. Action, indeed, has a natural excellence in it superior to all other qualities; action is motion, and motion is the support of nature, which without it would sink into the sluggish mass of chaos. Life is motion, and when that ceases, the human body so beautiful, nay so divine, when enlivened by motion, becomes a dead and putrid corpse, from which all turn their eyes. The eye is caught by anything in motion, but passes over the sluggish and motionless things as not the pleasing object of its view.
The natural power of motion, or action, is the reason that the attention of the audience is fixed by any irregular, or even fantastic action, on the stage, of the most indifferent player; and supine and drowsy when the best actor speaks without the addition of action. The stage ought to be the seat of passion in its various kinds, and, therefore, the actors ought to be thoroughly acquainted with the whole nature of the affections, and habits of the mind, or else they will never be able to express them justly in their looks and gestures, as well as in the tone of their voice and manner of utterance. They must know them in their various mixtures, as they are differently blended together in the different characters they represent; and then that excellent rule in the "Essay on Poetry" will be of equal use to the poet and player:—
Who must look within to findThesesecretturns of Nature in the mind;Without this part in vain would be the whole,And but abodyall without a soul?
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 stageAnd 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.
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 wasGrim-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, agoodPantomime, 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 whattheydeem to be frivolity; while they only expose more clearly to all observers the sad vacuum which exists in theirpericraniums. 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 arewise, 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:—