It would be an easy matter to fill many of these pages with stories of the humorous productions and the laughable performances of Burton and Brougham on the Chambers Street boards. The literature of the American theatre overflows with anecdotes of their quarrels and their reconciliations upon the stage, their jokes upon each other, their impromptu wit, their unexpected “gags”—which were always looked for—the liberties they took with their authors, their audiences, and themselves, and, above all, with their incomparable acting in every part, whether it was serious or frivolous.
The last, and in many respects the greatest, of the trio of actors, authors, and managers who may be considered the founders of American burlesque, began his brilliant but brief reign at the Lyceum, at Broome Street, late in 1850, about the time of the retirement of Mitchell, and long before his later rival, Burton, was ready to lay down his sceptre. If America has ever had an Aristophanes, John Brougham was his name. His Pocahontas and Columbus are almost classics. They rank among the best, if they are not the very best, burlesques in any living language. Their wit is never coarse, they ridicule nothing which is not a fit subject for ridicule, they outrage no serious sentiment, they hurt no feelings, they offend no portion of the community, they shock no modesty, they never blaspheme; and, as Dr. Benjamin Ellis Martin has happily expressed it, their author was “the first to give to burlesque its crowning comic conceit of utter earnestness, of solemn seriousness.”
The Lyceum was opened on the 23d of December, 1850, with “an occasional rigmarole entitled Brougham, and Co.,” which introduced the entire company to the public. The next absurdity was A Row at the Lyceum, with Mr. Florence in the gallery, Mr. Brougham himself in the pit, and the rest of the dramatis personæ upon the stage; and shortly before the abrupt close of Mr. Brougham’s management he presented What Shall We Do for Something New? in which Mrs. Brougham appeared as Rudolpho, Mrs. Skerrett as Elvino, and Mr. Johnstone as Amina, in a travesty upon La Sonnambula.
Upon the same stage, on Christmas Eve, 1855, but under the management of the elder Wallack, Brougham produced his “Original, Aboriginal, Erratic, Operatic, Semi-civilized, and Demi-savage Extravaganza of Pocahontas.” The scenery, as announced, was painted from daguerreotypes and other authentic documents, the costumes were cut from original plates, and the music was dislocated and reset, by the heads of the different departments of the theatre. Charles Walcot played John Smith, “according to this story, but somewhat in variance with his story”; Miss Hodson played the titular part, and Mr. Brougham represented “Pow-Ha-Tan I., King of the Tuscaroras—a Crotchety Monarch, in fact a Semi-Brave.” At the close of the opening song (to the air of “Hoky-poky-winky-wum”) he thus addressed his people:
“Well roared, indeed, my jolly Tuscaroras.
Most loyal corps, your King encores your chorus;”
and until the fall of the curtain, at the end of the second and last act, the scintillations of wit and the thunder of puns were incessant and startling. “May I ask,” says Col-o-gog (J. H. Stoddart), “in the word lie, what vowel do you use, sir, i or y?”
“Y, sir, or I, sir, search the vowels through,
And find the one most consonant to you.”
Later the King cries:
“Sergeant-at-arms, say, what alarms the crowd;
Loud noise annoys us; why is it allowed?”
And Captain Smith, describing his first introduction at the royal court, says: