A certain somewhat stout Mephistopheles had to disappear through a trap-door amid red fire, but the trap was small and he was big and stuck halfway. The position was embarrassing, when a voice from the gallery called out:
“Cheer up, guv’nor. Hell’s full.”
Electricity plays a great part in the production of a pantomime, not only as regards the lighting of the scenes, but also as a motive power for the lifts which are used for the stage. Many new inventions born during the course of a year are utilised when the Christmas festival is put on.
The property-room presents a busy scene before a pantomime, and really it is wonderful what can be produced within its walls. Almost everything is made in papier mâché. Elaborate golden chairs and couches, chariots and candelabras, although framed in wood, are first moulded in clay, then covered with papier mâché. Two large fires burned in the room, which when I entered was crowded with workmen, and the heat was overpowering. Amid all that miscellaneous property, every one seemed interested in what he was doing, whether making wire frames for poke bonnets, or larger wire frames for geese, or the groundwork of champagne bottles to contain little boys. Each man had a charcoal drawing on brown paper to guide him, and very cleverly many of the drawings were executed. Some of the men were quite sculptors, so admirably did they model masks and figures in papier mâché. The more elaborate pieces are prepared outside the theatre, but a great deal of the work for the production is done within old Drury Lane.
What becomes of these extra property-men after the “festive season”? Practically the same staff appear each Christmas only to disappear from “The Lane” for almost another year. Of course there is a large permanent staff of property-men employed, but it is only at Christmas-time that so large an army is required for the gigantic pantomime changes with the transformation scenes.
That nearly everything is made on the premises is in itself a marvel. Of course the grander dresses are obtained from outside; some come from Paris, while others are provided by tradesmen in London. The expense is very great; indeed, it may be roughly reckoned it costs about £20,000 to produce a Drury Lane Pantomime; but then, on the other hand, that sum is generally taken at the doors or by the libraries in advance-booking before the curtain rises on the first night.
An important person at Drury Lane is the wardrobe-woman. She has entire control of thousands of dresses, and keeps a staff continually employed mending and altering, for after each performance something requires attention. She has a little room of her own, mostly table, so far as I could see, on which were piled dresses, poke bonnets, and artists’ designs, while round the walls hung more dresses brought in for her inspection. In other odd rooms and corners women sat busily sewing, some trimming headgear, other spangling ribbon. Some were joining seams by machinery, others quilling lace; nothing seemed finished, and yet everything had to be ready in nine days, and that vast pile of chaos reduced to order. It seemed impossible; but the impossible was accomplished.
“Why this hurry?” some one may ask.
“Because the autumn drama was late in finishing, the entire theatre had to be cleared, and although everything was fairly ready outside, nothing could be brought into Drury Lane till a fortnight before Boxing Day. Hence the confusion and hurry.”
Large wooden cases of armour, swords and spears, from abroad, were waiting to be unpacked, fitted to each girl, and numbered so that the wearer might know her own.