Inigo Jones and Jonson first collaborated in the "Masque of Blackness," performed at Whitehall on Twelfth Night, 1603. In our money this Masque cost some £10,000. Jones and Jonson's quarrel originated because the poet had, in the "Masque of Chloridia," performed in 1630, prefixed his own name before that of Jones. In consequence of this "rare old Ben" was deprived—through Jones' influence—of employment at Court.
Gifford, in his "Memoirs of Ben Jonson," says that "In poetry, painting, architecture, they (the Masques) have not since been equalled."
"The Masque," continues Gifford, "as it attained its highest degree of excellence, admitted of dialogue, singing and dancing; these were not independent of one another, but combined by the introduction of some ingenious fable into an harmonious whole. When the plan was formed, the aid of the sister-arts was called in; for the essence of the Masque was pomp and glory. Movable scenery of the most costly and splendid kind was lavished on the Masque; the most celebrated masters were employed on the songs and dances; and all that the kingdom afforded of vocal and instrumental excellence was employed to embellish the exhibition. Thus, magnificently constructed, was composed, as Lord Bacon says, for princes, and by princes it was played. Of these Masques, the skill with which their ornaments were designed, and the inexpressible grace with which they were executed appear to have left a vivid impression on the mind of Jonson. His genius awakens at once, and all his faculties attune to sprightliness and pleasure. He makes his appearance like his own Delight, accompanied with Grace, Love, Harmony, Revel, Sport, and Laughter."
In the Masques the Pantomimic dances of the Masquers were known as motions:—
"In curious knot and mazes so
The Spring at first was taught to go;
And Zephyr, when he came to woo
His Flora had his motions too;
And thus did Venus learn to lead
The Idalian brawls, and so to tread,
As if the wind, not she did walk,
Nor press'd a flower, nor bow'd a stalk."
Before the arrival of the Italian Masque in England, the Harlequin family were unknown, and, doubtless, Harlequin's first appearance in this country was in consonance with the Masque itself.
Heywood, in a tract, published in 1609, entitled, "Troia Britannica," mentions "Zanyes, Pantaloons, Harlakeans, in which the French, but especially the Italians, have been excellent as known in this country."
The earliest record I can find of a Harlequin performing in this country is in the Masque given before Charles I. and his Court on the Sunday evening following Twelfth Night, 1637. An account of this Masque, as well as other information dealing with the Masque entertainments, will be found in my volume, "Stage Whispers," and in the article on theatrical scenery.
In a comedy, written by Ravenscroft, after the Italian manner, Joe Haines, in 1667, donned the motley jacket of Harlequin, and which, in all probability, was the first appearance of Harlequin on the English boards, though not in England, as stated above. In a farce of the audacious Mrs. Aphra Behn's, produced twenty years afterwards, Harlequin and Scaramouch were two of the characters. Mrs. Behn died April 16, 1689, and was buried in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey. To Marlowe's "Faustus," Mountfort added comic scenes to the tragedy, introducing Harlequin and Scaramouch. A Harlequin, Pantaloon, Columbine, and Clown appeared in a curious piece in 1697, entitled, "Novelty; or Every Act a Play." The first act consisted of a pastoral Drama, the second of a Comedy, the third a Masque, the fourth a Tragedy, and the fifth act a Farce.
In Italy the fame of Harlequin was at its zenith at the close of the seventeenth century. In this country in 1687 a Harlequin (Penkethman) appeared in a farce called "The Emperor of the Moon" without a mask. Colley Cibber says of this performance "That when he (Penkethman) first played Harlequin in 'The Emperor of the Moon' several gentlemen (who inadvertently judged by the rules of nature) fancied that a great deal of the drollery, and spirit of his grimace was lost by his wearing that useless, unmeaning mask, therefore insisted that the next time of his acting that part he should play without it. Their desire was accordingly complied with, but alas! in vain—Penkethman was no more Harlequin. His humour was quite disconcerted."