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.