A History of Pantomime

by R. J. Broadbent

Our old favourites, the Grimaldis, father and son, Mr. Ellar as Harlequin, and Mr. Barnes as Pantaloon, were hailed, on their appearance, with the warmth of greeting to which their excellence in their several parts fully entitles them, and displayed their wonted drollery, gracefulness, and agility: and Miss Brissak, who, for the first time, appeared as Columbine, acquitted herself with tolerable credit, and was very well received.

The scenery in general was marked with that characteristic beauty and highly-finished excellence, which have long distinguished the productions of this theatre: and the panoramic series of views of the River Thames, from Greenwich to the Nore, on the passage of the Royal flotilla for Scotland, and its arrival in Leith Roads, probably surpass everything of the kind before exhibited. There are several diverting tricks and ingenious changes. Grimaldi's equipment of a patent safety coach at Brighton, in particular was highly amusing. The machinery, which is, in many instances, of a most complicated description, worked remarkably well for a first night's exhibition; and the whole went off with a degree of eclat, which must have been exceedingly gratifying to the managers, as auguring the probability of such a lengthened run for the piece as may amply recompense the pains and expense which have been so lavishly bestowed in its preparation. The house was filled in every part, and the announcement of the Pantomime's repetition was received with the most clamorous approbation, undisturbed by a single dissentient voice.

The first production of "The House that Jack Built," at Covent Garden, on December 26, 1824, also reads interestingly:—

The Pantomime is before us, and we should ill-repay the pleasure it afforded us, if we did not acknowledge and make public its excellence. The name implies the source from which it is taken, and we had, therefore, the supreme pleasure of renewing our friendship with those very old acquaintances, the "Priest all shaven and shorn, the maiden all forlorn, the cow with the crumpled horn, the dog that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that eat up the malt, that lay in the House that Jack built." This, of course, gave us, as it appeared to do many others, great pleasure, "For should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind." Mr. Farley, however, who supports (like an Atlas) all the weight of bringing forward these annual pieces of fun and foolery, and who appears to be as learned in the mystic lore of "hoary antiquity," as he is in the mysteries of all the wonders of the tricks, changes, and mechanism of the Pantomimic world, has let us this time into a secret, which will doubtless cause much erudite argument, and pros and cons from various sage antiquarians for months to come, in that invaluable work of old Sylvanus Urban, 'yclept the "Gentlemen's Magazine." As the play-bills on which this important piece of information is to be found, will doubtless be bought up by all the mystogogii of the Metropolis, and shortly become scarce, we shall take the liberty of inserting it in our imperishable pages, for the benefit, not only of posterity, but for those of our own day, who are infected with the building mania, and who, we think, ought to make Mr. Farley some very valuable present to mark their sense of the obligation they are under to him, in consequence of the benefit which must accrue to them from it. It appears from this fragment in what manner Jack became possessed of his house, and which it never before occurred to us, to enquire. Thus then the mystery is elucidated by Mr. Farley.

Jack's Wager;

"By virtue of one of our forest charters, if a man do build a dwelling upon common land, from sun-set to sun-rise, and enclose a piece of ground, wherein there shall be a tree growing, a beast feeding, a fire kindled, and provision in the pot, such dwelling shall be freely held by the builder, anything to the contrary, nevertheless, notwithstanding." Forest Laws.

Accordingly Jack, in the opening scene, is represented just before nightfall, as completing his dwelling, by putting on the chimney pot as the finishing stroke; he then claims his bride, Rosebud, from her father, Gaffer Gandy, who refuses his consent, having determined on bestowing her hand on one Squire Sap. Jack, in despair, repairs to Poor Robin, the village astrologer, who is intently observing an eclipse of the moon (which, by-the-bye, is most excellently managed), and relates his griefs. The old man cheers his drooping spirits, by casting his nativity and finding by his observations, that Jack's stars are of the most benign influence, and that all his wishes shall be fulfilled. The marriage of the maiden all forlorn with the Squire is on the point of being completed, when Venus (one of whose doves had been preserved by Jack) dispatches Cupid to the assistance of the despairing lovers, by the magic of whose powerful wand the usual Pantomimic changes are effected in a trice—Jack becomes Harlequin; Rosebud, Columbine; Gaffer, Pantaloon; the Squire, the Lover; and the Priest, the Clown. Mirth, revelry, fun, frolic, and joviality are now the order of the day, and the scene changes to a view of Hyde Park and the Serpentine River on a frosty morning in January: in which is represented, with admirable effect, a display of patent skating. An oil cloth is spread upon the stage, a group comprised of various laughable characters are assembled on it, and skate about with as much rapidity, and precisely as though it were a sheet of ice. The adroit skill of old stagers on the slippery surface, with the clumsy awkwardness and terror of novices in the art, are well represented. A prodigious fat man makes his appearance; when a race is called for, he, of course, tries his prowess, when the ice cracking beneath the heavy weight assembled on it gives way with a heavy crash, and "Fatty" is consigned to a watery bed. Assistance is immediately tendered, when, by Harlequin's power, a lean and shrivelled spirit of the deep rises from below to the great alarm of the beholders, and whose limbs continue to expand till his head touches the clouds. The whole of the scene is one of the most laughable and best managed in the Pantomime. Kew Gardens, on a May-day morning, is also a very pleasing scene, in which some pretty Morris dancing is introduced. The Barber's shop, in which shaving by steam is hit off, is excellent in its way, but not so well understood in its details, as to make it equally effective in representation. Vauxhall Bridge, and the Gardens which succeeds it, are also charmingly painted by the Grieves, and from hence the Clown and Pantaloon take an "Aeronautic excursion" to Paris. This is a revolving scene—the balloon ascends—and the English landscape gradually recedes from the view—the gradual approach of night—the rising of the moon—the passing of the balloon through heavy clouds—and the return of day, are beautifully represented; the sea covered with ships, is seen in distant perspective with the French coast; a bird's-eye view of Paris follows, and the balloon safely descends in the gardens of the Tuileries. The adjoining palace, mansions, and gardens being brilliantly illuminated, give the scene a most splendid and picturesque effect. A variety of other scenes, but far too numerous to mention individually, deserve the highest applause, particularly the village of Bow, Leadenhall Market, with a change to an illuminated civic feast in the Guildhall; Burlington Arcade at night, and the village of Ganderclue by sunrise. The Temple of Iris, formed of the "radiant panoply of the heavenly arch," by Grieve, is most brilliant.

The advent of Pantomime, early in the eighteenth century, gave a special fillip to spectacular display, as they were all announced to be set off with "new scenery, decorations, and flyings."

Some of the stage devices of Pantomime are of considerable antiquity; as, for instance, the basket-work hobby-horses, that figured as far back as the old English Morris dances, to be revived in the French ballet of the seventeenth century, and, in after years, in English Pantomime.

The Pantomime donkey is at least, we are told, 200 years old. In "Arlequin Mercure Galant," produced in Paris in 1682, by the Italian Comedians, Harlequin made his entrance on a moke's back—and the merriment afterwards being greatly enhanced when Master "Neddy," with Pan seated on its back, suddenly came in two, to the consternation of the beholders. To the Italian Pantomime Comedians we owe many of our stage devices and tricks. The statue scene in "Frivolity," played by the Messrs. Leopolds, was introduced by the Italians in "Arlequin Lingere du Palais," when this piece was performed at Paris in 1682. Again, the device of cutting a hole in a portrait for an eaves-dropper's head to be inserted, was used in "Columbine Avocat" as far back as 1685.