In "Arlequin Lingere du Palais," played at the Hotel de Bourgogne in October, 1682, there was represented two stalls—an underclothier's and a confectioner's. Harlequin dressed half like a man and half like a woman, with a mask on each side of his face to match presides in this dual capacity at both stalls. Pasquariel, who comes to buy, is utterly bewildered, and is made the target of both jests and missiles of monsieur of the confectioners, and mademoiselle of the adjoining stall. Possibly the shop scenes in our English Harlequinades may have originated from this. A similar idea to the above was given in O'Keefe's Pantomime of "Harlequin Teague; or the Giants' Causeway," performed at the Haymarket in 1782. Charles Bannister appeared in this Pantomime and sang a duet as a giant with two heads, one side representing a gentleman of quality, and the other a hunting squire. Mrs. German Reed, about 1855, appeared representing two old women, between whom an imaginary conversation was held, Mrs. Reed turning first one side of her face to the audience, and then the other. Fred Maccabe, in his "Essence of Faust," had also a similar allusion, and by many "transformation dancers" was it used. The antiquity of many other devices could be noted, but I must desist, yet I cannot help remarking that even here we have more exemplifications of history repeating itself.
Scenical representations and mechanical devices in Italy had long been made a fine art, and an English traveller and critic observes that our painting compared to theirs is only daubing. I find among their decorations statues of marble, alabaster, palaces, colonnades, galleries, and sketches of architecture; pieces of perspective that deceive the judgment as well as the eye; prospects of a prodigious extent in spaces not thirty feet deep. As for their machines I can't think it in the power of human wit to carry their inventions further. In 1697, I saw at Venice an elephant discovered on the stage, when, in an instant, an army was seen in its place; the soldiers, having by the disposition of their shields, given so true a representation of it as if it had been a real elephant.
In Rome, at the Theatre Capranio, in 1698, there was a ghost of a woman surrounded by guards. This phantom, extending her arms and unfolding her clothes, was, with one motion, transformed into a perfect palace, with its front, its wings, body, and courtyard. The guards, striking their halberds on the stage, were immediately turned into so many waterworks, cascades, and trees, that formed a charming garden before the palace. At the same theatre, in the opera "Nerone Infante," the interior of hell was shown. Here part of the stage opened, and discovered a scene underneath, representing several caves, full of infernal spirits, that flew about, discharging fire and smoke, on another side the river of Lethe and Charon's boat. Upon this landing a prodigious monster appeared, whose mouth opening to the great horror of the spectators, covered the front wings of the remaining part of the stage. Within his jaws was discovered a throne of fire, and a multitude of monstrous snakes, on which Pluto sat. After this the great monster, expanding his wings, began to move very slowly towards the audience. Under his body appeared a great multitude of devils, who formed themselves into a ballet, and plunged, one after the other, into the opening of the floor. The great monster was in an instant transformed into an innumerable multitude of broad white butterflies, which flew all into the pit, and so low that some often touched the hats of several of the spectators, and at last they disappeared. During this circumstance, which sufficiently employed the eyes of the spectators, the stage was refitted, and the scene changed into a beautiful garden, with which the third act began.
The scene painter, Devoto, painted the scenery and decorations for the Goodman's Fields Theatre, where, it is interesting to note, David Garrick made his first London appearance in 1741. His first appearance on any stage had been made at Ipswich on Tuesday, 21st July, in the same year, under the name of Lyddall. Garrick, during his time, introduced many novelties in the way of scenery and transparencies, acting on the suggestions of Signor Seivandoni, the scenic artist at the Opera-house, and the fencing master, Dominico Angelo. These transparencies became the talk of London, and it has been known for several plays to have been written so as to introduce them. The first transparent scene is said to have been the "Enchanted Wood," introduced in "Harlequin's Invasion," at Drury Lane, the painter being one French, the scenic artist of the theatre.
Beverley, the scene painter for Madame Vestris, half a century ago, brought fairy, or Pantomime, scenes to great perfection. Leopold Wagner, speaking of them, says:—"We have it upon the authority of Mr. Planché that these were almost entirely due to the skilled efforts and successes of Mr. William Beverley, who, in the nature of Extravaganza, so impressed the public with his fine talents as an artist upon theatrical canvas, that gorgeous scenes became quite the rage, and how, year after year, Mr. Beverley's powers were taxed to the utmost to outdo his former triumphs, and how the most costly materials and complicated machinery were annually put into requisition until the managers began to suffer."
Speaking of the production on the 26th December, 1849, of "The Island of Jewels," Planché says, "The novel, and yet exceedingly simple, falling of the leaves of a palm tree, which discovered six fairies, supporting a coronet of jewels, produced such an effect as I scarcely remember having witnessed on any similar occasion up to that period. The last scene became the first in the estimation of the management. The most complicated machinery, the most costly materials were annually put into requisition, until their bacon was so buttered that it was impossible to save it. Nothing was considered brilliant but the last scene. Dutch metal was in the ascendant. It was no longer even painting, it was upholstery. Mrs. Charles Mathews herself informed me that she had paid between £60 and £70 for gold tissue for the dresses of the Supernumeraries alone." I wonder what Mrs. Mathews would say if she could now visit this terrestrial sphere of ours?
All this love of spectacular display soon began to supersede the good old-fashioned Christmas Pantomimes.
In his work, "Behind the Scenes," Mr. Fitzgerald very graphically describes the Transformation scene of later days, and now becoming nearly as obsolete as the Harlequinade. All will recall in some elaborate transformation scene how quietly and gradually it is evoked. First the gauzes lift slowly one behind the other—perhaps the most pleasing of all scenic effects—giving glimpses of the Realms of Bliss seen beyond in a tantalising fashion. Then is revealed a kind of half glorified country, clouds and banks evidently concealing much. Always a sort of pathetic, and, at the same time, exultant strain rises, and is repeated as the changes go on; now we hear the faint tinkle—signal to those aloft on the "bridges" to open more glories. Now some of the banks begin to part slowly, showing realms of light with a few divine beings—fairies—rising slowly here and there. More breaks beyond, and more fairies rising with a pyramid of these ladies beginning to mount slowly in the centre. Thus it goes on, the lights streaming on full in every colour and from every quarter in the richest effulgence. In some of the more daring efforts the femmes suspendues seem to float in the air or rest on the frail support of sprays or branches of trees. While, finally, at the back of all the most glorious paradise of all will open, revealing the pure empyrean itself, and some fair spirit aloft in a cloud among the stars; the apex of all. Then all motion ceases; the work is complete; the fumes of crimson, red, and blue fire begin to rise at the wings; the music bursts into a crash of exultation; and, possibly to the general disenchantment, a burly man, in a black frock coat, steps out from the side and bows awkwardly. Then, to a shrill whistle, the first scene of the Harlequinade closes in, and shuts out the brilliant vision.