"When Lun appeared, with matchless art and whim,
He gave the power of speech to every limb,
Tho' mask'd and mute, convey'd his quick intent,
And told in frolic gestures what he meant;
But now the motley coat and sword of wood
Require a tongue to make them understood!'"
Foote, it was, we think, who attempted to get a standing for a Harlequin with a wooden leg upon the English stage; and though he was supported by a clown upon crutches, these and other efforts to effect a witty reform in the mechanism of an English pantomime proved unsuccessful. "Why is this burlesque race here," inquires Mr. D'Israeli, "privileged to cost so much, to do so little, and repeat that little so often?" In 1827, according to a statement which we believe to be tolerably correct, the "getting up," as it is termed, of the pantomimes produced on the 26th of December, in London, cost at—
| Covent Garden | £1,000 |
| Drury Lane | 1,000 |
| Surrey | 500 |
| Adelphi | 200 |
| Olympic | 150 |
| Sadler's Wells | 100 |
| West London | 100 |
| ——— | |
| Making the total of | £3,050 |
and in other years, we believe the cost has been considerably more; and yet this enormous expenditure left no impression on the popular memory, mere stage-trick being far below the exhibition of a juggler. True it is, that clever artists have been for many years employed to design and paint the scenery of the pantomimes, and consequently admirable pictures have been exhibited, especially at the national theatres, where this feature, indeed, constitutes the main attraction of the evening's performance. The stupid tragedy of "George Barnwell," produced for the sake of the city apprentices, was formerly the usual prelude to the Christmas pantomime on the night of St. Stephen's Day. Hone, in his "Every-Day Book," has chronicled that "the representation of this tragedy was omitted in the Christmas holidays of 1819, at both theatres, for the first time." To be sure, this dull affair answered the purpose as well as any other, it being an established rule with the tenants of the theatrical Olympus that nothing shall be heard save their own thunders, previously to the pantomime on St. Stephen's night. The most famous pantomime which has been played in our times is unquestionably Mother Goose. When it was produced, or to whom the authorship is ascribed, we know not; but in 1808 it was revived and played at the Haymarket, with an additional scene representing the burning of Covent Garden Theatre. The pantomimes of the last thirty years have failed to effect a total eclipse of the brilliancy of "Harlequin and Mother Goose, or the Golden Egg;" which found its way into the list of provincial stock-pieces.
Connected with this golden age of English pantomime, the recollection of Grimaldi, Joey Grimaldi, as the gallery folk delighted to call him, is an obvious association. His acting like that of Liston must have been seen to be understood or appreciated; for no description can convey an adequate idea of the power of expression and gesture. They who have not seen Joey may never hope to look upon his like; and they who have seen him must never expect to see his like again. On the English stage never was clown like Grimaldi! He was far more than a clown, he was a great comic actor. But his constitution soon gave way under the trials to which it was exposed. In the depth of winter, after performing at Sadler's Wells, he was brought down night after night wrapped in blankets to Covent Garden; and there had, for the second time in the course of the same evening, to go through the allotted series of grimaces, leaps, and tumbles. Poor Grimaldi, sunk by these exertions into a premature old age, was finally obliged to retire from the stage on the 27th of June, 1828; and the Literary Gazette thus pleasantly, but feelingly, announced his intention:—
"Our immense favorite, Grimaldi, under the severe pressure of years and infirmities, is enabled through the good feeling and prompt liberality of Mr. Price, to take a benefit at Drury Lane on Friday next; the last of Joseph Grimaldi! Drury's, Covent Garden's, Sadler's, everybody's Joe! The friend of Harlequin and Farley-kin! the town clown! greatest of fools! daintiest of motleys! the true ami des enfans! The tricks and changes of life, sadder, alas! than those of pantomime, have made a dismal difference between the former flapping, filching, laughing, bounding antic and the present Grimaldi. He has no spring in his foot, no mirth in his eye! The corners of his mouth droop mournfully earthward; and he stoops in the back, like the weariest of Time's porters! L'Allegro has done with him, and Il Penseroso claims him for its own! It is said, besides, that his pockets are neither so large nor so well stuffed as they used to be on the stage: and it is hard to suppose fun without funds, or broad grins in narrow circumstances."
The mummers, who still go about at this season of the year in some parts of England, are the last descendants of those maskers, who in former times, as we have shown at length, contributed to the celebrations of the season, at once amongst the highest and lowest classes of the land; as their performances present, also, the last semblances of those ancient Mysteries and Moralities, by which the splendid pageants of the court were preceded. Sir Walter Scott, in a note to "Marmion," seems to intimate that these mummeries are, in fact, the offspring and relics of the old Mysteries themselves. The fact, however, seems rather to be, that these exhibitions existed before the introduction of the Scripture plays; and that the one and the other are separate forms of a practice copied directly from the festival observances of the pagans. Accordingly, Brand speaks of a species of mumming which "consists in changing clothes between men and women who, when dressed in each other's habits go from one neighbor's house to another, partaking of Christmas cheer and making merry with them in disguise;" and which practice he traces directly to the Roman Sigillaria. In various parts of the Continent also, as in France and Germany, certain forms of mumming long existed, which appear to have been originally borrowed from the rites of idolatry: and the Scottish Guisars, or Guisarts, if the very ingenious explanation of their hogmanay cry given by Mr. Repp (and for which we refer our readers to vol. iv., part 1, of the Archæologia Scotica) be correct, connect themselves with the superstitions of the northern nations.
Amongst the forms of ancient mumming which have come down to the present or recent times, we may observe that the hobby-horse formed as late as the seventeenth century a prominent character, and that something of this kind seems still to exist. Dr. Plot in his "History of Staffordshire" mentions a performance called the "Hobby-horse Dance," as having taken place at Abbot's Bromley during the Christmas season, within the memory of man; and we have already shown that a modification of the same practice continues to the present day, or did to within a few years back, in the Isle of Thanet. This dance is described by Dr. Plot as being composed of "a person who carried the image of a horse between his legs, made of thin boards, and in his hand a bow and arrow. The latter, passing through a hole in the bow and stopping on a shoulder, made a snapping noise when drawn to and fro, keeping time with the music. With this man danced six others, carrying on their shoulders as many reindeer heads with the arms of the chief families to whom the revenues of the town belonged. They danced the heys, and other country dances. To the above Hobby-horse there belonged a pot, which was kept by turns by the reeves of the town, who provided cakes and ale to put into this pot,—all people who had any kindness for the good intent of the institution of the sport, giving pence a-piece for themselves and families. Foreigners also that came to see it contributed; and the money, after defraying the expense of the cakes and ale, went to repair the church and support the poor." A reason given by some as the origin of this practice, we have already stated in our mention of "hodening;" and our readers will see that its object, like that of the other similar observances of this season, was charity.
In some parts of the north of England, a custom exists to the present time which appears to be composed of the ancient Roman sword-dance, or, perhaps, the sword-dance of the northern nations, and lingering traces of the obsolete "Festival of Fools." This practice, which is called the "Fool Plough," consists in a pageant composed of "a number of sword-dancers dragging a plough, with music, and one, sometimes two, in very strange attire; the Bessy in the grotesque habit of an old woman, and the fool almost covered with skins, a hairy cap on, and the tail of some animal hanging from his back. The office of one of these characters, in which he is very assiduous, is to go about rattling a box amongst the spectators of the dance, in which he receives their little donations." Our readers will probably remember that a set of these mummers are introduced by Washington Irving, in his account of a Christmas spent in Yorkshire.