Part 16

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.

The old Christmas play of "Saint George and the Dragon" is still amongst the most popular amusements of this season, in many parts of England. Whether this particular kind of performance is to be considered as dating from the return of the Crusaders, or that similar representations had existed previously, the characters of which alone were changed by that event, does not appear from any other remains that have reached us. There is evidence, however, that plays founded upon the legend of Saint George are of a very remote date; and, in all probability, they were introduced not long after the age of the Crusades. From various contributors to Mr. Hone's "Every-Day Book," we learn that versions of these plays are still performed amongst the lower orders at the Christmas tide, in the extreme western counties of England, as also in Cumberland, and some others of the more northern ones; and one of those correspondents, dating from Falkirk, gives an account of a play still performed by the Guisars, in some parts of Scotland, which is of similar construction and evidently borrowed from the same source, but in which one Galgacus is substituted for Saint George, as the hero of the piece; and the drama is made by that substitution to commemorate the successful battle of the Grampians, by the Scots under that leader, against the invader, Agricola. If Mr. Reddock be right in this opinion, Agricola is for the nonce elevated to the title of king of Macedon. The party who carries the bag for these mummers is a very questionable trustee, being no other than Judas Iscariot. Sir Walter Scott, in his notes to "Marmion," speaks of the same play as one in which he and his companions were in the habit of taking parts, when boys; and mentions the characters of the old Scripture-plays having got mixed up with it in the version familiar to him. He enumerates Saint Peter, who carried the keys; Saint Paul, who was armed with a sword; and Judas, who had the bag for contributions; and says that he believes there was also a Saint George. It is not unlikely there might, though he is not mentioned by Mr. Reddock, for the confusion of characters in all these versions is very great. In the Whitehaven edition, Saint George is son to the king of Egypt, and the hero who carries all before him is Alexander. He conquers Saint George and kills the king of Egypt. In fact the legend, as it exists in the old romance of "Sir Bevys of Hampton," has everywhere been mixed up with extraneous matter, and scarcely any two sets of performers render it alike. The plot seems, in all, to be pretty nearly the same; and the doctor, with his marvellous cures and empirical gibberish, seems to be common to them all. "But so little," says Sandys, "do the actors know the history of their own drama, that sometimes General Wolfe is introduced, who first fights Saint George, and then sings a song about his own death. I have also seen the Duke of Wellington represented." Mr. Reddock mentions, that during the war with France one of the characters in his version "was made to say that he had been 'fighting the French,' and that the _loon_ who took leg-bail was no less a personage than" the great Napoleon. Mr. Sandys mentions that occasionally there is a sort of anti-masque, or burlesque (if the burlesque itself _can_ be burlesqued) at the end of the performance; when some comic characters enter, called Hub Bub, Old Squire, etc., and the piece concludes with a dance. At other times, the performances are wound up by a song.

We may mention that we have in our possession an Irish version of the same play, as it is still played by the boys in that country; in which version, as might be expected, the championship is given to Saint Patrick, who asserts that Saint George was nothing more than "Saint Patrick's boy," and fed his horses. Another of the characters in this edition of the story is Oliver Cromwell, who, after certain grandiloquent boastings (amongst others, that he had "conquered many nations with his copper nose"), calls upon no less personage than Beelzebub to step in and confirm his assertions.

The costume and accoutrements of these mummers (of whom we have given a representation at page 65) appear to be pretty generally of the same kind, and, for the most part, to resemble those of morris-dancers. They are thus correctly described by Mr. Sandys. Saint George and the other tragic performers wear "white trousers and waistcoats, showing their shirt-sleeves, and are much decorated with ribbons and handkerchiefs, each carrying a drawn sword in his hand, if they can be procured, otherwise a cudgel. They wear high caps of pasteboard covered with fancy paper, adorned with beads, small pieces of looking-glass, bugles, etc., several long strips of pith generally hanging down from the top, with shreds of different colored cloth strung on them, the whole having a fanciful and smart effect. The Turk sometimes has a turban. Father Christmas is personified as a grotesque old man, wearing a large mask and wig, with a huge club in his hand. The doctor, who is sort of merry-andrew to the piece, is dressed in some ridiculous way, with a three-cornered hat and painted face. The female when there is one, is in the costume of her great-grandmother. The hobby-horse, when introduced, has a sort of representation of a horse's hide; but the dragon and the giant, when there is one, frequently appear with the same style of dress as the knights."

We will present our readers with the version of this old drama given by Mr. Sandys, as still performed in Cornwall. Elsewhere, we have met with some slight variations upon even this Cornwall piece, but will be content to print it as we find it in the collection in question. Our Lancashire readers will at once recognize its close resemblance to the play performed in that county, about the time of Easter, by the Peace-eggers, or Paste-eggers, of whom we shall speak, in their proper place, in a future volume.

_Enter the Turkish Knight._

Open your doors and let me in, I hope your favors I shall win; Whether I rise or whether I fall I'll do my best to please you all. Saint George is here, and swears he will come in, And if he does, I know he'll pierce my skin. If you will not believe what I do say, Let Father Christmas come in,--clear the way! [_Retires._

_Enter Father Christmas._

Here come I, old Father Christmas, Welcome, or welcome not, I hope old Father Christmas Will never be forgot. I am not come here to laugh or to jeer, But for a pocketful of money and a skinful of beer. If you will not believe what I do say, Come in the King of Egypt,--clear the way!

_Enter the King of Egypt._

Here I, the King of Egypt, boldly do appear, Saint George! Saint George! walk in, my only son and heir. Walk in, my son, Saint George! and boldly act thy part, That all the people here may see thy wond'rous art.

_Enter Saint George._

Here come I, Saint George, from Britain did I spring, I'll fight the Dragon bold, my wonders to begin, I'll clip his wings, he shall not fly; I'll cut him down, or else I die.

_Enter the Dragon._

Who's he that seeks the Dragon's blood, And calls so angry, and so loud? That English dog, will he before me stand? I'll cut him down with my courageous hand. With my long teeth and scurvy jaw, Of such I'd break up half a score, And stay my stomach, till I'd more.

[_Saint George and the Dragon fight,--the latter is killed._

_Father Christmas._

Is there a doctor to be found All ready, near at hand, To cure a deep and deadly wound, And make the champion stand?

_Enter Doctor._

Oh! yes, there is a doctor to be found All ready, near at hand, To cure a deep and deadly wound, And make the champion stand.

_Fa. Chris._ What can you cure?

_Doctor._ All sorts of diseases, Whatever you pleases, The phthisic, the palsy, and the gout; If the devil's in, I'll blow him out.

_Fa. Chris._ What is your fee?

_Doctor._ Fifteen pound, it is my fee, The money to lay down; But, as 'tis such a rogue as thee, I cure for ten pound. I carry a little bottle of alicumpane, Here Jack, take a little of my flip flop, Pour it down thy tip top, Rise up and fight again.

[_The Doctor performs his cure, the fight is renewed, and the Dragon again killed._

_Saint George._

Here am I, Saint George, That worthy champion bold! And with my sword and spear I won three crowns of gold! I fought the fiery dragon, And brought him to the slaughter; By that I won fair Sabra, The King of Egypt's daughter. Where is the man, that now me will defy? I'll cut his giblets full of holes, and make his buttons fly.

_The Turkish Knight advances._

Here come I, the Turkish knight, Come from the Turkish land to fight! I'll fight Saint George, who is my foe, I'll make him yield, before I go; He brags to such a high degree, He thinks there's none can do the like of he.

_Saint George._

Where is the Turk, that will before me stand? I'll cut him down with my courageous hand.

[_They fight, the Knight is overcome, and falls on one knee._

_Turkish Knight._

Oh! pardon me, Saint George! pardon of thee I crave, Oh! pardon me, this night, and I will be thy slave.

_Saint George._

No pardon shalt thou have, while I have foot to stand. So rise thee up again, and fight out sword in hand.

[_They fight again, and the Knight is killed; Father Christmas calls for the Doctor, with whom the same dialogue occurs as before, and the cure is performed._

_Enter the Giant Turpin._

Here come I, the Giant! bold Turpin is my name, And all the nations round do tremble at my fame. Where'er I go, they tremble at my sight, No lord or champion long with me would fight.

_Saint George._

Here's one that dares to look thee in the face, And soon will send thee to another place.

[_They fight, and the Giant is killed; medical aid is called in, as before, and the cure performed by the Doctor, who then, according to the stage direction, is given a basin of girdy grout, and a kick, and driven out._

_Father Christmas._

Now, ladies and gentlemen, your sport is most ended. So prepare for the hat, which is highly commended. The hat it would speak, if it had but a tongue. Come throw in your money, and think it no wrong.

And these, with the dance filling up the intervals and enlivening the winter nights, are amongst the sports and amusements which extend themselves over the Christmas season and connect together its more special and characteristic observances.

CHRISTMAS EVE.

24TH DECEMBER.

"Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time." HAMLET.

THE progress of the Christmas celebrations has at length brought us up to the immediate threshold of that high day in honor of which they are all instituted; and amid the crowd of festivities by which it is on all sides surrounded, the Christian heart makes a pause to-night. Not that the Eve of Christmas is marked by an entire abstinence from that spirit of festival by which the rest of this season is distinguished, nor that the joyous character of the event on whose immediate verge it stands requires that it should. No part of that season is more generally dedicated to the assembling of friends than are the great day itself and the eve which ushers it in. Still, however, the feelings of rejoicing which properly belong to the blessed occasion are chastened by the immediate presence of the occasion itself; and touching traditions and beautiful superstitions have given an air of solemnity to the night, beneath whose influence the spirit of commemoration assumes a religious character, and takes a softened tone.

Before however, touching upon the customs and ceremonies of the night, or upon those natural superstitions which have hung themselves around its sacred watches, we must take a glimpse at an out-of-door scene which forms a curious enough feature of Christmas Eve, and is rather connected with the great festival of to-morrow than with the hushed and expectant feelings which are the fitting moral condition of to-night.

Everywhere throughout the British isles Christmas Eve is marked by an increased activity about the good things of this life. "Now," says Stevenson, an old writer whom we have already quoted for the customs of Charles the Second's time, "capons and hens, besides turkeys, geese, ducks, with beef and mutton, must all die; for in twelve days a multitude of people will not be fed with a little;" and the preparations in this respect of this present period of grace, are made much after the ancient prescription of Stevenson. The abundant displays of every kind of edible in the London markets on Christmas Eve, with a view to the twelve days' festival of which it is the overture, the blaze of lights amid which they are exhibited and the evergreen decorations by which they are embowered, together with the crowds of idlers or of purchasers that wander through these well-stored magazines, present a picture of abundance and a congress of faces well worthy of a single visit from the stranger, to whom a London market on the eve of Christmas is as yet a novelty.