As the author himself states in his preface, Harlequin roi dans la Lune, a three act comedy by Bodard de Tezay, produced at the Varietes Amusantes, 17 December, 1785, has nothing to do with the old Italian scenes.  An opera by Settle, entitled The World in the Moon, put on at Drury Lane in 1697, is quite different from Mrs. Behn’s farce.  Settle has written a comedy which deals with the rehearsal of a new opera, The New World in the Moon.  Tom Dawkins, a country lout just arrived in London, is taken to the theatre to see the rehearsal, and ordinary comic scenes intermingled with provision for elaborate sets, as the opera proceeds, form the strangest jumble.  The piece takes its name from the first operatic scene, which represents a huge silver moon that gradually wanes, whilst a song, ‘Within this happy world above’, is performed.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The Emperor of the Moon, which is certainly as Lowe says ’one of the best pantomimic farces ever seen’ on the English boards at any rate, was produced with great success at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Garden, in 1687.  The character of Scaramouch was admirably suited to Tony Leigh, a low comedian ‘of the mercurial kind’, who ’in humour ... loved to take a full career’, whilst Tom Jevon, young, slim and most graceful of dancers, proved the King of all Harlequins, past, present and to come.  Lee and Jevon also acted the parts of Scaramouch and Harlequin in Mountford’s three act extravaganza, Dr. Faustus (4to 1697), but produced a decade earlier, probably November, 1685.  Scaramouch is the necromancer’s man, and the comic scenes, although the stage tricks are old, prove very good pantomime.  It will be remembered that Harlequin and Scaramouch are to be found in The Rover, Part II.  Mrs. Behn’s farce kept its place in the repertory and long remained a favourite.  On 18 September, 1702, at Drury Lane, Will Pinkethman, complying with the wish of several friends and critics, essayed Harlequin without the traditional black mask, ’but, alas! in vain:  Pinkethman could not take to himself the shame of the character without being concealed; he was no more Harlequin; his humour was quite disconcerted; his conscience could not, with the same effrontery, declare against nature, without the cover of that unchanging face, which he was sure would never blush for it; no, it was quite another case; without that armour his courage could not come up to the bold strokes that were necessary to get the better of common sense.’