Speaking of the production on the 26th December, 1849, of “The Island of Jewels,” Planche 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 L60 and L70 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.

CHAPTER XVIII.