Hugh Lofting: Doctor Dolittle's Circus

Even the musicians in the orchestra, accustomed to seeing wonderful things done on the stage, were astonished when Too–Too and his brother owl appeared from behind the curtains. They were really must smarter at the job than the footmen in velvet. Like two clockwork figures, they hopped onto the stools, changed the cards, bowed to the imaginary audience and retired.

"My!" said the bass fiddler to the trombone player. "Did you ever see the like? You'd think they'd been working in a variety hall all their lives!"

Then the Doctor, who was himself quite a musician, discussed with the conductor what kind of music should be played while the pantomime was going on.

"I want something lively," said John Dolittle, "but very, very soft —pianissimo the whole time."

"All right," said the conductor. "I'll play you the thing we do for the tight rope walkers—sort of tense."

Then he tapped his desk with his baton to make the orchestra get ready, and played a few opening bars. It was exciting, trembly* music, played very, very quietly. It made you think of fairies fluttering across lawns in the moonlight.

"That's splendid," said the Doctor, as the conductor stopped. "Now, when Columbine begins to dance I want the minuet from Don Juan —because that's the tune she has always practised to. And every time Pantaloon falls down have the percussion give the bass drum a good bang, please."

Then the Puddleby Pantomime was gone through on a real stage, with a real orchestra and real scenery—the last dress rehearsal. Gub–Gub found the glare of the footlights dazzling and confusing. But he and all the actors had by this time done the piece so often that they could have played it in their sleep. And the show went with a dash from beginning to end, without a single accident or slip.

When it was over Mr. Bellamy said:

"Just one thing more: when the audience is here your actors will be called out before the curtain. You'll have to show them how to take the call."

Then the performers were rehearsed in bowing. The five of them trooped on again, hand in hand, bowed to the empty theatre and trooped off.

In the course o their eventful lives the animals of Doctor Dolittle's household had had many exciting times. But I doubt if anything ever happened to them which they remembered longer or spoke of afterward more often than their first appearance before the public in the famous Puddleby Pantomime.

I say famous because it did, in fact, become very famous. Not only was it reported in the newspapers of Manchester as a sensational success, but it was written up in those magazines devoted to stagecraft and theatrical news, as something entirely new to the show business. Lots of acts with animals dressed as people had been done before, of course—some very good. But in all of them the performers never knew just why they did the things they did, nor the meaning of most of their act. Whereas the Doctor, being able to converse with his actors in their own language, had produced a play which was entirely perfect, down to the smallest detail. For instance, he had spent days in showing Toby how to wink one eye, and still longer in getting Pantaloon to throw back his head and laugh like a person. Gub–Gub used to practise it in front of a mirror by the hour. Pigs have their own way of laughing, of course, which most people don't know of; and that is just as well, because sometimes they find humans very amusing. But to have animals laughing and frowning and smiling at the right places in a play— perfectly naturally and exactly the way people would do it— was something that had never been seen on the stage before.

"Gub–Gub used to practice it by the hour"

Good weather and Mr. Bellamy's advertising had brought a large crowd out to the amusement park Monday evening. Long before the show was due to start the theatre was beginning to fill.

Of the Dolittle troupe, waiting their turn behind the scene, no one was more anxious than the Doctor himself. None of his animals, with the exception of Swizzle, had ever performed before a real audience before. And it did not follow that because they had acted all right with only Mr. Bellamy and a few others looking on, they would be just as good when facing a packed theatre.

As he heard the first few notes of the orchestra tuning up their instruments the Doctor peeped through the curtain into the audience. He could see nothing but faces. There did not seem to be room to get another in anywhere, but still the people crowded up to the big entrances at the end of the long hall, trying to find standing room in the aisles—or even outside of the doorways, where, on tiptoe, they could still get a glimpse of the stage.

"Doctor," whispered Dab–Dab, who was also peeping, "this at last ought to make us rich. Blossom said that Mr. Bellamy had promised him one hundred pounds a day—and more, if the audiences were larger than a certain number. It would be impossible for it to be bigger than this. You couldn't get a fly into that theatre, it's so packed. What are they stamping and whistling for?"

"That's because, the show is late in beginning," said the Doctor, looking at his watch. "They're impatient. Oh, look out! Let's get off the stage. They're going to pull the curtain up. See, there's the singing couple in the wings, ready to do the first act. Come on hurry! Where's Gub–Gub got to? I'm so afraid that wig of his will slip out of place.—Oh, here he is. Thank goodness, it's all right—and his pants, too. Now, all of you stay here and keep together. Our show goes on as soon as this act is over. Stop licking your face, Gub–Gub, for heaven's sake! I won't have time to make you up again."

Stage Manager Dolittle's anxiety about his company's behavior before a real audience turned out to be unnecessary. The lights and the music and the enormous crowd, instead of scaring the animals, had the effect of making them act the better. The Doctor said afterward that they had never done as well in rehearsal.

As for the audience, from the moment that the curtain went up they were simply spellbound. At the beginning many people would not believe that the actors were animals. They whispered to one another that it must be a troupe of boys or dwarfs, with masks on their faces. But there could be no disguising the two little owls who had opened the show by marching out like soldiers with the announcement cards. And as the pantomime proceeded even the most unbelieving of the audience could see that no human actors, no matter how well trained and disguised, could move and look like this.

At first Gub–Gub was an easy favorite. His grimaces and antics made the audience rock with laughter. But when Dab–Dab came on, opinion was divided. Her dance with Toby and Jip simply brought down the house, as the saying goes. She captivated everybody. And it was really marvelous, considering how ungainly she usually was in her movements, to see with what grace she did the minuet. The people clapped, stamped the floor, yelled "Encore!" and just wouldn't let the show go on till she had done her dance a second time.

Then a lady in the front row threw a bunch of violets onto the stage. Dab–Dab had never had flowers thrown at her before and didn't know what to make of it. But Swizzle, an old actor, understood. Springing forward, he picked up the bouquet and handed it with a flourish to Columbine.

"Bow!" whispered the Doctor from the wings in duck language. "Bow to the audience—to the lady who threw the bouquet!"

And Dab–Dab curtsied like a regular ballerina.

"Dab–Dab curtsied like a regular ballerina"

When the curtain came down at the end and the music of the orchestra blared out loud the applause was deafening. The company trooped on hand in hand and bowed again and again. And still the audience called them back. Then the Doctor made them take the calls separately. Gub–Gub did antics and made faces; Swizzle took off his helmet and bowed; Toby sprang into the air with harlequinish agility; Jip struck tragic Pierrot–like attitudes, and Dab–Dab once more brought down the house by pirouetting across the stage on her toes, flipping kisses to the audience with the tips of her wings.