Ball of Confusion

In the summer of 1834 an innovative moving panorama of the Liverpool & Manchester Railway called the Padorama was displayed in the Baker Street Bazaar, London (see Part 1). The exhibition there was not, however, the end of the story. As Richard Altick (1978) first described, the Padorama unexpectedly saw a second lease of life in Brooklyn.

A move to Brooklyn, Long Island

An unknown purchaser supposedly paid $30000, the equivalent of $1M at present day values, for the Padorama in London and shipped it to Brooklyn, Long Island in the USA. If this figure is accurate it presumably reflects a very significant financial transaction. However, neither the vendor nor the purchaser is known, nor what exactly was bought. Did the purchase simply cover the twelve images or did it include the foreground, trains, mechanism and steam engine? It seems unlikely (but not impossible) that the rotunda was shipped as well.

Guillen (2018) has provided a detailed analysis of Frederick Catherwood’s panorama business from its inception in 1838 to its fire-associated demise in 1842. The six static panorama paintings he purchased from Robert Burford cost $1000 each. Burford had cachet not dissimilar to Stanfield and unless a premium was being paid for the models and machinery it is hard to see how the Padorama could have cost more than $10000, possibly significantly less. However, as we shall see, the cost may have included the services of an engineer to assemble and maintain the Padorama.

George Odell in his Annals of the New York Stage quotes the Star newspaper (presumably the Long Island Star) in announcing the display in 1835 of the panorama (I will also use the original name) in a specially built building 70 ft long. The same source mentions the size of the proscenium so it seems likely that this was a second purpose-built home for the Padorama and presumably rectangular rather than circular in layout.

It is unclear whether Messrs Marshall exported panoramas to the US and it is not known whether Marshall’s in fact owned the Padorama, their name being conspicuously absent from the advertising. Indeed, it may be that the sponsors of the production (I speculated that these, if any, might be the “Liverpool men”) retained ownership and undertook the sale. The identity of the purchaser is even more obscure and does not appear on advertising in the Long Island Star newspaper.

Indeed, regular advertisements for the panorama appeared in the Long Island Star but without mention of the proprietors' (NB plural) names. The panorama was described as being upwards of 20000 square feet with a railroad fixed in front of the picture. Trains run at intervals to provide “one of the most complete illusions ever attempted.” Opening hours were 3-9pm (it had been afternoon-only initially), entry 50 cents adults, 25 cents children, with illustrated book 12.5 cents. The admission price halved towards the end of the run when opening hours changed to 10-1, 3-9 and a note was added to the effect that an omnibus was available at Fulton Street at the top of Pierrepont Street, presumably connecting with the Fulton Ferry.

The change in admission price may have been an attempt to make the panorama more affordable and hence open to a broader class of persons as well as encouraging repeat attendance. Increasingly inclement weather may also have led to reduced attendance and a need for greater flexibility. Guillen (2018) reports that attendance at Catherwood’s panorama fluctuated considerably especially with national holidays and that his building was subject to temperature extremes, something addressed in part by the introduction of heating.

The change to proscenium format

The unknown purchaser apparently both changed to a lateral rather than circular format and increased the canvas size, supposedly by 50%. This may have included greater height (24 vs ~18 ft) as well as inclusion of additional views. How much of this was intended in advance is unclear but it presumably explains in part the launch delay which was nearer eight weeks than the two originally envisaged.

Huhtamo (2013) suggests that Marshall’s produced panoramas that could be used in either format. Muddying the waters slightly, he also observes that a proscenium might be used with a curved moving panorama.

Location in Brooklyn and its significance

The panorama was situated at the foot of Pierpont Street, presumably on the banks of the East River at the end of what is now Pierrepont Street named for resident Hezekiah Beers Pierrepoint. Street directories of the time show a panorama at the junction of Pierrepont Street and Columbia Street and a map of 1835 shows a large building, possibly the panorama, on the west side of Columbia Street directly adjacent to the bluff.

If indeed it is the panorama, its shape is consistent with a lateral rather than circular display although, of course, small curved panoramas were displayed in rectangular venues such as Spring Gardens, London. It is unfortunate that the depth of the building is not mentioned but plausible perhaps that a circular rotunda might approach perilously close to the bluffs.

Unfortunately, elements of the map look prospective. For example, Constable Street, later Montague Place, appears to run through the mansion known as Four Chimneys, the residence of the Pierrepont family and demolished in 1846 after HB Pierrepont’s death. Moreover, although Pierrepont owned land on either side of Pierrepont Street, land further to the north was owned by Samuel Jackson about whom little is known by comparison beyond the fact that there was a wharf on the foreshore which he rented to Hicks for the lumber trade. Nevertheless, this is a plausible location for the panorama.

Pierrepont only allowed brick buildings on his estate unlike that housing the panorama, another reason to suppose that it was not on Pierrepont’s land although, of course, this may only have been a temporary venue and hence an exception made.

The term Padorama did not cross the Atlantic and there are no references either to the mechanographicorama or disynthrechon although it is possible that these were retained in the books but not the advertising. These obscure neologisms were rendered in the US simply as “moving panorama” which presumably is something people understood rather than necessarily reflecting a change in presentation.

Motivation

In the absence of any hard evidence, here are some suggestions as to possible developers of the Brooklyn panorama.

Pierrepont

Around 1835 HB Pierrepont was attempting to promote Brooklyn and, in particular parcels on his estate, as desirable homes for people who would commute to the city by ferry. Accordingly, the panorama might have been conceived as a means of attracting people to visit the location, a pleasant spot for a walk in any case. However, if the panorama is outwith the Pierrepont estate then this seems less likely.

Pierrepont had a possible connection with the early panoramas in Paris via his friendship with the inventor Robert Fulton. However, the railroad was arguably of marginal benefit to his own enterprise and his family does not appear to have been involved in railroad projects at this time although available information is limited.

Railway interests

Another possibility, as in London, is that the intention was to promote local railways, the first on Long Island being constructed at this time. The Brooklyn and Jamaica Railroad opened on 18 April 1836 and ran from nearby South Ferry which provided a steamboat link to Manhattan. As with Liverpool and Manchester, no locomotives were initially allowed on the streets of Brooklyn and so the first part of the 11 mile journey to Jamaica was horse-drawn (it would later use locomotives in a tunnel). The line was quickly leased to the Long Island Railroad which continues in name to the present day and is the busiest commuter line in the USA as well as having the oldest name.

The railroad would likely have had direct or indirect contact with Liverpool. For example, it sourced its rails from there.

As in London, it seems unlikely that shareholders would sanction such expenditure so it might have been the act of a group of wealthy individuals connected to the project.

A cultural centre for Brooklyn

The Padorama might have been mounted by one or more persons seeking to promote some kind of cultural activity in Brooklyn and doubtless many of the better-off locals would have visited. However, this overall aim seems unlikely given the temporary nature of the exhibit and the relatively short run.

Vanderlyn’s ill-fated static panorama, the first in New York City, was sponsored by 142 subscribers who raised $8000 and it also benefited from a peppercorn rent (Guillen, 2018).

A panorama distribution company

Whereas Messrs Marshall initially both produced and toured their own panoramas, the trend since the death of their founder may have been to outsource the arduous touring aspect. However, this does not explain the sale of the panorama immediately after the end of the run unless, of course, there were financial pressures.

A relative of Samuel Jackson

Frederick Catherwood, who would later have a panorama building on Broadway, had a business partner or possibly agent called George W Jackson. Little is known of Jackson and the possession of the same family name may be coincidental but it is also possible that his relative Samuel allowed George to engage in some panorama speculation on his land free of charge for a short time before Catherwood’s arrival in the USA. There are both Samuel and George Jacksons in the Hicks genealogy but these are common names.

An entertainment entrepreneur

A final possibility worth considering is that this was an initiative by a New York panorama business hoping to cash in on the new railroad and summer visitors to the Heights as well as trial the technology behind the Padorama. A walk along the foreshore and a view from the Heights would make a nice weekend excursion for New Yorkers who might also be inclined to spend 30 minutes viewing the Padorama.

However, New York would be surely be a better location, plus the paucity of newspaper advertising beyond the Star is odd although perhaps adverts were placed on the streets and ferries rather than the papers. The delay in getting the show operational may have proven fatal to any long-term plans. As an aside, Pierrepont’s wife loved the area but complained it was mosquito-infested.

Last days at Brooklyn Heights

According to Odell, the Padorama closed in November 1835 but had provided the sole delight for his report in the autumn Star. The 7 January 1836 edition of The Herald announced that after a delay due to fire (at the auction house presumably) the sale of the Padorama (which it calls the Grand Moving Panorama of the Manchester and Liverpool Railroad) together with the building, fixtures and galleries (presumably tiered seating).

Manhattan transfer: Niblo’s Garden

An advert in the Evening Post provides a clue to the next stage of the Padorama story. The 13 July 1836 issue refers to “a grand moving panorama of the Liverpool and Manchester Rail Road, the largest in the world”, and the 7th October issue states it “cost in London 30000 dollars”. It covered 50000 sq ft (surely an exaggeration?), required a steam engine to work it (as expected) and was “painted by the best artists in Europe under the very celebrated Stansfield (sic)”. The location was Niblo’s Garden on Broadway. Advertising claimed it was the largest moving panorama in the world and that it had been assembled (and presumably maintained and possibly operated) by a Mr Hitchings who had accompanied the panorama to the US.

This high class pleasure garden owned by William Niblo opened in 1828 and boasted a theatre and saloon. It had shown two peristrephic panoramas sourced from Messrs Marshall in the early 1830s. Niblo’s Garden was not the only venue showing panoramas in New York but was a singularly large one that could if necessary accommodate another building on a temporary basis. Previous moving panoramas had been displayed in the saloon but presumably the Padorama was both too large and too loud. On balance Niblo’s acquisition perhaps argues against the involvement of any New York panorama venue in the Brooklyn venture or presumably the venue would have shown it themselves. Clearly Niblo also believed that he was serving a different audience to that in Brooklyn.

Initially the Padorama was open both day and evening but by October it was only open 7-10pm due to the expense incurred with the engine. Niblo’s Garden had gas lights in its garden so presumably gas was used for the panorama as well.

Last days

An advert dated 18 August 1837 indicates that a new moving panorama had been installed at Niblo’s Garden. Again, no mention is made as to the theme nor, unsurprisingly, the fate of the old one.

Assuming other panoramas had not been shown in the meantime, a year would have been a long time for a panorama to be on view in a single location, suggesting that it was popular despite the extra operating cost. Niblo’s Garden was a carefully crafted and somewhat exclusive leisure experience for middle-class New Yorkers with satellite hotel and in-house stagecoach. It seems unlikely that an underperforming attraction would be tolerated, even if not a headliner (fireworks were a major attraction). It seems reasonable to assume that the Padorama had merit even if the novelty of its subject had inevitably diminished over time.

Who bought the Padorama from Brooklyn?

The obvious answer is William Niblo. Niblo’s advertising on previous occasions had made clear that he had obtained a panorama at considerable personal expense. On the other hand that claim is notably absent in this case.

Another possible purchaser is English emigrant painter William Sinclair who had previously shown two of his own panoramas at Niblo’s Garden, one of which toured subsequently to Baltimore. Perhaps Sinclair rented space at Niblo’s to display panoramas he either owned or rented. Guillen’s analysis of Catherwood’s business appears to show that there were continuing monthly costs on the panoramas he had purchased for his establishment which was just across the road from Niblo’s.

Gaps in our knowledge and possible resolution?

How and why the Padorama crossed the Atlantic remains a mystery. Did an American see it in London and spot an opportunity? It seems hard to believe that it was bought sight unseen.

What was the cause of the costly delay in Brooklyn? Why was there a shift to a proscenium presentation and why was the canvas made bigger still? While it had use in marketing, a large canvas would be more awkward to transport.

At the other end of its run, what happened to the Padorama in summer 1836? Although static panoramas sometimes moved on to other cities on the eastern seaboard (Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston) there is as yet no evidence that this one toured any further and its infrastructure requirements would in any case have made that challenging. Perhaps it was a technological one-off, an interesting thing of its own time but ultimately an unremunerative dead-end once the railway revolution was in full flood.

One might imagine that the canvas itself would have become worn over time and rapidly deteriorated further in storage prior to ultimate disposal. The models, however, may have had some value and one can imagine their being cherished family heirlooms, at least for a time.

What is signally missing, however, is any record of pertinent lived experience of New Yorkers or Brooklynites of the time. Many will have kept personal diaries and some of these are available but not as full text that can be readily searched online.

Conclusion

For a brief point in time the Liverpool & Manchester Railway captured the global imagination and promised a step change in mobility that would have a profound impact on people’s lives, both at work and leisure. As Messrs Marshall would doubtless contend, the best way to experience its effect on time and space short of a visit in person was to watch it spool past on the Padorama, a technological (and artistic) response to a technological feat. The net effect was perhaps to go some way to making the railroad marvel more of an everyday experience at a time when it still elicited a degree of fear and uncertainty in some quarters.

The first modern railway, the Liverpool & Manchester, opened in 1830 and by 1834 construction of railways into London, notably the London & Greenwich, was already in progress. To accompany this seismic shift in mobility a moving panorama of the Liverpool & Manchester was presented at the Baker Street Bazaar in London between mid-May and early September of 1834.

It appears to have been based on images presented in a book, the Railway Companion, published the previous year and written by the somewhat cryptically named A Tourist with images credited to an obscure H. West. Most of the images recur in the Descriptive Catalogue that was on sale alongside the panorama, an exception being the picture of the Oldfield Lane cattle station which by this time had closed and moved to Charles Street adjacent to the Liverpool Road station in Manchester. The book by contrast omits the image of the Patricroft Tavern (now the Queen’s Arms) and Bridgewater Canal. Both omit images of Flow and Chat Moss deemed presumably of less artistic interest (these appear on a compilation panorama).

As ever, much conjecture and a work-in-progress. A talk on this subject with animated visuals was given at the OpenSim Community Conference 2024. Much background was derived from Huhtamo (2013) Illusions in Motion, MIT Press.

Sponsors and target audience

The lack of attribution carries over to the panorama itself. Somewhat atypically there is no company named in the copious advertising and no artists named beyond making general claims for their ability. Freeman (1999) has suggested that much of the artwork published alongside the launch of the railway was sponsored by the railway company and the same may be true of the Padorama. However, its cost would have been orders of magnitude greater and hence greatly displeased shareholders. It is possible therefore that the panorama was funded by the “Liverpool men” who were seeking further railway investment opportunities at the time or a similar group based in London.

If indeed it was the “Liverpool men” there may have been a degree of self-congratulation that their faith and investment in the Stephensons had been vindicated in the face of Parliament’s initial rejection. The Padorama may have been intended to celebrate the success of the railway while perhaps also attempting to assuage fears as to the future impact of its expansion on both town and country.

One unique feature of the Padorama was that it was displayed continuously, there being no set performance times. This may have increased footfall but may also have been particularly amenable to business people dropping in during a spare half hour. The venue, the Baker Street Bazaar, was aimed at the nobility and gentry and both groups may have been regarded as potential investors in future rail projects. The Padorama thus served as a (doubtless sanitised) briefing for those who had not experienced the actual railway or who had been exposed primarily via the newspapers to its adverse consequences in terms of railway accidents.

A final group identified in the advertising comprises juveniles who were encouraged to see the panorama as a mix of entertainment and education during their summer holidays. While there may have been an element of pester power intended here, it is also possible that the Padorama investors were targeting the engineers of the future.

Production company

While the vast majority of advertisements and reviews fail to name the production company involved, two sources identify Messrs. Marshall, a prominent purveyor of moving panoramas in the capital and elsewhere. Founded by the Scot Peter Marshall, the company was well-regarded and among its products was a very popular rendition of the coronation ceremony and procession of King George IV. This features in a satirical cartoon that reflects the high level of interest in moving panoramas at the time.

Marshall, however, died in 1826 and, according to Huhtamo, under Peter’s son William the company had largely (but not entirely) withdrawn from London. Moreover, the venue, Spring Gardens, whose entrance is shown in the cartoon had closed and been demolished by 1834. Nevertheless, something had enticed Marshall’s to develop the Padorama and it may have been both the sponsorship and the technical challenge as the Padorama had novel features.

Moving panoramas

Moving panoramas were in all likelihood diverse in terms of their viewer experience and (hidden) mechanics. At their simplest a painted canvas was spooled across a viewing aperture, a stage-like proscenium, from one spindle to another by two operators (“crankists”) manually hand-cranking. By contrast the Padorama, presumably by virtue of its size and continuous operation, required a steam engine which was likely in another room or building and driving the mechanism via a belt and pulley system.

Marshall’s were known primarily for their peristrephic panoramas in which the painted canvas scrolled in a concave arc in front of the seated viewers (Plunkett maintains it was convex). The word “peristrephic” featured prominently in their normal advertising but was notably absent from the Padorama coverage. The book and descriptive catalogue, presumably both from Marshall’s, talk instead of a mechanicographicorama delivered via a disyntrechon. This is, l assume, a reference to the other unique features of the Padorama, a moving foreground as well as moving trains.

The artists

It is possible that the sketches that appear in the book and catalogue were made by William Marshall or someone he employed (H. West perhaps) and the final versions developed at scale by a team of scene painters. Moving panoramas had become a popular part of many theatrical productions and their lead artists were sometimes named prominently on the playbill. It was a natural development when the same artists were engaged to develop moving panoramas for display in other venues.

Perhaps the pre-eminent scene-painter of the time was Clarkson Stanfield (1793-1867) and one source refers to the Padorama as having been painted under his supervision. This may, however, be a clever way of crediting his only student, Philip Phillips (1802-1864), who is named in a separate source. Phillips would have led a team of painters and, indeed, one source criticizes the uneven quality of the pictures as well as making more general comments about the unexceptional nature of the countryside between Manchester and Liverpool.

Stanfield was a resident scene painter at the prestigious Theatre Royal, Drury Lane where Phillips presumably worked as well (he later went to the Surrey Theatre). Stanfield quit the theatre over “creative differences” in December 1834 and at the same time largely retired from scene and panorama painting in favour of less arduous easel painting although he did occasional panoramas thereafter for friends. His involvement, if any, in the Padorama was possibly his last panorama.

The venue

The use of a Bazaar as venue was not unusual. Large-scale art had been displayed at Baker Street previously and Stanfield, for example, had previously used the Royal Bazaar, Oxford Street under the auspices of his British Diorama company. His large diorama of York Minster in flames was inadvertently set on fire by an operator igniting chemicals to give a red flame effect behind the canvas. Unfortunately this also led to the total destruction of the (well-insured) bazaar although Stanfield did display there again subsequently.

At Spring Gardens Marshall’s used the Great Room, presumably a function suite for balls and banquets, as well as the presumably smaller Lower Great Room. There was similarly a Great Room at the Baker Street Bazaar which was used for exhibitions, most notably Madame Tussaud’s waxworks from 1835. It would have had the ceiling space to accommodate a large canvas but it appears that it was being used for furniture sales in 1834.

Much of what we know of the layout of the Bazaar dates from later insurance maps. However, most of it was off-street, hidden behind shops and residences, one of which was converted to an entrance with a portico. Its origins, however, were as a barracks for the Life Guards, part of the Household Cavalry. Subsequently it became a Horse Bazaar (it was trading as such in 1833 under its new owner MC Allen, the previous one having gone bankrupt in 1832) and later still sold carriages and tack before diversifying still further into high quality home furnishings.

The central area was therefore presumably given over to stables surrounding a large parade ground and this may have been the location of a purpose-built theatre, albeit temporary and likely wooden. It is hard to imagine that the theatre could be anything but disruptive for the horse trade in the immediate vicinity and it is possible that some of the stables were vacated in favour of Mr Allen’s other establishment, Aldridge’s Repository.

It seems likely that the entrance to the former Parade Ground was via King Street at this time.

The theatre

One source cites a visit to the “Rotunda” in order to see the Padorama. Such structures were relatively commonplace (there was one on Bold Street, Liverpool built for static panorama viewing) and were typically cylindrical or hexagonal with domed or pointed roofs. Normally static panoramas were draped from the walls and viewers stood on a central platform half-way up the picture as specified in Barker’s original panorama patent. Lighting was typically via glazing in the roof. This was diffused by a canopy above the platform which also obscured the top of the panorama and the means of attachment. An analogous skirt at the bottom of the platform hid the base of the platform and possibly the flooring also although often there was a surround at the base which continued the theme of the painting and potentially had related artefacts scattered about.

Viewers would pay their entrance fee (1 shilling in this case, equivalent to about £3.50 now), optionally purchase a descriptive catalogue for the same price and then walk along a dimly lit passage leading to a stairwell either external or integral to the platform (the latter would presumably be the case here). As they emerged onto the platform they would immediately be struck by the brightly lit immersive image moving slowly before them.

In the case of static panoramas the diverging sight lines were centred on the middle of the platform which worked well for cityscapes seen from an elevated position (the top of the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral is a classic example for London). Whether circular moving panoramas were painted in similar fashion is unclear.

The paintings

The images in the Railway Companion book all have an aspect ratio of around 2.5. According to Odell, the proscenium in the New York version was 40-50 feet wide by 24 feet tall although it was noted that this was half as big again as the original 10000 square feet, the gold standard for value for money in terms of entrance fee. I am assuming that the images used in London were 45 feet x 18 feet, an aspect ratio again of 2.5. That makes a total of 540 feet in length and 9,750 square feet in area, close enough to the target. The complete performance took about 25 minutes so each of the twelve images was visible for about 2 minutes.

The images were distributed across the 31 miles between the two towns with clusters at Manchester and Newton-le-Willows and a solitary view at Edge Hill for Liverpool. The focus was on civil and mechanical engineering with viaducts, bridges and locomotives featuring prominently as well as the Moorish Arch and a distant view of the tunnels at Liverpool. All apart from the Sankey Viaduct (?) are north-facing and some are distant views while others are trackside. In modern terms the overall effect as the image passes would be of a slow-moving, heavily edited tracking shot showing the most interesting parts of the line (as the descriptive catalogue makes clear).

Some sources did remark on the exclusion of notable features such as the embankment at Huyton and the Olive Mount cutting. The skew bridge at Rainhill is also a notable absentee and there is no mention of the use of banking engines or indeed of the cable-hauling in the tunnels at Liverpool.

To display all the images simultaneously would require a cylindrical building with a diameter of about 170 feet which seems improbable under the circumstances. Based on the Liverpool Rotunda, a diameter of 50 feet, perhaps a little more seems appropriate given the site and temporary nature of the structure. This implies that Marshall’s must have had a means either of “compressing” the image, for example, by a serpentine arrangement of rollers, or else remove and replace images “on the fly” (something that US inventor Robert Fulton addressed for static paintings during his stay in Paris). All of this would take place out of sight of the viewer behind a curtain or partition. This is presumably the feat “men of science” deemed impossible in one of the sources.

Lighting

The original dioramas were lit by natural light with viewers in a darkened room. Stanfield, however, preferred gaslight and theatres had been generating their own supply in the absence of a public one. The Bazaar may have done the same given it too had been gaslit since the end of the previous decade. The decision to close at dusk/6pm must therefore have been for operational reasons such as site normal opening hours.

Some sources refer to diorama-like effects, particularly in the lane scenes. This may simply have been casting of shadows with shutters and coloured light created by interposing appropriate filters. One source comments that the season depicted was between summer and autumn (are those leaves being collected at Parkside?) so lighting may have been designed accordingly.

The classic diorama often depended on back-illumination in order for figures painted on the reverse to magically appear on the front through the thin calico canvas. Similarly the movement of a moon could be simulated with a candle in a tin can and water movement in rivers by rippling the canvas. However, none of this is possible if the canvas is directly adjacent to the wall as here.

Sound effects

One source comments on the rumbling of the train as it approached and the falling off of the sound as it passed. Whether this was due to the train, a deliberate built-in sound effect or simply the noise of the machinery moving the foreground is unclear. The proprietor claimed to have been worried that the sound of the trains would alarm people but this may have been showmanship.

No other sound effects are noted and there are, for example, comments regarding other diorama performances that nobody needed to hear the sound of water. Tremendous creativity was expended elsewhere in the cause of simulating reality but the continuous nature of the Padorama performance may have been a constraint.

Likewise, popular panoramas often had a musical accompaniment, possibly to hide the noise of the machinery. This too is probably absent.

Continuity

The images were presented in the order the voyager would have encountered them with a generic view of a locomotive, the atypical Caledonian with twin vertical cylinders, to mark the beginning. The first two views of Manchester are distance views but thereafter the perspective is roughly trackside until Newton and the Sankey viaduct (the treatment of Flow and Chat Moss is unknown) so there would have been plenty of opportunity to run the model trains along the double track during the middle segment.

Moving panoramas often depended on lecturers to interpret the image and entertain the audience. The continuous nature of the performance again makes this unlikely so the audience would have to read the descriptive catalogue for information which suggests the platform was adequately lit. However, according to Plunkett, Sinclair displayed a panorama in Bristol in 1829 that ran continuously from 10am - 10pm without mention of a steam engine. The topic, the Battle of Navarino, is likely to have required a lecturer so it may simply have been that teams worked shifts to cover the day.

The trains

A number of steam locomotives are shown on the paintings, including a close-up of Caledonian with its unusual vertical cylinders, one of many evolutionary dead-ends on what was a highly experimental railway.

Whether the trains were hauled by actual steam engines seems unlikely given both the potential fire hazard and the labour needed to keep them in steam. Huhtamo suggests they were cardboard cut-outs but sources indicate they were far more realistic and one must assume that as a minimum wheels were turning and smoke emitted from an appropriately contained source. Possibly they were pulled along by a discreetly hidden cable.

One viewer refers to the model passengers in open carriages as looking like “pygmies” which suggests they were of a small but appreciable size. Quite where the trains ran is unclear although a viewer refers to “looking down” which possibly implies they were standing (the norm for a rotunda) and that the trains ran close to the base of the painting (which might otherwise be obscured). On the other hand, other observers only saw the trains as they passed in front of them so they may have been (optionally) seated.

The moving foreground

This was a significant and appreciated feature but quite what it comprised or how it was implemented in a rotunda is unclear. Was the foreground image-specific? Did it convey a sense of motion parallax? Where was it positioned? Was the track (and train) on an arc of foreground with both moving together. After all, there was no sense in trains or track obscuring distant views.

Conclusion

The Padorama was likely an expensive and ground-breaking production. It is possible that Messrs. Marshall considered it as an opportunity to take virtual tourism to a new level as well as automate aspects of its performance. However, it is not clear that the scale and subject matter made it profitable as nothing on this scale was attempted again until the Paris World’s Fair in 1900.

In Part 2 I will describe what is known of the Padorama’s final years in the USA.