Meet George Romondo, the 18th-Century’s Most Eccentric Mimic

Way back in the last century, when Police Academy hit theaters and introduced us to the talents of Michael Winslow, I couldn’t imagine how a human being could mimic so many non-human sounds. 

He was like a machine. A superhuman. A modern-day George Romondo.

Who?

You know, George Romondo, the diminutive 18th-century performer known as the “eccentric mimic.” 

George Romondo, the eccentric mimic. Wellcome Collection.
George Romondo, the eccentric mimic. Wellcome Collection.

Born in about the year 1765 in Lisbon, Portugal, Romondo’s unusual talent was matched by an unusual appearance. He stood three-and-a-half feet high with bowed legs, wore a large cocked hat and carried the tail of his coat to avoid it getting tangled with his feet.

According to Kirby’s Wonderful and Eccentric Museum, Or, Magazine of Remarkable Characters (vol. 3, 1820), there was “scarcely any kind of sound which he is not capable of imitating.” This included donkeys, hogs, dogs, and nearly every other kind of animal.

An Italian showman took notice of his unique skills and persuaded the talented dwarf to join him on a trip to England, where they’d put on shows and rake in the cash. The impresario found the success he promised—but cheated Romondo in his cut. Far from home and friends, the performer had to break free from the crooked showman and find his own way.

Kirby’s reported that he did just that:

“[Romondo] entered a public-house unnoticed, and with the tremendous roaring of a lion, threw the company into the utmost alarm. From this however they soon recovered, on discovering the grotesque figure of our hero, with whom they were soon so highly delighted, that a subscription was set on foot for his benefit, and the recollection of the treacherous Italian was soon effaced from his mind.”

From then on he “made a practice of visiting the public houses in obscure streets in the evening, where he contrives by the exhibition of his talents to obtain a tolerable subsistence.” In 1804 he uttered his odd impressions at the Bartholomew Fair for its many curiosity seekers.

Success seemed to suit him well, with Kirby’s noting that he was “seldom to be seen without a smile upon his face.”