“We go out two men together, one to play the pipes and speak the parts, and the other to work the figures. I always do the speaking and the music, for that’s what is the most particular. When we do a full performance, such as at juvenile parties, it takes one about one hour and a quarter. For attending parties we generally gets a pound, and, perhaps, we may get three or four during the Christmas holiday-time, or perhaps a dozen, for it’s according to the recommendation from one to another. If you goes to a gentleman’s house, it’s according to whether you behave yourself in a superior sort of a manner; but if you have any vulgarity about you you must exaunt, and there’s no recommendation.
“Tom Paris, the first man that brought out the ombres in the streets, was a short, stout man, and very old. He kept at it for four or five years, I believe, and he made a very comfortable living at it, but he died poor; what became of him I do not know. Jim Macklin I’ve very little knowledge of. He was a stage performer, but I’m not aware what he did do. I don’t know when he died, but he’s dead and gone; all the old school is dead and gone—all the old ancient performers. Paul Herring is the only one that’s alive now, and he does the clown. He’s a capital clown for tricks; he works his own tricks: that’s the beauty of him.
“When we are performing of an evening, the boys and children will annoy us awful. They follow us so that we are obliged to go miles to get away from them. They will have the best places; they give each other raps on the head if they don’t get out of each other’s way. I’m obliged to get fighting myself, and give it them with the drumsticks. They’ll throw a stone or two, and then you have to run after them, and swear you’re going to kill them. There’s the most boys down at Spitalfields, and St. Luke’s, and at Islington; that’s where there’s the worst boys, and the most audaciousest. I dare not go into St. Luke’s; they spile their own amusement by making a noise and disturbance. Quietness is everything; they haven’t the sense to know that. If they give us any money it’s very trifling, only, perhaps, a farden or a halfpenny, and then it’s only one out of a fifty or a hundred. The great business is to keep them quiet. No; girls ain’t better behaved than boys; they was much wus. I’d sooner have fifty boys round me than four girls. The impertinence of them is above bearing. They come carrying babies, and pushing, and crowding, and tearing one another to pieces. ‘You’re afore me—I was fust—No you wasn’t—Yes I was’—and that’s the way they go on. If a big man comes in front I’m obliged to ask him to go backwards, to let the little children to see. If they’re drunk, perhaps they won’t, and then there’s a row, and all the children will join in. Oh, it’s dreadful erksome!
“I was once performing on Islington-green, and some drunken people, whilst I was collecting my money, knocked over the concern from wanton mischief. They said to me, ‘We haven’t seen nothing, master.’ I said, ‘I can see you; and haven’t you got a brown?’ Then they begun laughing, and I turned round, and there was the show in a blaze, and my mate inside a kicking. I think it was two or three drunken men did it, to injure a poor man from gaining his livelihood from the sweat of his brow. That’s eighteen years ago.
“I was up at Islington last week, and I was really obliged to give over on account of the children. The moment I put it down there was thousands round me. They was sarcy and impertinent. There was a good collection of people, too. But on account of the theatrical business we want quiet, and they’re so noisy there’s no being heard. It’s morals is everything. It’s shameful how parents lets their children run about the streets. As soon as they fill their bellies off they are, till they are hungry again.
“The higher class of society is those who give us the most money. The working man is good for his penny or halfpenny, but the higher class supports the exhibition. The swells in Regent-street ain’t very good. They comes and looks on for a moment, and then go on, or sometimes they exempt themselves with ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got no pence.’ The best is the gentlemen; I can tell them in a minute by their appearance.
“When we are out performing, we in generally burn three candles at once behind the curtain. One is of no utility, for it wants expansion, don’t you see. I don’t like naphtha or oil-lamps, ’cos we’re confined there, and it’s very unhealthy. It’s very warm as it is, and you must have a eye like a hawk to watch it, or it won’t throw the shadows. A brilliant light and a clean sheet is a great attraction, and it’s the attraction is everything. In the course of the evening we’ll burn six penny candles; we generally use the patent one, ’cos it throws a clear light. We cut them in half. When we use the others I have to keep a look-out, and tell my mate to snuff the candles when the shadows get dim. I usually say, ‘Snuff the candles!’ out loud, because that’s a word for the outside and the inside too, ’cos it let the company know it isn’t all over, and leads them to expect another scene or two.”
Exhibitor of Mechanical Figures.
“I am the only man in London—and in England, I think—who is exhibiting the figuer of méchanique; that is to say, leetle figuers, that move their limbs by wheels and springs, as if they was de living cretures. I am a native of Parma in Italy, where I was born; that is, you understand, I was born in the Duchy of Parma, not in the town of Parma—in the campagne, where my father is a farmer; not a large farmer, but a little farmer, with just enough land for living. I used to work for my father in his fields. I was married when I have 20 years of age, and I have a child aged 10 years. I have only 30 years of age, though I have the air of 40. Pardon, Monsieur! all my friends say I have the air of 40, and you say that to make me pleasure.
“When I am with my father, I save up all the money that I can, for there is very leetle business to be done in the campagne of Parma, and I determine myself to come to Londres, where there is affair to be done. I like Londres much better than the campagne of Parma, because there is so much affairs to be done. I save up all my money. I become very économique. I live of very leetle, and when I have a leetle money, I say adieu to my father and I commence my voyages.