I have seldom seen a finer-built youth than this clown, for he was proportioned like a statue. The peculiarity of his face was that, at the junction of the forehead with the nose there was a rising, instead of a hollow, somewhat like that which is seen in Roman antiquities.
His face, whilst talking, was entirely without emotion, and he detailed the business outside the show, on the parade, in a sing-song voice, like a child saying its lesson; and although he often said “This makes ’em shout with laughter,” his own face remained as solemn as a parish clerk’s.
He furnished me with the following particulars of his life:—
“On and off, I’ve been clowning these twelve year. Previous to that time, I have done busking in public-houses, and comic singing, and ballet performing at penny exhibitions; as well as parading outside shows at fairs. I’ve done clowning at near every place, at fairs and in the streets, along with a school of acrobats, and at circuses, and at penny gaffs, and at the Standard, and such-like. I first commenced some twelve years ago, at Enfield fair. It was a travelling concern I was with,—the ‘Thespian Temple,’ or Johnson’s Theatre,—where I was engaged to parade on the outside as a walking gentleman. There was no clown for the pantomime, for he had disappointed us, and of course they couldn’t get on without one; so, to keep the concern going, old Johnson, who knew I was a good tumbler, came up to me, and said ‘he had nanti vampo, and your nabs must fake it;’ which means,—We have no clown, and you must do it. So I done the clowning on the parade, and then, when I went inside, I’d put on a pair of Turkish trousers, and a long cloak, and hat and feathers, to play ‘Robert, duke of Normandy,’ in the first piece.
“You see the performances consisted of all gag. I don’t suppose anybody knows what the words are in the piece. Everybody at a show theatre is expected to do general business, and when you’re short of people (as we was at Johnson’s, for we played ‘Robert, duke of Normandy,’ with three men and two girls), Clown is expected to come on and slip a cloak over his dress, and act tragedy in the first piece. We don’t make up so heavy for the clown for fairs, only a little dab of red on the cheeks, and powder on the face; so we’ve only just got to wipe off the ‘slop’ when it’s in the way. You looks rather pale, that’s all. The dress is hidden by the one we put over it.
“The plot of ‘Robert, duke of Normandy,’ is this: He and his slave Piccolo come in; and after a little business between them, all gagging, he says, ‘Slave! get back to the castle!’ he answers, ‘Your orders shall be attended to!’ Then he says, ‘At the peril of your life, and prevent the fair Angeline to escape!’ That’s the first scene. In the second, two of Robert’s slaves attack his rival, and then Robert rushes in and pretends to save him. He cries ‘Hold! two to one!’ The men go off, saying, ‘Well, we part as friends! when next we meet, we meet as foes!’ As soon as Robert leaves the rival the lady comes in, and tells him she is flying from Robert’s castle, and that Robert has seduced her, and seeks her life. She tells him that the man who just left him is he. ‘It is false!’ he says; ‘that is my friend!’ She cries, ‘Test him!’ ‘But how?’ he asks. She replies, ‘Follow me to the statue, at the bottom of the grove, and then I will tell you!’ Then the third comes on. Enter Robert and slave, and the marble statue discovered: that is, it is supposed to be, but it is only Angeline dressed up. He gives the slave instructions to put a ring on the finger of the statue—for he is supposed to have dealings with Old Nick, and that every time he put a ring on the statue he can demand a victim. He tells the slave to place a ring on the finger, and pronounce these words: ‘When it may please your most gracious majesty to seek your husband, to find a victim, you will find him here!’ ‘No, no, not here—there!’ pointing to Robert. The Duke half draws his sword, and exclaims, ‘Slave! what ho!’ without touching him. Enters the rival, who demands satisfaction of Robert; who says, ‘What can I do to satisfy you?’ for he’s in a deuce of a go now. He then tells him to kneel to the statue, and swear he is not Robert, duke of Normandy. Instead of that he calls to the servant, and tells him to put the ring on; but Robert, the Duke, is in a deuce of a way, tearing his hair. The servant does it, and exclaims, ‘I have done it; but would you believe it, when I placed it on the finger, the finger became collapsed!’ Robert cries, ‘Slave, thou art a liar! if I find that it is false I will cleave thee to the earth!’ Robert examines the finger, and exclaims, ‘Alas! it is too true!’ and he kneels to the statue and says, ‘I swear that I am’—and he’s going to say, ‘not duke of Normandy,’ but the statue is too quick for him, and adds, ‘Robert, duke of Normandy!’ And then the comic slave pops his head round, and pronounces, ‘Oh, the devil!’ Then the rival stabs him, and he falls down wounded, and then he’s triumphant; and a pen’orth of blue fire finishes the piece; and then ding! ding! dong! and down goes the curtain. We always have blue fire,—a pen’orth each house,—and that makes it go. Sometimes there are two friends in the piece; but it all depends upon whether the piece is powerfully cast or not. We usually knocks the two friends into one, or does away with ’em all together. ‘Robert, duke of Normandy,’ is a never-failing fair piece, and we always does it every year. That and ‘Blue Beard, or Female Curiosity,’ and ‘Fair Rosamond, or the Bower of Woodstock,’ are our stock pieces. After the curtain has been down three minutes it goes up again, and the heavy goes in and says,—
‘Elves of the mountain, dale, and dell,
This young maid to please within her cell,
Attend unto us, one and all—
Listen to your potent master’s call.’