London Labour and the London Poor, Vol. 3

by Henry Mayhew

“I’ve travelled along with only two circuses; but then it’s the time you stop with them, for I was eighteen months along with a man of the name of Johnson, who performed at the Albion, Whitechapel, and in Museum-street, opposite Drury-lane (he had a penny exhibition then), and for above two years and a half along with Veale, who had a circus at the Birdcage, Hackney-road, and at Walworth.

“At Museum-street we only had one ‘prad,’ which is slang for pony, although we used to introduce all the circus business. We had jugglers, and globe-runners, and tight-rope dancers also. We never had no ring built, but only sawdust on the stage, and all the wings taken out. They used to begin with a chant and a hop (singing and dancing), after which there was tight-rope hopping. As soon as ever the rope was drawn up, Johnson, who had a whip in his hand, the same as if it was a regular circus, used to say, ‘Now, Mr. Merryman.’ Then I’d run on and answer, ‘Here I am, sir, all of a lump, as the old man said what found the sixpence. I’m up and dressed, like a watchbox. What shall I have the pleasure for to come for to go, for to go for to fetch, for to fetch for to carry, to oblige you?’ I usually wore a ring dress, with red rings round my trunks, and a fly to correspond. The tights had straight red lines. My wig was a white one with a red comb. Then Johnson would say, ‘Have the pleasure to announce Madame Leone.’ Then I give it: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is Madame Leone, a young lady that threw her clothes into bed and hung herself upon the door-nail.’ Then she just gets up on the rope, and I go and sit down as if I was going to sleep. Mr. Johnson then says, ‘Come, sir, you’re going to sleep; you’ve got your eyes shut.’ I answer, ‘I beg your pardon, sir, I was not asleep.’ And then he says I was, and I contradict him, and add, ‘If I had my eyes shut, I am the first of the family that went to sleep so.’ Then he asks how that is? and I reply, ‘Because they were afraid of having their pockets picked;’ and he says, ‘Nonsense! all your family was very poor, there was nothing in their pockets to pick;’ and I add, ‘Yes, but there was the stitches though.’ All these puns and catches goes immense. ‘Now, sir,’ he continues, ‘chalk the rope.’ I say, ‘Whose place is it?’ and he replies, ‘The fool’s.’ ‘Then do it yourself,’ I answer. And then we go on in this style. He cries, ‘What did you say, sir?’ ‘I said I’d do it myself.’ ‘Now, Madame Leone, are you ready?’ and she nods; and then I tell the music to toodelloo and blow us up. She then does a step or two—a little of the polka—and retires, and I am told to chalk the rope again, and this is our talk: ‘Oh dear, oh dear! there’s no rest for the wicked. Sir, would you be so kind, so obliging, as to inform me why I chalk the top of the rope?’ ‘To prevent the young lady from slipping down, sir.’ ‘Oh, indeed! then I’ll chalk underneath the rope.’ He then asks, ‘What are you doing of, sir?’ ‘Why didn’t you tell me when I chalked the top it’s to prevent the young lady from slipping down?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Then I chalked underneath, to prevent her from slipping up again. Would you oblige me with your hand?’ Then I look at it and say, ‘Plenty of corns in it; you’ve done some hard work in your time.’ ‘I have, sir.’ ‘Beautiful nails, too;’ and then I rub the chalk on his hand, and when he asks what I’m doing of, I say ‘Chalking it.’ ‘What for, sir?’ ‘Why, sir, to keep it from slipping into other people’s pockets.’ Then he gives me a click of whip and says, ‘Out of the way, sir! Now, Madame Leone, proceed.’

“When she’s finished the dance I cry, ‘Now I’ll get on the rope and have a try,’ and I mount very courageously, crying,

‘I’d be a butcher’s boy,

Born in the Borough,

Beef-steaks to-day

And mutton chops to-morrow.’

“Then I find the rope move, and pretend to be frightened, and cry, ‘O Lord, don’t! it shakes.’ Then I ask, ‘Mr. Johnson, will you chalk my pulse and hand me up the barber’s-pole?’ and when I’ve got it I say, ‘Here’s a nice ornament on a twelfth-cake.’ I also ask him, ‘I say, sir, did you ever know some of my friends was first-rate rope-dancers?’ ‘No, sir.’ ‘Oh yes, sir, they danced to some of the large houses.’ ‘What house was that, sir? was it Victoria?’ ‘I know nothing about Victoria, sir; you must ask Albert.’ ‘Perhaps, sir, it was the Garrick.’ ‘Oh, catch my brother dancing in a garret.’ ‘Perhaps, sir, it was Covent Garden.’ ‘No, sir, he never danced in no garden, nor a lane neither.’ ‘Perhaps, sir, it was the Haymarket.’ ‘No, sir; nor the Corn-market.’ ‘I see, sir, you can’t remember the house.’ ‘No, sir; I’ll tell you, sir, it’s a high stone building between Holborn and Newgate-market.’ ‘Oh, you mean Newgate.’ ‘Yes, sir; don’t you remember we were both in there for pot stealing?’ ‘Come down here, sir, and I’ll give you a flogging.’ ‘You mean to say, sir, you’ll give me a flogging if I come down?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Then, sir, I shall remain where I am.’ I then tell the music to toodelloo and blow us up, and I attempt to dance, and he lets the rope down, which throws me on to my back. He asks, ‘Are you hurt?’ and I reply, ‘No, I’m killed.’ ‘Get up, sir.’ ‘I’ll not move, sir.’ ‘I’ll give you the whip, sir.’ ‘That’s no use, sir; I’ve made a bargain with it, that if I don’t touch it it won’t touch me. Oh, ain’t I bad! I’ve got the cobbler’s marbles, or else the hen-flew-out-of-the-window.’ ‘Here’s a policeman coming!’ and then I jumps up in a minute, and ask, ‘Where?’

“Then I go to his whip, and touch it. ‘What’s this, Mr. Johnson?’ ‘My whip, sir.’ ‘I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Johnson, I’ll bet you a bottle of blacking and a three-out brush, that you can’t say ‘my whip’ to three questions that I shall put to you.’ ‘I’ll take you, sir.’ I then take the whip from him, and say, ‘Providing, sir, you was to meet a poor blind old man, and you was to give him a ha’penny, and you was to meet me and make me a present of a 5l. note, what would you deserve?’ He says, ‘My whip, sir.’ ‘Yes, sir; that’s one to you. I say, sir, you’ve got a daughter, and if she was to marry and get a great deal of money, what would you deserve?’ ‘My whip, sir.’ ‘Certainly, sir; that’s two to you. Now, sir, providing you was a top of that rope, and I was to undo the rope and let you down, and I was to give you the cobbler’s marbles with the hen-flew-out-of-the-window, and tell you that a policeman was a-coming, what should I deserve?’ Then he don’t like to say, ‘My whip,’ and stammers out; at last he says it, and then I beat him round the stage till he runs off. Then I lay it down and cry cock-a-doodle-do, crowing for victory, and he creeps in and gets the whip again, and then lashes me.