“You may put the price of a good fair theatrical booth down at from fifty pounds to two hundred and fifty pounds. There’s some of them more expensive still. For instance, the paintings alone on the front of Douglas’s Shakesperian theatre, must have cost seventy pounds; and his dress must have cost a deal, for he’s got a private theatre at Bolton, and he works them there as well as at fairs.
“The ‘Bottle Imp’ is a very effective fair piece. It opens with a scene of Venice, and Willebald and Albert, which is the comedy man and the juvenile. The comic man’s principal line is, ‘I’ll tell your mother,’ every time Albert wants to go and see his sweetheart, or if he’s doing anything that he thinks improper. In the first act Albert goes to his sweetheart’s house, and the father consents to their union, provided he can gain so many ducats. Albert then finds out a stranger, who is Nicolo, who asks him to gamble with him at dice: Albert says he is poor. Nicolo says he once was poor, but now he has great wealth. He then tells Albert, that if he likes he can be rich too. He says, ‘Have you not heard of imps and bottle imps?’ ‘Stuff!’ says Albert; ‘me, indeed! a poor artist; I have heard of such things, but I heed them not.’ ‘But, boy,’ says Nicolo, ‘I have that in my possession will make you rich indeed; a drop of the elixir in this bottle, rubbed on the outside, will give you all you require; and if ever you wish to part with it, you must sell it for less than you gave.’ He gives three ducats for it, and as he gives the money the demon laughs from the side, ‘Ha! ha! ha! mine, mine!’ Albert looks amazed. Nicolo says, ‘Ah, youth! may you know more happiness than I have whilst I had that in my possession:’ and then he goes off. Albert then tries the power of the bottle. He says, ‘What, ho! I wish for wine,’ and it’s shoved on from the side. As he is drinking, Willebald exclaims, ‘O dear, O dear! I’ve been looking for my master. O that I were only safe back again in Threadneedle-street! I’ll never go hunting pretty girls again. Oh, won’t I tell his mother!’ ‘How now, caitiff!—Leave me!’ says Albert. ‘All right,’ says Willebald; ‘I’ll leave you—won’t I tell your mother!’
“When Willebald goes, Albert wishes for sleep, and the Bottle Imp replies, ‘All your wishes shall be gratified, excepting one. Sleep you cannot have while I am in your possession.’ The demon then seizes him by the throat, and Albert falls on stage, demon exulting over him. Enter Willebald, who, seeing the demon, cries, ‘Murder! murder! Oh, won’t I tell their mothers!’ and that ends the first act.
“In the second and last act, Albert gives Willebald instructions to sell the bottle; ‘but it is to be for less than three ducats.’ Willebald says, ‘No marine-storekeeper would give three ducats for an old bottle;’ but he goes off shouting, out ‘Who’ll buy a bottle? Who’ll buy a bottle?’ In the next scene, Willebald is still shouting his bottle for sale, with folks laughing off stage and dogs barking. He says, ‘Ah! laugh away. It’s well to be merry, but I’m obliged to cry—Who’ll buy a bottle?’ He then says he’s ‘not going walking about all day selling a bottle;’ and then he says he’s got two ducats, and he’ll buy the bottle himself, sooner than trudge about Venice. Then he says, ‘Oh, Mr. Bottle, here are the ducats; now you are mine.’ Then the demon cries, ‘Mine, mine!’ He says it was only the wind. Then he says, ‘Oh, how I wish I was at home again, and heard my little brothers and sisters singing!’ And instantly from the sides you hear, ‘Boys and girls come out to play!’ Then Willebald says, ‘I wish you’d hold your tongue, you little brutes!’ and they cease. Next he complains that he’s so poor, and he wishes it would rain gold on him, and then down comes a shower. Then in comes Albert, who asks whether the bottle has been sold; and Willebald replies that it’s all right. ‘Thank heavens,’ cries Albert; ‘but yet I pity the miserable wretch who has bought it.’ ‘What do you mean? O dear, O dear! to frighten one so! I’ll tell your mother!’ ‘Know ye not, caitiff!’ continues Albert, ‘that that bottle contains a demon? O what a weight hast thou removed from my heart!’ As Willebald is deploring his lot, enter a poor man, who asks for a drink of water; and Willebald tells him he can’t give him any water, but he has an elixir he shall have very cheap. The old man replies that he hasn’t got more than a petani, which is the sixtieth part of a farthing. However, Willebald sells him the bottle; and as it’s the smallest coin in the world, and the bottle can’t go no cheaper, the demon rushes in and seizes the beggar, who turns out to be Nicolo, the first who sold the bottle. As he is being carried off, Willebald cries out, ‘For shame, you ugly devil! to treat the old gentleman like that! Won’t I tell your mother!’ and down comes the curtain.
“The ‘Bottle Imp’ is a very successful romantic drama. There’s plenty of blue fire in it. The ‘Bottle Imp’ have it at every entrance that fellow do. There is some booths that are fonder of the ‘Bottle Imp’ than any other piece. We played it at Bill Weale’s theatre more than any other drama. The imp is always acted by a man in a cloak with a mask on. You can see his cavalier boots under his cloak, but that don’t matter to holiday folk when once they know it’s intended to be a demon.
“It’s a very jolly life strolling, and I wouldn’t leave it for any other if I had my choice. At times it’s hard lines; but for my part I prefer it to any other. It’s about fifteen shillings a-week for certain. If you can make up your mind to sleep in the booth, it ain’t such bad pay. But the most of the men go to lodgings, and they don’t forget to boast of it. ‘Where do you lodge?’ one’ll ask. ‘Oh, I lodged at such a place,’ says another; for we’re all first-rate fellows, if you can get anybody to believe us.
“Mummers’ feed is a herring, which we call a pheasant. After performance we generally disperse, and those who have lodgings go to ’em; but if any sleep in the booth, turn in. Perhaps there’s a batch of coffee brought forwards, a subscription supper of three. The coffee and sugar is put in a kettle and boiled up, and then served up in what we can get: either a saucepan lid, or a cocoa-nut shell, or a publican’s pot, or whatever they can get. Mummers is the poorest, flashest, and most independent race of men going. If you was to offer some of them a shilling they’d refuse it, though the most of them would take it. The generality of them is cobblers’ lads, and tailors’ apprentices, and clerks, and they do account for that by their having so much time to study over their work.
“Private business is a better sort of acting. There we do nearly the entire piece, with only the difficult parts cut out. We only do the outline of the story, and gag it up. We’ve done various plays of Shakspeare in this way, such as ‘Hamlet’ or ‘Othello,’ but only on benefit occasions. Then we go as near as memory will let us, but we must never appear to be stuck for words. Our prices of admission in the country for private business is threepence and sixpence, or sometimes sixpence or one shilling, for it all depends upon the town, but in London it’s oftener one penny and twopence. We only go to the outskirts and act there, for they won’t allow us in the streets. The principal parts for pitching the booth for private business in London, is about Lock’s-fields, Walworth. We opened there about six years ago last Easter.
“Our rehearsals for a piece are the funniest things in the world. Perhaps we are going to play ‘The Floating Beacon, or The Weird Woman of the Wreck.’ The manager will, when the night’s performance is over, call the company together, and he’ll say to the low-comedyman, ‘Now, you play Jack Junk, and this is your part: you’re supposed to fetch Frederick for to go to sea. Frederick gets capsized in the boat, and gets aboard of the floating beacon. You go to search for him, and the smugglers tell you he’s not aboard, and they give you the lie; then you say, ‘What, the lie to a English sailor!’ and you chuck your quid in his eye, saying, ‘I’ve had it for the last fourteen days, and now I scud it with a full sail into your lubberly eye.’ Then you have to get Frederick off.’
“Then the manager will turn to the juvenile, and say, ‘Now, sir, you’ll play Frederick. Now then, Frederick, you’re in love with a girl, and old Winslade, the father, is very fond of you. You get into the boat to go to the ship, and you’re wrecked and get on to the beacon. You’re very faint, and stagger on, and do a back fall. You’re picked up by the weird woman, and have some dialogue with her; and then you have some dialogue with the two smugglers, Ormaloff and Augerstoff. You pretend to sleep, and they’re going to stab you, when the wild woman screams, and you awake and have some more dialogue. Then they bring a bottle, and you begin drinking. You change the cups. Then there’s more dialogue, and you tackle Ormaloff. Then you discover your mother and embrace. Jack Junk saves you. Form a picture with your mother, the girl, and old Winslade, and Jack Junk over you.’