Every one who has resided for any time in London must have noticed
in the streets a large roomy show upon wheels, about four times as
capacious as those used for the performance of Punch and Judy.
The proprietor of one of these perambulating exhibitions was a person
of some 56 years of age, with a sprightly half-military manner; but he
is seldom seen by the public, on account of his habit of passing the
greater part of the day concealed within his theatre, for the purpose
of managing the figures. When he paid me a visit, his peculiar erect
bearing struck me as he entered. He walked without bending his knees,
stamped with his heels, and often rubbed his hands together as if
washing them with an invisible soap. He wore his hair with the curls
arranged in a Brutus, à la George the Fourth, and his chin was forced
up into the air by a high black stock, as though he wished to increase
his stature. He wore a frock coat buttoned at waist, and open on his
expanded chest, so as to show off the entire length of his shirt-front.
I could not help asking him, if he had ever served in the army. He,
however, objected to gratify my curiosity on that point, though it
was impossible from his reply not to infer that he had been in her
majesty’s service.
There was a mystery about his origin and parentage, which he desired
should remain undisturbed. His relations were all of them so
respectable, he said, that he did not wish to disgrace them by any
revelations he might make; thus implying that he considered his present
occupation a downfall in life.
“I followed it as my propensity,” he proceeded, “and though I have run
through three fortunes, I follow it still. I never knew the value of
money, and when I have it in my pocket I cannot keep it there. I have
spent forty-five pounds in three days.”
He seemed to be not a little fond of exhibiting his dolls, and
considered himself to be the only person living who knew anything of
the art. He said orders were sent to him from all parts of the country
to make the figures, and indeed some of them were so intricate, that he
alone had the secret of their construction.
He hardly seemed to like the Marionettes, and evidently looked upon
them as an interference with “the real original character” of the
exhibition. The only explanation he could give of the difference
between the Marionettes and the Fantoccini was, that the one had a
French title, and referred to dolls in modern costume, whilst the other
was an Italian word, and applied to dolls in fancy dresses.