He was a melancholy-looking man, with the sunken eyes and other
characteristics of semi-starvation, whilst his face was scored with
lines and wrinkles, telling of paint and premature age.
I saw him performing in the streets with a school of acrobats soon
after I had been questioning him, and the readiness and business-like
way with which he resumed his professional buffoonery was not a little
remarkable. His story was more pathetic than comic, and proved that the
life of a street clown is, perhaps, the most wretched of all existence.
Jest as he may in the street, his life is literally no joke at home.
“I have been a clown for sixteen years,” he said, “having lived totally
by it for that time. I was left motherless at two years of age, and my
father died when I was nine. He was a carman, and his master took me
as a stable-boy, and I stayed with him until he failed in business. I
was then left destitute again, and got employed as a supernumerary at
Astley’s, at one shilling a-night. I was a ‘super’ some time, and got
an insight into theatrical life. I got acquainted, too, with singing
people, and could sing a good song, and came out at last on my own
account in the streets, in the Jim Crow line. My necessities forced me
into a public line, which I am far from liking. I’d pull trucks at one
shilling a-day, rather than get twelve shillings a-week at my business.
I’ve tried to get out of the line. I’ve got a friend to advertise for
me for any situation as groom. I’ve tried to get into the police, and
I’ve tried other things, but somehow there seems an impossibility to
get quit of the street business. Many times I have to play the clown,
and indulge in all kinds of buffoonery, with a terrible heavy heart.
I have travelled very much, too, but I never did over-well in the
profession. At races I may have made ten shillings for two or three
days, but that was only occasional; and what is ten shillings to keep a
wife and family on, for a month maybe? I have three children, one now
only eight weeks old. You can’t imagine, sir, what a curse the street
business often becomes, with its insults and starvations. The day
before my wife was confined, I jumped and labour’d doing Jim Crow for
twelve hours--in the wet, too--and earned one shilling and threepence;
with this I returned to a home without a bit of coal, and with only
half-a-quartern loaf in it. I know it was one shilling and threepence;
for I keep a sort of log of my earnings and my expenses; you’ll see
on it what I’ve earn’d as clown, or the funnyman, with a party of
acrobats, since the beginning of this year.”
He showed me this log, as he called it, which was kept in small
figures, on paper folded up as economically as possible. His latest
weekly earnings were, 12_s._ 6_d._, 1_s._ 10_d._, 7_s._ 7_d._, 2_s._
5_d._, 3_s._ 11-1/2_d._, 7_s._ 7-1/2_d._, 7_s._ 9-1/4_d._, 6_s._
4-1/2_d._, 10_s._ 10-1/2_d._, 9_s._ 7_d._, 6_s._ 1-1/2_d._, 15_s._
6-1/4_d._, 6_s._ 5_d._, 4_s._ 2_d._, 12_s._ 10-1/4_d._, 15_s._
5-1/2_d._, 14_s._ 4_d._ Against this was set off what the poor man had
to expend for his dinner, &c., when out playing the clown, as he was
away from home and could not dine with his family. The ciphers intimate
the weeks when there was no such expense, or in other words, those
which had been passed without dinner. 0, 0, 0, 0, 2_s._ 2-1/2_d._,
3_s._ 9-1/4_d._, 4_s._ 2_d._, 4_s._ 5_d._, 5_s._ 8-1/4_d._, 5_s._
11-1/4_d._, 4_s._ 10-1/2_d._, 2_s._ 8-3/4_d._, 3_s._ 7-3/4_d._, 3_s._
4-1/4_d._, 6_s._ 5-1/4_d._, 4_s._ 6-3/4_d._, 4_s._ 3_d._ This account
shows an average of 8_s._ 6-1/2_d._ a-week as the gross gain, whilst,
if the expenses be deducted, not quite six shillings remain as the
average weekly sum to be taken home to wife and family.
“I dare say,” continued the man, “that no persons think more of their
dignity than such as are in my way of life. I would rather starve than
ask for parochial relief. Many a time I have gone to my labour without
breaking my fast, and played clown until I could raise dinner. I have
to make jokes as clown, and could fill a volume with all I knows.”
He told me several of his jests; they were all of the most venerable
kind, as for instance:--“A horse has ten legs: he has two fore legs
and two hind ones. Two fores are eight, and two others are ten.” The
other jokes were equally puerile, as, “Why is the City of Rome,” (he
would have it Rome), “like a candle wick? Because it’s in the midst
of Greece.” “Old and young are both of one age: your son at twenty is
young, and your horse at twenty is old: and so old and young are the
same.” “The dress,” he continued, “that I wear in the streets consists
of red striped cotton stockings, with full trunks, dotted red and
black. The body, which is dotted like the trunks, fits tight like a
woman’s gown, and has full sleeves and frills. The wig or scalp is made
of horse-hair, which is sown on to a white cap, and is in the shape of
a cock’s comb. My face is painted with dry white lead. I grease my skin
first and then dab the white paint on (flake-white is too dear for us
street clowns); after that I colour my cheeks and mouth with vermilion.
I never dress at home; we all dress at public-houses. In the street
where I lodge, only a very few know what I do for a living. I and my
wife both strive to keep the business a secret from our neighbours.
My wife does a little washing when able, and often works eight hours
for sixpence. I go out at eight in the morning and return at dark. My
children hardly know what I do. They see my dresses lying about, but
that is all. My eldest is a girl of thirteen. She has seen me dressed
at Stepney fair, where she brought me my tea (I live near there); she
laughs when she sees me in my clown’s dress, and wants to stay with me:
but I would rather see her lay dead before me (and I had two dead in
my place at one time, last Whitsun Monday was a twelvemonth) than she
should ever belong to my profession.”