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| Chris van der Craats |
It’s a really fascinating bit of antique writing. I found this via Melbourne Punch & Judy Man Chris van der Craats (Professor Whatsit).
PUNCH & JUDY
By CHARLES H. ROSS.
THERE were three of them if you counted the dog. Three of the most woebegone vagabonds I ever set eyes on. There was, first, a short man, with a long and solemn face; then there was a tall man, with a wrinkled face and dull, weary eyes; and the dog- was the saddest, dullest, most undoglike dog I ever came across.
It was pouring with rain, and the three had sought shelter in an archway leading to a mews, in one of those hopeless-looking streets in the neighbourhood of Mecklenburgh Square. They, the men, were Punch showmen, and the dog was a comedian: he was Toby.
The long man carried the drum and pipes, and the short man the " frame " and figures - the latter in a box swung frorn his shoulder by a strap.
I asked how trade was, and the short man replied, "Not over bloomin'."
I said, "This wet weather doesn't suit your business, I suppose?"
"Not when it's as bad as this," he replied; "but drizzlin's good for us."
I asked why, and he said it kept the children indoors, and that an order to play before a window was a more likely speculation than a chance "pitch" at a street corner.
The presentation of a fusee and a pipeful of tobacco led to further confidences, and I inquired after the call. Without changing his countenance, he obliged me with a specimen of Mr. Punch's well-known vocalization. He had had his speaking instrument stowed away in his cheek all the while, and I had not noticed it, and he produced it now for my inspection. It was a small flat thing, made of two curved pieces of metal bound together with black thread. He said, I think by way of a hint, that gents had been glad to give a pound for one before now, and that the happy possessor of the coveted article derived much amusement from it, as well as imparting equal pleasure to his friends.
"You don't sell many, I suppose," said I, " at that price? "
"We've time to make 'em between the orders," he replied.
I've seen them selling in the streets, though, at a penny each," I said.
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| A "Piccini" Punch Chris van der Craats |
I intimated politely that I would not like to put myself under an obligation in the matter, and asked, by way of changing the subject, whether he could drink when he had the call in his mouth without swallowing it. He replied laconically, "Try me," and I tried him. with some beer that his partner, the long man, fetched with a run from an adjacent tavern.
"And he could take his bread and cheese the same," the long man casually observed; but we did not try the experiment.
The short man then told me something about the "Slumareys"' by which he meant the figures, scenes, frame, and properties. A good frame, with baize, proscenium, one scene, two wings, and act-drop, or lettercloth, cost about three pounds. A set of new figures, properly dressed, came to from twelve to fifteen pounds. You could not get properly carved heads under five shillings each, and a figure took about a yard of stuff to dress it, besides tinsel, Dutch metal, and other ornamental etceteras. There is a man who gets his living, or part of it, by the figure carving ; he lives in a street off the Westminster Bridge Road. "Most likely he does other things as well," the short man said.
The trade is not now anything like it used to be. Porsini, the very first original Punch showman, made his ten pounds a day quite easily, and went home to a dinner of chickens and sherry wine. The short man had known a day when be and his partner had not taken tenpence. It wasn't as bad as that though as a rule. Not likely. How could he live else ? The man he took this show of did very well not over twenty years ago - six or seven shillings taken at one pitch, and not more than half a dozen pitches in a day. He himself had often not taken a single halfpenny at a pitch, and played over twentv minutes too, thinking, the luck might come. He didn't know how it was exactly or what was wrong, but things were not what they used to be, that was sure.
He let me have a look at the figures, holding them up one by one, and as he did so explaining their characteristics.
"This one is Punch himself; he's the principal figure, you know. It wouldn't be rightly the play of Punch if he was left out. His dress is just the same, or very nearly, what Porsini's Punch was, or Pike's Punch. Pike was Porsini's apprentice. They made a heap of money in them days, but spent it all squandering like.
Both on 'em died in the workhouse. All Punch showmen die there at last; they wouldn't be Punch showmen if they didn't.".
We got on to the next figure.
"This one is Judy. She's Punch's wife. She used to be jealous of Nancy, but we've done away with Nancy. Judy quarrels with Punch because he won't nurse the baby the right way, but throws it out of window. You will notice Judy's face is much like Punch's, and has the same sort of nose and chin, but their dispositions is other. Punch is part fool and part knave. When he has killed the baby he kills her. That's why they come to hang him in the end."
All this story was told with intense seriousness.
"This one is the beadle. He comes to take Punch up for murder. I don't think that's quite life, you know, but we've never had no policeman in the play. Perhaps it's old style, the same as when Porsini did it. Punch and the beadle has a fight, and Punch knocks him down, and he knocks Punch down and at last Punch conquers and sings a song."
After this, the small man explained how the Merry Clown makes his appearance, and Punch exhausts his ingenuity in endeavoring to hit him on the head, which he does at last, and the clown goes down below.
Then comes Jim Crow. "We have the Perfect Cure instead sometimes, as it's more newer." Jim Crow sings a song, and Punch beats time on his head. Jim Crow does not like this, so Punch knocks him down. Then Jim Crow kicks Punch in the eye and vanishes.
After this, the ghost of Judy appears, and nearly frightens Punch into a fit. Punch is found fainting by the doctor, who says he will give him some physic. In return for this, Punch, as usual, knocks him down.
The doctor, however, returns, and administers a dose of what he calls "stick liquorish." Punch, getting away the stick, lavs it about the doctor, and says, when the latter cries for mercy, "Ah, the doctor don't like his physic." Upon this, the doctor closes with him and calls for help. Then enter the beadle and Jim Crow, and there is a general scrimmage, ending by Punch being dragged off to prison.
"I haven't a prison scene," the showman said. " I had one with bars and everything regular, but it's got broke up now. You see we mostly do only short pitches in the streets for want of patronage, so we do the first bit over and over again."
The " second bit," however, he assured me, was much the best, and gave me a long account of it, which I will run through as briefly as possible.
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| A "Piccini" Jack Ketch Chris van der Craats |
"Come with me, you are to be hung till you're dead-dead-dead."
"What, three times over ? " says Punch.
"No, only once, says Jack Ketch; "but when you're as dead as that, you'll be defunct."
"Bless me," says Punch, " I should never have believed it if you'd told me so."
Jack Ketch then prepares the gallows, and tells Punch to put his bead into the noose. Punch can't do it. He can't see straight. He puts it over it and under it, and everywhere but where it ought to be.
"What a fool you are," says Jack Ketch.
" Please sir," says Punch, "' it's my ignorance. I ain't never been hung before. Will you show me how it's done."
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