Signor Lippo, Burnt-Cork Artiste. His life and adventures, etc

Front matter

SIGNOR LIPPO ■ Burnt-Cork Artiste. " When Death on me shall lay his ham. And summon me away, Exe you screw down my coffin lid One little moment stay; Mayhap I might be sleeping, Or I might be in a trance, Then sing a song — old ' Lucy Long ' — Or play a nigger dance. If in return I answer not, You do not hear me sing, Be satisfied within thyself That I have pulled the string. Though poor you be, try spare a bob To engrave these lines just o'er my neb. i SIGNOR LIPPO, 3Burnt=Corr5 Hrtiste. His Life and Adventures, founded on Blower's Private Papers. ET P. H. EMERSON, OF "A SON OF THE FENS," "ENGLISH IDYLS," "EAST COVSs YARNS," KTJ " His eye in a fine frenzy rolling!' LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, Ltd St. Dunstan's 11. .use, Fetteb Lane, Fleet Street, E.C. 1893. [All right* re*crved.~\ TO EVERY WAXEY WHO SUCCEEDS IN MAKING AN HONEST LIVENG THIS STORY OF A POOR BROTHER'S FAILURE IS DEDICATED.

CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. — Mt Childhood 1 II. — Mt First Step 3 III. — Trials op Genius 5 IV. — Turns Professional 7 V. — Joins the Waxies 9 VI. — Waxies Starving 15 VII. — Adventures at Portsmouth 18 VIII. — With the West End Troupe 21 IX.— On His Own Hook 24 X. — Goes Gridling 26 XI. — Adventures in the West End 28 XII. — Tricks op the Trade : From Artiste to Chkck Taker 86 XIII. — Swindled in the West op England: A Bough Time 41 XIV. — Kip at the Royal Cadgers Hotel ... 45 XV. — Doubts and Fears 57 XVI. — Blower's Stort 58 XVII.— Old North Eye 82 XVIIL— A Fair Bark 85 XIX.— Cripples' Hall 88 XX. — In the Dumps. Bottle Nose's Story ... 91 XXI.— Jack, the Rising Coster 97 XXII.— Bad Times. The Moschineer .... 99 XXIII.— Last Words. Hope 101 XXIV.— SlGNOR LlPPO IN EXCELSIS 102 XXV. — Tragic End of Signor Lippo.

Letter to Blower 104 Epilogue. Some Old Friends .... Work* i» the same Author. Paul Ray at the Hospital: a Picture of Student Life. Crown Svu, 6s. (By Subscription.) Pictures of East Anglian Life. Folio. Illustrated with 3V Photo-Etchings and 15 small Illustrations. Edition de Luxe, limited to 75 numbered copies, £7 Is., all sold. Ordinary Edition, limited to 50U copies, £5 5s., only a few left. Pictures from Life in Field and Fen. Folio. Being '20 Photo-Etchings, with Introductory Essay, iu Portfolio. Edition de Luxe, limited to 50 numbered copies, £6 5s. Ordinary Edition, limited to 200 copies, £1 2s. Six Left. Idyls of the Norfolk Broads. Being 12 Autogravures, with Introductory Essay and Notes, in Portfolio. Edition de Luxe, limited to 100 copies, £1 11a. 6d. Ordinary Edition, limited to 100 copies, £1 Is.

Chapter I

My Childhood. I was born of poor but honest parents. Eh ! but what's birth ? Mere chance — a mere lusus natur æ, or freak of Nature. Merit is the thing I say. Ah ! but true merit, true genius, is ever neglected ; like the flowers it blooms unseen and sheds its sweetness upon the desert air — the dreary desert of stuckupism — the home of the fat-headed public : people without refinement — bah ! But to return, I was born of poor but hard-working parents. I was their only joy, the pride of their life. But they sent me to school and then my troubles began, for I was a born artiste. " Poeta nascitur, non fit,*" as the classics have it. Schools were made for slaves, for drudges — never for artistes. Oh ! how they pestered me, those wooden-headed masters with no music in their souls. They worried me to death with their religion aud their stuff — but I liked the church — I liked the music — " tell it not in Gath."

When I had just got landed on the tempestuous waves of B life then my father must go and die and leave me and mother to battle the world. But what did I care ! I saw everything rosy. I saw right ahead of me all over Europe and America — I saw myself fiddling before big audiences of the elite — saw them throwing me bouquets, as if I was a woman, and cigars and confetti. I saw my portrait in all the windows, and the papers were full of me — me Don Lippo — I had chosen my name you see. There was nothing I wasn't going to have, even countesses were going to write me love letters — and d-d it I ought to have had all, but basta — genius never gets its reward, it's this cursed mediocrity — they get in tow with the nobs and there you are, while "patient merit sneers of the unworthy takes." I was twelve then when the governor died — twelve with a good voice, a good violin, and all the world my oyster : they were happy days. ■■;

Chapter II

My First Step. One day, just before I was going to leave the school, the Vicar came in — a man of soul — ah ! he intoned divinely — well, he came to hear us sing, and we had some hymns and glees aud rounds, and then he called me aside and asked me to join the choir. Ah, I thought that a high honour — I was so proud that day I thought myself miles ahead of the clever boys in the school and of those poor fools who played cricket. Well, so I was. I was an artiste, and what is intellect and brute strength beside art — divine art ? I had a soul, and those sons of pigs — Basta ! as they at Rome. Well, I was sent to the organist and he listened to me sing, and said directly : — " Smith," — Smith, that's my real name — though Chapman has been my stage name. Well, he said, " Smith, you've a fine full tenor."

I could have fallen on his neck and kissed him. Ah, I thought him the very greatest man in our town, and it was a big one too. Well, I attended rehearsals at his house the whole of that week, and on the following Sunday behold me arrayed in a chorister's surplice taking my place at the head — the head, mind you — the head of the choir boys. Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! I had the solo to sing and I acquitted myself with the greatest satisfaction to all, but hang it I was sorry when there was no encoring for Signor Lippo — for I had begun to call myself that name already. And when we came out of church the boy I had super seded came and gave me a clout alongside the head — envy, pure envy — this is a dreadful profession for that — every artiste is ready to cut his brother artiste's throat — an envious world, and that is the sin that keeps genius down.

But I was not to be crushed, though I had a hard time to keep my place, for genius must be master — yet I could never get over those crotchets and quavers at no price — they were always a mystery to me. I never could learn to read music. I learnt the airs by ear. No sooner was an air played over twice than I knew it and next day I was able to sing it correctly note for note. Genius cannot stoop to trifles. How could I with my soul full of music — full, did I say? overflowing — cascading with it — how could I stop to learn to read music ? No, by my genius — pure genius — I kept ahead all the four years I was in the choir, after which we moved to London. • )

Chapter III

Trials of Genius. AVell, then my troubles began, but I used to say to myself all through, " Signor Lippo, all genius goes through these waters of Marah." Every genius has to sleep on a wet mattress and eat of the husks that fill the bellies of the burgessee — that's what a painter chap I knew called the well-to-do people. He told me lots of things and true too they are! That we artistes were much more important people than any other people — that the burgessee were mere pigs, who only thought of filling their bellies and dressing up fine, and he said " we were all geniuses, that is all of us who were poor and dirty," and above all he said " we had souls aud were refined." But one thing puzzled me. One day a gentleman came to buy a picture from him, and this here artist friend of mine tried to do him first of all by asking him more than he would take for his picture, but the gentleman was too sharp for him and he ended by beating the artist at his own game and making him take less than he had said he would accept.

But when I saw my friend with his dirty necktie and shirt, and his filthy black nails — for water was cheap enough — I couldn't quite understand where this refinement came iu and how he was more refined than the cleaner, well-groomed gentleman. But he said I was young and would know later on. I know now — artists have got souls — that's it and that gentleman with all his fine manners aud honour and clean clothes and nice ways had no artistic soul. He was right, that artist. Poor chap ! he too was a neglected genius. I heard he died in a workhouse t'other day, and a chap told me his pictures were worth very little. The world — curse it — always neglects genius. Well, as I said, I could get no berth singing. I was too much this or too much that — always something. So I went into a factory. I was the youngest there.

Well,. they were always singing songs and choruses and I too joined in aud used to warble " My pretty Jane," or " Let me like a soldier fall," or " The Pilgrim of Love," and other such like songs. When they saw I was an artiste they invited me to their free-and-easy Harmonic Meetings and Benefit Concerts, until I soon became a bright luminary amongst them and my singing was sought after by all who knew me. At last my chance came. I was invited to sing at a big Benefit Concert and was told I had to sing in evening dress. So the Sunday before the day I started off for the "lane," the professionals' emporium, and there for a few bob I got black pants, white vest and sparrow-tailed coat. Then I went to the musical bouquet office where for a few pence I got the popular sons.s of the day. Well, I was all fit aud made my debut under the most auspicious circumstances and was well received — the local paper giving me a grand notice, so 1 said to myself, " Signor Lippo, this is fame ; go ahead."

Chapter IV

Turns Professional. At last I got an offer of an engagement for the Old Trevor Music Hall, Knightsbridge, four shillings per night and sixpennyworth of refreshment. Well, I took it and came off successfully. " Ah ! Signor Lippo," says I to myself — for I now took the stage name of Chapman, re serving the Lippo till I reached the heights of the Lyric Drama — " Signor Lippo, that's the first step." Well, my name soon became very popular and Joey Chapman was in papers at last and my photo in one or two shop windows. Of course I had to give up work for art. How could I degrade the profession by working as a factory lad ! Besides, I couldn't get home at six, wash and dress and get to the Hall by a quarter to eight — no, art must have quietude of mind or the soul gets out of gear. I had always been a dreamer, just like all geniuses.

Well, at the Hall I had to be jolly. An artiste is always jolly, and what with standing drinks and drinking drinks and the hot foul air of the Hall and the cold raw air of the streets in winter and not going home till daylight doth appear and sometimes not till the sun was in meridian, my constitution gave way, for an artiste as you may find is often delicate — his soul is too much for his body. Well, the cold was too much for my throat and I had to give up my appointment — that was a black day. I sat like a banished king and drank like a thirsty fish and soon Signor Lippo was himself again in soul, but not in voice, for the big throat specialist I went to said my voice was sadly shaken and he shook his head gravely just as if a great master had broken down. This gave me hope. Says I to myself, " Lippo, take care, take care and you'll yet, like a true genius, triumph over everything."

But " no go," I tried and tried and one night I said to myself, " Lippo, Signor Lippo, you can never exist — the Lyric Drama after all is not the highest art. A man may be a great genius in any line." I saw the Music Hall artistes had their photos in shop windows, and their lives written aud plenty of " pars." in the papers, so I says, "That will do for me; after all tbe Lyric Dramatists aren't everybody." So knowing I could still do a comic nigger song or two and a few steps in dancing with clogs and big boots I thought I might get on at the burnt cork artiste work. Well I practised hard at dancing by myself and at the bones aud presently after a few finishing lessons my spirits began to rise and I felt like Wellington when he beat Bonaparte — See ! Ha ! Ha ! So I started off to look for a chance, determined to be a lion comique — for the soul of the artiste is the same whether he be a poet like Shakespeare or a waxy. It's only luck that settles which is which.

Chapter V

Joins the Waxies. Well, in the West End I came across three " street niggers," as I had always called them till then. Now, I thought, here's the chance. So I go up to the big tall tambourine aud said, "Dry to-day, mates?" " Yes, dry as a saudbank ; got any lush ? " he said. " I'm there," says I, " come along," and they followed quick enough and I called for porter. Then we had a talk and I asked them for a turn after I'd told them what I'd been. " All right, ' Dog & Duck,' to-morrow morning 10.30 sharp, and don't keep us waiting," they said, going out of the pub. Next day I turned up sharp at the pub and so did they and we had another drink and I soon found out they were as green as I was at the business. The violinist could only play by ear, the banjoist could only play in two keys and the tambo. was on a par with the banjoist, and he knew no slang, so you can guess what a troupe of hambones we were, but being "on the job " we hoped to improve.

We started and opened with a chorus, " Down in the South," and performed a walk round "Dixy Land" and then I sang " Good old Jeff" two keys higher thau I really could, and I was sent round to collect, and then my artiste soul rebelled. I, Signor Lippo, I to go round asking for pence. No ! I couldn't ask, so I only passed the hat round and got fourpence-halfpenny, aud as it came on to rain we made for the '' Dog & Duck " for shelter, and as the landlord didn't allow us to make use of his house with out drinking we spent my first collecting in a " pot of four half " and half a screw of tobacco. As it kept raining, we started a tune in the house, but the landlord was one of those burgessee the painter had told me about. He wouldn't stand it and called our music a d-d infernal row. "Peace, my soul," I said .to myself, "peace, 'tis the pride that patient merit of the unworthy takes."

We did nothing more that day, so we agreed to go to Brighton on the following day, which was Sunday. We all turned up in plain clothes (I hadn't blacked at all yet), and went down by the half-crown return ex cursion — had only a few pence between us above our fares, for we knew we could sell our return tickets and we did, two to an old couple for half-a-crown, and the other two for a bob to a man what dealt in returns. After refreshing the inward man we searched about for hours for lodgings, but without success, until at last we got beds at ninepence each in a rough neighbourhood, having to pay for them in advance. Well we'd paid and was going in, when the landlady said in a fine Irish brogue : — " Arrah ! sure, gintlemiu, I am very particular as to the time of noight yez come home." " When the pubs shut," says Tambo.

" By Gorra, min, shure here some of them kape open the whole noight. Shure what is your business that it kapes yez out so late ? " "We're street niggers," says the Violin. She gave one howl and yelled in a rage : — " Oh ! Oh ! holy mother of Jesus, look down on me ; to think of me houlding conversation with dhirty common street niggers that I took to be respectable giutlemin! Oh ! the Lord save us. Out the lot of yez go this very min-ute or I'll call the po-lace and have yez all locked up for trying to impose on a poor lone widdee." We thought she was going to have a fit. We tried to bribe her, but no good. She gave us our money back, and we went on the tramp again, getting in at a small beer- JOINS THE WAXIES. house in a back street for sixpence a piece a night, but then we had to be in by closing time — eleven o'clock.

We spent the rest of the afternoon fixing up our togs and experimenting in blacking, and next day we started out at eleven and made our first pitch in front of some nice houses in a wide street. Well, we'd given one or two tunes and were going to collect when a copper came up and moved us on, so we were shunted into the back streets, where we opened out, but our collections were very small. On our tramp we happened in with four professional street niggers and they soon began — " Well, cullies, how are you?" " Alright," says we. " When did you come into Eine ? " they asked. " Into what ? " says the Tambo. '•' Well, into Jim Brown ? " " Oh ! yesterday morning," says I, tumbling. " Did you frog it or come by the rattler ? " " We came by train," says I, for none of us knew their words. " Do you belong to the start or the ' monkery ? ' " they asked.

" London," says I. " Well, culls, have a tiddley ? " they said, going off to a pub. We followed and had drinks with them and then they asked me — " Any shanty in your sky-rocket ?" " Look here," says I, " we're new to the business." " Ah ! " says he, turning round quick to his pals. " Hambones ! I told you so. I could vardy that when I heard them joggering. But say, culls, that clobber vardys bono," and they all shook their heads and agreed. Then the hoss asked us to join them to make an eight handed troupe. We were only too glad, so after we had run over a few airs and songs to get the right airs and kevs, for " niggers " never carry music, we sallied forth, I saying to myself, " Lion comique, lion comique, you're now on the rung again — now for fame." We opened out on a large and fashionable square.

The instruments were a violin, concertina, two banjos, two guitars, bones and tambo. They gave an opening chorus — "The Land of the South." It went :— " From the land of the South, To the land of the brave, Us darkies we came Across the dark sea-wave ; With a song and a dance British hearts to entrance All fear and danger scorning. Solo, Tenor — Let the old banjo ring While we merrily sing And go home with the girls in the morning." Then one of them went "nobbing" or collecting. Well, after a lot of songs one of the nobbers called out " John Audley." His pals didn't seem to take notice, so I said, " One of your men is calling one of you, John Audley, by name." They all burst out laughing, and one said, " ' John Audley,' that means ' Leave off,' " so I kept quiet after that. " Well," says the boss, ".we never count the denarley on the pitch, but put each man's bottle into the sack just as it is till sharing time."

So we went on to three or four pitches and the police man said nothing to us now. I couldn't make that out, and at last the boss says : — " Chuck it, we'll go and have a bit of mungarly now." So off we went to a tap-room and shared. There were eight shares of one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny each for four hours and a half's work. I thought there would have been three shillings apiece, and I was silly enough to say, " I think there was more JOINS THE WAXIES. collected than that. I saw several pieces of silver thrown from windows, and there is only one threepennybit in that lot." " Well, upon my soul," says the nobbcr, " the hambone says he saw a lot of gent thrown out. If he saw it it's more than I did. I spose he wants to accuse us of polling — a thing I never done in my life, and I know my other pals are as straight as darts."

" Well, perhaps I was mistaken," says I, for I saw directly they was all in it. " -Mistaken ! I should think so, and ought to be careful what you are saying. Yes, it would be a nice thing for me if it got buzzed about amongst the waxies I was a poller." " I beg your pardon, I'm sure," says I. " Beg my pardon ! I should just think you would beg my pardon, and to show you mean it stand a couple of shants of bevarly to square the boys. " I don't understand," says I. " Why, two pots of four-half, I mean." I stood 'em directly, we four paying twopence each for the lot. Then we parted, agreeing to meet at 6.30. After that we hambones went into a small eating-house, and had dinner served at fourpence apiece — that is, half a sheep's head twopence halfpenny, potatoes a penny, bread a halfpenny. After dinner we turned out and met the professionals and started outside the " Ship Hotel," tbe pros asking each other conundrums and telling yarns "to keep the pitch up" between the songs.

We left off at half-past ten o'clock and agreed to make for the pub where we had shared. The streets were crowded and we got separated; at last we hambones arrived and after waiting a bit we went to look for them, but " no go," we were done. The landlord had a better soul, for he said he was musical, and gave us a shilling for playing till midnight. We'd now four shillings and elevenpence halfpenny, out of which we had to pay two shillings for lodging as agreed. But when we got to the pub, the landlord wouldn't let us in, for he said he had told us eleven o'clock was the time ; so we had to give him another sixpence to let us in. Well, we had some drinks stood us, which I never refuse, and I went to bed full of dreams. I didn't mind the work and the cheating niggers and all, for I thought to myself of the day when I should be the lion comique and my portrait in all the music shops and on the posting bills and my photo in the shop windows and a book written about me ; that was worth living for I thought, so I went to bed happy, for the soul of an artiste is big, big and elastic, and genius is like a balloon — everybody knows that.

Chapter VI

Waxies Starving. Next day we couldn't find our professional pals at all, and I never saw them since ; but I have often met honourable nobbers since like the poller, that poor honest artiste, who was far too honourable to allow any slur to be cast upon his character. They'll all be alike, those rogues — call 'em a thief or a rogue and they say, " You're no gentleman " — but such have not the true fire. Well, we started off and walked to Worthing — eleven miles — but did no better. From there we tramped to Arundel, and from there to Chichester, about one and ninepence richer than when we left London ; but the path of art is thorny — it is not that I grumble at — it is that genius is neglected, or else . Well, well ! ... At Chichester we opened up opposite the "George Hotel," and I nobbed half a sovereign from a young visitor, besides a lot of small money.

When I got the half sovereign I thought something was wrong, and asked the visitor if he knew what he had given us. " Sixpence." So I told him, and he was that glad he gave us a drink and five shillings, after which we began to think of Sun day's dinner, so on passing a butcher's shop we bought a large breast of mutton for one shilling and three half pence ; it weighed four pounds and a half. Well, we took the butcher's pianoforte home, and asked the landlady to cook it. " No," says she. " I never cook on Sundays, or allow any of my lodgers to." "What? " says we. "No," says she, "this is a religious house; but I will let you dine with me at eighteen-pence a head." I was that angry, I said, " You old humbug, you won't let us cook our dinner, but you'll make money out of us on a Sunday — you're just alike.

You're all alike." And so they are, hypocrites all of them, those bur gessees, as my painter chap used to call them. Well, we consulted and decided to start for Portsmouth, twenty miles away, taking our pianoforte along ; and so we did, doing the walk in six hours and a half, but worst of all, we could get no lodgings, and we were footsore and tired and half starved. So at last we met with a common lodging-house, called "Meg's Hotel." Well, Mrs. Meg had a soul. She was moved, and she said we could have a loaf of bread for threepence, sugar three halfpence, milk a halfpenny, fire twopence, and we could use the "pan," and if we sliced our mutton up, we could soon get a supper. We set to, and in about forty minutes we were seated before a magnificent banquet, the savoury steam going straight to the artiste's soul — for there are moments when even artistes live to eat — tell it not in Gath.

Nor tell it that the knives and forks were chained to rings sliding on smooth rods running from one end of the table to the other, there being six pairs on each side of the table. Well, after a good fill out we put the rest of the pianoforte on a side table, where the lodgers put their cold victuals, and went out for a walk. When we came back we went for our breast of mutton, but it was gone. We asked everyone, but no, no one had seen it. So we up and asked the landlady. "Serves you right," says she; "why didn't you eat it when you were about it, putting food to tempt hungry men — and such men too ? Some of 'em would sneak the last draw of your breath if they could get anything by it — the wagabones ! " As we were bemoaning the loss, a lone widow in the room gave us a lump of cheese, saying, " I've sons of my own, and I shouldn't be doing my duty to any poor woman's son to see them go to bed hungry."