The Banquistes was the first title chosen for this book: it has been altered for two reasons which appeared conclusive after some consideration: the general public would have misunderstood it, and it would certainly have wounded those interested in it, who would have known what it meant.

But if we consult an etymological dictionary we shall find that the word SALTIMBANQUE, which is more generally used than BANQUISTE, is derived from a definite root: SALTIMBANQUE, s. m., from the Italian word SALTIMBANCO: who vaults on a bench (Latin, SALTARE IN BANCO). In Italian we also find the word CANTIMBANCO, a platform singer. I must add that when, after tracing out the etymology of the words SALTIMBANQUISTE and banquiste, we search for the origin of the word banker, we shall find that the same radical, BANCO, is the root of these three derivatives. In the old fairs two personages were allowed to erect a small platform, a “banc”—the money-changer and the acrobat. Perhaps the “banc” already served as a spring-board, giving both the BANKER and the BANQUISTE a greater impetus in their leap; perhaps we must even look back to the same date to find the exact origin of the now common expression “LEVER LE PIED” (to abscond).

However this may be, after the perusal of this book, it will be readily understood that the contemporary acrobat, established, enriched, emerging into the middle classes, indignantly rejects a slang term which apparently assigns to him the same origin as that of our modern financiers. This intolerance is certainly not the only surprise reserved for the reader of these pages. We claim to lead him to the threshold of an unknown world.

Before commencing this work, which has absorbed us during at least three years, I made a thorough investigation of the bibliographic and monographic information now existing upon the banquiste question, and I came to the conclusion that no French or foreign author worth attention or quotation had yet interested himself in this original people. M. Houcke, the manager of the Hippodrome, had kindly placed at our disposal a series of lithographs published in Germany. But the text and the correctness of the work were so defective, that the drawings were of no use to us. It was the same with the Saltimbanques, which M. Escudier published at the close of the Empire through Michel Lévy. The sole merit of M. Escudier’s work lies in his discovery of an unknown subject. He made the mistake of writing without information, picturesqueness, or philosophy, in the light, insufferably trifling tone, which is common to most of the publications of that epoch.

Since then, a conscientious writer, M. Dalsème, who is attached to the acrobats, has published a more interesting account of them entitled Le Cirque à Pied et à Cheval. The kindliness with which M. Dalsème alludes in his book to the quotations which he has made from my publications induces me to notice his work in return. And truly, however unequal and incomplete his book may be, it is still the most interesting work that has yet been seen upon a new subject.

This judgment places M. Edmund de Goncourt’s novel, the Frères Zemganno, far above this level, and beyond any invidious comparison. Although exact observation is the discipline of the novelist, M. de Goncourt has declared that in this instance his chief object was to write a symbolical book. His information was necessarily superficial. Such as it was, I do not think that any one has now more reason than ourselves for admiring the superior art and truth with which M. de Goncourt has spoken of the circus, has formulated its philosophy, depicted its passions, and divined those things that were concealed from him. And I trust that the author of the Frères Zemganno will be one of the first to enjoy the novelty of this work.

The perusal of the so-called naturalistic novels has gradually accustomed the public to a fairly strong dose of realism in books. A number of young men have written in imitation of the great masters, stories which, commonplace in themselves, are yet worth reading for their conscientious observation of the “surroundings.” A thousand inquiries upon contemporary life have been cleverly made, and readers have examined these social records with much curiosity.

It appeared to me that the best part of these novels, the portions most appreciated by the readers, were the facts of actual experience. I therefore asked myself if the time had not come to present to the public these facts free from all romantic fiction, in a form in which the author only intervenes in order to arrange the incidents and to point out the philosophy to be derived from them.

The success of this book will prove whether the attempt is premature, or whether there will be any reason for a sequel.

This publication is really the monograph of an unknown people, related by the pen and pencil. Its laws, its customs, its traditions, its secrets, its hopes, have been seized, defined in spite of reticence, evasions, wavering, and contradictory witnesses. It describes the organization of the banquiste people, the foundation of its agencies, newspapers, and syndicates, it follows the mountebank from his birth in the wandering caravan to his apotheosis in the friezes of the circus. And at the same time it penetrates into the stables to explain the secrets of the trainer, the tamer, and the ring-master; into the booths to ask the clown for the story of his adventures—and by what chance, having become a gentleman himself, he one day met in the land of whims a gentleman who had become a clown!

I cannot close this preface without addressing the warmest thanks to all those who have aided us in bringing this work to a successful issue—to our willing correspondents from America, England, Germany, and Russia. But whilst thus paying our debts, we must express our special gratitude to the learned director of the photographic department of the Salpêtrière, M. Albert Londe; to M. Guy de la Brettonière, the well-known circomane; to amateurs like MM. de Saint-Senoch, Bucquet, and Mathieu. The photographs which these gentlemen kindly took for us enabled the draughtsman to represent the acrobats in THOSE INTERMEDIATE POSES WHICH THE EYE NEVER SEIZES, and which hitherto the most rapid instantaneous photographs have failed in reproducing. A few figures will prove better than any words the extreme rarity of these plates.

In the month of June, 1888, M. Houcke having given us an appointment at the Hippodrome, made the clown, Auguste, and an artist of the fixed bar, vault in our presence. The members of the Société d’Excursions Française de Photographie, headed by its president, were nearly all assembled. Fifty cameras were arranged like a battery: each amateur had brought twelve glasses. After they had been examined, M. Albert Londe sent us ten proofs, which alone out of six hundred had been deemed worthy of being printed, and after a final examination only seven plates were preserved by the painter. They inspired the series of somersaults which are found in the chapter on GYMNASTS.

HUGUES LE ROUX.

Page 78, line 7 from top, for “bloated Vitelliuses”, read, “bloated Vitellii”.

Page 206, line 3 from top, for “Naet Salsbury”, read, “Nael Salsbury”.

• CHAPTER I. Organization 1
• CHAPTER II. The Fair 37
• CHAPTER III. Permanent Shows or Entresorts 57
• CHAPTER IV. The Theatre Booth 81
• CHAPTER V. The Trainers 107
• CHAPTER VI. The Tamers 133
• CHAPTER VII. The Equestrians 159
• CHAPTER VIII. The Hippodrome 183
• CHAPTER IX. The Equilibrists 209
• CHAPTER X. The Gymnasts 241
• CHAPTER XI. The Clowns 277
• CHAPTER XII. The Private Circus 307
•   Index. 333

Parisians live in scandalous ignorance of the beings who surround them and of the world in which they move. Although fond of curious entertainments, they have never made any serious inquiries about the origin, the private life, or the terms of enlistment of the skilful artists whom they applaud in the circus, the theatre-concert, or the playhouse. I have often heard persons who considered themselves well informed, and who spoke with much reserve and many hints of deeper knowledge, assert that secret manufactures of monstrosities exist in the world, training schools for acrobats, registry offices for mountebanks; and that by diligent search, with a little discreet assistance from the police, one might discover branches of these picturesque establishments in the thieves’ quarters of old Paris. [p002]

This story is enough to frighten children, but it must be allowed to pass away with the dust of other fabrications destroyed by time, whilst you may rely upon the accuracy of the information contained in this book; its sole ambition is to enlighten you on this mysterious subject by telling you the truth about it.

The collection of all these facts has been a work of time. The mountebank is too jealous of his freedom to talk openly to every one that approaches him. The same patience which travellers use in their relations with savages must be employed before one can hope for any intimacy with this people, who are still as much scattered, as varied, as strangely mixed, as vagabond, as their ancestors, the gipsies, who, guitar on back, hoop in hand, their black hair encircled with a copper diadem, traversed the Middle Ages, protected from the hatred of the lower classes and the cruelty of the great by the talisman of superstitious terror.

This tribe, recruited from every nation and every type, is called, in its particular argot, the banque;1 there is the grande banque and the petite banque: its members are called banquistes.

Qualities transmitted through many generations, natural selection always tending in the same direction—of strength and dexterity—have, in course of time, endowed this [p003] international people with special characteristics. With regard to the superior instincts, they possess a taste for adventure, wonderful facility in acquiring languages, in assimilating every variety of civilization, and a strange amalgamation of qualities, which would seem incompatible with each other—Italian pliancy, Anglo-Saxon coolness, German tenacity. I do not quote the influence of French characteristics in the fabrication of these free citizens of the world: the soil of France is so dear to her children that, even if they tempt the glory and perils of an acrobat’s life, they rarely leave their native land. According to statistics, Frenchmen form a proportion of but five per cent, in the tribe of banquistes who travel round the world. But these mountebanks are not so numerous as one might imagine; in all there are only a few thousands. But earth contains no guests more free than these men, whom the poet Theodore de Banville greets as the “brothers of the birds, the inhabitants of the ideal city of Aristophanes.” Lords of their own will and time, they obey no laws except the terms of their voluntary engagements. They fly from war, pestilence, and ruin. When the heavens darken, they strap up their trunks, go on board a steamer and journey to other countries where gaiety and gold are to be found.

The sole disturbance in these careless lives is the question of engagements. The skill with which they have averted the difficulties, which their preference for a nomad life might have produced in their business, is a very remarkable example of that practical sense which constant travelling develops in the least cultivated individual.

Dispersed throughout the four quarters of the world, the [p004] banquistes have placed themselves in perpetual communication with, first, managers and impresarii, and then with their comrades, by means of a certain number of agencies and newspapers belonging to their corporation.

The eldest of these publications is The Era, published in London in English. The Era, now edited by Edward Ledger, was started in 1837. It is a kind of guide-book, consisting of twenty-four pages, each containing six columns, in the usual shape of an English newspaper; the price is sixpence a copy. In the title the royal escutcheon, supported by the lion and the unicorn, separates the two words The and Era. [p005]

Half the newspaper is filled with addresses of this kind—

All these addresses are arranged in alphabetical order. A proprietor can at once discover where the “novelty” with whom he proposes to communicate is temporarily staying.

The Era also serves as a letter-box to all its subscribers. A special department is open under this heading:

Then follows, arranged in columns, an alphabetical list of the persons for whom a note has been sent to the newspaper office.

The remainder of the Era is consecrated to artistically-written accounts of all the new theatrical performances going on in the world, and naturally to offers of employment and advertisements for engagements.

The most extraordinary fancies are allowed free play in the compilation and typographical arrangement of these advertisements. It is a question of attracting notice at [p006] any price. A clever artist unhesitatingly pays for a whole column, in which horizontally, diagonally, as a cross, or an X, he repeats his own name and acquirements three or four hundred times.

I quote the following specimens, taken at random from the columns of the Era:

The Era has an American rival also published in English, The New York Mirror. This newspaper has only one advantage over the Era: it publishes portraits.

Germany, however, possesses two newspapers for the banquistes: one, under a French title, La Revue; the other, which is far the most important, is called Der Artist. The complete sub-title is: Central-Organ zur Vermittlung des Verkehrs zwischen Directoren und Künstlern der Circus, Varietebühnen, reisenden Theater und Schaustellungen. This paper is printed at Düsseldorf; M. C. Krauss is the chief editor.

Der Artist has been established six years. It looks like a weekly review of twenty leaves, printed in three columns. A woodcut, which fills the frontispiece and all the left side of the first page, represents various scenes from the circus [p008] and theatres: “shootists” breaking bottles, horses leaping over bars, pretty equestrians on their highly-trained steeds, tame lions, dwarfs, giants, clowns,—all the attractions of the circus and fair.

Here, as in the Era, we find long alphabetical enumerations of travelling and stationary establishments and lists of addresses of artists engaged or disengaged. These advertisements are nearly all compiled in an extraordinary gibberish, which far surpasses the ingenuity of the “sabir”: here is a specimen of them, the first I met with. It is a curious mixture of French, English, Latin, Italian, and German words:

It is very remarkable that English and American puffing has quite disappeared here. The earnestness and application of the German character are betrayed even in the typographical arrangement of this newspaper for acrobats. It is as clearly and carefully printed as a catalogue of the Leipzic libraries. The biographical notices, announcements of death, column of accidents, the Varietebühnen are compiled with scrupulous care and exactitude. This curious publication even finds space for literature, and the last number of the Artist published as a supplement Damons Walten, a novel, by Otto von Ellendorf. It is easy to appreciate the services which these and similar newspapers are able to confer upon the banquistes.

“To tell the truth,” one of the confraternity said to me one [p010] day, “in the whole world we have no other home but the little pigeon-hole of advertisements, where those who know us go and ask for news of us, where they learn the history of our engagements, our successes, our accidents, our marriage, the birth of our children, or the tidings of our death.”

Between the artist who seeks for an engagement and the manager always on the look out for an extraordinary “novelty,” a third person necessarily intervenes, the middleman, who arises everywhere between buyer and seller.

And, in fact, at the present time all the principal cities of the world have their agents for performing artists of every kind. These personages are very important, and make large profits. Those best known on the Continent are Messrs. Paravicini and Warner, of London; Hitzig and Wulff, of Berlin; Wild, of Vienna; Rosinsky, of Paris; Nael Salsbury, of New York, who, during the Exhibition of 1889, has shown the Parisians the savage life of the “Wild West,” transported to Paris in the persons of the celebrated Buffalo-Bill and his Indians.

The history of the Rosinsky agency is worth narration, for it is now so flourishing that it has replaced, to the advantage of Paris, the engagement market which formerly existed in London.

You can imagine that a man would not open an agency of this kind without first passing through many vicissitudes, and, in fact, R. Rosinsky has had a most checkered life.

He first acquired a taste for the profession through frequenting Barnum’s show in the United States. He has been manager of several American troupes, and proprietor of [p011] a theatre, alternately at St. Louis de Missouri and New York. His affairs prospered, and, with the aid of a partner, Rosinsky opened a circus, which he intended to run during the whole time that the Exhibition at Cincinnati was open, when an unforeseen accident ruined him.

One evening his partner’s son, a young man twenty-five years old, but deaf and dumb, almost a brute, yet robust and dangerous, attempted to force an entrance into the dressing-room of an equestrian, who was just changing her dress after rehearsal. A policeman was quickly sent for. The deaf-mute drew a revolver from his pocket, fired at the policeman, and killed him on the spot.

The consequences of this murder may be easily guessed; [p012] the circus was closed. R. Rosinsky was ruined, and he recommenced his wanderings.

A few months later the famous Brigham Young invited him to undertake the management of the Theatre of the Mormons. I still have a copy of the newspaper—The Salt Lake Daily Herald—in which is found dated “Saturday morning, May 22, 1875,” an advertisement thus worded:

Engaged [p013] during the course of the same year by Sari, the founder of the Folies Bergères, R. Rosinsky crossed the sea with the Jackley Family.

He was immediately struck by the small number of “stars” known in Paris, and, in order to attract them, he founded an agency for artists in 1875. His business has increased so rapidly that the Rosinsky agency is now in communication with correspondents scattered through all the great cities of Europe and the world. One fact is enough to prove the extent of this business. The annual postal expenses of the firm exceed 10,000 francs (£400).

An agent of this kind receives 10 per cent, upon every engagement which he arranges. To prevent any disputes in collecting this fee a clause is inserted in the agreements to the effect that the agent’s percentage is to be deducted by the manager himself from the salary remitted to the artist at the end of the first month, and these salaries are, sometimes, very considerable.

In order to compare the amount formerly paid to circus artists with the sums now received by them, I have consulted an old manuscript from the archives of M. Franconi, which bears the title of Registre personnel du Cirque, and dates back for fifty years.

We find that in 1838 the equestrians Auriol, Lalanne the elder, Lalanne (Pierre), Lalanne (Paul), Lalanne (Joseph), were paid, the first-named 500 francs (£20), the others 250 francs per fortnight.

The star equestrian, Mdlle. Lucie Linski, then received 300 francs, her companions 100, 50, and even 25 francs per fortnight. [p015]

Four years later, in 1842, Auriol, whose success evidently increased, found his salary doubled. He received 1,000 francs per fortnight, or 2,000 francs per month, and the equestrian, Mdlle. Lilianne, 700 francs. Now, a good pad equestrian often receives 2,000 francs per month; a vaulting clown 1,500 francs; a family of acrobats 3,000 or 4,000 francs; and a single artist, whose performance is extraordinary and unusual, receives from 700 to 7,000 francs. Even these prices have been surpassed at times. Dr. Carver, the great “shootist,” was paid 15,000 francs a month at the Folies Bergères. Léotard, at his début, signed engagements for six months, and received 100,000 francs. The two brothers Lockhart, whom the Rosinsky agency had sent to India as [p016] clowns, returned as elephant-trainers, and now each of them, with his beast, earns about 70,000 francs per annum.

The enumeration of these sums tends, I admit, to only one object—to fill the public with respect, and make it understand that a good acrobat is, in his own line, quite as exceptional a being as, for instance, M. Renan is in his. I intentionally name the learned historian in preference to many other great intellects, because, in his wisdom, he is certainly convinced that acrobatic feats are not less useful than exegesis in the recreation of mankind.

I was led a short time ago, à propos of the manager Rosinsky, to mention Barnum—P. T. Barnum, the legendary man whose name, in every language spoken upon the surface of the globe, serves as an amplified superlative to the positive impresario.

To write a book upon the banquistes and omit to celebrate Barnum in it would be equivalent to erasing the venerated name of the Prophet from a commentary on the Koran.

Let us, therefore, now recall the chief events in the biography of Phineas Taylor Barnum. The man who has converted the “American Circus” into a national institution of the New World was born in 1810 in the village of Bethel in Connecticut.

He is, therefore, now in his eightieth year. I refer those readers who may be curious about the details of this adventurous life to a book which P. T. Barnum himself wrote for the edification of his admirers (The Life of P. T. Barnum: New York, 1885), and also to another work, which was published simultaneously in Paris and New York in 1865, under the title of Les Blagues de L’Univers. [p017]

I pass over the exodus of the youthful ploughboy who quitted the farm to become the editor of a newspaper, and will only dwell upon the patriarch, who is ending his life in the village of Bridgeport (Conn.) with all the splendour of the setting sun. There, as far as eye can reach, Barnum’s gaze rests upon his own property only. To him belong the village, farms, and workshops, the 1,200 workmen, who labour incessantly, perfecting the materials of the circus, which special trains convey through the American continent, perpetually travelling from one ocean to the other.

The law endeavoured to oppose the free passage of these trains over the public railroads. Barnum, through economy, at [p018] once proposed to construct new lines for his private use by the side of those already existing. Should the idea of visiting Europe during the Paris Exhibition occur to him, he would wish to acquire the Great Eastern to carry his apparatus, men and animals. The tent which covers his circus is alone worth 30,000 francs (£1,200); it is twice as large as the Hippodrome in Paris, and can shelter 15,000 spectators. In one day it can be erected, a performance given, and the journey renewed. The daily receipts vary between 40,000 and 60,000 francs.

Barnum’s cashiers, although installed in cars containing tills and writing-tables, have no time to keep any books. The daily receipts are forwarded uncounted to Bridgeport in sealed barrels, which are really measures of capacity for gold, silver, and copper coin. The accounts are all kept at Bridgeport. [p019]

A crowd of parasites follows Barnum on his travels and dwells round his tent. A town springs up in a few hours; people throng to it from fifty miles round. But then the arrival of the impresario king has been preceded for some months by immense descriptive placards posted in the localities through which his troupe would pass.

One anecdote taken from a thousand is a good example of the advantages which Barnum has derived from advertisements.

Some years ago a negro, having obtained a reward as a violinist at the Paris Conservatoire of Music, Barnum concluded an engagement with him by telegram for one year at a salary of 40,000 dollars. The walls of New York were [p020] then immediately covered with placards depicting a negro playing the violin, but without any descriptive words attached to the picture.

His virtuoso arrived, and Barnum hastened to produce him. The Yankees came, listened, applauded, but did not send their friends. What could Barnum do to rouse their dormant curiosity? He told his workmen to paste the figure of the negro upside down. This ingenious device was crowned with success. Perhaps the audience who flocked to hear him during three consecutive years fancied that a negro would be exhibited to them—a laureate from the Paris Conservatoire, who would play the violin whilst balanced on his head. Whatever their idea may have been, they went in millions; and this anecdote is not less characteristic of the peculiar stamp of American curiosity than of Barnum’s genius for puffing.

It is also an interesting proof of the share which advertisements play in the success of an entertainment. The artist world has learnt to appreciate the extraordinary effect of these coloured placards, and willingly spends a large sum of money in procuring the most effective designs; and these advertisements—of which I have reproduced a few of the most typical—are so varied and so brilliant that they might fairly dazzle collectors. The finest are issued by the firms of David Allen and Sons of Belfast, Mr. Barlow of Glasgow, Adolphe Friedlander of Hamburg, and Charles and Emile Levy of Paris.

This is the general outline of the organization: of the banquistes, who travel round the world without a country and without home ties. [p021]

[p022] I must now speak of a less adventurous mountebank—the Frenchman, who never willingly travels either by railroad or steamer, and who for centuries—for generations—has contentedly jogged along in a caravan from one fair to another, making in this way his eternal tour of France.

The origin of all these troupes of mountebanks, of every [p023] one of these travelling shows, is lost in the mist of ages. At what epoch were founded the Théâtre Vivien, the Théâtre de Saint-Antoine, the theatres of the Enfer and of the Physicien Delisle? In what century did Mouza-ba-baloued first turn his prophetic wheel under the awning of his caravan? I assure you that it is beyond the recollections of grandchildren or of their grandfathers. At all events, it is certain that from our birth we feel some curiosity mingled with a delicious dread of the mountebank, the picturesque wanderer, who passes our home at the same date in every year—like the migratory birds—who disappears one morning, without any one knowing where he has gone, or even with any certainty where he has come from; an ambiguous individual whom travellers on the high road pass as evening falls, encamped on the wayside, his kettle installed on a heap of stones, his thin steed munching the dusty grass, his half naked children wandering round the caravan, whilst the light shining through the little red curtains in the window throws the semblance of a plash of blood on the road.

This is the rear-guard, the voluntary laggard, the hermit, who wishes to remain alone until the end. He has not changed any of the customs of his ancestors, preferring to [p024] separate from his comrades rather than conform to new ways. His comrades have therefore renounced him. They will not drag such miscreants in their rear, now that they form a corporation with charters and statutes publicly decreed.

At the present moment the showmen’s world, like all other societies composed of rich and poor, is divided into two great disputing parties. Each of these divisions has its own newspaper, its representatives, the managers of its interests, its public opposition meetings. On one side you will find a group of all the important men in the profession, the proprietors of large establishments—who have serious interests to defend. These gentlemen are the anxious guardians of wealth, amassed with much trouble and labour. The authorities, who wish for the success of the “local fairs,” show special favour to these influential banquistes in the allotment of space. From this undue preference, extraordinary hatred, savage jealousy, result on the part of the smaller folk, whose sole fortune consists of one van, the sellers of gaufres and fried potatoes, the owners of swings and rifle saloons, lotteries, shows, and halls of mystery.

The less important men were the first to organize [p025] themselves. This is already the sixth year of publication of the Voyageur Forain,2 the organ of the syndical chamber of forain travellers, a fortnightly newspaper, published on the 1st and 15th of each month. A notice, always placed above the leading article, informs the readers that “the syndical chamber of forain travellers admits into its ranks all those, whether rich or poor, who honourably earn their livelihood by instructing or amusing the public, or by retail trade.”

The office of this picturesque newspaper is situated in the [p026] Boulevard Henri IV., at the end of a courtyard, above a stable. There I found an extraordinary Bohemian smoking a short pipe, lengthened by a quill, who in himself formed the whole editorial staff of the Voyageur Forain. This man of letters edits the notices of the Fairs, the Correspondence, and all the technical part of the newspaper. The rest of the number is composed of articles by the members of the syndical council. They consist chiefly of diatribes, directed against the party of “bourgeois,” who form a separate band, written in forcible language, which renders them most amusing to any one interested in French slang.

The “bourgeois,” whose names I find at the head of the first number of the newspaper of the Union mutuelle, dated May 8, 1887, were, at the time when the society was instituted:

President: M. François Bidel, manager-proprietor of a large zoological establishment, Chevalier de la Valeur civile Italienne.

Vice-presidents: M. J. B. Revest, manufacturer, part-proprietor: boats (sea on land); M. Ferdinand Corvi, proprietor and manager of a (miniature) circus.

I will skip the treasurers and directors, and quote part of the address given to the subscribers to the Union mutuelle in the programme number:

Now, the Union mutuelle, which was only founded on the 29th April, 1887, is settled in fine offices in the Rue de Châteaudun. The association is rich. Its members have the right to apply to the superannuation fund at the age of fifty if they have belonged to it for ten years. M. Bidel looks forward to the day when, in order to invest their funds, these restless wanderers over the highways of the world will buy some “house property” in Paris. The Union mutuelle will have tenants of its own. The showmen will be estate owners in Paris. And this hope, which will be realized in a short time, gives the greatest delight to M. Bidel and his colleagues, particularly when they recall the modest origin of the association, the meetings held at the Gobelins, in the menagerie even, where the voices of the orators were drowned at intervals by the roaring of the wild beasts. Every month the Union mutuelle holds a plenary meeting, at which the managers submit their accounts to the members. Every Wednesday the managing committee meets to settle the business of the week.

The correspondence is voluminous. Every provincial member of the society who has had to apply to a local [p028] mayor for a license, or to obtain justice, addresses himself to the managing committee to solicit its support, and in this way the showman commands the satisfaction of his claim, which might otherwise have been refused. The interest which the Union mutuelle takes in his affairs is the highest recommendation he can have; for it is well known that no one can belong to the society unless his judicial record is perfectly clear. One may learn many curious things by reading the Voyageur forain and the Union mutuelle. No one suspects, for instance, that the order of the fairs is [p029] organized in an almost unvarying routine, that has existed for many centuries, and that it is arranged so as to diminish as much as possible the expenses of travelling for the showmen.

In each number of the newspaper you will find the following intelligence—Indicateur des Foires du Mois (Guide to the Fairs held this Month). Then follows an alphabetical list of the departments, with all the items of useful information quoted in this way:—