  The tragic accident which killed an unfortunate equilibrist, Castagnet, by a fall from his cord in September, 1888, roused great emotion amongst the public. Those persons, even, who wrongfully credit the poor acrobats with practising every vice, cannot restrain their admiration for the marvellous courage which these pariahs display on these terrible occasions. We must take advantage of the intervals thus produced in the contempt usually felt by the public for circus artists, to prove to all lovers of fine physical performances that this great skill is not acquired without the practice of many daily virtues, of which temperance ranks least, and incredible perseverance is the most admirable. I have now frequented the society of banquistes for many years, and am on confidential terms with them; I cannot assert [p242] too often the very great esteem I feel for them. Their art is wholly traditional, and it preserves habits of respect and obedience in their families which, perhaps, can scarcely be found elsewhere. Of course there are some black sheep in the band, some slave-drivers, like the bully whom Nils Forsberg formerly painted in a picture—Avant la ’Loi Talon—which caused a great sensation in Paris, but the subject of it appeared so cruel that the committee dared not admit it to the Salon. But this is an exceptional case, which is much less common than is usually believed. The “families” whom you see pirouette in the arena, vault over fixed bars, and scale the trapezes, keep, as a rule, to the old patriarchal customs. Rehearsal fills every hour of the day which can be spared from the theatre, and this muscular work produces a healthy physical fatigue, which is the best school of morality. The first business of a family of acrobats that wishes to succeed in its tour round the world, is to perfect each member of it in some special exercise which suits his natural aptitudes. Some men are born carpet acrobats, others are attracted by the fixed bar, others seem born for vaulting. No mistake must be made at the dÉbut of a professional education, for an artist who wishes to acquire fame and fortune must become a specialist from his first teeth. Whatever branch may be decided upon, the carpet acrobats, the bar experts, and the trapezeist have always commenced by training themselves in a certain number of universal exercises which form the basis of gymnastics, as the scale is the basis of all music. They consist in learning the innumerable number of somersaults. [p243] The first attempted with the feet firm, that is to say without springboard or batoude, is the somersault backward. This is much easier to learn than the somersault forward. The neophyte wears a strong tight belt provided with a ring above each hip. Cords are passed through these rings, and are held by two companions in work, enabling them to uphold the gymnast. The latter strives to turn round upon the axis formed by the two cords, gradually decreasing his reliance upon them. At last he can dispense with them entirely. Before the acrobat attempts the somersault forward, he must go through the whole series of exercises in posturing. [p244] First bending forward or “posturing,” the hands laid flat upon the ground so as to support the body, which is raised with the legs opened, the first time in the form of a Y, the second time in an elongation of I. Then comes bending backward, in which the body is arched in an inverse sense, the hands on the ground near the heels. Next follows the curvet, which is performed by throwing the body suddenly backwards until the hands touch the ground. And at the moment they reach the floor a vigorous relaxation of the muscles of the legs makes the acrobat rebound upon his feet. When any one has mastered these three primeval exercises, he may attempt the somersault forward without the aid of his hands. He must now rely upon combining these various acquirements in “acts” of his own invention that will dazzle and astonish the public. The classical performance of a carpet acrobat opens by bending backward. It is continued by a monkey’s somersault—a decomposition of the somersault backward, by the rondade—a curvet backwards, and then by a somersault. But vaulters do not end here; each of them varies in an infinite number of ways by the acts of his invention, the outline of his acrobatic career. He introduces an Arab somersault (a somersault from the side, which is obtained by starting from the ground on one foot only); the lion’s somersault, which is a monkey’s somersault forward; the coward’s leap, in which the acrobat, lying upon his back, raises himself by one effort of the loins; the forward somersault, a lion’s somersault without the hands, which throws the man, legs in air, head downwards upon the nape [p245] of his neck; the carp’s leap, also the sudden spring of an extended acrobat, which raises him to his feet through the relaxation of the muscles of the spine. The double somersault cannot be performed from the carpet without assistance; the artist must spring from the shoulders of a companion, or with the aid of the peculiar spring-board which French banquistes call the batoude. With [p246] the batoude Auriol cleared twenty-four bayonets with a flying somersault, ended by a dive—a jump from a great height.12 With the batoude specialists have bounded over twenty-four horses, and at the gymnasium Du Marais, belonging to M. Pascaud, last year an amateur, M. Mars, performed a triple somersault. This feat is the realization of the highest ambition of those carpet acrobats whom you have so often seen grouped in an apotheosis in one of those human pyramids which rise in a second through the strength of the gymnasts’ biceps, and which fall to pieces like fireworks, in rockets of somersaults. We cannot leave the circus floor without allusion to a series of individuals who exhibit themselves by the side of the genuine acrobats in performances of a special kind. These are the contortionists, the india-rubber women—all those who were formerly known by the more general name of boneless acrobats. These boneless or dislocated performers are more numerous in the world than one would imagine. [p247] Ballet-dancers are all dislocated, for their feet, legs, and loins have been disarticulated to obtain beautiful points; the naturalist quadrille-dancers from Mabille, who are now seen at the cafÉ concerts, are also dislocated. There are some naturally disarticulated men. All Parisians will remember in their youth, a beggar who was celebrated as the “humpback of the Pont d’Austerlitz.” This mountebank caused his hump to pass from his back to his chest as he liked. The vertebral column turned without any effort from back to front, and from front to back again. He was found drowned one day between two coal boats, and his skeleton is still shown in the Museum. But he was an exception. One must begin early in order to manufacture a dislocated man like the “man in the ball.” A wooden ball, about one yard in diameter, is rolled into the arena. This huge sphere ascends an inclined plane, and rolls from right to left upon it, then descends and recommences the ascension like a living being. And truly, for it suddenly opens and a dislocated man appears, who, without any semblance of fatigue, bows to the astonished audience. [p248] No one has yet guessed the secret which enables this wonderful contortionist to bend and move his body in so small a space. The bones, instead of being joined by articulations, are held together by a fibrous membrane which envelops them like a kind of muff and holds them in their sockets. This membrane, called “a capsule,” is very flexible, [p249] and is capable of great elasticity of tension, during childhood particularly. By preserving and developing this natural disposition, the abnormal movements can be obtained which surprise us amongst acrobats. The performances of Walter, called the Serpent-man, are not less extraordinary. I will not insult you by supposing that you have not seen and applauded this wonderful artist; it is, therefore, for the [p250] inhabitants of hyperborean countries that I shall now describe his work. J. H. Walter appears in black tights spangled with silver, classic as an AntinoÜs, nervous as a stag. He looks as though he could reach the friezes with a bound, and one is quite surprised to find that he does not leave the “carpet.” His performance opens by an important and novel act, in which the bust is reversed, and the head touches the back of the knees, whilst the right hand seizes one of the ankles, and the left is extended in an inverse sense, flat upon the ground. And the startling series of leaps, of movements, of contortions, which follow, end in an alarming pose, which recalls the monstrous gargoyles of Gothic sculpture; for the acrobat drops his feet, knots them under his head, and in this attitude, with starting eyes, and rigid, open lips, he resembles a skull supported on cross-bones. When we were introduced to each other, I complimented him upon his artistic skill. J. H. Walter seemed pleased with my praises; his British stiffness thawed, and we chatted familiarly. I was very curious to know whether this acrobatic monstrosity had attracted much notice from the women. He frankly replied— “Sir, the chastity which monks do not always observe is forced upon an artist of my class. You will guess that I did not obtain this complete flexibility in one day. On the very morning of my birth my father commenced to bend my joints. I grew up with the idea that I would be the greatest disarticulated artist of the century, or perhaps of all ages. I never had any other ambition. With regard to the point on [p251] which you question me, the greatest reserve is imposed upon me. I have all the appearance of a strong man; my chest is wider than your own, but beneath it I conceal the lungs of a child; they are stunted by the daily pressure of my thoracic cage. Consumption threatens me, and will carry me off very early unless I break my neck in the circus some evening, which I should certainly prefer.” The acrobat told me all this without any affectation, in so natural and decided a tone that I did not feel justified in pitying his fate. But since I wished to know what sentiment could survive, in a being of such mediocre intellectual culture, his resignation to the sacrifice of life, I said to him with some interest— “I quite understand; dear Monsieur Walter, that the applause you receive seems to you, whilst it lasts, a sufficient reward for your past sufferings and approaching end. But, tell me, when the fever of the circus has passed away, in your hours of leisure and solitude like this one, do you not curse your destiny?” The Englishman smiled quietly. “I have,” he replied, “a specific against ennui—a passion which saves me from reflection. I gamble, sir, gamble madly for whole nights at a time. I stake the thousands of francs which the managers [p252] pay me every month; worse than that, I have staked my skeleton, and lost it!” The terrace of the cafÉ, where we were talking, had become empty through the lateness of the hour; the waiters had already closed the front, and were taking in the chairs. The Serpent-man rose; and as I stared at him with wonder in my eyes, he added— “We are driven from here, sir. Will you accompany me to my hotel? I will tell you how it occurred.” He led me to a family boarding-house in the Rue du ColisÉe, which has no customers except the acrobats who pass through Paris. J. H. Walter occupied a fairly comfortable room on the first floor. He lighted a lamp, and [p253] when we were seated, facing each other, he continued his story in these words— “It happened about five years ago I was performing in London, and every evening I played poker in the taverns with an ill luck that would not change. All my savings were lost, and when I had no money left the idea occurred to me to insert an advertisement in The Era (you know that is our professional newspaper), in which I said— “‘J. H. Walter, the celebrated Serpent-man, will dispose of his skeleton upon his death for one thousand guineas, payable at once.’ “On the following day I received a visit from a celebrated surgeon. He made me undress, carefully examined [p254] my back, felt the vertebrÆ of my spine, then drawing out a pocket-book, he handed me a cheque for a thousand guineas without a word! “Alas! my ill-luck still pursued me, and the money soon followed my wages. “It is now eighteen months since I lost the last guinea of the surgeon’s money on the card-table. But if the treasure has gone, the contract still stands. In obedience to a formal clause in the agreement, I always travel with this....” The Serpent-man rose, went to his bed, and, stooping down, he drew a long, narrow oak box from under it. An [p255] address was painted in large black letters upon this queer violin-case— DOCTOR London. The acrobat raised the lid, and I saw that the box was empty. “This,” he said, “is my coffin; I always travel with it. Now, when I break my neck, I shall be hurriedly embalmed and packed into it. You see this paper gummed inside the box? It contains instructions from the doctor himself, written in four languages, for the undertakers, who will lay me out. Look, here are the directions.” The Serpent-man stooped down with the lamp in his hand; I knelt beside him, and read— “The persons who place the acrobat, J. H. Walter, in this coffin, are begged to inject a solution of chloride of mercury and acetic acid into his veins, according to the method used by the American, Doctor Ure. “In default of the above, an injection of about four quarts and a half of sulphate of zinc may be used. The latter is even preferable, if the coffin will be more than forty days on the road.” “Well,” said the acrobat when I had finished reading, “what do you think of it all?” “I think, my friend, that you must have been tempted more than once to leave this box in the cloak-room.” [p256] I smiled as I spoke, hoping to induce the Englishman to speak out; but the Serpent-man replied rather dryly— “No, sir; such a temptation has never occurred to me: a gentleman keeps his word.” .... The performance of carpet acrobatics is something like a state of larva to gymnasts. They all aspire to take flight. The first step in this elevation is the “bars.” The second, the glorious altitude, is “vaulting.” Any one who has put on the belt of a gymnast, if but for [p257] one trial, has practised on the single bar the following rudimentary exercises:— 1. Breasting the bar, which consists in gently drawing the body, without jerking it, to the level of the bar, by the contraction of the biceps. 2. Circling the bar—curling the body gently over the bar head forward, holding tightly with the hands. 3. Simultaneous “upstart”—the elevation of the body [p258] above the bar, with both arms through a spring from the back—“temps de reins.” 4. Alternative “upstart”—one arm after the other. 5. Upstart on one leg, which has a corollary called German upstart or swinging. 6. “Cutaway up,” which is obtained by giving a strong spring, which throws the body forward, brings it back again in a natural swing, and is completed by an “upstart.” 7. Long swings or giant swings, forwards and backwards. This is a series of rapid somersaults round the bar, executed with extended arms. At times they are so rapid that the body describes a succession of circles round the bar, like the arms of a windmill. 8. Hough swings. This exercise resembles the preceding one, but the bar is grasped below the kneecaps, without the assistance of the hands. 9. Hands and feet swings. This is performed backwards or forwards; the hands and feet are both placed on the bar, the hands outside, the feet inside. This is a fairly complete list of the exercises of an amateur, but very few of them practise the whole series. They pause at the “upstarts,” and at once pass to the double bars or parallel bars, which possess the hygienic virtue of widely opening the chest and developing the biceps. Circus gymnastics usually commence with the triple parallel bars. There are a few acrobats who perform with the single bar and a double “batoude,” but I have only seen one specialist with the parallel bars—Gustave de PenthiÈvre, who is rarely seen now in the hippodromes. On the other hand, the triple parallel bars offer signal [p259] advantages for acrobats, through the opportunities they provide for numerous and very varied exercises. They enable several gymnasts to appear together, and thus give [p260] the artists breathing-time whilst their companions perform their share of the entertainment. These frequent intervals of rest are indispensable, on account of the exhaustion which follows the violent exertions of the gymnasts. The series of acrobatics performed upon the fixed triple bars are called passes. Amongst them you will find all the exercises of the single bar perfected, enlarged, and multiplied—the simple swings, demi-pirouette swings, swings on the feet, swings standing, vaulting acts, hands and feet swings, hough swings, somersault swings, heel swings. Sometimes the artist raises himself, sits on the first bar, opens his legs and profits by the impulse thus received to spring forward upon the other bar (vaulting act); sometimes he springs in recoiling, and then turns upon himself to catch the next bar facing him (swing upon the heel); but it must be understood that each acrobat has his particular acts which are combinations of these exercises suited to his dexterity and personal strength, and blended with various falls, somersaults backwards and forwards, double somersaults forwards, double reversed somersaults, etc., etc. The fixed bar is also the best school of vaulting or flying. Before LÉotard invented the flying trapeze by a stroke of genius, vaulting exercises were restricted to the river jumping. Acrobats have now rejected with some contempt the two cords which held them prisoners by the wrists; to-day, they are masters of space. This subject reminds me of the modern kings of the trapeze—the two brothers Volta. THE HANLON-VOLTAS AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE. These gymnasts belong to a good family. They were educated in England in one of those country colleges where [p261] English boys develop the lobes of their brains and the biceps of their arms at the same time. Thanks to this system, my two friends, although they are the kings of the fixed bar, can also read the Iliad in Greek with great facility. They both worked in a bank, and in the evenings, after dinner, they practised gymnastics for their amusement in a public gymnasium. Naturally supple fine young men, they made wonderful progress. A “manager” who accidentally saw them perform, proposed making an engagement with them. They consulted each other. They laboriously earned 600l. per annum between them in the bank. Now the Barnum offered a salary of 160l. per month. [p262] The brothers Volta closed their books, crossed the ocean with a somersault, and made their dÉbut in America. They joined a band which already possessed two flying trapezists and an iron arm, the Hanlons, the genuine pupils of the old Hanlon-Lees. The Voltas’ contributions to the entertainment was a very clever series of performances on the fixed bars. This completed the scale of vaulting exercises. The band could make the tour of the world in glorious style with the varied accomplishments of its members. With the exception of the standing swing and the feet swing, all the exercises of the fixed bar can be performed on the trapeze. Some special swings are also risked, such as the passe ventre, which is executed by throwing one’s self over the trapeze. But the most popular of these exercises is the simple flight from one trapeze to the other, with a few yards’ interval to be crossed between them. This infatuation is explicable, for there is no doubt that this performance gives us the best opportunity of admiring as in apotheosis the beauty of the human form, and this is the reason why the idea of placing young girls upon the trapeze was so quickly grasped. With the advent of woman, passion and crime made their appearance in the serene atmosphere of the aerial realms; which, like the republic of Aristophanes’ Birds, extend beyond the reach of human perversity. You have all felt the anxiety which seizes the heart during the flight supported (voltige en porteurs), when one of these young girls hangs by the feet to her trapeze—hushes the music, and in the sudden silence calls to her companion— “Are you ready?” The youngest of the two acrobats is mounted upon her [p263] saddle; with eye and muscle strained she watches the trapeze, which advances towards her in waves of rhythmical movements approaching nearer each time. Suddenly the word is given— “Go!” The youthful body launched by the trapeze like a stone from a sling, crosses the whole width of the circus, and the [p264] flying girl clasps the hands of her companion. The shock causes the two bodies to sway together for an instant, then they free themselves, and with a double somersault reach the net. You can imagine how easily a jealous girl can rid herself of a rival in those few minutes. An imperceptible movement of the loins, the delay of one-tenth of a second, and the girl flying through space is condemned to death. This misfortune recently happened through an accident, but there are some criminal cases of it. One of these incidents has been related already. The two heroines were called “Ohia” and “Nella.” The advertisement styled them “sisters,” but they were only companions in their aerial work. They detested each other with the indescribable artist-jealousy, in spite of their entry hand in hand and their stage smiles. It happened that the applause was warmer for Nella, the vaulter, than for Ohia who caught her; and on this [p265] account the miserable girl hated her companion so intensely that she resolved to kill her. One day, therefore, when after the great spring Ohia grasped Nella by her hands, an abrupt movement suddenly precipitated the young girl outside the net. Fortunately the shock was not too violent to allow Nella to catch hold of the cord as she fell. She remained suspended, dazzled for one moment, clinging to the saving line. Ohia was still swinging in the friezes. Warned by the shouts of the audience that her scheme had failed, she made one tremendous spring, traversed the whole width of the circus, and fell shattered upon the palisades of the arena. Thus another proverb, also current in the side-scenes of the circus, was verified, and this time the whole world may take warning from it—“If you value your bones, never work with wine or with a woman.” I once questioned some celebrated acrobats upon a subject which piques the curiosity of the public. We all know by experience that Eves love well-made Adams. I do not mean the “mashers” with girls’ faces, but men built like the old statues, with supple limbs and broad chests. From this point of view, the gymnast who acquires strength without losing his agility, seems an ideal lover. I therefore asked them to tell me in friendly sincerity if they found many scented notes in their dressing-room every evening. “I am sure,” replied Alphonse, the elder of the two friends, the orator of the pair, “that we receive quite as many love-letters, as the tenors do. From this you may conclude, if you like, that there is exactly the same number of practical women as of sentimental ones, unless the same individuals write to the [p266] tenors and the gymnasts—and this seems very probable to me.” “And in what terms do you answer these passionate advances, my dear Alphonse?” [p267] “We throw the letters into the fire without reading them,” replied the acrobat. “You are afraid of being tempted?” “Of course all excess is forbidden us. No one must mount into the friezes without a perfectly clear head. It is too easy to miss a spring and break one’s neck, even by falling into the net—which is more useful for reassuring the audience and the police than for anything else. But this is not our only reason for avoiding women. Ask Adolphe’s opinion on the point.” [p268] “We do not like women because they are badly made,” replied his comrade, with a grimace of disgust. I could not help smiling. “Well, my friend,” I replied, “I think you are speaking of them like a jealous artist; you object to them because, with very limited skill, by the exhibition of their bodies flying through the air they attract as much applause as you do with all your artistic dexterity. It is not personal dislike in your case, as you seem to think—it is trade jealousy.” At this Alphonse interposed. “Adolph is right,” he answered. “Women are badly made. A woman is not an object of art, but of use. Look at her hips—how they exceed the falling line of the shoulders, crush the short legs and destroy all proportion by their excessive width. This defect requires concealment by some drapery, [p269] and should prohibit the exhibition of the nude. On the other hand the strength of the body, which in a woman lies in her hips, a man carries in his shoulders. Atlas bears the weight of the world upon his neck. Get up, Adolph, and show us your back.” His friend was smoking, but he quietly laid down his cigarette, and took off his shirt. Alphonse looked at him for an instant, admiring him with the enjoyment of an artist, a smile on his lips. “You can put that fellow,” he said, “into the ideal oval of the egg upon which Greek sculpture has inscribed the hermaphrodite, and you will see whether his shoulders destroy the classic lines of sexless beauty.” I have often heard these Æsthetic truths expressed by other trapeze artists more coarsely and with less appreciation of art. [p270] After an interval of some centuries, the life of the gymnasium has revived the customs which astonish modern readers in the Banquet. This surprise is unworthy of philosophers. It is logical that throughout all ages the same causes should produce the same effects. The woman of antiquity remained in the gynÆceum, and she was rarely seen by the outer world. Woman is banished from modern gymnasiums by her natural destination of wife, mother, and nurse. The Greek youth became enamoured of the ephebe in the gymnasium, where they appeared nude and beautiful. Modern gymnasts admire their fellow-workers in their [p271] dangerous performances with equal enthusiasm. And it would show little knowledge of human nature if we inquire how the admiration for beauty becomes transformed into the wish to possess it, that is, into love. [p272] I write the word without fear of any misunderstanding. We are now contemplating simple, healthy men who pass [p273] their lives in performing very hard work, and who are freed from sensual temptation by physical fatigue. As a rule, [p274] therefore, the passions of gymnasts are purely sentimental and platonic; you will find in them first of all the great element of all love—the protection of the weak by the strong. There is, in fact, in every pair of acrobats, a male and a female, the “hero” or bearer, the “man underneath” who supports the weight of the whole “act,” to whom the “man above” confides his life. The latter is the younger, the most supple and graceful of the two. He receives the larger share of the applause, the most enthusiastic “bravos.” His existence depends upon the self-sacrifice and affection of the man who upholds him. “We must rely upon each other,” said one of the Hanlons to me one day, referring to their young comrade, “Bob,” the favourite of the whole troupe. Translated: “We must love each other like the youthful soldiers of the Theban legion, like Castor and Pollux, to whom legend has never assigned any mistress.” This conviction of the superior, absolute beauty of man is so bound up in the customs of the gymnasium, that you will find that all men of high culture who devote themselves to physical exercises, acquire with their attachment to the trapeze, the same Æsthetic views. The most illustrious example that I can quote on this point is certainly Pierre Loti. You have read his novel of AzyadÉ, and you know the enthusiasm with which he speaks of the gymnasium. Remember, on the other hand, the tenderness of the novel-writer for FrÈre Yvres, recall the PÊcheurs d’Islande clinging to the helm of their boat, and you will more easily realize the [p275] discipline by which gymnastics lead an acrobat who cares for his profession, to the Æsthetic admiration for man. For my own part until I read the works of Pierre Loti, I never thoroughly understood the epithet which Pindar throws in the face of an Olympian victor in a lyrical antistrophe— “Oh, barren gymnastics!”..... FOOTNOTES [p277]
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