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.”
