There is one fact which no one would suspect—that it is easier to train an adult lion taken in a snare than an animal born in a menagerie. The lion of the booth is in the same position as sporting dogs which play much with children; they are soon spoilt for work. Pezon possesses five or six lions which he has brought up by hand. As a rule they live with the staff of the menagerie on terms of perfect familiarity, but this frequently leads to tragic accidents. [p151]
Lions, even lions in a fair, will devour a man in fine style.
Can I say that the fear of such an accident is ever sufficiently strong to make me pause on the threshold of a menagerie? No. I cherish, and, like me, you also cherish, the hope that some day perhaps we may see a lion-tamer eaten. This contingency sometimes occurs, in fact more often than is usually supposed. For instance, without leaving the Pezon menagerie, it is not a year since the proprietor narrowly escaped being devoured by his bear Groom at Chalons-sur-Marne. He would have perished if his son Adrian Pezon had not thrown himself, sabre in hand, between the two combatants and killed the bear on the spot.[8]
This act of heroism has been celebrated by the poet Constant Robert in some remarkable Alexandrines, which deserve to be handed down to posterity:— [p152]
L’assistance appelait au secours, et l’horreur
Qui s’empara soudain de chaque spectateur
Ne saurait se décrire! On était dans l’attente,
Sans pouvoir l’éviter, d’une mort imminente!
Lorsqu’au moment critique, intrépide, haletant,