Let us now see how these forces operate in the case of the riders in a circus. The equestrian leans inward so much that, if he were to stand still in that position, he would inevitably fall off the horse; but the centrifugal force, which has a tendency to impel him outward from the circle, or in a straight line of motion, sustains him, and he careers onward safely and gracefully. The tendency of the centrifugal force to impel him outward is counteracted by the inward leaning, while it forms an invisible support to the overhanging body. It will be observed also that the horse assumes the same counteracting posture; and a horse quickly turning a corner does the same.
Resuming our record of circus performances, we find Pablo Fanque at Astley’s in 1847, with a wonderful trained horse, Plége again appearing on the tight-rope, and Le Fort, ‘the sprite of the pole,’ in a novel and clever gymnastic performance. The political events of which Paris was the scene in the following year caused the managers of Franconi’s Cirque to transfer their company and stud to Drury Lane Theatre, so that London had two circuses open at the same time for the first time since the days of Astley and Hughes.
John Powell appeared during this season at Astley’s, and an additional attraction was provided in Van Amburgh’s trained animals, to which there was now added a black tiger, a rare variety, and one which had never been exhibited in a state of docility before. It was introduced in the drama of the Wandering Jew, a story which was then creating a great sensation all over Europe; and Van Amburgh personated the beast-tamer, Morok, through whose instrumentality the Jesuits endeavour to delay the old soldier, Dagobert, on his journey to Paris, by exposing his horse to the fangs of a ferocious black panther.
It was in this year, it may here be remarked, that Sir Edwin Landseer’s great picture of Van Amburgh in the midst of his beasts was exhibited at the Royal Academy, where it attracted as much attention as the originals had done at Astley’s.
Pablo Fanque’s circus had, in the mean time, moved from Wakefield to Leeds, where a catastrophe occurred which has, unfortunately, had too many parallels in the annals of travelling circuses. On a benefit night in March, 1848, the circus was so crowded that the gallery fell, and Pablo’s wife was killed, and Wallett’s wife and several other persons were more or less injured. Wallett then joined Ryan’s circus, which, however, was on its last legs; bailiffs were in possession, and its declining fortunes were brought to a climax by a ‘strike’ of the band. At this crisis Wallett had the good fortune to be engaged for Astley’s, where a keen rivalry soon ensued between him and Barry, who claimed the choice of acts in the ring, in his exercise of which Wallett was not disposed to acquiesce. Thompson, the manager, took the same view as the latter of the equality of position of the two clowns; and Barry, in consequence, refused to perform, unless the choice of acts was conceded to him. A very attractive act was in rehearsal at this time, in which John Dale was to appear as an Arab, with a highly-trained horse, and Barry as a rollicking Irishman. As Wallett had attended all the rehearsals he was as capable of taking this part as the other clown was, and, on Barry failing to appear, he was requested by Thompson to take the part which had been assigned to his rival. Wallett complied, and enacted the part of Barney Brallaghan with complete success. Barry thereupon retired, and for many years afterwards kept a public-house in the immediate vicinity of the theatre.
Thompson was succeeded in the management by William Broadfoot, the brother-in-law of Ducrow, whom he resembled very much in disposition and temper. One day, during the rehearsal of a military spectacle, a cannon ball, which was among the stage properties, was thrown at him, which so enraged him that he offered a reward of £2 for information as to the person by whom it had been thrown, the hand which had impelled the missile being unknown at least to himself. There was a fine of ten shillings for practical joking during rehearsals, but the reward left a wide margin for its payment, and tempted Wallett to acknowledge that he was the offender. Broadfoot paid the reward, and Wallett paid the fine, afterwards expending the balance of thirty shillings in a supper, shared with Ben Crowther, Tom Lee, and Harvey, the dancer.
There was another supper at Astley’s which the parties did not find quite so pleasant. Batty produced an equestrian drama called the Devil’s Horse, in which Wallett had to play a subordinate part, one agreeable incident of which was the eating of a plate of soup. One night, James Harwood, the equestrian actor, intercepted the soup in transit, and refreshed himself with a portion of it, which so enraged Wallett that he broke the plate on the offender’s head. By this assault he incurred the penalty of being mulcted of a week’s salary, the means of evading which exercised his mind in an unusual degree. The expedient which he hit upon was the borrowing of ten pounds from the treasurer, George Francis, having obtained which he went his way rejoicing. He did not present himself at the treasury on the following Saturday; and Batty, meeting him on Monday morning, inquired the reason of his absence.
‘I had no salary to receive,’ replied Wallett. ‘I had borrowed ten pounds of Mr Francis in the week.’
‘Then your fine will be a set off against next week’s salary,’ observed Batty.
‘Aren’t you aware, sir,’ rejoined Wallett, ‘that the time I was engaged for expired on Saturday night?’