‘It immediately struck me that, if I could get the ex-M. P. to perform in our circus, it would be a great draw. With this object in my mind, I waited on Mr Townsend the next morning, and explained to him my views. “Heaven knows,” he said in reply, “I want money bad enough; but to do this in Greenwich would be impossible.” I did not give it up, however, but pressed him on several occasions, until at last he consented to appear as Richard III. for a fortnight, on sharing terms. The next difficulty was as to who should sustain the other characters in the play, there being no one in the company, except Mr Ginnett and myself, capable of taking a part. We got over the difficulty by cutting the piece down, and Mr Ginnett and myself doubling for Richmond, Catesby, Norfolk, Ratcliffe, Stanley, and the Ghosts. The business, notwithstanding these drawbacks, turned out a great success; so much so, that Mr Townsend insisted on treating the whole of the company to a supper. Shortly afterwards, he went to America.
‘In the following year, while at Cardiff, we got up an equestrian spectacle entitled The Tournament; or, Kenilworth Castle in the Days of Good Queen Bess, for which we required many supernumeraries to take part in the procession, the most important being a handsome-looking female to impersonate the maiden Queen. Walking down Bute Street one day, I espied, serving in a fruiterer’s shop, a female whom I thought would answer our purpose admirably. So I walked in, and made a small purchase, which led to conversation; and by dint of a little persuasion, and explaining the magnificent costume to be worn, the lady consented to attend a rehearsal on the following day. She came to the circus, received the necessary instructions, and seemed highly gratified when seated on the throne, surrounded by her attendants.
‘On the first night of the piece, everything went off well until its close, when Mr Ginnett rushed into my dressing-room, in great excitement, exclaiming, “There is that infernal woman sitting on her throne!” I immediately proceeded to the ring-doors, and there, to my dismay, saw the Queen on the throne by herself, and the boys in the gallery pelting her with orange peel. I beckoned to her, but she seemed to have lost all presence of mind. I sent one of the grooms to fetch her off, and amidst roars of laughter her royal highness gathered up her robes, and made a bolt. It appeared that the Earl of Leicester, who should have led her off, had, for a joke, told her to stay until she was sent for.’
Gymnastics continued in the ascendant at the Alhambra long after its conversion into a music-hall, and crowds flocked there nightly to witness the wondrous, and then novel, feats of Leotard, Victor Julien, Verrecke, and Bonnaire on the flying trapeze. Somersaults over horses in the ring, being performed by the aid of a spring-board, are far surpassed by the similar feats of gymnasts between the bars of the flying trapeze. The single somersaults of Leotard and Victor Julien were regarded with wonder, but they have been excelled by the double somersault executed by Niblo, which, in its turn, has been surpassed by the triple turn achieved by the young lady known to fame as ‘Lulu.’ I am not aware that a quadruple somersault has ever been accomplished, if indeed it has ever been attempted. It was stated, about three years ago, that a gymnast who had attempted the feat in Dublin paid the penalty of his hardihood in loss of life; but experience has rendered me somewhat incredulous as to the rumours of fatal accidents to gymnasts and acrobats which are not confirmed by the report of a coroner’s inquest.
Besznak, the cornet-player of the London Pavilion orchestra, said to me one evening, several years ago, ‘You know Willio, the bender? Well, he is dead; went into the country to perform at a gala, and caught a cold, poor fellow!’ Willio is, however, still living. I will give another instance. About two years ago, one of the Brothers Ridgway met with an accident at the Canterbury Hall, while practising. Some weeks afterwards, it was currently reported that his injuries had proved fatal. Subsequently, however, a gentleman engaged in the ballet at the Alhambra, and who, at the time of the accident, had been similarly engaged at the Canterbury, was accosted one evening, while returning home, in the well-known voice of the young gymnast who had been reported dead. Turning round in surprise, he saw that it was indeed Ridgway who had spoken, looking somewhat paler than he did before the accident, but far more lively than a corpse.
Great as the risks attending gymnastic feats really are, they are not greater than those which are braved every day by sailors, miners, and many other classes, as well as in hunting, shooting, rowing, and other sports, not excluding even cricket. While there are few gymnasts who have not met with casualties in the course of their career, the proportion of fatal accidents to the number of professional gymnasts performing is certainly not greater than among the classes just mentioned, and I believe it to be even less. During the period between the advent of Leotard at the Alhambra and the present time, only two gymnasts, so far as I have been able to ascertain, have been killed while performing; and the prophecy attributed to that renowned gymnast, that all his emulators would break their necks, has, happily, not been fulfilled.
CHAPTER IX.
Cremorne Gardens—The Female Blondin—Fatal Accident at Aston Park—Reproduction of the Eglinton Tournament—Newsome and Wallett—Pablo Fanque’s Circus—Equestrianism at Drury Lane—Spence Stokes—Talliott’s Circus—The Gymnasts of the Music-halls—Fatal Accident at the Canterbury—Gymnastic Brotherhoods—Sensational Feats—Sergeant Bates and the Berringtons—The Rope-trick—How to do it.
Though the history of circus performances would be scarcely complete without an occasional passing glance at the music-halls, it would be impracticable to give a consecutive record of the performances at places now so numerous without producing a work that would rival in voluminousness, and, I may add, in tedium, the dramatic history of Geneste. I shall, therefore, give only a general view of them, including in the survey places which, during the summer, divide with them the patronage of the pleasure-seeking public.
While the graceful performance of Leotard was attracting nightly crowds to the Alhambra, the public were invited by the lessee of Cremorne Gardens to witness the crossing of the Thames on a rope by a lady who assumed the name of the Female Blondin, and whose performance was probably suggested by the more adventurous feat of her masculine prototype over the cataract of Niagara. The performance was decidedly sensational, and attracted a great crowd; besides having the advantage of being attended with much less risk to the performer than any exhibition ever given by the cool-headed and intrepid Frenchman whose name she borrowed. Had Blondin fell at Niagara, he would have been carried over the cataract, and been dashed to pieces; if he should fall from his lofty elevation at the Crystal Palace, he would be killed instantaneously.