Circus Life and Circus Celebrities

by Thomas Frost

‘We did not see many of the company till we presented ourselves in the dressing-room on the first night of our engagement. As we walked in an old clown was applying the last touch of vermilion to his whitened face, and a younger one was balancing a feather on the tip of his nose. There were seven or eight fellows in tights and trunks, ready for the vaulting act, and two or three in the gilt-buttoned blue tunic and gold-striped trousers which constituted the uniform in which the male members of the company stood at the ring-doors when not engaged in their several performances in the ring. They all stared at us as we went in, and I heard one of them say, “Here are the star gymnasts from London!” One or two said “good evening,” and one gave us a glance of inquiry as he pronounced our professional name.

‘“That’s us,” returned my partner.

‘“Haven’t I seen your face before?” said another, looking hard at him.

‘“Very likely,” said Fred. “Were you ever at the Circo Price, in Madrid?”

‘“No,” answered the other fellow, still looking hard at him.

‘“Then it couldn’t have been there,” said my partner, without a muscle of his face moving, though I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing.

‘We found all of them very good fellows to pal with when we knew them. There was Webster Vernon, the ring-master; Alf Burgess, the head vaulter and revolving globe performer, who had been all over the continent, and was supposed to have accumulated some coin; Coleman, the bare-back rider, a brother, I believe, of the theatrical manager of that name, well known in the north; Charlie Ducrow, a direct descendant of the great successor of Astley, and emulating him in his rapid act on six horses; old Zamezou and his boys; the Brothers Ridley, also acrobats, and very good in their chair act and at hand-balancing—Joe Ridley’s one-arm balance was the best I ever saw; Franks, the first clown, with a fund of dry, quiet humour that earned his salary, which was higher than any other man’s in the company, except Burgess’s; Joe Hogini, singing clown, and better at comic singing than at clowning, though he could do some clever balancing tricks; and old Adams, clown and property-man, whose wife was money-taker at the gallery entrance, and whose daughter took small parts in the ballets when required.

‘If I mention the gentlemen before the ladies, which isn’t manners, it is because I saw them first, and saw them oftenest. The ladies, as is often the case in a circus, were all members of the proprietor’s family. Madame Newsome only appeared in the ring when her clever manege horse, Brunette, was introduced. Miss Adele was great in leaping acts, and has been repeatedly acknowledged by the leading gentlemen of the north country hunts to be the finest horsewoman across country in England. One of the wonderful stories related of her is, that a splendid black hunter which she was riding leaped, in the excitement of the chase, over two hedges, with a narrow lane between them, landing safely in the field beyond. Miss Emma did double acts with Burgess, who is as good a rider as he is a vaulter and a juggler on the globe. Miss Marie only appeared in ballets at that time, but she is famous now for her daring acts of horsemanship, without saddle or bridle, like Beatrice Chiarini, whom you may have seen at the Amphitheatre. But there was Lizzie Keys, a bold and graceful rider, who used to take her hoops and balloons beautifully; they called her the Little Wonder, and she was said to be only fourteen years of age, but she looked more like a diminutive girl of eighteen.

‘There was a capital stud. Newsome selected his horses as they say Astley did, without caring much for the colour of them; they were not chosen for show, like the cream-coloured, and spotted, and piebald horses you see in circuses that do a parade, but every horse was a good one in the ring, and had been selected for docility and intelligence. There was Emperor, the handsome black horse which the governor, and sometimes Miss Adele, used to ride; he was worth a hundred guineas, at the very least, as a hunter, and was a clever trick horse besides. It was a treat to see that horse find, with his eyes bandaged, a handkerchief which was buried in the saw-dust; you might bury it as deep as you could, and be as careful as you liked to make the saw-dust look as if it had not been disturbed, but he would be sure to find it. He would step slowly round the ring till he came to the place, and then he would scrape the saw-dust away with his hoof, pick up the handkerchief with his teeth, and carry it to Newsome. One night Franks took the handkerchief out of the saw-dust, ran over to the other side of the ring, and buried it in another place, chuckling and gesticulating in assumed anticipation of the horse’s discomfiture. The horse found it as easily as usual. In fact, I never knew him miss it but once; he then passed the place, but Newsome said, “En arrière,”—circus horses are always spoken to in the ring in French,—and he stepped back directly, and found it. Then there was Brunette, a brown mare, the most docile and intelligent creature that ever went on hoofs; and Balaklava, a scar-covered veteran that had served in the Scots Greys, and had received his name from having been wounded in the charge of the heavy cavalry at the battle of Balaklava. Lizzie Keys used to ride him.

‘From the company and the stud, I must return to ourselves. The twelve nights we were engaged for, like the six at Hull, came to an end too soon; and my partner spoke to Henry, the manager, about our travelling with the circus, as we had set on minds upon doing. Henry, who was a very gentlemanly fellow, said he would mention it to the governor; and Newsome called us to him.