Acrobats on Steeples.
n bygone times, the public were often entertained by the performances of acrobats on church steeples. We gather, from the brief particulars which have come down to us of the feats enacted, that they were far from elevating, and it is surprising that the acting was allowed to take place on any part of a church.
Rope dancing was provided and appreciated. At the coronation of Edward VI., a rope was stretched from the battlements of St. Paul’s to a window at the Dean’s gate, and the king was highly entertained by the capering of a sailor of Arragon on it.
A less successful piece of acting was attempted in 1555, when a Dutchman stood on the top of St. Paul’s steeple, and waved a streamer. The wind was high, and the lights could not be kept burning to enable the public to see him. Sixteen pounds was paid for the perilous performance.
At Salisbury, a similar foolhardy trick was enacted by a man who hoped to receive a gratuity from George III. But the king declined to give anything, saying: “As the father of my people, it is my duty to reward those who save life, and not those who risk human life.”
At the reception of King Philip, in 1553, we are told, “a fellow came slipping upon a cord, as an arrow out of a bow, from Paul’s steeple to the ground, and lighted with his head forward on a greate sort of feather bed.” This kind of feat remained popular for a long period. William Hutton, the historian, saw a man giving a similar entertainment at Derby, in 1732. Hutton’s account of the affair is full of interest, and we cannot do better than quote a few particulars from it. “There are characters,” wrote Hutton, “who had rather amuse the world, at the hazard of their lives, for a slender and precarious pittance, than follow an honest calling for an easy subsistence. A small figure of a man, seemingly composed of spirit and gristle, appeared in October, to entertain the town by sliding down a rope. One end of this was to be fixed at the top of All Saints’ steeple, and the other at the bottom of St. Michael’s, an horizontal distance of 150 yards, which formed an inclined plane extremely steep. A breast-plate of wood, with a groove to fit the rope, and his own equilibrium were to be his security, while sliding down upon his belly, with his arms and legs extended. He could not be more than six or seven seconds in this airy journey, in which he fired a pistol and blew a trumpet. The velocity with which he flew raised a fire by friction, and a bold stream of smoke followed him. He performed this wonderful exploit three successive days, in each of which he descended twice, and marched up once; the latter took him more than an hour, in which he exhibited many surprising achievements, as sitting unconcerned with his arms folded, lying across the rope upon his back, then his belly, his hams, blowing the trumpet, swinging round, hanging by the chin, the hand, the heels, the toe, etc. The rope being too long for art to tighten, he might be said to have danced upon the slack. Though he succeeded at Derby, yet, in exhibiting soon after at Shrewsbury, he fell, and lost his life.”
He was buried in the churchyard of St. Mary Friars, Shrewsbury, in 1740, and over his remains was placed a tombstone, bearing the following epitaph:
“Let this small monument record the name
Of Cadman, and to future times proclaim
How, by an attempt to fly from this high spire,
Across the Sabrine stream, he did acquire
His fatal end. ’Twas not for want of skill,
Or courage to perform the task, he fell;
No, no, a faulty cord being drawn too tight
Hurried his soul on high to take her flight,
Which bid the body here beneath, good night.”
Hogarth immortalised Cadman in one of his most popular pictures.