APPRENTICED TO AN ACROBAT
MADEMOISELLE ELVIERRA was booked for a week at a music-hall near
Liverpool. We travelled to the North on Sunday with a number of other
performers who were going to Lancashire, and we went to cheap lodgings
in Liverpool. On the Monday morning I attended my first rehearsal. I
was rather proud, for I was now “in the profession”; and I held my head
up, and felt quite a little woman as I stood on the stage in the dim
hall and watched my instructress climb up a rope to a fixed trapeze
high up in the “flies.”
She was in her practising dress, a sort of bathing costume; and her
face was not made-up, as it was at night.
Sitting on the bar, Mademoiselle Elvierra drew her hands down a wet
handkerchief suspended from one of the wire supports, and then began
her evolutions, while the band played a slow, soft waltz. My mistress
was a proficient gymnast. She was brought up to the business, and had
performed in all parts of the United Kingdom and the Continent. And
as I watched her I could not fail to admire her nerve, strength, and
grace as she revolved on the bar, swung, hung by her heels, and finally
performed a difficult trick of balancing while she lay with the small
of her back on the trapeze.
“I shall have to learn all this,” I thought to myself; and I felt
somewhat frightened, for the trapeze was a great height above the
stage, and there was no net under it to catch the artiste should she
fall.
After practising her bar business, my mistress had a turn at the flying
rings. She swung on the long cords, twisted and contorted her agile
body, and flying from one pair of rings, caught another in mid-air. Her
“number” lasted about ten minutes, and was very exciting.
From that day I began my apprenticeship of hard work. Every morning,
clad in practice tights, and with gymnastic shoes on my feet, I
learned hand-springs and somersaults on the stage. The hand-springs I
soon mastered, for I was nimble; but the somersaults gave me a lot of
trouble. It requires considerable nerve to turn a complete somersault
without touching the ground with the hands. This feat cannot be learned
without the help of the lunge, an apparatus which I had better explain.
The lunge is a belt worn round the waist, and attached to the belt is
a cord, which is fastened to a ring that runs along a wire stretched
across the stage. Two assistants each hold cords fixed to the belt,
and when the beginner gives the signal they jerk him over and help him
to turn the somersault. It was with great delight that I found, one
day, that I no longer required the lunge. I could turn a real, clean
somersault by myself. Mademoiselle Elvierra was very pleased, and she
rewarded me with sweets.
My first trials on the rings and the trapeze cost me some fear, and I
shed tears now and then, when my teacher lost her temper, and called me
a “little stupid” or “a fumblefist.”
Apprentices to acrobats often have a very hard time. I do not accuse
the mass of trainers of cruelty to the children entrusted to their
care; but in this profession, as in all others, there are some men
and women who show little consideration for their young pupils. I
have seen children of tender years severely flogged for clumsiness in
performing difficult gymnastic feats. Too often an impatient trainer
resorts to the cane or the leather belt as a means of punishment. I
have known cases of apprentices having been kicked by the teachers
when in a passion. In one company with which I was associated there
were two acrobats—a youth of twenty and his little brother of about
ten. The young man treated the child most cruelly. He used to beat the
boy across the shoulders, and I have seen the little fellow stiff and
bruised from these thrashings with a stick. If anyone remonstrated with
the elder brother he always replied: “Do you keep this boy, or do I?
Mind your own business.”
A worse case was that of a performer, a foreigner, who had trained two
little children—almost babies, a boy and a girl—in ground tumbling.
This man was like a fiend.
It would be absurd to deny that there is a certain amount of rough
treatment used in the training of children for the circus and the
stage. But I am not making an attack on the trainers as a whole. Some
of them are exceedingly fond of children, and display great patience
in teaching them their tricks. These are hasty-tempered and unfeeling
persons in every calling, and acrobatism is not an exception to the
rule.
Mademoiselle Elvierra was not a very patient trainer, and I had several
drubbings from her during my apprenticeship. As I grew older and bigger
she showed less feeling for me, and her treatment was occasionally
harsh. But, on the whole, I do not blame my instructress; she turned me
into a capable child-performer in a very short time, and I was able to
obtain engagements after we parted company.
After learning somersaults and ground tumbling, I began to practise on
the fixed trapeze and the rings, and finally I became expert on the
flying trapeze. Many were the headaches that I endured after spinning
round and round on the bar, and very often my hands were so sore and
blistered that the bar felt like red-hot iron.
The acrobat is continually in danger. A belt or a stay may give at any
moment, and the apparatus and the artiste fall to the ground. Before
I met with my one serious accident I had several tumbles, and I was
always more or less bruised during my training. It is very trying to
the nerves to mount up above the glittering lights of the stage, to
swing on the trapeze, and to let go for a fly through the air. I used
to suffer from nervousness at times, which almost paralysed me. In a
flying trapeze act, in which one performer hangs by the legs from a
bar, and catches the other performer by the hands as he flies to him
through the air, it is most necessary that the nerves shall be steady
and cool. The aim of the flying artiste must be good, and he must avoid
a too rapid or a too slow flight.
The performer who catches him by the arms must be strong, with
quickness and dexterity and perfect control of the nerves. It is a feat
that always wins a round of applause, or, as we say in the business, “a
good hand.”
It was weeks before I felt quite confident on the flying trapeze. Even
during years after the conclusion of my training, there were times
when I felt quite nervous The public do not realize that the smiling
performer in her tights and her spangles may be suffering from a
headache or neuralgia. Often I have endured agonies of faceache while
performing my “number,” and sometimes I have been quite ill and not
fit for work. Think, too, of the ordeal of performing and appearing to
enjoy it when the heart is heavy with sorrow, through domestic trouble
or the loss of a relative! The life of the acrobatic artistes is not
all excitement and pleasure; it is frequently very hard and trying, and
at all times precarious.
To a nervous, inexperienced performer the clash and clatter of
the orchestra is often irritating. I used to find that the music,
especially if in waltz time, distracted my attention from my work, and
made me somewhat careless; but I learned in time to forget it, and to
go through my business without hearing the band.
When I travelled with Mademoiselle Elvierra there was no safety-net
stretched under the trapeze, and the risk to life and limb was
therefore high. One acrobat I knew on one occasion became suddenly
dizzy, and, missing her hold after a flight, fell against a wire stay
in her descent, and was caught by a hook, which entered her face.
The marks of the wound are still on her cheek, and will remain until
her dying day. Sprains, bruises, and blisters are quite common among
acrobats, but serious accidents are not very frequent in the profession.
Looking back on these early days, I recall some happy times. We were
always on the move, and I liked the constant change of scene. I had
enough to eat; I was warmly clad in winter, and in the day-time,
after practice, I did as I liked, and wandered about the towns that
we visited. On the hoardings I saw the gaudy posters depicting
“Mademoiselle Elvierra and Little Marion in their daring aerial act
on the trapeze and flying rings.” In the picture I appeared as a very
small child, with a baby face, but it was not a good portrait of me.
We “worked” the smaller music-halls for a year or so, visiting London
once or twice, where I appeared at the suburban variety shows.
In the country we performed in the Midlands and at Halifax, Wakefield,
and other manufacturing towns. Several times we appeared at open-air
fêtes during the summer months. My first Continental tour was with
Mademoiselle Elvierra. I remember my excitement at seeing the sea for
the first time, and the delight of going aboard a vessel bound for
Holland. It was a new and thrilling experience. We performed first in
Amsterdam, and then moved on to Rotterdam, where we were booked for the
celebrated La Scala Theatre.
At Rotterdam my teacher and I fell out seriously. I was a very
sensitive child, and though I do not think I am a coward, I always felt
the indignity of a whipping very acutely. I could be led by kindness,
but harshness always made me rebellious. Well, at the La Scala my
mistress beat me for some trifling mistake, and I took the punishment
very much to heart. In a moment of impulse and misery I went into
the street, resolved that I would never return again to Mademoiselle
Elvierra. I turned up the main street of the city, my heart aching, and
my eyes blinded with tears; and as I walked I repeated, “I’ll never go
back. I’ll never go back.”
A feeling of dread came over me as I walked about the streets of the
city of Rotterdam. What would become of me? I realized that I was quite
alone in the world, and what can a child of twelve do in such a plight?
The thought that I was bound body and soul to Mademoiselle Elvierra
filled me with despair. I was her property; she could treat me as she
chose.
After roaming about for hours in this strange city, among people whose
language I could not understand, I felt my fear increasing. If I had
possessed any money I would have gone back to England; but I was quite
penniless and helpless. The feeling of freedom gave me no happiness;
for I could not think what would become of me in this strange land. And
as the day wore on, and I grew tired of wandering, I realized that I
had made a mistake in running away.
Towards evening, feeling faint with hunger, I sat down in a public
garden. Tears came into my eyes. How I longed for a mother to whom I
could turn in my trouble. But there was no one in the world who cared
for me. While these sad thoughts filled my mind I saw a man in uniform
approaching me. He stopped as he came near the seat, and looked me in
the face. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, and said something that
I could not understand. He seemed vexed that I did not understand his
language, and, with impatience, he growled:
“Policeman, me.”
That was all the English that he appeared to know. I was frightened
when he caught hold of my arm and led me away. The passers-by stopped
and stared; they thought that I was being arrested for stealing or some
other crime. We walked through many streets, the policemen clutching my
arm, till we came in sight of the Scala.
I knew then that I was being taken back to Mademoiselle Elvierra, and
I began to sob and tremble. She had set the police on my track, and a
search had been made for me. I knew that a severe punishment awaited me.
Mademoiselle was in her dressing-room; preparing for her turn. When we
entered she was rouging her pale cheeks, and she turned round, with an
angry glare in her eyes.
“You little wretch!” she cried. “So you thought you’d run away, did
you? I’ll teach you for this!”
The policeman took a tip which she handed to him, and with a bow left
us alone. As soon as the door was closed my trainer rushed at me in a
fury, and shook me violently. Then she seized a hairbrush, and beat
me with it on the head and shoulders. I thought she would never stop;
I felt sore and stunned as I sank to the floor. I was too dazed and
scared to cry out; I just crouched in a corner, choking and moaning.
I covered my face with my hands, and prayed God to help me. I knew that
I was utterly at the mercy of this woman, and that she could do as she
pleased with me. My state of helplessness was terrible, and I groaned
with despair.
Presently the acrobat passed the powder-puff over her face, and went to
do her turn alone. For the first time I was not in the show, and I felt
rather disappointed, for I liked the excitement of appearing before the
audience.
I heard the applause that greeted my mistress at the conclusion of her
trapeze performance, and then the door opened, and she came in, hot
and rather out of breath. Instead of beating me again, as I expected,
she sat down, fanned herself with her handkerchief, and then lit a
cigarette. The applause had pleased her, and her face looked less
angry. Beyond a long scolding, I received no more correction for
running away.
Soon after this adventure we returned to England, and for a time we
suffered ill-luck. One of the trials of the artiste is the uncertainty
of engagements, and we were in for a spell of misfortune. Every day
we called upon an agent. I can see him now; a stout man, with a cigar
always between his puffy lips.
“Very sorry, my dear; nothing doing just now,” was his answer day after
day. And with her teeth set, and a look of disappointment on her face,
my mistress would walk silently back to our one room in Lambeth.
But one day the agent had good news for us. He said that a certain
circus was starting for the Continent, and that a pair of female
acrobats were required for about a year’s tour. Mademoiselle Elvierra
almost cried with joy. The salary was good, and she was very glad to
get into work again with one of the best shows on the road. I was also
delighted at the turn of our bad luck, and the thought of travelling
again filled me with excitement. On the strength of this engagement,
my trainer borrowed money, and bought new clothes for herself and
for me. In a few days we started for Holland with the big circus. We
seldom stayed more than a day at one town, and the work was pretty
hard, for there were two performances daily. Often on the railway
journeys I slept from sheer tiredness. But I enjoyed the life. We were
well treated by the management, the pay was good and regular, and we
had many pleasant days in the old towns of Germany, such as Berlin,
Darmstadt, and Munich.
Every week I was getting more proficient in my business. I seldom
experienced nervousness, and I was always proud when the spectators
applauded my flights on the flying trapeze. I began to think of the
days when I could command a good salary and perform by myself.
While I was with this circus I made friends with the company, and met
many well-known artistes, equestrians, wire-walkers, clowns, and also
made friends with the performing animals. I was especially interested
in a performing troupe of dogs, and loved to play with them in the ring
after their daily practice. During my career I have travelled with many
kinds of animal shows, and watched the method of trainers.
There is a good deal of talk about the cruelty of showmen towards
animals, but the charges are often exaggerated. Most animals cannot be
trained by harshness. Horses, dogs, and cats are apt to become sulky
if unkindly treated; and I can assure my readers that, as a rule, more
patience is shown in teaching animals than in training young children.
If a dog is badly beaten he will mope in a corner, and no human power
will force him to show his tricks. All animals have to be humoured and
coaxed to perform, and they expect a reward of food after their show.
Performing birds are very apt to sulk, and it is always difficult to
train them. Dogs, especially mongrels, learn rather quickly to perform
if they are well-treated. Some animal showmen have wonderful power of
training, and their success is due to patience, tact, and firmness.
I will not say that there is no cruelty connected with animal
performances. The creatures that suffer the most are the wild ones in
cages. Their life to me has always seemed very pitiable. But the public
will flock to see these shows, and the trainers give the public what
they want.
Lions in cages are sometimes so depressed that they almost lose their
fierceness, and means are taken to make them ferocious. I have seen a
certain lion-tamer flog his lions for no fault whatever, but simply to
irritate them and make them roar and lash their tails and look furious.
Some lions are fed on cooked meat, and these are the most easy to train
and handle. But a lion-tamer who wishes his lions to appear savage
gives them raw flesh and is unsparing in the use of the lash.
It is an interesting fact that animals have an ear for music. I have
no doubt of this, for I have noticed it again and again in circus and
music-hall shows in England and on the Continent.
Horses, dogs, elephants and lions are all able to distinguish the tunes
that are played during their performances, and this is easily proved
by watching the animals behind the scenes. A comedian may have just
finished his turn when the music for a performing dog show strikes up.
Immediately all the dogs in the troupe are excited. If any of them
have been asleep, they wake up, begin to wag their tails and show real
excitement, often barking eagerly. The same interest in their music is
shown by other animals, even by sea-lions.
Animals on the stage and in the circus ring are very proud of applause.
They are quite as vain as the human performers, and show by their
expression and their antics that they understand what the noise of
hand-clapping really means. Performing animals often enjoy their work,
and the stories that they are whipped on to the stage are exaggerated.
As a rule, the animals are kept hungry before their performance, and
they know that after the show they will have a good meal. Only those
who live constantly among trained animals know how clever they become.
My German tour with the circus was not very eventful until we reached
Magdeburg. At this town a serious misfortune befell me. I was going
through my performance before a crowded house one night, when, for the
first time, I met with a really bad accident. There is a trick on the
hand-rings called the “splits.” It is not a very elegant feat, but
it is one that most artistes learn, and the public seem to like it.
This trick always gave me some trouble in balancing, and upon this
occasion one of my feet slipped in the ring, and before I could regain
my balance I fell into the arena. I remember hearing a thud as I fell
from the rings; then darkness came over me, and I was unconscious. I
heard afterwards that there were cries of sympathy from the audience.
Mademoiselle Elvierra ran forward and picked me up, and I was carried
out.