THE CIRCUS IS HERE.
A "disengaged canvasman" who was probably driven to poetry for lack of
other work wrote the following spring verses which were published in
the New York _Clipper_:--
In the spring the gorgeous banners float upon the circus tent,
And the active agents' fancies on "advances" all are bent.
In the spring the "bounding brothers" try some new and daring games,
While the opposition "fakirs" call each other awful names.
In the spring the "sideshow-blowers," with their never-failing tongues,
Pump out paralyzing language from their copper-fastened lungs.
In the spring the fair Circassian, with her every hair on end,
Leaves again her native Brooklyn, on the road her steps to wend.
In the spring ye "candy-butcher" shows confections old and tough,
While the gentle lemonadist juggles with the same old stuff.
In the spring ye merry jester learns conundrums bright and new
(Dug up by the Christy Minstrels in the year of '52).
In the spring--and in the ring--the riders whirl around in style,
While the air is filled with romance (and rheumatics--I should smile)!
In the spring--oh, well, I'll cheese it, for I haven't got a cent,
And I think I hear the landlord, coming up to ask for rent!
There is more fact than poetry in these lines. The spring brings gaily
colored posters, like flowers of many hues, to decorate the dead walls
and fences; and litters the streets with small hand-bills in which
the wonders of the evening show are dwelt upon in a style of rhetoric
that would make George Francis Train sick. The name of the show is
too long to print in this book, even if I began at the title-page and
wrote small and close through every page down to the lower right-hand
corner of the back cover. Since they got to consolidating shows, they
have by some elastic process begun to lengthen out the name, and at
every reappearance of a circus in a town the bill-poster must add a
few yards to the length of his fence to get the improved and newly
elongated name on it, and to make a few square yards of additional
space for the fresh stock of impossible pictures the artist has chopped
out for the show. I like to regard the ridiculous art and the brazen
exaggeration of these posters. What consummate impertinence prompts the
managers of these concerns to put a circus on paper that could never
have an existence under the sun is something that it is impossible to
understand. They ask and they must have the patronage of the public
they insult by spreading such absurdities upon the wall as the picture
of one horse lying on his back with his legs up and another horse
standing above him, their eight hoofs meeting; or of a man being blown
from the mouth of a cannon, or indeed any of the other ridiculous and
gaudy illustrations which are designed to catch the eye at a distance
of one hundred yards and to hold the attention long enough to make the
investigator of bill-board literature part with a half dollar. But it
seems that circus managers and circus agents have no other idea of
advertising than to make the ink and the colors on their posters say
as much as the imagination can suggest, and to make people pay for the
privilege of finding out that they have been bamboozled. It seems to be
remunerative though, for a circus can create greater commotion in a
town than a big fire, and from the moment it pitches its tents--a city
of canvas, they usually call it--until the glory of the visit fades,
thousands are interested in it and the opening of its doors always
finds a throng with tickets in hand anxious to get inside as early as
possible, to have a thorough look at the menagerie and in the other
way, by putting in full time to get their money's worth out of the show.
The circus always comes to town with a flourish. There is a grand
street parade. The dozen elephants and sixteen camels follow the band
wagon, and then comes the cavalcade, gentlemen in court costumes and
ladies in rich trailing robes with jaunty hat of gay ribbons and
feathers flying in the breeze. The lion tamer is in the cage with the
feeble animals that he keeps stirring up with his whip; the clown
in his little chariot with his trick mule, affords amusement to the
children along the line; then the snake charmer rolls by fondling the
slimy reptiles, and after that comes a procession of red wagons with
trampish drivers in red coats, and perhaps there are some grotesque
figures on top of the wagons. At the rear some enterprising clothier
has an advertising vehicle. That is about all there is to it, if we add
the Undine wagon that has a place sometimes at the head and sometimes
in the middle of this "gorgeous street pageant." Still it goes from
one end of town to the other, scaring horses and creating the greatest
excitement among the circus-going public. The $10,000 beauty "gag"
that worked so successfully last season when Adam Forepaugh claimed to
have paid that amount to Miss Louise Montague, a variety actress, for
merely appearing in the street parade, riding on a howdah high upon the
back of his largest elephant and for participating in the grand entree
at the opening of each performance. Barnum tried to make some free
advertising for himself this season by announcing that he would pay
$10,000 to the handsomest man and $20,000 to the handsomest lady, but
he was shrewd enough to see that the scheme would not bring him back
$30,000, so he allowed it to fall through.
This subject of costly beauties recalls an incident that took place in
a Western theatre. At the house in question an actress was performing
who, in times gone by, figured as the faithless sweetheart of an
eminent sport in that very city. That gentleman hearing that his light
of love was about to appear in a new line visited the theatre to see
for himself whether or not it was really she. The memory of past
troubles caused him to drink rather more than was good for him, and
when he took his seat in the parquette near the stage, he was in a
great measure incapacitated from acting with coolness and judgment. He
believed he recognized the woman as the one who had caused him so much
sorrow and trouble. His feelings got the better of him, and standing up
in his seat he exclaimed:--
"You cost me $25,000, you cost me $25,000, and I'll cut your d--d heart
out!"
This outcry brought one of the members of the company to her
assistance, armed with a property revolver, and the air was full of war
and rumors of war until the police arrived. The $25,000 victim was led
out and the play went on.
[Illustration: TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLAR BEAUTY.]
While the parade is on its way back to the circus lot, I will tell the
reader of an exciting parade that was witnessed at Runcorn, England,
last summer: Messrs. Sanger & Son, who were exhibiting in the town, had
announced a procession in connection with their great hippodrome, and
from twelve to one o'clock, although rain was falling very heavily,
large crowds of people began to assemble in the Market Square, Bridge
Street and the wide space in front of the Town Hall and the public
offices. To one very large car forty horses had been harnessed, to be
driven through the town by one man. This was drawn up waiting for the
start, almost opposite the _Guardian_ office, while higher up Bridge
Street stood twelve ponies harnessed to a smaller car. Near the Town
Hall stood two other cars, and as one o'clock approached and the rain
showed signs of abating, the procession was expected very shortly to
form and make the circuit of the town. Suddenly, among the horses
standing near to the shop of Messrs. Handley & Co., there was a great
commotion, and loud shouts were heard to "Clear the road." The twelve
ponies had taken fright and were rushing down Bridge Street towards
the fountain. There was no one in charge, and it was evident that some
very serious accident would result from the panic which seemed to have
seized the horses. To make matters worse, the forty horses became
frightened, and, with the ponderous car behind them, joined the ponies
in their gallop. Many persons sought refuge in the shops and doorways.
Those who were not fortunate enough to reach this shelter were trampled
upon and crushed, and the scene was one of the wildest excitement.
At one moment it seemed as though the great colossal car would be
overturned among the struggling crowd, while the plate-glass windows in
the shops on the south side of the street were within an inch of being
smashed. The scene was not of long duration, but it lasted long enough
to injure at least ten people and imperil the safety of hundreds more.
When nearing the commissioners' offices, several constables who were in
the court-room, hearing the noise outside, rushed into the street, and
were just in time to seize the ponies by the heads and turn them down
Mersey Street before they reached the Royal Hotel. The horses, through
the courageous exertions of the police and some of Messrs. Sanger &
Son's drivers, were brought to a standstill opposite the Royal Hotel.
Many people affect to be indifferent to the attractions of the circus,
saying that they saw one when they were young and as all circuses are
the same there is no use in going to see another. These people are
about right. There has been nothing new in the genuine features of
the circus for the past fifty years. There are a few deceptive tricks
that have been seen only of late years but they are mere ephemeral
illusions, easy of explanation, and time will take them out of the
circus ring as it took the lion-taming act. I can remember the time
when the cage of lions was dragged into the middle of the arena and
amid the greatest excitement the alleged lion-tamer went in among the
animals, beat them about, lay down upon the back of one and put his
head between the wide-open jaws of another. Now that performance is
lost sight of among the multitude of curiosities in the menageries. The
great unchangeable features of a show, the gymnastic, acrobatic and
equestrian work, are the same now that it was a half century ago. Still
with all its want of novelty it is attractive, as are all shows, and
grown people have been known to share the enthusiasm of the little ones
in playing circus after witnessing a performance and while the sawdust
fever was still on them. A short, funny sketch that appeared in the
Louisville _Courier-Journal_ will do to illustrate the hold the circus
has upon the average boy's heart. The writer says:--
"After the circus had opened to the public yesterday a gray-haired
colored brother, who held the hand of a boy of fourteen as both stood
gazing at the tent, shook his head in a solemn manner, and observed:--
"'It's no use to cry 'bout it, sonny, kase we am not gwine in dar no
how.'
"'But I want ter,' whined the boy.
"'In course you does. All chill'en of your aige run to evil an'
wickedness, an' dey mus' be sot down on by dose wid experience.'
[Illustration: ADAM FOREPAUGH.]
"'You used to go,' urged the boy.
"'Sartin I did, but what was de result? I had sich a load on my
conscience dat I couldn't sleep nights. I cum powerful nigh bein' a
lost man, an' in dem days de price of admishun was only a quarter, too.'
"'Can't we both git in for fifty cents?'
"'I 'speck we might, but to-morrer you'd be bilin' ober wid wickedness
an' I'd be a backslipper from de church. Hush up, now, kase I hain't
got but thirty cents, and dar am no show fur crawlin' under de canvas.'
"The boy still continued to cry, and the old man pulled him behind a
wagon, and continued:
"'Henry Clay Scott, which had you rather do--go inter de circus an' den
take de awfullest lickin' a boy eber got, or have a glass of dat red
lemonade an' go to Heaben when you die? Befo' you decide let me explain
dat I mean a lickin' which will take ebery inch of de hide off, an'
I also mean one of dem big glasses of lemonade. In addishun, I would
obsarve dat a circus am gwine on in Heaben all de time, an' de price of
admisshun am simply nominal. Now, sah, what do you say?'
"The boy took the lemonade, but he drank it with tears in his eyes."
A man living near Bloomington, Illinois, in 1870, sold his stove to
a neighbor to obtain funds to take his family to a circus that had
pitched its tents near the city. When he got back he said he was not
a bit sorry, that "he'd seen the clown, an' the gals a ridin', an'
the fellows doin' flip-flaps, an' waz so perfectly satisfied that ef
another suck-cus came along next year, an' he had a stove, he'd go to
see it on the same terms ag'in."