Chapter II

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.