AT THE RUSSIAN CIRCUS

Garlic-shaped houses remind us of a Russian village back in Houdini’s day. This marvelous photo by artist Carl Warner is actually made with garlic heads, and thereby hangs a tale. It’s told in Houdini Unbound, our forthcoming historical novel set during Houdini’s tour of Russia in 1903.

Houdini was a great circus fan, and it's inconceivable that he spent five months in Russia without seeing Salomonsky’s famous Moscow circus.  That's where we pick up the story from The Escape Artist. The chapter is called "The Assassination of the Prime Minister":

Bess was visiting the Empress Alexandra on the Friday Harry and Kukol had set aside to see Salomonsky's Moscow Circus. Harry was especially interested in Chamouni the "Human Salamander," who could withstand fire and consume any quantity of poison. Harry had gotten box seats through his column in the "Dramatic Mirror," and he had invited his new friend Maxim Gorky, who was bringing two of his friends, both avid circus buffs. 

Harry and Kukol disembarked from their coach near the flower market. They strolled down the fragrant boulevard while Harry waxed erudite about Salomonsky and circuses. 

"He was a great rider and gymnast," Harry said. He loved spouting his encyclopedic knowledge of show business. Kukol soaked it in like a sponge. "His Russian circus was inspired by a traveling show – Charles Hughes', I believe it was -- that played Moscow in the late eighteenth century." 

"You Americans think you invented everything," a deep, mocking voice said from behind. 

Harry stopped short and turned around to see Gorky, wearing peasant clothes, flanked by two elegantly-dressed men. 

“Ah, Sasha Maximovitch. There you are." They bear-hugged. 

"Harry, I want to introduce you to my friends,” Gorky said. “Anton Chekhov, meet Harry Houdini. And Mr. Kukol.”

             Anton Chekhov & Maxim Gorky c. 1900

Chekhov, a pale, middle-aged man with a chestnut beard, adjusted his pince-nez. In spite of the evening's warmth he was wearing a three-piece suit with a bowtie. 

He bowed shyly and shook hands. 

"And this is Konstantin Stanislavsky, our producer at the Moscow Art Theater," Gorky said, introducing a tall man with thick eyebrows and an elegantly-waxed mustache. 

                                     Konstantin Stanislavsky, prime mover of the Moscow Art Theater

"Houdini?" Stanislavsky said. "I heard you're killing them at the Yar with your handcuff act. It's brilliant. This whole country is in handcuffs!"

"I caught it on opening night,” Gorky said. “It was sensational.” Turning to Harry, he continued. “You’ve got to tell us all how you escaped from the 'kareta.' Around here you never know when you might be headed for Siberia."

“And you must come to see 'The Lower Depths' at our little art theater,” Stanislavsky said.  “There are only a few performances left before our summer break.”  Gorky's new play was the hit of the season.

They entered the brick building at Tsvetnoy 13, passing stalls for horses and a sizable swimming pool until they reached a large tanbark ring.

              Salomonsky's Moscow Circus c. 1900

Climbing the stairs, they all settled into their box just left of center, overlooking the ring, dress circle and main floor seats. Wooden benches and a standing gallery were underneath them. Harry had tried to book the center box, but it was reserved for the prime minister and his party.

The circus opened with a dizzying roundelay of beautiful Amazons playing flutes and singing opera while dancing bareback on high-stepping horses. Then Chamouni made his appearance. He had four clowns haul out his oven, a large iron cage on iron feet. The clowns jumped away as he lit a torch and swished it inside the oven, which instantly burst into flame. The house was packed to the rafters; Chamouni addressed the audience in a booming voice: 

"If you don’t mind – I'd like to warm up!"

Howls of laughter changed to shrieks as Chamouni stuck a shovel in the oven, made it red-hot and rubbed it over his tongue, hair and face. He then put some lead in a bowl and placed it into the oven until it melted. He put his hand in the boiling lead, scooped out a small portion still bubbling hot, and carefully placed it on his tongue. He invited a member of the audience to press his signet ring into it. When the embossed lead cooled, he peeled it off his tongue and gave it to the spectator as a souvenir, amid wild applause.

Chamouni asked if there was a brave man in the audience. Harry immediately stood. But Chamouni instead chose a volunteer in the first row. A clown brought forward a cruse of oil and poured it into a saucepan. Chamouni placed the saucepan on the fire. As it heated up, the fire-king challenged the volunteer to drink a spoonful of the oil when the temperature reached three hundred sixty degrees. The spectator looked skeptical. After a few minutes, Chamouni put a large thermometer into the brew, showed the audience it read three sixty, and sipped off a spoonful with ease. He invited the brave spectator to partake. The spectator warily took the spoon, yelped, jerked his singed fingers away and stuck them into his mouth.  The spoon, from contact with the boiling fluid, had become too hot to handle. The audience laughed mightily, and applauded.

"And now, my brave Monsieur," said Chamouni. "For your real challenge. Have you brought any phosphorus with you tonight? Or will you take some of mine?" 

Chamouni walked up to the table. Pulling a vial out of his pocket, he offered it to the spectator.

"On my honor as a gentleman, I certify that this is genuine unmixed phosphorus – a deadly poison. Is there any medical gentleman here this evening who would care to examine it?"

A Tartar-looking fellow dressed in a tailor-made Parisian suit bounded up from the dress circle.

“A shill,” Harry whispered to his group.

"No, my God, it's Dr. Badmaev," Chekhov whispered back. "He's a fine physician – consults with the Tsar. Studied at London University. Expert herbalist."

                                         Dr. Peter Badmaev, herbalist to the Tsar

Badmaev went to the table. Examining the vial, he declared that to the best of his judgment it appeared to be genuine phosphorus.

"May I test it?" he asked.

"Certainly."

Using a surgical scissors, the doctor carefully cut a small sliver of the waxy, transparent solid, making sure it stayed under the water in the vial. As he pulled it out of the water with a pair of tongs, it ignited with a fierce hiss. A smell like garlic filled the hall. The audience oohed and sniffed.

"This is phosphorus, no doubt about it. Three grains of this will kill a man," the doctor stated authoritatively. "It will cause severe damage to the liver."

The performer asked the brave spectator how many grains he, Chamouni, should consume.

"Twenty grains will do," said the spectator with a smile, thinking this would make an end of the charade.

Chamouni turned to the doctor. "Sir, would you be good enough to measure out two parcels of phosphorus containing twenty grains each?"

Dr. Badmaev carefully transferred a piece of the yellowish lump into another glass of water and cut that into several small pieces. A wine-glass contained the portion set aside for the fire-king, a tumbler the portion reserved for the brave Monsieur. 

"I suppose, gentlemen and most patient ladies, I must begin," said Chamouni.

Chamouni planted himself on one knee in the middle of the ring and opened his mouth. Requesting Monsieur and the doctor to place the phosphorus on his tongue and pour the water down his throat, he swallowed the water and phosphorus together. Both spectators inspected his mouth and declared to the audience that no phosphorus remained either on or under his tongue. Chamouni turned to Monsieur with a benign smile and offered him the other glass of phosphorus. Monsieur shrank back in alarm.

"Not for worlds, Sir, not for worlds; I beg to decline it."

"My good sir, you claimed to be a brave man. I have done it. If you are a gentleman, and a brave one, you must drink it too."

"No, no, I must be excused: I am quite satisfied without it."

Chamouni turned to the audience. Pulling another bottle out of his pocket and holding it aloft, he announced, "I never met this gentleman before this evening. I did not know but that he might be bold enough to venture to take this quantity of poison. I was determined not to let him lose his life by his foolishness. Therefore I brought an antidote, which would have prevented him from suffering any harm."

Monsieur, greatly relieved, admitted it required all his bravery simply to watch twenty grains of genuine phosphorus being swallowed. Thoroughly shaken, he retired to his seat  accompanied by applause. Chamouni then seated the doctor in a ringside chair, and begged the audience to excuse him for a few minutes, while the oven heated more and he changed into his usual dress for walking into fire.

"And, in all probability, for the purpose of getting the phosphorus out of his stomach," Harry observed.

A team of dancing dogs entered the ring and performed for the next ten minutes. Chamouni then returned, dressed in a coarse woolen coat. Before he entered the heated oven, Dr. Badmaev took his pulse and announced it was beating ninety-eight times a minute. Taking a large piece of beef in either hand Chamouni walked into the flames and, hidden in the smoke, remained in the oven five minutes, during which time he sang "Le Vaillant Troubadour" in a loud contralto. He came out perspiring profusely. Badmaev measured his pulse at one hundred and sixty-eight beats a minute. The thermometer when brought out of the oven stood at five hundred and twenty degrees. He and Dr. Badmaev both ate a piece of steak, which the Doctor said was perfectly cooked, medium rare.

                                      Chamouni cooking mutton, from the Ripley Museum

As the audience applauded vigorously, Chamouni and Dr. Badmaev left the ring. The orchestra struck up "Entry of the Gladiators" and the Durov brothers cartwheeled in. They were the most famous clowns in Russia, known far and wide for their skill with animals. Harry had heard of them already in Paris.

They began with a brilliant Harlequinade, Vladimir playing Harlequin and Anatoly playing the impossible scamp Pantaloon. Circling the ring at top speed, Vladimir pushed an enormous wheelbarrow full of colorful fruits and vegetables. Anatoly engaged in messy full-speed cavortings with his trained pig Tanti, punctuated by throwing all sorts of overripe foodstuffs from his enormous pockets at his brother. 

              Anatoly Durov with an assistant

                                                 Vladimir Durov & friend

Vladimir always contrived to duck at the crucial moment and deflect the food into his barrow. Tanti would jump in the barrow and suddenly all the action would freeze. As if by magic, the slops each time transformed the pig into a perfect caricature – a Grand Duke with a sash made of cheese, a General with banana-peel epaulets, the cantaloupe-shaped headdress and cabbage-leaf ears of K.P. Pobedonostsev, president of the Orthodox Church. 

              The Holy Roman Emperor, Rudolf II, by Arcimboldo, a la Durov

The audience, laughing helplessly at the clever tableau, simultaneously cringed in fear of getting slimed by one of Anatoly’s thrown eggs or pomegranates. Harry and his friends laughed uproariously.

“Most brilliant clown act I ever saw,” Harry gasped between laughs.

Vladimir wheeled the barrow up to a prop newspaper kiosk displaying the current editions of each of Moscow's twelve dailies. He offered the pig "The Bulletin," but she grunted suspiciously and indignantly refused. The pig refused each one in turn, until Durov handed her a copy of "The Moscow Leaflet," the far-right tabloid published by P. A. Krushevan. Seeing the "Leaflet," Tanti oinked happily, wiggled her tail and pressed her snout to the paper, nodding her head with excitement. Even readers of the "Leaflet," seeing their favorite paper declared the only one fit for swine, had to laugh loudly and applaud.

Tanti jumped back into the wheelbarrow. Anatoly maneuvered the barrow to dead center of the ring, saluted, then turned his back to the prime minister's box. He busied himself, his body blocking the view. Witte, with a jaunty air, stretched and squinted to see what was happening right in front of him.

Vladimir turned the barrow around to present the prime minister with his porcine caricature.

 The red ribbon across Witte's chest was matched on the barrow by a broad smear of strawberry cream cheese decorating the pig's body. Witte's face featured a zucchini nose, peaches for cheeks, cherry tomato lips and hair and beard rendered from mint leaves and walnut shells.

From his bottomless pocket Anatoly pulled what looked like a purple soccer ball.  He threw it in a lob that Sailed far over Vladimir's outstretched arms and landed squarely on Witte's head. The moment it hit, the crowd burst into delirious laughter. The next instant, a huge explosion shook the hall.

RELATED:

HOUDINI & ROOSEVELT

HOUDINI THE SPY

HOUDINI IN MOSCOW

HOUDINI AT THE YAR



(Garlic photo via This Is Marvelous. Other images via Google. Thanks to Dominique Jando for details on Russian circuses, Durov brothers & Houdini's attendance.)