My Life with the Big Cats

By Alfred Court

The wonderful autobiography of French circus artist Alfred Court.

“I am a lion tamer by profession.

“My work has brought me great joy, and it has brought me also, many times, close to great danger. For there remains within every wild beast, no matter how thorough his training, a savage spirit that cannot be broken. I have found this to be true through all my experience, and I have worked with many different kinds of animals, from Siberian tigers to black leopards, from Bengal tigers to polar bears, from blackmaned lions to the bears of Himalaya. Of the many animals I have trained I could not select a single one about which I could say, “This animal is tame,” for the savage spirit remains, waiting its chance. And it is just this unconquerable spirit in the animals I work with that has provided me with both my greatest joys and my greatest dangers. Yet despite the tensions of my professional life, I would trade neither my joys nor my dangers for the life of any other man.

“It is strange for me to remember now that I was thirty-five years old before I ever set foot inside a lion’s cage….” (From the Author’s Prologue)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barakaldo Books
• Release date: May 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781839745065

Alfred Court

ALFRED COURT (1883-1977) was a circus artist and, together with his brother Jules Court, co-founder of Zoo Circus in 1921. He was born on January 1, 1883 in Marseilles, France, the son of Monsieur J. Court de Payen and the Marquise de Clapier. Like most children of the French aristocracy of his day, he was sent to a strict Jesuit school. Here he became a champion gymnast and, counting on this proficiency, ran away at fifteen to make his debut with a traveling circus. Police sent by his father appeared just before opening time and stopped his debut before it had begun—but only for a year. Next season, at sixteen, he escaped again and took to the road for good. M. Court was an acrobat, juggler, ringmaster, headliner with Ringling Brothers, director and owner of circuses here and abroad. At twenty-two, in the best romantic tradition, he married a young bareback rider, Renée Vasserot: “belle, blonde, aux yeux noirs.” It was not until he was thirty-five years old that Alfred Court unexpectedly took over a lion act—as described in this book—found it the most satisfying work he had ever done, and was launched on a career which has made him famous the world over. In the opinion of authorities on the circus he was the greatest animal trainer of all time. Alfred Court passed away in Nice on July 1, 1977, aged 94.

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Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

MY LIFE WITH THE BIG CATS

BY

ALFRED COURT

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 2

DEDICATION 3

PROLOGUE 4

1. I AM UNDERSTUDY FOR SAM 5

2. I LEARN TO BE A TRAINER 8

3. I MIX A SIBERIAN-BENGAL COCKTAIL 8

4. I AM COACH FOR AN ELEVEN—LIONS 8

5. TIGERS ARE MY WEAKNESS 8

6. MY FIRST MIXED GROUP 8

7. THE CATS ESCAPE 8

8. BENGALI, MURDERER 8

9. STORMS ON THE BIG TOP 8

10. BANDAGES AND BALANCING ACTS 8

11. RACE AGAINST TIME 8

12. GÖRING, GOEBBELS, AND THE BLACK LEOPARDS 8

13. IMPRESARIO TO EIGHTY WILD ANIMALS 8

14. NOAH’S QUEST 8

15. THE THUNDER OF TWENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND HANDS 8

16. IF YOU LIKE THE GIGANTIC... 8

17. BEAUTIES AND THE BEASTS—THE LAST ACT 8

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 8

DEDICATION

To my wife

PROLOGUE

I am a lion tamer by profession.

My work has brought me great joy, and it has brought me also, many times, close to great danger. For there remains within every wild beast, no matter how thorough his training, a savage spirit that cannot be broken. I have found this to be true through all my experience, and I have worked with many different kinds of animals, from Siberian tigers to black leopards, from Bengal tigers to polar bears, from blackmaned lions to the bears of Himalaya. Of the many animals I have trained I could not select a single one about which I could say, This animal is tame, for the savage spirit remains, waiting its chance. And it is just this unconquerable spirit in the animals I work with that has provided me with both my greatest joys and my greatest dangers. Yet despite the tensions of my professional life, I would trade neither my joys nor my dangers for the life of any other man.

It is strange for me to remember now that I was thirty-five years old before I ever set foot inside a lion’s cage.

I had known and lived the circus life, however, from the time that I was sixteen. On the day that I first wielded chair and whip within the cage I had already toured most of Europe and the United States as an acrobat and a performer on the horizontal bars. I had traveled with circuses from Marseilles, my birthplace, to Copenhagen, from Madrid to Cuba, and yet in all the rough and tumble of that life there had been no hint of the career which was to be thrust upon me so suddenly—the career that was to fill my days, and many of my nights, for the rest of my life. And so my story begins at that moment when, fate’s intricate plan and man’s weaknesses combining, my feet were first set upon the path they were to follow for so long.

It happened one evening in Nuevo Laredo, a little town in Mexico....

1. I AM UNDERSTUDY FOR SAM

It was in March of 1917. I had given up my horizontal bars and was then director of a small circus that was in the middle of a Mexican tour. We had pitched our big top in Nuevo Laredo, a town where no circus had stopped for fifteen years, and were soon putting up the House Full notices. On this particular evening everything was going smoothly. The audience was made up of countless Indians (countless because there were a number of them who had gatecrashed, though most had paid for their admission in good gold and silver pesos). They were a good audience, though, and we were trying to give them a good show.

We reached the intermission without incident, and I was unworried, watching the circus hands erect the lions’ cage in the center ring in preparation for the act that was to follow. The audience was filing back to its seats for the second half of the show.

It was at that moment that one of the performers ran up to me. It’s Sam, the tamer. He’s dead drunk in his dressing room, he whispered.

He and I looked at each other in consternation as the crowd noises rose around us. What was there to do? The second half of the show was about to begin, but there could be no lion-taming act if Sam were not able to appear.

I hurried to his wagon, but one glance told me that he would be of very little use, not only in the next hour but for the rest of the night. As I left his dressing room I saw Sam’s young assistant standing by a pile of huge slabs of red meat.

Desperately I turned to him. You’re Sam’s boy. You’ve seen him work. Couldn’t you take his place tonight?

The boy looked straight at me and shook his head firmly. No, sir! he said. Those lions are tricky and they’re dangerous. I’ve only worked for Mr. Sam a month. I wouldn’t get into that cage for anything.

I nodded, knowing that it would not be reasonable to expect him to put on a braver face. As I turned to leave, my foot slipped on the pile of raw meat. What’s this doing here?

That’s the food for the lions. Mr. Sam gives them something to eat after they work.

I stood for a moment staring at the meat and wondering how I could appease the crowd, whose impatience was becoming audible. Suddenly I had an idea.

Get that wheelbarrow, I told the boy. Load it with the meat and follow me.

When we reached the middle of the empty cage the boy stood holding the wheelbarrow and looked at me, still not understanding what I meant to do. The animals, I said, "will be fed here."

He shook his head and continued to hold the wheelbarrow. No, sir. You can’t do that! The lions are used to eating alone. Mr. Sam always feeds them alone. If you feed them all together here, they’ll kill each other.

We’ll see was the best I could answer.

The crowd was becoming more and more restless, and I had to make some decision, though I was far from certain that this was the right one. As the boy did not move, I took the wheelbarrow myself, tipped its load onto the ground in the middle of the cage, and signaled the band to strike up.

When the band had finished the noisy number that introduced the second part of our program, I opened the center cage door and stepped out into the ring. The audience, thinking I was the lion tamer, applauded loudly. I raised my hand for silence and, with inner misgivings, made my announcement.

Ladies and gentlemen. Our tamer has been detained at the frontier by the American authorities. The lions’ performance cannot be given until tomorrow or the following day.

There was a low murmur of protest from the crowd. Raising my voice, I went on: Nevertheless you are about to witness a sensational spectacle which has never before been exhibited to the public—feeding the lions!

I left the ring and the orchestra went into its regular accompaniment to the act. With Sam, who might well have objected, oblivious in his dressing room, I gave orders for the grill on the tunnel cage to be lifted so that our four big lions could walk into the center cage.

They came in sleepily at first, stretching lazily, one after another. Suddenly one cat saw the pile of meat. In a single bound he reached it, seized a hunk in his jaws and, growling fiercely, went to crouch in a corner. At once the three other lions followed suit and leaped toward their dinner. Two of them seized on a great leg of horse meat and battled fiercely for it, roaring, letting go and seizing the hunk of meat in turn. They struck out at each other, tearing tufts of hair from their manes at every swipe. One, with the meat tightly clamped in his jaws, made an incredible leap, almost to the top of the cage. There was a sharp cry from the audience that sounded like the beginning of panic, but apparently the crowd was too enthralled to give in to its fear. The other lion, close on his antagonist’s heels, leaped, bit deep into the tail above him, and both beasts fell heavily to the ground, roaring mightily.

The center cage shook as if it were nearing collapse as the frenzied animals fought and growled over the meat. Five minutes of savage struggle found each with his portion, and the lions settled down to devour their hard-won meal. Then the struggle began all over again—this time for the bones—and I, more than a little shaken, decided that the act was over. But it took us a full fifteen minutes and many rounds of blank cartridges before we were able to drive the lions back to their own cages, where they arrived, finally, with bloody jaws and claw-lacerated flanks.

It was a foolhardy exhibition, the like of which I had never seen before and will be content never to see again. But to our near savage audience it was an enormously satisfying spectacle, and none of them seemed sorry that the lions had not performed.

That same night I sent a telegram to the owner of the lion act in New York: Act could not go on. Trainer drunk at time of performance. Send new tamer at once or contract is off.

The next day, when I arrived at the circus about eleven in the morning, I found the tamer, penitent, sitting near the lions’ cage.

I’ve wired your boss, I said, to send me another tamer. I’m sorry, but I can’t take another chance on you.

He swore by all his gods that he would not get drunk again. But I was unconvinced. That afternoon I received an answer to my telegram that did little to ease my worries. Sam’s employer wired that he was unable to send another tamer and suggested keeping careful watch over Sam to see that he did not drink again. This advice did not seem too promising; I had a feeling that it might well be impossible to be vigilant enough in Sam’s case. Therefore, as our tamer began his act for that day’s performance I found myself watching with special care. In the back of my mind I was thinking that someone might have to take his place someday and that it was more than probable it might be me! And I must admit that the animals held a definite fascination for me.

The circus was packed that day, for word of the sensational performance the lions had given the evening before had spread all around town. Sam obviously put his heart into the act, and everything went beautifully. The four lions entered the cage easily, going into their regular routine with apparently no memory of the carnage of the day before. One leaped through a hoop; another lay down in the middle of the ring at Sam’s feet and opened its great mouth so that the trainer could put his head in between the terrible teeth. Each of the four seemed especially good-tempered and docile as the act progressed to the finale.

The finale featured Nero, a beautiful blackmaned animal, the largest and fiercest of the group. After the other three had been herded from the cage the trainer armed himself with a chair in one hand and a whip in the other. Then he forced Nero back against the bars, cracked his whip over the roaring animal three or four times and retreated quickly. Nero leaped after him, crossing the ring in two bounds, forcing Sam against the bars. The trainer defended himself against this charge with his chair, which Nero bit, and then forced the lion back again. This piece of business, all part of the act, was repeated two or three times until the chair was completely destroyed. Then Sam drew his revolver and fired it point-blank at