For those who did not distinguish a sonata from a tragedy, variety shows proliferated in nineteenth-century England, the fiefdom of acrobats, showgirls and freaks, which is what they called the bearded woman, the strongman and oddities of this type.
Rossa Matilda Richter (1860-1937) belonged to that world. Her father, Ernst, was a talent scout, and her mother, Susanna, a circus dancer. At four years old she was taught the art of tightrope walking – walking on a thin wire – and at twelve she was already starring in her own performances. The girl had the body for gymnastics, and, on top of that, a lack of self-preservation instinct. The one who took care of her was her father, who rejected countless offers that seemed dangerous to him.
That is until 1877, when they were approached by a certain William Leonard Hunt (1838-1929), who called himself the Great Farini. Ernst knew him well. He was an unscrupulous promoter, to whom anything went to sell tickets. Years later, he would wander around Europe with a girl from Indochina who, although it is not clear, was probably kidnapped by an explorer. The little girl, who suffered from a rare disease called hypertrichosis (unusual growth of hair on the body), was advertised as “the missing link”, a link between man and ape.
Knowing Rossa's physical abilities, Farini wanted him to star in his new act, which consisted of shooting a human being from a cannon. He was going to premiere it at the Royal Aquarium in London, a large building that had been designed to promote high culture but ended up offering small-time shows (by 1903 it had degenerated so much – it was a “hunting” place for prostitutes). that it was decided to demolish it).
At first, Ernst flatly refused. “The animal societies wouldn't let me even put a donkey in a canyon,” he said. What happened is that his wife did think it was a good deal, and according to him she “tricked” him into getting her to sign.
Thus we arrive at April 10, 1877. That day, thousands of people gathered in the central gallery of the Royal Aquarium, in a tense silence. Suddenly, an explosion, and Rossa was sent flying (some say up to twenty meters). She was the first to do that trick, which became popular around the world as the “bullet man.”
It was liked for the same reason as horror movies or roller coasters, so it was cathartic to experience a form of controlled fear. Of course, Zazel – it was the stage name she adopted – was not really “shot”. The explosion was spectacular, since in reality she was ejected by the action of a spring mechanism.
The father tried to sabotage the following functions. Not only because his daughter was not receiving what was agreed upon, but because she feared that she would kill herself. The most dangerous thing was not the landing, but her exit, which had to be caught well prepared or her ribs would be dislocated.
That was also somewhat humiliating, since, to fit into the cannon, Zazel jumped in scantily clad clothes. In a time as modest as that, for men it was an occasion to see a young girl in her underwear.
There were many who thought that numbers exalted base passions. In the end, the Home Office threatened to take interim measures, and in 1880 a “dangerous spectacles” law was debated in the House of Commons.
Rossa's response was to emigrate to the United States, where in 1891 she suffered a head injury that finally took her away from the stage. Paradoxically, she began doing tightrope walking, the discipline that she best mastered.
