The Zemganno Brothers is Edmond de Goncourt’s love letter to his dead brother and collaborator, Jules. Together, the two had written six novels, several plays, and even more works of history and criticism, in addition to keeping a journal that is considered the most candid (and savage) account of mid-19th century Parisian life and society. Jules died from the effects of syphillis at the age of 39. Edmond carried on as a writer but never considered his own work anything but second-best to what he’d accomplished with Jules.
In 1876, over six years after Jules’ death, Edmond confided to his journal, “I want to depict two acrobats, two brothers who love each other has my brother and I have loved each other.” His idea was that these brothers would not only work together as he did with Jules, but literally support each other: “Their spines are, so to speak, common property” and they would strive to develop their strengths and skills to the point that they could perform feats previously considered impossible.
Edmond visited the Cirque Olympique in Paris while writing the book, and was particularly taken by the act of the Hanlon-Lees, whose blend of tumbling, juggling, and knockabout clowning the French called entortillage. The Zemganno brothers achieve acrobatic feats to rival those of the Hanlon-Lees, but instead of juggling, they incorporate the playing of violins (which was probably easier to describe than it would have been to perform).
The Zemganno brothers mirror the de Goncourts: Gianni, the elder, is able and temperate; Nello, the younger, is more talented and hot-headed. But they commit to their partnership and a vision of becoming legendary performers when still young, and work their way up, from a humble circus traveling around France by wagon and cart, to an initial attempt to join a grand circus in Paris and then, when that fails, to London, where they spend years studying the English form of highly physical clowning and tumbling. Finally, having worked on a series of tricks in secret, they return and are quickly taken into the troupe of the Deux-Cirques, the premier indoor circus in Paris.
Their act is a combination of comedy, melodrama, and physical magic. At its climax, Gianni appears to humiliate Nello, who falls to the ground and lays there prostrate. Then, suddenly, he is transformed:
His muscles worked in a way beyond their normal powers and danger-point, his loins became hollows, his shoulder blades jutted fantastically, and his spine took on an unaccustomed curve, archied like the crop of a wading bird strayed from another planet. His muscles were one mass of quick, tiny ripples, like those seen beneath the flaccid skin of a snake. All that the audience could see now was a creature flying without wings, a crawling, unearthly, demon-haunting quality of movement associated with beasts of ill-omen and horrible fables. But at last the demon was driven out of the sprite’s bosom.
Despite their successful, however, outside the ring, they lead “a quiet, orderly, intimate, sober and chaste life.” Their focus, their passion is to push the limits of their bodies and continue to master ever-more-difficult stunts.
When an American trick rider, la Tompkins, joins the circus, however, the bond between Gianni and Nello strains. Not so much out of romance as the realization that la Tompkins’ act is of a level of polish and mastery that puts theirs to shame. And this drives Nello in particular to attempt riskier leaps. Anyone who’s seen a circus movie knows where this leads.
The Zemganno Brothers is that rarity, a 19th century novel that is neither novella nor three-volume behemoth. Under 200 pages in its excellent English translation by Lester Clark and Iris Allan, it’s as lean and swift as the Zemganno brothers themselves. While certainly not a masterpiece, it’s a memorable story and a moving tribute from one brother to another.