Little Walter revolutionized the art of the circus by transforming the clown Auguste into an unpredictable and profoundly human character. From poverty to stardom, from war to longing, this is the story of Alexandre Ulrich and his deep connection to Portugal.
It's been a few years since I last sat in the audience of a circus ring. In truth, I never had much of a fascination with its wonders. But something changed when a little child pushed me there whenever the caravans set up a few meters from our house.
Every day we would "inspect" the setup. When the big tent went up, that girl's eyes would shine with such intensity that all I could do was pull out my wallet.
I remember the last time perfectly.
It was ten years ago when a circus arrived in town, its poster featuring almost the entire Disney universe. The moment I saw them, I knew I had to take my daughter to that circus.
Sitting there, in anticipation, we felt the illusion crumble. Like me, she was overwhelmed with the sadness that artists carried in their hearts, in their eyes, in their manner. A sadness they tried to hide at all costs.
After fifteen minutes, the girl politely asked to go home.
I was sad. I didn't want popcorn.
I never went back to the circus. My daughter did.
When old things bring new emotions
I remembered this story when I recently came across an extensive report published in the magazine. Portuguese Illustration From February 8, 1908. It spoke of a clown named Little Walter — Alexandre Ulrich — who performed at the Coliseu in Lisbon.
I looked at him closely in the photographs.
There it was.
The disillusioned look and the smile that was nothing more than a caricature. A sad joy beneath the white paste, dotted with reddish stains, that covered his face. Beneath the thick, arched eyebrows drawn above his eyes, there was something I recognized.
Ultimately, perhaps there is something profoundly dramatic about the circus. Perhaps it's a caricature of life, with its pains, frustrations, and joys. To show happiness when inside one is crumbling—isn't that what we all do?
Three shillings a day and a bigger dream.
Born in Liège, Belgium, in 1879, Walter began his career very young in an acrobatic troupe called “Les Bourbonnel”. He debuted at the Circus Renz — a German circus that was active between 1842 and 1897 — as an acrobat and ecuyer.
Nobody noticed him.
He was poorly paid, three shillings a day. His situation was thankless. He was always overwhelmed with ideas, but his role in the troupe was irrelevant, not allowing him to unleash all the creativity that was bubbling within him. If only they paid him what he thought he deserved, he would benefit in some way.
He proposed to be clown. Your biggest dream.
He invested four shillings—more than a day's wages—in the purchase of a black frock coat, an enormous waistcoat, extremely baggy trousers, and a pair of military boots. The same boots he wore throughout his artistic life. With these pieces, he created a new type of clown: "Auguste.".
The training likely came from Tom Belling, an acrobat and ecuyer A British man who had worked at the Circus Renz since 1869 and who was the first Auguste clown. But Walter didn't copy him—he transformed him. He had a restlessness, a need to constantly reinvent himself.
Improvisation as an art form
The man behind Little Walter was a person in a constant state of creative hyperactivity. He sought inspiration in everyday characters, proving himself an expert in female roles, one of his most appreciated transformations.
With Walter, Auguste dressed in formal attire began to lose relevance. It was monotonous. The audience wanted to be surprised with something new.
Walter's constant experiments offered this variety. There were no limits. He would appear in checkered suits, flabby breeches, trousers with intertwined legs. He displayed a decadent dandy style, of ridiculous and boisterous elegance.
For many authors, such as Auguste Rémy, Little Walter was the "first Auguste whose originality surpassed the clown." He caricatured the very genre he helped to create.
Antonet and Grock: opposite partners
For ten years — between 1896 and 1906 — Little Walter partnered with Antonet. Together, they developed a set of humorous plays that became a benchmark for subsequent generations: “Kubelick II and Rubinstein”, “Hamlet”, “Le Clariniste”, “Le Soldat”.
During this period, they performed with James Anthony Bailey's The Barnum & Bailey Circus, the Greatest Show on Earth, which toured Europe between 1900 and 1902.
But there was tension.
Antonet was obsessively controlling, planning every detail, rehearsing every gesture. Walter was the opposite: extremely versatile, he possessed a formidable ability to improvise, adapting to the audience he had in front of him.
«"When I perform for the first time in front of an audience I don't know, I start by feeling my way around, by carefully exploring...", Walter explained in the interview with... Portuguese Illustration in 1908.
Perhaps due to exhaustion, or because of incompatibilities that had become unsustainable, Little Walter decided to leave the duo and establish his own show.
When Antonet began working with Grock in 1906, he found the ideal partner. Unlike Walter, Grock shared the same care for planning, precision, and detail. Neither Antonet nor Grock were yet famous, but Antonet took the dominant role. Grock, less experienced, learned his trade by replacing Little Walter.
In photographic records, it's very easy to confuse the two. The copy was almost perfect.
In fact, Grock may have been the Little Walter that Antonet always wanted: methodical, conservative, obedient.
Lisbon: the land where he chose to be born
Although he first performed in Portugal in 1897 at the Teatro D. Affonso in Porto, it was in 1908 that Little Walter became one of the biggest attractions at the Coliseu in Lisbon. His nickname: “Walter Aviateur”.
In the interview with the magazine Portuguese Illustration, described himself as a showman Rising, full of dreams and goals. Married to Emilie Lecusson, a French woman born in Coimbra, with whom he had two children, he ended up establishing deep ties with the city.
«"I love Lisbon because I know that in every spectator I have a friend, and it gives me the impression that I'm working in my homeland. I already consider Portugal the land where I was born because, through many family ties, I am Portuguese. My wife was born in Coimbra, my son was born in Lisbon…"»
There is something moving about these words. A man who chose where he belonged.
The war that took away laughter.
In an instant, the world turned upside down. The winds of war blew overwhelmingly, taking the lives of millions of young people and marking the beginning of the decline of many artists.
On November 7, 1914, Little Walter was in Bordeaux. From there he wrote a letter to his friend Francisco Cerejo, in Lisbon. He had not heard from his son Nené for a long time; Nené had left for Belgium months before the start of the war to stay with an uncle.
In that letter, he said he was leaving for Paris and for the war. He wanted to avenge everything the Germans had stolen from him.
«"Tell everyone that Walter won't be playing the fool anymore. I'm no longer going to be a military intermediary. Now, I'm going to be a real soldier, because the Germans stole everything from me: my homeland, my parents, and my son. I will avenge the blood of my brothers. I will kill or be killed. Remember me sometimes, I've always been your friend."»
The letter ends like this: "Bordeaux, November 7th. Little Walter."«
The return and the curtain falling.
After the First World War, he performed several seasons with the Cirque d'Hiver in Paris, directed by Gaston Desprez, alongside Ilès, E.P. Loyal, and his son Joe Walter.
But he returned to Portugal. He rented a house on Rua da Glória, in Lisbon, and dedicated himself to... tours from his Circus Music Hall to Portuguese cities and towns.
In June 1937, the magazine Illustration It was reported that Walter had received the Commendation of Merit, awarded by the Portuguese Government for his work in children's homes and hospitals. In addition, he received the gold medal from the city of Porto.
In April of that year, he left for a new tour. He fell ill in Abrantes. In Castelo Branco, his health deteriorated. His son-in-law Geo — married to his eldest daughter, Elena Walter — even tried to arrange for him to be admitted to a hospital in Lisbon.
There was nothing left to do.
Little Walter's smile faded. The curtain fell on the Circus Music Hall.
He died in Castelo Branco in June 1937, poor, but surrounded by his entire family who, along with him, made a living entertaining and making others laugh.
I think about this when I recall that afternoon at the circus with my daughter. The crumbling of the illusion we both felt. Perhaps she, at three years old, already understood what took me years to understand: that the circus is about showing joy when inside we are falling apart.
Like life, basically.
Little Walter spent his life making others laugh while carrying his own pain. And when the war stole everything from him, he was able to exchange the clown's mask for a soldier's uniform.
In the end, he returned. He returned to Portugal, to Lisbon, to the land he had chosen as his own.
It is, perhaps, one of the most authentic stories about the price of art: to bring joy to others while carrying one's own sadness. To make people laugh when one wants to cry. To keep going, always.
