‘Sir – In your account of the melancholy accident that happened to the Female Blondin at Highbury-barn on Thursday last, you state that the intelligence of the catastrophe was communicated to M. Leotard while that gentleman was performing, that he turned pale at the information, and that, from nervousness, one at least of the feats was imperfectly executed. Permit me, Sir, on behalf of that intrepid gymnast, to deny in toto the imputation thus cast upon him, and to state what really did happen. When the accident to Miss Young had taken place, I went to M. Leotard, who was dressing for his performance at the time, made him acquainted with the melancholy occurrence, and urgently requested him not to appear that evening at all. He replied that the accident, terrible as it was, did not unnerve him in the slightest degree, and that he should therefore keep faith with public and go through his evolutions as usual. This he did, and his performance was unmarked by any trepidation, or ordinarily avoidable imperfection. You will consequently perceive, Sir, that the very reverse of your statement is the correct version of the affair, and that, so far from Leotard being rendered fearful for himself at intelligence said to be conveyed to him during his performance, the fact is that performance had not commenced when he received the news, and that he persisted in appearing, contrary to my reiterated request that he would not do so. / Trusting to your well-known fairness to insert this for him, / I am, Sir, yours truly, / E. Giovannelli. / Highbury Barn, Aug. 16.’

Although the Times was indeed fair enough to print the letter, it couldn’t resist following it with this editorial comment:

‘No imputation was cast upon the “intrepid gymnast” which any but a “gymnast” would be concerned to deny. It is a disgrace to the national taste that such exhibitions are permitted at all. The only interest they excite is in the risk run by the performer. We are sometimes told there is no real risk, but the poor creature, probably crippled for life, who now lies in torture in hospital can best answer that flimsy subterfuge. If the element of risk to the performer were not essential to the pleasure of the spectators, why not have the rope three feet from the ground. Has Mr. Giovannelli no word of pity for one “intrepid gymnast” crushed and broken in his service? M. Leotard may gather, from the small consideration bestowed on one spoilt tool, what his own fate would be if his hand had missed the grasp or his nerve had failed him.’