There is one thing that has always struck me as particularly hard about a ballet girl’s life. It is a point, too, that perhaps is not generally known and hasn’t therefore been appreciated by the public. It is that a ballet girl is always on her legs, even when not dancin’ on the stage.
People take it for granted that havin’ danced her dance she goes behind the scenes and rests. Nothing of the sort. She can’t sit down after she is dressed or undressed for the evenin’s performance. This may be said to be a cast-iron “standin’ rule for dancin’ girls.”
The reason she can’t sit down is very simple, and every woman will understand it at once. If a ballet girl was to sit down, even once, for a moment, her tarleton skirts would be crushed, her silk leggin’s or “tights” would be wrinkled about the knees; she would be “mussed” and undone.
All she can do, in the restin’ line, is to lean back against some flat, some canvas scene, or some wall, or rest her forehead on some chap, till it is time to go on again or go home.
This is pretty hard work; if anybody don’t believe it, let ‘em try it, and what with rehearsals, and late hours, and drafts, and colds, and downright leg-work, the ballet girl earns all her money twice over, and makes up for lookin’ like a divinity by livin’ like a drudge.
And even when she gets to be a premier danseuse, a ballet star, she stands a chance of bein’ overworked even then. I have known a case in which a premier danseuse danced so hard one night to please the public that she was laid up for weeks after. Once Mlle. Rosa fainted the moment she got through a dance, and two or three times dancers have danced ‘emselves into convulsions, literally givin’ ‘emselves fits.
An almost fatal case comes to my memory in this connection. Adelaide Nixon once introduced a new dance and it took the town.
It was very showy, and very difficult–very fascinatin’ to the beholder but very fatiguin’ to the performer. The audience applauded rapturously and demanded a repetition of the dance. Tired as she was, the dancer repeated her triumph. The audience got more enthusiastic than ever and applauded more than before. The woman was almost tired out, but the manager begged her for heaven’s sake, and her large salary’s sake, to give it to the people once more. Almost exhausted as she was, Adalaide Nixon went through the dance again, the pride and pleasure of the moment temporarily atonin’ for the fatigue. For the third time the audience got wild and shook the theater with their applause, and their demands for a third repetition.
The manager implored her almost on his knees to gratify the public. “Our fortune, your fortune is made,” he said. “Only gratify the public once more–take this,” giving her some brandy, “and go on.”
Against her will the queen of the ballet, the slave and martyr of the public, went on and, amid the wildest enthusiasm, re-re-re-repeated her favorite dance. She was rewarded by what was in truth “an ovation.” The house literally “rose at her.” The theater almost shook with shouts. Women waved handkerchiefs at her, men climbed on seats and waved their arms like maniacs. In truth she deserved it all. Her last dance was even better–more artistic, more dashin’–than her first. She seemed to have risen superior to the laws of nature, she had defied fatigue.
Yes, she deserved her triumph and she had to pay for it all.
As soon as she finished her third dance, in response to her third encore, just as the green curtain fell on her triple triumph she fell on the stage an almost lifeless lump, seized with paralysis.
She was taken to her lodgin’ that night a mere human heap. Nature had avenged herself at last.
One funny thing has been noticed about ballet girls. They have a sort of wild desire to wear mournin’. There was a ballet girl once connected with the “Black Crook,” a handsome girl, called Clara Lippincott, who was always wearin’ mournin’ for somebody or other–always seemin’ glad to get an excuse to wear black. Another girl called Mlle. Rosa, made it a point to go into mournin’, not only every time any of her own friends or acquaintances died, but every time any of the friends or acquaintances of any of her acquaintances or friends died. So she was pretty nearly all the time in mournin’, save when she was dancin’.
Perhaps this mournin’ racket is taken up by the ballet girls by way of contrast to their dashin’, dazzlin’-looking sort of life–perhaps they consider it as a sort of atonement for their glitter and glare. I ain’t a philosopher. So I can’t decide this point. I only state the facts.
[Editor’s notes: It is not clear who the two mentions of “Mlle. Rosa” are referring to–perhaps Josephine DeRosa, one of the greatest dancers of her era.
“Clara Lippincott” and Adelaide Nixon were not very widely known. The incident of Nixon’s paralysis was mentioned in: Before the Footlights and Behind the Scenes: a Book about “the Show Business” in All Its Branches: from Puppet Shows to Grand Opera by Olive Logan, Parmelee, 1870. This was a source used by the Harry Hill column writer on other occasions.]
