IT happened in February, 1902. I arrived at Vienna with my Japanese company, headed by Sada Yacco. We had with us an artist to whom I had been delighted to be of service. In Paris my close friend, Madame Nevada, the celebrated American singer, had presented her to me, and the dancer had given me a performance as an example of her skill. She danced with remarkable grace, her body barely covered by the flimsiest of Greek costumes, and she bade fair to become somebody. Since then she has arrived. In her I saw the ancient tragic dances revived. I saw the Egyptian, Greek and Hindoo rhythms recalled.
I told the dancer to what height I believed that she could attain, with study and persistent work. A short time after I left for Berlin, where she rejoined me. During our stay there she was ill most of the time and could do hardly any work.
Finally, on our return to Vienna, we began our studies seriously, and I decided to organise some evening affairs as a means of bringing her before an audience of people capable of appreciating and understanding her.
To this end I took her to every drawing-room that was open to me in Vienna. Our first call was upon the wife of the English ambassador, whom I had known at Brussels when her husband represented the United Kingdom there. On this day I came near going in alone and leaving my dancer in the carriage, because of her personal appearance. She wore an Empire robe, grey, with a long train and a man’s hat, a soft felt hat, with a flying veil. Thus gowned she appeared to so little advantage that I rather expected a rebuff. However, I pleaded my dancer’s cause so warmly, and I obtained a promise that both the ambassador and his wife would be present on the first evening.
I went next to see the Princess of Metternich.
“My dear Princess,” I said to her, “I have a friend, a dancer, who has not yet succeeded in coming to the front because she is poor and has no one to launch her. She is very talented, and I am anxious that Viennese drawing-rooms shall come to know her. Are you willing to help me?”
“With pleasure. What must I do?”
“To begin with, come to my hotel, and see her dance.”
“Why, certainly. You can count absolutely upon me.”
The princess is impressively simple. Where one expects to find a grande dame arrayed in finery and of lofty bearing, one discovers a charming woman, receptive, simple, witty, and possessed of extraordinary youthfulness of manner. When Prince Metternich was ambassador at Paris she was given the nickname one applied to Adelaide of Savoy; she was called “the pretty, homely one.” The princess went one better by saying, “I am the best dressed ape in Paris.” I wonder if she could ever have been plain. There is such intelligence implicit in every feature of her face.