There I was able for the first time to realise my dances just as I had conceived them; with darkness in the house and coloured lights on the stage. The house was packed and the audience positively enthusiastic. I danced my first, my second, my third. When I had finished the whole house was standing up.
Among the spectators was one of my oldest friends, Marshall P. Wilder, the little American humourist. He recognised me and called my name in such a way that everybody could hear it, for they had neglected to put it on the programme! When the audience discovered that the new dancer was its old favourite comedian, the little soubrette of a former day, it gave her an ovation such as, I suppose, never another human being has received.
They called out, “Three cheers for the butterfly! Three cheers for the orchid, the cloud, the butterfly! Three cheers!” And the enthusiasm passed all bounds. The applause resounded in my ears like the ringing of bells. I was overcome with joy and gratitude.
Next morning I arose early to read the papers. Every New York newspaper devoted from a column to a page to “Loie Fuller’s Wonderful Creation.” Numerous illustrations of my dances accompanied the articles.
I buried my face in my pillow and shed every tear that, for a long time, had lurked in my discouraged soul. For how many months had I waited for this good luck!
In one of these articles a critic wrote “Loie Fuller had risen from her ashes.” Next day the whole city was plastered with lithographs, reproduced from one of my photographs, representing me larger than life, with letters a foot high announcing: “The Serpentine Dance! The Serpentine Dance!” But there was one circumstance came near giving me heart failure. My name was nowhere mentioned.
I went to the theatre and reminded the manager that I had accepted the modest salary he offered on condition that I should be featured. I hardly understood when he remarked drily that he could not do more for me.
I asked him then whether he supposed that I was going to continue dancing under such conditions.
“Nothing can compel you to do so,” answered the manager. “In any case, I have taken my precautions in case you do not care to keep on.”
I left the theatre in desperation, not knowing what to do. My head swam. I went home and consulted my friends.