Imagine my astonishment when, in getting out of the carriage in front of the Folies, I found myself face to face with a “serpentine dancer” reproduced in violent tones on some huge placards. This dancer was not Loie Fuller.
Here was the cataclysm, my utter annihilation.
Nevertheless I went into the theatre. I stated the object of my visit. I asked to see the manager. They told me that I could be received only at the close of the performance, and they assigned us, my mother, Mr. Stein and myself, seats in one corner of the balcony, whence we were able to follow the performance.
The performance!
I could not help poking a little fun at that performance. It would be hard to describe what I saw that evening. I awaited the “serpentine dancer,” my rival, my robber—for she was a robber, was she not, she who was stealing not only my dances but all my beautiful dreams?
Finally she came out. I trembled all over. Cold perspiration appeared on my temples. I shut my eyes. When I reopened them I saw there on the stage one of my contemporaries who, some time before, in the United States, having borrowed money from me had neglected to repay it. She had kept right on borrowing, that was all. But this time I had made up my mind to force her to give back what she had taken from me.
Presently I ceased to want to do anything of the sort. Instead of further upsetting me the sight of her soothed me. The longer she danced the calmer I became. And when she had finished her “turn,” I began to applaud sincerely and with great joy.
It was not admiration that elicited my applause but an entirely opposite feeling. My imitator was so ordinary that, sure of my own superiority, I no longer dreaded her. In fact I could gladly have kissed her for the pleasure that her revelation of inefficiency gave me.
After the performance, when we were in the manager’s presence, M. Marchand was then the man, I let him know how I felt, through the intermediation of Mr. Stein, who acted as interpreter.
The hall by this time was empty. There were only six of us on the stage; M. Marchand, his wife, the second orchestra leader, M. Henri Hambourg, Mr. Stein, my mother and I.