Then we set ourselves at work seriously upon rehearsals for my debut, which was announced to occur a week later.
After I had danced twice under my imitator’s name the manager of the Folies-Bergère took me to the office of the Figaro.
I knew well that from the point of view of advertising this was an excellent idea, but I did not know until long after that my definite engagement had depended on the impression I created there. I have not forgotten that I owe my entire career to the memorable success I achieved on that occasion.
Eight days later the general rehearsal occurred, which ended only at four o’clock in the morning, and still I had been unable to complete my programme, comprising five dances: 1, the serpentine; 2, the violet; 3, the butterfly; 4, a dance the public later called the “white dance.” As a finale I intended to dance with illumination from beneath, the light coming through a square of glass over which I hovered, and this was to be the climax of my dances. After the fourth number my electricians, who were exhausted, left me there unceremoniously.
I was unwilling to make my appearance without my last dance, but, in the face of my manager’s threat to cancel our contract, I finally yielded.
Next day I was able, nevertheless, to rehearse this fifth dance, and at the time of the performance everything was ready for my initial appearance.
The enthusiasm of the audience grew progressively while I danced.
When the curtain fell after the fourth dance, the applause was deafening and the music that served as prelude to dance number five could not be heard. Upon the manager’s order the curtain was raised again and again, and the plaudits continued to deafen us. I had to yield to the inevitable; it was impossible, and useless, to keep on dancing. The four dances, with the encores, had lasted forty-five minutes and, despite the stimulus of great success, I had reached the limit of my strength.
I looked at the manager and asked:
“How about the last one?”