“Shall we be able to appreciate pictures of this kind when you come to dance at the palace?”
I replied that I was thinking of dances of this sort when I wrote to her, for these reconstructions would naturally interest her beyond what she had seen at the theatre.
Then the princess asked me a thousand other questions and we were so absorbed in our conversation that her luncheon waited more than an hour for her.
The evening when I danced at the palace I supposed that the princess would be alone, for we had agreed, as I have already explained, that the children were not to be present at my performance. They were not present, as a matter of fact, but the princess had invited the King and the Queen and all their retinue, limiting the invitations strictly to habitués of the court.
When I saw the crowd of guests, I could not help wondering how they were going to seat everybody.
We had chosen the dining-hall in which to place an improvised stage, and I had brought two electricians in order to be prepared, if the princess wished me to do so, to present one or two of my radiant dances.
The court pianist, in the meantime, had instructed me in some of Carmen Sylva’s songs. The evening entertainment began with expressions in pantomime and dance of several of those songs.
It was nine o’clock. At one o’clock in the morning I was still dancing; but I felt myself so utterly exhausted that I had to stop. The princess observed my fatigue and came to me.
“What selfishness on our part not to have thought earlier of how tired you must be!”
“Oh, I am so pleased that it seems to me I could go on for ever, if I could only get a minute’s rest. You are the one who must be tired.”