I have often wondered whether the police were as lenient on their return.
In Marseilles, at the time of the Colonial Exposition, one of the commissioners of fine arts asked me if I would not like to perform out-of-doors.
That was one of my dearest wishes, and I consented readily.
Preparations were made at once for my performance, which was to be given in the same place where we had admired the King of Cambodia’s dancers. The stage was built opposite to the Grand Palais.
The director of the Exposition had placed behind the platform some great plants, in order that I might be relieved against a background of green foliage, which would be particularly favourable to the brilliancy of the figures in the foreground. Below the stage were two little ponds, with sparkling fountains.
The evening of my first appearance arrived. I was feverishly impatient.
Nothing had been done to advertise it to the public of Marseilles, for we regarded this first evening as a kind of rehearsal, which we should repeat a week later, if it met with success. It was only this next performance that we expected to announce formally.
It was a starlight night. There were at least thirty thousand visitors at the Exposition.
The lights were put out and the crowd rushed towards the platform. In spite of its impromptu character the performance was a remarkable success, and the committee decided from this time on to continue to give outdoor performances.
During the second evening, just as the lights were about to be extinguished, a man came and said to me as I was on my way to the stage: