“See,” she said, “it is ze spirit dat will give you courage. I will give
it to you. The moment dat you all undress yourself, tek one good long
drink, and den, enfant, you will forget dat you have no clothes on your
body, and dat tout le monde, he is look at you--your feet, your legs,
your stomach, and every piece of you dat you do not like them to see. It
will be joost like little dream. Dat firs’ time, also, I am feel ze
shame--but soon it pass--and it is all forget. Courage, enfant!”
“No, no, Miss St. Denis. Oh, I can’t do it! I can’t!” I began to cry,
and then she seized hold of my hands fiercely and pulled herself up in
bed.
“Ah, you are ze coward--renegade! You will not help me.”
“Oh, Miss St. Denis, I might just as well go to the devil completely.
Oh, I can never, never do it! Oh, if my people found out, I would be
eternally disgraced and Reggie--he would never speak to me again. Then,
surely, he would _never_, never marry me, and there would go my last
hope.”
“You are hystérique,” she said gently. “I t’ink you have not eat so
much--yes?”
I told her I had had my dinner, which was not true, and after a while,
when I had dried my tears and was feeling more composed, she resumed,
just as if I had not said I would not do it.
“It is not so hard as you t’ink. You will yourself undress behind ze
screen dat they provide, wiz one chair for you to rest upon. Nobody look
at you when you take off dose clothes. Dere also is one wrapper for you
to cover over your body, and when ze monitor he call: ‘Pose!’ you will
walk wiz ze wrapper on top you to ze model stage, and only den you will
drop ze wrapper. Listen, enfant! If you have take dat dreenk I am tell
you ’bout, you will forget dat it is your body, and dat you have on no
clothes. You will say to yourself: ’Dis is not me. Dis is jus’ some
statue--so many lines for dem to draw and paint, to make some peecture.
Ze real me, I am lef’ in my clothes dat are behind dat screen. Voilà,
enfant?”