by some dignitaries of the sovereign’s retinue, came to my
dressing-room and brought me a Persian flag, which they begged me to
use in one of my dances.
What could I do with that heavy flag? In vain I racked my brain. I
could not discover any way. I could not refuse, and I was unable on the
other hand to convince them that it was impossible to try anything so
impromptu without running the risk of a failure.
More and more perplexed I made my entrance for the last dance. I had
the great flag in my arms. I tried to wave it gracefully, but I did not
succeed. I tried to strike a noble attitude, still holding the flag.
Again I failed. It was a woollen banner and would not float. Finally
I stood stock still, holding the staff upright, in as imposing an
attitude as possible. Then I bowed until the curtain fell.
My friends were surprised to observe that my last dance had displeased
his Majesty. The Shah finally told them that he did not see why the
Persian flag had been desecrated. No one dared to tell him that the
idea had not come from me, but from persons of his retinue, or to
inform him how I had received the flag.
My friends, the d’Oyleys, consoled me by saying that my pose had been
very noble and that even the flag, falling around me in heavy folds,
had produced a very striking effect.
The Shah decorates everybody who has attracted his attention; that is
a habit he has acquired. For my part, thanks to the brilliant idea of
the dignitaries from the court of Teheran, I have never seen either the
tail of the Lion or a ray of the Sun peculiar to Persian decoration.
I have been told on other authority that on this evening the Shah’s
first thought was of a bomb which, so it had been announced, was to be
thrown at him in the hall. He was thinking of this rather than of my
person, my dances or even of the Persian flag I “profaned.”
_My Adventure with a Negro King._
At the Colonial exposition in Marseilles in 1907 I was with some
friends in the pavilion of one of the exhibitors when a magnificent
negro, six feet high, who looked like some prince from the Thousand and
One Nights, came upon the terrace where we sat. He was accompanied by a
large retinue. The other negroes were dressed the same as he, but none
of them had his magnificent presence.
Some French officials accompanied the visitors, who, naturally,
created a tremendous effect with their costumes, which were simple but
exquisitely finished. When they came near I exclaimed:
“He might be called a king out of a fairy tale!”
They passed before us and took their places in the reception hall.
The proprietor presently came to our group, and asked us if we would
not like to assist him in receiving the King of Djoloff in Senegal.
“He is visiting the Exposition as a private citizen,” he added. “If you
would like to make his acquaintance come and I will present you.”
I was charmed.
When I was in the presence of the king, I said quietly to my friends,
in a distinct voice and in French:
“What a handsome savage; I wonder if they are all built on this model
in Africa.”
I was presented to the king. He extended his hand, and, to my
consternation, I heard him say in very good French:
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Fuller. I have
applauded you frequently. My education was gained in Paris.”
I could not repress an exclamation.
“Good heavens! Then you heard what I said, and you never raised an
eyelash!”
“No, since you did not suppose that I understood you.”
I looked at him for a minute or two to find out whether he had been
irritated or not. He smiled diplomatically and I felt that we should be
friends.
I was dancing at Marseilles at that time. He came to the theatre to see
me after the performance.
“What can we do that will give you pleasure in exchange for the great
satisfaction that your dances have just brought us?” he asked me.
I thought the matter over a minute.
“I should like it very much if I might be present at one of your
religious ceremonies.”
The black chief promised to come to my hotel, and to give me an idea of
the ritualistic practices of his country.
The next day, accordingly, I made preparations for a tea-party in the
hotel garden. Rugs were spread on the grass and everything was in
readiness to receive the monarch.
“When will the ceremony begin?” I asked the king as soon as he had
arrived.
“We shall say our prayer at six o’clock, just at sunset.”
As night came on I observed that the king and his followers began
to survey the sky in every direction, and I wondered why. Noting my
wonderment, the king told me that they were endeavouring to get their
bearings in order to be certain of the point toward which the sun was
tending at the end of his journey.
“We are required,” he said, “always to pray with our faces toward the
setting sun.”
He gave the order to begin the ceremony then and there. I wish I could
describe it as perfectly as I saw it.
The unity of the motions of all these men was simply wonderful. All
together they said the same brief prayer, and with mechanical precision
made the same movement, which, from the point of view of devotion,
seemed to have similar importance to the words of their ritual. The
large white cloaks, spread over long blue blouses, waved round their
bodies. The men prostrated themselves, touched the ground with their
foreheads and then raised themselves together. The rhythm and precision
were most impressive. It was really very, very beautiful.
After the prayers the king told me that his father had been dethroned
and then exiled from Senegal by the French Government. As for himself,
in his turn he had been nominated chief of his tribe, for in reality
there was no longer a king. He was a French subject, and in his
country, which was tributory to France, he was no more than chief of
his clan.
But the majesty remained, nevertheless, magnificently expressed in his
features.
While we were conversing I asked permission to put some indiscreet
questions. After he had consented, all the while smiling his peculiarly
winning smile, I asked him if he was married?
He replied in the affirmative. He had four wives. As I appeared to
be surprised to note that he travelled without them, especially in a
country where there are so many pretty women, he, in his turn, looked
at me for some time, and replied:
“From the point of view of my wives a white woman has neither charm nor
beauty.”
This surprised me greatly, and I asked him whether that was because
they had never seen any white women.
“Oh,” he replied, “in any case they would not be jealous of a white
woman. It seems to them absolutely impossible that a pale-faced woman
can play any part in my life.”
“And you? Are you so sure of that? If a white woman with long blonde
hair should suddenly appear in your country, among your black women,
would she not be taken for an angel?”
“Oh, no. She would be taken for a devil. Angels are black in our
Paradise.”
This, I must confess, opened new vistas in the domain of religion. It
had never before appeared so clear to me that men make their gods in
their own image, rather than that the gods make men after theirs.
_How the Empress of China Degraded a Mandarin on my Account._
I was dancing in New York when several of Li Hung Chang’s followers
came to the theatre. Some friends presented me to the American military
attaché, Mr. Church, who accompanied the Viceroy.
Thanks to Mr. Church I was able to satisfy my curiosity and become
acquainted with these high Chinese dignitaries. When they left for
their own country my manager went with them, in the hope that, through
their good offices, I might dance at the Chinese court in the presence
of the dowager Empress and her son.
As soon as my representative was in China, he cabled me that everything
had been arranged and that I was to take the first steamer leaving
Vancouver.
* * * * *
After crossing the continent I was on the point of embarking with my
mother, when the state of her health caused me the keenest anxiety. Her
prostration was so complete that I was obliged to send a message to
China, indicating the impossibility of keeping my engagement.
My manager rejoined us utterly dejected.
At Pekin a magnificent reception had been prepared for me. I was to
dance before the Emperor and Empress and then in Japan I was to appear
before the Mikado. The theatre of the best Japanese actor, Danjero,
was to be put at my disposal. And all that to no purpose whatever. My
manager brought back from this oriental country the most marvellous of
embroideries, which Li Hung Chang had sent over for me.
I experienced genuine regret at the failure of this trip, then I forgot
all about it.
One evening in London one of my friends at dinner found herself seated
next to a very high Chinese official. Apropos of the rich colouring of
the mandarin’s garments, they came to speak about me and my coloured
dances, and my friend said to her companion:
“You are acquainted with Loie Fuller, I presume.”
“Well, yes, madam,” he replied. “I am only too well acquainted with
her, if I may say so.”
“How is that?”
“I went to the United States with Li Hung Chang. Loie Fuller’s manager
accompanied us on our return to China, and, through the influence of
the Viceroy, we gained permission for Loie Fuller to appear before
the Empress. Just as she was about to leave for Pekin she broke her
agreement. It fell upon me to inform her Majesty that Loie Fuller was
unable to obey the Imperial mandate. The Empress had me degraded! That
was eight years ago. I lost my yellow jacket, which has only recently
been restored to me.”
My friend pleaded my case, alleging the condition of my mother’s
health, and the seriousness of her malady at the time of my failure to
report in the celestial empire.
I suppose that it would be too much to expect of His Excellency to ask
him to forgive my mistake. If I had known that my failure to appear
would be attended with such consequences, I should, instead of cabling
to my manager, have forwarded a long dispatch to the Empress herself,
telling her the reasons for my failure to keep an engagement. A woman
with a heart, even if she be an Empress, could not blame a daughter for
doing her duty towards her mother.
_How Queen Alexandra did not fail to see me._
One morning the papers said that the King and Queen of England were
going to spend several days in Paris.
I was then dancing at the Hippodrome and, remembering what Princess
Marie of Roumania had told me, I decided not to let this occasion slip,
and I wrote to the Queen herself, asking if she would be kind enough
to set aside an hour in which I might give a performance, at her own
convenience and whenever she chose.
I should never, indeed, have supposed it possible to ask her to come to
the Hippodrome. One of her maids of honour answered the note, saying
that Her Majesty’s stay was of limited duration, and that she had
already accepted too many invitations to undertake any new engagements.
After that I thought no more of the Queen.
Arriving at a matinee one Thursday, I noticed in front of the
Hippodrome quite an impressive line of carriages, all displaying the
royal insignia.
“The Queen has sent some one to my matinee,” I thought. “She wants to
know whether my dances are really worth seeing. If I make a pleasant
impression the Queen will perhaps some day ask me to dance before her.”
I went into my dressing-room. I had nearly finished my preparations
when the manager rushed in post haste calling out:
“It’s four o’clock and the Queen has been waiting since half-past two.”
“What! The Queen is here! Why didn’t you inform me sooner?”
He was too unnerved to make a lengthy explanation. I hurried down and
two minutes later I was on the stage.
In the middle of my dance the Queen arose and left the theatre with all
her attendants. I saw her rise and go!
I thought the floor would open and engulf me. What had I done to offend
her? Was she indignant that I had made her wait? Was this her way of
punishing me for my discourtesy, or did my dances displease her? What
was I to think?
I went home in utter despair.
I had just realised one of my dearest wishes, that of dancing before
the Queen. Never had I experienced such dejection. I should have
preferred a thousand times that she had not come.
I learned afterward at the theatre that a telephone message had come
shortly after noon to the effect that the Queen wished to see Loie
Fuller, but that she would have to leave at four o’clock.
The manager, who had supposed that the Queen was coming to see the
Hippodrome, had not attached any importance to the intimation regarding
me, and did not even take the trouble to find out whether I was there
or not.
Next morning all the papers recorded that the Queen of England had come
to the Hippodrome, despite her many appointments and engagements made
some time earlier, and so forth and so forth.
There was not a word about me.
However, as I had written to the Queen to ask her to come it seemed to
me that I ought to excuse myself for my apparent discourtesy. I wrote
to her accordingly, telling her how distressed I was at my failure to
appear earlier--a failure that would not have occurred if some one had
come to apprise me. I regretted that the message had not been forwarded
to me instead of to the manager.
That same evening one of my friends came to tell me that she had
written the day before to one of the Queen’s maids of honour, whom
she knew personally, asking her to come and see me dance at the
Hippodrome.
[Illustration: THE DANCE OF THE BUTTERFLY
_Photo_ _Lafitte_]
“That will make your new dances celebrated all over the world,” said
my friend. “The Queen will come, I am certain of it, if it is at all
possible.”
Overcome with surprise, I looked at my friend, and exclaimed:
“Well, then, that is why she came this afternoon!”
“Has she already come to see you? I should not have expected such
promptness.”
“She came to the matinee.”
And I told my friend the whole story in detail.
She still could not understand why the Queen had left so hastily, and
enquired into the reason.
Presently everything was explained.
The Queen had agreed to visit a painter’s studio at half-past three and
then, at four o’clock, to call upon M. and Mme. Loubet. Nevertheless
she remained at the Hippodrome until ten minutes past four. The King
went alone to the studio and the Queen arrived late at the President’s
house.
After that I fully appreciated her kindness, her patience. I still feel
endless gratitude to her for having waited so long, for not having left
the theatre without seeing, if it was only for a moment, Loie Fuller
and her dances.
As for the manager, he is still convinced that the Queen did not come
to see Loie Fuller, but the Hippodrome, and only the Hippodrome.
XVI
OTHER MONARCHS
I shall always remember with great pleasure my six hundredth appearance
in Paris.
I was then dancing at the Athénée. The whole house had been bought up
by students. When I came on the stage each spectator threw a bunch of
violets at me. It took five minutes to gather up the flowers.
When I had finished dancing, a fresh avalanche of flowers poured upon
the stage. During the performance I received from my admirers, along
with an album of sketches signed with names, several of which are now
famous, an exquisite statuette representing me in a characteristic
attitude.
When I was ready to leave the theatre, the students took my horses out
of the shafts and drew my carriage themselves. At the Madeleine the
crowd was so dense that the police warned us to stop. But as soon as
they had learned that it was “La Loie” in whose honour the triumphal
procession was decreed, we had permission to go our way without
interruption. The young men drew my carriage all the way to Passy,
where I lived. They conscientiously awakened all the inhabitants with
their outcries.
Finally we reached the house. I did not know what I was going to do
with these boys, but they themselves solved the problem without delay.
After they had rung the bell and as soon as my gate had swung on its
hinges they emitted a shout all together, and started to run away as
if possessed. I could hear them for a long time afterwards, shouting:
“Vive l’art! Vive La Loie!”
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:
“Just look, before they put the lights out, at the human wave curling
at your feet.”
I had never seen anything like it.
After the electric lights had been shut off I began to dance. The
rays of light enveloped me. There was a movement in the crowd, which
reverberated in echoes like the mutterings of a storm.
Exclamations followed, “Ohs” and “Ahs,” which fused into a sort of
roar, comparable to the wailing of some giant animal.
You can hardly imagine anything like it. It seemed to me that on my
account alone this spectacle was presented by all this moving crowd
before me.
A calm ensued. The orchestra, not a very large one, seemed to me
utterly ineffective in such a space. The audience, which was seated on
the other side of the fountains, certainly could not hear it.
The first dance came to its close. The extinguishing of my lighting
apparatus left us, the public and me, in utter darkness. The uproar of
the applause became something fantastic in the dead of night. It was
like the beating of a single pair of hands, but so powerful that no
noise in the world could be compared with it.
I danced four times, and the different sensations expressed by the
audience were most remarkable. They gave me the most vivid impression I
have ever experienced. It was something immense, gigantic, prodigious.
That day I had a feeling that the crowd was really the most powerful of
monarchs.
There are other monarchs as well as kings and crowds. Certain emotions
are kings, too.
At Nice, at the Riviera Palace Hotel, I noticed one day at a table
near mine a young man of distinguished appearance whose glance met
my own several times successively, almost, one would fancy, in spite
of himself. During the following days we surveyed each other again
and again at meal times, but without progressing further towards
acquaintance.
I had a number of friends with me. He was alone. Gradually my heart
went out to him, although we had never exchanged a word. I did not
know who he was, and I had no notion of seeking his acquaintance. Yet
his brown eyes and his type of personality, calm and simple, exerted
a sort of fascination over me. A week later I discovered, to my great
confusion, that I was perpetually haunted by his eyes and that I could
not forget his smile.
One evening there was a ball at the hotel. I was invited, of course.
As I have already said, I had a great many friends there. All at once,
in a corner, I noticed my neighbour of the dining-hall. He spoke to no
one. He was not dancing. I began to feel sorry to see him so entirely
alone. My sympathy went out more than ever towards him.
Some days later I was engaged for a performance that was to take place
at the hotel in honour of a Russian grand duke, two kings and an
empress.
I remember that Patti was in the front row. When I appeared before this
choice assembly, a single figure persisted in detaching itself from
the rest of the crowd. It was the figure of my unknown young man. Who
could he be to be noted thus, in the role of an invited guest, among
these princes and princesses? He rested his elbow on the back of his
chair. His hand was under his chin. His legs were crossed with easy
negligence. He looked at me continuously. Everybody applauded over and
over again. He alone did not lift a finger.
Who was this man? Why did his countenance haunt me? Why did he watch me
so insistently? Why did he not join in the applause?
The next day, on the verandah, I was comfortably seated in a
rocking-chair, all the while wondering who my handsome dark man could
be. Coming back to earth I saw him there by my side, ensconced in one
of those odd willow seats that enclose you as in a sentry box.
His eyes again met mine. We did not speak, but both of us experienced
a deep desire to exchange greetings. Just at that moment the hotel
manager came up and began to talk to us. Then, observing that we were
not acquainted, he introduced us. I learned then that he was son of an
industrial leader of international standing--one of the best known in
Paris as well as St. Petersburg and Vienna. Immediately I wanted to
know everything about him. He on his side wished me to tell him all
sorts of things of which I had never even dreamed. We were at once on
terms of delightful intimacy.
A short time after I was obliged to leave Nice. Just as my train was
about to go, my good friend jumped into my carriage and accompanied me
as far as Marseilles. There he bade me adieu and returned to Nice.
Letter writing followed, in the course of which he told me how highly
he regarded my friendship--more highly in fact than anything else in
the world. For my part I thought of him more often than I should care
to confess, but I had my wits about me sufficiently to announce to him,
at the cost of a great effort of will, that he was too young for our
feelings of regard for each other to continue without danger to both,
and that he ought to forget me.
Just at this time there was presented to me a viscount, who laid claim
to my heart and hand. Need I confess that, with my eyes still filled
with pictures of the other man, I could not endure his assiduous
importunity. No one is deafer, says a French proverb, than who he is
unwilling to hear. And the viscount would not listen to my discouraging
remarks.
He seemed to have imposed upon himself, in spite of my rebuffs, which
were often severe and always discourteous, the task of bringing me
to terms. Undoubtedly, in spite of my reserve and coldness, he might
eventually have succeeded if one fine evening he had not dropped out
altogether under threat of legal proceedings. He had a well-established
reputation as a swindler.
During the time when the viscount was playing his game to win my
affections, my good friend’s communications stopped coming. I wrote
him several letters. They were never answered.
Some years later, in 1900, I had installed my theatre, as is perhaps
still remembered, at the Universal Exposition in Paris.
One day as I was on my way to the theatre I saw at a distance my lover
of the days at Nice. My heart began to beat violently.
My friend approached. We were going to pass each other. He had not
yet seen me; for he was walking with his eyes on the ground. Standing
still, with my left hand restraining the beating of my heart, I waited,
feasting my eyes upon him. He turned his head and passed me.
I was destined not to see him again for a long time.
Meantime, indeed, I learned through a third person that he had told his
father of his desire to marry me. A violent scene took place between
the two men. The father threatened to disinherit him. The poor boy was
sent away, almost by main force, on a voyage round the world.
I have frequently reflected since then on the part the “viscount”
played in all this affair, and I should not be astonished to learn that
he led some artful embassy against His Majesty King Love.
XVII