Chapter X

WITH A TROUPE IN AMERICA

YOU may be sure that I was at Trafalgar Square punctually at half-past seven. My friend—for so I regarded him now—was waiting for me near the Nelson Column. He shook my hand, cutting me short when I began to thank him. He proposed that we should go into St James’s Park, and sit down under the trees. It was a lovely, warm evening after a showery day, and the park looked fresh and green.

“Look here,” said my friend, “We are both artistes, aren’t we? We live by amusing the public, you as a dancer, and I as a writer. We have both known bitter hardships and trials, and this has made us both sympathetic. Now, if I were in your position and came to you for temporary assistance, would you refuse me?”

“Oh, of course not,” I said.

“Very well, then, there is no merit in my offering you a small sum of money; so don’t feel that you are under a great obligation to me.”

I think my voice trembled a little as I thanked him.”

“Now, tell me all about the gala,” he said.

I told him I thought something might come of this engagement, and I described the terms on which I was working. He seemed troubled that I should have to return to the acrobatic business after my success as a dancer in France, Switzerland, and Spain.

“You’ll have to make a name as a speciality dancer,” he said. “I’m sure it’s in you if you only got the chance.”

I went back to my lodgings feeling much happier. A great weight of care had been lifted from my mind, and I slept calmly that night.

The next morning I started hopefully for Swansea with some of the artistes. After the long journey we had to search for lodgings, a dreary business at the best of times. That day I walked about for three hours before I could find a room to let within my means. At last, in a back street, I found a woman who would take me in; and tired and hungry, I ate a meal and went to bed.

The ground where the gala was to be held was outside the town, in a field. A dressing tent is provided on these occasions for the performers, but the accommodation is rough, and often the tent is cold and draughty. The weather had been wet for days, and the ground was soaked and muddy. It was a cheerless summer, and Bank Holiday in August proved a rainy day.

In an enclosure the gymnastic apparatus had been erected—the bars, rings, and the slack wire for a wire-walking turn. I tested my bar and found it all right.

As I had not practised gymnastics for a long time, my hands were soft, and they were quickly blistered. On the third day I had a bad blister on the left hand, which gave me some pain.

We were all surprised and disappointed when we learned that our services would not be required after the third day. Some of us had come from London, and our railway fares and lodging expenses had eaten up all our salaries. It was not worth coming for. The wire-walking artiste was terribly disappointed, and so, indeed, were all of us in the company. Instead of having a few shillings over, I was out of pocket.

I returned to London with a cold, caught through performing in the rain, blistered hands, and an empty purse.

Circumstances now compelled me to leave my lodgings and find a bed-sitting room at a few shillings a week.

For forty-eight hours I had nothing to eat or drink except a slice of bread-and-butter and a cup of tea.

I have more than once found truth in the saying that the darkest hour is just before the dawn. In my last chapter I have told how near I was to starvation, and how utterly hopeless I felt. I was in my lowest depths when a note came from my literary friend. He asked how I was getting on, and said that he was still trying to find an engagement for me.

The letter comforted me. There was at least one person in London who was thinking about me, and I felt that I could tell him everything. So I wrote at once to say how I was situated. It is very hard to bear one’s troubles in silence and quite alone.

Half an hour after receiving my letter Mr —— was at the corner of the road. He sent a messenger to me with this brief note: “Meet me in ten minutes at the corner of the street.” That very morning I had been asked to go to the dancing school, and help with a class of pupils; and when my friend’s note came I was putting on my hat. With my practice dress in brown paper, I hurried down the stairs and went to the meeting-place.

Mr —— was very concerned. He took my hand, and there was a painful expression on his face when he said:

“Good heavens, this will never do! It’s too dreadful to think about. I came at once. Look here, you must get some food this minute.”

“I can’t,” I replied. “I have to be at the school in half an hour. How good of you to come. How can I thank you?”

“Don’t try to thank me,” he said. “It makes me angry, quite furious, to think that anyone should be in such a plight. You must get food, I say, and at once.”

“I don’t feel that I need it,” I returned. “I can wait for a few hours. I’ve got beyond wanting food.”

“I won’t have it,” he said firmly. “I’m going to be very strict with you because you want looking after, and I don’t want to lose a good artiste.”

I am quite sure that truth is stranger than the strangest fiction that was ever written. In stories and plays when a woman is in distress a rescuer arrives at the nick of time and saves her. This is a tale of actual life. Quite by accident I made the acquaintance of this man, who proved my friend in need. What might have happened if we had never met? I could not think. It was my very darkest hour. The incident seems to me even now a miracle as I look back upon it, and Mr —— is like an imaginary character.

And now my luck began to turn. Two offers of engagements reached me within the next few days. One was from a musical comedy company that was going on tour. Two dancers were required by the management. The other opening was in a troupe of girl dancers, to perform for three months, and probably longer, in Buenos Ayres, in the Argentine. I was very delighted with these offers. I wrote to my friend, telling him of my good luck, and seeking his advice. He advised me to give a trial show for the musical comedy company.

“It is well to make sure of both chances,” he said.

I arranged, therefore, to dance before the management at eleven o’clock on the appointed morning. With the usual nervousness experienced by artistes who have to give a trial, I went to the place, and found a number of girls assembled. It was an anxious-looking crowd. My partner in the dance was the shorter of the pair, and I was told that both-of the girls must be of the same height. We danced as directed, and no fault was found with my performance. But I was too tall. So, with regret, the manager dismissed me.

“Well, it will have to be South America,” I said to myself, as I gained the street.

I called on my friend, and told him what had happened.

“Very well, it’s fate,” he said. “South America is a long way off, and if the contract only lasts for three months it seems hardly worth going.”

“But it’s work,” I said, “and I long to be in employment again. I love foreign countries, and I’d like to see the Argentine.”

I closed at once with the agent’s offer, and then began one of the busiest weeks that I have ever spent. We were well-trained performers, but we had to learn a set of special new dances for this engagement. To do this in the limited time at our disposal meant hard work daily, from ten in the morning till seven in the evening, with a short interval for lunch and tea.

Imagine us, then, eight girls—all young and, if I may say so, good-looking—dressed in our practising clothes, going through, hour after hour, the intricate steps of an eccentric dance, a graceful dance, a skipping-rope dance, a step dance, and four others. Special songs had to be learned as well. And this was not all, for we had to have our new costumes made. In the few spare hours left I covered several pairs of ballet shoes with pink satin.

I was appointed the interpreter for the troupe, for I knew Spanish; and it was my business to see that the girls kept up their practice on board ship. The members of the troupe looked to me for help in various ways.

We had our photographs taken by a theatrical photographer for advertising purposes, and in one of them we looked rather quaint in sunbonnets and children’s frocks. Then there was shopping to do, dress-baskets to pack, and a hundred and one things that occupied every minute of the day.

The management paid our second-class fares to and from Buenos Ayres to London. Then we steamed slowly down the Mersey, and I bade farewell to England.

I am used to travelling by sea, and I am usually what is called “a good sailor.” But never shall I forget the horrors of the Bay of Biscay. It was a terribly stormy passage from Liverpool to Vigo, and when we reached the dangerous Bay the storm raged furiously. I was too ill to leave my berth for two days.

At last we reached Vigo, the lovely town where I had spent many happy days with the two Gambolis. As the ship stayed there for a few hours I went ashore, and was glad to think that I was in Spain once more. Vigo seemed as sunny and lovely as ever.

The life on a great liner is delightful in fine weather. We sat in the sunshine on deck chairs, enjoying the breeze and pleasant motion of the vessel, eating bananas and melons, and laughing and joking. The sea air did me an immense amount of good. I regained my spirits, slept comfortably, and found life more tolerable than it had been for months past. However, a mishap befell me at Lisbon, which caused me much anxiety.

A gentleman on board, who had been friendly to me, asked me to go ashore and see the sights of the city. We went to the cathedral, and climbed a hill for a view of the place, and in walking I blistered my left heel through wearing an uncomfortable shoe. I took no notice of the blister, but in a few days blood-poisoning set in, and I was quite lame.

This was a source of great worry to me. What would happen if I was unable to dance in Buenos Ayres? How unfortunate that a few hours on shore should have caused this serious trouble. The doctor was very attentive and kind, and he told me not to get anxious; but I could not help feeling alarmed at my lameness. The injury to my heel prevented me from practising my dances in the early morning on deck with the other girls. It also interfered with pleasure, for I was not able to join in the dances at a ball that was given in the saloon. I sat watching the dances, feeling rather gloomy.

But, fortunately, my foot healed in a week or two, and when we reached the Rio Plata I was better, and able to dance again.

The voyage to Buenos Ayres occupied three weeks, but the time seemed to pass quickly. At each port I posted a letter to my author-friend, telling him about my doings on board, and at the various places where we had been ashore for a few hours.

At last we reached Buenos Ayres. It was a Sunday in September, and people were going about the busy streets wrapped in furs and cloaks, for it was still the cold season.

In the evening we all went to the theatre. We were not impressed by the look of the outside of the building, which seemed dreary. Some repairs were being done to the front of the house, and the scaffolding was not ornamental. Upon giving our names we were received by the manager, who welcomed us to the Argentine, and asked us if we would like to see the performance. We expressed a wish to see the show, so we were given seats.

The Theatre Royal of Buenos Ayres is the principal place of amusement in the city. It is a sort of variety palace. Instead of the ordinary music-hall “numbers,” a revue is written, and all the artistes take part in it, giving their turns as they do in pantomime in England. The revue that night was in French. It seemed to me an attractive show. We were all very keen when a troupe of English dancers came on the stage. Could they “give us points,” or were we better than them?

Well, I don’t wish to boast; but we watched the troupe very critically, and came to the conclusion that we need not fear following them.

The cost of living in Buenos Ayres was higher than I had expected, and the hotel charges were a great drain on our salaries. In fact, Buenos Ayres cannot be called a cheap place to live in, and although we earned more than we should have earned in London it was difficult to leave any margin over.

Before coming to South America we had heard some queer stories about the fast life of Buenos Ayres. On the stage one is supposed to be more able to form an opinion on this subject than in other occupations. It was soon plain to me that if an artiste wants to live what is called “a gay life” she has plenty of opportunities in this city. There are wealthy and dissolute persons here, as in every other big city that I have visited. But whether Buenos Ayres is worse in this respect than London, Paris, or Berlin, I am not able to say.

I have now reached the end of my true story of life on the variety stage. For nearly twelve years I have experienced all the ups and downs of the performer’s life, and most of that period has been spent on the Continent, moving frequently from place to place. It is one of the drawbacks of the profession that we know very little of the quiet, settled feeling of those who have fixed places of residence. For years I have hardly realized the meaning of the word “home,” for my occupation has kept me continually on the move.

But what I may have lost in one way I have gained in another. I have seen many lands, and met many kinds of people at home and abroad. I have lived under the shadow of the magnificent Alps; I have strolled in the sunlit streets of the ancient Moorish cities of Spain; I have seen the life of Paris and Brussels, and other great towns of the Continent. I suppose there are not a great many girls of my age who have had such experiences. The reader may perhaps be curious to know whether I would change my profession for any other. I do not wish to leave the stage. It is my ambition to excel in my art, which is one of the oldest in the world. And I should like to act in drama. I am still young, although I have seen so much, and there stretches before me the future, vague, but full of chances and possibilities.

One thing I think I have learned from my various experiences, and that is a sort of understanding of men and women that makes one hesitate before condemning the greatest sinner.

THE END

LETCHWORTH: AT THE ARDEN PRESS

Transcriber’s Notes: Italics were denoted by underscores. Four obvious typographical errors in the original have been corrected:

p. 5 “chaper” to “chapter”

p. 174 “hetoldmeafterwardsthat” to “he told me afterwards that”

p. 180 “Inanenclosure” to “In an enclosure”

p. 186 “ratherquaint” to “rather quaint”

In addition, on page 188, "Beunos Ayres" was amended to "Buenos Ayres" to match the nine other occurrences. Inconsistent use of hyphenated words in the original text were reproduced here:

“country-women” (p. 49) and “countrywomen” (p. 119 and p. 125)

“day-time” (p. 37) and “daytime” (p. 160)

“town-hall(s)” (p. 80 and p. 81) and “Town Hall” (p. 168 x2)

“well-treated” (p. 45) and “well treated” (p. 20 and p. 43)

September 2026