esignation, and toil, is necessary, to
become even a middling dancer. The poor children--for dancing, above all
things, must be learnt young--commence with the stocks, heel to heel and
knees outwards. Half an hour of this, and another species of martyrdom
begins. One foot is placed upon a bar which is grasped by the contrary
hand. This is called _se casser_, to break one's self. After this
agreeable process come the thousand and one steps, essential to an opera
dancer. "Such," says an imaginary _danseuse_ from whom M. Second
professes to receive his information, "are the agreeable elements of the
art of dancing. And do not suppose that these rude fatigues are of short
duration. They are perpetual, and on that condition only does a dancer
retain her activity and suppleness. A week's idleness must be atoned for
by two months' double labour. The opera-dancer realises the fable of
Sisyphus and his rock. She resembles the horse, who pays with his
repose, his flesh and his liberty, the rapid victories of the
racecourse. I have seen Mademoiselle Taglioni, after receiving a two
hours' lesson from her father, fall helpless upon the floor, and allow
herself to be undressed, spunged, and again attired, without the least
consciousness of what passed. The agility and wonderful bounds with
which she, that same evening, delighted the public, were at this price."
Besides these terrible fatigues, dancers often run serious personal
risks. So, at least, says the author of the "Petits Mysteres" who, as a
journalist and frequenter of the _coulisses_, is excellent authority. He
cannot resist a joke, but it is easy to sift the facts from their
admixture of burlesque exaggerations. "By dint of incurring simulated
dangers, the dancer accustoms herself to real peril, as a soldier in war
time becomes habituated to murder and pillage. She suspends herself from
wires, sits upon pasteboard clouds, disappears through trap doors, comes
in by the chimney and goes out by the window. In the first act of the
Peri there is so dangerous a leap, that I consider Carlotta Grisi risks
her life every time she takes it. Let M. Petipa be once awkward, or even
absent, and Carlotta will break her head upon the boards. I know an
Englishman who attends every performance of this ballet. He is persuaded
it will be fatal to Carlotta, and would not for the world miss the
catastrophe. It is the same man who, for three years, followed Carter
and Van Amburgh, always hoping tha