Artiste or coquette? Les petits rats of the Paris Opera ballet

Transcription

520912
research-article2014
FRC25210.1177/0957155814520912French Cultural StudiesCoons
French Cultural Studies
Artiste or coquette? Les petits rats
of the Paris Opera ballet
French Cultural Studies
2014, Vol. 25(2) 140–164
© The Author(s) 2014
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DOI: 10.1177/0957155814520912
frc.sagepub.com
Lorraine Coons
Chestnut Hill College, PA
Abstract
This paper concerns the young female members of the corps de ballet (petits rats) of the Paris
Opera from the period of the end of the July Monarchy to the fin de siècle. These ballerinas in
training were not daughters of the haute bourgeoisie who lived in the elegant quartiers of Paris.
Rather, many were children of the working classes who inhabited a vastly different world in those
marginal districts of the capital untouched by Haussmann’s elaborate renovation projects during
the Second Empire. They joined the Opera between the ages of six and eight to help support their
families and worked six-day weeks like factory workers.
A substantial body of literature suggests that the dancers supplemented their income and
advanced in the ranks at the Opera by offering sexual favours to the abonnés (ballet subscribers)
and dismisses them as frivolous, superficial adventurers out to better their social position by
capturing the heart (and wallet) of a wealthy patron. Gossip columns satisfied the public’s appetite
for scandalous intrigues and rags-to-riches stories of young girls who became celebrated ballerinas
and/or courtesans. Critics fail to mention that there were among them serious young dancers
who were dedicated to their craft. Degas took a personal interest in the dancers’ working lives
and their progression through the Opera system, as seen in his letters and notebooks. Some of
these young women attained celebrity status, like Josephine Chabot, Fanny Elssler and Eugenie
Fiocre. This article seeks to separate the myth of the dancer from the reality of her life by
entering the private world of the petits rats to examine their social and educational background
and their experience as members of the corps de ballet as well as their life choices.
Keywords
dance, Edgar Degas, Paris Opera ballet, petits rats, social and labour history
Ce rat, qui sort d’une répétition à l’Opéra, retourne faire un maigre dîner, et reviendra dans trois
heures pour s’habiller, s’il paraît ce soir dans le ballet … Ce rat a treize ans, c’est un rat déjà vieux.
Dans deux ans d’ici, cette créature vaudra soixante mille francs sur la place, elle sera rien ou tout, une
grande danseuse ou une marcheuse, un nom célèbre ou une vulgaire courtisane. Elle travaille depuis
l’âge de huit ans … elle est épuisée de fatigue … Le rat est un des éléments de l’Opéra, car il est à la
première danseuse ce que le petit clerc est au notaire. Le rat, c’est l’espérance. (Balzac, 2010–13: 4)
Corresponding author:
Lorraine Coons, Department of History and Political Science, Chestnut Hill College, Philadelphia, PA, USA.
Email: [email protected]
Coons
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In February, 2003, a major exhibit, ‘Degas and the Dance’, opened at the Philadelphia Museum of
Art which featured the petits rats (young female dance students) of the Paris Opera ballet. Ivor
Forbes Guest (2006: 65) comments that in his drawings and paintings:
[Degas] revealed an insight into the mysteries of ballet that has never been surpassed … [in which] the
dancers, the teachers … the violinist-accompanist, even the mothers, all come to life in a veritable
microcosm in which the fatigue of the anonymous ballet girl sinking onto a bench after an exhausting class
is portrayed with no less immediacy and care than the proud elation of the ballerina taking her bow before
the public.1
Degas took a personal interest in the dancers’ working lives and their progression through the Paris
Opera system as seen in his letters and notebooks. Some of these young women attained celebrity
status as étoiles, yet there were many others, like Marie van Goethem, subject for Dégas’s ballet
sculpture ‘Little Dancer, Aged Fourteen’, who acquired a reputation for being a dancer ‘with the
lightest of morals’ and was eventually dismissed from the Paris Opera.
As Richard Kendall (1998: 24) notes, some art critics of the day were perplexed by Degas’s
choice of an insignificant and, as they described her, ugly petit rat as a model for sculpture. In the
1890 publication, Grand Dictionnaire universel du XIXème siècle, art critic Paul Mantz described
Degas as a ‘philosopher à la Baudelaire’ for exhibiting ‘besides some portraits of criminals … a wax
statuette, “Little Dancer, Aged Fourteen”’ which he called a work of ‘instructive ugliness’ that was
‘troubling … almost frightening’ (cited in Druick, 1998: 78). To another critic, Elie de Mont, the
Little Dancer seemed ‘bestial’. He compared her to a ‘monkey’ and an ‘Aztec’ whose low forehead
and lips bore ‘the signs of a … profoundly heinous character’ (cited in Druick, 1998: 86). Many a
bourgeois father, upon seeing Degas’s Little Dancer, exclaimed: ‘Pray Heaven that my daughter
doesn’t become a sauteuse’ (cited in Druick, 1998: 86).2 These fears of respectable bourgeois fathers
seem somewhat shallow when we consider the very real possibility that some may have been regular
visitors to the foyer de la danse (ballet studio by day that was transformed into a social meeting
place at night) at the Paris Opera where their privileged status as abonnés gained them unrestricted
access to the ballerinas for conversation and whatever else! The consensus among bourgeois social
reformers at the time was that the petit rat was prone ‘to vice by heredity – as the low forehead, flattened face, and protruding jaw were thought to reveal’ and therefore destined to a life of prostitution.
One writer even blames the dance schools for contributing to the licentious behaviour of the little
dancer who would mature into a ‘woman … for whom diplomats will make fools of themselves’
(cited in Druick, 1998: 87). As Eunice Lipton (1986: 115) notes, critics found his work ‘frighteningly realistic’ and ‘additionally disconcerting because it dignified what the middle classes wanted
to consign to the moral rubbish heap, namely working women and especially … ballet dancers’.
Such dancers, like Marie, were considered marginal characters whose moral depravity was to be
feared and who were an embarrassment to all ‘respectable’ French men and women.
Degas lived during a time in which the French ballet was viewed by many as having ‘lost its
inspiration and had become sterile’ (Browse, 1949: 46).3 Milan and St Petersburg had come to challenge Paris as the centre of international ballet. The great Romantic ballet which was at its height
during the July Monarchy was over and young dancers ‘fell far behind the standards which had
been set so high’ by étoiles like Marie Taglioni and Fanny Elssler (1949: 50), either because they
were not given the opportunity to fully develop their craft or because they lacked the innate talent
of their highly venerated predecessors. However, during the 1830s and 1840s, ballet was considered the art form of choice for the Parisian public who could not read enough about the lives the
grandes étoiles of the Paris Opera and who became increasingly curious about every detail of
backstage life. As Ivor Guest (2008: 38) writes, their interest ranged
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French Cultural Studies 25(2)
from the private lives of the stars down to the struggles of the poorly paid, poorly fed and poorly clad
children who trudged to the School of Dance … These were the petits rats, and the golden age of the
Romantic ballet is, in a sense, as much their age as Taglioni’s.
Through the writings of journalists like Nestor Roqueplan and Albéric Second, these virtually
invisible members of the company were finally being noticed by the public. They were emerging
from obscurity and poverty to ‘enter the glittering make-believe world of the Opéra ballet’ and
thus their private lives came under increased scrutiny from both the press and the public (Guest,
2006: 46).
Who then were these petits rats who were referred to disparagingly as the ‘bats’ and ‘small frys’
of the corps de ballet (Mahalin, 1887: 6)? How do we separate myth from reality? Were they serious apprentice danseuses or shallow, greedy, untalented little Nanas in training (like Zola’s character who first appears in L’Assommoir)? Having left precious little behind to document her life, the
petit rat remains largely a mystery to us. Therein lies the challenge – to cast aside the negative
stereotypes of local gossips and critics like Mantz and de Mont and discover the real life young
dancer who was dismissively referred to as le petit rat.
Le petit rat: Privileged bourgeoise or indigent travailleuse?
The slang expression describing the young pupils at the School of Dance was in use prior to the
period of the July Monarchy. Guest (2008: 39) mentions Émile Littré, who in his dictionary, defined
the term rat as indicating ‘a kept woman’, noting that ‘in former times people used to invite dancers of the Opera to small parties, referring to them merely by the last syllable of the word Opera’.
Even if there is any truth to this explanation, another question remains as to when the term came to
apply specifically to child dancers. Nestor Roqueplan, journalist and one-time director of the Paris
Opera, offers another interpretation (1855: 44–6):
Le rat est élève de l’école de danse, et c’est peut-être parce qu’il est enfant de la maison, parce qu’il y vit,
qu’il y grignote, y jabote, y clapote …
Parce qu’il ronge et égratigne les décorations, éraille et troue les costumes, cause une foule de dommages
inconnus et commet une foule d’actions malfaisantes, occultes et nocturnes, qu’il a reçu ce nom
passablement incroyable de rat …
Le vrai rat, en bon langage, est une petite fille de sept à quatorze ans, élève de la danse, qui porte des
souliers usés par d’autres, de châles déteints, des chapeaux couleur de suie, se chauffe à la fumée des
quinquets, a du pain dans ses poches, et demande dix sous pour acheter des bonbons …
Il est censé gagner vingt sous par soirée, mais, au moyen des amendes énormes qu’il encourt par ses
désordres, il ne touché par mois que huit à dix francs et trente coups de pied de sa mère.
Le rat reste rat jusqu’à l’âge où il prend le nom d’artiste, jusqu’a l’âge ou il ne demande plus de bonbons,
et reçoit des bouquets.
Interest in the petit rat corresponds to the emerging literary genre of realism, beginning with the
novels of Honoré de Balzac, Stendhal and others who describe the grim social realities of their day.
Throughout the first half of the nineteenth century, France was in the first stages of industrialisation. The outlying suburbs of Paris like Montmartre, Belleville and les Batignolles became home
to migrants from the countryside who came in search of employment. They were crowded into
filthy, unhealthy quarters, badly housed and poorly paid. It was from the ranks of these migrants
Coons
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that the Royal Academy of Music, or the Paris Opera, would recruit the majority of the young
dancers of the corps de ballet (Archives Nationales, AJ13 196/197).
One of Balzac’s characters in Les Comédiens sans le savoir (part of his Comédie Humaine’s
‘Scenes from Parisian Life’ series) answers the question of ‘qui produit le rat?’:
Les portiers, les pauvres, les acteurs, les danseurs, répondit Bixiou. Il n’y a que la plus profonde misère qui
puisse conseiller à un enfant de huit ans de livrer ses pieds et ses articulations aux plus durs supplices, de
rester sage jusqu’à seize ou dix-huit ans, uniquement par spéculation, et de se flanquer d’une horrible
vieille comme vous mettez du fumier autour d’une jolie fleur. (Balzac, 2010–13: 8)
Research into these young dancers’ social background reveals that they were largely children of the
working classes who inhabited a vastly different world in those marginal districts of Paris untouched
by Haussmann’s elaborate renovation projects during the Second Empire. Respectable bourgeois
parents were warned about the dire moral repercussions of allowing their daughters to pursue a
career in dance even if they displayed talent for the ballet. The word danseuse carried such a pejorative connotation at that time that the Paris Opera ballet school could only recruit its pupils from
the ranks of the working classes (cited in Robin-Challan, 1983: 195).4
These young recruits joined the Paris Opera between the ages of six and eight to help support
their families and worked six-day weeks like factory workers.5 As Théophile Gautier (the noted
journalist, ballet critic, poet and novelist during the July Monarchy and Second Empire) wrote in
his treatise On Dance ‘Le rat a été pris de si bonne heure dans cette immense souricière de théâtre
qu’il n’a pas eu le temps de soupçonner la vie humaine’ (cited in Robin-Challan, 1983: 262). Made
to endure gruellingly long days at the theatre, the petit rat was robbed of her childhood.
Contemporaries described the majority as ‘daughters of the common people, of hired hands from
the workshop, the shop or the office, retired or humble performers, concierges’. In fact, more than
half of the young girls that joined the corps de ballet came from fatherless families or from mothers
who were concierges or laundresses. Louise Robin-Challan (1992: 20) concurs with Martine
Kahane (1988: 7) on the humble background of the petits rats: ‘they belonged to the class of bushel
and candle makers, publicans, clothes dealers, washerwomen, concierges, ragmen, people scrubbing floors and doing obscure jobs living from one day into the next … in miserable lodgings, dark
attics or a porter’s lodge’. In her account of the Paris Opera, Berthe Bernay (1890: 21) speaks about
her humble family background: ‘My parents were not well off, lived in Belleville [a working-class
district in the east end of Paris] … Nearly all my little companions … lived, like me … in the same
sort of district’. Several étoiles likewise came from humble origins, like Emma Livry and Léontine
Beaugrand. Forty-three percent of the parents were illiterate, and they could only sign their daughters’ contracts with a ‘ +’ or ‘ x’ or wrote the first letter of their last name (Archives Nationales,
AJ13 196/197).
Lipton (1986: 89) challenges the accepted view of danseuses’ parentage and social status. She
argues that since apprenticeship carried no wage, ‘no impoverished nineteenth-century French
family could afford to have both a mother and a child who brought home no money’, referring to
the fact that mothers were required to accompany their daughters to dance class and rehearsals. She
concludes that they could not have been poor, further offering as evidence the increased pay scale
of the dancer as she progressed through the ranks at the Opera. But perhaps this very promise of a
higher salary might have been enough of an incentive for the family to invest the time and energy
necessary to develop their daughter’s skills so that she would, in time, become their principal
breadwinner. The possibility of the working-class family to get around the child labour legislation
that went into effect in 1841 may have also played a factor. Although the labour law restricted
children’s work in factories and workshops, it did not extend to employment at the Paris Opera, so
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parents could continue to rely on their young daughters earning a few extra sous to contribute to
the family economy.6
A substantial body of literature suggests that these young girls supplemented their incomes and
advanced in the ranks at the Opera by offering sexual favours to the abonnés. Dr Louis Véron,
director of the Opera during the 1830s, correctly understood the ‘social and political issues that lay
behind the Revolution of 1830 and realized that the wealth and influence of the bourgeoisie, who
had emerged as the real victors from the turmoil, would continue to increase with the years’ (Guest,
2008: 192). He recognised the potential for the Opera to become their Versailles, ‘taking over the
place of the Court and privileged aristocracy of the former regime’. Opening up the foyer de la
danse to this new class of notables made the Opera fashionable overnight. There in the foyer, it was
said, the most important abonnés indulged in ‘their amorous pleasures, in much the same way that
the Pompadour stud-farm provides them with their equestrian pleasures; they look on it as a stable
for remounts and nothing more’ (Guest, 2008: 40).7
In the late nineteenth century, artist Jean-Louis Forain drew a series of sketches that focused on
the life of the young dancer and her relationship to the abonnés. In Figure 1, an abonné stands
behind a young dancer enveloping her in his arms. This drawing appeared in Le Courrier Français,
a weekly publication that focused on literature, art, theatre, medicine and finance. The drawing
appeared in the 12 April 1891 issue with the title ‘? …’ leaving it up to the reader to decide who
was in control in this relationship. Was the dancer surrendering herself to the abonné in exchange
for ‘protection’ or was the old gentleman being manipulated by the young woman who had the
upper hand?
Kendall (1998: 23) correctly observes ‘some went to the ballet not out of great appreciation of
the dance but of the dancer’s body’ and cites the work of Degas’s friend, the writer and librettist
Ludovic Halévy, whose collective work, entitled La Famille Cardinal and published in 1883 ‘gave
definitive form to the sexually available rat’. And yet there were some wealthy abonnés who frequented the foyer de la danse who were genuinely interested in the ballet, often funding the dancers’ training themselves and personally paying for private lessons for the most gifted students. In
her autobiography, Cléo de Mérode (1985: 101) acknowledges the kindness of many abonnés who
took a fatherly interest in some of the dancers, like M. Bocher, ‘un véritable ange gardien des
petites danseuses’ who even paid for the dental bills of many petits rats. It was not uncommon for
wealthy patrons to pay for an aspiring young student dancer’s private lessons, believing it to be a
sound financial investment. If she was successful in her career, he would see his social status
among his peers elevated.
Gossip columns, however, satisfied the public’s appetite for scandalous intrigues and rags-toriches stories of young girls who became celebrated danseuses and/or courtesans. Ballet critics
likewise speculated about these dancers’ private lives, often describing them as frivolous, superficial adventurers out to better their social position by capturing the heart (and wallet) of a wealthy
abonné. Kahane describes this as ‘the myth of the dancer … the loose woman who destroyed the
fortunes of great worldly figures’ that Kendall says ‘dominated the imaginations of late 19th century audiences’ (cited in Kendall, 1998: 23). Few writers, however, reported on the grim reality of
the working-class danseuse, who often found it necessary to supplement her meagre income from
the theatre with garment work. Homework in the garment trades constituted a second shift for the
aspiring ballet dancer but that reality was not of interest to ballet gossips or their audience. Kahane
(1988: 6) identifies two types of petits rats: one a ‘naïve, pure young girl dedicated to her art’ and
the other a ‘flighty kept woman, multiplying her affairs and ruining her admirers’. The latter characterisation reflects the common perception of French bourgeois society. Guest (1953: 33) offers
the following anecdote of a petit rat who had befriended Emma Livry, a young dancer of great
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Figure 1. ‘? ...’ By permission of the Bibliothèque nationale de France.
promise whose life was tragically cut short when her skirt caught fire onstage. She went to the
nearby parish priest at Emma’s request to ask him to pray for the dancer’s recovery:
What do you want, my child?
I have come to confess for Emma Livry.
You are welcome for whatever reason you come, only you should have
arrived earlier, for confession time is over.
I have run as fast as I could. I couldn’t leave before the end of rehearsal.
Rehearsal?
Yes. Of the ballet I am dancing in.
You are a dancer, my poor child?
Yes, Father. Does that surprise you?
No, it distresses me, for I feel that you could be doing something better.
I don’t know. After all, I am able to keep my poor widowed mother, pay for my sister’s
apprenticeship, and send my little brother to a good school. Do you know how I could earn
more at my age?
146
Alongside the voluminous literature categorising the young dancer as morally suspect and generally without talent is Berthe Bernay’s account of her own career at the Paris Opera. Her insightful
memoir challenges the accepted stereotype of the day, describing the hard work involved and the
serious dedication of many young members of the corps and raises serious questions about the
motives and mentalité of those writers who sought to portray the petits rats as self-serving opportunists and girls of ill repute. Rather than examining the gossip columns to understand the mentality of the dancers, perhaps it would be more fruitful to determine what light they shed on bourgeois
society.
The training and education of the petit rat
The roots of the Paris Opera ballet can be traced to the court ballets of Catherine de Medici, the last
Valois kings, and most prominently Louis XIV.8 In the seventeenth century, dancing was considered ‘as essential an accomplishment for a gentleman as fencing’ (Guest, 2006: 6).9 The creation of
the Académie Royale de Danse in 1661 as the first institution of its kind in the western world,
reflected the royal concern for setting standards of dance teaching. Louis’s personal interest in ballet led him to found, in 1669, the Académie Royale de Musique, popularly known as the Opéra.
His greatest legacy to the dance was the formal establishment of a ballet school on which he
bestowed official status in 1713. The purpose of the school, which was first installed in the Opera
storehouse, was to train dancers who would make up the corps de ballet.10
The excellent reputation that the School of Dance had attained by the early nineteenth century
attracted dancers from all over Europe who came to Paris to study at the Opera. Ballet came to be
recognised as a ‘fundamentally French art’ in the same way that Italy was seen ‘as the source of
opera’ (Guest, 2006: 45). The training of the young dancer entailed much sacrifice and hard work.
Ballerina hopefuls would apply for entrance to the school and be judged by the director, who singled out the most promising students on the basis of their physical appearance, general demeanour
and overall health. Many were disqualified by their sickly appearance, often a consequence of their
working a second shift in some menial job in order to help support their families (Robin-Challan,
1992: 20–1). Classes during the height of the Romantic ballet were described as almost sadistic,
being held three days a week at 8 a.m., when the young pupil’s
feet and legs were encased in a grooved box, to learn to keep the fourth position and in the leg-turner, to
achieve the outwards position; then a long wooden plank curved at the level of the back was used to throw
out the chest, deforming the fragile spine. (Robin-Challan, 1992: 21)
After the 1830 Revolution, the Paris Opera went through a radical change of management, from a
dependency of the Royal Household into a subsidised private enterprise, in which the government
continued to retain a degree of control. Upon his appointment as director, Dr Louis Véron began to
revamp the entire institution.
The director became an entrepreneur with unlimited powers sanctioned by a decree signed by
the Minister of the Interior, Le Comte de Montalivet, on 28 February, 1831. The danseuses were
now at the mercy of the director who could hire and fire them at will, and who openly indulged in
his preference for foreign dancers. The system of dancers’ pensions was abolished. Before 1830,
the school produced excellent French danseuses but afterwards, as Véron and his successors looked
abroad for étoiles who they perceived to be a greater box office draw, the role of the school in
cultivating future French danseuses diminished. Children were admitted without the requisite
exam which resulted in the gradual deterioration of the standards of instruction.
The school continued to supply students for the corps de ballet during the July Monarchy, but it
did not produce many exceptional dancers, as the administration was unwilling to make the
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investment necessary in cultivating a fine corps de ballet for the future (Robin-Challan, 1983:
214–15). The School of Dance experienced a marked decline which can be attributed to the lack of
an adequate number of instructors and significant cutbacks in the hours of dance instruction.
Students who could afford to do so paid teachers as much as 12 francs a month for private lessons
(Guest, 2006: 36). The poorest dancers found it difficult to survive without finding a protector
(abonné), but they paid the price for ‘protection’ with their bodies (Robin-Challan, 1983: 4). Under
the Restoration, promotion had been based on merit. Under this new ballet regime, the abonnés put
pressure on the administration to promote dancers, regardless of whether or not they had talent
(Robin-Challan, 1983: 318). Young girls who did not make the cut to gain admission to the school
were engaged as extras as walk-ons – les marcheuses. These are the petits rats whom Balzac
described in Les Comédiens sans le savoir:
La marcheuse est ou un rat d’une grande beauté que sa mère, fausse ou vraie, a vendu le jour où elle n’a
pu devenir ni premier, ni second, ni troisième sujet de la danse, et où elle a préféré l’état de coryphée à tout
autre, par la grande raison qu’après l’emploi de sa jeunesse elle n’en pouvait pas prendre d’autre ; elle aura
été repoussée aux petits théâtres où il faut des danseuses, elle n’aura pas réussi dans les trois villes de
France où il se donne des ballets, elle n’aura pas eu l’argent ou le désir d’aller à l’étranger … Aussi pour
qu’un rat devienne marcheuse, c’est-à-dire figurante de la danse, faut-il qu’elle ait eu quelque attachement
solide qui l’ait retenue à Paris, un homme riche qu’elle n’aimait pas, un pauvre garçon qu’elle aimait trop.
Deteriorating conditions at the School of Dance prompted young students to draft a petition on 18
February 1841 to the Minister of the Interior protesting at the lack of adequate classroom instruction and the unfair practice of having students pay for private lessons outside of class which they
could not afford. The school was seriously understaffed, with two teachers working with between
60 and 80 students. The students requested that two additional instructors be appointed, one of
whom could offer a much-needed class in pantomime. Without supplementary lessons, they
believed, all efforts by the school to produce quality French dancers would be futile (RobinChallan, 1983, 278–80).11
In its interest in improving the quality of the corps de ballet, management had looked to the
example of the Danseuses Viennoises, a new Austrian dance troupe under the direction of Frau
Josephine Weiss, ballet mistress of the Josephstadt Theatre in Vienna. The company originally
consisted of about 20 little girls, aged between 5 and 12, who came from poor families in the city.
Frau Weiss ‘drilled them into a corps de ballet that quickly became famous for its discipline and
precision’. In 1845, the company embarked on its first foreign tour, consisting of 36 children, who
garnered high praise from the critics who saw their performance at the Opera. Gautier remarked
that the Opera corps de ballet paled by comparison: ‘We have to admit that our stage is deficient
in the area that demands teamwork and the sacrifice of pride in the interest of an overall effect’.
Opera director Leon Pillet sought to engage eight of Mme Weiss’s best dancers, who would, under
her supervision, form the core of the corps de ballet. The plan, much to the delight of the French
dancers, never materialised.
Ballet master Arthur Saint-Léon (Guest, 1981: 22) lamented the sorry state of training by the
end of the July Monarchy and felt that the teaching institutions needed to be improved and that
more emphasis should be placed on developing a well-drilled French corps de ballet rather than
focusing all the attention on bringing in étoiles from other parts of Europe. He recommended special ‘quasi-military training, in which a corps de ballet dancer would be specially trained to be part
of a well drilled ensemble’. As equals, he said, the corps members ‘would feel pride in being part
of a team’. In his Voyage en Russie, Théophile Gautier praises the Russians for their ballet school,
which produced ‘remarkable soloists and a corps de ballet that is unequalled for its ensemble and
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precision, and the rapidity of its evolutions’. He suggested that the Paris Opera should follow the
Russian example in carefully choosing its members of the corps de ballet from pupils of its school
(cited in Guest, 1981: 25).
Formal rules for the School of Dance of the Académie Royale de Musique were established by
the beginning of the Second Republic, reflecting a serious commitment on the part of the administration to improve the quality of its dancers. These regulations were very much in keeping with the
spirit of Saint-Léon’s recommendations. Young applicants must be between the ages of seven and
ten to enrol in the school and be accompanied by a family member (usually the mother) at all times.
Classes met daily except on Sundays and holidays from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Instruction continued to
be free but strict discipline prevailed in class.12 Students needed to provide a doctor’s note if they
were sick and were fined 50 centimes for each late arrival. Fines were imposed for disturbing class
by ‘talking, frolicking, and amusing oneself’ which could add up to as much as 10–20 francs, with
more serious infractions incurring a penalty of being deprived of lessons for up to one month. If a
student received three fines/penalties in the same month, she could be suspended for up to 15 days
by the director. Jennifer Dawson (2006: 24) rightly concludes that the contracts for the petits rats
‘contained exclusivity clauses that smacked of ownership’. As in most business contracts, the
employer maintained the upper hand while the young dancing trainee was only too grateful to be
signed on with the company.
The progression of the dancer through the various ranks was strictly regulated. Admission to the
school implied an apprenticeship binding the young child exclusively to the Opera until the age of
16. Parents were required to sign an agreement committing their children to stay at the school
through the duration of that contract. An early withdrawal or expulsion from the school could incur
a fine, an indemnity of up to 100 francs for each year of instruction. Teachers were expressly forbidden to give private lessons to any ousted students. Every six months students’ progress would
be evaluated. After a long successful apprenticeship as a petit rat (sometimes lasting four to five
years), the student had to pass an exam in the presence of the director, three teachers from the
School of Dance and the maître du ballet. If she failed the exam, she would be dismissed from the
school. If she was found capable, she was invited to join the corps de ballet and was engaged for a
period of two years (Archives Nationales, AJ13 196/197).13 To rise to the next rank, the young
dancer would audition before a panel and then perform a solo onstage on six separate occasions. If
she was well received by the audience, she would advance to the rank of coryphée (soloist) and
would be given an appointment at the Opera for a term of 15 years. To remain in the company, she
would have to be promoted to the next grade within five years and eventually reach the level of
sujet.14
In 1860, Napoleon III created the Conservatoire de Danse to improve both the professional
training and the general education of the young dancer. The ballet curriculum consisted of seven
classes: two elementary, two secondary, one exercise class, one classe superieure, or of perfectionnement (for women), and one pantomime class for the more advanced students. Boys and girls
received separate instruction except in ballet exercise class and in pantomime class. Article 4 of
‘Corps de Ballet Régulations’ from 1869 (revised in 1873) stipulated that all students must live in
Paris, not more than a distance of two kilometres from the theatre. Article 5 prohibited the danseuse from leaving the theatre on the day of the performance without permission (Archives
Nationales, AJ13 1183).
Responding to the criticism that the young pupils were hopelessly ignorant, regulations mandated that all petits rats must attend primary school until the age of 12 to gain some general
knowledge (Archives Nationales, AJ13 1183). Up until this time, there was no mandatory general education requirement for entrance to the School of Dance. This was generally true for all
children of the working classes. Beginning in the mid nineteenth century, however, the grandes
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notables expressed concern that an ignorant populace would give rise to social and political
revolution. This explains social reformers’ earlier concerns about children’s involvement in
industrial labour where they were being exposed ‘to moral corruption and the politics of the
government’s opponents’ (Heywood, 1988: 183).15 In fact, municipal primary education had
already been introduced by François Guizot, Minister of Public Education, by the law of 28 June
1833 that required each municipality to finance a boys’ school.16 The 1841 child labour law
reinforced this by making school attendance compulsory for all working children under the age
of 12. Although these laws were on the books, they were difficult to enforce, meeting with opposition from both the employers and members of the working class themselves. A second attempt
at regulating child labour was legislation introduced during the early years of the Third Republic,
the Law of 19 May 1874, which contained education clauses but this met with the same reception as its predecessor.
Jules Ferry’s education laws followed in the early 1880s, making primary education compulsory for children aged 6–13. Finally, new labour legislation in 1892 raised the minimum working
age to 13, which guaranteed that children would receive a primary education before entering the
workforce.17 As Colin Heywood (1988: 202–3) suggests:
the institution destined to fill the moral and intellectual void allegedly opening up in the lives of workingclass children was the elementary school. For those who considered that the proletarian family was
incapable of fulfilling the demands made on it, and that the traditional apprenticeship had outlived its
usefulness, the school system offered a ready substitute.
The principal purpose of the elementary school was in ‘instilling moral and religious values into
their pupils’.18 In the case of the petits rats, primary school was seen as an antidote to the ‘immoral
influence’ of the ballet and most especially the foyer de la danse. Despite the 1882 government
legislation mandating universal primary school education, the Opera failed to meet its obligations
to its students. Only in 1919 was proof of completion of primary studies a requirement for entrance
into the company (Dawson, 2006: 25–7).
‘Le Matin/Le Soir’: the double life of the petit rat
A drawing by Jean-Louis Forain that appeared in Le Courier Français in October 1891 illustrates
the Cinderella-like existence of the young dancer: ‘Le Matin/Le Soir’ (see Figure 2). By day, she
led an ordinary, monotonous, meagre existence in a crowded sixth-floor chambre de bonne. By
night, her life was transformed as she entered the opulent world of the Paris Opera. Cinderella
thus became a princess turning the head of many a rich, influential and generally elderly abonné,
not exactly a Prince Charming, perhaps, but someone who would rescue her, nonetheless, from
the inevitable cycle of hardship and deprivation that characterised the life of a daughter of the
ménu peuple. This illustration perfectly captures society’s view of the double life of the young
ballerina in training who hoped to advance her social status by finding a ‘protector’. In reality,
however, the life of a young dancer trainee was hardly glamorous, almost always difficult and full
of uncertainties.
In her memoir, Berthe Bernay (1890: 22) describes her arduous daily routine as a petit rat. Her
mother woke her each morning at half-past seven to get ready for the long trek to the Opera as
‘omnibus fares were beyond my small means’, and for many others, trolley-buses did not reach
their working class neighbourhoods even if they could afford the added expense. As a petit rat, a
young pupil might appear in the opera divertissements and thus earn a little income, generally two
francs per performance. On such occasions, Berthe and her mother would not leave the theatre until
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Figure 2. By permission of the Bibliothèque nationale de France.
the performance had finished, usually at midnight. Bernay described most petits rats as unhappy
because of the extreme discipline and regimentation of their lives and the physical toll that long
hours of practice at the barre took on their young bodies and she doubted whether many had a true
affinity for the profession (cited in Browse, 1949: 68).
Cléo de Mérode likewise writes about her entrance into the world of the Opera. Cléo was not a
typical petit rat, having come from noble stock. Her mother, the Baronne de Mérode, enrolled her
daughter in the dance academy as a means of getting Cléo over her timidity. Cléo auditioned for a
place at the dance academy in September 1882. After being scrutinised by M. Ernest Pluque, the
régisseur (production manager) and Mlle Théodore, ballet instructor of the young apprentice dancers, she was accepted into the school, one of the lucky eight of over 100 student applicants. Mérode
(1985: 58) describes Mlle Théodore as living only to teach her art, classical dance, and compares
her to ‘les prêtresses de Vesta [qui] entretiennent le feu de l’autel’. Strict discipline prevailed in
class where students were not permitted to laugh or gossip and were expected to perform their
exercises in complete silence. Cléo appeared on stage for the first time at the age of eight in Aida.
Since she needed to live in close proximity to the theatre, Cléo’s mother arranged for her to stay
with the sisters of St Vincent de Paul. ‘Pour expliquer mes heures d’arrivée fantaisistes’, she
explains, ‘ma mère dit aux religieuses que j’étais élève de piano au Conservatoire, n’osant pas leur
révéler ma qualité de danseuse’ because of the continued social stigma attached to the ballet profession (Mérode, 1985: 79).
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Upon attaining the rank of coryphée, the dancer was allowed entrance to the foyer de la danse,
a grand event as Mérode (1985: 100) recalls: ‘Avec curiosité, nous les regardions [les abonnés]
papillonner autour des étoiles, mais nous recevions aussi notre tribute de sourires et de compliments’. There Cléo became acquainted with many distinguished bourgeois – lawyers, government
bureaucrats and Leopold II, the Belgian emperor, who took a personal interest in her and who in
time became her ‘protector’. She commented on the cattiness and competitiveness of some young
dancers and on the strict hierarchy in place whereby different ranks did not generally mix with each
other: ‘une coryphée ne connaissait pas les petits rats par leur nom, de même qu’un sujet ignorait
celui des quadrilles. Puis, nous étions prises par notre travail très absorbant’ (Mérode, 1985: 106).
By the early Third Republic, singers no longer mixed with the dancers since the ballet and opera
became two separate entities sharing the same physical space but with each group occupying their
own quarters.
The relative absence of dancers’ memoirs makes it difficult to accurately gauge their attitude
towards their profession but contemporary observers commented on the rigours of ballet training
and the toll that it took on the young students, like the Comte de Maugny (cited in Lipton, 1986:
89) who, writing in 1889, notes:
The life of a dancer was in fact far less wild than was commonly supposed. Classes, rehearsals and
performances took up most of their days and evenings. Thus gallantry could only be a secondary pastime,
and in most cases, necessarily took a reasonable form … The ballerina is fated to be the steadiest and most
tranquil of the demi-mondaines.
This constant wear and tear on the young pupil was visible from her outward appearance. She often
looked emaciated, exhausted by rigorous training at school and malnourished. Chronically short of
money, the petits rats were unable to afford proper rehearsal dress and instead wore torn, stained
and faded clothes and resembled rag-pickers rather than young dancers (Théophile Gautier, cited
in Robin-Challan, 1992: 24). Browse (1949: 68) describes them as ‘waifs of the theatre, wearing
other people’s discarded and cut-down clothes’. It was not until the end of the 1860s that the ballet
management began to provide rehearsal dress for the young dancers. Each year young students in
the elementary class were provided with four pairs of dance shoes, two ballet skirts and two bodices by the company.
Georges Duveau (cited in Lipton, 1986: 89) calculates that children’s salaries during the Second
Empire ranged from 50 centimes to two francs daily (averaging 121 to 486 francs per year). This
led Lipton to conclude that the petit rat was at the top of her class in earning potential among the
Paris labouring poor, comparing her daily earnings favourably to that of a child working in the
coalfields in the north for a daily wage of 50–80 centimes, or a young textile worker whose 12+
hours of work brought in a daily earning of 75 centimes. Young dancers, however, were also subjected to material hardships and economic privations. During the nineteenth century housing conditions deteriorated steadily as increased industrialisation created a shortage of sufficient living
space for people crowding into urban areas in search of work. Chronic malnourishment greatly
compromised working-class children’s health by making them more vulnerable to disease. Lack of
proper sanitary conditions contributed to the already precarious situation of the children of the
working poor. As running water did not exist in most working-class districts early in the century,
the petits rats had to go to a public bath where they paid 15 sous.19 Bathing became a luxury
beyond most dancers’ means, to be indulged in no more than once a month. Robin-Challan cites
reports of five medical doctors in charge at the Paris Opera who note the prevalence of tuberculosis
among many dancers. Tuberculosis was considered the primary killer of the poor in the nineteenth
century. Many a talented dancer had her career cut short in her prime by heart and lung diseases.20
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Life in urban centres like Paris was very expensive and even a well-paid dancer had difficulty in
making ends meet in supporting her family. Despite a salary of 24,000 francs that she received after
her third year as a première danseuse, the young Italian dancer of great promise, Giuseppina
Bozzacchi, found it difficult to pay the outstanding debts of her family who had made incredible
sacrifices to finance her ballet training. During the siege of Paris, Giuseppina, like the other ballerinas who remained in the city, received no salary from the Opera. Due to the great privations she
suffered during the siege, her body, which had for so long been insufficiently nourished, was unable to withstand the ravages of smallpox. She died on the morning of her seventeenth birthday on
23 November 1870, a tragic loss to the ballet world (Guest, 1953: 129).
A report to the Opera management on the hygiene and sanitary conditions for the dancers in
April 1893 reveals many of the same concerns expressed during the Second Empire and early
Third Republic. Dr Sarrante’s report focused on the problem of the availability of clean water.21 He
also commented on the unnecessary fatigue to which the dancers were exposed due to the lack of
proper nutrition. He believed that the absence of a designated lunch room at the theatre contributed
to this problem and recommended that the administration provide a cafeteria offering meals at
moderate prices or at least a separate lunch space. To substitute for nourishment, young dancers
sometimes consumed alcohol that could easily be procured inside the theatre. This, in Sarrante’s
view, directly contributed to the moral degeneration of the dancers, along with their access to the
foyer de la danse, which he thought should be expressly forbidden to young pupils under a certain
age. He suggested that management provide instruction to those petits rats that had slipped through
the cracks and had not yet graduated from primary school so that their free time would be wisely
spent. Further, he urged that the petits rats be placed under the care of a matron during their free
hours to eliminate the bad influences to which they were subjected at the theatre (Archives
Nationales, AJ13 1269).
Reports as early as the late 1860s expressed concerns about the moral well-being of the petits
rats. In one such document, Paris Opera production manager Eugène Coralli described the difficulty of disciplining some of the corps de ballet’s rowdier young members who had been fined for
insubordination. Some dancers did have legitimate objections, such as their refusal to wear dirty,
torn costumes that had never been replaced since the ballet was first introduced at the Paris Opera.
Other reports, however, complain about the laziness and bad humour of some dancers who ignored
fines assessed for various infractions such as laughing, making backstage noise, not taking their
lessons seriously, making a late entrance or obstructing the corridors. Ernest Pluque, who succeeded Coralli in 1874, noted that one member of the second quadrille continually missed performances and on one occasion was absent for the first act of Hamlet only to come in later, drunk, and
‘fait du scandale dans la loge, frappé une de ses camarades et départ avant la fin du service’ for
which she received a fine of 18 days’ salary (Archives Nationales, AJ13 1005A). Dance instructor
Henri Mathieu commented on the poor quality of many of his students, noting that his second class
was ‘en plein désarroi. Elle n’est composée que de quatre elévès sans disposition et très peu disposées au travail et à l’assiduité’. He suggested that Marie Taglioni, the celebrated étoile and teacher
at the School of Dance, be charged with recruiting capable students (Archives Nationales, AJ13
479). Taglioni, who had the reputation for being a stern taskmaster who expected excellence from
her students, often complained that some never worked.22
Concerned parent or skilful négotiant: la maman of the petit rat
Contemporary social reformers often blamed the parents for their daughters’ bad humour and
unruly disposition. Much has been written about the mother’s role as accomplice in leading her
daughter down the road to perdition. Paris Opera director–entrepreneur during the July Monarchy,
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Louis Véron, accused the mothers of setting their daughters a bad example and inspiring them with
ideas of grandeur. Under the Opera’s subsequent leadership of Henri Duponchel, mothers were
expelled altogether from the wings (Robin-Challan, 1983: 388, 405). Théophile Gautier chastises
the mothers for turning their daughters into courtesans at the young age of 12 or 13 in order to
ensure the continued economic well-being of their families (Robin-Challan, 1983: 249). Although
a few children had a vocation for the dance, the majority were enlisted by eager mothers who
sought a better future for their daughters. Robin-Challan (1992: 26) described the corps de ballet
as the ‘stepping-stone from which the ballerina and her “loving mother” can reach the higher
classes’. Kahane (1988: 7–8) notes that mothers speculated on the benefits to be derived from the
daughter’s taking on her first protector which was essential for the family’s survival since ‘plus on
descend dans la hiérarchie, plus les hasards de la vie sont grands et les retournements de situation
nombreux’.23
During the Second Empire, wealthy and powerful abonnés continued to frequent the foyer de la
danse, selecting their favourites as one would prize turkeys at a meat market. The Comte de
Maugny described the mothers’ central role in guarding their daughters’ virtue:
Epic scenes took place there [backstage]. I have seen damsels departing triumphantly on an admirer’s arm
after a good quarter of an hour’s parley with maman. I have seen some disappear surreptitiously behind
their duenna’s back, leaving her prey to an epileptic agitation; and others carrying on brazenly beneath
their very nose and receiving a volley of blows that would have frightened a street porter. (cited in Guest,
1953: 16–17)
Writing in 1887, Paul Mahalin comments that ‘danseuses n’ont plus besoin un seul instant de se
soustraire à l’autorité paternelle. Celle-ci se montre raisonnable et accommodante au possible’.
Parents know that dance ‘est une profession comme une autre, et qu’on y gagne beaucoup d’argent
– au théâtre et ailleurs: ailleurs le plus souvent’ (Mahalin, 1887: 281). Mahalin notes that parents
spoke about their daughters’ careers in the same way that they would say ‘elle sera lingère ou
fleuriste, demoiselle de comptoir ou directrice des postes’. Like Mme Cardinal in Ludovic Halévy’s
widely popular novels about the Cardinal family written in the 1880s, ‘les mères de ces demoiselles
débutent par être leurs bonnes. Elles deviennent plus tard leurs intendantes’. Jean-Louis Forain’s
illustrations show the dual role that mothers played in their daughters’ careers – both as servant and
agent. On the cover of the 28 June 1891 edition of Le Courrier Français, a Forain drawing depicts
a young dancer reprimanding her mother: ‘Tu entends, maman, quand c’salaud t’enverra faire
un’course, tu lui diras qu’il n’y a qu’moi qu’a l’droit de te commander!’ Clearly the daughter is in
the driver’s seat while in the second drawing taken from Publications de la vie parisienne: nous,
vous, eux!, the mother plays the role of négociant giving the abonné permission to embrace her
daughter (see Figures 3 and 4).
Some mothers, like the widow Bernay, took a pro-active approach in promoting their daughters’
interests by writing to the director, graphically describing the dire economic state of their family.
In her letter to Émile Perrin on 18 April 1868, she explains that her daughter Berthe, despite her
great love for the art, would necessarily have to give up the ballet unless the administration promoted her to the next rank. She could no longer continue to support Berthe’s studies at the ballet
school: ‘le travaille d’une femme est très peu de chose pour se suffire pour elle-même et sa fille’.
Her daughter had been enrolled at the school since 1863. The letter apparently convinced the ballet
management to invite Berthe into the corps de ballet at the age of 14 which earned her an annual
salary of 600 francs (Archives Nationales AJ13 1005B). Another mother writes (13 January 1868)
of her concern for the moral well-being of her daughter, who at the age of 13 is in need ‘plus que
jamais d’être soignée et surveillée’. The mother, who was unable to continue work due to bad
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Figure 3. ‘Tu entends, maman, quand c’salaud t’enverra faire un’ course, tu lui diras qu’il a qu’moi qu’a
l’droit de te commander!’ By permission of the Bibliothèque nationale de France.
eyesight, had exhausted her funds and could no longer provide for her daughter (Archives
Nationales AJ13 479). Perrin’s files contain many such letters from single working mothers asking
for ‘protection’ for their family.
Mothers often acted as their daughters’ agents, negotiating lucrative contracts for their children,
as in the case of Mme Ribet. Her daughter, Antonia, had been engaged as a petit rat in July 1859 at
the age of 12. In a letter to Émile Perrin in December 1866, the mother writes that she and her
daughter were leaving Paris for Berlin, explaining that ballet choreographer Filippo Taglioni
(father of the celebrated ballerina) spotted Antonia in Mlle Dominique’s class and immediately
offered her 7500 francs to engage the 19-year-old dancer in Berlin. She could hardly refuse such a
generous offer when the Paris Opera would only give her daughter 1500 francs (Archives Nationales
AJ13 486). Another mother complained to the Opera management that her daughter was not being
promoted quickly enough even though she worked ten times harder than the other students
(Archives Nationales AJ13 1269).
One resourceful mother addressed her appeal to the Empress Eugénie herself. In a letter dated
30 March 1858, she writes that she has made great sacrifices so that her daughter, who displayed a
talent for dance, could take classes for five years in Bordeaux and then sold the remainder of the
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Figure 4. ‘Voulez-vous être gentil, raisonnable? - Allez l’embrasser, elle en meurt d’envie!’ By permission
of the Bibliothèque nationale de France.
family’s possessions to move to Paris in order to further her daughter’s career. She could no longer
pay for private lessons and asked the Empress to intervene so that her daughter could be admitted
to the Opera’s ballet school. At the age of 16, the daughter was not eligible for admission to the
School of Dance. The mother asked that the company make an exception as she feared that her
daughter, who was both ‘virtuous and pretty’, might soon be forced to compromise her honour and
her goal of becoming a dancer. Here she is appealing to Eugénie’s maternal instincts as well as her
patronage of the arts (Archives Nationales AJ13 453). Whether as concerned parent or skilful
négociant, the mother of the petit rat played an integral role in furthering her daughter’s position
at the Paris Opera.
Artiste or coquette: the petit rat’s coming of age
In his imaginary adventure backstage, Les Petits Mystères de l’Opéra, journalist Albéric Second
(1844: 138) gives readers enough gossip about the goings-on behind the scenes to satisfy the most
curious theatre-goer. His comment that the only virtuous dancer was the ugly dancer whom no one
wanted, reveals the common perception of the abonnés who spent so much time at the foyer de la
danse. If a girl was too pretty, how could she be virtuous! His imaginary dancer and guide, Lélia,
introduces him to a petit rat, Sidonie, who has grand aspirations for her future:
Pourquoi donc que je ne le serais pas, coquette? Est-ce-que je ne suis pas gentille, après tout? J’ai la
bouche un peu grande … mais je ne crois pas que grande bouche ait jamais dépare joli visage …. Je veux
ma part de gâteau, moi … J’ai des idées de grandeur, de luxe, de confortable et d’ambition … Je veux avoir
une salle à manger … un salon tendu en damas rouge, une chambre à coucher tapissée tout en glaces, et
une baignoire en zinc. (Second, 1844: 190)
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Robin-Challan (1983: 409) makes the following distinction between the danseuse and the prostitute: the danseuse ‘travaille avec acharnement pour exercer son art et subit un protecteur qui l’aide
financièrement pour l’approfondissement de cet art’. Prostitutes had no such noble intentions and
goals and were ‘idle and lazy’ and preferred to sell their bodies to the highest bidder. The Paris
Opera had a zero-tolerance policy for prostitution, with children who were found soliciting being
dismissed immediately. Beginning in the July Monarchy, Robin-Challan (1983: 423) writes, ‘le
couple protecteur-ballerine s’embourgeoise: les danseuses traitent leur amants comme des maris’.
This arrangement is depicted in another Jean-Louis Forain drawing, ‘L’Amour à Paris’, that
appeared in the 1 November 1891 edition of Le Courrier Français in which a jealous and agitated
lover confronts his mistress: ‘Je t’en prie! Ma chérie … dis moi avec qui était ma femme?’ (see
Figure 5).
Kahane describes the state of the danseuse as ‘transitory’, not lasting more than 20 years, with
her peak period between the age of 14 and 35. Since little documentation exists in the archives
about the fate of the ballet dancer once her dancing days were effectively over, historians have
tended to rely on fictional works about their lives, which Kahane says ‘must be considered with
caution’. Consider the warning given to all young ballerina hopefuls from a mid-century writer in
London Society:
The average life among this class of women is, of course, short, and few of them long survive the zenith
of their theatrical fame and fortune … Those ballet girls who do not reach stardom can be found in
hospitals, in streets begging, or worse, in asylums, in gaols, at the solemn little Morgue by the bands of the
Seine – very rarely that we do not hear of them in places of misery, in the somber realms of wretchedness.
Their lives are frail and brittle, and break often under their burdens. (Cited in Englehardt, 2010: 26)
Some resorted to prostitution; others took jobs in theatres as ushers or as couturiers. Many
established fairly permanent unions with fellow dancers, musicians and the like, eventually going
on to marry and legitimise those unions. Kahane (1988: 8) writes that ‘peu à peu, la prostitution
légère – “occasionnelle” – telle qu’elle se pratiquait volontiers grâce au Foyer de la danse devient
le fait d’exceptions et se réfugie dans les milieu des petits théâtres, music-halls’. Her busy and difficult practice schedule left little time for the danseuse to lead a double life. For the mother, the
dancer thus became ‘a lost child’, poorly paid, who could not supplement her income like singers
or musicians by giving lessons (Kahane, 1988: 13). Some young danseuses did successfully climb
the ranks with or without a ‘protector’. One such petit rat was Blanche Roumier, who entered the
School of Dance in 1867 at the age of 10. Five years later, she was promoted to the corps de ballet
earning an annual salary of 600 francs and in 1876, at the age of 19, she became a danseuse, having
signed a three-year contract that guaranteed a yearly income of 1600 francs. By the age of 27,
Blanche was making an annual salary of 6000 francs and later retired to become a teacher at the
school in 1889 at the age of 32 (Archives Nationales, AJ13 1003A). Alice Biot had a similar experience. Admitted to the dance conservatory as a petit rat in 1869 at the age of 8½, she joined the
corps de ballet in 1873 at an annual salary of 700 francs. Promoted to the rank of danseuse in 1878
at the age of 17, Alice was earning 1600 francs per year. She reached the peak of her career in 1889,
when at 28 her salary increased to 6000 francs (Archives Nationales, AJ13 1003A).
Berthe Bernay’s passage through the ranks of the Opera to attain the position of premier sujet
shows the determination of a young artist who was her own self-promoter, without depending on
a ‘protector’ for advancement. In a letter to director Henri Halanzier dated 9 August 1879, she
said that she was, at the age of 23, at a crossroads in her life as was the case with so many of the
dancers. She may be forced to give up a profession about which she is passionate due to economic constraints at home and must choose between pursuing her art at the expense of the economic well-being of her family and abandoning her career to marry for financial security. Her
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Figure 5. ‘Je t’en prie! ma chérie ... dis-moi avec qui était ma femme?’ By permission of the Bibliothèque
nationale de France.
aunt and uncle, who had been supporting her mother and herself since the death of her father in
1865, wanted her to quit if she did not have the prospect of becoming a great dancer. If her relatives were to abandon them, it would mean economic ruin. Perhaps this was a clever strategy on
her part to manipulate the administration and it worked. In 1881, Berthe was offered a two-year
contract which guaranteed an income of 6400 francs for the first year and 6800 for the second
year. She retired from the Opera in 1889 after a 26-year affiliation with the company (Archives
Nationales, AJ13 1005B).
Few French dancers attained the rank of étoile, owing to the Opera administration’s preference
for foreign dancers, a tradition that began in the July Monarchy with the director–entrepreneur
Louis Véron. The audience expressed a similar appetite for exotic étoiles like the Spanish dancer,
Rosita Mauri, or the Italian favourite, Rita Sangalli, who both came to the Paris Opera after training
at La Scala. One French dancer to be promoted to the rank of étoile at the Opera was Léontine
Beaugrand, who was admitted as a petit rat in 1850 and progressed slowly through the ranks –
coryphée, troisième danseuse, seconde danseuse and premier sujet. (She was from humble origins,
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her parents owning a modest shop in the suburb of La Villette.) Beaugrand’s annual income as a
dancer in 1858 was a mere 400 francs, which she saw increase to 30,000 francs by 1875. Although
continually overshadowed by foreign guest artists during the Second Empire, Beaugrand finally
came into her own after the Franco-Prussian War ‘as a leading exponent of the pure French style,
remaining one of the most popular stars of the company until her retirement’ (Guest, 1986: 307).24
Despite numerous offers from London, Milan and St Petersburg, she remained loyal to the Paris
Opera even though she was never truly appreciated. Critic Fréderick Vührer wrote in Le Soir that
Beaugrand ‘is an artist that the Directors of the Opera are in the bad habit of forgetting’ (Archives
Nationales, AJ13 1183). She resigned from the company at the end of April 1880, apparently after
a disagreement with Opera ballet director Auguste Vaucorbeil. She had asked for a one-year contract whereby she would dance for six months and spend the other six months directing a dance
class in order to cultivate talented young pupils for the Opera ballet. When her request was denied,
she announced her retirement which surprised and shocked her many loyal Parisian fans.
Throughout her career, Beaugrand had been passed over for promotion due to the management’s
preference for Italian dancers who were given all of the leading roles because of the perception that
they, unlike French-born dancers, were box-office draws. Both Vaucorbeil and his predecessor
Henri Halanzier were accused by the French press of sacrificing the pursuit of art to that of profit,
a trend that had indeed begun under Louis Véron. With the creation of the position of director–
entrepreneur in 1830, artistic concerns increasingly gave way to purely financial motives as the
Opera became a business like any other (Archives Nationales, AJ13 1183).25
Another petit rat to attain celebrity status until her tragically early death at the age of 20 was
Emma Livry. The granddaughter of a linen worker from Dijon, Emma embraced the world of
dance at an early age. Her mother was an aspiring danseuse who quickly recognised her limitations
and instead went on to become the mistress of Charles de Chassiron, a member of the Jockey Club
who regularly frequented the foyer de la danse. Their daughter, Emma, displayed a talent for dance
at a young age and was enrolled in the Opera school of ballet where she advanced through the ranks
to become a première danseuse at the age of 16. Tragically, her life was cut short by an accident on
stage during rehearsal when her costume brushed up against the footlights and was quickly engulfed
in flames. She died from her injuries eight months later, on 26 July 1863 (Guest, 1953: 28–38).
Guest (1973: 3) has commented that, had she lived, Emma would have become the greatest French
ballerina of the century. Others, like Blanche and Suzanne Mante, sisters who entered as petits rats,
the latter rising to the rank of premier sujet, went on to become teachers at the School of Dance at
the Opera (Browse, 1949: 61).
The most famous example of a petit rat turned instructor was Mme Dominique. Born in 1820,
Marie-Caroline Lassiat was admitted to the school of dance at the age of 10 and six years later she
was invited into the corps de ballet. She rose through the ranks to become a soloist, and was known
as a ‘sort of Jack of all trades of the dance’ (cited in Guest, 1973: 3). Marie-Caroline was a more
serious-minded young danseuse who, according to Guest (1973: 1), ‘lacked the vivacity of some
of her comrades … not for her those abandoned orgies, depicted in the novels of Balzac, at which
wealthy young men-about-town caroused with ballet girls and actresses’. She was married to one
of the second violinists in the Opera orchestra (Dominique Venettozza) and the couple led a comfortable bourgeois existence. Having left the stage, Mme Dominique taught the girl’s elementary
class in 1853 and for the next 26 years played a pivotal role in the training of celebrated dancers
including Emma Livry. Arthur Saint-Léon sent Martha Muravieva from St Petersburg to Paris
specifically to train with Mme Dominique and was so impressed with Adele Grantzow, a German
dancer studying under her, that he invited her to dance under his direction at the Mariinsky Theatre.
After her death, Fréderic Gilbert described Mme Dominique as always keeping ‘a maternal eye on
the dancer who appeared to have a brilliant future. Full of good counsel, she encouraged her pupils
Coons
159
to hold themselves well’ (cited in Guest, 1973: 3). Among the students she mentored were Paris
Opera étoiles like Léontine Beaugrand, Rita Sangalli and Rosita Mauri. Upon learning of her decision to retire in 1879, Mauri wrote to Mme Dominique asking her to reconsider: ‘Vous êtes mon
guide, ma protectrice; c’est à vous que je dois mes succès, et votre départ me plongerait dans la
tristesse’ (cited in Guest, 1973: 3).
A dancer’s perspective of her life and art is poignantly expressed by Berthe Bernay in her
account of her experience at the Opera, La Danse au Théâtre. Bernay spent 26 years at the Paris
Opera, beginning at the age of seven in 1863 as a petit rat and working her way up through the
ranks to attain the position of premier sujet before retiring in 1889. She returned to the Opera
in 1907 where she was engaged as a teacher of dance of the first and second quadrilles. Her
book includes a sharp critique of the Opera administrators, who, she said, were given carte
blanche by the government to exploit young dancers. She felt that the petit rat was forgotten by
the legislators who focused only on children working in industry. If she worked in a factory in
some manufacturing trade, the state would have taken an interest in her. She would be guaranteed a minimum wage, her hours of work would be regulated, and she would receive a pension
and disability benefits. Not so for the petit rat who remained invisible in the eyes of the state,
which allowed the Director of the Academy to become an entrepreneur, free to amass a fortune
at the expense of the dancers. Her book, in addition to being a history of dance, clearly seeks to
set the record straight about the life of the dancer who she says is often maligned by people who
know nothing of the hardships and privations suffered by young girls who devote their life to
the ballet. Bernay (1890: 192) comments on the many inaccuracies circulating about dancers
who suffer both physical and mental fatigue and who must find a means of supporting themselves while in training:
il faut songer aux fatigues, aux privations, aux souffrances auxquelles elles ont été en butte, dès leur plus
tendre enfance. Il faut tenir compte des tentations auxquelles ont été exposées, mal rétribuées et vivant de
sacrifices incessants, presque de misère. Elles ont un peu droit à l’indulgence qu’on accorde à tant d’autres
que, certes, n’en sont pas aussi dignes qu’elles! Ceux-là qui veulent vite lancer des pierres veuillent bien
songer que la carrière d’une danseuse si pénible, si limitée, se termine pour elle la laissant épuisée, souvent
flétrie, sans moyen d’existence … dans l’ignorance absolue de tout ce qui n’est pas sa profession à l’âge
quand une femme est d’ordinaire en pleine expansion de sa force et de sa beauté. Une danseuse donne à sa
jeunesse, sa santé, sa vie à l’art de danse.
In his book, Ces demoiselles de l’Opéra, Mahalin (1887: 268), who identifies himself only as ‘an
old abonné’, concurs with Bernay’s assessment of the dancer’s dedication to her art:
Il est certain que ces ‘petits protégés’ exécutent leurs pas difficiles et compliqués avec une gravité
imperturbable et une précision irréprochable et des ensembles qui exigent une discipline et une application
qu’on ne rencontre pas aisément au théâtre. Toutes ces qualités, malheureusement, semblant étaient
acquises au détriment des dons, à la charge de leur enfance. Ces gamines de dix à quinze ans d’âge ont, en
fait, l’air fatigué et résigné des grandes filles. Vous cherchiez en vain chez elles la naïveté de ce rat du
temps passé.
The young dancer’s economic position continued to be tenuous through to the end of the century.
When new legislation restricting the work of children was enacted in February 1896, mothers of
the petits rats vehemently protested, fearing that this new law would apply to work at the Paris
Opera as well. Although they received a meagre wage, it was an essential contribution to the overall family income; therefore restrictions on their work often meant economic ruin for the rest of the
family (Kahane, 1988: 7).
160
Guest notes that the ballet company was ‘disgracefully underprivileged’ by the end of the
nineteenth century. While the étoiles received higher salaries, ‘the dancers had to make do on a
budget that had stayed static for years’ (Guest, 2006: 67). Robin-Challan sees changes coming
only in the early twentieth century as the dancers’ financial situation improved due in large part
to their challenging the Opera management. As early as 1875, young dancers asserted themselves in a letter, dated 9 September, from the dames coryphées and quadrilles to director–
entrepreneur Henri Halanzier, asking for a salary increase (Archives Nationales, AJ13 477). By
the late nineteenth century, the corps de ballet had acquired a union-like structure, with the
dancers’ delegates presenting their demands to the management. This was reflective of a general
trend among young French workers at the end of the century (Perrot, 1974: 313–18).26 Young
dancers’ delegates renewed their demands for increased wages in a letter to the director–entrepreneur of the Théâtre National de l’Opéra on 16 November 1905. Then on 17 January 1912, the
unthinkable happened as newspapers around the world reported the shocking news: ‘The audience at the Opera-house last night was surprised when the curtain rose upon the setting for a
ballet, but no dancers. The minutes passed, and still the stage was deserted. Then the curtain rung
down’. A greatly embarrassed management announced that ‘owing to a difficulty with the balletdancers’ the performance had to be cancelled much to the disappointment of the audience (The
Argus, 1912: 7). The ‘difficulty’ to which management was referring was the unmet demand for
a rise which provoked the dancers’ walk-out. After this unprecedented strike by the corps de
ballet, dancers finally made some headway in getting management to make concessions. Labour
unrest continued in the interwar years when dancers asked for a daily indemnity of five francs
up to 1800 francs per year as a cost of living rise.
Between 1914 and 1919, the salary of a member of the second quadrille jumped from 1500 to
3300 francs. That of the coryphée rose from 2200 to 4000 francs while the grand sujet’s annual
income increased from 3000 to 4800 francs. Even the petit rat received a boost in her tiny income,
with her participation in an evening’s performance earning three francs instead of the customary
two. By 1921, renewed demands for a salary increase came from all ranks, including the petit rat,
who now sought to be compensated five francs per performance (Archives Nationales, AJ13 1269).
Gradually, the young danseuses were able to escape the ‘degrading system of “protection”’ and
focus seriously on their art. As Robin-Challan (1992: 28) points out, with the ‘democratisation and
the evolution of dance and moral standards’, they were ‘no longer perceived as erotic objects’ of
desire.
The foyer de la danse, which had its heyday between 1820 and 1880, gradually fell out of fashion owing in large part to the fact that now danseuses received a living wage and were no longer in
need of ‘protection’. By the end of the nineteenth century, as dance came to be recognised as an art
and a profession rather than simply an amusement for rich, dirty old men, ballet technique developed. At the same time, rules concerning obligatory primary education were enacted, resulting in a
contraction of child labour. The petit rat who had earlier in the century joined the School of Dance
at the Paris Opera as a means of contributing to the family economy was now making a purposeful
decision to pursue a career in dance and was truly committed to her art. Financial security meant
that she was finally at liberty to focus more on being an artiste and less on being a coquette.
Cinderella had finally outgrown her need for protection from Prince Charming and could, at long
last, take charge of her own slippers!
Acknowledgements
An earlier version of this article was presented at the Sixth International Conference on the Arts in Society
that was held at the Brandenburg Academy in Berlin in May 2011.
Coons
161
Notes
1. Degas’s interest in dance has been the subject of two recent exhibits on both sides of the Atlantic :
‘Degas and the Ballet: Picturing Movement’ (September 2011 at the Royal Academy of Arts, London)
and ‘Degas’s Dancers at the Barre: Point and Counterpoint’ (October 2011 at the Phillip’s Collection,
Washington, DC).
2. The term ‘sauteuse’ was French slang for ‘whore’.
3. While this may have been the case for the Paris Opera, Sarah Gutsche-Miller (2010) has demonstrated
that ballet was alive and well at several of the leading Paris music halls from the beginning of the Third
Republic until the eve of World War I.
4. M. Guillaume, a wealthy patron of the Paris Opera, proposed an extensive programme of reform for the
company in ‘Organisation et réforme de l’École de Danse (1839–42)’ (manuscript in the Bibliothèque
nationale de France, Arc XIX282).
5. Their reality was strikingly similar to that of the garment workers whose experience I have documented
elsewhere (see Coons, 1987; 1993).
6. The Law of 22 March 1841 was the first piece of social legislation in France banning children under the
age of eight from working in all mechanised factories and workshops employing at least 20 workers.
Children between the ages of eight and 12 were permitted to work for eight hours, while the limit for
children aged 12–16 was raised to 12 hours. Night work was completely forbidden for children under 13.
7. London had its own version of the foyer de la danse in the Green Room of Her Majesty’s Theatre. There
subscribers mingled with the ballet étoiles, according to Guest, ‘to cultivate, rather intimate relations
with reigning favorites. The “protector” of the dancer was the envy of his associates until the lady left
him for someone richer’ (see Guest, 1967: 14–15). Guest contrasts England’s dandies with Paris’s abonnés as being ‘boorish & selfishly ignorant’ who, unlike the abonnés, had no appreciation of ballet. The
foyer de la danse would remain a feature of Parisian social life throughout the nineteenth century while
the Green Room left little mark on the history of ballet. When the London Opera administration passed
into private hands in mid-century and with Victorian morality holding sway in London society, dandies
were denied access backstage.
8. In his study of the Paris Opera ballet, Guest (2006: 5) calls it ‘the cradle of the classical dance’ acknowledging that while the technique was first introduced in Italy in the sixteenth century, it ‘was moulded and
refined into the noble style that was to add a new elegance and distinction to theatrical dancing and be
recognized universally as a predominantly French accomplishment’. Court ballets were elaborate entertainment beginning with the pageant-like entrances of dancers, mainly courtiers but including 72 professionals, a spectacle lasting for six o’clock until dawn. See Migel (1972: 5). For the most comprehensive
history of the ballet to date, see Homans (2010).
9. As a child of 12, Louis developed a passion for dance and appeared in ‘court ballets’, continuing until he
turned 31 when he became self-conscious of no longer having a dancer’s physique. See Guest (2006: 6).
10. As most courtiers who participated in the court ballets were not interested in professional careers in
dance, ‘the Opera had to seek reinforcements among the pupils of the dancing masters of Paris, whose
main business was the teaching of amateurs’ (see Guest, 2006 : 8).
11. For an extended discussion of proposed reforms to the School of Dance in the early 1840s, see Dawson
(2006: 32–40).
12. Dawson (2006: 21–4) refers to this as a process of ‘Foucaultian disciplinisation’ that characterised the
training of the young danseuse.
13. This was hardly a living wage in view of the fact that the rent for a tiny chambre de bonne on the sixthfloor averaged 100–150 francs a year. By the Second Empire, an advanced apprentice dancer (of about
13) had the ability to earn between 600 and 900 francs a year, the approximate salary of a seamstress or
a girl who did ironing. In her mid-teens, a member of the corps de ballet could see her income increase
to as high as 1200 francs.
14.One petit rat, Berthe Bernay, rose through the ranks in the late 1870s and 1880s to become a principal
dancer in her late twenties, whereupon her annual salary increased from 1500 to 6800 francs (Lipton,
1986: 90).
162
15. Dr Louis Villermé’s enquiry into the employment of children in the textile industry in the 1830s concluded that children’s work in industry should be limited and that the state should provide universal
primary education. See Villermé (1837: 68).
16. Guizot’s intention was to create girls’ schools as well but the proposal was rejected by the Chamber of
Deputies.
17. For a thorough discussion of nineteenth-century child labour laws, see Heywood (1988: 229–318).
Lynch (1988: 204) notes that there was ‘an idea among some Frenchmen that regulating child factory
labor could constitute a violation of the rights of fathers of factory children’. Lynch cites an observation
by the prefect of the Seine-Inférieure sent to the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce in a letter of 20
November 1843 which argued that limiting working hours for children would have serious moral repercussions: ‘Forcing the children to leave the factory after a certain time while the fathers and mothers are
still there is to encourage truancy and laziness among them during the rest of the day … it is certain that
they will not go to school unless they are taken and kept there’.
18. Critical thought was not encouraged as the syllabus extended ‘little beyond the basics of literacy and
numeracy … What they [grandes notables] were interested in … was the maintenance of existing social
and political inequalities, so that until the 1880s at the earliest, the system of primary education was to
be geared to encouraging “order and economy” amongst the working class’ (Heywood, 1988: 202–3).
19. Only by the 1860s was there any attempt in the cities to pipe drinking water to the working-class neighbourhoods or to install a functional sewerage system. Such deficiencies provided fertile ground for the
spread of water- and food-borne diseases to which young children were particularly susceptible. Typhoid
and diarrhoea caused many deaths among children who had not developed strong immune systems due
to their young age. See Preston and Van de Walle (1978: 275–97).
20. Officials from the Statistique de la France calculated the ‘number of people living for each death’ in various categories of the population. For those ages 1–19, the figures in 1853 were 71 in the department of
the Seine, 99 in the rest of the urban population of France, and 117 in the villages. See Statistique de la
France, Mouvement de la population en 1851, 1852 et 1853, cited in Heywood (1988: 159).
21. Although there were two faucets on each floor, one for drinking water, and the other for washing, there
was no sign indicating which was which, thereby increasing the possibility of the dancer consuming
impure water by mistake and becoming ill. The Opera kept a team of physicians on its regular staff to
oversee the health needs of its employees. By 1862, there were twelve doctors employed by the Opera
along with a number of consulting physicians. See Dawson (2006: 131–5).
22. In student evaluations from July, 1870, comments describing her pupils run the gamut including: ‘negligent’, ‘studious’, ‘sluggish nature’, ‘a little too delicate in health’, ‘gracious dancer – very exact’, and ‘I
fear that she will never become a strong dancer’. (See Archives Nationales, AJ13 479).
23. For a lengthy discussion of ballet mothers and fausses mères, see Dawson (2006: 56–69).
24. This preference for recruiting foreign stars over the company’s own soloists and ensemble dancers continues in the ballet world today. See Acocella (2012: 82–3).
25. See a 15-page testimonial booklet, ‘Mémoire pour Mlle Beaugrand’, which contains the dancer’s written
personal reflections on her disagreement with Opera management in an attempt to set the record straight.
26. As early as 1876, child weavers in Flers in north-western France, demanding shorter hours and increased
wages, threatened a general strike. There were many other attempts elsewhere although most ended
in failure as the children’s demands were not taken seriously by either the employers or the adults.
However, as Heywood (1988) rightly points out, such attempts at protest ‘do indicate a degree of solidarity amongst child workers which, against all the odds, could be translated into action’. He cites the
account of René Michaud describing one successful act of collective resistance on the eve of the First
World War of 20 young workers, all under 18, against a small, family enterprise in Paris manufacturing
cardboard boxes. See Michaud (1967 : 51–65).
Manuscripts in the Archives Nationales
Correspondance d’Émile Perrin, directeur–entrepreneur du Théâtre Imperial de l’Opéra (13 janvier 1869),
AJ13 479.
Coons
163
Danse: Personnel (1850–90), AJ13 486.
Demandes d’auditions, AJ13 453.
Extrait du règlement – Théâtre Impérial de l’Opéra – Conservatoire de Danse – ‘Engagement de l’élève’,
AJ13 1183.
Forain JL (n.d.) Publications de la vie parisienne: nous, vous, eux!, Côte 220.
Guillaume M (n.d.) Organisation et réforme de l’École de Danse (1839–42), Arc XIX 282.
Personnel: Artistes de la danse – dossier of Mlle Leontine Beaugrand (1857–1880), AJ13 1183.
Personnel: Dossier– Berthe Bernay, AJ13 1005B.
Personnel: Dossier – Marie Henriette Darde, AJ13 1005A.
Personnel: Dossiers individuels – danse, AJ13 477.
Personnel: Dossiers individuels des artistes du ballet (1830–1850), AJ13 196/197.
Personnel: Fin XIX siècle – engagements danseuses, AJ13 1003A. Revendications et activités syndicale –
rapports sur les conditions du travail du personnel (1892, 1893), AJ13 1269.
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The Argus (1912) Strike in the ballet. 18 January, 7.
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Bernay B (1890) La Danse au théâtre. Paris: E. Dentu.
Browse L (1949) Degas’ Dancers. London: Faber and Faber.
Coons L (1987) ‘Orphans’ of the Sweated Trades: Women Homeworkers in the Parisian Garment Industry
(1860–1915). New York: Garland.
Coons L (1993) ‘Neglected sisters’ of the women’s movement: the perception and experience of working
mothers in the Parisian garment trade. Journal of Women’s History 5(2): 50–74.
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Dawson J (2006) Danseuses as Working Women: Ballet and Female Waged Labor at the Paris Opéra, 1830–
1860. PhD thesis, University of California Riverside.
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New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, pp. 77–96.
Engelhardt M (2010) Marie Taglioni, ballerina extraordinaire: in the company of women. Nineteenth-Century
Gender Studies 6(3): 1–29.
Guest IF (1953) The Ballet of the Second Empire. London: Adam and Charles Black.
Guest IF (1958) Adeline Genée (A Lifetime of Ballet under Six Reigns). London: Adam and Charles Black.
Guest IF (1967) Dandies and dancers. Dance Perspectives 37: 10–15.
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Guest IF (ed.) (1981) Arthur Saint-Léon, Letters from a Ballet Master. New York: Dance Horizons.
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Guest IF (2008) The Romantic Ballet of Paris. Alton, Hants.: Dance Books Ltd.
Gutsche-Miller S (2010) Pantomime-Ballet on the Music-Hall Stage: The Popularization of Classical Ballet
in fin-de-siècle Paris. PhD thesis, McGill University, Montreal.
Heywood C (1988) Childhood in Nineteenth-Century France: Work, Health and Education among the
‘Classes Populaires’. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Halévy L (1883) La Famille Cardinal. Paris: Calmann-Lévy.
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Kahane M (1988) Le Foyer de la danse (Musée D’Orsay exhibition catalogue). Paris: Ministère de la Culture
et de la Communications – Éditions de la Réunion des Musées Nationaux.
Kendall R (ed.) (1998) Degas and the Little Dancer. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Lipton E (1986) Looking into Degas: Uneasy Images of Women and Modern Life. Berkeley: University of
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Press.
164
Mahalin P [pseudonym of un vieil abonné] (1887) Ces demoiselles de l’Opéra. Paris: Tresse et Stock.
Mérode C de (1985) Le Ballet de ma vie. Paris: Pierre Horay.
Michaud R (1967) J’avais vingt ans: un jeune ouvrier au début du siècle. Paris: Éditions Syndicalistes.
Migel P (1972) The Ballerinas from the Court of Louis XIV to Pavlova. New York: De Capo Press.
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Paris.
Author biography
Lorraine Coons holds a PhD from New York University in modern European social history. Her area of
research interest is European social and women’s history. Publications include ‘Orphans’ of the Sweated
Trades: Women Homeworkers in the Parisian Garment Industry (1860–1915) and ‘Tourist Third Cabin’:
Steamship Travel in the Interwar Years (co-authored with Dr Alexander Varias). She has also published in
academic journals including essays on Gabrielle Duchêne and the French pacifist movement in the 1920s and
1930s, working mothers in the nineteenth-century French garment industry, and female seafarers aboard the
‘floating palaces’ of the interwar years. She is currently working on a manuscript relating to women seafarers
in the twentieth century.

Artiste or coquette? Les petits rats of the Paris Opera ballet

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