Life — December 4, 1913 — page 52: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Gay Y Paris was “en féte”. Streets, shops, restaurants, G subways, were crowded with people, rushing, smiling, buying! Paris was decidedly excited, though it was only, so people said, the usual excitement of the Christmas week. And yet there was something more; something that had left the Parisians gasping with wonder and admiration ; gasping at the new star that had come shining in the sky of celebrity—and, of course, being Paris, the star was a woman, Ninette, “La Ninette” as she was called, had done a small part in a café of Montmartre—a sort of singing act. But one evening, somehow, she had danced it, and three days after she was famous. To be accurate one ought to say that from the second day she had the en- thusiastic support of a Russian Grand Duke, an Italian Count, and an American millionaire. Still, it took more than that to be famous, and if Paris had fallen in love with her it was from sheer enthusiasm for her dancing. For dance she could, and dance she would, till the theatre shook under the applause, and the stage became a veritable bank of flowers. The director of the Folies-Bergéres used to rub his fat hands together and bow very low when “La Ninette” came, gazing meanwhile most reverently at the trim little feet, which made the francs come his way by thousands. This very morning Ninette had been thinking how dif- ferent life had been since she found she could dance. Quickly had she gotten accustomed to all the lux- uries of a beautiful house and dainty surroundings. So quickly, indeed, that it seemed almost impossible to believe that she had not been born thus, with money to throw away if she wished. She had stepped into her new life without a regret, smiling de ely at those who a short month before had looked at her as worse than dust. Of her former life of misery, starvation and rigs the only thing she missed was the open air, so every day she walked, as now, for long hours—walked for the sheer pleasure of feeling her feet go “tap-tap” on the wooden pavement. As she passed little “ gamins” shouted at her and men turned about and stared; for Ninette was pretty and so fair! She knew it. A roguish little smile played often on her lips as on she went, looking like a fairy in her white furs—a naughty little fairy, who giggled and enjoyed hav- ing people following her, or reporters racing, craving for an interview or a snapshot. “La Ninette” came down into the garden of the Tuileries, went through the “ Allées” and was about to turn back, when she heard a sob, a sob that somehow By F. de Foras Paris sounded familiar. How absurd, thought she, to cry when the sun was so bright and life so lovely——but already she had caught sight of a girl sitting on a bench, tears streaming through her fingers, her head resting on a small barrel organ. To Ninette it suddenly seemed that the last month was wiped out of her life, and she was again the girl singing in a horrid café, earning barely enough to live, feeling hungry alway: ving on the bread that she might buy “rouge” for her evening performance. The girl there was perhaps hungry; surely she was cold; and Ninette, knowing too much to ask what was the matter, fumbled in her muff to find her purse. She uttered a little sigh—the purse then was lost! For a second she did not know what to do. The girl was still sobbing, so absorbed in her grief that she had not noticed an onlooker. From time to time a shiver shook the frail shoulders, and to Ninette looking on, that was worse than the rest. “I am sorry, ma petite,” she said seating herself near her, “sorry that——” But the sen- tence remained unfinished for the girl had lifted her face and Ninette gave a little cry of surprise, “Oh!—It is not possible! You! Nana——Where on earth do you come from?” “Ninette,” sobbed the other, falling into the ex- tended arms, and Ninette patted the poor face she knew so well, recollecting the years when the friendship of Nana had been the only thing worth while in her life. At that time, Ninette used to think Nana rich because she had always enough to eat, shelter, and warm clothes. Still what she envied most was not that but the kisses Nana received from her father and mother. Yes; often Ninette had cried because she never knew what the kiss of a mother or a father meant—even a home was un- known to her—she could think only of the streets! That was why she had no name, after all, and was called simply “La Ninette.” “Nana, do not cry,” urged Ninette, “but explain what is the matter—why you are in Paris when, months ago, you left for your beloved Italian home? I thought you safely there!” “We could not manage it,” replied the girl. “ When we were still on the way Father was taken sick, and we had to stop in a small village, where he died, and where nearly all of the money we had in the world was spent. Seeing that, I thought best to come back to Paris; I had made money here and could do so again. Then,” Nana’s voice dropped so low that Ninette could scarcely hear her, “ then mother died, and now I must care for the two babies. I had to work hard, and I could never as before sing the gay songs of my country—and Paris does not wish comicbooks.com