Ballet Shoes

by Noel Streatfeild

  ‘What are you doing?’ Pauline asked.

  Petrova did not move her hands.

  ‘This bit of me feels very queer — like when you miss a step on the moving staircase and think you are going to fall to the bottom.’

  Pauline shook herself. Then she held the same place.

  ‘That bit of me feels the same. Do you think it’s the matinée this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes.’ Petrova’s voice wobbled with fright. ‘I’m afraid I’ll forget my words.’

  ‘Even if you did, Miss Jay is standing in the prompt corner with the book, and she says if we look at her she will tell us what to say.’

  ‘I know.’ Petrova sounded very depressed. ‘But all the same I do, do wish it was over.’

  Pauline thought a moment, and thinking of the afternoon, her inside felt most extraordinary.

  ‘Oh, so do I,’ she agreed with fervour.

  Nana came in, and found them both holding their middles.

  ‘What’s that for?’ she asked, drawing up the blind.

  ‘Our insides feel queer because of this afternoon,’ Pauline explained.

  ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ said Nana. ‘Your insides feel queer because they want breakfast. With the lovely performance you all gave at the dress rehearsal, there’s nothing to feel queer about.’ She sat down between them. ‘How would those insides feel if they had breakfast in bed, with sausages ?’

  Breakfast in bed only happened when they were ill, and sausages only on Sundays, so one way and another their insides felt a lot steadier, even before Nana brought in the trays. Just as they were going to eat, Posy came in with nothing on but the bath-mat and gave an imitation of the ex-student who was being ‘Water’ at the matinee. ‘Water’ was a very good dancer, but she had rather a big behind, and in Posy’s imitation it did not look any smaller; and they all laughed so much that Nana made Posy stop because she thought they would upset their tea into their beds. No inside could feel even a bit queer after laughing like that.

  When they were dressed, Pauline got them all into a corner. It was, she said, a very important day, seeing that their name was going to be printed on programmes for the first time, and she thought they ought to vow.

  Posy looked shocked.

  ‘But it’s nobody’s birthday.’

  ‘Doesn’t have to be,’ Pauline argued. ‘We said we’d always vow on a birthday, but we never said we wouldn’t vow on other days.’ She started quickly:

  ‘We three Fossils vow to try and put our name into History books because it’s our very own and nobody can say it’s because of our Grandfathers.’

  ‘We vow,’ said Petrova and Posy, and held up their hands.

  Posy, who was feeling silly because she was excited, did what she had not done since the first vowing: she spoke deep in her inside, which she could not do, and a most extraordinary sound came out. For a moment Pauline and Petrova looked cross, then suddenly they began to laugh, and they laughed so long that Nana came in.

  ‘There’s no need to act silly because you’re doing a matinée,’ she said, but she did not look cross.

  Then she told them that Cook wanted Pauline to come and help her ice some cakes, and that Mr Simpson said would Petrova come and help in the garage, and that he was waiting for her in the car, and Posy was to go and put her things on, as she was to help do some very special shopping.

  Cook was in her nicest mood. She let Pauline do all the icing on the cakes, which were for late tea when they all got back from the matinée, and let hex squeeze names and pat terns on them. She enjoyed herself so much and was so busy that she forgot all about the afternoon, and was amazed when Nana said it was time to wash for their lunch, which was to be at half past twelve.

  Petrova enjoyed her drive to the garage less than usual. Away from Pauline the feeling in her front came back. She had to hold it again, and told Mr Simpson about it. He understood at once; he said he often had just that feeling himself; he especially remembered it when he had to go and stop a native strike. He had not been quite sure how things would turn out, and his inside had felt most peculiar. He had found then, he said, whistling had been a help. Petrova explained that she could not whistle, so he said, How about singing then? He started with ‘Three Blind Mice’, and she joined in, and then he went on to ‘Where are you Going To’, followed by ‘There’s a Long, Long Trail’ and ‘Daisy, Daisy’. By that time they were in Piccadilly, and people stared at them, but he did not mind.

  ‘If anybody asks us why we are singing,’ he said, ‘we’ll say we are the S.F.S. league, The Stop, Front, Swellers.’

  Inside the garage he had a surprise for her. She usually put the mackintosh on to keep herself clean; but today he gave her a parcel, and inside was a suit of jeans, just like garage men wear, only, of course, her size. He sent her behind the door to change, and when she came out she felt so pleased with herself looking so like a real mechanic that she forgot all about the matinée, and settled down at once to cleaning a car, and she was just as surprised as Pauline when she heard it was time to go home to lunch.

  Posy and Nana went to a shop, and Nana fetched some little boxes. Posy wanted to know what was in them, but Nana would not say. Posy was not feeling at all worried about the afternoon; she knew she would enjoy it because it was dancing, and she did not care a bit if there was an audience or not.

  Lunch would have been difficult to eat because they were all so excited; but there was cold chicken and jelly, both of which are easy to eat whatever you feel like.

  Mr Simpson drove them to the theatre. Inside the stage door the doorkeeper stopped them and asked their names, and then with a smile he looked in a shelf which was alphabetically numbered, and out of a pigeon-hole marked F took a whole lot of telegrams. There were four each for Petrova and Pauline, and two for Posy. They each had one from the Simpsons, and one from the two doctors, and Pauline and Petrova’s other two came from Madame, and from somebody signing herself ‘Olga’. It said in Pauline’s ‘Good luck, Tyltyl’, and in Petrova’s ‘Good luck, Mytyl’. For a moment nobody could remember who Olga was, and then they remembered she was the Russian child the hospital had nursed, who was now a nurse in the hospital. They were all very impressed at her sending telegrams.

  Pauline and Petrova had a room to themselves, but Posy came and dressed there too, because it saved trouble. In the fun of getting dressed and Theo coming to make them up, they had not time even to think if they were frightened or not, until suddenly there was a knock on the door and the voice of the call-boy said: ‘Quarter of an hour. Please.’

  ‘Does that mean that we start in a quarter of an hour?’ Pauline asked Theo in a wavering voice.

  She nodded and laughed; but neither Pauline nor Petrova saw anything to laugh at. They sat down side by side feeling scared stiff. It seemed a very short time after that when the call-boy came again, this time to say, ‘Overture and beginners. Please.’

  Theo took them each by the hand, and they went down the stairs and through the swing doors on to the stage. There she kissed them, and then they went on to the stage, and got into bed, where Miss Jay tucked them in, and gave them a pat and told them not to be frightened. The orchestra seemed to go on playing the overture for a very long time, then suddenly the house lights went out, the curtain was going up.

  For her first three sentences Pauline was not sure what her voice was doing. It seemed to squeak in an odd way. Her third sentence, ‘No; how can I be asleep when I’m talking to you?’ made the audience laugh. It was a nice friendly laugh, as though all the people in the audience were like Mr and Mrs Simpson, and from that moment she began to enjoy herself, and to have a sure feeling that the audience were enjoying themselves too.

  Petrova’s mouth felt dry; she could hear in her head just how each word ought to sound, and yet it did not come out quite right. She heard the laugh when Pauline said: ‘How can I be asleep when I’m talking to you?’ and she remembered clearly all she had been taught about laughs. Wait for it. Never speak whi
le the audience are laughing. Speak as the laugh dies away. She had rehearsed laughs with a gramophone; but now here was a real one, and she was not quite sure when to speak, and when she did, she knew it was too soon, and nobody had heard what she said. They came to the part where she and Tyltyl had to quarrel over the stool and she was pushed off and said: ‘I’m looking at the wall because I’ve got no room,’ and the audience laughed again. At once she felt better, her mouth got less dry, and she did not worry about what came next; and though still some of the lines did not sound much like Mytyl, but more like Petrova, she had stopped minding.

  When the curtain came down on the act, everybody seemed pleased, and Pauline and Petrova went back to their dressing room and did not feel miserable any more, and instead played about giving imitations of each other, while Posy gave imitations of the dancers until Nana lost her temper.

  ‘Will you sit down and behave like little ladies. What the other children must be thinking with all this noise, I don’t know.’

  Pauline giggled.

  ‘But we aren’t little ladies. Petrova and I are poor children of a woodcutter, and Posy’s a star.’

  ‘Whatever you are, you’ll behave,’ Nana said firmly, ‘or I’ll fetch Miss Jay. She said you was to rest.’

  The mention of fetching Miss Jay calmed them down, and they sat quiet till they were called for the next act.

  It was odd that the scene which Petrova most hated she acted better than any other that afternoon. It was the scene in the churchyard that had given her so much trouble. Somehow when she and Pauline were left alone on the stage, it all looked so dark and the gravestones so real that she almost made herself believe that ghosts would come when the diamond was turned; and therefore when it was turned, and there were nothing but lilies to be seen, she was honestly quite surprised, and said in the most natural way, ‘Where are the dead?’…and was glad to hear Pauline reply, ‘There are no dead’…

  The play was over, all the cast stood on the stage and bowed, with Pauline and Petrova standing alone in the front. Then Madame came on. Pauline and Petrova wondered if they ought to curtsy, and looked round to make sure, but none of the others did, so they supposed it was all right not to. Madame spoke to the audience. She said they had just heard Tyltyl ask if any of them should find his blue bird to give it back as: ‘We need it for our happiness later on.’

  ‘Today you have helped a hospital, whose blue bird has flown away because of financial worry. With subscriptions and the tickets this afternoon we have a thousand pounds for them, which we hope will help to bring their blue bird back for their “happiness later on”.’

  A thousand pounds was such a lot of money that everybody cheered, and somebody from the hospital made a speech from a box, then ‘God Save the King’ was played, and the matinée was over.

  When they got home there was a most magnificent tea waiting. Everybody in the house had been to the matinée, and they all had something to say about it. Cook, that it had given her a good cry, which was high praise, as she liked crying. Clara said it was better than the pictures, which was higher praise still. Doctor Jakes was very nice, and said they had worked very well and deserved their success. She was even nicer to Petrova than to Pauline.

  ‘You did very well, my dear,’ she said. ‘It’s easy for Pauline, but it’s anything but easy for you.’

  ‘Sorry it’s over?’ Mr Simpson asked them all.

  Pauline said she was very, Posy was rather, and Petrova suddenly found she was glad; this afternoon had been fun, but it was nice to think there’d be no more of those awful rehearsals.

  Tea was finished, and they were still talking about the afternoon when suddenly Pauline burst into tears. Pauline was not a person who ever cried, so everybody was surprised, except Doctor Jakes, who said it was quite a natural thing to do. Sylvia hugged her.

  ‘What is it, darling?’

  ‘Everything’s over,’ Pauline sniffed, ‘and nothing nice will ever happen again.’

  ‘That’s talking stupidly, Pauline,’ said Nana. ‘Just take a look at your plate.’

  While Pauline had been crying, Nana had put the little boxes she and Posy had fetched that morning on their plates. There was great excitement and when they were opened there was a brooch in each from Sylvia with a little enamel blue bird on it. On the back of each bird were their names and the date. After they had thanked for them, and pinned them on to their frocks, Sylvia told them she had news for them. They had all worked so hard that she had rented a tiny cottage at Pevensey Bay in Sussex, and they were going there for August.

  After that, of course, Pauline could not feel that nothing nice would ever happen again. Petrova thought a cottage in Sussex nicer than any matinée. It was Posy, though, who sent them all to bed laughing. She slipped down again after her bath, and poked her head round the door, and looked solemnly at Pauline, whose face was still a bit blotchy from having cried, and quoted a line from ‘The Blue Bird’:

  ‘And Pauline has still got a pimple on her nose.’

  CHAPTER IX

  Pauline Wants a New Frock

  THEY had a lovely time at Pevensey. There was very little money to spend, but except for eating, they did not need any. They came down to the beach in their bathing-dresses early in the morning and spent all day there. They found a smooth piece of fine shingle where nobody could see them and did exercises for half an hour in the morning; after tea they worked on the small bit of lawn at the back of the cottage, as there was a fence round it just the right height to make a good practice bar. They had lots of walks to the old castle, and once they went to Eastbourne and had tea on Beachy Head. They got very brown, and all put on weight, and ate more every day.

  The Cromwell Road seemed very long and dull when they got back; but they had not time to think much about it, for term at the Academy began the next day.

  That Autumn term was like the last Autumn term; by the end of it those children who were not old enough for a licence felt out of things, for everybody else was rehearsing for Christmas productions. Pauline hated it. She had been so important all last term, and now she was rather in the way. She was in a class older than her age, and so was left with nobody to work with. It was a continual ‘Pauline, dear, sit quietly down and watch.’ She loathed it; she. loathed to be made to feel not wanted when she knew she was the best actress in the class. So she sulked. It was not her fault that she was not twelve; she would be next year, thank goodness! And in the meantime she would not be nice and helpful, and run round fetching and carrying for other people’s rehearsals; she would go on coming to the class, but be as much in the way as possible. She thought nobody was noticing how she felt, but she was wrong. One day about three weeks before the end of the term she came to the class as usual, but was stopped in the doorway by Miss Jay.

  ‘I shan’t want you again this term, Pauline, I am too busy working on the Christmas plays. You will go to Madame Moulin instead.’

  Pauline usually had two French acting classes a week and found them quite enough, for learning a part in French was not as easy to her as learning it in English. Madame Moulin greeted her with a cheerful nod when she saw her.

  ‘Ah, ma petite, next term I will have you play the “Little Match-girl” of Hans Andersen. I translate myself in the holidays; but now, since I have you for five extra hours a week, I shall give it to you; you shall start the translating for me.’

  Pauline’s mouth dropped open. She stared at Madame Moulin in horror.

  ‘But that isn’t acting, that’s lessons. I hate doing translations.’

  ‘It’s very good for you.’ Madame patted her shoulder. ‘Miss Jay had thought it would be amusing for you to watch the senior girls prepare for the Christmas plays, the extra rehearsals that she takes so that they may please their producers; but she tells me, “No, Pauline ne s’amuse pas; she knows too much of the art of acting to be interested in the training of these others. We must find her something difficult to do — it is bad for a child to be bored”.’
She pulled out a chair, and pointed to the sheets of foolscap, and a copy of Hans Andersen’s fairy story. ‘There you are, ma chère. You will not have time to be bored if you translate all this for a play.’

  Pauline had to sit down. Angrily she took up the book, and began to read the story. Madame Moulin settled at the other end of the room and took a pencil and cut lines out of a play that the junior class were to be given. Pauline tried to read, but she had a lump in her throat, and though she meant not to cry, tears came into her eyes and the words kept getting blurred; then quite suddenly from trying not to cry a sob came out that was like a hiccup. That started her. She could not stop; it seemed so mean that she should be treated like this. The more she thought how mean it was, the more she cried. Madame said after a bit:

  ‘Why are you crying?’

  Pauline brought out a long sentence, but none of it was distinguishable. It sounded like: ‘Mean-hateful-French-mean-why?-Not-done-anything-mean-mean-snotsmi it’s faultwelve.’

  Madame looked out of the window, and thought a moment.

  ‘When I was a young girl I was a pupil of the Académie Française. I was a good pupil; I had great promise, just as you have great promise. I grew, as many young girls grow, to think I had more than promise. One day there came to the school a very great actress. She was old, and one of her legs had been cut off, so she used one of wood. It chanced that I had recently had much notice for my playing of “L’Aiglon”.’

  Pauline was crying less, because she was interested.

  ‘“L’Aiglon”? That’s an eagle, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. A poor young boy, he was the eaglet; you shall read the story, and when you are fifteen or sixteen you could play it. This actress, she was a very old woman and she chose that rôle to act for the students. Imagine her! Old. A wooden leg. Dressed in the height of fashion. To play a young boy!’

  ‘How silly!’ said Pauline.

  ‘That is what I thought.’ Madame Moulin nodded. ‘How foolish! C’est formidable! That old woman “L’Aiglon”! I am “L’Aiglon”; I am young, but I settled to watch, saying, “Well, we must be kind, but…” Pauline, when she had finished, the tears ran down my cheeks. She was “L’Aiglon”. She ceased to be ridiculous, her art was supreme. How we students clapped! How we called “Bis”. When we were dismissed, we passed her bowing; but when I drew level with her she caught my hand. It was as though she had read in my face how I had thought, for she said, “N’oubliez jamais qu’une actrice continue à apprendre jusqu’ à son dernier jour”.’ Pauline looked a little puzzled, so she translated: ‘Never forget that an actress can always learn until her last hour.’