About a week before the date of the opening of a spectacular play at any metropolitan theatre an advertisement reading something like this appears in the want columns of the daily papers:—

Wanted—Three hundred girls for the ballet in "The Blue Huntsman," at Bishop's Theatre. Call at stage-door at ten A.M. Monday.

In this simple advertisement the theatrical instinct which prompts the press agent to exaggerate facts concerning his attraction is very beautifully displayed. The number of girls wanted is probably not in excess of fifty; still the local manager does not care to waste money upon this little advertisement without getting an advertisement for his show out of it. Monday morning brings a number of applicants—not as large a number as such an advertisement would have attracted in former years, but still enough to meet the demands of the ballet master, who has come on ahead of his troupe to select the girls and give them a little training, just sufficient training to tone down the rough edges of their awkwardness and to drill them in the marches in which they will be expected to participate. The girls, as they come in singly or in pairs—shyly and coyly approaching the stage-door, but taking courage at the sight of the others who are there before them—are told to come around again in the afternoon, or perhaps the following morning to meet the ballet. There doesn't seem to be any particular choice in getting up a ballet of this kind. A round-shouldered, broad-waisted, squint-eyed, red-headed girl has her name entered on the stage manager's book as readily as the charming little blonde who looks as if she belonged to the upper walks of life, and appears many degrees more accomplished, graceful, and intelligent than the strabismal, carroty-headed creature who has preceded her. When all have been registered, up to the requisite number, some of the astonished and delighted candidates, after having learned that they will receive $4 or $6, or, maybe, $8, for the week's services, lose themselves in the intricacies of the scenery and wonder at the beauties of the new world in which they find themselves. Their next visit brings them into the presence of the ballet master, who regards them physically, scrutinizing each as the name is called, and seldom rejecting any not absolutely deformed who appear before him. They are sent to the costumer's and their work begins at once. All they are required to do is to run up and down or around the stage in drills and marches, or to group themselves in heart-rending tableaux at intervals during the dance. The best—that is, the girls who are quick to perceive and swift to accomplish the commands of the master, are selected for leaders and for the principal work in this subordinate branch of the spectacle. Day after day they are drilled until the night of the first performance arrives, when, often in tights that do not fit them, in costumes that are wrinkled and dirty, they flash in all their awkwardness and gloominess upon the scene, to be laughed at, and to detract from instead of adding to the beauty of the spectacle.

A newspaper writer of experience in this line says: Few of those who observe and admire the graceful attitudes, easy movements, and picturesque evolutions of the well-trained chorus or ballet in an opera have any adequate conception of the amount of practice and hard work necessary for the stage of perfection arrived at. A number of years ago, when ballet girls were in greater demand than at present, an advertisement inserted in New York papers or those of any other large city for material to fill up the corps de ballet would bring in applicants by dozens, and sometimes even by hundreds. The same is true in a less degree to-day, but at that time the wages paid to working girls were far more meagre than at the present time, and the few dollars per week to be obtained in the theatre was a princely sum by comparison, and, though the engagement be but a few weeks, the opportunity was gladly accepted.

The great majority of these applicants come from the lower working class, who are induced by pecuniary motives alone to exhibit themselves. They show in their faces and forms the traces of hard work and poor living, and an expert master of the ballet has need of all his skill to train them and dispose them on the stage so that their natural disadvantages of form may be kept as much as possible from public view. Now and then, however, there is a case where the glamour of the stage has so fascinated girls in better circumstances that they are ready to begin at any round of the ladder in a profession that seems so entirely imbued with roseate tints. It is the exception, and not the rule, for these to persevere; for, when brought face to face with the stern realities of the case, their ardor is dampened, the world seems hollow, "their dolls are stuffed with sawdust," and they are prepared to cry out vanitas vanitatum, and enjoy the rest of their stage experiences from the other side of the foot-lights. These girls vary somewhat in age, but the majority of them are not above twenty, as a general rule. In making an application, they present themselves first to the stage manager. He takes note of their age, size, appearance and general contour of figure, and if he be favorably impressed sends them to the costumer. He, in his turn, hands them over to the women in his employ. There they are compelled to strip and undergo a complete examination of their limbs and form, and on the physical examination depends their acceptance or rejection.

In companies where the ballet girls are simply female supernumeraries and do nothing but march about while the danseuse and coryphees engage the attention of the audience, any extended amount of training is not necessary. Care is only taken to obtain girls of ordinarily fair physique and teach them to march correctly with the music. But even this is no small task.

These girls are naturally fitted for anything but this business, and it is ludicrous to observe the positions they assume and the gait they adopt. Impressed with the idea that they must act and walk differently from their usual custom, they twist their bodies and stalk about in a manner that is beyond description. These improvised ballets generally present an exhibition of stiffness and awkwardness at the first public appearance; but that is not to be compared with the ungainly antics of a first rehearsal. In cases where greater pains are taken, and where the ballet girls go through many intricate evolutions, the rehearsals are continued daily, when possible, for a period of six or eight weeks, and some idea of the trials of a ballet master may be gathered from the contrast of the first rehearsal and the first performance.

A gentleman of long experience in theatrical matters says in a talk with an interviewer: "Well, I should think I ought to know something about ballet girls. Why, when I used to be at the Old Comique they were as plentiful as supers and used to appear as peasant girls in the regular drama.

"The rehearsals would be frightfully confusing to an outsider. During the last rehearsal, before a piece of this kind is put on, the stage looks like a perfect pandemonium. The chorus is being put through its final drill on one side, the actors are practising their entrances, exits, and cues on the other; behind, the scene painter and his assistants are daubing away, and the trap man and gas man are both working away in their line."

"What kind of girls were they for the most part?"

"Oh, they came out of factories and all that; they could make from $6 to $8 a week on the stage, a good deal better than they could do at their old business. We used to have such a lot of applicants then we could pick out a pretty good crowd. Some of them were very nice, respectable girls, but the associations ruined most of them. A good many of them were rather fly when they first came in, and besides being crooked would put on any amount of lug among their companions outside. After playing in the ballet two or three weeks for $6 or $7 a week, they would go around and say that they were actresses, playing an engagement at the Opera House, but they didn't know exactly how long they should stay there. I wouldn't be at all surprised if they talked about starring it in another season; that's what all these fly-by-nights at the theatres do now. Why, do you know I have had people come to me and ask what part Miss So-and-So was taking, and on looking into the matter I would find that she was a ballet girl."

"Can't you tell me of some cases of girls who have a little romance about their history?"

"Well, possibly, but to one behind the scenes there is little enough of the romantic, I can tell you. I remember another case of a girl, one of the prettiest and best behaved we had—quite a modest little thing, in fact. But she got picked up by a middle-aged rake, and went to the bad. I do not know her whole story, but I know she used to meet this fellow after the performance very often. After a time she stated in confidence to one of her companions that she was married to him, and I have no doubt that she thought she was. She left the theatre after a few weeks and went to live with him. But I guess it didn't last long, for I saw her several years afterwards in one of the lowest travelling companies I know of, as vile and broken-down a wreck as you ever saw. If there is any romance in the lives of these girls, this is generally the style of it."

"Do these girls ever rise in the profession?"

"Oh, yes, some of our best actresses rise from the ranks. It would make a cat laugh, though, to see the first time they have a little speaking part in a regular drama. A girl can get along all right as long as her individuality is concealed in the ranks, but when she has to step to the front and say a few words, she waltzes up as though she was walking on eggs. She looks as if she would like to fall through the stage, swallows and hesitates, and puts you in doubt as to whether you ought to laugh or pity her."

Here is a writer who takes another view of the affair: "To the uninitiated male citizen the period of supreme interest in affairs behind the scenes is the period of a grand ballet or spectacular show, where a hundred or two girls, who have undergone an examination of their faces, shoulders and limbs, and been accepted as presentable upon the stage, don tights and make their bow to the public. It is not always easy to secure the required number of girls who have the requisite qualifications for an appearance in tights. Girls who have never been on are extremely bashful about making their first appearance. The majority of the girls who answer the call for 'ladies for the ballet' are shop girls, girls who take work to their homes, girls suddenly thrown out of employment, poor girls who have no other way of honestly earning a dollar. There are a few who have been in the ballet a number of times before. They have come to look upon it very much as a business. They knit and sew and crochet and do fancy-work behind the scenes during the stage waits. Their pay is liberal compared with what they can earn even in ways that are considered more respectable, and they have the novelty and excitement, which, of course, are something of an attraction in themselves. Considerable judgment has to be exercised in the selection of those who aspire to the costume of a pair of tights and trunks or a gauze dress. It is a lamentable fact that all ladies are not plump and symmetrical, and for those lacking these charms there is no door to the ballet stage. Once accepted as a constituent part of a pageant which is to disport itself before the foot-lights, the figurante has a wide field for conquest open to her. It's man's weakness to be forever 'getting gone' on the favorites of the foot-lights, to believe them all beautiful and luscious as they seem from the front of the house. And so it is that the watchman at the stage-door and call-boys divide between them many a dollar for carrying in billet-doux from the great army of mashed masculines. 'Another sucker dead gone,' mutters the call-boy as he pockets his liberal fee as mail-carrier. Perhaps the fair object of the masher's admiration 'won't have it,' but there are among her sisters those who, to a promisingly liberal and attractive stranger, would not let the lack of an introduction stand in the way of their graciousness. ''Sh,' they say to the call-boy. ''Sh! Don't say a word. Tell him we'll see him later. Look for us at the stage-door when our act is over.'"

And now let us see how they do these things in France, where the cancan nourishes and the Jardin Mabille, with its high kickers, is the temple towards which pleasure-seeking pilgrims bend when they visit their Mecca—La Belle Paris. A visitor to the dancing green-room of the Grand Opera, there, will find that at night it is brilliantly lighted, and the effect of the gas-jets is greatly increased by the numerous large mirrors which almost conceal the walls. In front of each of these mirrors stands a wooden post a little higher than one's waist, and before a dancing girl sets off, she raises one foot after the other until she places it horizontally on one of these posts, where she keeps it for some time, then quitting this position and taking hold of the post with one hand she practices all her steps, and after having in this way "set herself off," she waters the floor with a handsome watering-pot, and before the large mirrors, which reach down to the mop-board, she goes through all the steps she is about to dance on the stage. The leading dancing girls commonly wear old pumps and small linen gaiters, very loose, in order to avoid soiling their stockings or stocking-net. When the call-boy gives his first notice, they hasten to throw off their gaiters and put on new pumps, chosen for their softness and suppleness, whose seams they have carefully stitched beforehand. The call-boy appears at the door, "Mesdemoiselles, now's your time! the curtain is up!" and the flock of dancing girls hasten to the stage. Among the Parisian ballet corps one sees the strangest vicissitudes of fortune, the most wonderful ups and downs of life. Some, who yesterday were glad to receive the meanest charity of their comrades, who joyfully accepted old dancing pumps, and wore them for shoes, and faded bonnets and thrice-mended clothes, appear to-day in lace, silks, cashmeres, with coachman, valet, carriage and pair. The sufferings, the privations, the fatigue, and the courage of these poor girls ere the miserable worm, the chrysalis, is metamorphosed into the brilliant butterfly, cannot be conceived. Bread and water support the life of more than half of them; many would be glad to feel sure of it regularly twice a day. A great number who live three or four miles from the Grand Opera trudge that distance almost shoeless to their morning dancing lesson, rehearsals, and evening performances, and on their return home, long after midnight, in the summer's rains and the winter's snows, nothing buoys them up but the fond hope, often delusive, that the future has a brighter and better time in store for them.

The Nautch dancers, mentioned in the preceding chapter, are consecrated to the temple from childhood, and the graceful and fascinating poses to which the people of this country have been introduced by an enterprising American, are portions of their sacred dances before the shrines of their dizzy deities. I think four of these girls came to this country originally, and all but one died. Still, there were forty so-called Nautch dancers put upon the variety stage and in specialty troupes, ordinary but clever American ballet girls being painted for the occasion, and dressed in a semi-oriental costume. They made no pretensions to do the Nautch dance, in which the swaying of the body, keeping time with the feet, and howling a lugubrious hymn are the features, there being no hopping or whirling around; but the fraudulent Nautch girls of the specialty troupes pirouetted and pranced in the steps of the old-time ballet, with which we all ought to be familiar if we are not.