DANCERS WHO GET BIG FEES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18063, 25 January 1927, Page 13

DANCERS WHO GET BIG FEES.

EXPOSURE OF GAY LIFE IN PARIS CAFES. “There are many strange professions practised in Paris, and nowhere else but in Paris," writes the special correspondent of the “Melbourne Age. “There is the concierge, that strange species of the human race whose alleged duty in life is to open the door, of the apartment house in which you live (latch-keys being joys unknown in this city of doubt and suspicion), bring you your mail as it is delivered by the postman, and inform people of the floor on which you live; but who, in reality, revenge themselves on a fate that compels them to spend their clays penned up in a. dark lodge on the ground floor, and their nights being disturbed by late-comers clamouring to be let in, by keeping you waiting outside in the rain as long as they dare; opening your* correspondence, and telling people you are out when you are in; giving information concerning you to the police, with whom they all work hand-in-hand; spying on you, and using what information they glean for the day when they may feel like indulging in a little blackmail, and complicating one’s life generally. There are the society women who Snake a living by enticing their friends and the people having money whom they meet at the many social functions they attend, to dress, hat and other shop for their clothes, calling later to collect the commission that has been reserved for them. There arc many men earning their living in similar fashion by “placing” a certain brand of cigars, motor-cars, or champagne among the vieople they meet in the high-life socretv they frequent. In the social “Whos* Who," the names of such individuals probably bear opposite the magic words “on profession, but they earn far more in this elegant and subtle way than many a man or woman whose day of toil runs far beyond the eight-hour limit down b\ r unionism.

Aristocratic “Patrons.” There are women who utilise their arlistocratic rank and the exalted position they hold as social queens. Paris, by selling one and the other to charity organisers who are anxious to lend tone to a fete they are organising in quest of fun. The artistocratic lady in question lends her name to the enterprise, is- advertised everywhere as being the patron and organiser of the brilliant function, and on the eventful evening appears in radiant array more or less as hostess. When the accounts have been made up, she receives her share, as much a 50 per cent of the profits. Many of these same women arc able, also, by another ingenious little expedient, to cut down their dress bills to a third, by working with a copy house. That i's, they go to one of the big dress-making or millinery houses and order the models which please them most, or else those which the copv house in question is anxious to secure. Because of the name and standing of the client, the big houses never suspecting the hidden treachery, make and send home the models, and the iadv immediately takes them to the copy house, where they are copied and returned to her later with a cheque for two-thirds of what they have cost. A Modern Court Jester. There is a man whose name is so well known in Parisian society that to men ton it would be to commit an indiscretion, particularly also as his brother occupies one of the highest permanent official positions in the State, whose undeclared profession corresponds to that of a modern version of a court jester. During the winter season he lives in Paris, and spends his time attending dinner and other parties which hostesses fear may be dull and need some stimulating influence to make enjoyable. His fee for each party varies according to the class of guests invited, and the possibility he foresees of being able to entice some of them to buy the particular make of ear he represents, also strictly unofficial. During the summer he is invited first to one fashionable ville deau, then to a plage, to undertake the role of master of ceremonies, organise fancy dress and head balls at the casino, be judge in these and beauty competitions, organise children’s sports on the sand, distribute prizes at the tenis tournaments, and generally endeavour to make things “ go,” and so contribute to the financial success of the season. He is dressed for next to nothing by wellknown tailors, hatters and bottiers, because he has acquired something of a reputation as a Beau Brummel, and his word in mattres sartorial is considered as equal to a command by nouveaux riches and the youth of the rising generation as anxious one as the other to learn; he is thus able to add considerably to the income which the different casinos and syndicates d’initiative for which he works allow him, by recommending clients who supply his immaculate clothes. Tha Professional Dancer. But the strangest profession of all is that of the professional dancer. By this I do not nfean the beautiful-look-ing creatures -who have soulful eyes and names ending in“ sky ” or “ off,” and who perform the most hair-raising pirouettes and entrechats on a stage. No, I mean the young gentlemen who earn their living by acting as dance partners to the women who throng the dance teas in the afternoon and the restaurants and cabarets of Paris of an evening. They are usually sleek and w’ell groomed, with that air of being too much of either which the French call “ rastaquere ”; they wear their hair well oiled and brushed back; in the daytime they don well-cut sac suits, and at night impeccable dinner suits; their manners are suave and ingratiatory, and they all speak, beside their own language, French and English. They “work” from five to at the smart thes dansants of the Bois de Bologne, and the Champs Elysees, and from eight to twelve of an evening at those of the same establishments which remain open as restaurants. At midnight many qf them hasten off to some cabaret of Montmartre, to reinforce the small army of dancers who arc engaged in the* allnight establishments of that merry, wicked quarter. Those who arc not engaged' at one of these accept private engagements to accompany one woman or a party of women to Montmartre, and dance with them throughout the evening. Before setting forth on the jaunt a roll of notes is slipped to the cavalier, with which he will pay for the champagne and other refreshments consumed during the evening, settle with taxi chauffeurs, and tip waiters. At the close of the evening he returns the change, if any, and receives back into his palm any number of crisp banknotes for his own personal remuneration. The Minimum Fee. The minimum sum for which a <?ancer will accept an “accompanying" engagement is two hundred francs for the evening, but usually he gets double and more for his paips. And it is surprising the number of women who avail themselves of the willing services of such guides, which, in a way, is quite comprehensible. ike life of a professional dancer is

certainly not a sinecure. True, the remuneration is usually such as to enable them to smile through all their trials. They get little or no salary; in fact, in some establishments frequented by a wealthy clientele they even pay to be allowed to be on the list of dancers. They earn their living by the tips which the women with whom they have danced during the* afternoon or evening slip into their palm in the vague kind of handshake /they give when departing. This varies, according to the classe of establishment, from five to ten francs for every dance that has been accorded, or so much above that sum as one cares to give. They arc able, too, to pick up private pupils for the hours in the morning and early afternoon, when they are not otherwise working, and as the lowest fee for a private lesson lasting an hour is 100 f., they are able to make quite a good living, all the more so as modern dances, apart altogether' from the diabolical Charleston, exercises a kind of infatuation over the unfortunates who decide in a rash moment to learn them, for, no matter how many lessons one takes, one never arrives at a stage when it is possible to feel that one really knows something about them, and so one takes more lessons and goes still

more often to the dansant or restaurant where one's dancer is working in order to practise what one has learnt. It is a vicious circle which leads nowhere except into the pocket of the suave professional dancer.