Dear Sir, - Once again I am afraid I have to apologise for a long delay in sending you a further instalment of my new story, the first part of which I sent you some time ago. I am sure you don't want to be bothered with a long explanation, but briefly this is the cause.
You had rather spoiled me in the past by using my work shortly after I had sent it; and as for a long time I had no news of the instalments I sent, I took it that perhaps you were not using this particular story. I laid it aside in consequence, and then when eventually I did see your very nice references to the story in reply to questions by several correspondents, I was unable to return to it for the time being, owing to pressure from other work. However, I hope to finish it within a reasonable time.
It has, by the way, been very gratifying to me to note that despite my long absence from the paper, readers still refer to my work and ask for my stories. I see, too, that there has been quite a demand recently for the republication of the story I think my best in this vein - "At the Moignon D'Or." I should very much like to see it in print again myself, specially if Miss Stanton could be induced to enhance it with a set of her admirable illustrations.
There is, if I may make a further suggestion, another effort of mine the republication of which might be welcomed by your very many new readers interested in this particular topic, as well as by the older brigade. That is "The Confessions of a Monopede Bride," which was, as I gathered, very much appreciated at time of its publication in your columns, far its truthful and unexaggerated record of actual experience. (The one-legged bride of the narrative is still a very happy, attractive, and much-admired wife!)
Apropos all of this, it may be of interest that some revelations of mine in the last series I did for "London Life" ("The Strange Adventures of a Lover") have just been borne out in an article entitled "Queer Human Nightbirds of Paris," that appeared in an American Sunday paper. In that article all kinds of queer, out-of-the-way people who are to be found in the Paris streets and night haunts are discussed; and prominent among them is "Mdlle. Pierette," a young and attractive "fille de joie" known as the "One-legged Venus."
Pierette attractively dressed, supported by neat crutches, is to be found parading the boulevards at night, and has, so the article states, a very large clientele of admirers. A photograph of the lady reveals her as quite pretty and well dressed, standing supported by slimly built crutches, with her one shapely limb displayed beneath a short skirt, and a neat, extremely high-heeled slipper on her small foot.
It would be interesting if you could reproduce this article, at least in part, and the photograph, in "London Life," as many readers may have doubted the existence of such women, and the article bears out what I have stated in this connection in your columns.
Among other interesting facts given is that at one time Pierette consented to wear an artificial leg bought for her by an admirer. But she found that friends fell of so considerably that very soon she went back to crutches!
Another extraordinary revelation is that a large painting of Pierette in the nude, revealing her single leg, caused a sensation (as well as it might) when it was exhibited in the Salons des Independants in February of this year. And finally it is stated that a number of other one-legged "filles," envious of Pierette's great success, are now to be found following her lead in the night clubs. All of which goes to show that this inexplicable "limbless-complex" is much more widespread than is imagined by the ordinary individual.
On the whole, the article gives the facts as its writer knows them, but he is certainly wrong in one of his implications. I know Pierette quite well by sight - in fact, the little, smartly dressed brunette is a familiar sight to most night clubites of Paris, but she is by no means the first of her kind to appear in Paris, as the article I have quoted seems to suggest. I myself have known of several others before her time, but they frequented the better-class restaurants and night clubs.
There was J., well known in Montmartre just after the war, a red-headed Jewess, very good-looking, though not particularly young and rather Junoesque in figure. She was quite legless, and her favourite trick was, while sitting with her friends at a table - which, of course, hid her deficiency - to allow a stranger to ask her to dance. She would then throw her arms boisterously round his neck, and he would naturally respond by putting an arm about her and so lift her, as he thought, to her feet. When at last discovered, with a shock, that this would-be dancing partner was quite legless, J. would drop back in her chair and go off into paroxysms of laughter at what appeared to her the funniest joke in the world!
S., a very pretty one-legged blonde, was another well-known figure in certain Paris cabarets and night haunts about the same time, and had a large circle of male admirers. S.'s most famous stunt was dancing both solo and with a partner, in each case, of course, without a crutch - she used only a single crutch at any time, by the way. She was uncannily agile and sure-footed on her single leg, and though she fell now and then, she always managed to save herself from serious injury, and usually shouted with laughter as she scrambled up again.
It was undoubtedly she who gave me the idea for the character "La Belle Monopede," the one-legged dancer who was featured in my series of stories, "The Tattooed Butterfly," "At The Moignon D'Or," and "Dr. Nicholas," all of which appeared in your columns some years ago.
S. always maintained that she infinitely preferred being one-legged and that she got a lot of fun out of it. She always hotly resented pitying references to her loss. But I don't think anybody quite believed her story that she had to have her leg amputated to please a wealthy admirer.
Which reminds me that there was always floating round Paris in those days the extraordinary legend that a wealthy young boulevardier had persuaded a young and very beautiful Folies Bergere dancer to undergo amputation of both arms at the shoulder, and both legs at the hips, and then married her and settled a large fortune for her.
The legend was, of course, of extremely doubtful authenticity, but it obviously arose from the fact that at all the most fashionable theatrical "premieres" a notable figure was a young and pretty girl who arrived in a big, luxurious limousine and was carried into the theatre by a handsome young man always immaculately dressed.
This girl was certainly without legs entirely, as I was able to assure myself on more than one occasion, her thin frocks always hanging slack and empty from the hips in unmistakable fashion as she was carried in and out of the theatre. And it was generally agreed hat she also had no arms, and certainly none were ever seen to emerge from the flowered shawl or cape in which she was invariably wrapped.
She was never seen at any of the usual restaurants or cabarets, and whether she was the famous armless and legless ex-dancer of the legend or, as I suspect, a girl born without limbs, remained an intriguing mystery.
I had, by the way, the interesting experience a few years ago of seeing an entirely legless girl of about twenty or so carried to the next stall to mine at a matinee performance at the Coliseum. she was carried by a man rather older than herself, thirty-fivish, I should say, and I was interested to note that the girl wore an engagement ring. She was perfectly cheerful and happy, and thoroughly enjoyed the show, smoking innumerable cigarettes and chatting gaily with her fiance, as I suppose he was, during intervals in the show. I saw her carried out after the performance, to a waiting car, her long, empty skirts trailing, smilingly unembarrassed by the attention she attracted.
Another character of mine, "Tina," the armless and one-legged beauty whom I first introduced in the series, "The Strange Quest of Anthony Drew," a few years ago, had also, astonishing as it may seem, her counterpart in the Paris of those years. She was a side-show celebrity, appearing at all the fairs round Paris and in the provinces.
I first saw her at the famous Neuilly Fair in the Paris suburbs and later at Luna Park and other places. She was billed "Princess Annette" and sometimes "La Belle Annette," and claimed, with reason I imagine, that she was the only one of her kind in the world on exhibition. She was attractive and chic rather than pretty, small and plump, a pronounced brunette of a Spanish type, and about 23 or 24 at that time.
She was quite armless, with rather prominent, but well-shaped rounded shoulder ends only remaining. And she had only one leg, her left, shapely, but rather muscular, after the style of a ballet dancer's leg.
She had been born without arms and had lost her right leg when about 17, in a curious way. She had at that time been giving an act in a lions' den as the only armless girl tamer, etc. The act was mostly fake as, of course, she was not a tamer, and a real tamer was always in the den with her during the show. But one night a lion turned on them both, severely injured the man, and so badly mauled her right leg that it had to be amputated.
The girls reaction to this loss, at any rate at the time I knew her, was sufficiently astonishing and unexpected. She said it had really turned out to be a good thing, as the fact that she was now one-legged as well as armless very much enhanced her value as a side-show performer, and gave her an odd pride in the fact that she was the only one of her particular type on exhibition. The fact that she had now only one limb did not appear to enter into the matter at all! She was a side-show star, netting a small fortune in salary and percentages; and though I never made the suggestion, I am quite sure that if I had asked her if she would not have preferred to be in possession of all her limbs, she would have regarded me as some kind of imbecile! Of course she was not alone in this attitude, inexplicably as it may be to the ordinary individual. You will find a like odd point of view in nearly all limbless side-show celebrities.
She gave a very interesting and varied show, appearing attractively clad in flesh-coloured silk tights, with tiny transparent lace sleeves very inadequately veiling the otherwise bare, armless shoulder ends. Her slipper of pink satin was of the heelless, flexible type worn by acrobats, and her tights were neatly mittened at the toe to leave the bare, long, well-kept toes free for use.
She did all the routine "Armless Lady" tricks - signed her autograph on postcard photographs of herself with her toes; poured out tea and conveyed the cup easily and flexibly to her lips; chose a cigarette from a box and placed it between her lips and lit it; went through her toilette, doing her hair, powdering and roughing her face, and a host of other stunts all done with perfect ease with her toes.
Then she played football with the assistant, a light, big balloon-like ball of thin rubber being used. She cleverly dodged her opponent (of course he was purposely awkward) as she hopped swiftly all over the little stage, and scored goal after goal.
Finally she gave a most creditable exhibition of a rifle shooting - the rifle supported on a small tripod, while she sat on a tall stool - using her toes to pull the trigger and hitting as many as three or four out of six celluloid balls thrown up by her assistant.
After her show she usually hopped down from the stage and mingled with her very interested and usually crowded audience, standing or hopping about with perfect ease and balance, joking with he crowd and answering all kind of questions about herself. And then she would sit by the exit on her tall stool and "shake hands" with anybody who wished as they went out, many of the gallant Frenchmen raising her bare toes to their lips as they bowed over her uplifted foot.
I became very friendly with her - she very soon sensed my very unusual interest in her - and when shortly after I met her, she took a few months' holiday from the fair, I was a frequent visitor at her charming apartment off the Champs d'Elysses. I was therefore able to see her at home as well as on show, and it was remarkable how little she was really affected by her lack of limbs. She was as active about the house as most girls, probably more active than most, and though she had a personal maid as well as other servants, she seemed to take an intense pleasure in doing everything she could herself.
She rarely, if ever, wore skirts at home - they would have been too much in the way - appearing usually in attractive trunks of satin or velvet, worn with charming silk blouses or jumpers. With a costume of this kind she ordinarily wore an opera-length silk stoking reaching to the hip and, of course, neatly mittened at the toe. All her ordinary slippers, of satin, or kid, or velvet, were made entirely without heels, so that she could hop about in safety. But she had one or two very high, spindle heels, which she wore sometimes when entertaining, and then, of course, only when she was seated. To move about, she would kick off such a slipper and hop cheerfully about on her stockinged foot.
At one time I treasured a number of letters written by her to me with her toes, and also several photographs of herself, signed by her in the same way, showing her, clad for the most part in the very dainty and attractive silk tights, performing one or other of her many feats with her toes.
And as I seem to be in the mood for confessing, I might as well admit that I also kept, as souvenirs, one of her long, mittened, silk stockings and a little flexible, heelless velvet slipper. Alas! all these things - letters, photographs and souvenirs went the way of all such mementos after I lost touch with her and other interests claimed me!
She disappeared from the fairs - and from my life - two or three years after I first met her. I had left Paris some little while before that. I am pretty sure she married, probably a wealthy man; but I never learnt. Anyhow, as far as I know, she is not appearing publicly anywhere to-day.
With best wishes for the continued success of "L. L,"
Yours sincerely,
Wallace Stort.