Edgar Degas’ Little Dancer and the Artifice of Virtue

I clearly remember my first exposure to Edgar Degas’ wax sculptures of ballerinas. As a high school graduation gift, my parents sent me on a student trip to France. At 18, I’d heard of the word Impressionism and, being an avid student of dance, I’d seen some of Degas’ behind-the-scenes paintings of dancers adjusting their tutus and rubbing their feet. But that day, as I entered the Jeu de Paume (then dedicated to the work of French Impressionists), I had little idea what to expect.

Lost to memory are the other works of art I saw that day. Nor do I recall thousands of works seen since—entire museums reduced to a vague recollection of light and space. But those modest sculptures by Degas highjacked my adolescent attention like Freddy Mercury leading a chant to Radio Gaga. I was mesmerized.

What struck me was the timelessness of the figures. The same might be said of Degas’ 2D canvasses. But, there was something about the crudeness of the sculptures and perhaps the ability to study them from every conceivable angle that amplified their effect on me. To my surprise, Degas’ interpretation of dancer behaviors, gestures, and postures felt strikingly similar to those I’d witnessed countless times in ballet studios situated thousands of miles and over a century away. There was an uncanny familiarity in Degas’ work that seemed to reduce each figure’s posture to a pre-programmed and inescapable by-product of human expression.

So, last summer, when friends wanted to read a book based on the life of the young model who posed for Degas’ statue La Petite danseuse de quatorze ans, I was more than happy to join them. The girl’s name was Marie Van Goethem, the middle of three sisters whose poverty-stricken parents saw in their children a means of survival. All three modeled for Degas and all three were ballet students at the Paris Opera, where they earned money for performing various roles—both onstage and off.

La Petite Danseuse de Quatorze Ans

As it turns out, I can’t recommend the book which is filled with melodramatic speculation, absurd comparisons, and the author’s overflowing angst after failing to uncover any new information about her subject. However, in sloshing through the tear-soaked prose, I learned what few details remain of Marie’s life and, rather more shockingly, that the Paris Opera during the last half of the 19th century was little more than a high-class brothel.

Not much is known about Marie’s life outside of the Opera House, which also housed a school of dance. Her money-strapped family resided in a long string of addresses, possibly moving to escape creditors or other more sinister forms of trouble. The neighborhoods were squalid and according to art historian Martine Kahane, children who resided in these areas spent little time inside the ill-equipped hovels serving as shelter.

Boys were often able to find jobs that were lucrative enough to at least pay for their upkeep. A family with three girls, however, would have been particularly strained keeping everyone clothed and fed. Prostitution was seen as a last resort in most circles but for many, it represented the only way to survive. A much safer career path could be had at the Paris Opera.

Young girls were typically accepted to the ballet school around the age of 9. Due to the potential to earn money, however, competition for a spot was stiff. Similarly to today, a girl’s mother played a pivotal role in securing a position for her daughter. Madame Van Goethem, who was widowed around the time Marie entered the school, seems to have been particularly skillful in this regard.

A Friendly Foyer

Acceptance to the school, however, was hardly a golden ticket. Most of the young recruits came from impoverished households, dressed in rags, and were malnourished. Nicknamed the petits rats, these urchins only became apprentices and received payment after years of intense training and expensive exams that if passed, might lead to long-term contracts. In the meantime, the rat’s mother searched for every conceivable way to keep her daughter in tights. One of the surest forms of support was attracting a patron—a wealthy male who would take a special interest in her child.

It was no secret that rich men who subscribed to the Opera were purchasing access to a sordid marketplace that took place behind the scenes. When architect Charles Garnier designed the iconic opera house that sits in the heart of Paris, he included a lavish foyer that was only accessible to season ticket holders. Here dancers would warm up before the performance while their ogling patrons sized them up and made plans for an after-party.

Hushed Money

It’s evident from his artwork that Degas frequently visited the Opera and its stringent school of dance, but Degas’ personal journals note his regular habit of bringing young dancers to his home. Many of Degas’ contemporaries also noticed and wrote about the impressionist’s work patterns and conduct. One such observer was Gustave Coquiot, an art critic and author who claimed that so many ballerinas and young dancers were coming and going from Degas’ studio that police were called to look into the matter.

Marie’s older sister, Antoinette, began modeling for Degas when she was around 12 but she was never a prominent figure in any of his works. Nor did she gain a contract with the Opera. Her limited chance to perform as an extra slowly dwindled over time and it’s known she became a prostitute and served jail time for stealing from one of her clients. She died at the age of 37.

In contrast, Degas’ representation of Marie in La Petite danseuse de quatorze ans is arguably the artist’s most applauded sculpture. Before his death, Degas had requested that all of his sculptures be destroyed. The figurines were largely unknown and Degas wanted them to remain that way. The only figure he’d ever exhibited was La Petite danseuse de quatorze ans, and the critics had hated it. They compared Marie to a monkey and one wrote that she had a face “on which all the vices imprint their detestable promises, the mark of a particularly vicious character”. [“où tous les vices impriment leurs détestables promesses, marque d’un caractère particulièrement vicieux”]

Marie also managed to snag a contract with the ballet, but one that lay at the bottom of the pay scale. Sadly, she was dismissed within two years. While the Opera maintained records of disciplinary measures, absences, and illnesses, none were recorded for Marie so it’s unclear why she was let go. However, six months before she was given the boot, an article appeared in the French newspaper L’Événement, which noted that Marie had been spotted with Antoinette, frequenting two undesirable taverns. Perhaps Marie’s gravest error was allowing private matters to fall under public scrutiny.

At the age of 15, Marie disappeared without further trace. Her name is absent from every form of meticulous record-keeping conducted in France and Belgium. No marriage license, no birth of a child, no arrest record, no death certificate, no anecdotal sightings from newspaper articles or personal diaries. Even Degas’ journals fail to mention her, though the artist continued to create new renditions of la petite danseuse.

Compassion or Condemnation

While Marie and her classmates were horribly exploited, I hesitate to pity them or to condemn their managerial mothers. Given the abject poverty and cruelty of living in the Paris streets, a position in the ballet was understandably viewed as an exceptional opportunity rather than a ticket to ruin. Ultimately, some of the dancers became long-standing members of the corps de ballet. Marie’s younger sister Charlotte is one of the lucky ones who not only advanced to prima ballerina but went on to become ballet mistress, training new generations.

Similarly, Marie’s mother was also employed by the Opera and official records list Madame Van Goethem’s place of death, at age 70, as the Palais Garnier. Maybe she was there to watch her youngest daughter rehearse or perhaps she was still lending a hand backstage. Regardless of the circumstances, her last breath took place in a location that likely made her and Charlotte’s relatively long lives possible. Some might view her actions as unconscionable but there’s a good argument to be made that she chose the best path available to her fatherless family.

It’s worth noting that Antoinette’s only recorded act of thievery took place days after Marie’s dismissal. One can assume that the theft was directly linked to the family’s reduction in reliable income. For the rest of their lives, none of the Van Goethem women were ever arrested. Given their station in society and the mores of the day, one might describe their conduct as restrained, even admirable.

Perhaps the sordid details of Marie’s existence and the possibility of sexual abuse should change the way I view Degas’ wax dancers. But I prefer to think of them as I originally did—as ageless representations of young women wrestling with the excruciating demands of an impossible art.