Louis Roney: A girl on her toes

Heide was a ravishingly beautiful girl who was most satisfied when she first put on ballet shoes and learned to dance on her toes. Long ago, I met her in the canteen of a German opera house where I was singing Don José in “Carmen.” Every time I looked in the direction where she sat onstage, Heide smiled at me.

Finally she spoke to me one day as I was on the way to my dressing room.

“Herr Roney” she said to me, “my parents live about a half-hour away, and I would like to invite you to have dinner one evening with us in our home.”

To be invited into peoples homes in Germany is a great compliment and honor. I told her that I would check my schedule to see when I could come, and thanked her profusely. After that, I spent many lovely evenings in her family’s home.

Heide’s parents had divorced long ago and her stepfather, Herr Braun, and she, had bonded in a truly affectionate father/daughter relationship.

A year later, when I was at home in my Heidelberg apartment, Herr Braun telephoned me. “Herr Roney,” he said, “would you be kind enough to tell me how you feel about our daughter Heide? ”

“She is a remarkably attractive young woman,” I said. “You and Frau Braun must be very proud of her.”

“Well,” he went on, “We know that Heide is quite beautiful, and is a very dedicated ballerina.”

“Yes! She is that!” I said.

“Herr Roney, she has told us that she cares for you a great deal. I would be happy to welcome you into our family’s future if that be your wish.”

“That is complimentary indeed,” I said.

“Herr Roney, Frau Braun and I would like to know if your feelings for Heide are such that you could contemplate a future with her someday.”

“Herr Braun,” I answered, “I have given that idea much thought, and I have taken into consideration the history of Heide’s life since she and I met more than a year ago. Herr Braun, I was shocked to learn of Heide’s constant thoughts of suicide. Such a beautiful and talented person with such a fine family – that she could even imagine doing-away with herself seems incongruous!”

“Herr Roney, we had imagined that when she had a strong friendship with you, that included her in your future, she would put away her negative fixations.”

“But, Herr Braun,” I said, “Heide’s actions have proved to us all that she is bent on destroying herself. When I recently went to Paris to sing and told her I would be back in less than a week, and to behave herself, she promised me she would do nothing foolish. On my return, I found that she was in the hospital recovering from taking a whole bottle of sleeping pills. When I went to see her there, she wept as she told me, ‘I don’t know why I did it, I just wanted to end it all even though I knew you were coming back in just a few days.’”

“I know, I know,” Herr Braun replied sadly, letting the subject drop.

One more time before I returned to the U.S., Heide was rescued from another overdose of pills. I talked to her repeatedly about all she had to live for, her great success as a prima ballerina, and how lucky she was to have a loving family of comfortable means to ensure her future.

“I don’t know why I do it, ” she said, “I just have the urge to put an end to my life and I can’t seem to resist it.”

“I am hoping you recognize and control your ideas of destroying yourself,” I said, “and if you can do this, as soon as I return, we might well discuss a future together.”

The next time I was in New York, I got a transatlantic call from Heide’s brother who told me, “Herr Roney, Heide was dancing with the Vienna Staatsoper this week and I am sorry to tell you she went on the roof of the opera house and jumped off – a very high roof....”

What more can I say, that Heide kept her word? To whom? Herself? Or me? Or her family?

Very surely, there is “a will to die” as well as “a will to live.” If I had married her I would now still be trying to figure out why Heide’s “will to die” triumphed over her career, her loving family and a possible life together with me.

Maybe tragedy provides its own logic.