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At the Milwaukee Rep, I did a play called “Cat Among the Pigeons,” which is a Feydeau farce, and I played the ingénue in that, or the soubrette.

The other lady of the ensemble, a svelte twilight soubrette, objects to my having, so to speak, photographed her in her old housecoat.

Poetry, the soubrette declares, is “an inflammation of the mental bursa/Where verse becomes your vice — and vice-a-versa.”

“You have your soubrettes, your tall dancers and so forth — you wouldn’t put her in ‘Diamonds,’ you would put her in ‘Rubies.’

French maids and majorettes, soubrettes and harlequins: With such a cast of characters, the ballets danced by the Suzanne Farrell Ballet shared a retro look and an abundance of whimsy.