The Rowe Sisters, Paris 1929 — Photograph by Victor Console
In this striking image by Victor Console, we glimpse Pauline and Betty Rowe — the enigmatic twin dancers who dazzled Paris in the roaring 1920s. Known to their adoring fans as “the Greyhounds of Paris,” the sisters moved with a speed and elegance that made them unforgettable. But who were they really? English? American? Their true origins remain a mystery.
The man behind the lens, Victor Console, was no ordinary photographer. Born in Italy in 1886, raised in London, and later naturalized as British, Console first cut his teeth at the London News Agency before the First World War swept him into service as an aerial photographer with the Royal Flying Corps. After the armistice, he became the official photographer for the 1919 Paris Peace Conference — a role that opened doors to the glittering world of European politics, fashion, and theatre.
From 1920, Console headed the Daily Mail’s Paris office, where his ingenuity gave the paper a ten-hour lead over its rivals by arranging for early printing in France. His tireless drive helped push circulation to nearly half a million copies on the continent — and during the war years, the Mail even reached five million a day.
Behind his camera, Console captured moments that defined an era: Charles Lindbergh’s triumphant arrival in Paris, the turbulence of the Spanish Civil War, the glamour of French fashion houses. In 1932, he was awarded the Légion d’Honneur for his coverage of the war in Bulgaria.
And yet, among his vast catalogue of work, this portrait of the Rowe Sisters remains especially compelling. Their careers soared after a celebrated appearance at Brussels’ Alhambra Theatre, with Parisian papers breathlessly reporting that the city awaited their return. Still, despite their popularity, they never quite reached headliner status. Betty’s marriage to French screen idol Henri Garat — met by chance on a Riviera train — marked the end of their stage career.
Garat himself lived a life as dazzling as it was destructive: matinee idol, cocaine addict, serial husband, eventual outcast. His fall from glory was so stark that by the end, audiences no longer recognized the once-shining star. He died in obscurity in 1959.
Console, too, would fade from the spotlight, spending his final years in Cornwall before passing away in 1941.
But the Rowe Sisters — forever caught mid-pose in Console’s 1929 photograph — continue to hold our gaze. Their story, like so many from the glittering yet fragile world of interwar Paris, leaves us wondering: what other secrets lie behind the camera?