“There are very few documents treating of the subject, but it seems to me that it should be easy, if one put oneself into the state of mind that prompted the dances in times past, to reproduce them to-day with similar action and movement. If the custom still existed of dancing at funerals, a little reflection will show that the dances would have to suggest and express sadness, despair, grief, agony, resignation and hope. All this can be expressed by motions and hence by the dance. The only question is whether the dancer should express the grief she feels at the loss of a loved one, or if she should reveal to the people who are in mourning resignation and the hope of a future life. In other words, pantomime should be a sort of silent music, a harmony of motions adapted to the situation, for there is harmony in everything--harmony of sounds (which is music), harmony of colours, harmony of ideas, harmony of motions.” We talked for a long time about these dances, and the princess asked me: “Shall we be able to appreciate pictures of this kind when you come to dance at the palace?” I replied that I was thinking of dances of this sort when I wrote to her, for these reconstructions would naturally interest her beyond what she had seen at the theatre. Then the princess asked me a thousand other questions and we were so absorbed in our conversation that her luncheon waited more than an hour for her. The evening when I danced at the palace I supposed that the princess would be alone, for we had agreed, as I have already explained, that the children were not to be present at my performance. They were not present, as a matter of fact, but the princess had invited the King and the Queen and all their retinue, limiting the invitations strictly to habitués of the court. When I saw the crowd of guests, I could not help wondering how they were going to seat everybody. We had chosen the dining-hall in which to place an improvised stage, and I had brought two electricians in order to be prepared, if the princess wished me to do so, to present one or two of my radiant dances. The court pianist, in the meantime, had instructed me in some of Carmen Sylva’s songs. The evening entertainment began with expressions in pantomime and dance of several of those songs. It was nine o’clock. At one o’clock in the morning I was still dancing; but I felt myself so utterly exhausted that I had to stop. The princess observed my fatigue and came to me. “What selfishness on our part not to have thought earlier of how tired you must be!” “Oh, I am so pleased that it seems to me I could go on for ever, if I could only get a minute’s rest. You are the one who must be tired.” Supper had been waiting for a long time, and the performance ended then and there.