Modern dancing and dancersFlitch, J. E. Crawford (John Ernest Crawford)
History
Modern dancing and dancers
Flitch, J. E. Crawford (John Ernest Crawford)
Ballet; Dance; Dancers
The idea of the dance--the choregraphic design--is sometimes suggested
to her by music, by fragments from the works of Delibes, Chopin,
Tchaikovsky or Saint-Saëns; sometimes it is hinted in a chance sight or
incident of everyday life; sometimes it springs into being independently
of any external impulse, as spontaneously as a melody is conceived in
the musician’s or an image in the poet’s mind. _Le Cygne_, which she
dances to the music of Saint-Saëns, owed its origin to a walk with M.
Fokine in a park in St Petersburg. Seeing some swans floating upon the
water, M. Fokine remarked to Madame Pavlova that it would be easy for
her with her supple and slender throat to take the graceful motion of
the bird as the theme of one of her dances. Her figure has something of
the easy dignity of the swan, and in the gliding motions, to the
accompaniment of the cool music of Saint-Saëns, she is perhaps more at
ease
[Illustration: PAVLOVA AND MORDKIN
_Photograph: Foulsham & Banfield, Ltd._]
than in those passages which demand a more stormy energy. In this dance
she represents with singular beauty the proud carriage of that remote
bird, its swooning death and its sudden collapse into lifelessness. It
displays her skill in the difficult act of falling; she sinks to earth
without any suggestion of arrangement or preparedness, ceasing to dance
as swiftly and silently as a flame may cease to burn, her limbs failing
her, as though her body had actually resigned its spirit.
Her interpretation of Strauss’s _Blue Danube_ is a perfect
personification of the river-spirit. From beginning to end it sounds a
clear note of joy and untrammelled life. Pavlova dances it in her freest
style; the pirouette and the entrechat have no part in this simulation
of the triumphing flood. All the phases of the river’s moods live in her
dancing--its strong, pulsating race in mid-torrent, its bursts of
sky-flung spray, its quiet dalliance in secret, wood-browned pools, its
gentle play with the entangling weeds, its smooth descents over the
breasting rocks ending in a laughing and ecstatic tumult.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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