Before the war Paris went crazy over dances from South America: the Argentine _tango_, the Chilean _zamacueca_, the Brazilian _maxixe_, the Paraguayan _santafé_. Compliments to Diaghileff, Nijinsky (“the pure geometry” of dancing), and Isadora Duncan, “whose art has many points of contact with impressionism in painting, just as Nijinsky’s has with the forms and masses of Cézanne.” Under the influence of Cubist experiments, and particularly under the influence of Picasso, dancing became an autonomous art. It was no longer subject to music, but took its place. Kind words for Dalcroze; but “we Futurists prefer Loie Fuller and the nigger cake-walk (utilization of electric light and machinery).” Machinery’s the thing! “We must have gestures imitating the movements of motors, pay assiduous court to wings, wheels, pistons, prepare the fusion of man and machine, and so arrive at the metallism of Futurist dancing. Music is fundamentally nostalgic, and on that account rarely of any use in Futurist dancing. Noise, caused by friction and shock of solid bodies, liquids, or high-pressure gases, has become one of the most dynamic elements of Futurist poesy. Noise is the language of the new human-mechanical life.” So Futurist dancing will be accompanied by “organized noises” and the orchestra of “noise-makers” invented by Luigi Russolo. Finally, Futurist dancing will be:— Inharmonious—Ungraceful—Asymmetrical—Dynamic—_Motlibriste_. All this, of course, is as plain as a pikestaff. The Futurist aim is simply to run counter to tradition, to go by rule of contrary, to say No when everybody for centuries has been saying Yes, and Yes when everybody has been saying No. But when it comes to putting this principle into practice we see at once there are limitations. Thus, take the Marinetti’s first example, the “Aviation” dance. The dancer will dance on a big map (which would have pleased the late Lord Salisbury). She must be a continual palpitation of azure veils. On her breast she will wear a (celluloid) screw, and for her hat a model monoplane. She will dance before a succession of screens, bearing the announcements 800 metres, 500 metres, etc. She will leap over a heap of green stuffs (indicating a mountain). “Organized noises” will imitate rain and wind and continual interruptions of the electric light will simulate lightning, while the dancer will jump through hoops of pink paper (sunset) and blue paper (night). And so forth. Was there ever such a lame and impotent conclusion? The new dancing, so pompously announced, proves to be nothing but the crude symbolism to be seen already in every Christmas pantomime—nay, in every village entertainment or “vicar’s treat.” And we never guessed, when our aunts took us to see the good old fun, that we were witnessing something dynamic and _motlibriste!_