“From the above comparison we may fairly conclude that the art of Dancing has in itself all that is necessary to speak the best language, but that it is not enough to be acquainted only with its alphabet. Let the man of genius put the letters together, form the words, and from these produce regular sentences; the art shall no longer be mute, but speak with true energy, and the ballets will share with the best dramatic pieces the peculiar advantage of exciting the tenderest feelings; nay, of receiving the tribute of a tear; while, in a less serious style, this art will please, entertain and charm the spectators. Dancing thus ennobled by the expression of sentiment, and under the direction of a man of true genius, will, in time, obtain the praises which the enlightened world bestows on poetry and painting, and become entitled to the rewards with which the latter are daily honoured.” The closing lines of the above are so curiously prophetic one questions whether we have not already reached the period when an “enlightened world” bestows on dancing--at any rate on dancers--the “rewards” with which poetry and painting have been (or ought to have been) hitherto honoured. CHAPTER XXI GUIMARD THE GRAND: 1743-1816 For some thirty of Madeleine Guimard’s seventy-three years of life she was the idol of Paris, having risen from obscurity to power, and returned again from a joyous life set in high places to a lonely death in obscurity. Authorities differ, as authorities so often do over the advent of new stars in the firmament of life, as to the date of Guimard’s birth. One says the 2nd, and another the 10th, and yet a third the 20th of October. Edmond de Goncourt--not infallible on other points--gives the date of her baptism correctly as December 27th, 1743. She made her _début_ before the Parisian public when she was about sixteen, at the Comédie Française. She was received into the Academy in 1762, at the age of nineteen, and at a salary of six hundred livres. In face she was not beautiful; some have described her even as ugly. She certainly had not Sophie Arnould’s shrewish wit, though she had humour; but her gestures, her face, above all her expressive eyes spoke eloquently, her dancing seemed ever the true and spirited expression of sentiments really felt, and in whatsoever _rôle_ she was always brilliant, entrancing. She had that glamour which makes up for lack of looks, and had, too, caprice of mood and a commanding manner, both qualities which susceptible men find adorable.