There follows not only an enchanting _pas de deux_ by Columbine and Harlequin, but some delicious pantomime between the two. Harlequin makes as if to lay his heart at Columbine’s feet (he verily seems to pluck it from his bosom and place it before her): she receives the tribute with becoming favour, and retiring to one of the sofas in the background, continues the flirtation. Whilst the pair are still seated, there trip on to the stage some score of couples, and amongst them Pierrot, once more animated, and again seeking vainly to capture Papillon. His new attempt is no more successful than his first, and in the dance to which all abandon themselves he alone is partnerless. [Illustration] In some degree inspired out of his melancholy, however, Pierrot capers awkwardly amongst the rest, till Harlequin and Columbine spy a chance for further mischief. They join him in the dance, one on either side, and seizing an opportunity when Pantalon, as undeterred by his first rebuff as a moth whose wings are only singed, is hovering near, they throw the two into collision, deftly envelop them with Pierrot’s long sleeves, and secure the grotesque partnership with a hasty knot. As the curtain descends the two victims of their gay malice are seen stumbling in each other’s clutch amidst the mockery of the dancing throng. [Illustration] CLÉOPÂTRE. CHOREOGRAPHIC DRAMA IN ONE ACT BY MICHEL FOKINE. MUSIC BY ARENSKY, TANEIEV, RIMSKY-KORSAKOV, GLINKA AND GLAZOUNOV. SCENES AND DANCES BY MICHEL FOKINE. SCENERY AND COSTUMES DESIGNED BY LÉON BAKST. It is the supreme merit of “Cléopâtre” that it is of an even and sustained excellence throughout. All concerned in its production and performance have surpassed themselves, but since each has risen equally to the occasion there are no outstanding features to distract the balance of the whole. The result is merely the elevation of the latter to a very high artistic level. It will be agreed that few subjects more suggestive and inspiring could be found than Cleopatra. For colour, movement and dramatic intensity the legend of the Egyptian queen affords opportunities which have in no wise been allowed to slip. Léon Bakst has done nothing more largely fine than the spacious temple in the desert by the Nile, the deep tawny grandeur of which, broad and simple, provides a proper setting for the splendid, gem-like brilliance of Cleopatra’s train. Here is enacted, against a background of choric dances that have more than a conventional significance, one of those fierce passionate episodes which the Russians so vividly present.