In Russia the ballet has never been allowed, as elsewhere, to die of starvation and inanition. Apart from State encouragement of the dancer’s art, an outlet has been provided for the musician and the decorative painter and designer. The result is that a ballet, as understood in Russia, is no mere excuse for the exploitation of individual talents, but a work of art in itself, to the achievement of which the energies and abilities of all concerned are subordinated. Undoubtedly it is the unity of purpose, the wonderful _ensemble_, which the Russian ballets exhibit that catches the imagination of the spectator. It is significant that their best performances are those which are wholly, or at least in chief part, of native production, and deal with native or closely kindred subjects. Indeed, for their success in attaining coherence and unity the Russians have to thank, perhaps, their comparative isolation and remoteness from Western European civilisation. Their art is strong because native. Endorsement of this suggestion is to be found in the virility of the Russian operas of Moussorgsky and Rimsky-Korsakov, which made as profound an impression on their first performance in London as did the Russian ballets before them. Beside such works of art as “Boris Godounov,” “La Khovantchina,” and “Ivan the Terrible,” the modern French and Italian operas seem pitifully patched and thin, sadly lacking in balance and proportion. Except for the framework on which it is constructed, the modern dramatic ballet, as evolved by the Russians, bears little resemblance to that in which Noverre delighted. The latter’s method, indeed, was fundamentally the opposite to that by which such a man as Michel Fokine proceeds. It was Noverre’s habit to lay impertinent hands on any theme, no matter how august, and twist it (regardless of mutilation) to his purpose--which was to exhibit his dancer’s skill. Not even the tragedy of Æschylus was safe if Clytæmnestra seemed to the complacent chevalier a _rôle_ in which his latest pupil might agreeably air her graces. The Russian method is the converse; its aim is to interpret the theme by gestures and the dance, not forcibly adapt it to the irrelevant requirements of a dancer’s special repertoire. It would be ridiculous to suggest that this aim is always successfully achieved--there are occasions when it falls a long way short of accomplishment--but at least the principle is right, and under Fokine the Russian Ballet has brought dancing the nearest yet to a fine art.