The detailed movements of this tribal dance are of no great moment. What is of interest is the robust expression which they give to the virile impulses of an untamed race, not yet sapped by civilisation of its vigour. The movements, violent in themselves, are executed with a vehemence and energy significant in its savage spontaneity. One has a sense of latent joy in violence, of every shape and form, for violence’ own sake. Without the songs which should accompany them, the dances suffer some detraction. They represent the furthest extreme from formality to which the dance can go, and the tremendous exuberance which inspires them seems to demand an extra outlet. As one watches the violent gymnastics of Adolf Bolm, of Fedorowa and the rest, it seems astounding (and inappropriate) that they should indulge such boisterous vigour in silence. In fact, one wonders how they keep themselves from shouting! Not even Borodin’s fiercely martial music supplies the deficiency. If ever there was an occasion when dance and song should be one, this is it.