NATIONAL DANCES.
Just as the Spanish have their Mauzai, the Hindoos their Nautch girls, the Japanese that remarkable dance travellers have written so frequently and so much about, and each country its own particular sway or whirl, so this country seems to have taken kindly to the ballet. When a ballet dancer—one of the famous dancers of the beginning of the century—presented herself for the first time to an Albany, New York, audience, the ladies rushed from the stage and there was almost a panic. But it did not take long to accustom the Albanians to the undraped drama, and they are as fond of it now as any of the rest of the not over-scrupulous people of the country. Not so many years ago, there was a ballet every night in the first-class variety theatres; now there are few, except in the East, that have this feature, and for this reason—the abandonment of it in the West and South—the people who draw conclusions from everything they see and hear cry out that the ballet is dying out. This is not so. The ballet has been dropped from the list of attractions in the West, because the managers thought it too costly an institution for them to carry and not because the people did not want it. Some of the best paying theatrical investments of the day are based upon the fascinating and drawing qualities of a displayed female limb. Burlesque with its blonde attributes kept the country in a rage for many years, and the reason why it is so rare now is that comic opera and the minor musical attractions of the quasi legitimate stage have usurped its principal feature—the leg show—and under the cover of art get the patronage of people who would shun burlesques, and at the same time supply the demand of about three-fourths of the male persuasion who are as fond of as much anatomy in pink tights as the law will allow them. If any one thinks the ballet is on the decay just let him wait until such an attraction is announced in his neighborhood and then stand back and count as the bald-headed brigade goes to the front.
And for those who take any interest in the ballet, or care to hear anything about the women who have become famous as dancers, the following bit of history which I found in Gleason's Pictoral for 1854 will be very agreeable reading: "A recent performance at her majesty's theatre in London has been signalized by an event unparalleled in theatrical annals, and one which, some two score years hence, may be handed down to a new generation by garrulous septuagenarians as one of the most brilliant reminiscences of days gone by. The appearance of four such dancers as Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi and Lucile Grahn, on the same boards and in the same pas, is truly what the French would call "une solemnite theatrale," and such a one as none of those who beheld it are likely to witness again. It was therefore as much a matter of curiosity as of interest, to hurry to the theatre to witness this spectacle; but every other feeling was merged in admiration when the four great dancers commenced the series of picturesque groupings with which this performance opens. Perhaps a scene was never witnessed more perfect in all its details. The greatest of painters, in his loftiest flights, could hardly have conceived, and certainly never executed, a group more faultless and more replete with grace and poetry than that formed by these four danseuses. Taglioni in the midst, her head thrown backwards, apparently reclining in the arms of her sister nymphs. Could such a combination have taken place in the ancient palmy days of art, the pencil of the painter and the pen of the poet would have alike been employed to perpetuate its remembrance. No description can render the exquisite, and almost ethereal grace of movement and attitude of these great dancers, and those who have witnessed the scene, may boast of having once, at least, seen the perfection of the art of dancing so little understood. There was no affectation, no apparent exertion or struggle for effect on the part of these gifted artistes; and though they displayed their utmost resources, there was a simplicity and ease, the absence of which would have completely broken the spell they threw around the scene. Of the details of this performance it is difficult to speak. In the solo steps executed by each danseuse, each in turn seemed to claim pre-eminence. Where every one in her own style is perfect, peculiar individual taste alone may balance in favor of one or the other, but the award of public applause must be equally bestowed; and the penchant for the peculiar style, and the admiration for the dignity, the repose and the exquisite grace which characterize Taglioni, and the dancer who has so brilliantly followed the same track (Lucile Grahn), did not prevent the warm appreciation of the charming archness and twinkling steps of Carlotta Grisi, or the wonderful flying leaps and revolving bounds of Cerito. Though each displayed her utmost powers, the emulation of the fair dancers was unaccompanied by envy. Every time a shower of boquets descended on the conclusion of a solo pas of one or the other of the fair ballerine, her sister dancers came forward to assist her in collecting them. The applause was universal and equally distributed. This, however, did not take from the excitement of the scene. The house, crowded to the roof, presented a concourse of the most eager faces, never diverted, for a moment, from the performance; and the extraordinary tumult of enthusiastic applause, joined to the delightful effect of the spectacle presented, imparted to the whole scene an interest and excitement that can hardly be imagined by those not present."
MARION ELMORE.
CHAPTER XVI.
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES.
About a week before the date of the opening of a spectacular play at any metropolitan theatre an advertisement reading something like this appears in the want columns of the daily papers:—