The Chaconne, like the Saraband, came to France from across the Pyrenees. The dance of the Seises in the Seville Cathedral is said to be a Chacona unchanged from its sixteenth-century form.
The Gaillarde is sometimes grouped with the Tordion, from which it differs in the respect that the theme of its steps is little jumps, while the Tordion is, for the most part, glided. One form of it, however, “Si je t’aime ou non,” contained some energetic kicks. Indeed, it was of a character to exercise heart and muscle; excellence in some of its steps “was looked upon as an accomplishment equal to riding or fencing.” To that form of it known as “Baisons-nous Belle” was attached interest of another variety, in the shape of kisses exchanged between partners. “A pleasant variation,” comments the venerable Thoinet-Arbeau. A variation employed to prevent monotony in some of the other dances as well, among them the early Gavotte.
The Courante was one of the more formal dances, never having been popular even in its origin. It was the Courante that was favoured by Louis XIV, during his many years of study under a dancing master. He is credited, before he was overtaken by the demon of adiposity, with having executed the Courante better than any one else of his time. In style it has been compared to the Seguidillas (q. v.) of Spain.
Of all, the dances most typical of the formality of the most formal society western civilisation has produced are the Minuet and the Pavane. Both might be characterised as variations of deep bows and curtsies. In the Pavane photographs it will be noted that instead of taking hold of her partner’s hand, the lady rests her hand on the back of his.
Hernando Cortez is said to have composed the Pavane (Spanish Pavana) and introduced it in the court of his land on returning from America. If so, he was a solemn person, as well as dignified; to the imposing grace of majesty the dance joins the aloof grandeur of a ritual. These qualities gave to it the office of opening great court functions. Brocades and armour and swords promenaded very slowly around the room, each couple making its reverence to the monarchs before proceeding to the steps of the dance. These were few, simple, and slow; there were many curtsies, retreats and advances, during which last the gentleman led the lady by the upraised hand, while following her. Poses and groups were held, statue-like, for a space of time that allowed them to impress themselves on the vision. So fond was Elizabeth of England of the Pavane (in writings of her land and period spelled Pavin and otherwise) that it was more than whispered that excellence in its performance was more valued than statesmanship as a basis of political favour.
The Minuet’s formality was graded. Le Menuet du Dauphin, le Menuet de la Reine, le Menuet d’Exaudet and le Menuet de la Cour were its four species, the stateliness increasing in the sequence mentioned. The accompanying Minuet photographs of Mr. Anderson and Miss Crawford are of the form de la Reine. The “mirror” figure is perhaps its most salient feature—a pretty bit of expression accompanying an interlacement of arms whose composition comes as a climax to strikingly ingenious and gracious arm movements.
The popularity of the Minuet, in its various forms, was practically unlimited; lonely and cheerless indeed must have been the social life of the man who did not dance. After the decline of the Pavane it continued as an inseparable adjunct of gatherings of all degrees of conventionality within the scope of a polite mode of living. At court balls, at the romping Christmas parties of English country places; in the remote homes of Virginia planters, at governor-generals’ receptions, in the palaces of intendants in the far North it saluted, made coquetry with fan and eye, incarnated in gallant figures the brave and reverent spirit of chivalry. Pictures represent its performance in home surroundings during daylight; slight pretext seems to have served as occasion for its performance. In connection with this popularity it must be remembered that, even in its simpler forms, so much as a passable execution of the Minuet was far from easy to acquire.
Let it be understood that the grand ballet of to-day did not spring full-grown from the dances above enumerated. Some of their forms continued unchanged through years of academic influence. Present-day “elevation,” as scope of high and low level is called, the great leaps, great turns, and, in short, most of the dazzling elements of to-day’s ballet are the accumulated contribution of individual artists from time to time. Taglioni, of the middle nineteenth century, is the last to add notably to the classic ballet’s alphabet of steps. It is not unsafe to say that the next few years will see its range increased: the Russians, avid for new things, have ransacked Egyptian carvings and Greek vases. Trained to perfection in the technique and philosophy of their art, they are incorporating intelligently the newly rediscovered with the long familiar. But a concrete idea of their relation to the art, or of the art itself, cannot be had without some acquaintance with its actual mechanics; it is time to consider the salient steps on which most Occidental dancing is based, and which the ballet has reduced to perfect definition.
CHAPTER IV
A GLANCE AT THE BALLET’S TECHNIQUE
THE name of Camargo, which arose in the first half of the eighteenth century, may be taken as the milestone that marks the progress of dancing into its modern development. Predecessors had brought to it pleasing execution and a good spirit; Camargo appears to have surpassed them in both qualities, and, in addition, to have added immensely to the art’s scope both of expression and of technique. Her relation to the dancing of her time has been profoundly studied by Mme. Genée, whose fascinating programme of re-creations is the result. After the work attributed to Sallé and Prévost, that of the re-created Camargo shows a very striking emancipation from former limitations. Sallé and Prévost, charmingly graceful, consummately skilful, performed their Dresden-china steps evenly, coolly, in full conformity to the fastidious etiquette of the aristocracy of their day. Camargo, without bruising a petal of the hot-house flower that was her artistic inheritance, first freed it from a fungus of affectation that others had mistaken for the bloom of daintiness. Then she arranged it to show the play of light and shade, to make it surprising—in short, to make it a vehicle of interpretation.