an expression for every emotion, an exercise whose magic ennobled, and a magic whose exercise raised them above the reach of sordid cares. In the Church, while bishops in other parts of Europe were questioning or protesting the dance as an act of worship, their brothers in “la tierra de Maria Santisima” were insisting upon it as a most appropriate part of the highest ritual.
Colonies and dependencies fell away; the stream of gold flows in other channels. Uncomplaining the Spaniard retires into the house that once was animated with great companies of guests and hordes of servants. Reduced? Not at all! A few intimates drop in after dinner, bringing friendship and wit. There is always a glass of wine. His daughters will step some of the old dances in the patio; their younger brother has “hands of gold to touch the guitar.” An entertainment at once agreeable and becoming—the latter, if for no other reason, because it is Spanish!
To an extent there are grounds for the anxiety, sometimes expressed, that modernism is melting away this tradition-worship. In Madrid there is an English queen; tennis and tea become a cult to be followed with what semblance of gusto one can assume. San Sebastian is the summer resort of royalty, and of pleasure-seekers from all parts of Europe; its modernism is that of Paris or Vienna. Other cities, to the number of perhaps half a dozen, show consciousness of twentieth-century conditions. Among which conditions is, of course, an indiscriminating fondness for novelties for their own sake. And there is always at hand a numerous class of dancers to provide novelties in exchange for a moment’s applause.
In another country the national art would deteriorate under these hostile influences. But in Spain, not readily. Her dances are an organism, rooted in the soil, with forms as definite as the growth of a flower. Mention dancing to an Aragones, and it means to him the jota of his province. Let other steps be added to it, he will resent them; in his eyes they occupy about the same place as a third arm would on a drawing of the human figure—a monstrosity, and uninteresting. No less than Aragon have other regions their local dances and their choreographic creed, with stupendous pride in both. The steps are handed down like the tunes of old music, with the ideals for their execution. And, high in importance as conservers of their classic national forms, there exists a fine spirit of artistry among a number of the prominent masters. Jose Otero of Seville and Antonio Cansino, a Sevillano who for some years has taught in Madrid, are prominent among a number to whom the preservation of Spain’s choreographic purity is almost a holy cause.
The dancing of Spain divides into two schools: the purely Iberian, exempt from Gipsy influence, which is known as the Classic; and the work of Gipsy origin and character, which is generically known as the Flamenco. The two overlap to the extent of a few dances that partake of the elements of both, and lend themselves to execution in the manner of either. On either side of this common ground the two schools are completely distinct in style, and almost equally so in gesture and posture, having in common only a limited number of steps. In general effect their individualities are absolute.
The work of the Gipsy is, above all, sinuous. His body and arms are serpentine. His hips, shoulders and chest show a mutual independence of action that would worry an anatomist, but which allows the dancer limitless freedom for indulgence in the grotesque. He delights in the most violent contrasts. A series of steps of cat-like softness will be followed by a clatter of heels that resembles Gatling-fire, the two extremes brought into direct juxtaposition. His biggest jump will be preceded by movement so subtle that it is less seen than sensed.
In all circumstances the Gipsy is an irrepressible pantomimist. Of the word and the gesture of his ordinary communication, it is highly probable that the gesture is of the greater importance. He likes to talk, and his words come at a speed that makes them indistinguishable to any but a practised ear, the confusion heightened by the free intermixture of Gipsy argot. But the continuous accompaniment of facial expression, movement of body and play of hands is sufficient by itself.
The dance gives full employment to the Gipsy’s mimetic powers, and in fact serves primarily as an emotional expression. His dances are not composed, or “routined.” He has his alphabet of steps and choreographic movements, and with these he extemporises. By some telepathy most puzzling to those who know the most about Gipsy dancing, the accompanists are not disturbed by any of the dancer’s changes of mood, however sudden. The instant drop from extreme speed to the opposite never traps the guitarist into a mistake; and his air is remarkable, too, in preserving the sentiment as well as the time of the dance.
Anything like the full scope of Gipsy dancing is rarely revealed to any not of that race; because, done with abandon, it is an intimate revelation of nature. El Gitano is conscious of his racial and social inferiority, despite the arrogance he likes to assume. He is a vagabond living in waste places and by means, usually, of petty imposture, tolerated because of his impudent but very genuine wit. For these reasons a dance for pay becomes a scheme to extract the most money possible for the least work. And the work itself, though skilful, is accompanied by a self-consciousness directly opposed to the essentially Gipsy element of his dance.
A Spaniard who has got past the Gipsy’s reserve is Eduardo Cansino, the dancer. As such it is an object for him to see their work at its best; from their all-night parties he has acquired steps. His diplomatic equipment consists, first, of an acquaintance with the Gipsy language, along with ability to make himself agreeable. Understanding of Flamenco dancing enables him to aid intelligently in the jaleo, that accompaniment of finger-snapping, hand-clapping and half-chanted, half-shouted phrases that make the Spanish dancing atmosphere what it is. (In Gipsy dancing the jaleo is “tricky,” owing not only to suddenness of changes, but to frequent digressions into counter-time.) When asked to dance, Eduardo’s hold on the company’s respect is brought to a climax, as there probably is no better performer among the men of Spain. And withal he is willing to buy manzanilla as long as expediency suggests.