Anna Pavlova

The rise of nationalism—The Spanish folk-dances: the Fandango; the Jota; the Bolero; the Seguidilla; other Spanish folk-dances; general characteristics; costumes—England: the Morris dance; the Country dance; the Sword dance; the Horn dance—Scotland: Scotch Reel, Hornpipe, etc.—Ireland: the Jig; British social dances—France: RondÉ, BourrÉe and Farandole—Italy: the Tarantella, etc.—Hungary: the Czardas, Szolo and related dances; the Esthonians—Germany: the Fackeltanz, etc.—Finland; Scandinavia and Holland—The Lithuanians, Poles and Southern Slavs; the Roumanians and Armenians—The Russians: ballad dances; the Kasatchy and Kamarienskaya; conclusion.

The greatest factor in the stimulation of European art, particularly music, drama and ballet after the bloody Napoleonic wars, was the rise of nationalism, vigorously manifested in the folk-art—dresses, customs, decorations, buildings, songs and dances—of various nations. The first steps in this direction were taken by the Scandinavians: Grieg, Ibsen, BjÖrnson and August Bournoville. What Noverre was to aristocratic France that Bournoville was to Scandinavia. Instead of searching for models and inspiration in the aristocratic traditions of the past centuries, these men turned to the inexhaustible treasuries of the national folk-art. And they truly discovered new beauties in the simple racial traits of the people. In the previously despised peasant art they found unexpected Æsthetic gems, out of which they began to form the individual beauties of their new art.

The Scandinavians were soon followed by the young Russian dreamers: Glinka, Dargomijsky, Seroff, Balakireff, Moussorgsky and Tschaikowsky in music and also in ballet; Gogol, Turgenieff, Dostoievsky and Ostrovsky in drama and literature, turned in their creations to the rich and unexploited folk-lore of the people. Russian music, perhaps more than any other, is a true mirror of the racial soul. There is fire, gloom, sorrow and joy, remodelled and expressed in the same racial spirit as that in which the moujik sings his Ai Ouchnem, or builds his izba.

The electrifying effect of the Russian dancers upon the European audiences is not due to the influence of the French Academy, on the model of which the Russian Imperial Ballet School was formed, as many music and dance critics of the old and new worlds seem to think, but to the primitive racial spirit, to the great stage geniuses of the Russian Empire, who began their work on the basis of ethnographic principles. It is therefore in the folk-dances that we must look for the solution of future dance problems, it is in the ethnographic element that is laid the foundation of the modern art dance.

I

While taking into consideration the folk-dances of various European nations, we find that those of Spain are the richest in racial individuality, most passionate in their Æsthetic conception, and most powerful in their dynamic language. With their mediÆval mystery, magic passion, merciless fury, angelic grace and seductive plastic forms the Spanish folk-dances remain the most impressive examples of folk-art. The centuries of Inquisition, romantic tragedies of the Moors and the silhouettes of an Alhambra are all expressed in the voluptuous lines of a Jota or Fandango, regardless of whether they are performed by an Andalusian or an Aragon beauty.

So manifold is the Spanish folk-dance and so rich the Spanish imagination that each province has its own peculiar dance, of which, as in the case of the Zarzuelas, the inhabitants are immensely proud, and which they dance on the occasion of the fÊtes of their patron-saints. The Andalusians boast of their Bondinas, the Galicians of their Muynieras, the Murcians of their Torras and Pavanas, etc. Dancing is the great pastime of a Spaniard. A dance of distinctly Moorish traits is the Polo. This is performed to the music of the gaita, a kind of bagpipe, and to the songs accompanying it. Devilier tells us how the male dancer looks over the girls present and, smiling on one of them, sings: ‘Come hither, little one, and we’ll dance a Polo that’ll shake down half Seville.’ ‘The girl so addressed was perhaps twenty years of age, plump, robust, strapping and supple. Stepping proudly forward, with that easy swaying of the hips which is called the meneo, she stood in the centre of the court awaiting her cavalier. Then castaÑets struck up, accompanied by the gay jingle of tambourines and the bystanders kept time by tapping the flags of the yard with their heels or their sword-canes, or by slapping the backs of the fingers of the right hand, and then striking the two palms together. The dancer, marvellously seconded by her partner, had little need of these incitements; now she twisted this way, and now that, as if to escape the pursuit of her cavalier; again she seemed to challenge him, lifting and lowering to right and to left the flounced skirt of her calico dress, showing a white starched petticoat and a well-turned, nervous leg. The spectators grew more and more excited. Striking a tambourine, some one cast it down at the girl’s feet; and she danced round it with redoubled animation and agility. But soon the exhausted dancers had to sink upon a bench of the courtyard.’

One of the most typical of the Spanish folk-dances is the celebrated Fandango, that surpasses in its wild passions and vulcanic vigor everything of its kind. If you see it performed in the shadows of the ruined Moorish castles and mosques to a measure in rapid triple time, and hear the sharp clank of ebony or ivory castaÑets beating strange, throbbing rhythms, you stand spellbound and electrified, a mute witness of striking ethnographic magic. You seem to feel the pulse of the semi-tropical, semi-African race. The flutter and glitter, passion and quivering seductiveness, are a glimpse into the Æsthetic depths of a national soul. The dance seems to inflame the dancers as well as the spectators. A Spanish poet speaks of the Fandango as of an electric shock that animates all hearts. ‘Men and women,’ he writes, ‘young and old, acknowledge the power of the Fandango air over the ears and soul of every Spaniard. The young men spring to their places, rattling castaÑets, or imitating their sound by snapping their fingers. The girls are remarkable for the willowy languor and lightness of their movements, the voluptuousness of their attitudes—beating the exactest time with tapping heels. Partners tease and entreat and pursue each other by turns. Suddenly the music stops, and each dancer shows his skill by remaining absolutely motionless, bounding again into the full life of the Fandango as the orchestra strikes up. The sound of the guitar, the violin, the rapid tic-tac of the heels (taconeos), the crack of fingers and castaÑets, the supple swaying of the dancers, fill the spectators with ecstasy.’

An equally well known of the Spanish folk-dances is the Jota, which is said to have originated in the province of Aragon, though the inhabitants of Valencia and Andalusia claim that the Jota is the invention of their ancestors centuries before the Aragonians knew of it. It is a more ceremonial and less passionate dance than the Fandango, as it is performed on Christmas Eve and at other festivals with the purpose of invoking the favor of the Virgin. The Kinneys write of it: ‘It is a good, sound fruit of the soil, full of substance, and inviting to the eye as good sound fruit may be. No academy’s hothouse care has been needed to develop or protect it; the hand of the peasant has cultivated without dirtying it. And that, when you look over the history of dancing in some more progressive nations, is a pretty significant thing. The people of Aragon are not novelty-hunters. Perhaps that is why they have been satisfied while perfecting the dance of their province not to pervert it from its proper motive—which is to express in terms of poetry both the vigor and the innocence of rustic, romping, boy-and-girl courtship.’

‘A trace of stiffness of limb and angularity of movement, proper to the Jota, imbued it with a continuous hint of the rural grotesque. Yet, as the angular spire of the Gothic cathedral need be no less graceful than the rounded dome of the mosque, so the Jota concedes nothing in beauty to the more rolling movement of the dance of Andalusia. It is broad and big of movement; the castaÑets most of the time are held strongly out at arm’s length. One of its many surprises is the manner of the pauses: the movement is so fast, the pauses are so electrically abrupt, and the group in which the dancers hold themselves statue-like through a couple of measures is so suddenly formed, that a layman’s effort to understand the transition would be like trying to analyze the movements of the particles in a kaleidoscope.’

The Jotas of the other provinces, particularly of Andalusia and Valencia, are less racial than la Jota Aragonesa, but nevertheless they are true to the spirit of their localities. Thus the Andalusian Jota breathes mystery and romantic gloom, while that of Valencia is fluid and graceful in every movement. The great violinist Sarasate was so fond of the Jota that he made special trips after his concert season in the capitals of the world to his home town in Spain, and immensely enjoyed dancing with his old friends and the townspeople or playing the violin to them free of charge. An extremely graceful and dignified Spanish folk-dance is the Bolero. This dance more than any other resembles the general architectonic and decorative style of the Spanish middle class. It has round and fluid lines, rich, soft forms, and graceful poses. In many respects it rather suggests a mediÆval ballroom than a simple folk-dance. Some authors say that it is an invention of Sebastian Cerezo, a celebrated dancer of the eighteenth century, but the Spaniards themselves maintain that it dates back to the Arab rule or before. Blasis writes of it: ‘The Bolero consists of five parts: the paseo, or promenade, which is introductory; the differencia, in which the step is changed; the traversia, in which places are changed; then the so-called finale; followed in conclusion by the bien parado, distinguished by graceful attitudes, and a combined pose of both the dancers. The Bolero is generally in duple time, though some Boleros are written in triple time. Its music is varied and abounds in cadences. The tune or air may change, but the peculiar rhythm must be preserved, as well as the time and the preludes, otherwise known as feigned pauses—feintes pauses. The Bolero step is low and gliding, battu or coupÉ, but always well marked.’

A folk-dance of great antiquity, according to Fuentes, is the Seguidilla, which has certain affinities with the Bolero. It is a spirited, gay and modest country dance of the Andalusian peasants. The Seguidillas of some provinces have a rapid rhythm and are accompanied by humorous recitative songs. It is said that in La Mancha, whose inhabitants are famous for their passionate love of dancing, verses to Seguidillas are improvised by popular poets to suit every occasion. The Seguidillas are dances that you see performed on any occasion at country inns and at social festivals. Though requiring less physical strength and dynamic technique than many others, nevertheless the Seguidilla is difficult to untrained aspirants. But like most of the Spanish folk-dances it betrays caprice, coquettishness and romantic tendencies of some sort. The theme of the Seguidilla poems is always love. Davillier says that the Seguidilla that he saw at Albacetex ‘began in a minor key with some rapid arpeggios; and each dancer chose his partner, the various couples facing each other some three or four paces apart. Presently, two or three emphatic chords indicated to the singers that their turn had come, and they sang the first verse of the copla (the song that accompanies a dance); meanwhile the dancers, toes pointed and arms rounded, waited for their signal. The singers paused, and the guitarist began the air of an old Seguidilla. At the fourth bar the castaÑets struck in, the singers continued their copla, and all the dancers began enthusiastically turning, returning, following and fleeing from each other. At the ninth bar, which indicates the finish of the first part, there was a slight pause; the dancers stood motionless and the guitar twanged on. Then, with a change of step, the second part began, each dancer taking his original place again. It was then we were able to judge of the most interesting and graceful part of the dance—the bien parado—literally: well stopped. The bien parado in the Seguidillas is the abrupt breaking off of one figure to make way for a new one. It is a very important point that the dancers should stand motionless, and, as it were, petrified, in the position in which they are surprised by the final notes of the air. Those who managed to do this gracefully were applauded with repeated cries of bien parado!

‘Such are the classic lines upon which the dance is regulated, but how shall we describe its effect upon the dancers? The ardent melody, at once voluptuous and melancholy, the rapid clank of castaÑets, the melting enthusiasm of the dancers, the suppliant looks and gestures of their partners, the languorous grace and elegance of the impassioned movements—all give to the picture an irresistible attraction only to be appreciated to the full by Spaniards. They alone have the qualities necessary for the performance of their national dance; they alone have the special fire that inspires its movements with passion and with life.’

Noteworthy among the other Spanish folk-dances is El Jaleo, a wild and animated dance, consisting of acrobatic leaping and bounding, pirouet wheeling and fury-like fleeing and rushing. It needs a strong and experienced gypsy girl or a seasoned country dancer to give it its peculiar electrifying quality. El Garrotin is described as a pantomimic dance, in which the gesture of the hands and arms plays a leading rÔle. The Kinneys write that La Farruca is an interesting folk-dance. ‘After one becomes accustomed to it sufficiently to be able to dominate one’s own delight and astonishment, one may look at it as a study of contrasts. Now the performers advance with undulation so slow, so subtle that the Saracenic coquetry of liquid arms and feline body is less seen than felt. Mystery of movement envelops their bodies like twilight. Of this perhaps eight measures, when—crash! Prestissimo! Like gatling-fire the volley of heel-tapping. The movements have become the eye-baffling darting of swallows. No preparation for the change, no crescendo nor accelerando; in the matter of abruptness one is reminded of some of the effects familiar in the playing of Hungarian orchestras.’

The Cachucha, Tascara and Zorongo are Spanish folk-dances of more or less local color. While the Zorongo is a rapid dance, performed in backwards and forwards movements, the dancer beating time with his hands, the Cachucha is danced by a single dancer of either sex, in triple time. Its steps are gay, graceful and impassionate, head and bust playing a conspicuous rÔle. The Tascara dance is more fantastic and symbolic than hardly any other of Spain. The movements are slow and languorous. It requires more backward curving and strange posing than agility and grace. In olden times Tascara was imagined as a dragon with an enormous mouth and fantastic wings. The slow movements of the dance grow gradually in speed and near the end the castaÑets strike, for without them a Spanish dancer seems to feel uneasy.

The choreographic designs of all the Spanish folk-dances are rich in graceful curves, with abrupt sharp corners here and there, like the national architecture. They speak of a sweet glow of emotion and make a direct appeal to the passions. In dances of certain provinces and certain ages we discern the influence of Egypt, particularly of the Arabs. They give evidence of an ancient training which has grown into the blood and bones of the nation. They betray more the forms of Moorish arabesques than the clear-cut images of the Roman, Greek, or Gothic style. You can feel in their vigorous rhythm and colorful tunes simple, unspoiled souls, filled with energy and hope. To this the picturesque and romantic dresses of their women add that atmosphere and background which the individual stage dance seeks in proper scenery and costumes. In this the Spaniards are born masters. Take, for instance, the black velvet bodice, golden-yellow satin skirt, net-work dotted with little black balls, draped over the hips of an Andalusian belle, and you have a combination of colors and designs that so aptly fit a Fandango or Bolero that it seems as if a genius had been at work in this harmonious combination. Not less effective are the silver-spangled costume of an Aragonian dancing girl, and the costume of Spanish male dancers, which is suggestive of humor, brilliancy and simple strength. The laced black breeches lashed at the knee, the black velvety waist-coat, broad blue sash, and the red handkerchief tied around the head, and you have the most harmonious counterpart to the picturesque woman dancer. The music, steps, gestures, poses, dress and choreographic figures of the dance melt into a grandiose masterpiece of some gigantic yet unknown genius. The colors, the wide skirt, the light sandals, the comfortable costumes and the animated gestures fit so perfectly together and produce in the symbolic lines of the movement a language that speaks so clearly of the Æsthetic peculiarities of the nation that we are convinced we have here the best lesson in the fundamental principles of a new art dance.

II

How true a mirror the folk-dances and the folk-songs have been and are in showing the racial differences in regard to beauty, is best to be seen if we take the reader from semi-tropical Spain into cold, conventional England, where Æsthetic views have developed so differently. In this field we owe much to Cecil Sharp, whose careful works on English folk-dances are of exceptional service to the student of choreography.

The most typical of English folk-dances are the Morris Dances, the Country Dances, and the Sword Dances. All three lack the fire and boisterous passions of the Spanish Jotas, Boleros and Fandangos. They betray the traits of a more phlegmatic and more critical, perhaps more intellectual, but less emotional race. Take, for instance, the Morris Dance, and you find it to be a manifestation of vigor rather than of grace. The same you will find true of all the other English folk-dances. They are, in spirit, the organized, traditional expressions of virility and sound health—they smack of cudgel-play, of wrestling and of honest fisticuffs. There is nothing dreamy, nothing romantic, nothing coquettish about them. Speaking particularly of the Morris Dance, Mr. Sharp writes: ‘It is a formula based upon and arising out of the life of man, as it is lived by men who hold much speculation upon the mystery of our whence and whither to be unprofitable; by men of meagre fancy, but of great kindness to the weak; by men who fight their quarrels on the spot with naked hands, drink together when the fight is done, and forget it, or, if they remember, then the memory is a friendly one. It is the dance of folk who are slow to anger, but of great obstinacy—forthright of act and speech; to watch it in its thumping sturdiness is to hold such things as poniards and stilettos, the swordsman with the domino, the man who stabs in the back—as unimaginable things. The Morris Dance is a perfect expression in rhythm and movement of the English character.’

The Morris dancers wear bells strapped to their shins, and properly to ring them requires considerable kicking and stamping. This ringing is done to emphasize the fortissimo part of the music. The foot, when lifted, is never drawn back, but always thrust forward. The toe is never pointed in line with the leg, but held at a right angle to it, as in the standing position. The stepping foot is lifted as in walking, as if to step forward, then the leg is vigorously straightened to a kick, so as to make the bells ring. At the same instant that the forward leg is straightened, a hop is made on the rear foot; the dancer alights upon the toe, but lets the heel follow immediately and firmly, so that he stands upon the flat foot. The dancer jumps as high as his own foot, holding his legs and body straight while he is in the air, alighting upon the toes (but only so as to break the shock sufficiently), then letting the heels come firmly down. In alighting from the jump, the knees are bent just enough to save the dancer from injurious shock, and are straightened immediately. The Morris Dance is danced by men, usually six. Occasionally, but rarely, women have figured as performers. The music in early times was furnished by the bagpipe, whistle and tabor; but for a century or so a fiddle did the service. The dress of the dancers was a tall hat with a band of red, green and white ribbons, an elaborately frilled and pleated white shirt, fawn-shaded breeches with braces of white webbing, blue tie with the ends long and loose, substantial boots, and rough, gray wool stockings. All dancers carry a white handkerchief, the middle finger thrust through a hole in one corner.

Of somewhat different type is the Country Dance, which is performed by men and women together. Though less of a festival nature than the Morris, the Country Dance has been practised as the ordinary, every-day dance of the people. It is performed in couples and contains gestures that suggest flirtation. For this no special dress is needed. The figures and steps are simple and more graceful than those of the Morris Dance. Its step is of a springy walking nature, two to each bar, executed by women with a natural unaffected grace, and on the part of men with a complacent bearing and a certain jauntiness of manner. Like the Morris, the Country Dance never requires pointed toes, arched legs or affected swayings. The galop, waltz and polka steps are occasionally used. The movements are performed smoothly and quietly, the feet more sliding than walking. The figures are numerous and involve many repetitions.

Of a very spectacular character are the Sword Dances, which bear a stamp of high antiquity. During the mythologic era they may have been practised as war dances, as we find similar ones practised by all primitive tribes. The history of all nations speaks of sword dances of some kind. There is to be seen in the Berlin Museum a picture from the seventeenth century that shows two double rings of dancers in white shirts, holding up on a frame of interlaced swords two swordsmen clad entirely in colors. There are also, separately, seven sword-dancers, six in white shirts, the first only clothed in red, like one of the swordsmen. They dance in file toward the left, each sloping his own sword back over his left shoulder and grasping the sword-point of the men next in front of him. The last man only shoulders his sword.

In England there seem to have been six principal sword dances, three long and three short. The long-sword dance of Yorkshire requires six men dancers, the Captain, and the Fool. These are accompanied by a musician who plays either a fiddle, bagpipe or accordion. The dancers wear red tunics, cut soldier fashion and trimmed with white braid down the front and around the collar and sleeves; white trousers with a red stripe an inch or more wide down the side of each leg; brown canvas shoes, and tightly fitting cricket caps, quartered in red and white. Each dancer carries a sword; the leader, an ordinary military weapon, and the others swords forged by a village blacksmith. The Captain wears a blue coat of flowered cloth, ordinary trousers and a peaked cap of white flannel. He used to carry a drum, slung round his waist, upon which he accompanied the dance tunes. The Fool used to wear a cocked hat, decorated with peacock feathers. He wore a dinner-bell and a fox’s tail attached to the back buckle of his trousers, and he used to run among the spectators making humorous exclamations. The steps, a kind of leisurely tramp, or jog-trot, fall on the first and middle beats of each bar of the music, and the tramp of the feet should synchronize with the rhythm of the tune. The dancers move slowly round in a ring, clockwise, stepping in time with the music and clashing their swords together on the first and middle beats of each bar of the first strain of the music. The swords are held points up, hilts level with the chin, the blades nearly vertical, forming a cone immediately above the centre of the circle. Each dancer places his sword over his left shoulder and grasps the sword-point belonging to the dancer in front of him. He then faces the centre of the ring, passes his sword over his head and lets his arms fall naturally to his sides. The dance consists of eight different figures. In the last figure the dancers draw close together, linked by their swords, each crossing his right hand well over his head. Each man then drops the tip of his neighbor’s sword and, using both his hands, presses the hilt of his own sword under the point of the sword adjacent to it. In this way the swords are tightly meshed together in the form of a double triangle, or six-pointed star. The process of fastening the swords together is carried out as quickly and smartly as possible.

The writer saw a series of English folk-dances given at the MacDowell Festival at Peterboro, N.H., in 1914, among them the sword-dance described. The performance was exceedingly effective, though the instructor had only inexperienced young amateurs at his disposal. The character of the English folk-dances made rather the impression of a wholesome sport than of a social ceremonial. It seemed as if they were void of all emotional suggestions and their language was clever and realistic rather than fanciful and imaginative.

Though of the same order as the previously described Morris, Country and Sword Dances, yet of a more fantastic appearance is the Horn Dance, which the English have borrowed from the Finns, and greatly changed after their own taste. The English Horn Dance requires ten performers, six dancers, a fool, Maid Marian, a hobby-horse, and a boy carrying a bow and arrow. These are accompanied by a musician, who plays an accordion, and a boy with a triangle. Each dancer carries a pair of reindeer horns. The antlers borne by the first three dancers are painted a white or cream color, the remaining three a dark blue. The horns are set in a wooden counterfeit skull, from which depends a short wooden pole or handle about eighteen inches long. Each dancer bears the head in front of him, and supports it by grasping the handle with his right hand and balancing the horn with his left. The fool has a stick with a bladder attached to it; Maid Marian is impersonated by a man dressed in woman’s clothes and carries a wooden ladle which is used to collect money. The boy holds a bow and arrow which he clicks together in time with the music. The step is similar to the country dance step, an easy, rhythmical, graceful and springy walking movement.

III

The Scotch folk-dances, which surpass the English by their more rigorous movement and spirited steps, picture graphically the simple, industrious traits of a thrifty race. The most characteristic of the Scotch folk-dances are the Highland Fling, the Scotch Reel, and the Shean Treuse. All the Scotch dances are more or less variants of the previously described English ones. They have the same strong, sporty rhythm and jaunty bearing as the others. Their choreographic figures are so closely related to the English, and the English to theirs, that it were superfluous to give a detailed description of them on this occasion. Perhaps the Scotch Reel shows most typical traits of the Scottish race. This dance requires four ladies and four gentlemen, who all join hands, forming a circle. Then the gentlemen and ladies cross their hands and move eight steps forward and eight steps back in the style of a promenade. The gentleman balances his partner, swinging his right and left arms alternately and proceeds through the chain, the ladies separating left, the gentlemen right, until all arrive at their previous positions. The first lady goes into the centre of the ring while others hop around her until they reach their original position, after which the lady in the centre balances to her partner and back to the opposite gentleman in a half-swing, forming occasionally a chain of three. Thus it goes on until all the four ladies have done, after which the gentlemen follow the same figures and steps. All their steps are of a sharp, skipping nature and the lines of their poses remind one of the designs on their checked decorations and on the patterns of their bright and plain dresses. Noteworthy among the Scotch folk-dances is the Hornpipe, which has been a favored dance of the sailors and peasants. Its lively, rapid measure, so far as the feet are concerned, the folded arms, the firm and stiff body are typical characteristics of a Scotchman’s manners. The dance owes its name to the fact that it is performed to the music of a pipe with a horn rim at the open end. There are an infinite variety of Hornpipes and of music to which they can be danced, either in common or triple time, the final note having a special stress laid on it.

Of somewhat different character than the English and Scotch folk-dances are those of Ireland. The Irish Jig enjoys a popularity throughout the world. Already the name suggests a light, frolicking and airy movement. Since the days of Charles II and Queen Anne, this dance has been associated with humorous verses. The Jigs were already in vogue at the time of Shakespeare, who speaks of them as leading pieces in the theatrical repertoires. A dancing or singing Jig was the real climax of a piece, often being given as an entertainment during the intermissions. Audiences were accustomed to call for a Jig as a happy ending to a show. The Irish people, possessing a natural love for music and dancing, have put their soul into the Jig. It mirrors best the semi-sentimental, the semi-adventurous racial traits of an Irishman.

There are single and double Jigs; the distinction rests on the number of beats in the bar and they have often enough been danced to the strains of the bagpipe. As a rule, the foot should strike six times to a bar, and it needs a certain amount of enthusiasm to get into the spirit of the thing, the music thereof being most exhilarating. It adds to the charm if the dancers appear as Paddy in a brown coat, green breeches, and the soft hat with the pipe in it, and his partner in emerald green stockings and skirt, with a red kerchief about her head. The music of a Jig is usually an old Irish ditty, and anything more spirited or more in tune to the step could not be found. The first sixteen bars of the dance are occupied with the pitch in which the leg is thrown out. Sixteen bars are given to the toe and heel step. Thirty-two bars are occupied with the diagonal cock-step, supposed to represent the strutting of a cock. Sixteen bars are danced to a rocking-step, in which the legs are crossed. Eight bars are given to pointing; sixteen to stamping firmly with both feet, then the dancers advance and pivot. Finally, sixteen bars are given to a round and round movement. It requires a great deal of hand movement and body vivacity. It has been said by certain Irishmen that a Jig is in its apparent fun and fury a short symbolic drama of Irish life. The first figures mean love making, wooing, wedding and marriage. Then come the troubles of married life, the repentance and sinking into the grave.

To old Irish, Scotch and English folk-dances belong the ‘All in a Garden Green,’ ‘Buckingham House,’ ‘Dargason,’ ‘Heartsease,’ and ‘Oranges and Lemons.’ They are all graceful and dignified, but depict more the English middle class or nobility than the people. Thus in the ‘All in a Garden Green’ the man begins by shaking the hand of his lady partner and kissing her twice, which was rather the custom of the fashionable ballroom than of a puritan people. They all give the impression of a refinement of manners that belongs more to the early French social dances than to the folk-dances of a heavy and realistic race. We know how the English high society and court imitated the French in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, so it is only natural that it accepted with certain modifications the French social dances.

IV

It seems like a paradox that a country which gave to the world the classic ballet in the modern sense, Noverre, Blasis and Vestris, never produced any folk-dances of such racial flavor as we find in many other nations. The old French Rustic Dances, ‘Rounds,’ BourrÉes, the Breton Dances, and the Farandole, betray only in certain figures the characteristics of the French race; otherwise they make the impression of a pleasing and polished bourgeois art. The Ronde, considered as the first form of French folk-dances, being performed in circles by taking each other by the hand, is to be found among races like the Finns, Esthonians, Letts and Lithuanians, as we read from the old epics of these nations. Thus we read in the Kalewipoeg that ring dances—ringi tants—of eleventh-century Esthonians were practically of the same order as the French Rondes. The Greeks had ‘Rounds,’ so had other ancient civilized races.

An old French dance is the BourrÉe of Auvergne. It is said to be a shepherd dance originally; but Catherine de Medici introduced it at court and polished out all the heavy, simple and characteristic traits of the people. From that time it has figured as a semi-fashionable dance danced in the society. Bach, Gluck, Handel, and many others since have either composed BourrÉes or treated BourrÉe themes in their orchestral compositions. Originally the BourrÉe was a simple mimic dance of the peasants. The woman moved round the man as if to tease him. He advanced and returned, glanced at her and ignored her. In the meanwhile she continued her flirting. Then the man snapped his finger, stamped his foot and gave an expression of his masculinity. That induced her to yield, and the dance stopped—only to begin anew.

Like the BourrÉe, the Farandole, which originated in Southern France, was concocted into a dance of the Beaux Monde and deprived of its racial language. The Farandole that one sees danced in Provence is only a pretty social dance and has little of the old flavor. The dancers performing it stand in a long line, holding the ends of each other’s handkerchiefs and winding rapidly under each other’s arms or gyrating around a single couple in a long spiral. The modern ‘Cotillions’ and ‘Quadrilles’ are based on the old French Farandole.

It is likely that the idolized French ballet killed the interest of the people in their simple and idyllic folk-dances. The peasant going to the town felt the contempt that a patrician had for the country art and naturally grew to dislike his traditional old-fashioned village dance. The music that he heard in the city cafÉs cast its spell upon him, as did the city dances. Urban ideals have been of great influence upon the French country people, upon their traditional folk-dances and folk-songs, and this has deprived the race of valuable ethnographic reserve capital, in which many other nations excel. The French, like the English, have been strong in cosmic tendencies but weak in ethnic. While science grows out of the cosmic principles, art’s vigor lies in those of ethnographic nature. An average Frenchman is a great connoisseur of dancing and indulges in it with a particular pleasure. But his love of the refined and most accomplished impressions puts him naturally outside a simple and coarse peasant art.

The Italian is less pretentious in his taste than the former. But an average Italian, regardless of whether he be a peasant from the most secluded corner of the country or a citizen of Naples, lives and dies in music, particularly in song. The predilection that a Frenchman shows for the ballet transforms itself in the case of an Italian into a love for the opera. Italy has produced great composers, great musicians and singers, but only a few great dancers. An Italian dancer is either acrobatic or blunt. She seems to lack the more subtle qualities of plastic expression, the ability to speak in gestures and mimic forms. This is best illustrated in the celebrated folk-dance, the Tarantella.

The Tarantella owes its name to a great poisonous spider, whose bite was supposed to be cured only by dancing to the point of exhaustion. The Italians perform it to the music of a tambourine, which in the hands of an expert gives an amazing variety of tones. Like the skirt, apron and the head-dress of the dancing girl, the tambourine is adorned with glaring red, white and green colored ribbons. The white under-bodice of the Italian peasant dress is capable of any amount of embroidery, the hair intertwisted and interplaited with ribbons, the aprons interwoven with colors, and, instead of the usual square head-dress, with its hard oblong board resting on the head, a scarf is gracefully folded over the foundation and caught back with bright ribbons; this is the special Tarantella dress of a girl. The Italian costumes, both ancient and modern, are full of grace and beauty and give the appropriate atmosphere to a dance.

The Tarantella, being a tragic dance, demands considerable temperament, fire and dramatic gift. It begins with the dancers saluting each other, and dancing a while timidly. Then they withdraw, return, stretch out their arms and whirl vehemently in a giddy circle. It has many surprising and acrobatic turns. Towards the middle the partners turn their backs on each other in order to take up new figures. It ends with a tragic, whirling collapse of the girl and the man looking sadly on. It is typical of hysteric fury, revenge, superstition, hatred, fanaticism, passion and agony. It speaks of a quick and sanguine temperament. An Englishman, Scandinavian or Dutchman could never dance a Tarantella. It is the dance of a temperamental race.

Like the ancient Romans, the Italians are fond of pantomimes and spectacular effects, with little discrimination for poetry and poise. We can see the same traits in the Italian ballet, which has an outspoken tendency to the acrobatic. All the Italian ballet teachers in Russia are kept there only for their acrobatic specialties. You find in Italy everywhere singing parties, but comparatively little dancing. Some provinces may be more inclined to dancing than those around Naples and Rome. We have heard of a pretty dance, called Trescona, that the people dance in Florence, but we have never seen it performed. Other Italian folk-dances are the La Siciliana, Saltarello, Ruggera and Forlana. Some of them are more graceful and less dramatic than the Tarantella, but they have comparatively little racial vigor, little original appeal. They are either pantomimic or imbued with gymnastic tricks, and with a strong tendency towards the extravagant or the grotesque. However, the Tarantella is and remains the crown of Italian folk-dances. How much it has impressed the Italian and foreign composers is evident in the numerous compositions that they have devoted to this theme. Rubinstein’s ‘Tarantella’ is one of the best.

V

We find a remarkable contrast to the Italian style and spirit in the folk-dances of the Hungarians, whose popular themes have been successfully employed by Liszt and Brahms in their instrumental and orchestral compositions. A nation of Mongolian descent, of impassionate and virile temperament, living its own life, isolated from the Æsthetic influence of their European neighbors, little conventional, optimistic, fantastic and lovers of adventure, the Hungarians are born dancers. True to the quick and fiery temperament of the race, the Hungarian dances are vivid sketches, full of action and color. Music and dancing have been for centuries past the foremost recreations of the race. Their ancient legends speak of worship that consisted only of music and dancing. Unlike other nations, their dance music is exceedingly pretty, melodious and full of imaginary beauty. The Hungarian folk-dance is expressive, rich in pictorial episodes, symbolic and elevating.

The Hungarian costume for a Czardas is singularly effective, the petticoat of cloth of gold, the red velvet bodice opening over a stomacher of gold and precious stones, crimson and green blending in the sash which surrounds the waist. It is said that the name Czardas is derived from an inn where it was danced by the peasants in past centuries. In every Czardas the music governs the dance, which is romantic, full of lyric beauty and very changeable. It is mostly written in 2/4 time, in the major mode. The dance consists of a slow and quick movement, the music beginning with andante maesteso, changing gradually to allegro vivace. It is of ancient origin and was probably used as a worship dance. It is danced to different tunes of one and the same character, as far as the figures are concerned. Six, eight, ten, or more couples place themselves in a circle, the dancer passing his arm round the waist of his partner. As long as the andante movement is given, he turns his partner to the right and left, clapping his spurred heels together and striking the ground with his toe and heel, and then they continue the step as a round dance. In some provinces the women put their hands on their partners’ shoulders and jump high from the ground with their assistance. So fond is the Hungarian of his Czardas that, as soon as he hears the stirring tunes of the dance played by a gypsy band or fiddler, it seems to electrify him so that he can hardly listen to it without dancing. As the music continues, the dance gets wilder and wilder until it ends abruptly. The steps of the Hungarian folk-dances are as varied as the music. Now they are gliding and sharp, then again graceful and curved. Some of the dances are quiet and of seductive nature, others of involved steps and tricky tempo.

The Szolo is said to be a semi-acrobatic dance, in which the woman is swung through the air in a horizontal position from which she descends as if she were coming down from a flight. The Verbunkes is a dance of military character, performed mostly by men (ten or twelve), each dancer being provided with a bottle of wine which he swings as he dances, singing in between a patriotic song as an additional accompaniment to the occasional gypsy band. Unlike the English folk-dances, the Hungarian are mostly built upon some romantic theme, either legendary or symbolic. Being a nation with rural traditions and rural ideas, Hungary has no sport spirit in any of her folk-dances. There is a strong feeling for Bohemianism and nomadic abandon in their mute language. Mostly the Hungarian dances are gay, sparkling with life and fantasy. They suggest Oriental designs mixed with Occidentalism, a world of queer dreams and sentimentalism.

Folk-dances related to those of Hungary, that deserve to be known, are the Esthonian Kuljak, Kaara Jaan, and Risti Tants. Descendants from the same stock as the Hungarians and the Finns, the Esthonians settled down in the Russian Baltic Provinces about the seventh or eighth centuries and since that time have formed their independent racial art and traditions, which they have cultivated and preserved till to-day. The great Esthonian epic Kalewipoeg, known so little to the outside world, remains, like Homer’s Iliad, and the Indian Mahabarata, a valuable treasury of ethnographic art, and it is from this book that we have gained an authentic knowledge of the character of the Esthonian folk-dances, though the writer has seen some of them performed in the country.

The Kuljak, like many other Esthonian folk-dances, is performed to the accompaniment of a harp—kannel—and the singing voices of the dancers themselves. It is danced by men and women alike, in a similar formation as the Irish Jig. But the Kuljak tempo is very similar to that of the Czardas, with the exception of the latter’s tune and the formation of the figures. Like the national costumes of the Esthonians, their folk-art is more sombre and poetic than the Hungarian, but less romantic and less fiery. The Kuljak steps are sharp, angular and timid, without that boisterous and jaunty expression which is so conspicuously evident in the dances of the southern nations. The peculiarity of the Kuljak is that it is performed around a bonfire or kettle filled with burning substance. Sometimes the dancers circle round the fire holding each other’s hands, sometimes they go in gliding promenade step, sometimes they dance singly, as if challenging or fearing the cracking and high-leaping flame. There is no doubt that this is a rare survival of the ancient sacrificial temple dance. The legendary and mythologic element is the unique peculiarity of the Esthonian folk-dances. The Risti-Tants—‘Cross Dance’—which is performed by men and women, first, in crossing the hands, then in making the cross designs with the steps, is of great antiquity and many of its cabalistic figures are incomprehensible to the modern mind. Like the designs of the Esthonian national dress, the figures of their primitive and simple folk-dances have a tendency of never-ending lines. The colors, white, black and red—the symbols of red blood, white light and black earth—suggest dreamy, melancholy, but determined traits of a semi-Oriental race. Dance here is not a sport, not an amusement, not a medium of love-making, not a social function, but a magic motion to influence the great powers of Nature, and a semi-mythologic ceremony for the purpose of future joy and happiness. On this occasion the Æsthetic element is interwoven with the ethical, the art is at the same time religion.

VI

The German mind has not been strikingly original or racial in folk-dances. It has taken more an abstract and purely musical direction and paid little attention to the dance. If we leave out the dances of the Bavarians, Saxons and Tyroleans, there is little that is of any ethnographic interest in this respect. The Prussian Fackeltanz belongs more to the elaborate pantomimes of the order of ancient Rome, rather than to regular dances. The mediÆval Germany that was ruled politically and ecclesiastically from Rome never felt the influence of the rural country people, but, on the contrary, was mostly under the Æsthetic and intellectual influence of the feudal barons and urban middle class. Under the influence of these two classes, German music, poetry, drama and literature came into existence. The German classic art is predominantly aristocratic and ecclesiastic. The early German artists were constrained to gather in the aristocratic salons of the rich patricians. The peasant was rarely a model of early German artists, but a German Freiherr, BÜrger or Handwerker has been the subject of many German dramas, operas and musical compositions, and of much painting, sculpture and dancing. Wilhelm Angerstein tells us in his interesting book VolkstÄnze in deutschen Mittelalter that already in 1300 there existed German guild dances—ZunfttÄnze—such as the Messertanz (‘knife dance’) in NÜrnberg, Schafftertanz (‘cooper’s dance’) in Munich, etc. Besides these there were the aristocratic SchreittÄnze and SchleiftÄnze. The Drehtanz, out of which originated the later Walzer, was an aristocratic and patrician, but never a truly rural folk-dance.

There is no question that the German people has always been interested in dancing, a fact which is best illustrated in the frequent outbursts of mediÆval Tanzwuth—‘dance craze’—that affected the population of various cities. These phenomena became occasionally so threatening to the public morality that in 1024 the Bishop Burchard von Worms issued a special decree putting dancing under the ban of the church. In 1237 over two thousand children left Erfurt, dancing. In 1418 an epidemic rage for dancing manifested itself in Strassburg. The well-known Veitstanz—St. Vitus’ dance—originated in mediÆval Germany and spread itself all over the world. The Schuhplatteltanz of Bavaria is a real folk-dance and contains in its gay and grotesque figures characteristic spiritual traits of the Tyrolean peasants. Most of the tunes of the SchuhplatteltÄnze are gay, joyful and bubbling with mountainous brilliancy, as is the dance. Though played in the waltz-rhythm, the dance is by no means a waltz, but a pretty, quaint little ballet of the people. There are some six to eight different figures in the dance as one can best see it performed in some villages near Innsbruck. It is danced by a man and girl, and begins with a graceful, slow promenade of the couple. Then she starts to flirt with him by spinning coquettishly round and round until he is enchanted and puts his hand gracefully round her waist. Now they dance together awhile, seemingly in love. But suddenly she seems to have changed her mind and tries to turn him down. The dance is full of buoyant joy and clever mimic expressions. It gives the impression of a healthy mountain race, optimistic, simple and humorous. Though occasionally rough, there are passages of sweet and sentimental grace which convey the impression of an old-fashioned Minuet.

The Schmoller is a characteristic dance of the Saxonian peasants, in which the man never reaches his hand to the lady, though they perform the four or five movements in the rhythm of the Mazurka with considerable turning and stamping the heels. A quaint old dance is the Siebensprung of Schwaben which is danced to the accompaniment of a song with humorous verses. The Taubentanz of the Black Forest region is a very graceful and simple dance with distinct mazurka steps, in which the gentleman reaches only his right hand to the lady. The ZwÖlfmonatstanz of Wurtemberg is a semi-social dance, which is performed by twelve couples. The Fackeltanz has been for centuries a ceremonial display of Prussian nobility and the court. The following is a short account, from the Figaro, of a Torch Dance as it was performed at the marriage of the sister of Kaiser Wilhelm II:

‘Twelve youthful pages, pretty and dainty as the pages of opera, slowly entered by a side door under the direction of the chamberlains. They carried torch-holders in wrought silver, containing thick white wax-candles, which they handed to the twelve ministers. The marshal raised his bÂton, the orchestra from the gallery opposite the emperor slowly began a tuneful Polonaise. The bride and bridegroom placed themselves after the ministers, who made the tour of the room, the chamberlain completed the cortÈge, which stopped before the emperor. The bride made a slight curtsey, the emperor rose and offered his arm, the cortÈge again passed in procession around the room. On returning, the bride invited the empress and made the tour with her. Then the twelve pages approached and took the torches again. The dance continued. The ceremony might have been monotonous but for the infinite variety and richness of the costumes and uniforms, and the liveliness of the music. The twelve pages were quite delicious and marched with all the enthusiasm of youth.’

The German RheinlÄnder and the Walzer are both dances of the middle class and the city. Whether they ever were danced as folk-dances by the German peasants, we do not know. They probably originated in the mediÆval guild circles and spread gradually over the country. The Waltz, as we know it to-day, originated in the eighteenth century in Germany, though the French claim that it is a development of Volte, which originally was an old folk-dance of Provence. The Volte was in vogue in France in the sixteenth century. Castil-Blaze writes that ‘the waltz which we again took from the Germans in 1795 had been a French dance for four hundred years.’ The German waltz originated from the widespread folk-song, ‘Ach du lieber Augustin!’ which dates back to the middle of the eighteenth century. Gardel introduced it first in his ballet La Dansomanie in 1793 in Paris. But the real vogue for the waltz began after the Czar Alexander the First danced it at his court ball in 1816. Until the masses began to imitate the nobility it was a ‘high society’ dance and such it remained fully half a century, if not longer.

The waltz is written in 3/4 rhythm and in eight-bar phrases. It has a gliding step in which the movements of the knees play a conspicuous rÔle. Each country developed its particular style of waltz. The Germans and French treated it as a dainty and graceful courtship play. In Scandinavia it grew more heavy and theatrical. In the English waltz the dancers walked up and down the room, occasionally breaking into the step and then pushing the partner backward along the room. The German rule was that the dancers should be able to waltz equally well in all directions, pivoting and crossing the feet when necessary in the reverse turn but the feet should never leave the floor. Waldteufel and Johann Strauss may be considered as the master-composers of the waltz as a social dance.

VII

As elaborate as the Finnish folk music is in racial color and line, the Finns have few interesting and original folk-dances. Dr. Ilmari Krohn has hundreds of Finnish folk-dance tunes, but they reveal musical rather than choreographic vigor. A large number of graceful Finnish folk-dances are imitations of the Swedish or Norwegian style. In their own dances the figures and steps are heavy, languorous and compact as the rocky semi-arctic nature. Like the Finnish sculpture, the Finnish folk-dance has a tendency to the mysterious, grotesque and unusual line. Some of their folk-dances are as daring and unusual as the Finnish architectural forms. You find in the Finnish architecture that straight lines are broken up in the most extraordinary manner, projecting gables, turrets and windows are used to avoid the monotony of gray, expansive and flat walls. It falls into no category of known styles. Like fantastically grown rocks, it compels your attention. There is something disproportionate yet fascinating in the Finnish style and folk-dance.

The most racial of the Finnish folk-dances are not the pleasing village Melkatusta and other types of this kind, but the ‘Devil’s Dance,’ Paimensoitaja (‘Shepherd Tune’), Hempua, Hailii and Kaakuria. Like the Finnish Rune, Finnish dancing shows an unusual tendency to the magical, the mystic and the fantastic in emotions and ideas. It is less the graceful and quick, fiery style that appeals to a Finn than heavy, rugged and compact beauty. The ‘Devil’s Dance’ is weird, ceremonial and mystical. It is performed by a single woman inside of a ring of spectators, who are chanting to her a rhythmic and alliterative hymn of mythologic meaning. The hands are crossed on the breast and take no part of any kind in the display, while there are slight mimic changes to convey the more subtle meaning of the performance. Like the other northern races, the Finns make their dancing a function of the body and the legs. The Finns dance to the music of a harp—kantele—horn—sarwi—and to the singing voices. It is never the dancer who sings, but the spectators or special singers.

More picturesque and graceful than the Finnish are the Swedish, Norwegian and Danish folk-dances. Grieg, Svendsen, Gade, Hartmann and the modern Scandinavian composers have made successful use of the old folk-themes for their individual orchestral compositions. Though simple in step, the Scandinavian folk-dances are complicated in figure, lively and gay in manner, and rich in pantomime. They seem to have a strong predilection to square figures and sharp lines. The Swedish dancers are fond of arabesques, minuet grace and dainty poses. The Norwegian dance is more rugged and imaginary, the Danish and Swedish more refined and delicate. While the Norwegian is a naturally gifted singer, the Swede is a born dancer. There is a strong feeling in Sweden for reviving their old Skralat, Vafva Vadna, and other old national dances. The latter is a weaver dance and imitates the action of the loom. The girl, representing the movements of the shuttle, flashes back and forth through the lines of other performers, who are imitating the stretched threads. It is a clever piece of folk-art showing the vivid and quick temperament of the race. There are quite a few such symbolic country dances in Sweden, of which the harvest dances take the first place. The Daldans and Vingakersdans are pantomimic dances of humorous character, both themes dealing with the social-sexual relations in a rather satirical way. In the latter two women are endeavoring to gain the affection of a man. The favored one seats herself a moment on the man’s knee and finishes the number by waltzing with him, while the other bites her nails with vexation. In Sweden, as in France, the sexual elements play a conspicuous rÔle in the folk-dance and render it sweetly graceful, seductive and sensuous by turns.

The Danes, being a race of industry and agriculture from the earliest times on, have followed the lead of Norway in ethnographic matters, but of Paris and Vienna in artistic manners. While they have developed the national art of the ballet to a high degree, their folk-dances have impressed me more by their cosmopolitan and imitative nature than by any original and racial traits they may have. There are certain plastic traits, certain soft nuances in the Danish mimicry, that speak of something racial, yet they melt in so much with the universal art that it is hard to analyze the national elements. Whether the ‘Corkscrew’ is a Norwegian, Danish or Swedish folk-dance, we have been unable to learn, but it is a charming piece of folk-art. In this the couples form in two lines. The top couple join hands, go down the middle and up again, and turn each other by the right arm once; then the gentleman turns the next lady, the lady the next gentleman, then each other again to the end, when the other couples kneel and clap their hands; and the first couple, joining hands, dance up one line and down the other, the lady inside. Then follows the corkscrew: all join hands outstretched with their vis-À-vis, the leading couple thread their way in and out of the other couples, the ladies backing, taking the lead, and then the gentlemen. All hands are raised when they reach the bottom, and, passing under the archway thus formed, they give place to the next couple.

The Dutch had previously many characteristic and racial folk-dances, as their great painters have handed down to us in their numerous works, but they have mostly died out. A Dutch folk-dance, with the performers dressed in long brocaded gowns and close-fitting caps of the same material, the face framed with small roses edging the cap, makes a most quaint and charming impression. The best known of the Dutch folk-dances is the Egg Dance, which was given with eggs beneath the feet. Another very effective dance, though slightly coarse in conception, is their Sailor’s Dance. The latter is danced by a couple in wooden-shoes, man and woman with their backs to each other and faces turned away. The dance has some eight figures and only at the end of each figure the dancers turn swiftly around to get a glimpse of each other, and turn back in the original position. If well executed this is an exceedingly humorous dance.

VIII

The Lithuanians had in olden times snake dances and dances somewhat related to the legendary and mystic themes of the American Indians. Even in the folk-dances of the modern Lithuanians there are elements to be found that show relation to the ancient American tribes. An average Lithuanian folk-dance, as known and danced to-day is simple but pretty, and is either mixed with Byzantine or with Romanesque designs. But the legendary ideas still prevail, even in the picturesque wedding dances.

The Polish folk-dances, the Polonaise, Mazurka, Krakoviak, and Obertass, contribute their quota of originality. The Krakoviak is a circular dance with singing interspersed; lively graceful poses, soft delicate lines and gliding steps make it look like a refined salon dance of mediÆval nobility. The Polonaise and Mazurka have spread as social dances in numerous variations throughout the world. Chopin used the themes of many Polish folk-dances for his individual compositions, as they are exceedingly sweet, romantic, and delicate in their melodic structure. The Obertass is a real gymnastic performance with occasional polka-steps and wild turns. It is danced by a couple with such velocity towards the end that the woman must hold strongly to the shoulders of her partner in order to keep from reeling off towards the spectators. Delicate, temperamental, with occasional traits of melancholy and softly graceful line, the Polish folk-dances are characteristic of the racial soul. In many respects the Poles resemble the French in racial qualities. The debonair manners of the French, their tendency toward romantic emotions, are to be noticed in the Polish national dance. The qualities give it an air of seeming refinement and make it a distinct social amusement, and nothing else.

The Bohemian, Ruthenian, Servian and Bulgarian folk-dances are each typical of their race. A tendency of most of the Slavic folk-dances is that the two sexes should mingle as little as possible. Men and women join hands in certain figures, emphasizing the dramatic meaning of the dance, otherwise they remain separated. They rarely dance in couples as the other European races do. They make promenades, march or gallop; they leap and bound in such a manner that the woman faces the man but rarely touches him. The woman’s movements are distinctly feminine, the man’s masculine. The Slav feels that the mixing of the sexes, or the putting of woman on the same plane with man, is detrimental to the Æsthetic emotions, particularly to the romantic feelings. The Romaika and Kolla are both picturesque circle dances of the Southern Slavs. In the latter the man does not take the hand of the woman next to him, but passes his arm under hers to clasp the hand of her neighbor. The whole ring circles round in skipping step to the accompaniments of melancholy songs. The women are adorned with glass beads, huge gowns, artificial flowers and false jewelry of the most fantastic colors. The men wear richly embroidered bright-colored shirts and wide trousers. Sometimes a special woman dancer enters the ring and executes a dramatic pantomime, reflecting somehow a local affair. On other occasions man and woman go through a vivid pantomimic performance in the circle, while the rest circle around them singing.

The Roumanians have a strange folk-dance called the Hora which is performed by the youth in languishing cadence to the long drawn notes of the bagpipes. This consists of a prelude and a real dance. At first, the dancers advance to the left five steps, stamping the ground and stopping suddenly, after which they repeat the same motions for a few times. Of this M. Lancelot writes: ‘Gradually the mandolins strike in to enliven the solemn strain, and seem desirous to hurry it, emitting two or three sonorous notes, but nothing moves the player of the bagpipes; he perseveres in his indolent rhythm. At last a challenging phrase is thrice repeated; the dancers accompany it by stamping thrice on the ground, and looking back at the girls grouped behind them. The latter hesitate; they look at each other, as if consulting together; then they join hands and form a second circle round the first. Another call, more imperious still, is sounded, they break from each other, and mingle in the round of young men.

‘At this moment the old gypsy opens his keen little eyes, showing his sharp white teeth in a sudden smile, shaking out a shower of joyous, hurried notes over the band, he expresses by means of an agitated harmony the tender thrill that must be passing through all the clasped hands. The Hora proper now begins. It lasts a long time, but retains throughout the character of languor that characterized its commencement. Its monotony is varied, however, by a pretty bit of pantomime. After dancing round with arms extended, the men and their partners turn and face each other in the middle of the circle they have been describing. This circle they reduce by making a few steps forward; then, when their shoulders are almost touching, they bend their heads under their uplifted arms, and look into each other’s eyes. This figure loses something of its effect from the frequency with which it is repeated; and the cold placidity with which the dancers alternately gaze at their right-hand and left-hand neighbors is disappointing, and robs the pantomime of its classic aroma.’

IX

Of Oriental flavor are the Armenian folk-dances, which the writer saw many years ago performed by Armenian students to the music of a queer mandolin-like instrument and the rhythmic beats of the drum played by the dancer with his fingers. This drum gives a register of six or seven different tones and adds its peculiar effect to the whole. It seems that most of the Armenian dances are executed by a single dancer, either man or woman, in bent, erect, arched and twisted positions, often standing on a single spot for minutes. Though languorous and weird, they possess a grace of their own.

In no other country have the folk-dances reached such a variety of forms, such a high degree of development and an individuality so distinctly racial and rich in dramatic and imaginary poses, steps, gestures and mimic expressions as in Russia. In the Russian dances we can trace the elements of all the hundreds of ancient and modern tribes and nationalities who have been molten in one homogeneous mass of people, a world in itself. Here the Orient and Occident have found a united form for their Æsthetic expressions, with no relation to those of the West-European nations. The Russian dances, like the country itself, are a mixture of contrasts and extremes: melancholy and yet gay, simple and even sweet; ghastly yet fascinating and seductive; mysterious and yet open as the prairies of its own boundless steppes; old and yet young. All these contrasts and contradictions may be found reflected in the essentials of the Russian folk-dance. Like the semi-Oriental style of architecture, now curved and gloomy, then suddenly straight and dazzlingly brilliant, occasionally bizarre and fantastic, but strongly inclined to the romantic and the mystic forms, are the innumerable figures and steps of the Russian dances. In Russia more than in any other country the sexual diversity in the style of the steps, poses and mimic display is subjected to a most careful consideration. The woman is neither equal nor inferior to the man. She occupies her dignified position in the slightest move, by remaining more subtle, tender and passively fascinating, while the man’s rÔle often is extravagantly masculine, sometimes even rough. No Russian dance puts the two sexes on the same level Æsthetically and dramatically. The couple dance is an unknown, or at best a rather crude, conception to a Russian.

Up to this time no one has yet made a thorough study of all the Russian folk-dances, as each province and district has its particular traditions and dances. The Volga region, having once been inhabited by Bulgarian and Tartar tribes, has a more nomadic and adventurous dance style than the dreamy peasants of Kostroma and Nijny Novgorod. The dances of the Little Russians are more joyful and humorous than those of more northern regions, but they are also less elaborate and less dramatic. The dances of the provinces of Novgorod and Pskoff possess an unusual tendency towards the legendary and towards free forms of plastic expression, as if meaning to express tales of a golden age in the past when they had a republican form of government and a democratic evolution. The dances of the Caucasian and Crimean regions are outspokenly romantic and epic, those of Siberia tragic and heroic.

Fundamentally, the Russian folk-dances can be divided into four different groups: the ballad dances, or Chorovody; the romantic dances of the Kamarienskaya type; the dramatic dances of the Kasatchy type; the bacchanalian dances of the Trepak type; and the unlimited number of humorous, gay, amusing and entertaining country dances—the so-called Pliasovaya—of purely local flavor. Besides these there are the historic ballad dances, such as ‘Ivan the Terrible’, ‘Ilia Murometz,’ and others. The Cossack dance, Lesginka, the Kaiterma, the Polowetsi dances, the Vanka, and others of this kind, are dances of a rather local character, though they have spread all over the country.

The oldest and most varied of Russian folk-dances are the Chorovody, or the ballad dances, performed only to the singing voices of the dancers themselves. This is a kind of ring dance like the old French Round. In some dances the men reach their hands to the girls, in others they touch each other with their elbows only, as the girls keep their hands on their hips, while the men cross them on their breast. The real dance is performed inside the ring, usually by a girl, who sometimes has a man partner; this dance may be pantomimic, humorous or full of wildest joy and agility. The writer has witnessed some Chorovody which were performed with such skill and finesse of plastic pose and mimic art as to leave many ballet celebrities far in the background. The Russian folk-dancer employs every inch of his body, his hands, legs, toes, heels, hips, shoulders, head and the mimic art so masterfully and correctly that you must often marvel his born talent and lively interest in dancing. However, in all folk-dances the women seem to play the leading rÔle, the men merely supporting them with the contrasted figures.

The Chorovody were used by the mediÆval Boyars in a more refined and poetic style for their social functions and the entertainment of their guests. Later they were introduced to the court and finally they were employed in the Russian ballets and operas. Ivan the Terrible was fond of Chorovody dances and often danced them himself, as did also other Russian rulers. The aristocratic Chorovody, however, grew more stately and artificial and lost their racial freshness. Catherine the Great sent her chamberlains to every province to invite the best folk-dancers to come to the court, which they did. All dances of this type are picturesque, romantic, poetic and restrained in their expression.

An entirely different dance is the Kasatchy, danced by a man and a woman at the same time. This is more a man’s than a woman’s dance. He selects his partner and proceeds to execute a series of seductive motions around her, while she demurely hangs her head, refusing for a while to be seduced by his allurements. At length she thaws and begins to sway in harmony with his manly but graceful movement. Now they bend and bow together, and swerve from side to side, the while performing a multitude of gestures depicting timidity and embarrassment, till finally from shy, half-tearful expression of love and flirting glances they proceed with gay eyes expressive of the most burning devotion. Now the dance waxes fierce and fast, in and out they circle, turn and twist, ever now and then reverting to that crouching posture, so commonly seen in the Russian folk-dances. Finally they meet in close embrace and whirl with incredible rapidity round and round, till thoroughly out of breath and dizzy from their effort, they sink exhausted on a friendly bench.

The Kamarienskaya is a bride’s dance, in which the girl symbolizes all the imaginary bliss and happiness of her future married life. In the first part, which consists of a soft legato, she dances dreamily but dramatically, using conspicuously every muscle of her body and her arms to express the imagined love motions that she will perform in meeting her beloved. Thus the pantomime continues on to the blissful moment of meeting, which she performs like a whirlwind, until, unexpectedly stopping, she ends the dance with a slightly disappointed, humorous expression.

Since our space is limited, the writer must refrain from more detailed and further description of the previously mentioned types of the Russian folk-dances. He need only repeat that they surpass by far the folk-dances of all the rest of the world, in that they are so much more racial, so rich in plastic lines, and so perfect in their artistic appeal; it seems as if a remarkable genius had presided over their invention and execution. They are masterfully original from the beginning and continually furnish new ideals of choreographic beauty. They draw their inspiration from some rich fountain unknown to the Occidentals. They are too fresh, vigorous and alive to be perverse.

Thus having drawn kaleidoscopic sketches of the primitive racial choreographic impulses of a number of the civilized and barbaric races, we can come to the conclusion that in these alone are to be found the sound and virile germs of lasting individual or highly developed national art-dance. Ethnographic essentials are the next stepping-stones to a more developed future cosmic choreography, and in this the folk-dances give the most eloquent elementary lessons. As from a mute conversation we learn from the ethnic dances in what manifold forms one and the same beauty can manifest itself to the human mind. The ethnic symbols are graphic and true to the spirit of the thing expressed; for this reason a folk-dance, no matter how coarse, how grotesque and how strange it seems, is yet sincere and intelligible to the open-hearted observer. It always impresses one as something manly and direct, sound and firm.