ANNA PAVLOVA

Otago Witness, Issue 3773, 6 July 1926, Page 27

ANNA PAVLOVA

By

E. L. S.

(FOl THI WITNESS.) To go to Europe, to attend a performance of the Russian Ballet, and to see Pavlova dancing—for how many of us have these three, at one time or another, represented the highest peak of ambition, and by the same token, the acme of impossibility I We are so far away from some things, here in New Zealand. The doings of the outside world reach us like distant echoes, and so unsubstantial do they seem, so vague and remote, that we can scarcely imagine a state where they exist not as echoes but as realities. The right to travel is not given to all of us; and thus, certain things which are the everyday portion of some, will always be the unattainable ideals of others. For how many has it not been so in the case of Pavlova? But miracles may still happen. Here in New Zealand, away at the far end of the globe, she, whom we could not fro to, has come to us, and, instinct with the romance and magic of our fabled Europe and accompanied by members of the Russian Ballet, has proved that one dream at least in our lives has come definitely true. It was my privilege to talk with her for a little while when she was in Dunedin. She was sitting in a big chair with her back to the light. Small and slender, with slim feet and exquisitely expressive hands, she looked like a lady in a mediaeval stained-glass window, or one of the {ale queens who are watching beside King Arthur in Sir Edward Burne-Jones’s painting of Avalon. One thought of her as a rare vase containing the whole essence of the higher emotions. She answered my questions in halting English, leaning forward with a charming seriousness as she strove to make herself understood. Her brown eyes, incrediLly deep, were true windows of the soul, her hands emphasised her meaning with delicate effect, and, as 6he talked, Her voice and her narrow chin, Her grave small. lovely head, Seemed half the meaning Of che words she said. “Dancing," she explained, “is the oldest of the arts and the first of all attempts at self-expression through beauty. At first it was a religious rite, and long ago priests and maidens practised it in the old temples of the world. It has been used since in different ways. But to-day, we who seek to be exponents of the true dance, treat it as it was first treated—as a religion—and put into it all the best of ourselves in whatever form it demands. Sometimes it is happiness we express, ecstatic and radiant; sometimes it is sorrow with its tears and despair. But it is always expression ofTthe soul through the medium of a body so highly strung as to be sensitive to the least shade of feeling. - “Music accompanies it, but we do .lot * always seek to interpret the hidden meaning of music. Sometimes we do—as with Chopin’s work in all its subtle caden-ces-—but sometimes, as in a national dance, the music only helps by adding through the ear to what is being taken in by the eye. How intricate is the true dance when it is ready to be produced! It must be placed in the most perfect setting; its exponents must wear most appropriate costumes where colour is chosen with the skill of a great artist; itr must be attended by the highest type of music; and those who dance must put only the best of them, selves into it. When it is complete it will * be one great harmony, a poem, perfect in expression, and by its art able to carry its meaning to those who read. For the dance, by the very beauty of the emotions it expresses, must appeal to the emotions . of the audience. It is not only to amuse. It is to touch the hidden feelings of the human heart. According to the quality of understanding and appreciation among the members of the audience, the dance will appeal. Now, my swan dance: to sdme it is merely a pretty bird fluttering against a black curtain; to others it is a tragedy which words cannot express. “The dancer must live the part, for to pretend is impossible. In the true dance sincerity is a first demand, and according to the depth of sincerity in the dancer", is the strength of the corresponding feeling aroused in the hearts of the audience. For my dancing I like an audience to be intellectual, cultured, even religious. Then do we exist in perfect harmony. “Dancing for children is an exterior means of developing the latent beauty within them. The technique of the dance is extremely difficult and demands most rigorous training. But when it is mastered so perfectly as not to be perceptible to the watcher, then the child is like a beautiful, mechanical doll tuned to act anything. When one practises smiling, one will later feel happy. Well, then, when a child is all Teady for self-expression and practises the technique that goes to show great joy or great sorrow or any other emotion, the verv external practising draws out the hidden beauty of those emotions within her and, voila—the child is possessed of a soul, and at the same time a perfect vehicle by which to express it. But remember, there must be balance between the two. As technique without soul is bad, so is soul without technique. One must practise selfrestraint and learn equilibrium. “And now,” she continued after a pause, “I will tell you why I love Russia, and why I say it is the true home of the true dance. It is because Russia from the Czar downwards treats the dance as one of the high arts, never to be prostituted for money or poor taste. In some countries, if the public does not like the best, the dancers lower themselves to meet the new demands. But in Russia nothing but the best is ever, given. It makes no difference whether the public as s wholp likes it. If it is good is sufficient. But the dance alone is not enough. It must be wedded to music and setting and* costumes. Therefore, in Russia, the greatest artists and costumers combine with the greatest

musicians to make a perfect netting, and into this the dancer pours the purest of her art. In my ideal for furthering this, I myself am like Russia." • # * * • *

She appeared in His Majesty’s Theatre before an audience which sat spellbound, entranced, ae she showed through the medium of the dance how beautiful is the beauty of posture and line, of colour and motion, and of expression and music. She was a snowflake scintillating in a world of moonlight, so swift and light and sparkling that tne eye wss dazzled at the sight. She was a dragon-fly darting over the surface of a pond, with gleaming body and shimmering nervous wings. She was a white swan dying in the marshes, her arms and hands in their fluttering impotence more suggestive of agony than words can say. She was a Russian girl with- laughing eyes, lured by the cherrycoloured ribbon of a swain. She was Amarilla, the gipsy, passionate, eager, frenzied, “and all a wonder and a wild desire." She was the chief dancing girl in a temple of Egypt, her body exulting in the worship of Isis, her sidelong eyes wise with the mysteries of the ages. She was the soul of thistledown in a BeethovenKreisler rondino, so bewitching, so exquisite, so. indescribably elusive that the heart leaped at her loveliness. She was a crinoline lady at Christmas time, vivacious, delicious, demure, leading her gallants such a mischievous dance that their tantalised feelings knew no expression. She was a sylphide in an enchanted wood, white and ghostly under the moon, where through the mazes of the dance she flitted ethereal as a fairy moth, more vague and haunting than a dream. She was a yellow chrysanthemum betrayed by the North Wind in a world of autumn leaves, her body a curved stem of beauty, her frailty a thing to marvel at. She was the elegant, dainty darling of an old-world gavotte, with her smile under the brim of a directoire hat, the perfection of graceful coquetry. And she was the golden spirit of time, who, in a circle of sleeping hours, danced defiance at day and night. What a repertoire! What genuis to be able to make each character so supreme that one exclaimed “Only this is perfect. This is Pavlova herself," and was bewildered next moment by an equally perfect representation of an equally perfect mood! Sne is incomparable, beyond the mere limits of description. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. . Her aim is to be wliat the Russia would wish her to be ; but she is more than that. She is the soul of id-eal Russia. She is th« dance.