THE DANCING AT THE OPERA. How is it that the Ballet in action, the most refined, brilliant, and most costly portion of our amusements, occupies what may be esteemed a secondary place? For although it is degraded by the general appellation of "dancing," and although for many years past its objects, and consequently its manners, so to speak, have been barbarously lowered, yet we question whether its just purposes and real attainments do not require as much of genius, power, science, and practice, as the best singers possess or employ; and perhaps the combination of music, scenery, decoration, dress, and action, produces quite as exalted a pleasure in the minds of spectators qualified to judge of a ballet in action, as any opera upon the cultivated musician. To the million of mankind, to those especially who are not highly instructed in the fine arts, but who may yet possess all the rudiments of fine taste, it may be safely averred, the ballet gives even a greater pleasure, for painting and dancing have this advantage over the other arts, that they affect all natures and all eyes alike. "A fine piece of painting," says one of the ablest writers on the subject, "is but the copy of nature; a finished ballet is nature itself, embellished with all the ornaments that art can bestow. If a painted canvass wraps me in illusion; if I am moved at the sight; if my mind is affected; if the colours and pencil of the skilful artist so far bewilder my senses as to show me nature, give her speech, make me fancy that I hear and answer; how shall my feelings be wrought upon, what will be my sensations at seeing a representation still more striking, and enforced by the acting powers of my fellowcreatures? Such living and varied pictures will overpower my imagination; for nothing creates such concern in man, as man himself." We need seek for the philosophy of this truth no further than in the trite precept of Horace, "Segnius irritant animos," &c., which embodies the fact that ideas reach the soul more rapidly through the eye than through the ear, and we may add, more vividly too. Nor is it a less important circumstance, that the mind is affected by the music of a ballet, the action giving to the melodies their interpretation and direction, instead of the words of an opera. In the one, the action is the predominating principle-in the other, the words in their connexion with sounds. "The pantomime," (the ballet in action) says the philosophical Arteaga, "is a mute language of action invented by human sagacity for the purpose of augmenting the sum of our pleasures, and to establish between man and man a new means of communication independent of words." He even exalts the eloquence of gesture above that of speech, and he quotes, for instances, Tarquin, who, in answer to the ambassadors while walking with them in his garden, cut off the heads of the poppies; and the more touching anecdote of the Indian girl, who being asked by her lover what was the cause of her frequent sighs, declared her passion, and at the same time spared herself the confession, by holding up to him a mirror. But we have no necessity to prove the strength of the beauty of the language of gesture-our task is to show its progression as a public amusement. France must be considered as the nursing mother of this art*-the In tracing the progress of the art in France, we only precede its history in fons et origo. But it was given to the genius of one man, and he was of another country, Switzerland, to rear it to perfection; that man was Noverre. He gave to the dance the character of history and of poetry, of expression and of sentiment. So little is the art understood, that almost as a matter of necessity, before we commence the history of its progress, we propose to give a slight sketch of the nature of its real elements, from which some rules for forming a judgment may be framed. The mechanical parts are steps linked together with ease and brilliancy; a clearness, neatness, and precision in execution; that power of bringing all the muscles into a sudden state of rigid quietude and firm position, for which there is no other term than aplomb; and, above all, the graceful opposition and equilibrium of the limbs which the eye perceives at once to constitute the perfection of attitude. To dance well, the body should be firm and motionless, particularly when the legs and feet are in exertion; "for when the body follows the actions of the feet, it displays as many grimaces and distortions as the legs execute steps. The performance is then robbed of its ease, uniformity, harmony, exactness, firmness, perpendicularity, and equilibrium; in a word, of all those beauties and graces which are so essential to make dancing afford pleasure and delight." These are the elements which it is given to genius and imagination to fashion into the expression of sentiment; an endless mixture of intricate steps, difficulty of execution, and complicated movements, destroy the language of dancing. Simplicity, softness, and luxuriancy of motion, enable the performer to attend to the mechanism of his steps, and to the actions characteristic of the passions, thus conferring a greater power of expression. It is physically impossible to throw life, energy, and truth into gestures and attitudes, when the body is distorted by extravagancies of motion, and the mind is engaged in guarding against the accident of a fall, or any injury of the limbs. A ballet is then a drama, in which dancing is to be considered the vehicle of the action, passion, and poetry; it is a drama which, rejecting the aid of speech, demands but so much the more energy and power from its other constituents. It seems at first glance singular that tragedy should have been esteemed the subject most suitable for dancing; but if to affect the mind be the object, the noblest incidents and situations are those which produce the best stage-effect. These are therefore the most legitimate subjects the passions are best expressed by heroes and heroic deeds. From hence it will be inferred, that a fitting incident having been fixed upon, the difficulty lies not in assigning the primary and distinctive parts, but in introducing the subordinates. The figurantes ought to continue the scene, not by a number of symmetrical but unmeaning figures and steps, but by that animated expression which keeps the attention of the spectators alive, and employed upon the main subject. Such is the theory of the composition and action of the ballet. We come next to the qualities of the author. If Dr. Johnson has been England, for the English merely followed the French, and imported their artists. It is extraordinary how few English names have ever appeared amongst dancers, and it can only be accounted for by the superior cultivation of the art in France discouraging the English artist. deemed extravagant in his enumeration of the faculties and the knowledge necessary to the formation of a poet, what will be thought of the requisites declared by the man (himself one of the class, and the head of it) to be necessary to make up a composer of ballets? History, mythology, ancient poetry, and chronology, ought to be the primary objects. And indeed," he continues, " all our success entirely depends on our exact knowledge of the above sciences. Let us, therefore, unite the genius for poetry and painting, since our art borrows all its charms from a perfect imitation of nature. A slight knowledge of geometry cannot but prove very advantageous, as it will help the master to introduce his figures in due proportion, to calculate exactly, and execute with precision. The ballet-master must himself be an expert mechanist. A composer who wishes to rise superior should study the painters, and trace them in their various manners of drawing and composing. Both arts have the same object in view, whether it be for taking likenesses, mixing the colours, and preserving the chiaro oscuro, or for grouping the figures properly, laying on the draperies, throwing the former into elegant attitudes, and giving them life and expression. From the above principle, I dare conclude that the knowledge of anatomy will serve to render more clear and intelligible the precepts which he has to give to his pupils. It will be an easy matter for him to distinguish properly between the natural and habitual defects in their conformation. A ballet-master who is no proficient in music, will make a bad choice of his airs. He will not enter into the spirit or character of them; the motions of his dancers will not mark the time with that precision and delicacy which are absolutely necessary, unless he is endued with that sensibility of organ which is more commonly the gift of nature than the result of art, and is far above what may be acquired by long practice and steady application. All I look for in the ballet-master is a general knowledge, a slight tincture of those sciences which, by the connexion they have with each other, are likely to contribute to the improvement of our art and its reputation." Nor are these all-the decorations, dresses, and properties (in theatrical phrase) are not less the subjects of his choice and care. He must be skilful not only to provide that these are appropriate, but that their forms and colours blend, harmonize, and melt into each other, according to the nature of the lights under which they are presented. Noverre carries this down to the proportions of distance, and proves by instances the success of his recommendations, wherein persons of different sizes, from men to children, were introduced to give the proper illusion and effect. We, of this age, have lived to see his precepts acted upon with an almost miraculous precision, if not by the accomplishments of the ballet-master, at least through the agency of the combined talents of the artists employed in the different departments of the modern stage. To sum up the qualities of a ballet-master, he says, " he should be endued with the most poetical and extensive genius-to correct the faults of authors-suit the dance to the action-devise scenes in perfect analogy with the drama-adapt them to the subjects-invent such incidents as have escaped the writer's genius; in fine, he must fill up those vacancies which too often disgrace their productions: such is the business of a ballet-master." These are the postulates laid down by Noverre. Let us now examine into the actual state of the ballet before this improver, whose consciousness of the powers of his art embraced so wide a field of knowledge, inquiry, and imagination, commenced its renovation. About a century ago, the Opera at Paris was a wretched theatre in the Palais Royal; it was burned to the ground, and a second erected on its site suffered the same fate. Another was then built by a female of the name of Montansier, in the Rue de Richelieu, and adopted by the government in 1794. In the early state of the entertainment, about the period to which we have gone back, nothing could be more wretched than all the appointments of the stage. The salaries of the principal dancers were low, the numbers of the corps de ballet did not exceed sixteen performers, with a few supernumeraries, and not more than three new pieces were given during the season. The scenes, decorations, and costumes, went on from year to year, and the establishment was disregarded by the public. Two French dancers only appear to have attained much celebrity before the middle of the century. The feeble character of Lully's music is brought to account for the no less feeble effects of the performance. Mademoiselle Prevost, and her scholar Camargo, seem to have been at once the sole candidates, and they were also bitter rivals for the public favour. Camargo died in 1776. She was immortalized in the theatre by being the inventress of " cabrioles," says Grimm, "which Allard has carried in our days to so exalted a pitch of perfection. It was Camargo who first ventured to shorten the petticoat, and that invention, which has enabled the amateur to pronounce with confidence upon the legs of the dancers, has since been universally adopted; out of this invention, however, dangerous schisms arose. The Jansenist of the pit exclaimed against the heresy and the scandal, and would not permit the petticoat to be abridged; the Molinists, on the contrary, declared that this reformation brought us back to the spirit of the primitive church, which abhorred to see pirouettes and gargouillardes embarrassed by the length of these vestments. The Sorbonne of the Opera was for a long time at a loss to establish the point of discipline which thus divided the faithful; but at length a decision was made which reconciled the religious world. The Sorbonne pronounced for short petticoats, but declared, at the same time, that no dancer should appear without drawers. This decision became a fundamental point of discipline, by the universal acknowledgment of all the powers of the theatre. Since Camargo left the stage," the lively Baron concludes, "the dance has made such progress, that the descent of her fame to posterity depends altogether upon the abbreviation of the petticoat *." According to Count Algarotti, an order from court commanded the female dancers at Naples, about the same time, to appear in black drawers. The public talents of Camargo were at direct opposites with her person, demeanour, and disposition. She was neither handsome, tall, nor well made; but her style of dancing was full of gaiety, brilliancy, and action, and she never danced but to the most lively melodies. She was This age will scarcely believe, that dancers could have loaded themselves at any period with hoops, yet such was the fact. "I would leave off," says Noverre, "those stiff hoops and tonnelets, which, when the body is in a peculiar position, raise the hip nearly upon a line with the shoulder, and thus disfigure their natural conformation." indeed the only airy spirit that enlivened the heavy and dull mass by which she was surrounded. Yet it is no less singular than true, that the moment she quitted the stage where she had enchanted the public by her life and spirit, her countenance sunk into the very picture of melancholy, and she became grave even to sadness. Camargo was followed by a successor of the name of Sallé, whose style is described to have been pure, passionate, and expressive. "The naïveté of Mademoiselle Sallé is not forgot," says Noverre, in one of his early letters; "her graceful deportment is still remembered with delight. All the affected airs of the female dancers in her style cannot obliterate the memory of that noble and harmonic simplicity of the manner, ever tender and voluptuous, but constantly decent, of that lovely performer." She came to England, and it is related, upon the authority of Garrick, that at her benefit the people fought for admission, and showered down gold and Bank notes upon the stage at her feet. These heroines interested the genius of Voltaire, who addressed to them the following lines: Ah! Camargo que vous êtes brillante! Mais que Sallé, grands dieux! est ravissante, Que vos pas sont légers et que les siens sont doux ; Les Nymphes sautent comme vous, Et les Graces dansent comme elle." He was, The male dancers of this time were more numerous than the female artistes. One of them, named Dupré, was distinguished as the great; not however so much in honour of his talents, as his stature. according to the best authorities, perfectly well formed, and had a brilliant execution; but he wanted variety, and that expression which results only from mind. Javilliers, Dumoulin, and Lany, were but second rate. There were no less than three Metters-the style of the one, surnamed "the Devil," because he so continually personated the dæmons of the classic ballet, was hard and dry; another was called " the Bird," a cognomen which declares his volant ability; and the appellation given to the third was singular enough, "Little Breeches!" He became afterwards a teacher and a ballet-master, but he merely followed in the track of his predecessors. Subsequently to this period (1740) the direction of the Opera underwent two changes, which entirely altered its ancient form. The first introduced pomp and magnificence; the second an excessive variety, which was alike fatiguing and fatal to the artist. Beeton and Trial became directors in 1770, and they enjoyed in a very eminent degree the protection of the Princes of Conti and the Prince of Soubise, in an age when patronage was of all things most important. Their efforts were of course addressed to satisfy their patrons, and they accomplished their purpose by assembling youth and beauty, and by the aid of a luxurious grandeur, which was in accordance with the taste of the princes. They selected about twenty girls of exquisite forms and features, yet not more than fifteen or sixteen years old. How they attained even the moderate excellence of a decent figurante it is not easy to say, but they did attain so much of their art. Nothing more captivating to the eye, nothing more seductive to the fancy could be |