SPANISH DANCING
Since earliest Occidental history, the dances of Spain have been famous.
To-day their richness, variety and fundamental nobility give them a
position in advance of any other group of national dances of the
Occidental type. Whether certain of the Oriental expressions are
superior to the Spanish is wholly a matter of point of view on dancing.
But dancers and dance-lovers, of all beliefs and prejudices, unite in
conceding to Spain the highest development of “characteristic” or
national dancing. More even: though the French and Italian ballets in
general hold their schools to be the very fountainhead of the
choreographic art, not a few disciples of the academies of Milan or
Paris concede to Spanish dancing superiority over all, in that aspect of
beauty that is concerned with majesty of line and posture.
It is as though Terpsichore herself had chosen the dwellers of Iberia to
guard her gifts to mankind. Gadir, the city now called Cadiz, was a
little Paris in the day of the Carthaginian, with dancing as its most
highly developed art and notable among its diversions. When the Romans
took the city they were delighted with the dancers they found there; for
centuries after, Spanish dancers remained a fashionable adjunct of great
entertainment in the capital, and Cadiz the inexhaustible source of
their supply.
When Rome, too infirm to resist, left Spain to be overrun by the
Visigoth, she left the arts of the peninsula to the mercy of a
destroying barbarian. Architecture and statuary he demolished, books he
burned. Dancing eluded his clumsy hand; in places of retirement children
were taught the steps and gestures that had crossed the sea from Egypt
in the days of the Phœnicians.
In the eighth century came the Moor: slayer, organiser, builder;
fanatic, dreamer, poet; lover and creator of beauty in all its
manifestations. His verses were epigrams of agreeable and unexpected
sounds, formed into phrases of eloquent metaphor. His architecture and
its ornament, too, were epigrams; combinations of graceful and simple
lines and forms into harmonious symbols more eloquent than description.
To him the dance was verse and decoration united, with music added;
entertainment and stimulus to contemplation. Under his guardianship and
tuition the Spanish dance strengthened its hold on the people, and
increased in scope. A certain class of it retains to-day a distinctly
Moorish flavour.
The “Century of Gold” that followed the expulsion of the Moors and the
discovery of America found the dance surrounded by conditions than which
none could have been more favourable. Gold looted from the new continent
was lavished on masques and _fiestas_ that emulated those of
neighbouring monarchies; courtiers were so preoccupied with the
diversion that a memoir of the period contains a complaint that “sleep
in any part of the palace has become impossible, since persons of all
degrees have taken to continuous strumming of the music of the
_zarabanda_.” The less exalted had in the dance
[Illustration: “LA MALAGUEÑA Y EL TORERO”
Eduardo and Elisa Cansino
To face page 122]
an expression for every emotion, an exercise whose magic ennobled, and a
magic whose exercise raised them above the reach of sordid cares. In the
Church, while bishops in other parts of Europe were questioning or
protesting the dance as an act of worship, their brothers in “_la tierra
de Maria Santisima_” were insisting upon it as a most appropriate part
of the highest ritual.
Colonies and dependencies fell away; the stream of gold flows in other
channels. Uncomplaining the Spaniard retires into the house that once
was animated with great companies of guests and hordes of servants.
Reduced? Not at all! A few intimates drop in after dinner, bringing
friendship and wit. There is always a glass of wine. His daughters will
step some of the old dances in the patio; their younger brother has
“hands of gold to touch the guitar.” An entertainment at once agreeable
and becoming--the latter, if for no other reason, because it is Spanish!
To an extent there are grounds for the anxiety, sometimes expressed,
that modernism is melting away this tradition-worship. In Madrid there
is an English queen; tennis and tea become a cult to be followed with
what semblance of gusto one can assume. San Sebastian is the summer
resort of royalty, and of pleasure-seekers from all parts of Europe; its
modernism is that of Paris or Vienna. Other cities, to the number of
perhaps half a dozen, show consciousness of twentieth-century
conditions. Among which conditions is, of course, an indiscriminating
fondness for novelties for their own sake. And there is always at hand a
numerous class of dancers to provide novelties in exchange for a
moment’s applause.
In another country the national art would deteriorate under these
hostile influences. But in Spain, not readily. Her dances are an
organism, rooted in the soil, with forms as definite as the growth of a
flower. Mention dancing to an _Aragones_, and it means to him the _jota_
of his province. Let other steps be added to it, he will resent them; in
his eyes they occupy about the same place as a third arm would on a
drawing of the human figure--a monstrosity, and uninteresting. No less
than Aragon have other regions their local dances and their
choreographic creed, with stupendous pride in both. The steps are handed
down like the tunes of old music, with the ideals for their execution.
And, high in importance as conservers of their classic national forms,
there exists a fine spirit of artistry among a number of the prominent
masters. Jose Otero of Seville and Antonio Cansino, a _Sevillano_ who
for some years has taught in Madrid, are prominent among a number to
whom the preservation of Spain’s choreographic purity is almost a holy
cause.
The dancing of Spain divides into two schools: the purely Iberian,
exempt from Gipsy influence, which is known as the Classic; and the work
of Gipsy origin and character, which is generically known as the
_Flamenco_. The two overlap to the extent of a few dances that partake
of the elements of both, and lend themselves to execution in the manner
of either. On either side of this common ground the two schools are
completely distinct in style, and almost equally so in gesture and
posture, having in common only a limited number of steps. In general
effect their individualities are absolute.
The work of the Gipsy is, above all, sinuous. His body and arms are
serpentine. His hips, shoulders and chest show a mutual independence of
action that would worry an anatomist, but which allows the dancer
limitless freedom for indulgence in the grotesque. He delights in the
most violent contrasts. A series of steps of cat-like softness will be
followed by a clatter of heels that resembles Gatling-fire, the two
extremes brought into direct juxtaposition. His biggest jump will be
preceded by movement so subtle that it is less seen than sensed.
In all circumstances the Gipsy is an irrepressible pantomimist. Of the
word and the gesture of his ordinary communication, it is highly
probable that the gesture is of the greater importance. He likes to
talk, and his words come at a speed that makes them indistinguishable to
any but a practised ear, the confusion heightened by the free
intermixture of Gipsy _argot_. But the continuous accompaniment of
facial expression, movement of body and play of hands is sufficient by
itself.
The dance gives full employment to the Gipsy’s mimetic powers, and in
fact serves primarily as an emotional expression. His dances are not
composed, or “routined.” He has his alphabet of steps and choreographic
movements, and with these he extemporises. By some telepathy most
puzzling to those who know the most about Gipsy dancing, the
accompanists are not disturbed by any of the dancer’s changes of mood,
however sudden. The instant drop from extreme speed to the opposite
never traps the guitarist into a mistake; and his air is remarkable,
too, in preserving the sentiment as well as the time of the dance.
Anything like the full scope of Gipsy dancing is rarely revealed to any
not of that race; because, done with abandon, it is an intimate
revelation of nature. _El Gitano_ is conscious of his racial and social
inferiority, despite the arrogance he likes to assume. He is a vagabond
living in waste places and by means, usually, of petty imposture,
tolerated because of his impudent but very genuine wit. For these
reasons a dance for pay becomes a scheme to extract the most money
possible for the least work. And the work itself, though skilful, is
accompanied by a self-consciousness directly opposed to the essentially
Gipsy element of his dance.
A Spaniard who has got past the Gipsy’s reserve is Eduardo Cansino, the
dancer. As such it is an object for him to see their work at its best;
from their all-night parties he has acquired steps. His diplomatic
equipment consists, first, of an acquaintance with the Gipsy language,
along with ability to make himself agreeable. Understanding of
_Flamenco_ dancing enables him to aid intelligently in the _jaleo_, that
accompaniment of finger-snapping, hand-clapping and half-chanted,
half-shouted phrases that make the Spanish dancing atmosphere what it
is. (In Gipsy dancing the _jaleo_ is “tricky,” owing not only to
suddenness of changes, but to frequent digressions into counter-time.)
When asked to dance, Eduardo’s hold on the company’s respect is brought
to a climax, as there probably is no better performer among the men of
Spain. And withal he is willing to buy manzanilla as long as expediency
suggests.
According to Eduardo, it is the exception when a dance performed at a
Gipsy party fails to tell a story. Usually the story is improvised from
a suggestion of the moment. Satire is popular; if one of the company has
undergone an unpleasant experience in love, trade, or dealings with the
_guardia civil_, it is capital for the dancer. Imitations of carriage
and mannerisms of the persons represented are carried to that degree of
realism made possible by the Gipsy’s eternally alert observation and his
expressive body; and he has no artistic creed to cause him to question
the value of literal imitation. But the quality of greatness is not what
one expects in Gipsy dancing; its contribution is the extreme of
skilful, surprising grotesquery.
Notwithstanding the limitations that accompany an insistence on physical
facts, the Gipsy’s rendering of the great emotions is said to be
impressive at the moment, even though it fails to record any lasting
impression. Love, as in the dancing of almost all peoples, is a
favourite motive, with its many attendants of allurement, reticence,
jealousy, pursuit and surrender. But the repertoire is limited only by
the Gipsy’s scope of emotion--hatred, revenge, triumph and grief--his
heart is probably about the same as any one’s else, only less repressed
by brain. So far is dancing from being merely an act of merriment that
it is used in mourning the Gipsy dead.
_Flamenco_ dances as seen in theatres and cafés are compositions made
from the elements of Gipsy work; choreographic words grammatically
related as is necessary, among other considerations, for accompaniment
by orchestras of sober and dependable beings. The task has been
admirably done; _la Farruca_, _el Tango_, and _el Garrotin_, the most
popular _Flamenco_ dances at present, preserve to admiration the Gipsy
qualities. No less credit is due the composers of their accepted musical
accompaniments; the indescribable Oriental relation of melody and
rhythm, the Gipsy passion for surprise, they have preserved and blended
in a manner charming and characteristic. It is only within the past
fifty years that the process of adaptation began. Jose Otero, in his
chatty _Tratado del Baile_, traces the movement to its beginning; which
like many another beginning, was the result less of foresight than of
desperation. The case was of a dancer whose Classic work failed to earn
him a living. He strung together some Gipsy steps as a last resort and
without hope, and was allowed to try them in a _café cantante_ in
Seville. Their success was instantaneous, and continues unabated. Even
in the absence of the Gipsy’s inimitable pantomime, there is comfort in
seeing his dances under conditions of freedom from argument about extra
charges for nothing at all, whines concerning starvation and sickness
equally imaginary, care not to lose one’s watch, and pressure to buy
useless and foolish souvenirs at shameless prices. Parties to visit the
_Triana_ of Seville or the _Albaicin_ of Granada are great fun, but a
terrible strain on the patience of the person who accepts the
responsibility for his friends’ amusement.
If the _Tango_ and its _Flamenco_ kinsmen fail to conquer a permanent
place in the Spanish repertoire, it will be through their exclusion from
the respectable Spanish family. The daughter of the house does not learn
dancing of the Gipsy type except in the unusual case that she is
preparing for a dancer’s career. The _Flamenco_ has picturesqueness and
“salt,” but of dignity less. To the Spaniard, that which lacks dignity
is vulgar, however witty or graceful. Witty or graceful things may be
enjoyed, though dignity be lacking; but the doing of such things is
another matter. The Gipsy’s untutored point of view on obscenity is a
further argument against their admission into the home. It is not a
structural part of any of the _Flamenco_ work. But association has
[Illustration: TYPICAL “FLAMENCO” POSES.
(From work of Señorita Elisa Cansino.)
The _Garrotin_.
The _Garrotin_.
The _Tango_.
The _Tango_.
The _Garrotin_.
]
created a sentiment, and against sentiment logic is helpless.
_La Farruca_ probably exploits more completely than any of its fellows
the varied resources of the _Flamenco_. 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, carried to the
nth power. 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.
Another use of contrast produces a sensation not unlike the surprise you
get when, in the course of drinking one of those warm concoctions of
sweetened claret, you unexpectedly bite a piece of cinnamon, and during
a few seconds taste vividly the contradictory flavours of both spice and
sweetness. The music is moving in a flowing legato. In _counter-time_ to
the notes is a staccato of crisp taps--of light, “snappy” hand-claps,
and dry-sounding sole-taps on the floor, two varieties of accent
alternating one with the other. Success of the effect depends on the
very perfection of tempo, to begin with, and after that on a command of
the quality of sound in the _taps_. A good deal of attention is given to
the cleanness and brilliancy of the tone of these notes, as well as the
cultivation of a good sparkling “tak” in snapping the fingers. Many
performers carry in each hand a series of three ringing finger-snaps,
loud enough to carry sharply to the back of their smallish theatres.
It is in respect to finesse of such details that most non-Spaniards
condemn themselves to the mediocre when they attempt Spanish dancing.
The mere steps can be learned by any one with an intelligence and two
sound legs. Many students approximate the style. But the seemingly
little things often act as the big pit-falls. The castanets, for
instance, expose cruelly the lack of finish of many a pretender to
laurels in the Spanish field; in the hands of their master they can
ring, or sing, or click, or purr, as the mood of the dance suggests. To
an amateur it would be illuminating to see the care a professional
exercises in mating the little instruments in pairs. They vary in pitch,
and have almost personal whims. For instance, in cold weather they fail
to do themselves justice unless they are carried to the performance in
an inside pocket. But this is straying from the _Flamenco_; castanets
are in the main an adjunct of the Classic.
Returning to the subject of contrasts, the _Flamenco_, more than any
other style in the world, perhaps, insists on difference between the
work of man and woman. It is seen in the greater relaxation of the
woman’s body, the more complete elimination of angles from her
movements. The degree of rigidity that the man’s body should maintain is
a point of justifiable difference between artists; so with the extent to
which his movements should follow the lines of curves. But that curve
should be the theme controlling the woman’s movement and carriage, all
agree. The result is to the eye as a duet of guitar and flute is to the
ear. Following the comparison further, the dance duet does not confine
itself to unison--identical movements of the two performers--any more
than does the duet of music; and this correlation of two harmonised
parts is not the least of the causes of madness imparted to spectators
of good dancing.
In all dances evolved to the plane of art, a common device is to end a
phrase with a turn--a _pirouette_, or something simpler, according to
the character of the work. This general rule the Spanish follow. But
look how the _Farruca_ makes such a turn the opportunity for one of its
myriad contrasts!
The _renversé_ of the ballet has a kindred turn in _la vuelta quebrada_.
Both are executed with an arm always extended, so as to describe the
maximum circle; of the _vuelta quebrada_ the movement is low and
horizontal, with everything done in such a way as to give the impression
of a smooth, oily roll. The _Farruca_ leads the woman up to this turn,
or _vuelta_, through a series of short steps. Now visualise the man’s
part at the same time: as the woman enters her flowing _vuelta_, a
mighty leap lands the man in the position of stooping; instantly he
starts rising with a spiral movement that takes the form of a
_pirouette_ and so continues through the circle. The surprise the eye
receives from the harmonised contrast between the extended horizontally
moving sweep and the vertical spiral uplift, with its kaleidoscopic
change of levels, seems never to grow less. And if the man makes it a
double _pirouette_ instead of a single, why, one simply shouts aloud
with the joyous discovery that the law of gravitation and a lot of other
cumbersome things have suddenly been abolished.
The _Tango_ at the present moment familiar in North
[Illustration: “FLAMENCO” POSES.
The _Farruca_: devices to mark counter-time.
The _Farruca_: typical group.
The _Tango_: finish of a turn.
The _Farruca_: man’s preparation for a _pirouette_.
The _Tango_: start of a turn.
The _Farruca_: _pito_ or finger-snapping.
(From work of Eduardo and Elisa Cansino.)]
America found its way here from Argentina. In the form it takes here,
its relation to the _Tango_ of Spain is little more than a coincidence
of names. In none of the Spanish dances does the man’s arm ever go
around the woman’s waist--the purely Spanish, that is. Off-shoots and
corruptions to be found in the Latin Americas do not signify. The
Spanish _Tango_ is of the _Flamenco_ group. It is a solo for a woman. By
convention she performs it wearing a man’s hat, the manipulation of
which gives some grotesquely graceful occupation to her hands. Apart
from this it is distinguished from the others of the group mainly by the
sequence in which steps are combined; in spirit, elemental steps and
poses, it conforms to the type of its family.
_El Garrotin_ is distinguished by the importance it gives the hands.
They repel, warn, invite; half the time they are held behind the back.
So indirect are their hinted communications, so alien are their
movements to anything in the Occidental way of thinking, that they unite
with the girl’s over-the-shoulder smile in an allurement no less than
devilish.
Other dances of the same school are _Marianas_ and _Alegrias_, long
familiar. New ones introduce the names of _las Moritas_ and _Bulerias_.
Each has its personality, but all are composed of the Gipsy steps,
performed in the sinuous manner, and rich with contrasts of fast and
slow, soft and energetic movements. All are adorned with the stamping,
sole-tapping, clapping and finger-snapping already described; though
_Marianas_, as a quasi-Classic, may be performed with castanets. All
moreover, are costumed alike, as indicated in the sketches and
photographs, most of which in this chapter were made possible by the
courtesy of Eduardo Cansino and his sister Elisa, of the family of one
of the most capable masters in Spain. The man’s suit is the habitual
street dress of the Andalusian _torero_. It may represent a retiring
taste by being of grey or brown cloth. But if it belong to one of those
typical _Sevillanos_ who believe that a man is an important decorative
feature of the landscape, it may be of velvet--blue, wine-colour, purple
in any of its shades, or jet-black. With the little pendant coat-button
ornaments of gilt, as they may be; the silk sash, rose or scarlet, just
showing under the waistcoat; with the shirt ruffled, and the collar
fastened with link buttons, as it ought to be; and the whole animated
with the game-cock air that the _torero_ assumes as befitting a public
man, it is a costume not lacking in gallantry.
For the woman, convention has strained for a substitute for the inanely
garish, shapeless garments of the Gipsy sister--a good note of colour
they make on the hillside, but in all truth, a poor model for dressing
when placed among formalised surroundings. The conclusion is a
compromise shocking, on first impression, to the ideals of the Spanish
dance. But, as though to confirm the argument of the futurist painters,
that colour-harmony is a matter of what you are accustomed to, you grow
into an acceptance of it. Many people even like it. It has indeed this
merit, that it is a realisation of the Gipsy’s dream of elegance.
Beginning with the _manton_--the long-fringed flowered shawl--half of
these _bailarinas_ of the _Flamenco_ seem to patronise some special
frenzied loom that supplies their class alone. The richness of design
that you saw on the _manton_ of the lady in the next box at last
Sunday’s _corrida_ you find replaced here in _el teatro de variedades_
by an anarchy of colour, and poppies of the size of a man’s hat. The
skirt is stiffened in the bell-shape surviving other days, and well
adapted to composition with Spanish steps; but the colours are of the
piercing brilliancy attainable only by spangles. Orange, carmine,
emerald-green and cerulean-blue are the favourite palette from which the
scheme is selected, with the unit of design of a size that makes more
than two of them impossible on the same skirt. Nevertheless, one accepts
it with custom, aided by the seduction of the dance--which has been
known to secure for its performers pardon for transgressions graver, in
some eyes, than crimes against colour.
Artists there are, of course, who use the colour and spangles with taste
and style, just as there are those of high ability and seriousness who
select the _Flamenco_ on which to build reputation. For dignity,
however, we turn sooner or later to the Classic.
In Andalusia, the first dance you will hear named is _las
Sevillanas_--unless you happen to be in Seville, where the same dance is
known as _Seguidillas_. The latter word lacks explicit significance. It
applies to a form of verse, thence to analogous phrasing in musical
composition, then to a structure of dance. In general it denotes a
composition of three or more stanzas, or _coplas_, repeating the same
music but changing the theme of the step. Various provinces and even
vicinities have their special _Seguidillas_. The number of these and
other dance-forms indigenous to Spain is uncounted, so far as we know;
certainly any complete description of them individually would furnish
material for many hundred pages of print, especially if the list should
include the widely scattered derivatives. Mexico, Cuba, and various
countries of South America have their local compositions; but of these
many are mere degenerations of their original models, and many are
compounded with steps of the Indians. Since none has contributed
anything of consequence, this chapter’s necessary concentration on the
work of Spain itself involves little real sacrifice.
[Illustration: “LAS SEVILLANAS.”
Grouping at pause in first _copla_. School of Don Jose Otero, of
Seville.]
It is _Sevillanas_ whose easier movements are among the first undertaken
by every well-reared Andalusian child, whose adequate execution is half
the fame of most great Spanish dancers. Of all the dances, Otero calls
it “the most Spanish.” Yet it gives the spectator few detached pictures
to carry away in memory. Its merit is in its cumulative choreographic
argument.
Very broadly speaking, the prevailing foot-work of the _Seguidillas_
family is the _pas de Basque_--or, in Spanish, _paso de Vasco_. Turns,
advances and retreats are almost incessant. Variety of step is secured
by frequent _fouettés_ and _fouetté tours_ (figures 43 to 46); the leg
sweep in the latter being usually “inward,” the foot, with most
performers (at present) raised more than waist-high. _Swinging_ steps,
it will be noticed; choppy elements such as _battements_, _entrechats_
and the like are, by distinction, the elements of the sharper work of
the North. _Sevillanas_ makes the feet less important than the hands and
arms. These, however bewildering they are made to appear, follow a
simple theme of opposition, as for instance: (1) left arm horizontally
extended to the side, right arm across the chest; (2) right arm extended
upward, left forearm across the back. As the simplest movement of
club-swinging is incomprehensible to the person to whom it never has
been explained, so with the arms in _Sevillanas_, with the bewilderment
multiplied by the play of line effected by the arms of a couple.
The body is held with a combination of erectness and suppleness that is
Spain’s own; sympathetic to every move of hand or foot, yet always
controlled and always majestic. The essence of this queen of dances is
not in step or movement, but in its traditional style plus a steadily
increasing enrichment through the successive _coplas_--an enrichment
that depends principally on the perfection of team work at a rapid
tempo, and one that adds greatly to the subtle difficulties. Many
performers will inform you that a sixth _copla_ does not exist. Of those
who can execute it adequately, the majority reserve it for competitions
to present as a surprise.
The scope of moods from beginning to end of _Sevillanas_ gives play to
the lyric and the epic; allurement and threat; coquetry and triumph. It
is a blend of the wine
[Illustration: “EL BOLERO”
Typical moment in first _copla_ (1)--Finish of a phrase (2)
To face page 138]
[Illustration: “LA JOTA ARAGONESA”
Type of movement
Kneeling position
A _pirouette_
Finish of a turn
Woman’s sitting position
To face page 139
]
of Andalusia with her flowers and her latent tragedy. Not that it is
particularly a vehicle for pantomime. Rather its suggestions are
conveyed as are the motives of flowers, or architecture--by relations
and qualities of line and form that work upon the senses by alchemy no
more understood than that of music. The accumulating intricacy has been
so artfully designed that, as the dance progresses, its performers
actually seem to free themselves from the restrictions of earth. Each
new marvel tightens the knot of emotion in the throat; shouts invoking
divine blessings on the mother of the _bailarina_--“_Que Dios bendiga tu
madre!_“--unite with the tumult of the _jaleo_. For shouting may save
one from other emotional expressions less becoming.
The music contributes to this hysteria, of course. But, with no
accompaniment but their own castanets, a good team can work the magic.
That might be considered a test of the quality of composition in a
dance, as well as of execution.
So gracious, so stately, so rich in light and shade is _Sevillanas_,
that it alone gives play to all the qualities needed to make a great
artist. When, a few summers ago, Rosario Guerrero charmed New York with
her pantomime of _The Rose and the Dagger_, it was the first two
_coplas_ of this movement-poem that charmed the dagger away from the
bandit. The same steps glorified Carmencita in her day; and Otero, now
popular as a singer in the Opera in Paris. All three of these goddesses
read into their interpretation a powerful idea of majesty, which left it
none the less seductive. Taking it at a comparatively slow tempo, the
perfection of every detail had its highest value. A new generation of
performers has been rather upset by a passing mode of rapid foot-work,
and under its influence too many of them tend to rush the dance and so
detract from its majesty. True it is that a great work of art can stand
a good deal of abuse; but any menace to such a work as the one
discussed, points out the need of a national academy, where the
treasures of the dancing art could be preserved from possible whims of
even an artistically intelligent public, and the compliance of a
non-resisting majority of artists. Unlike most great European nations,
Spain has no national academy of the dance.
[Illustration: TWO GROUPS IN “LAS SEVILLANAS.”]
Fanny Ellsler electrified the America of our fathers’ boyhood days with
her interpretation of _la Cachucha_. Zorn’s _Grammar_ presents a
choro-stenographic record of it, showing few elements that do not occur
in _Sevillanas_. _La Cachucha_ itself has disappeared from the
Peninsula--practically at least, if not absolutely. Its existence is in
printed records and a few old people’s memories. The inference is that
it was at a high pitch of popularity at the time of Ellsler’s sojourn in
Spain, and that _Sevillanas_ subsequently absorbed it. Showing the
operation of an old process: “Our buildings and our weapons of war are
renewed from day to day.... Chairs, cupboards, tables, lamps,
candlesticks are also changed. It is the same with our games and dances,
our music and songs. The _Zarabanda_ has gone; _Seguidillas_ are in
fashion; which, in their turn, will disappear to make room for newer
dances.” So wrote Mateo Aleman, in the sixteenth century. He might a
little more exactly have said “reappear in” instead of “disappear to
make room for.”
_Sevillanas_, as was said before, is Seville’s special arrangement of
_Seguidillas_. _Valencianas_ and _Aragonesas_ are among the modifying
geographic words also in use; Vuillier quotes also _Gitanas_,
_Mollaras_, _Gallegas_ and _Quipuzcoanas_. These terms as localising
modifications of _Seguidillas_ may be no longer current. But their
existence is significant, as indicating a parent trunk from which many
local dance forms have branched. It seems pretty safe to infer that
acquaintance with the general characteristics of the _Seguidillas_ type
gives us an idea of the essentials of some of the dances of very early
times, by whatever names they may have been known. Like _Sevillanas_ and
_la Cachucha_, _el Fandango_ (which _as a name_ has retired into the
mountains of the North, and otherwise is preserved in the opera _La
Nozze de Figaro_) is recorded as being a species of _Seguidillas_. The
castanets are a link that binds the family, logically or otherwise, to
earliest history.
The _Fandango_, though restrained in the theatre, seems at all times to
have been danced in less formal gathering places in a manner more or
less worldly. A story pertaining to it was written in the seventeenth
century. The Pope (according to the story) heard that the _Fandango_
was scandalous, and as a means of stopping its practice, proposed
excommunication as a penalty for its performance. A consistory was
debating the issue, when a cardinal proposed that the accused was
entitled to an opportunity to defend itself. This seemed reasonable, and
the dancers were summoned.
“Their grace and vivacity,” says Davillier, “soon drove the frowns from
the brows of the Fathers, whose souls were stirred by lively emotion and
a strange pleasure. One by one their Eminences began to beat time with
hands and feet, till suddenly their hall became a ballroom; they sprang
up, dancing the steps, imitating the gestures of the dancers. After this
trial, the Fandango was fully pardoned and restored to honour.”
Whatever the lack of basis for the tale, it is a fact that the Church in
Spain has recognised the dance as an art that, like music, lends itself
to religious ritual. Seville Cathedral still has occasions for the
solemn dance of _los Seises_. In 1762, dancers were taken from Valencia
to help celebrate the laying of the foundation-stone of Lerida
Cathedral. Instances might be multiplied at length.
The costume most picturesque and romantic that woman has at her disposal
for these dances is that of the _madroñero_--the network dotted with
little black balls, draped over the hips. Imagine the bodice black
velvet, and the skirt golden-yellow satin, and you have a
spot-and-colour translation of Andalusia. But the dress of the
_madroñero_ is not often to be seen; the spangled _Flamenco_ costume is
publicly accepted as the dress of a Spanish dancing girl.
The _manton_ should be draped over the shoulders like a shawl in _la
Jota Aragonesa_ and other dances indigenous to central and northern
provinces. It is _Flamenco_ to fold it diagonally to form a triangle,
and wrap it around the body in such a way that the depth of the triangle
lies on the front of the body; the apex points downward, and is arranged
to fall to one side of the centre. The other two ends are crossed over
the back and brought forward over the shoulders; or one end may be
tucked in, and the more made of the end that remains in sight.
The dance in which we see the white mantilla to which the Spanish girl
owes a portion of her fame is _la Malagueña y el Torero_. Perhaps owing
to the weight of the man’s costume proper to the dance, it is not often
performed; for the bullion-adorned dress of the _torero_ is of a weight
suggestive of anything but airy foot-work.
The characters of the piece--it is one of the very few Spanish mimetic
dances--are represented, as might be expected, in a little flirtation.
Of the three movements, the first is an animated _paseo_, or promenade,
the _torero_ wrapped in the _capa de gala_ prescribed by ceremony as
essential for _matadores_ and _banderilleros_ during their entrance
parade into the bull-ring. The _torero_ is followed by the girl, her
face demure in the half-shade of the overhanging mantilla. A _manton_
carried folded over her arm, suggestive of a _torero’s_ cape, gives to
the pantomime the key of fantasy; and her weapon of coquetry is a fan.
An elaborate series of advances, turns, meetings and passings prepares
the _torero_ to acknowledge that he notices the girl. (Mr. Bernard Shaw
was not the original discoverer of feminine initiative in man-and-woman
relations.) He looks at her and is delighted. The music changes, and
the second movement, _la mimica_, begins. He will spread his _capa_ for
her to walk over; but first he must flourish it through a couple of the
movements familiar to patrons of the _corrida_. A _veronica_--“_Olé!_”
roars the crowd, whose memory instantly correlates with the writhing
cape the vision of a furious bull. A _farol_ throws the brilliantly
coloured cloth like a huge flower high in the air: a _suerte de capa_
always magnificent, one of the ever-recurring flashes of surprise that
make the _corrida_ irresistible despite its faults. In consecutive
movement the _capa_ opens and settles fanlike before the girl, the boy
kneeling as she passes. Rising, he tosses, his cap for her to step on. A
touch of realism, this! Andalusian usage permits this compliment, with
the spoken wish that God may bless the _señorita’s_ mother. The second
_copla_ draws to a close with the boy’s pantomime merging into dance
step as he becomes more attracted to the girl. She is now evading,
alluring, and reproving, while her movements insensibly succumb more and
more to the dance music which has replaced the promenade tempo of the
first part. The third _copla_ is the dance--_el baile_; _capa_, fan and
_manton_ are discarded for castanets. The steps are of the _Seguidillas_
type; the number ends with the incredibly sudden transformation of a
series of rapid turns into a group as motionless as statuary. This
abrupt stop is a characteristic of Spanish dancing in general that
always has been commented on, and approvingly, by its non-Spanish
observers.
_Las Malagueñas_ also employs mantilla and fan. This sprightly member of
the _Seguidillas_ family has no elements peculiar to itself, yet its
insistent use of little steps adapts it to rapid foot-work. _Manchegas_
is of the
[Illustration: GROUPS IN “LA MALAGUEÑA Y EL TORERO.”
(From work of Eduardo and Elisa Cansino.)]
same nature. The two are often performed immediately after dances of
less action, for the sake of variety.
“The Fandango inflames, the Bolero intoxicates,” wrote an enthusiast of
other days. And in respect to the latter the truth of his observation
may be proved, since the _Bolero_ is still with us, and always
intoxicates every one of its spectators that is not deaf and blind.
Its composition is attributed to Cerezo, a famous dancer of the early
part of the eighteenth century. Material for speculation is furnished by
one of its steps in particular, the _cuarta_, identical with the
ballet’s _entrechat-quatre_. The invention of the _entrechat_ is
credited to the French dancer Camargo, who was not born until after the
advent of the _Bolero_. The question is: Did the _Bolero_ take the
_cuarta_ from Camargo, or did she, a progressive in her day, merely
invent the name “_entrechat_” and apply it to a “lifted” _cuarta_?
Certain it is that it fits its requirements in the _Bolero_ like a key
in its lock. It is used in a passage dedicated to brilliancy, to which
motive this twinkling, gravity-defying step is suited above almost all
others. As rendered by the woman, it is dainty, as in the French ballet.
But the Spanish man treats it in a manner that puts it into a category
by itself, and transforms it from a little step to an evolution that
seems suddenly to occupy the entire stage.
The _cuarta_ at the height of the leap is only his beginning. As he
descends, he kicks one foot up and backward, in a manner to give him a
half-turn in the air. The leg movement opens up the lines of the
elevated figure, giving it a sudden growth comparable to one of those
plants that the Oriental magician develops from
[Illustration: MISCELLANEOUS SPANISH NOTES.
_Los Panaderos_: group turning.
The _Jota_ of Aragon: typical group.
_Las Sevillanas_: use of primitive foot position.
The _Bolero_: a turn in the air.
Castanets: Classic, tied to finger.
_Flamenco_, tied to thumb.
_Seises_ of Seville Cathedral.
]
seed to maturity while you wink. The expansion is augmented by the
extension of the arms at the opportune moment. Altogether, the spectator
is prepared to believe that all physical law has been suspended in
deference to the convenience of poetic motion. Davillier’s observation
that “the Bolero intoxicates” is wholly inadequate.
The dance is in triple time, and arranged in three parts. The second
divides the work of the two performers into solos, admitting whatever
sensational steps each chooses to present, so long as they conform to
the strong, aggressive style that tradition gives the dance. In this
part are the _cuartas_, which good Spanish performers execute as cleanly
as any French _première_. The man’s work may include a series of jumps,
straight up, opening the legs out to horizontal; not in itself an
attractive step, but an exaggeration of the idea of the _Bolero_.
Throughout, the work is vigourous and sharp, of the character created by
_battements_ great and small, _coupés_, and choppily executed _brisés_.
The management of the castanets is a difficult addition to such
vigourous foot-work, and important. To sustain, or rather constantly
augment the excitement proper to the dance, the crash of the recurrent
“tr-r-rá, tak-ta! tr-r-r-á, tak-ta!” must never be dulled for an
instant, nor fail of perfection in rhythm. The double control is seldom
acquired by any but Spaniards, if ever, and even in Spain it is none too
common.
Every lover of dancing probably thinks of his favourite compositions as
personalities. “Queenly _Sevillanas_” inevitably is the way of thinking
of that flower of Andalusia. In similar manner memory puts together
words, “the noble _Bolero_.” Brusque but fine, strong and justly proud,
it sings of iron in the blood, as _Sevillanas_ exhales the spicy
fragrance of hot night air.
[Illustration: TWO GROUPS IN “LOS PANADEROS.”
(From work of Eduardo and Elisa Cansino.)]
Of _los Panaderos_ the introductory measures are dedicated to the
elaborate salutations appropriate to the etiquette of other days. The
dance in general follows the motive of light coquetry through a
pantomimic first part, concluding with a dance of the _Seguidillas_
type, with castanets. Interest is enriched by the dance’s proper
costume. The girl’s _vestido de madroños_ has been described in
connection with another dance, and the same reserved indulgence in the
ornate is seen also in the attire of the man. The velvet jacket permits
subdued but opulent colour; instead of buttonholes it has a lively
design of cord loops. Down the sides of the breeches runs a broad band
of colour that would be too violent were it not broken up by a
superimposed band of heavy black cord lace, through the open pattern of
which the background silk twinkles like jewels. It is a costume to make
an impression at a distance or to tickle the eye on close inspection;
the tasselled leather leggings are delicately adorned with
scroll-pattern traced in stitching, and other details are elaborated
with the same minute care.
Of all the energetic dances of the land of the dance, the one farthest
from any concession to physical infirmity is _la Jota Aragonesa_. Here
is no vehicle for Andalusian languor nor yet for the ceremonies of
courts. The industrious peasant of Aragon is hard of muscle and strong
of heart, and so is his daughter, and their strength is their pride. For
indolence they have no sympathy, be it in ermine or rags; and certainly
if indolence ever forgets itself and strays into the _Jota_, it passes a
bad five minutes.
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 vigour and the innocence of rustic, romping,
boy-and-girl courtship.
A trace of stiffness of limb and angularity of movement, proper to the
_Jota_, imbue 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 castanets most of the time are held
strongly out at arm’s length. One of its many surprises is in the manner
of the pauses: the movement is so fast, the pauses are so electrically
abrupt, and the group (or “picture,” as our stage-folk call it) 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 analyse the movements of the particles in a
kaleidoscope. Out of a dazzle of cross-tied white legs there _snaps_ on
to your retina a vision of a couple face to face, each on one knee;
_one_, two, three, four--on each count the supporting knee comes up, its
mate rhythmically bumps the floor. One measure; again they are in
flight. Another stop, as from a collision with some invisible but
immovable body--the girl is established in a seated position on the
floor, madly playing her castanets, the boy flashing _pirouettes_ around
her. _Bien parada, palomita! pero anda!_ Another cyclone, a crescendo of
energy in the thump of sandalled feet and the pulse-lifting clatter of
castanets, and--dead stop! She is impudently perched on his knee. Raised
with the _paisanos_ around you to the plane of the happy gods, you too
are standing, shouting your rhythm-madness, tearing at scarf-pin,
bouquet or anything to throw to the performers.
Down to the tuning of the castanets is emphasised the difference between
this dance of the stalwart uplanders and the more liquid expression of
Andalusia. It can be understood how, with the instruments fastened to
the _thumb_, and hanging so as not to touch the palm, vibration is not
interrupted after a blow from the finger; consequently they will _ring_
when touched. The successive taps of four skilful fingers on a castanet
so hung will make it _sing_, as is appropriate to the flowing dance of
the South. But change the tie from the thumb to the two middle fingers
and you change the voice: the blow of a finger presses together the two
halves of the instrument, and throws both against the palm of the hand;
vibration is stopped, and the report is a dry “tak” or “tok,” which is
consistent with and contributory to the crisp staccato sentiment of the
_Jota_, with its kicking treatment of a running _pas de bourrée_, swift
_pirouettes_, and abrupt starts and stops.
[Illustration: PART OF THE “JOTA” OF ARAGON.
Showing rapid foot-work to slow music. Steps indicated by accents under
music. The melody above quoted is that of the old _Jota_.]
There is a certain paradoxical relationship between the motives of step
and music, perhaps peculiar to Spain, that asserts itself most clearly
in the _Jota_. That is, the setting of brilliant dance-movement to the
accompaniment of melodies of a sadness sometimes unearthly. The
juxtaposition does not always occur. When it does, as in the old _Jota_
of Aragon and _las Soleares_ of Andalusia, it is the very incarnation of
the mysterious magic of a magic land; it is the smile forcing back the
tear, words of wit spoken by the voice of sorrow. Or is the foreigner
mistaken? The peasant himself sees no sorrow in the tunes, any more than
in life.
Thumping the foot-beats gives an idea of the rhythm so far as related to
the sound; but this fails more than to hint at the effect of the music
in combination with the dance, because the dance so fills the conscious
attention that the music is less heard than felt. The melody itself is
unnoticed; but its underlying melancholy persistently cuts its way into
the heart during the very moments that vision is most madly happy.
True to her modest and serious character, the peasant woman of Aragon
puts on her _manton_ like a shawl, sternly concealing her figure. Her
full, rustic skirt is of dull-coloured cotton. For her no high-heeled
shoes; her foot-wear--and her grandfather’s--is the practical cord-soled
sandal (_alporgata_) tied on with black cords, which, on their
background of white stocking, have a coquettish look in spite of her.
The man’s dress is a representation of simple strength, saved from
sombreness by well-disposed contrasting accents, few but brilliant. The
lacing of the breeches slashed at the knee echoes the tie of the
sandals. The waistcoat and breeches are black; the sash--worn very
broad--may be either dull or bright; but the kerchief tied around the
head is of colour as strong as dyes will produce. Red with a design of
little black squares is characteristic ornament of the province.
Valencia, too, has its _Jota_, but of movement more fluid than that of
Aragon. _La Jota Valenciana_ is superficially distinguished by its
employment of the tambourine; the only dance in Spain--with possible
unimportant exceptions--to accompany itself with this instrument. In
structure it is of the _Seguidillas_ type, the coincidence of the term
_Jota_ being without significance.
To go into a discussion of the dances of the northern
provinces--Cataluña, the Basque provinces, Galicia, Leon and
others--would in most instances be to digress from the theme of Spanish
dancing in any but a geographical sense. The dances of the northern
region that are Spanish in type are of the _Seguidillas_ family already
described, and without special pertinence to the locality. Conversely,
the dances that are indigenous to and characteristic of the North are
not of the type generally and properly known as Spanish, but, in respect
to everything but geography, pertain to the character dances of western
Europe. True, the _Fandango_ is seen in the Basque provinces; but it is
a stray from other parts. Galicia has a pantomime of oafish courtship. A
dance characteristic of Quipuzcoa was described to us by Tencita:
glasses of wine were set on the floor, of the same number as the
dancers, all of whom were men. At a given time every one would
jump--from a considerable distance and to a good height--with the aim of
missing his glass by a minimum margin. This exercise--or dance, by
charity of definition--is performed after important matches of the
provincial game of _pelota_. Being of the general style of racquets,
control of placement of the feet follows. Many of the dances, says
Tencita, are rounds. Of these the salient feature is the man’s lift of
his partner. Some of those iron-shouldered mountaineers, grasping the
girl’s waist in two big hands, lift her straight up to arm’s-length. But
this, to repeat, is Spanish only by grace of political boundary lines.
The same feat is described in a French rustic dance of the Middle Ages.
So long as the tradition of round dancing joins the performers’ hands to
one another, choreographic art can hardly exist.
It is doubtful if the North has carried to the superlative any of the
qualities of real dancing. In pure decorative beauty; variety and force
of expression; scope of motive; happy contrasts of treatment--briefly,
in the art of the dance, Andalusia speaks the final word. Who wishes
natural pantomime need only call a Gipsy. _Mimica_ more delicate is that
of _Toreo Español_ or _el Vito_, both narrating the placing of
_banderillas_, defence with the cape, and the final despatch of a bull.
In a combination of strong movement with speed and grace, there does not
exist in this world a dance-form to excel the _Jota_ of Aragon.
The home of Spanish dancing is south of the latitude of Madrid, in the
flowery region that the caliphs ruled. The pilgrim in search of dancing,
therefore, shall not unsaddle until the nearest hilltop shows the ruins
of a Moorish castle. By that token he will know that he has come to the
land of grapes and fighting bulls, destitution and wit, black eyes,
guitar and song, enchantment. There he may sell his horse; where falls
the shadow of a castle of the Moors, on that soil blooms the dance.