I wasn't present at the station when Madame PAVLOVA arrived in London,
bringing with her, as I have been assured by six different newspapers, no
fewer than three hundred and eighty-five pieces of luggage. But I have
seen, thanks to Sir J. M. BARRIE, the transformation which a Russian _prima
ballerina_ makes in an English country home, so I happen to know exactly
what occurred. I think it deserves to be recorded. Very well then.
SCENE--_A Metropolitan railway terminus, though you wouldn't perhaps
recognise it, because it looks a little like the interior of a Greek
cathedral and a little like the fair at Nijni Novgorod, and the
posters have obviously been painted by_ Mr. WYNDHAM LEWIS _or somebody
like that. One porter is discovered leaning against an automatic sweet
machine designed by an Expressionist sculptor. He is wearing a long
mole-coloured smock, and looking with extreme disfavour at his
luggage-truck, which has somehow got itself painted bright blue and
green, with red wheels. Music by_ J. H. Thomaski.
[_Enter L., puffing slowly, the boat-train. The engine and carriages
resemble Early-Victorian prints._ Madame PAVLOVA _descends, and in a
very expressive dance conveys to the_ Porter _that she has one or two
trunks in the guard's van which she wants him to convey to a taxicab_.
_Porter._ 'Ow many is there, lady?
[PAVLOVA _pirouettes a little more and points three hundred and
eighty-five times at the station-roof with her right toe_.
_Porter._ Can't be done nohow.
[PAVLOVA _dances a dance indicative of absolute and heartrending
despair, terminating in an appeal to the heavens to come to her aid.
Enter R. an important-looking personage with a long white beard,
wearing a costume which might be, called a commissionaire's if it
wasn't so like a harlequin's._
_Porter_ (_impressively and with evident relief_). The Stazione Maestro!
_The Stazione Maestro._ What's all this?
[PAVLOVA _dances an explanation of the_ impasse. _The_ S.-M. _and the_
Porter _remove their caps and scratch their heads solemnly, to slow
music_.
_The S.-M._ (_after deep cogitation_). This must be referred to the N.U.R.
[_Enter suddenly, R. and L., dancing, the Central Executive Committee
of the N.U.R. There is thunder and lightning._ PAVLOVA _repeats her
appeal. The_ C.E.C. _confabulate. The_ Chairman _finally announces
that the thing is entirely contrary to the principles of their Union,
and if the_ Station-master _permits it he must take the consequences.
The_ C.E.C. _disappear_.
_The S.-M._ What about it, Bill?
_Porter._ We'll do it. (_He dances._) Here goes, Mum.
[_Enter, suddenly, chorus of porters with multi-coloured trucks.
(They are the same as the_ C.E.C. _really, but they have changed
their clothes.) Aided by the_ S.-M. _and_ Bill _they remove the
three hundred and eighty-five packages, and wheel them, walking on
their toes, to the station exit, R. Here is seen a taxicab whose
driver is wrapped in profound meditation and smoking a hookah, the
bowl of which rests on the pavement. It is represented to him that a
lady with some luggage desires to charter his conveyance and proceed
to Hampstead. He comes forward to the centre and explains:_
_1. That it is near the dinner-hour._
_2. That he has no petrol._
_3. That he wouldn't do it for_ LLOYD GEORGE _hisself_.
_He retires to his vehicle and resumes his hookah._ PAVLOVA _dances
some dances expressive of Spring, of Butterflies, of Flowers, of
Unlimited Gold. In the midst of the final passage the driver leaps
from his seat, rushes on to the platform, jumps three hundred and
eighty-five times into the air, whirls_ PAVLOVA _off her toes and
dashes from side to side, carrying her in one hand. He finally flings
her into the taxicab and returns to his seat. The luggage is piled
upon the roof by dancing porters and tied with many-coloured ribbons.
The taxi departs in a cloud of petrol, the driver steering with his
toes and manipulating the clutches with his hands. Farewells are waved
and finally, surrounded by the rest of the porters, the_ Station
Master _and_ Bill _dance a dance of Glad Sacrifice, stab themselves
with their hands, and die_.