It was not till the central ballet of “Snowflakes” that Pavlova made her eagerly awaited appearance. She was recognised in a moment and greeted with a rousing outburst of applause. The whole setting of this ballet, adapted from Tschaikowsky’s “Nutcracker,” is one of rare and delicate beauty.
The stage is white with snow, and is surrounded with trees whose branches are laden with the same pure white. Flakes are softly falling most of the time, and all of the dancers are clad in snowy whiteness in harmony with the scene.
The appearance of Pavlova to enter into a pas de deux with Laurent Novikoff was preluded by a charming valse of snowflakes in which about two dozen dancers took part. The dazzling swiftness and brilliant cleverness of the work of Pavlova and her partner hold the audience spellbound, and in their eager delight they burst into spontaneous applause several times before the actual climax was reached.
Madame received at the close a great basket of white chrysanthemums, and the audience continued to applaud and recall her again and again.
Three memorable reappearances did Pavlova make. In her marvellous depiction of the flashing, shimmering, dragon fly one realised that in all that had been said of her powers there is nothing overstated. If it were possible an even greater triumph was hers in “The Swan,” to the music of Saint-Saens.
As the throbbing, quivering creature, circling in the infinite pathos of its death agony, fluttered convulsively for the last time, and lay still, one could sympathise with the critic who hoped he might never see anyone else attempt “The Swan” after Pavlova.
The final offering was a Russian peasant dance, in which Pavlova and M. Algeranoff had the assistance of eight village maidens. Pavlova was altogether captivating as the village flirt. At the close Pavlova received several more beautiful floral tributes, and the audience remained for a long time recalling her again and again before the footlights and finally breaking out into enthusiastic cheering.
Interview with ballet great
Dancing, that most ancient and the most lovely of the arts, is the language of the mind, the interpreter of the emotions and aspirations which stir the soul — and its most exquisite exponent is Anna Pavlova.
‘‘lt is not one art, but a harmony of the arts,” says Anna Pavlova. The maitre de ballet creates the movements; the artist devises a suitable decor; the best musicians of Russia compose appropriate music; and there is woven such a patterned tapestry of motion and grace and colour upon gorgeous colour as only that land can conceive — or perfect symphonies of wild, pale beauty as only Pavlova can interpret.
In the course of the interview, Pavlova stressed the need for proper study and arduous perseverance. “But then,” she added, “you must have the devotion. That is so necessary.”
Anna Pavlova’s tour of the world ends with her Australian and New Zealand engagements Of New Zealand: “It is a very beautiful land,” she said. “It reminds me in parts of Italy — all blue sky and blue water. But not now.” Rain was driving against the windows as she spoke in Dunedin.
The fame of Pavlova is as wide as the world; but perhaps the greatest devotion to her comes from a house at Saint Cloud, Paris. There 35 refugee children, who lost everything in the crumbling of Imperial Russia, have their home, play, and study — Pavlova’s “babies,” whom she has rescued for life.
We have seen Pavlova dance, and it is incredible. In that one person is contained the fire and wonder of all the ages, the poetry and music of all time. — by ‘Phillida’ — ODT, 30.6.1926
