Though his dance criticism constitutes no more than a few pages, the nineteenth-century poet Stéphane Mallarmé has come to be considered an important dance theorist. His dance essays set forth a complex and original view of dance as a poetry of the body and prefigure contemporary efforts to study dance as a system of signs. Mallarmé's prose style is, however, notoriously obscure and resistant to translation. Thus despite the power and beauty of their literary expression, his ideas on dance remain largely inaccessible without critical examination. Through a close reading and translation of several of his key passages on dance, this essay will seek to clarify his theory of the aesthetico-metaphysical function of dance and his concept of its relationship to his own art, poetry.

Where is the point from which we say “I see”? We begin with our eyes (“all eyes,” we say), and we watch. We become spectators, those who watch, and who are defined by that act alone. The act is old, but each perception is new, and each is individual: “I see,” I say, not someone else. Do others see indeed? What do they see? Turn to your left, to your right; enquire, and arguments abound. Believe your eyes, we say: I do, of course, but do I believe yours? There's the rub — and I rub my eyes; the problem vexes. No spectacle provides its spectators with an identical experience. I close my eyes; the spectacle dissolves, yet a vision persists: persistence of vision, we say. Yet how can I see what someone else has seen, if the eyes that saw are gone, if the spectacle they saw is gone? Your eyes, his eyes, those eyes long dead and gone — can I believe them? How does the vision persist?

From the Twenties through most of the Forties, American tap dance in the jazz/rhythm tradition experienced its heyday. Suddenly in the late Forties, the bottom dropped out for many rhythm tap dancers who had established successful careers in vaudeville, musicals, and with big bands. The great chronicler of jazz dance, Marshall Stearns, died wondering whether or not American vernacular dance was vanishing forever. Even today, many still believe that tap absolutely ended with the advent of rock-and-roll, or that it remained in a deep freeze until its revival in the late Sixties. However, the existence of black vocal groups such as those in the Motor Town Revue helped retain and preserve much of the vocabulary of American vernacular dance, including that of tap. The man largely responsible for this retention and cultural transference was Cholly Atkins, who worked as choreographer for Motown Records from 1965-1971.

In Moscow, Goleizovsky was the leader who attracted the younger generation to experiment. Kasian Yaroslavich Goleizovsky had been a student at the Petersburg School; he was accepted in 1902 and spent seven years there along with the future participants in Diaghilev's Ballets Russes abroad. At that time, Fokine was already working in the Maryinsky Theater with students and young dancers. In the school, he conducted the women's class parallel to the one in which Goleizovsky was studying. For the examination performance, Fokine presented Les Saisons, to the music of Tchaikovsky, in which Goleizovsky appeared partnering Fokine's student Elena Lyukom.

In 1914, as Europe went to war, Serge Diaghilev launched an artistic revolution that profoundly altered the identity of the Ballets Russes. By and large, historians have dated this artistic shift to Parade. Unveiled in Paris in 1917, three years after Diaghilev's last full-scale season in the French capital, the work served public notice of the switch in his allegiance to the avant-garde. Parade came with impeccable modernist credentials: designs by Pablo Picasso, music by Erik Satie, a libretto by Jean Cocteau, program notes by Guillaume Apollinaire. Only Léonide Massine, the ballet's choreographer, was an unknown quantity, although by the early 1920s, his name, too, would be synonymous with modernism. It is not difficult to understand why historians have identified this work as the cradle of Ballets Russes modernism.

While considerable scholarly attention has begun to turn to Baroque dance, researchers have most frequently investigated French or English sources. The Netherlands, strongly influenced by both of these nations, has perhaps been overlooked because of its small size, its seemingly minor role relative to larger powers in world affairs in this period, and the difficulty of non-Dutch scholars with the language. Nevertheless, the flourishing Dutch court, the nation's extensive commercial activity, and the cultural wealth of the Netherlands make research into the theatre and dance of this period rewarding and enlightening. Further, the excellent research facilities available in the Netherlands make research in that country a scholar's delight. The intention of this study is to document the dancing activities of the Dutch court, to contrast these with dancing in a distant province of the land, and to explore the effects of religious attitudes on both of these situations.

Ida Rubinstein made her first Western European appearance in the title role of Cléopâtre at the Théâtre du Châtelet on June 2, 1909. It was the second evening of Diaghilev's dance programs of that memorable first Paris season, and Ida Rubinstein would have to compete not only with Vaslav Nijinsky and Tamara Karsavina, both of whom had created a furor on the opening program, but also with Anna Pavlova, whose reputation as a dancer had preceded her to Paris.

It is well acknowledged that the court dances which developed in Europe from the seventeenth century onward spread to the rural areas of Europe and to the new world. What has not been properly recognized is that these dances — the quadrille, the cotillion, the contradance and the like — were taken up by Afro-Americans in North and South America and the West Indies and were modified and adapted to local cultural circumstances. In many cases — especially in the West Indies — they continue to be found today. Yet as similar as these dances may look or sound, their functions are not always necessarily the same as those of their European sources. At one extreme, they were “Africanized” for sacred purposes; at the other, they were re-formed and became the basis of a new world popular culture. An example of the former occurs on the island of Montserrat.

There country dance orchestras made up of various combinations of fife, fiddle, concertina or accordion, triangle, and two drums known as the woowoo and the babala (or babla) play for social dancing, but the same music is also used for inducing possession on other occasions, called “jombee dances.” On these latter occasions quadrille dance rhythms are intensified and gradually “Africanized” in order that individuals may become possessed and convey the messages of the spirits.

The physical appearance required in dance, particularly in terms of body weight and fat, is often a demand that hovers over the aspiring and professional dancer's career (Vincent, 1979). This investigation was intended to measure various aspects of body composition in different types of dancers, as well as use various methods. Measurements of percent body fat and lean weight may serve as a means of quantifying appearance in dance so that dancers may be guided towards appropriate body composition goals. This may be more reflective of the dancer's true physique than relying simply on total body weight, which does not take proportions of muscle and fat into account. Kirkendall and Calabrese (1983) have noted that attention must be paid to lean mass in dancers as well as percent fat. A method of evaluating the relationship between height, lean mass (fat free weight), and total weight was developed for this study to address the issue of proportion (i.e., a dancer who perhaps has a low percent fat level but is still considered too “heavy” because of a large muscle mass).

Although hydrostatic weighing has been noted as “the gold standard” in body composition measurements (Nash, 1985), such methods are often unavailable or impractical for professional dancers or university dance departments. Anthropometric (or “skinfold”) methods have greater practicality, but may lack the individual accuracy of hydrostatic methods (Nash, 1985). Recently, electrical impedance has been cited as a convenient alternative to both underwater and skinfold techniques (Harrison & Van Italli, 1982; Presta, et al. 1984).

Gertrude Kurath's article “George Gershwin's Concerto in F at the Yale School of Drama” gives us entry into the dances of two worlds. One is the Euro-American world of creative dance composition exemplified by the 1930 slice of time at the then newly established Yale School of Drama. The other is the Native American and Black American dance world that allows a glimpse into the expansive transformation of Kurath's “kinetic empathy” (Kurath 1986:3).

For the first, Kurath reminisces about the 1930 Yale dance group. During an informal meeting Gershwin discussed with Kurath and Harriet Meyer their experimental choreography for his Concerto in F. This vignette is a gem that is salvaged for history by Kurath's reconstruction.

Some persons in the 1930 Yale dance group became known by works that could not have been predicted by their activities at the Yale School of Drama, Virginia More Roediger, for example, later wrote the unique and valuable reference book Ceremonial Costumes of the Pueblo Indians (1941). Kurath later became the doyen of dance ethnology, her great life work. That two of this small group would contribute important studies about American Indians is noteworthy and startling. The influences of non-Euro-American dances — chronicled extensively — must have become embedded in the world view of Euro-American concert dancers by the time Kurath and her colleagues were studying at the Yale School of Drama.

In footnote four of the current article, Kurath suggests “pertinent” references that are reprinted in her 1986 book of essays. Choreographic guidelines are packaged in “Dance Design” (1931 in 1986:2) along with “Harmony and Conflict in Structure” (1932 continuation of 1931 in 1986:9). She instructs that a group composition should have parallelisms and contradictions that are achieved, respectively, by repetition and counter-motifs. Kurath notes that “concentration and harmony are the first prerequisites; interest is increased and pattern enriched by contrasting and conflicting lines. All point is lost if the ensemble does not build to a climax” (1932 in 1986:14). That the Yale performance of Gershwin's Concerto in F follows these guidelines is demonstrated in her analytical description, and the pattern contrasts indicated by the drawings that accompany this current article.