University of Virginia Library

RONZI VESTRIS.

—Shakspeare.

We were born upon a spot of earth where feet are
used for prosaic rather than poetical purposes, and
where they are looked upon merely as appendages
which it would be singular and inconvenient to be
without. Independent of the ordinary business of
life, walking and running matches, leaping, or any
other hardy and vigorous exercises, were the affairs
in which their services were commonly required;
though, to be sure, the people did at times assemble,
and voluntarily undergo and perform a violent and
eccentric motion, by them termed dancing; but, as
regarded all the graceful uses to which feet, and the
limbs to which they are more immediately attached,
might be brought by scientific cultivation, not an
idea was entertained, and not a glimmering of light

had been diffused on the subject. Dancing was
there in a primitive state, or rather, it was worse—
like the Russians, hovering between barbarism and
civilization, with all the bad properties of both, and
little of the good of either. The freedom and untaught
grace of nature were gone, without any of
the beautiful combinations and surprising achievements
of art being substituted in their place. To
a spectator, it seemed as if the parties engaged (the
men at least) were, without any perceivable reason,
subjecting themselves to a rough and somewhat
disagreeable exercise. By a violent exertion of the
muscles, the body was forced bolt-upright into the
air, whence, as soon as the impetus had ceased,
it returned as speedily as possible to the floor, which
it no sooner touched, than another desperate effort
again propelled it upward, and so on, until nature
was exhausted. We had indeed at times misgivings
if this could really be dancing; an art that
was said to consist of a series of the most skilful
and picturesque movements; and as we read of the
Asiatic girls, the Greeks, Herodias, Mercandotti,
Deshays, and others eminent in that line, we marvel
exceedingly; but any expressed opinion on the
subject was instantly put down by a reference to the
high professional character of the two gentlemen
who had the superintendence of the heels of the
springing generation in that portion of the globe.

In the course of time we beheld many professional
artists (English ones) at theatres and other
public places, and always felt relieved when they
got through their work; and the performance of
the Winnebago Indians nearly convinced us
that dancing in all nations, whether savage or
civilized, was a foolish abomination. The appearance,
however, of Hutin, and the French corps de
ballet, threw some light upon the subject. The
dancers of a nation of dancers were brought to the
American shores to expound the mysteries of the
Academie de la Musique. The essence, the quintessence
of dancing, was what was expected, and
had Vestris never appeared, it might still have passed
for such. Here, at least, was some approach
to an union of grace and agility; while the boldness
and novelty of the spectacle threw the audience
into a state of most undignified surprise. They did
not know exactly what to make of it, but took it for
granted that it must be superlatively fine, and consequently
counterfeited an exuberance of admiration;
but when, in the pas seul of “I've been
roaming,” Hutin came bounding like a stag from
the top to the bottom of the stage in about three
springs, the connoisseurs in the pit were really

amazed; they looked into each other's faces for information,
but not finding any, grinned a smile of
approbation; and many were heard to give utterance
to the oracular exclamation of “no mistake!” a
term by which no small portion of the inhabitants
of this city intimate their sense of excellence in
any shape.

But Vestris, the exquisite Vestris appeared, and
all that had gone before seemed poor in comparison.
With a form cast in nature's happiest
mould, and a face to match; with

with a step as free as fancy, agile as an antelope,
and elastic as a bow, who was to be compared with
her? When contrasted with her, the movements of
all the rest were sharp and angular. Their performance
was a collection of brilliant points—hers
one uninterrupted piece of perfection. We did not
want to see her dance, only to behold her in motion.
She could even do that hardest of all things—violate
nature gracefully; for it must be owned that
some of her attitudes are such as nature never dreamt
of, though this is a fault, perhaps, inseparable from
the French school. Of the faults of that school
she has less than any of the rest, especially the
practice of twirling rapidly round on one foot to
please the vicious taste, and gain the good-for-nothing
applause of those whose ignorant wonder is excited
by this vulgar and marvelously ungraceful trick.
In the slow parts of some of the dances her action
is in reality the very “poetry of motion:”—the swell
and fall of the summer sea—the waving grace
of the rich meadow when the breeze passes gently
over it—the peculiar sweep of the branches of the
willow, which, even at their largest growth, seem
constructed of the most delicate fibres—or, indeed,
any thing that is most beautiful in motion, is, at
times, not more beautiful than Vestris. And, as the
music takes a quicker and bolder measure, with what
nerve and confidence she spurns the boards and
throws herself in air! When we think of it, we
look at the pedestals on which our own trunk is
supported, and “inly ruminate” what quantity of
cultivation would be necessary to enable them to
accomplish such feats!

There is another advantage in seeing Vestris,
particularly to persons whose ideas, like our own,
are involved in more than Egyptian darkness concerning
pirouettes, entrechats, &c. and who might
expose their ignorance and get into an awkward
dilemma by asserting that Estelle was better than
Ravenot, or Ravenot better than Estelle. When
Vestris is before them they are safe. They can

lean back at their ease—assume a knowing and
intelligent look—nod complacently at the execution
of any surprising manæuvre, and indulge in the
most sweeping eulogiums without fear of committing
themselves; for she is