THE DANCING LESSON—­PASTEL]

The dancers go much further still in the expression of Degas’s temperament.  They have been studied at the foyer of the Opera and at the rehearsal, sometimes in groups, sometimes isolated.  Some pictures which will always count among the masterpieces of the nineteenth century, represent the whole corps de ballet performing on the stage before a dark and empty house.  By the feeble light of some lamps the black coats of the stage managers mix themselves with the gauze skirts.  Here the draughtsman joins the great colourist:  the petticoats of pink or white tulle, the graceful legs covered with flesh-coloured silk, the arms and the shoulders, and the hair crowned with flowers, offer motives of exquisite colour and of a tone of living flowers.  But the psychologist does not lose his rights:  not only does he amuse himself with noting the special movements of the dancers, but he also notes the anatomical defects.  He shows with cruel frankness, with a strange love of modern character, the strong legs, the thin shoulders, and the provoking and vulgar heads of these frequently ugly girls of common origin.  With the irony of an entomologist piercing the coloured insect he shows us the disenchanting reality in the sad shadow of the scenes, of these butterflies who dazzle us on the stage.  He unveils the reverse side of a dream without, however, caricaturing; he raises even, under the imperfection of the bodies, the animal grace of the organisms; he has the severe beauty of the true.  He gives to his groups of ballet-dancers the charming line of garlands and restores to them a harmony in the ensemble, so as to prove that he does not misjudge the charm conferred upon them by rhythm, however defective they may be individually.  At other times he devotes himself to the study of their practice.  In bare rooms with curtainless windows, in the cold and sad light of the boxes, he passionately draws the dancers learning their steps, reaching high bars with the tips of their toes, forcing themselves into quaint poses in order to make themselves more supple, manoeuvring to the sound of a fiddle scratched by an old teacher—­and he leaves us stupefied at the knowledge, the observation, the talent profusely spent on these little pictures.  Furthermore there are humorous scenes:  ballet-dancers chatting in the dark with habitues of the Opera, others looking at the house through the small opening of the curtain, others re-tying their shoe-laces, and they all are prodigious drawings of movement anatomically as correct as they are unexpected.  Degas’s old style of drawing undergoes modification:  with the help of slight deformations, accentuations of the modelling and subtle falsifications of the proportions, managed with infinite tact and knowledge, the artist brings forth in relief the important gesture, subordinating to it all the others.  He attempts drawing by movement as it is caught by our eyes in life,