sant
shuddering under the blows of the knout. The picture is a tragic one,
cumulative in its horrific details. Finally comes the moment of
release and here Isadora makes one of her great effects. She does not
spread her arms apart with a wide gesture. She brings them forward
slowly and we observe with horror that they have practically forgotten
how to move at all! They are crushed, these hands, crushed and
bleeding after their long serfdom; they are not hands at all but
claws, broken, twisted piteous claws! The expression of frightened,
almost uncomprehending, joy with which Isadora concludes the march is
another stroke of her vivid imaginative genius.

In her third number inspired by the Great War, the _Marche Lorraine_
of Louis Ganne, in which is incorporated the celebrated _Chanson
Lorraine_, Isadora with her pupils, symbolizes the gaiety of the
martial spirit. It is the spirit of the cavalry riding gaily with
banners waving in the wind; the infantry marching to an inspired
tune. There is nothing of the horror of war or revolution in this
picture ... only the brilliancy and dash of war ... the power and the
glory!

Of late years Isadora has danced (in the conventional meaning of the
word) less and less. Since her performance at Carnegie Hall several
years ago of the _Liebestod_ from _Tristan_, which Walter Damrosch
hailed as an extremely interesting experiment, she has attempted to
express something more than the joy of melody and rhythm. Indeed on at
least three occasions she has danced a Requiem at the Metropolitan
Opera House.... If the new art at its best is not dancing, neither is
it wholly allied to the art of pantomime. It would seem, indeed, that
Isadora is attempting to express something of the spirit of sculpture,
perhaps what Vachell Lindsay describes as "moving sculpture." Her
medium, of necessity, is still rhythmic gesture, but its development
seems almost dream-like. More than the dance this new art partakes of
the fluid and unending quality of music. Like any other new art it is
not to be understood at first and I confess in the beginning it said
nothing to me but eventually I began to take pleasure in watching it.
Now Isadora's poetic and imaginative interpretation of the symphonic
interlude from Cesar Franck's _Redemption_ is full of beauty and
meaning to me and during the whole course of its performance the
interpreter scarcely rises from her knees. The neck, the throat, the
shoulders, the head a