WHEN FRESH, IT WAS SWEET
Balieff's actors from The Bat
in Moscow seem as if from the
centre of the onion—the vision
predominates. Removed from the intimate
it is all intimate, closely observed
to be deftly translated to the stage—
The swiftness, fulness, delicacy
of their compositions dance with
the imaginations of peasants and
musicians, philosophers, and
gipsies—The keen eyes of humour
look from tall women's faces
gently; the ensemble is felt
above the detail; the music goes
free of the fact; the satire puts
a varicoloured bridle on the donkey—
the old and the young
engage in the same pastimes—
Pantomime and gesture
woman or man—a power suffuses everything
gathering it altogether
uniting without brushing even the bloom—
The free air
welcomes them to itself, the footlights
obey as if it were some lost master—
The Americans of the audience
crumble, sweetness escapes their lips,
their straining comedians feel
a lightness that bids them play—
They are relieved of their lot
Jolson is entranced
