The diamonds

Diamonds are impossible to photograph. No image ever really captures the astonishing effects of color, fire, and light in motion that are produced by these most fascinating stones—lumps of pure carbon, compressed into atomic hardness by colossal pressure deep inside the earth’s crust and at huge temperatures tens of millions of years ago. A colleague recalls witnessing the funeral procession of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, and the moment when, making the wide turn from Clarence House onto the Mall, hard by his office in St. James’s Palace, Her Majesty’s gun-carriage and catafalque, which was surmounted by the queen-consort’s crown, caused the famous Koh-i-noor diamond mounted in front to project an almost blinding searchlight-flash across the same wide arc, and caught him by surprise. Yesterday we installed and secured the Manchester tiara, and it was thrilling to observe a similar effect, but this time further exploited by the master craftsmen of Cartier, ca. 1903. For the central portions of the principal up-thrusting forms of this sumptuous jewel—actually flaming hearts of catholic dogma—consist of stones artfully suspended in groups of three so that the slightest motion will set the entire jewel alight. It is as if the light emanates from within each stone, instead of simply bouncing off or passing through it. In a world that especially for young people increasingly knows no tangible difference between physical reality and virtual substitutes, it is heartening to think that there is in the museum experience an opportunity to reach for the ungraspable, and enjoy a visual experience that cannot happen any other way. Magnificent jewels may also prompt ruminations upon the astounding excesses of elite consumption, but this is also healthy. I daresay many New Englanders will judge the Manchester tiara to veer dangerously towards a region of high vulgarity that is difficult to approach without the crampons and heavy lifting gear afforded by immense wealth. I tried to imagine what it must have felt like to wear this spectacular jewel, as the Duchess of Manchester undoubtedly did. At least satisfying, I should think, and probably exciting too. Good looks, decent teeth, clear skin are simply irrelevant when you have something as visually amazing perched on top of your head. However, I suspect I may be old-fashioned in attaching rather more importance to the purely aesthetic impact of this great jewel. It consists, after all, of hundreds of old-cut diamonds, dozens of them whoppers—strobing, glinting, flashing out of the colorless clarity of their hand-made facets bright and paradoxical little murmurings of green, orange, yellow, and blue. Nothing better captures the supreme self-confidence of a ruling elite than the Manchester tiara. Through the Edwardian decade that aristocracy knew it was dancing on the rim of a volcano, and I suppose there were no better or surer guarantees attaching to their self-confidence than today’s Wall Street plutocrats presume they too enjoy.

Hello Dolly

These last stages of the process of putting on a big exhibition are by far the most enjoyable. The book has arrived from the printers in all its splendor. The construction of plinths, pedestals, cases, and other items of bespoke furniture is complete. There is a rich array of power tools, trolleys, dollies, tape-measures, spirit-levels, extension cords, fresh light bulbs, and carts laden with all sorts of screws, nuts, bolts, washers, hooks, and other carefully organized fittings. Such smooth wall surfaces as are, in this High Modernist building, permitted a color are now painted the necessary number of coats, and our choice of a powdery, dry pale blue produces exactly the effect we had hoped for. The signage, object labels, and wall texts have been edited, designed, and are now in production—their careful arrangement around the galleries has been decided. The illuminated vitrines outside the front door are almost done. The sound program is finished, thanks to the efforts of our colleagues in Yale Media. The films have likewise been chosen, and await the installation of the monitor and DVD-player at the end of the exhibition. Templates defining the exact position of every object in the show have now been placed around the galleries, together with stickies that indicate the correct orientation of the accompanying labels. All that remains is for the nearly two hundred objects to arrive, one by one, or in groups according to lender. And then we shall open, and start talking about it to our visitors, non-stop.

Hanging a loan show is for the responsible curators somewhat different from re-hanging the permanent collection because under the terms of most if not all loan agreements the placing and installation of other institutions’ works of art must be carried out in the presence of their representatives, and obviously to their satisfaction. That responsibility almost always rests with the couriers who accompany the shipments. To that end much advance planning is necessary, and very little last-minute adjustment is possible. Still, there are decisions to be made when we go ahead install a borrowed object, once they have been condition-checked: an inch or two up or down, left or right. The unexpected or unforeseen effects of sight-lines or adjacencies and even the friendliness or otherwise of neighboring picture frames sometimes require a little attention. Other small problems inevitably arise, and can usually be solved to the contentment of all. The director must be kept apprised of progress, and her views naturally also taken account of. Certainly we are greatly assisted by the expertise and judgment of our out-of-house exhibition designer the excellent Stephen Saitas; by the meticulousness and indomitability of our registrar, together with the professionalism, steady hands, and shrewd opinions of our installation crew. Their views are always worth soliciting and usually right.

So, four weeks from now we will be up and running. The opening week’s festivities will be behind us. The exhibition will have taken on a life of its own. There is already an enormous 15-second advertisement running roughly every half hour or so on the CBS David Letterman screen at Times Square and Forty-Second Street, with an estimated audience of 1.5 millions. I wonder whether this will generate more than average foot traffic from New York. I hope so. Yale University Press, meanwhile, has high hopes for the publication, which in so many respects seems just now to converge strangely with the recent Downton Abbey phenomenon. It seems that something in the zeitgeist is focusing some attention on my beloved Edwardians. What a very satisfactory state of affairs!

Further thoughts about “Pavlova”

Let us now sift and sort the colors listed alongside the mysterious “Pavlova” in the sequence of enticing advertisements published in the Argus newspaper (Melbourne) between April 1926 and October 1928 for Georges, the Myer Emporium, Read’s and Maclellan’s of Chapel Street, Foy and Gibson of Collingwood, The Mutual Store of Flinders Street, and Payne’s Bon Marche of Bourke Street. The number in parentheses refers to the percentage frequency with which certain colors burrow their persistent way into this complete repertoire of “Pavlova” color references. (The number is omitted if the relevant color recurred in fewer than 15% of the ads.)

White: cream; ivory; sand; and white (qua white);

Pink: chardron; cyclamen; flesh/nude; fuchsia; glycine; petunia; pink (qua pink); rose (32); salmon; shell, and vieux rose/vieux rose saxe;

Red: amourette; bois de rose (67); burgundy (19); cardinal; coral; flame; henna; Sahara; mulberry (16); plum; red (qua red); new red; rosewood; ruby; russet; scarlet; strawberry, and wine/beaum (wine) (25);

Orange: apricot (25); orange (qua orange); oriflamme; sunset, and tangerine;

Brown: almond; beige (16); brown (qua brown)/full brown/mid. brown/nut brown; burnt oak; caramel; cedarwood; cinnamon (16); cocoa (19); fawn (35); mole; nigger; raisin; rust; santal; tabac, and tan/light tan;

Yellow: champagne (19); lemon (22), and reseda (mignonette) (22);

Grey: grey (qua grey) (16), and putty;

Green: apple green/new green; bottle (25); bracken; jade; lettuce; palm/palm green; spring, and vert de gris;

Cyan: eau de nil/nil/nilesque;

Blue: delphinium; Dutch blue; Elizabeth blue/pale blue/Princess blue; navy (29); pervanche (periwinkle)/pervanche blue (19); Persian; saxe/light saxe (35); sky (29), and turquoise;

Violet: amethyst; helio[trope]. (25); lavender; mauve/deep mauve (29), and parma/parma violet;

Black: black (qua black) (32).

Now clearly there are points of difficulty arising from this exercise, because it is to some extent a matter of guesswork whether, say, “sand” belongs in the category of shades of white, or at the higher-keyed extremity of the browns, or whether “bois de rose” and “rosewood” belong more squarely in the parent categories of red or brown, or indeed where “rust” might go. Is “sunset” red, orange, or yellow? “Saxe” and “vieux rose saxe” constitute a knotty problem because on the one hand saxe has strong associations with Dresden china (in all its diversity of color and style), but, on the other hand, it also retained dynastic associations with the heraldic blue of the kings of Saxony. These are not necessarily inconsistent, so saxe must almost certainly belong with the blues, while vieux rose saxe cannot possibly be anything other than pink. Apart from obvious objections arising from its appallingly racist prompt, it is difficult to see how “nigger” was effectively distinguished from brown/full brown/mid. brown/nut brown; caramel; cocoa; tan/light tan, or indeed black. Finally, I am very doubtful about the remaining three unassigned colors of “nattier”; “orchid”; and “veronese.”

Presumably “nattier” refers to the family of French painters of the ancien régime, and on that basis one might tentatively assign it to the category of pink, but this is by no means an obvious choice, because judging from their airy palette, “nattier” might equally qualify as pale blue or yellow.

“Veronese” even more unequivocally descends from the sixteenth-century painter of Venice (Paolo), and some sort of rich dark red would therefore work well enough, but “orchid” is simply useless as a color descriptor because of the huge number of varieties. Perhaps, keeping in mind the not particularly broad parameters of Melbourne taste in the 1920s, cream or yellow would not be too far-fetched; possibly pale pink, or even purple, which is an intriguing omission here, except for its several glorious incognito appearances under violet; yet purple qua purple is never mentioned.

However we may observe some trends. Reds and browns clearly outweigh blues and greens in both tonal range, basic number, and rates of recurrence. Apart from spectrum-shrugging browns, greys, and whites, which seem consistent with the Modernist moment, fully adherent reds and blues also outweigh the compound colors of blue-yellow (greens), yellow-red (oranges), and blue-green (eau-de-nil), but with (for example) those loud assertions of violet these compounds are nevertheless forcefully present.

Where, then, does the color of “Pavlova” logically go? Certainly where pavlova went, more often than not bois de rose went also. No other color term recurs with pavlova nearly so often. What is so baffling, though, is that no other capsule of references to the color of pavlova surfaces in any other Australian newspaper of the period, and most if not all references to the eponymous ballerina are at best inconclusive.

On September 17, 1926, for example, the columnist “I-no” reported in her “Sydney Notes” in the Canberra Times (under “The Florist’s Art,” p. 14), that “Pavlova and Anna Seymour (the star of Santrey’s Band at the Tivoli), both say that they have never seen anything like the flowers in Sydney, or such art amongst the florists,” but this does not get us very far at all.

It seems to me that the balance of probability points either to the whites or yellows, and not merely because these seem so under-represented against the browns, beiges, putties, flesh and earth tones. Certainly Princess Elizabeth laid prior claim to the celebrity associations of blue, and I doubt if pavlova could have been permitted to encroach upon that imperial quarter. (Also the Duke and Duchess of York visited Australia in 1927.)

If pavlova turns out not to have nestled comfortably among the whites or yellows, my second choice would be to assign pavlova to the palest of pinks or some kind of tinselly silver because what seems most surprising about surviving accounts of ballerina’s costume and toilette in the first J. C. Williamson season was the Argus critic’s references to that odd-sounding pink wig, and those slightly over-insistent touches of “silver tissue.”

I think it is unlikely that we shall ever be certain, unless some long-forgotten clue survives in the archives of Myer’s, or even the personal papers of Dame Merlyn, or some thrifty upper-end Melbourne nonagenarian still has a swatch of light-sensitive fabric buried deep in her work basket, and the memory of a steel trap. Dame Elisabeth?

The definitive Pavlova color spectrum

1. Complete chronological list of 31 references in the Argus newspaper (Melbourne) to “Pavlova” or “pavlova” as the name for a “new season” color, together with all accompanying named colors or shades, 1926–28:

1926

April 26, p. 7: Read’s of Chapel Street, Prahran, “Bargains in Seasonable Merchandise”

—Ladies’ imported all-wool Jersey jumpers “in all new season’s shades, including tangerine, amourette, nilesque, veronese, tan, Pavlova, oriflamme, rust, and burnt oak”

May 19, p. 15: Georges’ winter sale

—suits and frocks in “jade, wine, cocoa, Pavlova, bois de rose, and cinnamon.”

June 12, p. 9: Myer Emporium

—Saxony frocking in “bracken, bois de rose, Pavlova, almond, bottle, palm green, and parma violet”; bordered frockings in “Sahara, bracken, amethyst, Pavlova, palm green, nut brown, bottle, bois de rose, nigger, and rust”; and English velours in “wine, Burgundy, plum, Pavlova, saxe, Princess blue, bottle, navy, and black.” 

June 22, p. 7: Read’s winter sale, a “Wholesale Slaughter of Woollen Dress Goods”

—Kasha suitings “in diagonal stripe effects of Pavlova, Dutch blue, bottle, russet, and new red”; and tubular Jersey cloth in “rose, rosewood, santal, bois de rose, Pavlova, deep mauve, cinnamon, cocoa, rose, beige, mole, grey, new green, Persian, beaum (wine) [sic: beaune], spring, vert de gris (two shades), Elizabeth blue, sky, light tan, wine, full brown, navy, also black and cream.” 

September 20, p. 15: Read’s after-stocktaking sale

—French colored chiffon taffeta in “pervenche [periwinkle blue], bois de rose, plum, navy, white, brown, raisin, champagne, wine, mulberry, nattier, vieux rose saxe, rose, beige, chardron, parma, Pavlova, cocoa, and black”; inch crepe de chine in “santal, rosewood, rose, beige, chardron, cocoa, parma, mulberry, burgundy, Pavlova, mauve, bois de rose, vert de gris, navy; also ivory and black”; and all-wool Jersey frocks in “saxe, reseda, nude, putty, Pavlova, wine, bottle, fuchsia, and fawn,” and all-wool Jersey jumpers in “red, reseda, jade, bois de rose, cardinal, saxe, fawn, putty, grey, and Pavlova.” 

1927

January 6, 1927, p. 11: Read’s bumper annual half-yearly sale

—French crepe de chine “in shades of helio., grey, nigger, salmon, petunia, vert de gris, lettuce, lemon, Pavlova, apricot, champagne, burgundy, fuchsia, reseda.”

February 5, p. 9: Maclellan & Co., of Chapel Street, Prahran

—Artificial silk striped stockinette, “in the latest tones of turquoise, sky, shell, champagne, glycine, helio, pink, apricot, bois de rose, pavlova, ivory, rose, and lemon.”

February 23, p. 8: Maclellan’s “Bargain Days at the Big Store”

—Artificial silk stockinette, “suitable for lingerie, in the latest tones of sky, lavender, lemon, shell, champagne, glycine, salmon, apricot, bois de rose, and Pavlova.”

February 24, p. 15: Payne’s Bon Marche, Pty. Ltd., 138–144 Bourke Street, “A Blaze of Monster Bargains”

—Dainty silk-and-wool jumpers in “fawn, delphinium, salmon, jade, eau de nil, pavlova, ivory, rose, and lemon.”

March 8, p. 15: Read’s

—Crepe de chine. The “color range includes Apricot, Pervanche, Fawn, Pavlova, Mauve, Navy, Rosewood, Wine, Lemon, Bois de Rose, Helio., Rose, Beige, Almond, Mulberry, Wine [sic], Fuchsia, Burgundy, Cocoa, Vieux Rose, also Black.”

March 10, p. 13: Payne’s

—Superior highly mercerized coloured Merveens, finely woven of superior Egyptian thread “in saxe, eau de nil, grey, cardinal, pavlova, vieux rose, reseda, sunset, flame, fawn, nigger, navy, ruby, scarlet, helio., coral, cinnamon, and black.”

April 5, p. 14: The Mutual Store, Ltd., Melbourne’s leading Department Store, opp. Flinders Street Station

—All-wool Jersey “in newest shades of reseda, bois de rose, cedarwood, strawberry, mauve, fawn, Pavlova, burgundy.”

April 6, p. 11: Read’s

—French silk Marocain “in shades of caramel, bois de rose, pavlova, cocoa, pervanche, Elizabeth blue, and mulberry.”

May 21, p. 9: Myer’s

—Wool Jerseys and coating tweeds “in bracken, amethyst, rust, mulberry, tan, wine, pervanche blue, russet, Burgundy, reseda, palm, bottle, saxe, Pavlova, rose, and navy.”

June 4, p. 25: Maclellan’s

—Silk stock’ettes “in the latest tones of lemon, flesh, sky, Pavlova, apricot, lavender, bois de rose, and champagne.”

June 25, p. 19: Maclellan’s

—Silk stock’ettes “in the latest tones of lemon, mauve, apricot, Pavlova, bois de rose, helio, sky, champagne, and lavender.”

August 4, p. 11: Read’s

—Ladies’ all-wool knitted cardigans “in shades of sky, mauve, Pavlova, bois de rose, coral, henna, apricot, cinnamon, saxe, fawn, bottle, and cream”; and Ladies’ all-wool knitted cardigans in “saxe, sky, bois de rose, fawn, orange, Pavlova, black, and white.”

August 17, p. 9: Read’s

—Ladies’ all-wool knitted cardigans “in shades of sky, mauve, Pavlova, bois de rose, coral, henna, apricot, cinnamon, saxe, fawn, bottle, and cream”; and Ladies’ all-wool knitted cardigans in “saxe, sky, bois de rose, fawn, orange, Pavlova, black, and white.”

November 9, p. 26: Read’s

—Silk Marocain “in shades of helio., reseda, cyclamen, pervanche, pavlova, and orchid.”

1928

January 7, p. 9: Myer’s

—Swiss cotton fabrics “in pervanche, rose, Pavlova, saxe, bois de rose, putty, helio., apple green, coral, navy, and white.”

July 14, p. 28: Foy and Gibson of Collingwood

—Ring velvets “in smart fashionable tones of flame, Pavlova, petunia, cardinal, mauve, bois de rose, and cyclamen.”

October 17, p. 9: Myer’s

—Crepe noveau [sic] and Saxony frockings “with neat stripes on beige, fawn, parma, plum, tabac, Pavlova, grey, bois de rose, caramel, mid. Brown, almond, raisin, rose, black, and navy.”

October 20, p. 9: Myer’s

—Summery cotton weaves from overseas “in perfectly plain shades of pink, mauve, nil, sand, helio., Pavlova, pale blue, light saxe, and black.”

2. Number of times each color term is listed in the Argus newspaper (Melbourne) where “Pavlova” is also mentioned separately 31 times as a “new season” color:

(21): bois de rose; (11): fawn; saxe/light saxe; (10): black; rose; (9): mauve/deep mauve; navy; sky; (8): apricot; bottle; helio[trope].; wine/beaum (wine); (7): lemon; reseda; (6): burgundy; champagne; cocoa; pervanche/pervanche blue; (5): beige; cinnamon; grey; mulberry; (4): brown/full brown/mid. brown/nut brown; coral; eau de nil/nil/nilesque; Elizabeth blue/pale blue/Princess blue; parma/parma violet; white; (3): almond; bracken; cardinal; cream; fuchsia; ivory; jade; lavender; nigger; plum; putty; rosewood; rust; salmon; tan/light tan; vert de gris/vert de gris (two shades); vieux rose/vieux rose saxe (see also saxe/light saxe, above); (2): amethyst; apple green/new green; caramel; chardron; cyclamen; flame; flesh/nude; glycine; henna; orange; palm/palm green; petunia; pink; raisin; red/new red; russet; santal; shell; (only 1): amourette; burnt oak; cedarwood; delphinium; Dutch blue; lettuce; mole; nattier; orchid; oriflamme; Persian; ruby; Sahara; sand; scarlet; spring; strawberry; sunset; tabac; tangerine; turquoise, and veronese.

Conclusion: Of the thirty-one wholly explicit uses in print of Pavlova or pavlova as the name for a color, all occur in advertisements placed by seven Melbourne department stores in the Argus newspaper between April 26, 1926, and October 20, 1928, whereupon the term utterly vanishes from sight. All are applied to cotton, woolen, or silk fabrics—occasionally but much less often to finished garments, usually knitted. Moreover, there is a suspiciously consistent distribution of equally unusual color terms in this relatively small sample, which implies (a) that this was a campaign devised by a single mind, or at least a very small group working in close cooperation or even collusion; or (b) that these colors belonged to a single batch of stock, possibly even the “the entire stocks of Messrs. Wallace and Shorter Pty. Ltd., in voluntary liquidation,” that on one occasion Read’s explicitly stated that they bought from Messrs. Wilson, Rattray and Danby, Public Accountants, 41 Queen Street. In that case the stock may well have been divided between the six other outlets as well; and/or (c) the colored fabrics mentioned most often, above all “Pavlova,” were exceedingly hard to move or sell on locally. The overwhelming majority of the advertisements are for big sales. Nor did the term enjoy any form of revival upon Anna Matveyevna Pavlova’s triumphant return visit to Melbourne in 1929. This might simply have been for reasons of tact, or indeed the more commercially relevant lack of any formal licensing or any other sort of agreement with the ballerina without which she might reasonably have been expected to take exception to the use of her name for promotional or sales purposes.

And now, I think, we turn to the trademarks office, and the relevant litigation and case law for the period, or else seek psychiatric care.

Further Pavlova

The fiendish problem of how to come up with a working definition of the color known to Melbourne retailers in 1926 and 1927 as “Pavlova” is brought into startling focus by a lengthy and enthusiastic review in the Argus of one of the eponymous ballet star’s performances for J. C. Williamson that was printed on Monday, March 15, 1926 (p. 12), under the four-point banner “Genius of Pavlova. Great Dancer’s Charm. Skill in Contrasted Ballets. Enthusiasm at His Majesty’s”:

She is dressed as everyone expects a fairy doll would dress. Her very short skirts, which are made of numberless layers of white tulle, and the top layer, which stands out almost like a wheel, is adorned with a bold lattice work of silver ruching and diamante and interlaced with a delicate tracery of pale blue. In between the spaces of the silver are clusters of cyclamen pink and mauve feathers. The close fitting bodice is of silver tissue and the long transparent sleeves of tulle are bound loosely to the arm by twists of frosted silver ruching. The toilette of this most amazing doll is completed by a wonderful wig of soft pink curls, which are kept in place by a meshed cap of brillian[t]s. In the Chopiniana scene there is nothing to remind one of the coquetry of the doll in the lovely spirit-like creature who seems to drift on the air like a thistle-down. Again she wears white, but its substance is allied to the indefinite transparency of the mountain mists. It seems crude to describe such ethereal delicacy as being tulle, yet it is by such a mundane medium that the exquisite effect is obtained. But the tulle is not that of fairyland; it is more like the “white samite, mystic, wonderful” of King Arthur [sic]. In the divertissement of The Dying Swan Madame Pavlova was again in white, but she invested its neutrality with a completely new expression—that of tragedy. The soft white feather wings which fluttered on the buffant tulle skirts seemed to quiver with the throes of death. On her head Madame Pavlova wore a bonnet of soft white breast feathers. In the last number the great dancer changed her clothes with her mood. She wore a characteristic Russian costume of rich material, and her towering triangular headdress was in keeping with those worn by the rest of the ballet.

Incidentally, Tennyson’s “samite” (in Morte d’Arthur, as worn by the disembodied arm that belongs to the Lady of the Lake) was a brilliantly contrived exercise in etymological archaeology, and strictly speaking meant (via the Latin samitum and, in turn, the Greek hexamiton) a six-ply silk brocade incorporating gold and silver threads, much in vogue during the Middle Ages, but let us not be deflected.  

This precise description of Pavlova’s stage costuming serves to demonstrate that in every branch of the visual arts the impression of white is rarely created without harnessing the far more complex effects of colors and textures other than white. The problem is here set out with such precision that it is somewhat surprising that the critic was evidently unaware of the larger chromatic implications. And it deepens when, a week later, the same reviewer, covering Pavlova’s Tchaikovsky program (“Pavlova Season. Tschaikowsky Night. Great Dancer’s triumph,” Argus, Monday, March 22, 1926, p. 14) described, first, the ballerina’s costume for the role of the Queen of Snowflakes, then proceeds to the Empire design of several scenes in The Nutcracker. In this program Pavlova was

robed in shimmering white and silver, with diademed head and ankles tied with rosy ribbons…The fairy scene vanishes and a radiant figure—(Pavlova)—[re-]enters the stage walking with the delicate precision and grace of some wild bird. A billowy frock of mauve and pink tulle, with a tiny jewelled bodice, is completed by a tinted wig in the same primula shade, while glittering bracelets, caught with wisps of tulle, show up the fairylike wrists manipulating a great fan of snow-white plumes. Another scene transports the audience to Napoleonic times, and Pavlova and her partner (M[onsieur]. Varzinski) appear in the picturesque Empire gown and richly coloured suit made familiar by such artists as Prud’hon and David. The slim robe of primrose satin with its graceful train caught to one wrist, is relieved by a waistbelt and ornaments of glittering malachite green, the green note being repeated in a hair ribbon showing under the quaint poke bonnet of primrose straw.

Later, Pavlova returned to the stage in a “vivid rose pink silk pelisse trimmed with white swansdown,” with a “dainty bonnet and barrel muff…of silk and fur to match. In her arms [were] a tinsel-decked Christmas tree and a number of toys, which form the main theme of the drama.”

Nor do Pavlova’s many informal but skillfully choreographed publicity appearances assist us much, although they are all noteworthy for the exactness with which her costume was reported in detail. In “Women’s Views and News. Pavlova. Behind the Scenes,” for example (Argus, Friday, March 19, 1926, p. 14), backstage at His Majesty’s:

There was Pavlova, her hair bound gypsy fashion in a piece of pale pink silk and over her silken tights a loose robe of lavender silk, knotted on the shoulders and bound at the waist with a narrow band of ribbon [color unspecified].

The previous day’s Argus (March 18, 1926, p. 13) also carried a notice of the Wednesday matinee of The Polish Wedding, in which the dominant theme was “striking colour, with a prevailing effect of red, white, green, and a most brilliant blue.”

None of which solves the small mystery of what was meant by the new season’s shade of Jersey wool (Argus, Monday, April 26, 1926, p. 7), which as far as I can ascertain constitutes the earliest walk-on appearance of “Pavlova” in the guise of an abstract color, along with tangerine, amourette, nilesque (a truly ghastly effort to freshen up the canonical and, incidentally, exquisite shade long known as eau de nil), veronese, tan, oriflamme, rust, and burnt oak.

 

The Pavlova again

A small but intriguing coda to my exhaustive researches into the question of the origins of the canonical pavlova, New Zealand’s premier cultural export, has last evening emerged from a close reading of Australian Newspapers beta.

Coinciding with the first of Anna Matveyevna Pavlova’s two sensational Australian tours for J. C. Williamson, in 1926 the Melbourne retailers, led by Georges, hitched their caboose to the prima ballerina’s publicity locomotive. In an advertisement for their winter sale that appeared in the Argus on May 19 (p. 15), it was noted that suits and frocks came in “jade, wine, cocoa, Pavlova, bois de rose, and cinnamon.”

With characteristic competitiveness Myer’s chimed in on June 12 (p. 9) with Saxony frocking in “bracken, bois de rose, Pavlova, almond, bottle, palm green, and parma violet”; bordered frockings in “Sahara, bracken, amethyst, Pavlova, palm green, nut brown, bottle, bois de rose, nigger, and rust”; and English velours in “wine, Burgundy, plum, Pavlova, saxe, Princess blue, bottle, navy, and black.” 

At around this date the ugly term “nigger” was also applied to the color of shoes and gloves sold by Debenham and Freebody in London, but that is, of course, irrelevant. What is so interesting, however, is that among the more conventional prompts, one finds here (so insistently capitalized) a loud tribute to the ballerina exclusively in terms of color, as well as, of course, a deep bow to the arrival on April 21 of Princess Elizabeth of York, a powerful reminder that The Queen was hugely famous from birth.

Gradually filtering “down,” on June 22 we find the following advertisement placed by the Charles M. Read Stores of Chapel Street, Prahran, for their winter sale, (“having purchased the entire stocks of Messrs. Wallace and Shorter Pty. Ltd., in voluntary liquidation, from Messrs. Wilson, Rattray and Danby, Public Accountants, 41 Queen Street”), namely a “Wholesale Slaughter of Woollen Dress Goods” consisting of Kasha suitings “in diagonal stripe effects of Pavlova, Dutch blue, bottle, russet, and new red,” and tubular Jersey cloth in “rose, rosewood, santal, bois de rose, Pavlova, deep mauve, cinnamon, cocoa, rose, beige, mole, grey, new green, Persian, beaum (wine) [sic: beaune], spring, vert de gris (two shades), Elizabeth blue, sky, light tan, wine, full brown, navy, also black and cream.” 

Among Melbourne retailers it seems only Read’s of Chapel Street gamely persisted in this vein. On September 20 (p. 15) their after-stocktaking sale featured French colored chiffon taffeta in “pervanche [sic: pervenche, i.e. periwinkle blue], bois de rose, plum, navy, white, brown, raisin, champagne, wine, mulberry, nattier, vieux rose saxe, rose, beige, chardron, parma, Pavlova, cocoa, and black”; inch crepe de chine in “santal, rosewood, rose, beige, chardron, cocoa, parma, mulberry, burgundy, Pavlova, mauve, bois de rose, vert de gris, navy; also ivory and black”; all-wool Jersey frocks in “saxe, reseda, nude, putty, Pavlova, wine, bottle, fuchsia, and fawn,” and all-wool Jersey jumpers in “red, reseda, jade, bois de rose, cardinal, saxe, fawn, putty, grey, and Pavlova.” 

Read’s of Chapel Street were still pursuing the same strategy in the Argus on January 6, 1927 (p. 11), where the full-page advertisement for their bumper annual half-yearly sale was headed “Silks at Remarkable Sale Prices”:

French crepe de chine, 6/11 Yd. 38–40 in. wide French Crepe de Chine, a good heavy weight All-silk Cloth, in shades of helio[trope]., grey, nigger, salmon, petunia, vert de gris, lettuce, lemon, Pavlova, apricot, champagne, burgundy, fuchsia, reseda. Usual price 10/13; SALE PRICE, 6/11 yard.

It is hard to reconstruct with any degree of precision the color of “Pavlova,” except by a tedious process of elimination. However, I earnestly hope that an answer may yet reside in the vast body of critical comment that accompanied the ballerina’s Australian engagements. Certainly it was not ivory, white, or any other vaguely predictable (or even unpredictable) color that one might readily associate with an on-stage prima ballerina, nor by the insistent jostling around Pavlova (the color) of various pinks, mauves, greens and pale blues does Pavlova appear to stray in any of those directions. We may well be dealing with some sort of rich gold or warm, sunny, buttery yellow.

In any case this hitherto forgotten meaning of “Pavlova” is yet to make it into the Australian National Dictionary, nor even the Oxford English Dictionary and I must speak to the editors about that careless omission. The fact that the color of Pavlova has since vanished into the ether of forgotten fashion (only to be supplanted by a meringue “cake” with New Zealand provenance) goes some distance towards explaining why it is not there, however we must as a nation aim for complete coverage of our linguistic heritage.

Of course, there is the issue of letting sleeping dogs lie, because once you start down this path only insanity awaits, because inevitable questions arise as to what on earth chardron, nattier, parma, and Sahara actually looked like. “Saxe” clearly relates to Dresden china, which, given their broad palette does not help very much, but at least we may assume “bottle” was green.