Nijinsky has gone for inspiration to Hindu art, with the manifest
intention of exhibiting by his impersonation of the title _rôle_, of
embodying in himself, the essential principles which underlie the
conventions of that ancient phase of artistic expression. The
imaginative thought, the sympathetic understanding, which he has brought
to his purpose must be judged by the result, of which the subtlety of
conception and the precision of execution are beyond comment.
[Illustration]
The action of the ballet takes place in a rock-girt shrine--a
mosaic-patterned platform shut in by high cliffs of tawny orange hue,
from excrescences of which, in lazy festoons, hang monstrous serpents.
In the middle, at the back, is a pool in which the sacred lotus is
supposed to float; a giant tortoise, with gaudily painted carapace,
leans over its rim in act of drinking. Massive gates to the left bar the
entrance to the shrine which a deep fissure in the cliffs makes
possible: a cleft through which the deep blue of the Indian sky is
visible.
Round the sacred precinct is seated, immobile and patient, a throng of
worshippers. There are shortly to be enacted over a young neophyte the
rites of initiation into the priesthood, and with the opening bars of
the music there enters a long procession of priests, attendants and
others who are to take part in the ceremony. There are men bearing
sacrificial fruits aloft in baskets, others bringing jugs and bowls and
salvers for the lustral water, which is presently poured out by the high
priest before the lotus pool. Then enters a bevy of girls whose sequence
of postures, performed with deliberate care, constitute a ceremony of
obeisance to the tutelary spirit of the place. The high priest in turn
performs a rite of adoration, his tall figure the centre of a group of
strangely posing girls. To these groups are added yet others--girls who
lead forward kids for the sacrifice, more priests, and a great number of
worshippers who crowd in through the opened gates and stand watchful
upon the fringe of the glowing, many-coloured assemblage that is grouped
about the lotus pool and awaits the high priest’s bidding.
The sacrificial fire is lit, the neophyte is conducted to his place.
While the initiation rites proceed a dance is performed by three girls
carrying on their arms peacocks, whose gorgeous trains of eyed feathers
sweep gracefully from the shoulders of the swiftly moving bearers to the
ground. They are followed by another group of girls, whose dancing and
posturing ends with a general prostration of bodies as the neophyte, now
robed in the garments of his new vocation, is paraded before the circle
of approving onlookers.
As he thus submits himself to public scrutiny, the novice offers to all
and sundry a bowl, to the contents of which those help themselves who
list. The young man walks with abstracted gaze, composing his mind to
receive that ecstasy which befits the high solemnity of the occasion.
All, save one, regard him with silent indifference. That one is a girl,
whose suppressed excitement betrays her to a warning movement as the
neophyte approaches. As he reaches the spot where she is seated she
leans quickly forward and looks him eagerly in the face. Entreaty is
expressed in every line of her figure.
The young man meets that passionate look, and halts abashed. Memories
which he thought to have put behind him for ever surge rebelliously into
his mind. He hesitates; but with an effort masters his emotion, and
hastily returns to his appointed place before the high priest. The
incident, occupying but a moment, has passed unnoticed by those around,
and as the girl sinks back in an agony of frustrated hope, a number of
half-demented devotees resume the rites with a wild dance of frenzied
lamentation. As this orgy of self-intoxication swells to a climax, the
sacrificial kids are made ready for slaughter. The final moment of
dedication is at hand.
Once more the neophyte, led this time by the high priest in person, is
paraded before the seated watchers: once more he is obliged to pass the
girl who embodies all that life has held for him in the past, before
ambition and the lust of sacerdotal power turned him from love and joy.
She alone might have the key, perchance, to unlock the door he has so
resolutely shut. She has the key, and with a courage born of desperate
abandon to love and passion she dares to use it. She breaks from her
place, and fiercely casts herself at her whilom lover’s feet. She
grovels in abasement, she implores--then, snatching a hope from the
indecision which she sees written on his face, she cajoles.
The priests, angry and scandalised at this sacrilegious irruption, seize
her and carry her off. But she eludes them, and ere the
[Illustration]
neophyte has time to steel himself, she is again before him dancing with
an allurement, a provocative abandon meant for him alone, which shakes
his resolution to its depths. A second time the priests seize her; a
second time with desperate cunning she evades their grasp and returns to
her passionate attack. The young man is torn with fierce emotions; an
unequal battle rages in him, love and life contending with his pride and
sense of duty. And as he gazes on the beseeching figure before him,
ambition, lust of power, and all his new resolves slip unregarded from
him. Everything that life holds seems centred in the swaying figure of
the girl before him, fount of all the hot-blooded memories which now
sweep unresisted over him. With sudden determination he tears the
priestly vestments from his shoulders, and with glad capitulation yields
himself to the triumphant embrace of his mistress.
Together they dash for freedom. But their passage is barred, priests and
fakirs wrench them apart, and the young man is carried off into durance.
The crowd disperses silently, and the agonised girl finds herself
confronted by the high priest and two of his attendants. A third brings
manacles and these are fastened upon the prisoner’s wrists. Then, in
obedience to the high priest’s directions, the door of a cavern in the
side of one rocky cliff is unlocked, and the janitors depart. The girl
is left alone, and in the dreadful silence which ensues she collapses in
terror before the lotus pool.
The shrine is bathed in moonlight, when at length the prostrate girl
rouses herself from the torpor of despair. Her wits returning, she seeks
a way of escape. She tries the gates, but they are fastened close and
withstand her frenzied shaking. Vainly she looks for other outlet: the
high walls are insurmountable. But suddenly she espies the low doorway
in the rock. She hesitates for a moment: it scarce looks to open on an
avenue of escape. But at least it offers a chance, and on a quick
impulse she rolls the obstacle aside.
[Illustration]
A black cavernous hole is revealed, into which the girl peers anxiously.
For the moment nothing can be descried in the murky gloom, but even as
she summons courage to venture within, a hideous affrighting apparition
looms out of the darkness before her face. She shrinks back, startled:
fear giving place to sheer nightmare horror as a foul and bestial
monster crawls slowly forth from the noisome den. The creature is
followed by others, which with dreadful deliberateness emerge from the
lair their unsuspecting victim has thus incautiously opened. There are
some that drag their black and scaly lengths laboriously, like obese
lizards, along the pavement of the shrine, others with gross heads and
grinning masks that present a dreadful travesty of human beings in
their red, ungainly forms, in the horrid leaps and bounds of squat and
ugly legs by which they move.
The girl has fled in panic to the gates across the fissure in the rocks.
She clings to them in an agony of fright. But leaping clumsily in
pursuit, the crimson monsters seize her in their filthy paws, and bear
her bodily away. She slips from their grasp and darts across the shrine,
only to find herself surrounded by her captors’ crawling allies. The
latter do not offer to seize her, but they eye her with a devilish
intentness, and at every step she takes display a paralysing nimbleness,
for all the seeming inertness of their flabby bodies, in intercepting
her movements and keeping her surrounded by their watchful visages.
In a last paroxysm of fright the girl falls prostrate before the lotus
pool. The monsters range themselves around, motionless, but vigilant and
intent. But as their victim, bethinking herself of prayer, pours forth a
passionate entreaty to the deities of the place, they stir uneasily and
presently retire, writhing, a distance of some paces. A brilliant blue
light irradiates the pool, the lotus flower that floats within it opens,
and slowly there rise into view the god and goddess, tutelary spirits of
the shrine. The goddess is enthroned; the god, with reedy pipe in hand,
sits with legs and upraised arms bent angularly--a painted Hindu
sculpture come to life.
Stepping from the lotus, the Blue God raises and supports the amazed and
awe-struck girl. Then, as confidence returns, he gently seats her beside
the pool, and before the uneasy monsters begins a solemn dance. Dance it
must be called, though it is rather a series of postures--postures
which, executed in the flesh, vivify for the onlooker all that he has
ever seen in Hindu art purporting to represent the human figure. It
becomes apparent that there is a beauty in the harmonious adjustment
of angles not previously realised, or even, perhaps, suspected.
[Illustration]
One by one the monsters are subdued, despite a feeble effort at evasion,
by the power of their intended victim’s divine protector. The goddess
then, descending from her throne, shows by her dancing postures, while
the god plays upon his pipe, that the female form is not less capable
than the male of angular beauty of form. The girl, now reassured, gazes
entranced upon her deliverers, receiving with humble gratitude the
blessing bestowed upon her by the goddess, as the latter presently
resumes her throne.
[Illustration]
Scarcely has the god also reseated himself, when the priests and
worshippers re-enter the shrine, expectant of finding executed the
prisoner’s hideous doom. Stupefied by the dazzling vision which greets
them, all fall prostrate in humble obeisance, the girl alone, assured
of the divine favour, daring to remain standing. The goddess signifies
the protection which she extends, and as the young man for whom the
girl’s love has dared so much is brought in, she bids the two embrace
without fear. With love and life restored to her, the girl finds outlet
for her brimming happiness in a joyous dance, and gladly the reunited
pair exchange their vows before the goddess’ throne.
Her mission ended, the goddess sinks slowly from view into the depths of
the lotus pool. But the Blue God, ere she vanishes, steps into the midst
of the awe-stricken throng. A fragment of the orange cliff rolls
noiselessly aside and reveals a broad flight of golden steps reaching
into the blue infinity of the heavens. With slow, deliberate steps the
god ascends the mystic flight. Momentarily he pauses, and thus is seen,
as the curtain descends, above the bowed forms of the prostrate
multitude, playing upon his pipe.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
PRÉLUDE À L’APRÈS-MIDI D’UN FAUNE.
CHOREOGRAPHIC TABLEAU BY NIJINSKY.
MUSIC BY CLAUDE DEBUSSY.
SCENERY AND COSTUMES DESIGNED BY LÉON BAKST.
In the preparation of his part in “Le Dieu Bleu,” Nijinsky sought
inspiration, it was remarked, from ancient Hindu art. One fancies him,
with appetite whetted by this excursion, eager to explore another field
of antiquity, and turning naturally to early Greek, Roman and Etruscan
art. His interest already engaged by the strangeness (to modern eyes) of
the Hindu forms, his perceptions having already fastened on their
angular conventions as food for the dancer’s creative or recreative art,
one supposes him readily attracted by the equal peculiarity of such
archaic forms as are revealed on Greek and Roman pottery. The transition
is easy to understand, for a superficial resemblance is apparent,
however great the essential dissimilarity.
What prompted the student to ponder specially the figure of the faun or
satyr it is quite impossible to guess. That he should do so, however, is
scarcely surprising; for interpretation by the dance it is difficult to
think of any conception of classical mythology more likely to appeal to
an artist of Nijinsky’s temperament and talents. Type of what is animal
in man, epitome of all his unsophisticated lusts and appetites, here is
surely an ideal theme for the dancer’s art. Possibly Debussy’s music
first suggested the faun; if not, the appropriate orchestral
accompaniment--for Debussy would seem to be a composer with whose
methods Nijinsky finds himself in close sympathy--was ready to hand;
providing not only accompaniment but scenario and plot.
But this was not enough. In those antique urns and vases, with their
oddly but vividly expressive figures, there was a potent fascination for
the dancer, impelling him to translate into living movement their
arrested grace. When that impulse hardened into a definite attempt, the
result was “L’Après-Midi d’un Faune,” as presented on the stage, with
the assistance of Nelidowa (his partner, as the Goddess, in “Le Dieu
Bleu”) and other ladies of the Russian troupe, and the services of Léon
Bakst as decorator--a performance which may be briefly described as an
endeavour to bring to life an antique bas relief or ceramic painting.
Thus far, it is hardly necessary to confess, is pure surmise; let it be
added that it is quite probably erroneous! But some such processes of
thought, one imagines, must have attended the evolution of this curious
“ballet.” It would be a mistake to take it too seriously, and discuss
solemnly its daring transgression of all accepted canons. Too obviously
it is a wholly individual affair--a freakish whim, if you like--on the
part of its creator, though not the less interesting on that account.
[Illustration]
In pursuance of the main idea, the movements of the dancers--or perhaps
one should say the impersonators, for of dancing, in the ordinary
meaning of the word, there is none--take place all in one plane, their
figures are seen in profile, and when they move they do so with sidelong
action, so as to preserve the semblance of flatness. Except for the
mound upon which the faun is discovered and to which he returns at the
close of the episode, the scene consists merely of a backcloth designed
by Bakst--a riot of colour which however effective in itself as a piece
of pure decoration, is scarcely suited to the peculiar exigencies of the
moment. More successful is the outward characterisation of the faun, for
which the same designer is responsible. The creature’s lithe young body
is mottled with large blotches, dark red in colour, that alternate in
bizarre contrast with the fairness of the rest of his skin. A knitted,
wrinkled brow, beneath small horns that are curled round the top of his
head, suggests a dubious quality of mind--the perplexity of a brain that
hovers indeterminately betwixt mere instinct and a reasoning
intelligence. The suggestion of character thus subtly conveyed is
wonderfully sustained by Nijinsky. By look, by poise and carriage of
his body, rather than by gesture (of which there is practically nought)
he induces a perception of the vague stirrings of a brutish mind,
groping vainly for a realisation of emotions dimly felt.
When the curtain rises the faun is discovered recumbent upon the top of
a low eminence. The latter merely projects sufficiently in front of the
backcloth to form a ledge, and does not detract from the flatness of the
scene. One sees the creature sharply in profile, with head thrown back,
playing idly on a long pipe. A bunch of grapes lies beside him, and
between this and his woodland music he divides his attention. When he
turns from one to the other his movements are quickly executed, so that
a sharp profile is almost continuously presented to the spectator.
While the faun is thus engaged, there appears upon the scene below him
three nymphs, advancing slowly with sideways gait, knees slightly bent,
heads turned in profile, open palms upraised to shoulders. To them
enters a fourth running swiftly, but in the same sidelong manner, and
preserving the same stilted attitude as she moves. Another party of
three is added, and the whole group of seven stand rigidly posed below,
and a short distance from, the faun’s elevated retreat. They are garbed
in flowing draperies, with hair dressed close and tightly bound with
fillets, and as they stand stiffly, angularly posed, in an immobile row,
they seem like figures detached from an antique bas relief and propped
before the footlights.
The keen animal senses of the faun detect some strange presence near at
hand, and peering from his coign of vantage he perceives the nymphs.
Such beings are beyond his ken, but the sight of them awakens a vague
interest. He yields to a subtle attraction, and descending from his
perch approaches the intruders.
[Illustration]
The pantomime, if such it can be called, between the nymphs and faun is
quite impossible to describe. Such gesture as is sparingly used is
strictly conventionalised, and the faces of the performers remain
blankly expressionless. Nothing is allowed to detract from the stiff
formality of their aspect. For all that, the pantomime is curiously
expressive. In his uncouth way, prompted by impulses only dimly
comprehended, the faun seeks to woo the nymphs. They are startled and
flee, but return almost as soon as they are gone, only to dart off again
in sudden alarm. Curiosity alternates with shyness and fear. Only once
are the quaint, indeed laughable, angular movements varied, when the
faun, with quite electrifying effect, makes a single bound into the air.
Eventually discretion overcomes the valorous curiosity of the nymphs.
The last, and most attracted, flees away. The faun is left disconsolate
and puzzled, his slow turbid brain striving to grasp the meaning and
nature of the radiant creatures that so lately stirred his appetites.
Nothing remains of them save a gauzy scarf, dropped in her flight by the
last, at which he stares long and stupidly. At length he picks it up,
and holding it wonderingly in his hands, slowly regains his rocky perch.
A mysterious influence emanates from the scarf, and yielding himself to
it, the faun sinks into voluptuous dreams.
“L’Après-Midi d’un Faune” has earned a great popular success, but it is
chiefly a success of curiosity. It is novel, it is quaint, it is
amusing; but whether it is properly artistic depends upon the
interpretation put upon that word. The whole thing is brilliantly
clever, a _tour de force_ on the part of Nijinsky, and considered as
such one has nothing for it but praise. But as an attempt to vivify
plastic art it fails, for it deliberately adopts conventions and
restrictions which are proper to the latter, but were never intended to
govern the moving human form. Merely to endow with movement a creation
of plastic art seems a futile and superfluous purpose, even if possible
of achievement; really to vivify is the province of the dancer’s art,
which in this “ballet” is crippled by false limitations.
It has been said that Nijinsky, by this recourse to primitive forms,
sought to strip off modern conventions and obtain a more forceful mode
of expression. But in that case it is not enough merely to copy; he
should have adopted the principle, but the treatment founded upon it
ought to have been his own. As it is, the true interest of the piece
lies in the characterisation of the faun, and one regrets all the more
the unnecessary restrictions with which Nijinsky has hampered himself,
when reflecting what his genius as a dancer, given proper scope, might
make of such a _rôle_. If he would but play one of Pan’s goat-footed
progeny legitimately “in the round,” one might anticipate a creation to
supplement, and rank alongside, his wonderful harlequin in “Le
Carnaval.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
JEUX.
DANCE-POEM BY NIJINSKY.
MUSIC BY CLAUDE DEBUSSY.
CHOREOGRAPHY BY NIJINSKY.
SCENERY AND COSTUMES DESIGNED BY LÉON BAKST.
Nijinsky’s curious production called “Jeux” comes next in order after
“Le Dieu Bleu” and “L’Après-Midi d’un Faune.” In the first of the two
latter the dancer was concerned only with his individual _rôle_; his
conception of that was, no doubt, his own, but his part in the ballet as
a whole was subject to the directing influence of Michel Fokine. In
“L’Après-Midi d’un Faune” he was emancipated from control, and the
entire performance was of his devising. Having explored the past, it was
natural that he should turn his attention to the present, and in “Jeux”
we have an avowed attempt to treat the modern aspect of (civilised) life
in terms of the ballet. The result is curious, to say the least, and not
very convincing.
A lot of ridiculous nonsense has been written about “Jeux.” It was first
performed in Paris, and on the strength of descriptions received thence,
it was labelled, long before its production in London, a “lawn tennis
ballet.” As a fact, lawn tennis has nothing to do with it--nor any other
particular sport or game for that matter. It is true that Nijinsky
carries a racquet of some kind in his hand, on his first entry, but it
is speedily laid aside and is nothing but the merest stage “property.”
As for the lost ball which is the _casus belli_, so to speak, it bears
as much resemblance to a tennis ball as does a pumpkin to an apple.
If “Playtime” be accepted as the interpretation of “Jeux” (a translation
which the Russians themselves have adopted), the ballet resolves itself
into a representation of the juvenile frolics of three children.
Certainly Nijinsky in his flannel shirt and trousers, Karsavina and
Ludmila Schollar in their short white frocks, bare legs and little
socks, look a trifle more adult than the costumes seem to warrant, but
that is a circumstance which cannot very well be helped. Léon Bakst has
done his best to dwarf them by his spacious garden, with its high gates
and big flower plots, but inevitably the performers appear somewhat
robust for their parts.
The ballet can only be called such for want of another term. There is no
dancing proper; except for a few leaps and runs, the performers confine
their movements to a series of postures, and a queer, stilted kind of
pantomime. It has been stated that Nijinsky by this “choreography”
intends to express the essential characteristics of the movements of
modern athletes and players of games, but the entire absence of athletic
virility or spontaneous grace and vigour effectively negatives the idea.
Or at least, if this was the idea, it has signally failed of execution.
The “plot” of the piece is the slightest possible. Into this not very
realistic garden, empty when the curtain rises, a large ball suddenly
drops. A moment later the three children enter in pursuit, and in
playful mood begin to look for it. Presently, forgetting the object of
their search, they indulge in juvenile flirtation. Each of the girls in
turn receives the boyish attentions of their companion, and all three
are fast forgetting their
[Illustration]
surroundings when a second ball, dropping unexpectedly amongst them,
recalls them to their senses and sends them scampering away.