The Dance

by Unknown

II

The appearance of Isadora Duncan and her pupils in Russia was truly a high explosive bomb. Her art startled the Russian dancers and public. It was the very opposite of what everybody had been accustomed to see, and what everybody imagined the dance to be. Though the limited character of her technique decreased the effect, yet the truth of her principle was what caused the greatest discussion and made the deepest impression. In the fundamentals of her dance were that freedom, individuality and relief which the Russian mind had missed in the old ballet. It was this theoretical argument that made Miss Duncan’s art such a factor in Russia. Marius Petipa had been an excellent scholar and academician in his days, but he had grown old and his views had become obsolete. His genius saw the evolution of the ballet only in the conventional channels. Among his assistants were a group of talented young dancers and teachers, some of whom were dissatisfied with the old order, yet found themselves forced to follow the time-worn rules. One of the young students of this type was M. Fokine, a very intelligent student and gifted artist, who was particularly electrified by Miss Duncan’s art. He saw the shortcomings of Miss Duncan’s school and realized that here he, with his thorough understanding of the ballet and its technique, could do much that she had been unable to do.

With all the best will Fokine found himself bound to the old order of things. But it was at this very juncture that M. Diaghileff, who had been successfully editing the annual Reviews of the Imperial Ballet, laid the foundation for a new art magazine on radical principles. Having been a graduate of the Conservatory of Music of Petrograd and a connoisseur of the art of dancing, he was just the man to gather a group of radical dance and music students and artists of every description around his venture and attempt to accomplish something radically modern in all the fields of stage art. His efforts found a quick response among the various artists of the ballet, who already knew of his work and tendencies. One of them was Fokine, and with him came many of his talented pupils and friends. Like with every other new movement this needed crystallization theoretically and practically. For some reason or other Diaghileff’s magazine failed. But it had already accomplished its evolutionary task: a group of artists was ready to join any leaders of revolution who would be worthy of their confidence.

The next move from the revolutionary Diaghileff and his general Fokine was their unexpected appearance in Paris. Here they had surrounded themselves with a few genial ballet dancers of Petrograd and Moscow. The announcement of an appearance of the Russian ballet in Paris, under the management of Diaghileff and Fokine and with stars like Nijinsky, Mmes. Fokina, Karsavina and Astafieva, marks the first revolutionary move in Russian dance history. It was undoubtedly the phenomenal success that Pavlova and Mordkin had had outside of Russia, particularly in Paris and London, which actuated and encouraged the rebels. They argued, ‘If Pavlova and Mordkin had such phenomenal success as solo dancers, in the old classic style, we are more sure of a success in real modern ballets.’ And they proved that they had. Here is what a London critic writes of the appearance of the Diaghileff company:

‘For the unknown to be successful in London it is always necessary to create what is called a boom—marvelous clothes or the lack of them; a terrifying top note; a tame lion; a Star that has been shining with unparalleled brilliancy in another city. But we were told nothing about the Russian dancers when they arrived in 1909—some half dozen of them only—and so we expected nothing. And it is to be feared that some of us found what we expected. Now, two years later, we are slowly opening our eyes.

‘There is no need to describe either Karsavina or Pavlova. If there were, indeed, pen and ink would be incapable of the task, for they both typify and express the woman of all ages, and ageless.

‘*** For many it was as if they understood life for the first time, had entered a chamber in the castle Existence which hitherto had been hidden from them. They gave us thoughts, these Russian magicians, for which we have been unconsciously seeking and travailing many years. They gave us knowledge we thought to buy in a huckster’s shop, steal from a bottle of wine, or find in a bloodless novel or in the crude stage play of the average theatre, bearing little or no relation to life. Now here it was, all expressed in dances men and women danced thousands of years ago: music of face and body, of muscle and brain, which stirred and sang in our hearts like wind in the trees.

‘The elusive spirit of youth she (Karsavina) most eloquently expresses in Les Sylphides, the music by Chopin, which is described as a Rêverie Romantique. The sex of the dancer, instead of dominating, disappears. And so, of all the good things the Russian Dancers have given us, the Spirit of Youth of Tamara Karsavina comes first and foremost.

‘The men of the Russian Ballet possess the same technical perfection, the same marvelous grace, as the women. Whether their bodies be as slim and light as Nijinsky’s and Kosloff’s, or as massive and muscular as Mordkin’s and Tichomiroff’s, makes no difference: they can be as graceful, as supple, as tender as a girl, without losing a scrap of their superb masculinity.’

Among the most conspicuous Russian dancers who followed the revolutionary call of Diaghileff and Fokine, were Vera Fokina, Tamara Karsavina, Sophie Feodorova, Seraphime Astafieva, Nijinsky, and Kosloff. The real drawing cards of the revolutionary group were Karsavina and Nijinsky, one more genial than the other, the one the very type of the Russian youthful poetic and passionate girl, the other that of masculine virility and grace. The leaping of Nijinsky and the darting of Karsavina will remain as the most effective symbols in the mind of those who have witnessed their inspiring dances. In Le Spectre de la Rose, danced by Karsavina and Nijinsky, we can best compare their individualities. ‘Their bodies, flower-like, representing the spirit of flowers, weave dreams with silent and graceful movements,’ writes a critic. ‘We are altogether removed from the world of flesh and blood to a kingdom of enchantment.’ Nijinsky and Karsavina are the two talented exponents of the New Russian Ballet, in the same sense as Pavlova and Mordkin belong to the Old Ballet.

The question arises in what respect Nijinsky differs from Mordkin and Karsavina from Pavlova? If we could see illustrative performances by these four greatest figures of the two Russian schools the difference would be immediately evident, in spite of their individual traits. Where Pavlova concentrates attention on her conventional toe-dancing, Karsavina employs conspicuously the naturalistic steps and strives to display the plastic lines of her beautiful body. Where Mordkin resorts to pantomime, Nijinksy finds his expression through the movements of the dance. However, the difference between the two ballets is not so clearly cut with the men as with the women dancers. Fokine has introduced a great deal of the plastic element that has actuated the partisans of the naturalistic school. We find the acrobatic stunts of the old ballet almost lacking in the new. You will hardly see Karsavina, Fokina or Astafieva performing the leg-bending tricks of the followers of the old school. If they resort to pirouettes and leg agility, they do so in a different sense than the others.