Hindu Legend in One Act by Jean Cocteau and de Madrazo.
Music by Reynaldo Hahn.
Scenes and Dances by Michel Fokine.
Scenery and Costumes Designed by Léon Bakst.
IT has been previously remarked, in comment on “Narcisse,” that for all their sense of fitness, the Russians sometimes exhibit a curious inability to recognise the limitations of the stage, and in considering “Le Dieu Bleu,” the charge must be repeated. They are at fault usually when they have to present the supernatural. The criticism applies not so much to their impersonations of supernatural characters—the sense of unreality is finely suggested by Nijinsky as the phantom rose, for example, while nothing could be better than the bizarre characterisation of the half-human puppets in “Petrouchka”—as to their representation of the supernatural circumstances by which such characters must generally be attended. It may seem ungenerous, perhaps, to carp at what are, after all, mere matters of detail, but lapses from an harmonious ensemble become glaring when judged by the high artistic standard which disciplines the greater number of the ballets.
One is tempted to think that here and there the Russians have essayed a task, not perhaps exceeding their powers of conception and intention, but beyond the capacity of their medium of expression. “Le Dieu Bleu” is a fair example of such an attempted flight. It does not fail, but neither does it entirely succeed; and an explanation of the compromise may be found in the synopsis of the ballet printed in the programme. There is no need to quote this interesting passage of description; for the present purpose it is enough to remark that the first thing arising in the reader’s mind is a puzzled query: How are they going to do it? The answer is simply that they do not! The mingling of fabulous or mythical with the real or human is a dilemma upon the horns of which many a stage producer has found himself impaled, and the Russians do not escape the inevitable fate. Their realistic method of treatment consorts ill with the supernatural element in the action of the ballet; and if this is to be expected, and is deemed negligible for the sake of the individual beauties of the performance, it is nevertheless regrettable that, however faintly, a jarring note should be struck. There are features in this ballet which one could spare not less gladly than the miraculous flower in “Narcisse.”
Certainly “Le Dieu Bleu” has many beauties. It shows us, in a multiplicity of radiant dresses massed against a background of daring colour and design, a rich vein in the decorative art of Léon Bakst. It shows us Karsavina in a part that gives full play to the fierce and passionate quality in her miming. But chiefly it is an excuse for the preciosity of Nijinsky. There is something more than the mere accomplished dancer in that remarkable personality. Others there may be (though one doubts it) as graceful, as agile, as versed in all the nuances of the dancer’s art; but over and above his technical perfections Nijinsky possesses a selective intelligence. His is not a merely imitative instinct; he draws inspiration from sources of his own seeking, and that to which he gives bodily expression is the product of his own original genius working under the afflatus.
In “Le Dieu Bleu,” of which the scene is laid in mythical India, 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.