The result is a sort of “post-impressionism” on the stage. Expression, it has been said, not beauty, is the aim of the modern school of painters who, for convenience’ sake, have been dubbed “post-impressionists”; and this being also the avowed purpose of Nijinsky and his colleagues, the ballet might not unreasonably be expected to show some kinship with the products of that recent art “movement.” Certainly it is ugly—at the least, unpleasing to the normal modern eye: whether, by compensation, it is expressive, is obviously one of those matters of individual taste about which dispute is idle.
“Le Sacre du Printemps” consists of two tableaux, which are ostensibly representative of pagan Russia, but might equally serve as pictures of primitive civilisation anywhere—or nowhere! The theme is suitably simple. The season of spring is at hand, and mankind is occupied with worship of the two great forces apprehended by the primitive mind—the Earth and the Sun.
The first act shows the Adoration of the Earth. The joy of humankind in the advent of spring finds expression in the dance, and in the performance of due rites, in the ceremony of uniting the Sire of all the Sages to the newly fecund earth. What actually happens is that sundry groups of persons, attired in picturesque but by no means prehistoric garb, are discovered prostrating themselves in various peculiar poses amidst an expansive landscape which is very green, but not much else. One group, under the instruction of “an old woman of 300 years,” begins a ceremonial dance, which is to say that the younger members stamp their feet and jerk their bodies about in an odd, rhythmic fashion, while the triple centenarian hops spasmodically amongst them. Other groups in turn spring up from their postures of obeisance and do the same, with variations. A number of young girls enter, and join the young men in the performance of the rites ordained. One is to understand that the strange antics which ensue are the primitive types of those folk dances and games which peasant children perform to this day in Russia: but it is doubtful whether even to a spectator familiar with modern rustic life in the remotest parts of that country, the connection would be apparent between the traditional games of feast days and the eccentric contortions of the performers on the stage. A feature of the games, the only one definitely recognisable (because the only one specified in the printed synopsis of the ballet) is a simulated abduction of some of the girls by a number of the young men, which is premonitory of the sacrifice to Iarilo, god of light—i.e., the Sun—depicted in the second act.
After the games have been in progress for some time there enters a procession of elders of this primitive tribe, escorting an old man with a long beard—the Sire of all the Sages, high priest and venerable interpreter of the omens. His entry is a signal for everyone present to be seized with a violent tremor, which sets each figure quivering like an agitated table jelly. With due form and ceremony the ancient one pronounces a blessing on the Earth’s unfailing fruitfulness, accomplishing this act by spreadeagling himself, with the aid of assiduous helpers, face-downwards in the middle of the stage. If only the happy thought had occurred to M. Nijinsky to have the beard of the venerable one pulled forward the latter would have presented a very interesting travesty of a starfish.
The tremor which has so persistently agitated the tribe now ceases. All eyes are upturned towards the Sun, whose envious wrath, it is feared, may be excited by these attentions to the Earth, and to the renewed thudding of stamping feet the curtain comes down.
The second tableau shows the Sacrifice, by which the Sun’s jealousy is to be appeased. The scene is a lonely plateau, on which the “Sacred Stones” are set. There are also three grim-looking poles, on which are hung what seem to be votive offerings of hides and horns. It is night, and past the witching hour. The sun has vanished and ere he rise again the rite of propitiation must be performed. The young girls are discovered going through the mazy evolutions of a ceremonial dance, the object of which is the choice by hazard of the destined victim. (Such is the origin, the authors would presumably have us believe, of the “he” of the traditional games of childhood all the world over.)
Precisely how the lot falls is not very apparent, but presently one girl starts forward from the rest and seems, from the curious motionless attitude which she assumes, to fall into a cataleptic trance. Her companions gather round, and do her honour in a dance described, for no clear reason, as “heroic.” They presently depart, leaving her to her fate.
While the Chosen Victim still stands transfixed in a posture of extreme ugliness and (one imagines) excessive discomfort, the
