Hoffman, in conjunction with a Broadway management, imported nearly a hundred dancers, with Lydia Lopokova as the foremost; others included the brothers Kosloff, Theodore and Alexis, who remained permanently in the United States; my friend, Alexandre Volinine; and Alexander Bulgakoff. A word about the 1911 “Saison de Ballets Russes” may not be amiss. The ethics of the entire venture were, to say the least, open to question. Among the works presented were Schéhérazade, Cléopâtre, and Sylphides—all taken without permission from the Diaghileff repertoire, and with no credit (and certainly no cash) given to Michel Fokine, their creator. All works were restaged from memory by Theodore Kosloff, and with interpolations by Gertrude Hoffman. The outstanding success of the whole affair was Lydia Lopokova.
When, after an unsuccessful financial tour outside New York, Lopokova and Volinine left the company, the “Saison de Ballets Russes” fell to pieces.
Venturing still farther afield, Lopokova joined Mikhail Mordkin’s company briefly; then, remaining in America for five years, she toyed seriously with the legitimate theatre, and made her first appearance as an actress (in English) with that pioneer group, the Washington Square Players (from which evolved The Theatre Guild), at the Bandbox Theatre, in East 57th Street, in New York, and later in a Percy Mackaye piece called The Antic, under the direction of Harrison Grey Fiske.
Then the Diaghileff Ballet came to America; came, moreover, badly in need of Lopokova; came without Karsavina, without any woman star; came badly crippled. In New York, and free, was Lydia Lopokova. It was Lydia Lopokova who was the ballerina of the company through the two American tours. It was Lydia Lopokova who was the company’s bright and shining individual success.
She returned to Europe with Diaghileff and was his ballerina from 1917 to 1919, earning for herself in London a popularity second to none. But, bored again by success, she was suddenly off again to America. This time, the venture was even less noteworthy, for it was a Shubert musical comedy—and a rather dismal failure. “I was a flop,” was Lopokova’s comment, “and thoroughly deserved it.” In 1921, she returned to Diaghileff, and danced the Lilac Fairy in his tremendous revival of The Sleeping Princess. During the following years, up to the Diaghileff Ballet’s final season, Lopokova was in and out of the company, appearing as a guest artist in the later days.
After a short and unhappy marriage with one of Diaghileff’s secretaries had been dissolved, Lopokova became Mrs. J. Maynard Keynes, the wife of the brilliant and distinguished English economist, art patron, friend of ballet and inspirer of the British Arts Council. On Keynes’s elevation to the peerage, Lopokova, of course, became Lady Keynes.
Invariably quick in wit, impulsive, possessor of a genuine sense of humor, Lady Keynes remains eager, keen for experiment, restless, impish, and still puckish, always ready to lend her enthusiastic support to ventures and ideas in which she believes.
MARIE RAMBERT
One of the most potent forces in the development of ballet in England is Marie Rambert. She was a pioneer in British ballet. She still has much to give.
Marie Rambert—unlike her London colleagues: Karsavina, Kyasht, and Lopokova—was not a Maryinsky lady. Born Miriam Rambach, in Poland, she was a disciple of Emile Jacques Dalcroze, and was recommended to Diaghileff by her teacher as an instructor in the Dalcroze type of rhythmic movement. The Russians who made up the Diaghileff Company were not impressed either by the Dalcroze method or its youthful teacher. They rebelled against her, taunted her, called her “Rhythmitchika,” and left her alone. There was one exception, however. That exception was Vaslav Nijinsky, who was considerably influenced by his studies with Rambert, an influence that was made apparent in three of his choreographic works: Sacre du Printemps, Afternoon of a Faun (this, incidentally, the first to show the influence), and Jeux.