I regret I never knew him. Those who did know him and with whom I have discussed him, are, for the large part, idolators. That he was a genius they are all agreed. They insist he could leap higher, could remain longer in the air—but there is little point in dwelling on the legend. It is well-known; and legends are the angel’s food on which we thrive.
Nijinsky’s triumphs came at a time when there were great figures bursting over the horizon; at a time when there was so little basis for comparison; at a time when it was extremely difficult for the public to appraise, because the public had so little basis for comparison.
How separate fact from fiction? It is difficult, if not quite impossible. It was the time of the “greatests”: Kubelik, the “greatest” violinist; Mansfield, the “greatest” actor; Irving, the “greatest” actor; Modjeska, the “greatest” actress; Bernhardt, the “greatest” actress; Ellen Terry, the “greatest” actress; Duse, the “greatest” actress.
It is such an easy matter when, prompted by the nostalgic urge, to contemplate longingly a by-gone “Golden Age.” In music, it is equally simple: Anton Rubinstein, Franz Liszt, de Pachmann, Geraldine Farrar, Enrico Caruso ... and so it goes. Each was the “greatest.” Nijinsky has become a part and parcel of the “greatest” legend.
Jan Kubelik, one of the greatest violinists of his generation, is an example. When I brought Kubelik for his last American appearance in 1923, I remember a gathering in the foyer of the Brooklyn’s Academy of Music at one of the concerts he gave there. The younger generation of violinists were out in force, and a number of them were in earnest conversation during the interval in the concert.
Their general opinion was that Kubelik had remained away from America too long; that he was, in fact, slipping. Sol Elman, the father of Mischa, listened attentively. When the barrage had expended itself, he spoke.
“My dear friends,” he said, “Kubelik played the Paganini concerto tonight as splendidly as ever he did. Today you have a different standard. You have Elman, Heifetz, and the rest. All of you have developed and grown in artistry, technique, and, above all, in knowledge and appreciation. The point is: you know more; not that Kubelik plays less well.”
It is all largely a matter of first impressions and their vividness. It is the first impressions that color our memories and often form the basis of our judgments. As time passes, I sometimes wonder how reliable the first impressions may be.
I am unable to state dogmatically that Nijinsky was the “greatest” dancer of our time or of all time. On the other hand, there cannot be the slightest question that he was a very great personality. The quality of personality is the one that really matters.
Today there are, I suppose, between five and six hundred first-class pianists, for example. These pianists are, in many cases, considerably more than competent. But to find the great personality in these five to six hundred talents is something quite different.