S. Hurok Presents; A Memoir of the Dance World

by Sol Hurok

The truly great are those who, through something that can only be described as personality, electrify the public. The public, once electrified, will come to see them again and again and again. There are, perhaps, too many good talents. There never can be enough great artists.

Vaslav Nijinsky was one of the great ones—a great artist, a great personality. There are those who can argue long and in nostalgic detail about his technique, its virtues and its defects. Artistry and personality transcend technique; for mere technique, however flawless, is not enough.

It must be borne in mind that Nijinsky’s public career in the Western World was hardly more than seven years long. The legend of Nijinsky commenced with his first appearance in Paris in Le Spectre de la Rose, in 1912. It may have been started, fostered, and developed by Diaghileff, continued by Nijinsky’s wife. It is quite possible this is true; but true or not, it does not affect the validity of the legend.

The story of Nijinsky’s peculiarly romantic marriage, his subsequent madness, his alleged partial recovery, his recent death have all been set down for posterity by his wife. I am by no means an all-out admirer of these books; and I am not able to accept or agree with many of the statements and implications in them. Yet the loyalty and devotion she exhibited towards him can only be regarded as admirable.

The merit of her ministrations to the sick man, on the one hand, hardly condones her literary efforts, on the other. Frequently, I detect a quality in the books that reveals itself more strongly as the predatory female than as the protective wife-mother. I cannot accept Romola Nijinsky’s reiterated portraits of Diaghileff as the avenging monster any more than I can the following statement in her latest book, The Last Days of Nijinsky, published in 1952:

“Undoubtedly, the news that Vaslav was recuperating became more and more known; therefore it was not surprising that one day he received a cable with an offer from Mr. Hurok, the theatrical impresario, asking him to come over to New York and appear. My son-in-law, who had just arrived to spend the week-end with us, advised me to cable back accepting the offer, for then we automatically could have escaped from Europe and would have been able to depart at once. But I felt I could not accept a contract for Vaslav and commit him. There was no question at the time that Vaslav should appear in public. Nevertheless, I hoped that the impresario, who was a Russian himself and who had made his name and fortune in America managing Russian dancers in the past, would have vision enough and a humanitarian spirit in helping to get the greatest Russian dancer out of the European inferno. What I did not know at the time was that there was quite a group of dancers who had got together and who worked in silence to keep Nijinsky out of the United States and from public life. Illness had removed the artist with whom they could not compete. They dreaded his coming back.”

While the entire paragraph tends to give a distorted picture of the situation, the last three sentences are as far from the truth as they possibly can be. The implied charge is almost too stupid to contradict or refute. Were it not for the stigma it imputes to many fine artists living in this country, I should ignore it completely. However, the facts are quite simple. It is by no means an easy matter to bring into the United States any person in ill health, either physical or mental. So far as the regulations were concerned, Nijinsky was but another alien. It was impossible to secure a visa or an entry permit. It was equally impossible to secure the proper sort of doctors’ certificates that could have been of material aid in helping secure such papers.

I have a vivid memory of a meeting of dancers at the St. Regis Hotel in New York to discuss what could be done. Anton Dolin was a prime mover in the plan to give assistance. There was a genuine enthusiasm on the part of the dancers present. Unfortunately, the economics of the dance are such that dancers are quite incapable of undertaking long-term financial commitments. But a substantial number of pledges were offered.

It certainly was not a question of “quite a group of dancers who had got together and who worked in silence to keep Nijinsky out of the United States and from public life.” There was no question or suggestion that he should appear in public, incidentally. There was only the sheer inability to get him into the country. If there was any “dread” of “his coming back,” it could only have been the dread that their former colleague, ill in mind and body, might be in danger of being exploited by the romantic author.

Nijinsky, the legend, will endure as long as ballet, because the legend has its roots in genius. Legend apart, no one from the Maryinsky stable, no one in the fairly long history of ballet, as a matter of fact, has given ballet a more complete service. And it should be remembered that this service was rendered in a career that actually covered less than a decade.