‘There is no need to describe either Karsavina or Pavlova. If there were, indeed, pen and ink would be incapable of the task, for they both typify and express the woman of all ages, and ageless.
‘*** For many it was as if they understood life for the first time, had entered a chamber in the castle Existence which hitherto had been hidden from them. They gave us thoughts, these Russian magicians, for which we have been unconsciously seeking and travailing many years. They gave us knowledge we thought to buy in a huckster’s shop, steal from a bottle of wine, or find in a bloodless novel or in the crude stage play of the average theatre, bearing little or no relation to life. Now here it was, all expressed in dances men and women danced thousands of years ago: music of face and body, of muscle and brain, which stirred and sang in our hearts like wind in the trees.
‘The elusive spirit of youth she (Karsavina) most eloquently expresses in Les Sylphides, the music by Chopin, which is described as a Rêverie Romantique. The sex of the dancer, instead of dominating, disappears. And so, of all the good things the Russian Dancers have given us, the Spirit of Youth of Tamara Karsavina comes first and foremost.
‘The men of the Russian Ballet possess the same technical perfection, the same marvelous grace, as the women. Whether their bodies be as slim and light as Nijinsky’s and Kosloff’s, or as massive and muscular as Mordkin’s and Tichomiroff’s, makes no difference: they can be as graceful, as supple, as tender as a girl, without losing a scrap of their superb masculinity.’
Among the most conspicuous Russian dancers who followed the revolutionary call of Diaghileff and Fokine, were Vera Fokina, Tamara Karsavina, Sophie Feodorova, Seraphime Astafieva, Nijinsky, and Kosloff. The real drawing cards of the revolutionary group were Karsavina and Nijinsky, one more genial than the other, the one the very type of the Russian youthful poetic and passionate girl, the other that of masculine virility and grace. The leaping of Nijinsky and the darting of Karsavina will remain as the most effective symbols in the mind of those who have witnessed their inspiring dances. In Le Spectre de la Rose, danced by Karsavina and Nijinsky, we can best compare their individualities. ‘Their bodies, flower-like, representing the spirit of flowers, weave dreams with silent and graceful movements,’ writes a critic. ‘We are altogether removed from the world of flesh and blood to a kingdom of enchantment.’ Nijinsky and Karsavina are the two talented exponents of the New Russian Ballet, in the same sense as Pavlova and Mordkin belong to the Old Ballet.
The question arises in what respect Nijinsky differs from Mordkin and Karsavina from Pavlova? If we could see illustrative performances by these four greatest figures of the two Russian schools the difference would be immediately evident, in spite of their individual traits. Where Pavlova concentrates attention on her conventional toe-dancing, Karsavina employs conspicuously the naturalistic steps and strives to display the plastic lines of her beautiful body. Where Mordkin resorts to pantomime, Nijinksy finds his expression through the movements of the dance. However, the difference between the two ballets is not so clearly cut with the men as with the women dancers. Fokine has introduced a great deal of the plastic element that has actuated the partisans of the naturalistic school. We find the acrobatic stunts of the old ballet almost lacking in the new. You will hardly see Karsavina, Fokina or Astafieva performing the leg-bending tricks of the followers of the old school. If they resort to pirouettes and leg agility, they do so in a different sense than the others.
III
A highly praised dance of Karsavina and Nijinsky is Le Spectre de la Rose (with music arranged from the compositions of Weber), which takes place in a summer night in old aristocratic France. The music, though old-fashioned, is soft and tender. Karsavina represents a young sentimental girl who has just returned from the ball. She is thinking of her lover, while raising to her lips a red rose which he gave her at the ball. Going through a pantomimic scene of her sentimental dreams Karsavina depicts the romantic prelude of a young girl until Nijinsky, representing her visionary lover, leaps in. ‘The spirit of the garden and the song of the night have entered her bedroom, and the wind blows this rose-spirit to and fro. It is love in human shape: now he hovers above the sleeping figure, caressing: now he is dancing just in front of the window. And we dare not breathe lest by so doing the air is stirred to drive him back into the moving shapes outside. But he rises on the arms of the wind, he crouches beside the girl. She falls into his arms and the love dream of a ballroom is realized. The music of the night has entered the room, languid music like water which these two spill as they dance to and fro, until, our eyes being opened, we can see as well as hear music. The miracle is so brief that we scarcely realize it before it has gone. But they were chords and harmonies, these two spirit shapes floating on the implacable air: hands and feet, arms and legs, lips and eyes spilling and spelling each note of music. The hour has passed. Jealous dawn lays his fingers on the night.... The girl is in her chair again. The spirit of the rose hovers like love with trembling wings above her.’
A favorite ballet of the Diaghileff company is Cléopatre, arranged by Fokine to music by Arensky, Taneieff, Rimsky-Korsakoff, Glinka, Glazounoff, and Moussorgsky. The chief characters of this ballet are Seraphime Astafieva, as Cleopatra, Sophie Feodorova, as Ta-Hor, Vera Fokina, as a Greek woman, and Nijinsky, as the favorite of Cleopatra. It has been declared the most popular of all Fokine’s ballets. It describes the well-known love drama of the great Egyptian queen. The first scene is laid on the shores of the Nile. There is just visible the arch of an ancient temple and its entrance with great figures of stone. The ground on which it stands is flanked by pillars which tower towards the sky. The waters of the river gleam between these pillars. The sun is sinking into the hot desert. The first character of the dance is Ta-Hor, a priestess; the second Amoun, a warrior, her beloved. She emerges through the dark curtain of the night and meets him in the silent precincts of the temple. Music quivers from hands and feet, lips and eyes. We feel an impending danger. The silence is broken with the sudden appearance of the High Priest. Cleopatra is coming. But Ta-Hor clings to the lips of Amoun. When the Queen appears the lovers shrink back into the shadows of the temple. She is a voluptuous beauty. We see her resting, her limbs tangled in a mass of color, her eyes fixed like serpent’s, staring into the hot night of the desert while she waits for what it will bring her. She is tired of the wealth the world has poured at her feet. There is but one thing that never tires her and is ever new. Her subtle limbs uncurl from the tangled colors, open like a rose at a breath of warm wind—to close again with a little shiver of ecstasy. Love is always new and beautiful. Of love she has never tired, only of lovers.
Cleopatra finally sees Amoun dancing, and falls madly in love with him. There are many passionate and dramatic scenes. ‘Like the sea-foam, her body is tempest-tossed. Her eyes burn into his soul. The music sings songs of the desert, invocations to the Nile, hymns to the god of love. Around the royal divan of Cleopatra we see a medley of men and women, twining and grouping themselves. The music sounds like a gentle breeze, full of love and enchantment, which longs yet fears to slake its thirst. We see Egyptian dancers moving slowly and quietly. String instruments are thrumming like nightingales. We see a whole company of men and women dancing in the torchlight. The sight of the costumes pours a spell of the Nile upon us. The stars of the desert and the passionate music of string instruments, the beautiful girls and the black virile bodies of the slaves, the waves of light and the distant wall of soldiers and priests, fill the air with something tragic and black. We get a glimpse of Cleopatra and Amoun, he standing beside her couch. The high priest of the temple holds between his hands the sacred cup filled with the poisonous wine that Amoun must drink. He takes the cup firmly and looks into her eyes, and smiling he drinks. She smiles, too. At this moment Amoun drops the cup to the ground. Death lays hands upon him. His agony is brief. Cleopatra stands waiting. When he falls his fingers clutch the air. A shiver shakes the Queen’s body. Cleopatra goes out from the night passing through the vast pillars of the temple into the dawn of the desert. After her comes Ta-Hor, looking for her lover. But she finds the dead body. We see her warm brown body shiver and shrink. She would tear out her heart. A soft wind comes whispering over the desert bringing with it the red of the rising sun. It is the end of a ghastly picture.’