A DANCING GENIUS

Evening Star, Issue 21743, 11 June 1934, Page 11

A DANCING GENIUS

NIJINSKY THE DOOMED The world has had its Camargo, its Taglioni, its Pavlova. But until the advent of Nijinsky the male dancer was an indeterminate creature in a short velvet jacket and a blonde wig, whose name was known only to the few, with no chance of its being handed down to posterity, and whose task it was to support the ballerina while she pirouetted or attitudinised, with occasional hops and leg-twiddlings on his own account. His presence was even resented; and he was considered but half a man. Nijinsky, if be had done nothing else, can be honoured as the man who gave the male dancer at least the same status as his partner. Nijinsky was born in Kieff, South Russia, in 1890. His father *' was already a dancer of the fourth generation in a family in which the art of dancing and technique was handed down from father to son, a dancing dynasty like Vestris and Petipa.” The son, young Vaslav Nijinsky, entered the Imperial School of Dancing at the ago of ten

This was a portentous business in the days of the Romanoffs, an approach to an English equivalent being a combination of the choir school of the Chapels Royal, Eton, and Sandhurst. The trousseau—Mme Nijinsky uses tho word—was extensive and expensive, and, though discipline was severe, the surroundings were luxurious. Vaslav wore a uniform with a high velvet collar, embroidered with a silver lyre, and his elaborate cap had upon it the Imperial Eagle in solid silver. The 1 pupils were occasionally used as ‘ supers ” in the performances at the Manansky Theatre, just as a platoon -of the Brigade of Guards used to appear on the stage of Covent Garden in the “ grand ” season to help in the shooting of La. Tosca or to save tho drilling of Don Jose’s soldiers in * Carmen 1 from the ‘ embarrassing fiasco which might have occurred had it been left to a foreign operatic chorus. Nijinsky’s idol then was ■ Chaliapin, whom he used timidly to watch from the wings. It was inevitable, that Nijinsky would reign supreme as a male dancer at the Mariansky Theatre, as the Imperial Opera House of St Petersburg was officially known. A valuable aspect of Mme Nijinsky’s book is that room has been found in it to trace, possibly tor the first time in thoroughly readable form, the growth of ballet in Russia, the methods of its development, and tho extraordinary complicated organisation which held it together when it was at its zenith. There was, too, about it an almost barbaric luxury. “ Vaslav lived magnificently for eight years at the Tsar’s expense . . . in a surfeited atmosphere of semi-degen-erate indulgence. There was a fascination in walking up a flight of heavily-car-peted stairs, passed on by one footman to another, until one was announced in the big, bright room, blazing with lights . . everywhere gaiety reigned, champagne and gold flowed. Vet amid all the laughter and complete abandon there was never a woman to be seen."

PAVLOVA FAINTS FROM .JEALOUSY. In the actual business of the ballet, however, the female influence was powerful and sometimes uncomfortably so. Kshessiuskaya, said to be the greatest dancer of the world, whom England has never seen, was queening it in those days, but Pavlova had already become a prima ballerina. We are told Mat sho was the only person in the theatre who really hated Nijinsky. “ One evening, after completing a pas de deux with him, noticing that his shouted name recalled him oftener before the curtain than her, Pavlova fainted in an uncontrollable fit of jealousy and resentment.” Pavlova could certainly be difficult. The Diaghileff Ballet, which brought about the renaissance of the dance in Western Europe began its outside-Russia career m Paris. That renaissance has been followed by no reaction, and is still at its height, one token being the fact that the Ballets Russes season at the Alhambra, during which Nijinsky’s young daughter appeared, was originally arranged to last for three weeks, and was made welcome for five months.

London swiftly followed. Such productions as ‘ Scheherazade,’ ‘ Carneval,’ • L’Oiseau de Feu,’ ‘ L’Apresmidi d’un Faunc,’ and ‘ Jeux ’ opened entirely new pages of scenic and choreographic work. Most amazing of them all, perhaps, was ‘ Petrouchka,’ with Nijinsky as the doll. Of this performance here Sarah Bernhardt exclaimed : “ I’m afraid, because I’ve seen the greatest actor in the world.” Ellen Terry, too, became on this account a fervent admirer.

The war brought discomfort and uncertainty. Nijinsky was for a time a prisoner, his release being secured by glittering notabilities. But tile elTect of that period remained. II war (lid not cause the mental

disease, schizophrenia, from which he, is suffering, it certainly contributed to his strange mental state. The Nijinskys went to Switzerland on account of Vaslav’s health, already causing suspicion.. He covered his room- he is a clever artist—with drawings of bloodstained faces, morbid and horrible. “ They are■ soldiers’ faces,” he said. “It is the war.” He stared oddly. He flew into violent tempers. He snatched food from his wife and child and threw it out of the window. He paraded the streets with a huge crucifix and begged the passers-by to turn to God. He gave a private dance recital, sat immovable, gazing at his audience, for half an hour, and then danced horrifying, macabre subjects. Incarceration in a mental home at Krevzlingen was inevitable. “He is there now,” writes his plucky, devoted wife, “ dreaming his dreams.” Sometimes he has gentle, lucid intervals. Old friends, notably the gracious and beautiful Karsavina (than whom there is no kinder woman in, the world) think of him, try to help him, pray for him. His disease is said to bo incurable. But in a moment of calmness Nijinsky said to his wife, on his first day at Krevzlingen: “ Courage, darling. Don’t despair. There is a God.”—Philip Page, in * John o’ London’s Weekly.’