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Title: The Art of Ballet
Author: Perugini, Mark Edward
Language: English
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THE ART OF BALLET
[Illustration: _Adolph Bolm in “Carnival.”_
_from a photograph by E. O. Hoppé_]
THE ART OF BALLET
by
MARK E. PERUGINI
London: Martin Secker
Number Five John Street Adelphi
First published 1915
TO
MY WIFE
PREFACE
Some may possibly wonder to find here no record of Ballet in Italy,
or at the Opera Houses of Madrid, Lisbon, Vienna, Buda-Pest,
Berlin, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Warsaw, or Petrograd (formerly St.
Petersburg), not to speak of the United States and South America.
This, however, would be to miss somewhat the author’s purpose, which
is not to trace the growth of Ballet in every capital where it has
been seen. To do so effectively were hardly possible in a single
volume. A whole book might well be devoted to the history of the art
in Italy alone, herein only touched upon as it came to have vital
influence on France and England in the nineteenth century. We have
already had numerous volumes dealing with Russian Ballet; and since
the ground has been extensively enough surveyed in that direction
there could be no particular advantage in devoting more space to
the subject than is already given to it in this work, the purpose
of which only is to present--as far as possible from contemporary
sources--some leading phases of the history of the modern Art of
Ballet as seen more particularly in France and England.
A brief series of biographical essays “Cameos of the Dance,” by the
same writer, was published in _The Whitehall Review_ in 1909; various
articles on the subject also being contributed to _The Evening News_,
_Lady’s Pictorial_, _Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News_, _Pall
Mall Gazette_ and other London journals during 1910 and 1911; and
a series of “Sketches of the Dance and Ballet,” coming from the
same hand, appeared in _The Dancing Times_, 1912, 1913 and 1914.
They were based on portions of the manuscript of the present work
which, begun some years ago by way of pastime, and written during
the scant leisure of a crowded business life, was completed at the
publisher’s request, and was--save for a few brief insertions in the
proofs--ready, and announced for publication before the Great War
began in August 1914.
The preparation of this book has involved the marshalling of a
vast array of facts and dates, the delving into and comparison of
some three hundred or more ancient and modern volumes on dancing
and on theatrical and operatic history, the study of scores of old
newspaper-files and long-forgotten theatrical “repositories” and
souvenirs. Error is always possible in spite of care, and if it
should have happened here the writer will be grateful for correction.
In covering so wide a field a full bibliography becomes impossible
from limits of space; but to those interested the following list
of leading authorities--supplemented by those referred to in the
text--may be of service. “La Danse Grecque Antique,” by M. Emmanuel;
“Roman Life and Manners under the Early Empire,” by L. Friedländer;
“Dramatic Traditions of the Dark Ages,” by Joseph S. Tunison
(University of Chicago Press); “Orchésographie,” by Thoinot Arbeau
(1588); “Des Ballets Anciens et Modernes,” by Père Menestrier (1682);
“La Danse Antique et Moderne,” by De Cahuzac (1754); “The Code of
Terpsichore,” by Carlo Blasis (1823); “Dictionnaire de la Danse,”
by G. Desrat (1895); “Dancing in all Ages,” by Edward Scott (1899);
“Histoire de la Danse,” by F. de Menil (1905); and “The Dance: Its
Place in Art and Life,” by T. and M. W. Kinney (1914).
CONTENTS
_BOOK I. THE FIRST ERA_
CHAPTER PAGE
OVERTURE: ON THE ART OF BALLET 15
I. A DISTINCTION, AND SOME DIFFERENCES 21
II. EGYPT 25
III. GREECE 32
IV. MIME AND PANTOMIME: ROME, HIPPODROME--OBSCURITY 41
V. CHURCH THUNDER AND CHURCH COMPLAISANCE 47
VI. A BANQUET-BALL OF 1489: AND THE BALLET COMIQUE
DE LA REINE, 1581 53
VII. THOINOT ARBEAU’s “ORCHÉSOGRAPHIE,” 1588 61
VIII. SCENIC EFFECT: THE ENGLISH MASQUE AS BALLET,
1585-1609 71
IX. BALLET ON THE MOVE 83
X. COURT BALLETS ABROAD: 1609-1650 88
XI. THE TURNING POINT: “LE ROI SOLEIL AND HIS
ACADEMY OF DANCING,” 1651-1675 99
_BOOK II. THE SECOND ERA_
XII. SOME EARLY STARS AND BALLETS 109
XIII. “PANTOMIME” AT SCEAUX, AND MLLE. PRÉVÔT 113
XIV. ITALIAN COMEDY, AND THE “THEATRES OF THE FAIR” 119
XV. WATTEAU’S DEBT TO THE STAGE 130
XVI. “THE SPECTATOR” AND MR. WEAVER 142
XVII. A FRENCH DANCER IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY LONDON 149
XVIII. LA BELLE CAMARGO, 1710-1770 156
XIX. “THE HOUSE OF VESTRIS” 163
XX. JEAN GEORGES NOVERRE 171
XXI. GUIMARD THE GRAND 179
XXII. DESPRÉAUX, POET, “MAÎTRE,” AND “HUSBAND OF
GUIMARD” 195
XXIII. A CENTURY’S CLOSE 201
_BOOK III. THE MODERN ERA_
XXIV. THE EARLY NINETEENTH CENTURY 207
XXV. CARLO BLASIS, A LEADER OF THE MODERN SCHOOL 213
XXVI. THE “PAS DE QUATRE”: I. MARIE TAGLIONI.
(“SYLPHIDE”) 223
XXVII. THE “PAS DE QUATRE” II. CARLOTTA GRISI.
(“GISELLE”) 235
XXVIII. THE “PAS DE QUATRE”: III. FANNY CERITO.
(“ONDINE”) 240
XXIX. THE “PAS DE QUATRE”: IV. LUCILE GRAHN.
(“EOLINE”) 244
XXX. THE DECLINE AND REVIVAL 249
XXXI. THE ALHAMBRA 1854 TO 1903 252
XXXII. THE ALHAMBRA 1904 TO 1913 269
XXXIII. THE EMPIRE THEATRE 1884 TO 1906 276
XXXIV. THE EMPIRE THEATRE 1907 TO 1914 294
XXXV. FINALE, THE RUSSIANS AND--THE FUTURE 309
INDEX 327
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ADOLF BOLM IN “CARNIVAL” _Frontispiece_
_From a photograph_
AN EGYPTIAN MALE DANCER _Facing page_ 30
_From a Theban fresco_
EGYPTIAN DANCING GIRLS ” 30
_From a mural painting in the British Museum_
A GREEK FUNERAL DANCE ” 30
_From a coloured plaque in the Louvre_
STAGE EFFECT IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY ” 56
_A scene from, the “Ballet Comique de la Royne,”
by Baltasar de Beaujoyeux, 1581_
STAGE EFFECT IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY ” 88
_From a coloured engraving of a scene from
“Circe,” 1694_
THE DUCHESSE DU MAINE ” 114
THE DEPARTURE OF THE ITALIAN COMEDIANS, 1697 ” 128
_From an engraving by L. Jacob of Watteau’s picture_
PIERROT AND ARLEQUIN, IN THE EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY ” 128
_From Riccoboni’s “Histoire du Théâtre Italien”_
L’AMOUR AU THÉÂTRE ITALIEN ” 132
_From the Julienne engravings from Watteau, British
Museum_
L’AMOUR AU THÉÂTRE FRANÇAIS ” 132
_From the Julienne engravings from Watteau, British
Museum_
LE CONCERT ” 136
_From the painting by Watteau, Wallace Collection_
LA LEÇON DE MUSIQUE ” 136
_From the painting by Watteau, Wallace Collection_
LES PLAISIRS DU BAL ” 138
_From the Julienne engravings from Watteau, British
Museum_
MLLE. DESMARES EN HABIT DE PÈLERINE ” 140
_From the Julienne engravings from Watteau, British
Museum_
L’EMBARQUEMENT POUR L’ILE DE CYTHÈRE ” 140
_From a photograph by E. Alinari of Watteau’s
painting in the Louvre_
MARIE SALLÉ ” 150
_From an engraving by Petit, after a picture by
Fenouil_
M. BALLON AND MLLE. PRÉVÔT ” 160
_From an old print_
CAMARGO ” 160
_From the painting by Lancret in the Wallace
Collection_
GAETAN VESTRIS ” 166
_From an old print_
JEAN GEORGES NOVERRE ” 174
_From an old engraving_
MADELEINE GUIMARD ” 192
_From the painting by Fragonard_
FANNY ELSSLER ” 210
_From an old engraving_
CARLOTTA GRISI ” 210
_From a coloured lithograph_
CARLO BLASIS ” 218
_From a lithograph_
MARIE TAGLIONI ” 228
_From a lithograph dated 1833_
THE PAS DE QUATRE OF 1845 ” 228
FANNY CERITO AND ST. LEON ” 242
LUCILLE GRAHN AND PERROT ” 242
MLLE. PALLADINO IN “NINA” AT THE ALHAMBRA ” 266
_From a photograph_
MLLE. BRITTA ” 266
_From a photograph_
MME. GUERRERO ” 274
_From a photograph_
MLLE. LEONORA ” 274
_From a photograph_
MLLE. ADELINE GÉNÉE ” 292
_From a photograph_
MME. LYDIA KYASHT ” 304
_From a photograph_
MISS PHYLLIS BEDELLS ” 304
_From a photograph_
MISS ISADORA DUNCAN ” 314
_From a photograph_
MME. KARSAVINA AND M. ADOLF BOLM IN “L’OISEAU DE FEU” ” 322
_From a photograph_
BOOK I: THE FIRST ERA
THE ART OF BALLET
OVERTURE
ON THE ART OF BALLET
There may be some who could not agree that Ballet _is_ an “art,”
or even that it has, or ever had, any special charm or historic
interest. The charm--as in the case of any other art--will probably
always remain rather a matter of individual opinion; the historic
interest is merely a matter of fact.
No man can hope for agreement with his fellows in all things. The
world were flat if it could be so. He may hector, and not convince;
he may cajole and not convert; he may tell the simple truth in simple
speech and still be misunderstood. So many of his partners in the
dance of life speak in different tongues; or, speaking the same, use
words and phrases more familiar to them than to himself.
In going to a foreign land we change our currency; but it is hardly
to be accounted spurious because it is not as ours. There may be
something to be said for the variety; and, also, there may be some
common basis of value which can be accepted readily by both. A
world-currency has not yet arrived. In opinion it is much the same.
But the sense of “fair play” is so admirable, and so truly British
a characteristic, that one may usually rely on it for a considerate
hearing. Possible dissentients may be the more inclined to grant
this if they are informed at the outset that this book has no
specially persuasive purpose, and that I am content that it should be
mainly accounted a record of fact.
One of the facts which it chronicles is that Ballet, whether an
“art” or not, has existed, in some form or another, for about two
thousand years. An interest which can show so long a record may yet
not be of such surpassing importance, let us say, as Statecraft or
Religion; but one which has thus long and widely appealed to the
æsthetic sense of mankind can hardly be considered worthless. It
were a vast and complex matter to decide the relative values of the
various “arts,” and, certainly this book is no endeavour to pronounce
thereon, nor to persuade any that Ballet is the greatest, though it
is unquestionably one of the oldest of the arts. But it will suffice
to offer the opinion that, whether it has reached its highest level
or not as yet Ballet _is_ an art in itself; one that in the past has
had so many judicious and sympathetic exponents, and has so long a
record of existence, that there is really some justification for the
expenditure of casual leisure by any who cares to play the chronicler
or to read such chronicle.
This much said, before setting out to travel the road of the past,
let us for a moment reconsider another fact, namely, that we have in
London two theatres where for about a quarter of a century Ballet
_was_ the main attraction. The fact is unique in the annals of the
British stage.
Ballets have been produced elsewhere occasionally. We have seen
operas, pantomimes, burlesques, of which they formed a part. At
earlier periods--as in the ’forties of last century--they have also
been seen as separate items in the programme of an operatic season;
and there has been a quite remarkable revival of interest during the
past few years. But in all the history of the stage there was never
before a time when it could be said that for such a period not one
but two theatrical houses in London _continuously_ offered this kind
of entertainment as their chief attraction.
It has to be remembered that this sustained existence of Ballet in
England has been, as in the case of all “legitimate drama,” without
State aid such as it has received in Milan, Rome, Naples, Paris,
Vienna, Petrograd, Copenhagen, and elsewhere on the Continent, where
the physical advantages of dancing and the artistic value of Ballet
are fully appreciated. The arts must flourish haphazard here! We have
no national conservatoire in which this art of Ballet is taught as it
is abroad. Consequently it has been less generally understood; and,
being so, has had to exist in face of considerable prejudice.
Some critics profess to despise it because it ignores the spoken
word. Some have decried it because of the presence of dancing. Some
will not admit that it is worthy to be called an art at all, and
there are possibly still some primly primitive people who pretend to
view with moral pain the existence of any such entertainment. They
may patronise a theatre or tolerate an actor or actress--but a Ballet
or a Ballet-Dancer!
The misunderstanding of the aims and possibilities of the Art of
Ballet, as seen at its best, is to be regretted.
Not for such critics are the music of moving lines, the modulating
harmonies of colour, the subtleties of mimic expression, nor all the
wealth of historic associations and romantic charm which a knowledge
of its past recalls.
Austere critics would do well, when deprecating Ballet, to remember
that many others have found it, as Colley Cibber regretfully admitted
it was found in his time: “a pleasing and rational entertainment.”
That it is “pleasing” many know from witnessing some of the best
of modern examples. As to whether it can be considered “rational”
depends so much on the kind of meaning that may be given to that
word. All rational people speak in prose; constantly to speak in
verse might be considered quite irrational. But are we to banish
poetry from the world because it is not the common form of speech?
Some people might find it quite irrational to sit in a theatre and
laugh or weep at the imaginary joys or woes of imaginary characters
impersonated by people who are not seriously concerned therewith, and
with whom, personally, we are not at all concerned.
It might be well considered irrational to be moved by any “concord of
sweet sounds,” at least in the shape of “opera”; or to be enspelled
by the charm of a statue or a painting, or by the wizardry of any
form of art; for once it is questioned whether it be “rational,”
there need be no end to dispute; and one remembers how poor Tolstoy
fared in essaying to decide: “What is Art?”
That of Ballet surely is no less rational than Poetry, than Drama,
than Music, Sculpture, Painting--all of which exist by _their_
conventions, all of which in principle it employs; to all of which it
is akin. It is not less an art; and when looking at a modern ballet
we can hardly fail to consider the long train of reasoned thought and
of artistic tradition that lie beyond the entertainment that we see
to-day.
What is it that we see? An orchestra of dancers who are also mimes,
who represent--one should rather say, realise--the imaginative
creations of an author, or a number of authors working harmoniously
together, in terms of rhythmic movement and dramatic expression, with
the aid also of colour and music and sound.
Every one of these dancers has had to undergo a special and arduous
training, the traditions of which reach back through centuries till
lost in time’s obscurity.
Each has an allotted place at any given moment in the general scheme.
Every grouping and dispersal of a group--like the formation and
modulation of chords in music--is part of an ordered plan.
Every step of every dancer, every gesture, every phrase of music, is
composed or selected to express particular ideas or series of ideas;
every colour and each change of tone in the whole symphony of hues
has been appraised. Not a thing that happens is haphazard.
It is probably by reason of the number of people that must be
employed, and the labour entailed before a successful result can be
achieved, and on account of the difficulties and risks attendant
on its production, that we have had so few theatres devoted to an
art so thoroughly appreciated abroad, not only as one of ancient
institution, but as one that still offers wide scope for the creative
genius of poet, artist and musician, apart from the interpretative
abilities of dancer and of mime.
CHAPTER I
A DISTINCTION, AND SOME DIFFERENCES
The chief elements of Ballet as seen to-day are--dancing, miming,
music and scenic effect, including of course in this last the
costumes and colour-schemes, as well as the actual “scenery” and
lighting.
It is in the proper harmonising of these elements that the true
art of Ballet-composition, or, as it is called, “choreography,”
consists. Each has its individual history, and all have been combined
in varying proportions at various periods. But it is only in the
past hundred and fifty years or so that they have been harmoniously
blended in the increasing richness of their development to give us
this separate, protean and beautiful art--the Ballet of the Theatre.
These four elements are the material of which Ballet is composed, and
the result may be judged by their balance.
We are to think not of the worst examples that have been, but of the
best, and of those that yet might be.
Most of the older writers on dancing speak of almost all concerted
dances as ballets and refer to the “ballets” of the Egyptians, the
Greeks and the Romans. The Abbé Menestrier, however, writing in the
seventeenth century, wisely observed the distinction between dances
that are _only_ “dances,” and those that approximate to “ballet.”
It should be borne in mind that it is possible to dance and not
represent an idea save that of dancing, as when a child dances for
joy, _not in order to represent the joy of another_. That is the
province of the Mime. It is equally possible to mimic without dancing.
The best ballet-dancer is one who has intelligence and training to do
both, whose dancing and mimicry are interpretative.
Speaking of certain Egyptian and Greek figure-dances and the approach
of some of them to the Ballet as he knew it towards the end of the
seventeenth century, Menestrier wrote: “_J’appelle ces Danses Ballets
parce qu’elles n’etoient pas de simples Danses comme les autres,
mais des Representations ingenieuses, des mouvements du Ciel et des
Planétes, et des evolutions du labyrinthe dont Thésée sortit_.”
That is a distinction to be remembered by any who may look on the Art
of Ballet as simply--dancing.
It is necessary to-day to make another distinction, that between
“ballet,” and “the ballet of the theatre.” In a sense the Hindus,
the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans, indeed all peoples in past
ages have had ballets; that is, dances which were “_representations
ingenieuses_,” which represented an idea or told a story.
There have been entertainments, too, of which dancing formed
a considerable part--such as our English “masques,” which,
contemporaneously, were often spoken of as “ballets.”
But though they may for convenience have been so called, they were
never more than partly akin with the ballet of the theatre as we
see it to-day. They never exhibited that balance of subordinated
and _developed_ arts which the best examples of later times have
shown; and were not seen in the public theatre, as a form of dramatic
entertainment apart from others.
One has only to consider for an instant what were the musical and
scenic resources of the Greek and Roman stage, and compare them with
the resources of modern orchestration and scenic effect to realise
the difference between antique “ballet” and that of to-day.
Setting aside this difference, which arises from the development of
the several elements through the centuries, one may find many an
ancient definition of “ballet” that appears apt enough to-day, for
the difference is not so much one of principle as this of resources.
Athenæus, a second-century Greek critic, declared: “Ballet is an
imitation of things said and sung,” and Lucian, that--“It is by the
gesture, movements and cadences that this imitation or representation
is made up, as the song is made up by the inflections of the voice.”
This is a happy illustration. Inflections might well be described as
“gestures” _of the voice_.
Menestrier (who, besides writing an exceedingly entertaining history
of Ballet, also wrote extensively on Heraldry, and was author
of several solid historical works as well as numerous poems and
_libretti_) has said: “Ballet is an imitation like the other arts,
and that much has in common with them. The difference is, that while
the other arts only imitate certain things, as painting, which
expresses the shape, colour, arrangement and disposition of things,
Ballet expresses the _movement_ which Painting and Sculpture could
not express, and by these movements can represent the nature of
things, and those characteristics of the soul which only can find
expression by such movements. This imitation is achieved by the
movements of the body, which are the interpreters of the passions
and of the inmost feelings. And even as the body has various
parts composing a whole and making a beautiful harmony, one uses
instruments and their accord, to regulate those movements which
express the effect of the passions of the soul.”
These definitions have decided value, but hardly quite meet the case
of modern Ballet.
Noverre, Blasis, Gardel, and other of the older _maîtres de ballet_,
have told us in several charming books, essays, letters, dialogues
and _libretti_, much as to what Ballet can and should be, but yet
leave something to seek in the matter of brief yet comprehensive
definition.
It is with some hesitancy, therefore, that I venture, before talking
of its history, to suggest as a simple definition that: “a ballet
is _a series of solo and concerted dances with mimetic actions,
accompanied by music and scenic accessories, telling a story_.”
It is by reason of this definition that I propose to pass somewhat
lightly over the early dawn of Ballet, or rather of its earliest
elements, the dance and miming; and that I propose to deal more fully
with the period _after_ the advent of Louis Quatorze--in France and
in England--which saw the development of the _Ballet du Théâtre_.
There have, of course, been modern ballets that did not tell a story.
But the true Ballet of the theatre should.
Such have been the best of those of Noverre, of Blasis, of Perrot,
Nuittier, Théophile Gautier, and of later composers of ballet like
Taglioni, Manzotti, Coppi, Mme. Lanner, Wilhelm, Curti, Fokine, and,
indeed, all the best ballets of later years; and such will the best
always be.
CHAPTER II
EGYPT
The origin of the drama is hardly to be reckoned among the historic
mysteries. By serious triflers debate might be held as to what should
be considered the first dramatic representation and when it actually
took place.
Some five centuries before the Christian era the first plays of
which scholarship has taken note were performed at Athens, those
of Thespis, forerunner of the first great dramatists of the
world--Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides.
For convenience the origin of Western drama may be dated from Thespis
because it seems first to have assumed then a definite form. That is
not its actual origin any more than the origin of any human being is
to be dated from its birth. As a possibility it may be said to have
existed always. Even Chronology has its limitations, and preceding
any given event there must have existed principles or tendencies.
When it is said, therefore, that the origin of the Drama is not an
historic mystery it is because we are not very much in the dark as
to when it began to assume a somewhat definite form; and, moreover,
we can be fairly clear as to what must have preceded it. There seems
rather more than a probability that the Drama derived its existence
from the Poet, in his capacity as a Narrator.
For some hundreds of years the Drama has been chiefly a
representation of character and events, whether real or fictitious.
In its earliest forms it was mainly descriptive. It would seem to be
the natural order of things that from mere description there should
arise in time--possibly from a half-conscious feeling of the need
of _emphasis_, of a desire to _impress_ the hearers--the attempt
to _illustrate_ or to _represent_ the scenes or actions described.
The mere repetition of any story seems to tend towards that. Have
we not observed that no “fish” story is ever quite complete--if not
convincing--without histrionic illustrations?
Though in India and China, with their more ancient civilisation, the
chronologic origin of the Drama might be more remotely placed, it is
probable that in the Homeric bard and the Homeric audience, should
be sought the true beginning of the Western theatre; while, all the
world over, the evolution of the dramatic form has probably been much
the same--namely, a gradual transition from poetic _narration_ to
imitative representation. Thus at the back of the Drama is probably
the Poet. Beside the Poet, too, is often the Priest.
Greek tragedy is usually said to have had a purely “religious”
origin, and certainly it was from early times employed for the
purposes of, or in the service of, Religion; but it would, one
feels, be rather truer to presume its actual origin to be purely
secular, and to be found in the Poet making his appeal to an ordinary
audience, in a word, to the People, while sometimes under the
patronage of priestly and ruling classes.
When, however, we come to consider the origin of the Dance--first and
most important of the “four elements” of Ballet--we are forced to
the conclusion that, even though we are on more uncertain ground, it
must, nevertheless, be far older than the Drama. Why this should be
so, even though we have no approximate date to go upon as in the case
of the Thespian theatre, is not difficult to see.
The Drama evolved from, and has always depended on, the faculty of
speech, and on the growth of a language. A copious vocabulary and
flexibility of verbal expression are not exactly characteristics of
the primitive races; and, without both, the Drama, as we have known
it for some centuries, could not have existed.
But the Dance (with mimicry, which has always followed close upon its
heels) has no need of words, and is itself a kind of speech, in which
the whole body is used as a means of expression.
We are none of us old enough to remember, and there is consequently
no need to be dogmatic and assert that the Dance actually _did_
precede speech; but it is far from improbable that it could
have done; and while one shudders to think of the ardent _danse
tourbillon_ our Mother Earth must have danced from the moment of her
birth, it is perhaps more amusing--and yet not wholly frivolous--to
contemplate a possible origin of the Dance in the sport some Simian
ancestors may have found in rhythmically swaying on the flexile
branches of some primeval tree, before they had acquired a vocabulary
sufficiently copious for the analysis of their sensations.
Seriously, however, and just because it has a rhythmic basis, dancing
in some form is among the earliest instincts of mankind, even as it
is of children. In all climes, at all periods, men and women have
danced; and its origin is lost in the mists of prehistoric years.
Non-civilised races still existent may offer evidence as to stages
in its evolution; but even among the more primitive races, dancing
seems to have some definiteness of form, marking a heritage of long
practice.
From some earliest, uncouth leapings and gestures of savage or half
savage tribes (the effect of mere exuberant physical energy) may have
grown the idea of thus expressing joy and thankfulness; for joy, not
sorrow, one feels must surely have been always the first inspirer of
the Dance; and possibly a victory over an enemy, or gratitude for a
full harvest may have come to be first the inspiration, and then the
excuse for repeating such manifestations.
Repetition of an act tends to create a habit, and what may be at
first apparently a spontaneous experiment grows by repetition into a
cult, with set form and ritual.
The ritual of the Dance seems to be as ancient as the stars, in
representing the movements of which, it is supposed by some to have
had its origin in Egypt over two thousand years ago. Nowhere is it
found without form. All must be done in a certain way, according
to the traditions of the locality in which the dance is seen, or
according to some wider tradition. Always it has a ritual of its own,
but also with religious ritual the origin of the Dance--as also of
the Drama--appears in some mysterious manner to be upbound.
Of all the records that we have of dancing, the earliest are,
apparently, those of Egypt. Its origin is not there; it must be
older; but we know at least that the Egyptians were among the first
people with a civilisation that encouraged dancing.
One of the finest among modern historians of the art, divides
dancing, for convenience in tracing its evolution, into “sacred” and
“profane”; that is, the Dance forming, as so often it did in ancient
times, part of a religious ceremonial, and that which in any other
of its forms was merely a pleasure of the people. For our purpose
in tracing the growth of Ballet, however, it would seem advisable
to divide the Dance yet further, into “sacred,” “secular,” and
“theatrical.”
The Egyptians had no Ballet of the theatre, because they had no
theatre. They had dances which seem to have been “_representations
ingenieuses_,” and to that extent, as mimetic dances, partook of
the nature of Ballet; but they were not organised as theatrical
spectacles for private or public entertainment.
The Greeks had no Ballet of the theatre because, though they had the
theatre, they, like the Egyptians, had merely mimetic dances, not
Ballet.
But if Egypt had no popular theatre in which dancing was seen, it
appears to have existed, nevertheless, in three distinct forms--as
a pleasure of “the man in the street”--just as we see children
dance to a barrel-organ in the London streets to-day; again, as an
entertainment for the wealthy, just as a popular singer, dancer
or other entertainer of to-day is engaged for an “at home” or
dinner-party; and, finally, as an element of the elaborate and
somewhat theatrical Egyptian religious ceremonial.
Monuments from Thebes and Beni Hassan show pictures of Egyptian
dancers performing steps very similar to some we can see to-day. They
appear to be performing them for the pleasure of onlookers as well as
their own. This acquiring of an audience has, after all, been always
of first importance, and without it the Drama could hardly have come
into existence.
Most people are interested in seeing others do something they are
unable to do themselves, and when they can see it well done, in a
manner, that is, suggesting a difficult feat accomplished with ease,
they will even pay for the exhibition. That is the popular (with
managers the extremely popular) side of the theatrical arts, of which
dancing is one. When there arises the desire to see the exhibition
repeated frequently, then must follow the special place with special
facilities and accessories for the performance, and the theatre,
or something like it, thus comes into existence as an institution
sustained by popular support. There is first the thing done for
pleasure--which is art; then the exploitation of it for profit--which
is commerce; that is the brief epitaph of any art as a fruit of
civilisation.
The Egyptians did not reach the “theatre” stage. But dancing,
essentially a popular art, received encouragement as an element in
religious festivals and as an entertainment of the wealthy classes.
Considerable difference of opinion exists as to the “religious”
dances of Egypt. Enthusiastic historians of dancing seem rather too
prone to expand the little store of fact we possess, and some go to
the length of speaking of the religious and popular “ballets” of the
Egyptians. But it is certain that they had no regular theatrical
spectacles in which dancing was of prime importance; and their
popular dances, to any such extent as they could be described as
“_representations ingenieuses_,” were primitive in comparison with
any of later times.
Solo-dances and _pas de deux_ were general enough, but the dancing
of massed groups, and the dramatic representation of a story, appear
to have been unknown, or have passed unrecorded if they were known.
The nearest approach to them, though not of course performed as
a theatrical spectacle, would seem to have been an “astronomical
dance,” which was done by or under the direction of the priests
of Apis, and is said to have been--appropriately enough!--a
representation of the movements of the stars. It is probable that it
was employed mainly as a means of education.
Holy Church in mediæval times took advantage of the popular craving
for theatrical shows, and sought by the aid of “mystery plays,” and
“moralities” to extend the knowledge of religious truths. It may be
conjectured that the Egyptian hierarchy similarly had some such end
in view, and that the priestly caste sought to utilise the popular
taste for dancing as a means of influence, and that the actual
performance of the dance served to fix more lastingly in the minds of
novices the religious and astronomical truths it embodied.
[Illustration: An Egyptian Male Dancer
(_From a Theban Fresco_).]
[Illustration: Egyptian Dancing Girls
(_From a mural painting in the British Museum_).]
[Illustration: A Greek Funeral Dance
(_From a coloured plaque in the Louvre_).]
In addition to the star-dance, the Egyptians are said to have had a
“funeral” dance, but it is doubtful if this, the “Maneros”--of which
Herodotus speaks--was a solemn dance. The fact is, however, that
information both as to the religious and ceremonial uses of dancing
among the Egyptians is very scant, and what little record we have of
their dancing is mainly on its popular side and is to be gleaned from
monuments.
One of the frescoes in the British Museum shows two girls performing,
apparently before a select audience of women, one of whom is seen to
be applauding, or perhaps marking the time with syncopated clapping,
as negroes do to-day.
Another representation of dancing is on a fresco from Thebes showing
three figures, the centre of whom is apparently performing an
_entrechat_, as seen to-day, the step in which the dancer crosses
feet in mid-air; while a fourth acts as orchestra with a couple of
the curious curved maces which were beaten together to mark the
rhythm in sonorous fashion.
Other Egyptian monuments also show dancers, one from Beni Hassan
depicting several couples, apparently boys, performing a dance that
obviously had certain set steps, and suggests that it was used
mainly as a rhythmic athletic exercise, as were many of the Greek
dances. And yet another monument shows men apparently in the act of
performing a pirouette. About them all there is the air of decision,
a suggestion of trained performance that in itself, remembering that
these monuments are some four thousand years old, and depict steps
similar to some performed to-day, is testimony to the antiquity of
the art of dancing.
CHAPTER III
GREECE
There is no lack of testimony, pictorial and literary, to the ancient
Greek love of the Dance.
Among the various arts of war and peace that Vulcan engraved upon
that wondrous shield which he fashioned at the entreaty of sad Thetis
for her son Achilles, the Dance was not forgotten; and the Homeric
singer must have been a lover of the art to limn as clear a picture
as is given in the eighteenth book of the Iliad.
“There, too, the skilful artist’s hand had wrought
With curious workmanship, a mazy dance,
Like that which Dædalus in Knossos erst
At fair-haired Ariadne’s bidding framed.
There, laying each on other’s wrists their hand,
Bright youths and many-suitored maidens danced.”
* * * * *
“Now whirled they round with nimble practised feet,
Easy, as when a potter, seated, turns
A wheel, new-fashioned by his skilful hand
And spins it round, to prove if true it run:
Now featly moved in well-beseeming ranks.
A numerous crowd, around, the lovely dance
Surveyed, delighted; while an honoured Bard
Sang, as he struck the lyre, and to the strain
Two tumblers, in the midst, were whirling round.”
The “two tumblers” is an interesting detail, but it does not
necessarily refer to the sort of acrobatic “tumbling” we are
familiar with to-day. There have always been two phases of the Dance
which can best be understood by noting the distinction marked by the
use of two words in French--at least by their use among the masters
and writers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries--namely,
_danser_ and _sauter_. The former means to dance, “_terre-à-terre_,”
that is, always with the feet, or one foot at least, on or close to
the ground; _sauter_, means invariably to leap into the air, or even
to perform steps while both feet are in the air.
We usually speak of “a somersault,” a “double somersault,” and so
forth. The word is a corruption from the old French _soubresault_,
from the Latin _supra_, over, and _saltus_, leap.
Early historians of the Dance frequently speak of “saltation,”
without any reference to the “somersault” as we know it, but to what
we should call simply dancing.
The Homeric picture must have been repeated innumerable times since
it was first limned, whenever and wherever there has been a gathering
of men and maids on a village green, dancing in a circle, with a
couple of high-leaping lads in the centre inciting all to quicken the
rhythm of the whirling dance. Many an Elizabethan village must have
realised such a scene; and for all the artifice of the stage, with
its paint and footlights, does it not hold something of the antique
tradition in the picture often seen, of a circle of dancing girls
enclosing two wildly turning “stars”? Is it impossibly un-Hellenic to
presume that the “Two tumblers, in the midst, were whirling round” in
_pirouettes_? At least it may be considered--a presumption!
Far later in Hellenic days we have a gracious picture of the Dance
in Theocritus’ eighteenth Idyll, “The Bridal of Helen,” which reads
delightfully in Calverley’s translation:
“Whilom in Lacedæmon tripped many a maiden fair
To gold-pressed Menelaus’ halls with hyacinths in her hair,
Twelve to the painted chamber, the queenliest in the land,
The clustered loveliness of Greece came dancing hand-in-hand.
With woven steps they beat the ground in unison and sang
The bridal hymn of triumph till all the Palace rang.”
The Greek dance, it should be noted, was almost invariably
accompanied by singing; and the poet probably was often indebted
to the dance for the rhythm of his verse. The bridal dance was of
very ancient institution. Indeed, there were few occasions which
were not celebrated with dancing, and the Greeks even followed the
Egyptian custom of having “dancers” at their funerals! It is not to
be thought, however, that the steps were exactly gay; nor need there
have been anything incongruous, for we can be sure the instinctive
taste of the people would not have admitted such a thing, and,
moreover, a dance and a dancer as they saw it, were rather different
from the vision we have recalled by such words.
To the ancient Greeks the Dance was a cult, an element in the
religious and physical well-being of the individual and the State:
and the dance that was taught to the child became an important and
lasting factor in the physical growth and culture of the man.
We who, most of us, are only too apt to look on dancing as a mere
trivial pastime, may wonder that it _was_ so seriously considered
by the Greeks, and that it should have so earnestly engaged the
attentions of such philosophers as Plato and Lucian. But perhaps that
is only because we have not considered it sufficiently ourselves and
have associated it too closely with theatrical display.
In any form in which it is at its best the theatre is one of
the noblest and most influential institutions of civilisation;
as dancing, at its best, is one of the finest, because most
comprehensive, of the theatrical arts. But there is a vast difference
between the dance which was a means of physical and mental
development, pursued amid the health-giving surroundings of sunshine
and fresh air, and, let us say, some such degradation of art as
some examples of the “classic” dance we have seen of recent years,
performed in the glare of footlights, amid the smoke-laden atmosphere
of a music-hall.
The contrast is an obvious one, but the thing to consider is that we
in England have allowed an art which held an important place in Greek
national life, and which should be of the greatest educational value
to ourselves, to become mainly a spectacle of the theatre, where more
often than not it is seen at its best, not necessarily because it is
the result of the best system, _but because it is the fruit of the
greatest practice_.
It is obviously impossible to deal very fully with the Hellenic
dance in the space of a chapter in a volume which is not intended
to trace the evolution of the Dance but of Ballet. An entire book
were needed to treat the subject adequately--and we have not such a
book in English, as yet. But Emmanuel’s masterly technical review of
Hellenic dancing in his volume _La Danse Grecque_, is invaluable, and
is testimony to the sound and catholic scholarship which in France
scorns no subject as “trivial” merely because those ignorant of its
history dismiss it as such; and which finds sympathetic students in
a country where all the arts are treated with a respect that is at
least as great as that offered to commercialism.
The Greeks are said to have derived their earlier dances from Egypt.
This may be questionable, because it is equally likely that there
was a traditional, indigenous dance in Greece. But it was _through_
the Greeks, certainly, that dancing first assumed that variety and
perfection of form and style which all the arts seemed destined to
attain under their quickening, purifying, and inspiring influence;
and it was the Greeks, too, who first began to develop the art of
mimicry.
First, as already suggested, there would probably have been some
occasion for joy, tending to express itself by dancing; and a victory
over an enemy, or gratitude for a full harvest (the more exalted when
the harvest was of the grape!) would have been such occasions. Later
must have come the idea of _representing_ the victory celebrated, or
the imagined characteristics of the being or beings who were supposed
to be the cause of the earth’s fruition, and who, if propitiated by
this tumultuous acknowledgment of gratitude, perhaps might renew
their favours.
Thus, in time, out of the ritual of the Dance would have grown the
ritual of representation--Mimicry, miming, or “acting,” as we call
it; and little by little, from the wild exuberance of recurring
poetic festivals, such as those in honour of Dionysus, would
have grown the ordered sense of Drama, the _representation_ of
thanksgiving, of feelings, events and things by Mimicry, the actor’s
art; either allied with, or separate from, dancing.
The Greeks, improving on the Egyptians, invented and developed the
idea of the Theatre. But though the Greeks in their Drama _utilised_
the arts of dancing and mimicry, it would seem that they were quite
subordinated to the literary and dramatic art of the all-inspiring
Poet, and that words, with a meaning behind them, words representing,
as far as words can, thoughts, passions, emotions, actions, things,
were the essential medium of Greek Drama, _not_ the art of the Dancer
or the Mime.
It should be noted that the Greek _orcheisthai_ (ὀρχεῖσθαι),
to dance, implied more than mere steps with the feet. It
included much that goes to make a really good ballet-dancer of
to-day--interpretative dancing and mimetic gesture. The Greeks in
fact had some of the material, if they did not have as we know
it--the Ballet.
The earliest dramatic poets, Thespis, Phrynichus, were called
“dancers” because in addition to providing the drama as poets, their
function was to train their choruses in the dances which, accompanied
by singing, were introduced in the play.
One of the most celebrated of the actors in the plays of Æschylus,
Telestes, was said not merely to indicate feelings but to “describe”
events with his hands; and this, which was really miming, was
considered as part of dancing, which Aristotle defined as “the
representation of actions, characters and passions by means of
postures and rhythmic movements.”
Plutarch analyses dancing as “Motions, Postures and Indications,” a
“posture” being the attitude of the dancer at the moment of arrested
movement, and an “indication,” the gesture which indicated an
external object referred to in a poet’s lines, such as the sky; or
such as an orator would use when raising his hand heavenward invoking
the gods.
The chief dances used in the Greek drama were the _Emmeleia_, a
stately measure; _Hyporchemata_, lively dances; the _Kordax_, a very
coarse and rough comic dance; and finally the _Sikinnis_, which was
attached especially to satyric comedies and parodied as a rule the
measure of the _Emmeleia_.
These were all a part, though a subordinate part, of the classic
drama, and, according to some authorities, had their foundation
in the rhythm of the poet’s verse as it was sung by the chorus or
declaimed by the chief actors.
But apart from these there were mimetic dances. One, in which we
may perhaps even see a hint of the origin of dancing itself, is
found in Longus’ novel, _Daphnis and Chloe_, in which Dryas performs
a vintage-dance, “pretending to gather grapes, to carry them in
panniers, to tread them in a vat and pour the flowing juice into
jars, and then to drink of the wine thus newly made”; and all done so
cleverly that the spectators were deceived for the time and thought
they really saw the grapes, the vats, and the wine the actor made
pretence of drinking. This, probably an incident drawn from life, was
indeed a “_representation ingenieuse_,” and even suggests yet another
of the many possibilities as to the origin of the Dance, namely--that
dancing itself may have originated from the treading of grapes.
The famous Pyrrhic dance was of course mimetic and represented
a series of war-like incidents, all of which had an educational
purpose, as by their means the youthful soldier was taught how to
advance and retreat, how to aim a blow or hurl a javelin and to dodge
them; and how to leap and vault, in event of meeting ditches and
walls. Apart from military dances in which physical culture and grace
were the chief aims, there were many dances of a purely festival
character taken part in by young men and girls, and by girls alone.
The close association between religion and the Dance in ancient
Hellenic days is seen in the number of festivals in honour of the
gods, at which special dances were performed, apart from those which
formed part of the classic drama and others which were merely by way
of joyous pastime. Certain dances were performed annually in honour
of Jupiter; others, such as the _Procharysteriæ_, were in honour of
Minerva; then there was the _Pæonian_ dance in honour of Apollo;
the _Ionic_, and the _Kalabis_ and the famous Dance of Innocence,
instituted by Lycurgus, and executed to the glory of Diana, by young
Lacedæmonian girls before the altar of the goddess. The Delian
dance, special to the isle of Delos, was much the same in character
and closed with the offering of floral garlands on the altar of
Aphrodite. One of the most solemn incidents of the Eleusinian
mysteries was the mystical dance-drama representing the search of
Ceres for her daughter Proserpine--practically a “ballet,” in the
older acceptance of the word.
The secular dance of the Greeks was essentially an individualistic
form. Men and women only rarely danced together, and when they did,
the joining of hands, or anything like chain-dancing was exceptional.
One of these exceptions was the _Hormos_, or Collar-dance as it
was called, which Lucian describes as being danced by youths and
maidens advancing one by one in the form of a collar, made up of the
alternating jewels of feminine grace and manly strength, the dance
being led by a youth. Most of the Greek dances had a leader, and
the favour in which the art was held is shown by the fact that they
termed their Chief Magistrate _Pro-orchestris_, or Leader of the
Dance. As a rule, chain-dances were performed by one or the other sex.
In another sense also the Hellenic dance was individualistic. We are
accustomed to see entire groups, eight, sixteen, or even thirty-two
or more dancers all performing the same step simultaneously. It
is one of the conventions of Ballet, like the chorus in “musical
comedy.” But the Greeks had not that convention.
Although their dance was based on strict rhythm and was governed
by rigid rules, they governed the dance of the individual, not of
groups. He, or she, was adjudged a good dancer by the grace of line
displayed and rhythmic balance of movement, and many a vase painting
exhibits groups of dancers who, though dancing in the mass, are
each doing different steps; and equally the gestures and mimetic
expression of each differed.
The system unquestionably had its advantages, for while the rhythm
of the song or poetic verse which accompanied the performers was the
common basis of the dance for all, the individuality of expression
undoubtedly gave a vitality to the group which accounts for the
vividness and charm of their representation on many an antique vase.
Numerous indeed were the various forms of the Hellenic dance,
sacred, dramatic, secular--Meursius catalogues some two hundred--but
further description would detain us too long _en route_ towards the
culmination of all these earlier types of mimetic and other dances in
the Ballet of to-day, and we have next to trace the growth of Latin
Mime and Pantomime.
CHAPTER IV
MIME AND PANTOMIME: ROME, HIPPODROME--OBSCURITY
If to Greece modern Ballet owes much for the encouragement of the
Dance, to Rome it is even more indebted for the development of the
art of Pantomime.
By many the word Pantomime is associated solely with that
time-honoured entertainment which children, home for the Christmas
holidays, are supposed to be too _blasé_ to care for, but which they
go to by way of obliging parents who feel it their duty to take them.
The Christmas pantomime has long been one of our cherished
institutions, though, like the British Constitution, it has undergone
many changes. It is still given at Christmas. That much of tradition
remains. But most of its original features have all but disappeared.
Time was, two hundred years ago, when it was mainly “Harlequinade,”
and Harlequin and his gay comrades of Italian comedy were the heroes
of the play. Then classical plots and allusions, with an elaboration
of scenic effect and “machines,” brought about a gradual change. In
the early nineteenth century a “topical” and “patriotic” element had
crept in; but the Harlequinade, although shortened, and, shall we
say, _broadened_, still remained.
Then a craze for “transformation” scenes set in because the extreme
gorgeousness of the tinsel productions of Kemble and Macready--the
archæological and historic “accuracy” of which was always
emphasised!--forced the pantomime producers in self-defence to go one
better.
And then came Grimaldi to give a new life to the whimsies of that
Clown whose prototype dates back to ancient Rome; and for half a
century or more the Christmas pantomime continued much the same--a
familiar nursery-story played out to the accompaniment of fairy-like
and glittering scenic accessories, concluding with a rough-and-tumble
Harlequinade, until in recent years the introduction of the
Music-hall performer gave us the entertainment we have to-day.
Not thus, however, was the antique “pantomime,” which, evolving
from the more ancient and spoken “Mimes,” became, because it took
all nature for its province--pan-mimicry, or pantomime; the stage
representation, without the spoken word, of all that eye could see or
mind of man conceive.
Now, it is a far step from narrative to impersonation--marking an
advance in the technique of acting; and it was some time before the
Greek Drama had achieved this. But it was not so much the impressive
and noble side of the Greek Drama that taught the actors, not merely
to _declaim_ situations but to _act_ them; it must have been the
popular, the comic side; and it was probably the Doric farce, and
later the early Latin comedy derived therefrom, that really brought
to perfection under the Roman Empire the art of _Miming_ apart from
the art of Dancing.
The comic is so much nearer to life as we see it every day than the
tragic; and it was this ability to see the more familiar comic side
of life, and the desire to travesty the serious--whether in Greece or
Rome--that first gave flexibility and variety to the art of miming,
or “acting,” as we call it nowadays.
It is because of this nearness to the life of the time, because of
the travesty of contemporary types and public affairs, that the Latin
actors made their wide appeal.
From public encouragement would come the increasing endeavour of
popular actors to outshine each other in technical _tours de force_;
and from playing the familiar types of Latin Comedy, such as Maccus,
with his double hump, prototype of our Punch; Pappus, forerunner of
Pantaloon, and other characters (some from the early _Mimi_, some
from the _Atellanæ_ and _Togatæ_ of tradition), the Latin Actors
of the first and second centuries A.D. ultimately aspired to the
wordless representation of the gods and heroes of myth and legend.
According to one authority, “the Latin Pantomime grew out of the
custom at this period--the first century of the Christian era--of
having lyrical solos, such as interludes to flute accompaniment,
between the acts of the Latin comedies.” According to that
admirable historian of the stage, Mr. Charles Hastings, “this new
mode (Pantomime) was a kind of mime, in which poses and gestures
constituted the fundamental portion of the play. Words occupied
a secondary place, and _eventually disappeared altogether_. Only
the music was preserved, and in order that the audience might
understand the gestures of the actors, little books were distributed
in Greek text, intelligible only to the learned and to the upper
classes. Later on the mask--rejected by the mime--was adopted, and
a chorus was employed to _accompany the comedian with their voices,
and to explain the multiple gestures by which the actors created
the different characters in turn. Moreover, there was a company
of mute players._ The libretti left almost unlimited liberty of
detail. Sometimes the music broke off to enable the actor to finish
his _fioritura_ and variations. Sometimes, on the other hand, the
comedian paused, or left the stage, while the story was taken up by
the recitative and the instruments.”
All this reads much like a description of a modern “mimodrame,” such
as “L’Enfant Prodigue,” or “Sumurun.” Again it reads not unlike a
description of a modern ballet, for with these do we not often have
printed synopses distributed, though _not_ in Greek text? But we have
to remember that the music was primitive, the scenic effect, though
often remarkable, was different from that of our modern stage, with
its greater mechanical resources; and, finally, that all this was an
innovation of the Roman stage, for we are talking of the period that
saw the dawn of the Christian era.
Among the more famous of the Latin pantomimists were Pylades, who
was the inventor of tragic pantomimes; and Bathyllus, who was the
composer of livelier episodes. For some time they joined forces and
had a theatre of their own, where they staged comedies and tragedies
composed by themselves without words or any other aid in telling the
story of the play than dancing, pantomime and music.
The innovation struck the popular fancy, and all Rome flocked
to support the new venture. The two actors were received at the
Emperor’s Court, and became the spoilt darlings of the Roman “smart”
set. The inevitable happened. They began to intrigue at Court,
and were made the centre of intrigue; they became as jealous of
each other as rival opera singers, and in time a financially happy
partnership was dissolved, and there were two theatres devoted to
pantomimes instead of one.
But as this form of drama was a novelty, and pleased the
“connoisseurs,” who were numerous and increasing in numbers, both
theatres were equally successful, perhaps the more so in that the
public is always specially interested in ventures that appear to be
in rivalry. The taste for existing stage-productions slackened in
favour of those offered by Pylades and Bathyllus. Their “ballets”
whether tragic, comic or satiric were looked on as the very
perfection of tragedy, comedy or satire.
It was no longer a matter of declamatory style to enjoy or to
criticise, it was a matter of steps, movements, gestures, attitudes,
figures or positions that were discussed by wise connoisseurs of
“the new thing,” who in Rome, as elsewhere to-day, had much to say
on what they presumed to understand because--it was new! And such,
it is said, was the genius of the “producers” of this novel form of
entertainment; the effect was so natural, the stage-pictures were
so convincing, the pathos was so moving or the gaiety so free and
infectious, that the audiences forgot they had ears while using
enchanted eyes; and expressive gestures took the place of vocal
inflections, of the power of words and the magic of poetic verse.
Pylades before long found a rival star arise in the person of Hylas,
whose greatest performance was said to be in _Œdipus_. If Pylades and
Bathyllus had quarrelled, there was evidently no love lost between
Pylades and Hylas.
Hylas on one occasion was giving a representation of Agamemnon and,
at a particular line referring to that historic personage as “the
great,” he rose up on tip-toe. “That,” said Pylades scornfully, “is
being _tall_, not ‘great’”; a criticism not only just, but giving
an excellent insight into the methods and ideas of the famous Latin
pantomimist.
It is somewhat uncertain whether it was the Court intrigues of
Bathyllus or of Hylas or of both which ultimately secured from the
Emperor the sentence of banishment for Pylades, or whether it was the
daring, not to say impudence of the actor in representing well-known
people, or whether again it may not have been the increasing danger
of the constant brawls which were taking place daily in the streets
of Rome between the rival factions--the Pyladians and the Bathyllians.
But whatsoever the reason, the probability is that the perpetual
strife between the parties supporting the adored actors (worse than
ever was that between the Piccinists and Gluckists of the eighteenth
century), with the constant blood-shed it involved, was made the
excuse for the convenient removal of one of the principal factors in
the disorder, and that the influence of Bathyllus, possibly backed up
by that of Hylas, was able to secure the removal of the tragic actor.
Pylades, however, had his revenge, for such was the uproar in Rome on
his banishment that the Emperor was practically forced to recall him,
and he returned in triumph.
It is time, however, to leave the affairs of popular actors of the
ancient world, since it is less the details of their personal history
we need to consider than their importance as the virtual inventors
of the second element of Ballet, the art of the mime, or, to use for
a moment the more comprehensive word--pantomime. Thus we can see
that it is largely due to the perfecting by the Italians of that
art which seems to have been even more natural to them than to the
Greeks--miming, that we have the Ballet of to-day.
From the dawn of the Christian era, comedy gave place to a perfect
craze, first for the mime, and then for its offspring, pure
pantomime. But, finally, the mimetic art as a standing entertainment
of the Roman public, came to suffer neglect in favour of circuses;
then, together with the circuses, it was opposed by the Churches.
There were spasmodic revivals in the fourth and fifth centuries, but
from the fifth century mime and pantomime practically ceased to exist
in Constantinople, to which the seat of the Roman Empire had by that
time been removed; and the arts both of the dancer and the mime fell
upon a period of obscurity, though they went into retirement with all
the reluctance of a modern “star.”
CHAPTER V
CHURCH THUNDER AND CHURCH COMPLAISANCE
It is a truism of history that opposition towards the amusements
of a people only increases the desire for them, and that the undue
pressure of a law, or of a too rigid majority, only stimulates the
invention of evasions. In dramatic history there is ample proof of
this.
In England during the seventeenth century the force of Puritan
opinion and of law did not crush the Drama, but led to unseemly
licence.
When, in the early eighteenth century, Paris was enlivened by the
spectacle of the majestic Royal Opera, endeavouring by legal thunder
to suppress the lively vaudeville performances of the too popular
Paris Fairs, and even going to the length of obtaining decrees
forbidding the Fair theatres to perform musical plays in which words
were sung, were the managers of the little theatres downhearted?
No! they merely evaded the law and made a mockery of pompous
interference by having the music of their songs played, while the
meaning was acted in dumb-show, and--the actual words, printed very
large, were displayed on a screen let down to the stage from above!
Their audiences, catching the spirit of the thing, enjoyed the wit of
the evasion and supported the performances all the more.
There are many people who can only relish that which they have been
told is wrong.
Much the same spirit was abroad about sixteen hundred years ago, when
the growing power of the Christian Church began to be a calculable
factor in “practical politics,” and the embarrassment of successive
Roman emperors in trying to rule an unwieldy and decaying Empire was
increased by the moral warfare between the more rigid sects of the
new Church and the pleasures of the people.
It should, however, be said in justice to the early Churchmen that
many of the pleasures of the people had become entirely scandalous,
and detrimental to the manhood of the Empire, at least as seen in the
Empire’s capital. Over such let us draw a veil!
While, in these “democratic” days, it may be doubted if there _are_
any of the English-speaking race who “dearly love a lord” (though
there is really no reason why they should not!), there were certainly
some thousands of the Byzantine populace in the third and fourth
centuries to whom a successful circus-rider or gladiator, actor or
dancer, was of far more interest than any peer of their period.
The histrionic favourites lacked, of course, the advantages of
picture-postcard fame, and had to be content with immortality in
verse. But as for the now hackneyed “stage romance” of the marriage
of a youthful scion of a noble house with some resplendent star of
the theatrical firmament, did not a Byzantine Emperor, Justinian,
marry Theodora, once a popular dancer at the Hippodrome!
Yet he it was who made one of the more effective moves to suppress
some of his people’s excessive opportunities for amusement, by
abolishing the laws under which the expense of the performances in
the Hippodrome, and some of the less important theatres had been
met by the Imperial treasury. This, however, was mainly due to his
beautiful wife, who had seen all the vilest side of theatrical life
in a time when the older dramatic culture had given place to banal
and vulgar entertainments involving a horrible servitude of those
engaged in providing them.
Before this, however, the Church’s thunder had been launched at the
grosser theatrical spectacles, and the Theatre had retaliated by
mocking the adherents of the then new religion. Where fulmination
failed, control by influence was essayed. But for all the attacks
of the more advanced and severer leaders of the early Church, there
must have been something of confusion for at least the first five
centuries of the Christian era. Indeed, in the endeavour of the
Church to transmute the popular love of theatrical spectacles into
something higher, and to awaken the public interest in the service of
the Church, what with the introduction of choral song, with strophe
and antistrophe, and of solemn processionals, even it is said of
ceremonial dances performed by the choir--such as the Easter dances
still seen in Spain to-day--the Church itself must have come at
times to seem perilously sympathetic towards the very things it was
professing to condemn.
Did not Gregory Nazianzen implore Julian, before he became “the
Apostate,” to be more discreet, saying in effect: “If you must dance,
and if you must take part in these fêtes, for which you seem to
have such a passion, then dance, if you must; but _why_ revive the
dissolute dances of the daughter of Herodias, and of the pagans?
Dance rather as King David did before the Ark; dance to the glory of
God. Such exercises of peace and of piety are worthy of an Emperor
and a Christian.”
In short, wise cleric as he was, he found no fault with the healthy
exercise of the dance itself, but only with such dance and other
Byzantine entertainment as had tended, or might tend, to become
merely an exhibition of depraved taste.
Indeed, how could he have inveighed against the dance as an
expression of clean rejoicing when it had been recorded: “And
Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her
hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels _and with
dances_”?[1] Had not the servants of Achish said: “Is not this David
the king of the land? did not they _sing one to another of him in
dances_, saying, Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his ten
thousands?”[2] Had it not, too, been written: “And David danced
before the Lord with all his might.”[3]
No, the Church thunder had been directed against the licence by which
the arts of dancing and miming had been corrupted, and against,
not wholesome athleticism and healthy sport, but the hysterical
brutalities and “professionalism” of the arena.
And if further proof were required of ecclesiastical interest in
and practice of the thing it only attacked when seen in degraded
form, it is to be found in the fact that in 744, the Pope Zacharias
promulgated a Bull suppressing all so-called “religious dances,” or
“baladoires” as he called them, which were showing signs of becoming
“degenerate.”
These were dances which were performed in, or within the precincts
of cathedrals and churches at certain festivals such as Easter,
Midsummer and Christmas; and of which the old English bonfire dances
of St. John’s Eve, were (and the modern carnival, and the Eastertide
ceremonial seen in Seville to-day, _are_) probably survivals, though,
to be sure, they should be accounted originally as survivals of
earlier pagan dances in honour of the sun, and of the harvest, and
not as originating with the Christian Church.
It may seem a far cry from the date of Pope Zacharias’ edict of 744,
to 1462, when the first of the _ballets ambulatoires_ is recorded,
but it must not be supposed that dancing, if not miming, is entirely
lacking in history during those seven hundred odd years. Any history
of dancing would aid us in at least partly bridging such a gap; but
it will be convenient in a chapter dealing more especially with
early ecclesiastical influence on the evolution of Ballet, to deal
now with a form of entertainment or of religious festival which was
essentially a creation of the earlier Church.
The famous procession of the Fête Dieu which King René d’Anjou,
Count of Provence, established at Aix in 1462, was, as an old
historian tells us, an “ambulatory” ballet, “composed of a number of
allegorical scenes, called _entremets_.” This word _entremets_, which
was later replaced by “interludes,” designated a miming spectacle
in which men and animals represented the action. Sometimes jugglers
and mountebanks showed their tricks and danced to the sound of their
instruments. These entertainments were called _entremets_ because
they were instituted to occupy the guests agreeably at a great feast,
during the intervals between the courses. “The entre-actes of our
first tragedies,” the writer adds, “were arranged in this manner,
as one sees in the works of Baif, the interludes in the tragedy of
_Sophonisbie_. More than five hundred mountebanks, Merry Andrews,
comedians and buffoons, exhibited their tricks and prowess at the
full Court which was held at Rimini to arm the knights and nobles of
the house of Malatesta and others.”
As the fêtes and tournaments, given on these occasions, were
accompanied by acts of devotion, the festivals of the Church often
displayed also something of the gallant pomp of the tournaments.
These _ballets ambulatoires_, however, with all their richer
pageantry, were yet to be outshone by the two secular entertainments
to which we must devote our next chapter--the banquet-dance of
Bergonzio di Botta, of 1489, and the still more famous “Ballet
Comique de la Reine,” of 1581, the last of which, there can be little
doubt, had important effect in the development if not creation of
our English masque, which, in turn, had an immense influence on the
evolution of modern Ballet.
CHAPTER VI
THE BANQUET-BALL OF BERGONZIO DI BOTTA, 1489, AND THE FAMOUS “BALLET
COMIQUE DE LA REINE,” 1581
A superb and ingenious festivity was that arranged by Bergonzio di
Botta, a gentleman of Tortona, in honour of the wedding of Galeazzo,
Duke of Milan, with Isabella of Aragon.
The good Bergonzio was a lover of all the best things of life, but
especially of dining and of dancing. That historic _gourmet_, Brillat
Savarin, commends him for his taste in the former matter, as may
we for the bright idea of combining a dinner with a dance, one of
somewhat nobler plan than any modern example!
The dinner was of many courses and each was introduced by the servers
and waiters with a dance in character, the whole constituting a
sort of dinner-ballet. In the centre of a stately salon, which was
surrounded by a gallery where various musicians were distributed,
there was a large table.
As the Duke and his lady entered the salon by one door, from another
approached Jason and the Argonauts who, stepping proudly forth to the
sound of martial music and by dance and gestures expressing their
admiration of so handsome a bride and bridegroom, covered the table
with the Golden Fleece which they were carrying.
This group then gave place to Mercury who, in recitative, described
the cunning which he had used in stealing from Apollo, who guarded
the flocks of Admetus, a fat calf, with which he came to pay homage
to the newly married pair. While he placed it on the table three
“quadrilles” who followed him executed a graceful _entrée_.
Diana and her nymphs then succeeded Mercury. The Goddess was followed
by a kind of litter on which was a hart. This, she explained, was
Actæon, who, although no longer alive, was happy in that he was to be
offered to so amiable and fair a nymph as Isabella of Aragon. At this
moment a melodious symphony attracted the attention of the guests.
It announced the singer of Thrace, who was seen playing on his lyre
while chanting the praises of the young duchess.
“I mourned,” he sang, “on Mount Apennine the death of tender
Eurydice. Now, hearing of the union of two lovers worthy to live for
one another, I have felt, for the first time since my sorrow, an
impulse of joy. My songs have changed with the feelings of my heart.
A flock of birds has flown to hear my song. I offer them to the
fairest princess on earth, since the charming Eurydice is no more.”
A sudden clamour interrupted his song as Atalanta and Theseus,
heading a nimble and brilliant troupe, represented by lively dances
the glories of the chase. The mimic hunt was terminated by the death
of the wild boar of Calydon, which was offered to the young Duke,
with triumphal “ballets.”
A magnificent spectacle then succeeded this picturesque entrance. On
one side was Iris, seated on a car drawn by peacocks and followed by
several nymphs, covered in light gauze and carrying dishes of superb
birds. The youthful Hebe appeared on the other side, carrying the
nectar which she poured for the gods. She was accompanied by Arcadian
shepherds, laden with all kinds of food and by Vertumnus and Pomona
who offered all manner of fruits. At the same time the shade of that
famous _gourmet_ Apicius rose from the earth, presenting to this
superb feast all the delicacies he had invented and which had given
him the reputation of the most voluptuous among ancient Romans. This
spectacle disappeared and then there was a wondrous ballet of all
the gods of the sea and rivers of Lombardy; who carried the most
exquisite fish and served them while executing dances of different
characters.
This extraordinary repast was followed by a yet more singular
spectacle opened by Orpheus, who headed a procession of Hymen and a
troop of Loves, followed by the Graces who surrounded Conjugal Faith,
whom they presented to the Princess, while offering, themselves, to
serve her.
At this moment, Semiramis, Helen, Medea and Cleopatra interrupted
a recitative by Conjugal Faith to sing of the delights of Passion.
Then a Vestal, indignant that the recital of pure and true marriages
should be sullied by such guilty songs, ordered the notorious queens
to withdraw. At her voice, the Loves, who accompanied her, joined
in a lively dance, pursuing the wicked queens with lighted torches
and setting fire to the gauze veils of their headdress! Lucretia,
Penelope, Thomiris, Porcia and Sulpicia replaced them and presented
to the young Princess that palm for chastity which they had merited
during their lives. Their “modest and noble” dance, however, was
interrupted by Bacchus, with a troop of revellers who came to
celebrate so illustrious a bridal, and the festival terminated in a
manner as gay as it was ingenious.
The fête achieved a prodigious fame throughout Italy. It was the talk
of every city and a full description of its glories was published,
while crowds of “society hostesses” of the period endeavoured to
emulate the ingenuity of its originators, and the vogue of the
dinner-ballet “arrived.”
One effect of its fame was that for a century it set the fashion for
the Royal and Ducal Courts throughout Europe. Every Court had its
“ballets,” in which lords and ladies of highest degree took part;
and the movement was greatly fostered by Catherine de Medici, who
sought to divert the attention of her son, Henry III, from political
affairs towards the more congenial ways of social amusement, of which
Court-ballets formed considerable part.
The culmination of these sumptuous entertainments came, however, in
1581, when in celebration of the betrothal of the Duc de Joyeuse and
Marguerite of Lorraine, sister of the Queen of France, a spectacle
was arranged, the splendour of which had never been seen in the world
before. This was Beaujoyeux’s famous “Ballet Comique de la Royne”--or
_de la Reine_ in modern spelling--which set all cultured Europe
aglow with praise of its designer. A special account of it, with
many charming engravings, was printed by order of the King to send
to foreign Courts. So much did it set a fashion that the elaborate
masked balls and the numerous Court-masques and entertainments which
followed in the reigns of Henry VIII, Elizabeth and James were
directly inspired by the success of Beaujoyeux’s ballet, even as they
in turn influenced the subsequent productions of Louis XIV in France.
The author and designer was an Italian, by name Baltasarini, famous
as a violinist. He was introduced by the Duc de Brissac to the notice
of Catherine de Medici, who appointed him a _valet de chambre_, and
subsequently he became official organiser of the Court fêtes, ballets
and concerts, assuming the name of Baltasar de Beaujoyeux.
[Illustration: Stage Effect in the 16th Century
(_A Scene from the “Ballet Comique de la Royne,” by Baltasar de
Beaujoyeux_, 1581).]
The account of the ballet was sumptuously published. The title-page
read as follows:
BALET COMIQUE
De la Royne, faict
aux nopces de mon
sieur le Duc de Ioyeuse &
madamoyselle de Vau
demont sa sœur.
par
Baltasar de Beavioyevlx
valet de chambre du
Roy et de la Royne sa mère.
à Paris
par
Adrian le Roy, Robert Ballard, et Mamert Patisson
Imprimeurs du Roy.
MDLXXXII
Avec Privilege.
After a courtly dedication “Au Roy de France, et de Pologne,” full of
praise for his prowess in arms and his taste in art, full of graceful
compliment by classic implications, he follows with an address:
AU LECTEUR.
Povravtant, amy Lecteur, que le tiltre et inscription de ce livre
est sans example, et que lon n’a point veu par cy deuant aucun
Balet auoir esté imprimé, ny ce mot de Comique y estre adapté: ie
vous prieray ne trouver ny l’un ny l’autre estrange. Car quant au
Balet, encores que ci soit vne inuention moderne, ou pour le moins,
repétée si long de l’antiquité, que l’on la puisse nommer telle:
n’estant à la verité que des meslanges geometriques de plusieurs
personnes dansans ensemble sous vne diuerse harmonie de plusieurs
instruments: ie vous confesse que simplement representé par
l’impression, cela eust eu beaucoup de nouveauté, et peu de beauté,
de reciter vne simple Comedie: aussi cela n’eust pas esté ny bien
excellent, ny digne d’vne si grande Royne, qui vouloit faire
quelque chose de bien magnifique et triomphant. Sur ce ie me suis
advisé qu’il ne seroit point indecent de mesler l’un et l’autre
ensemblement, et diversifier la musique de poesie, et entrelacer
la poesie de musique et le plus souvent les côfrondre toutes deux
ensemble: ansi que l’antiquité ne recitoit point ses vers sans
musique, et Orphée ne sonnoit jamais sans vers, i’ay toutes fois
donné le premier tiltre et honneur à la danse, et le second à la
substâce, que i’ay inscrite Comique, plus pour la belle, tranquille
et heureuse conclusion, ou elle se termine, que pour la qualité
des personnages, qui sont presque tous dieux et déesses, ou autres
personnes heroiques. Ainsi i’ay animé et fait parler le Balet, et
chanter et resonner la Comedie: et y adjoustant plusieurs rares et
riches représentations et ornements, ie puis dise avoir contenté
en un corps bien proportionné, l’œil, l’oreille, et l’entendement.
Vous priant que la nouveauté, ou intitulation ne vous en face mal
juger; car estant l’invention principalement. Composée de ces deux
parties, ie ne pouvois tout attribuer au Balet, sans faite tout à
la Comedie, distinctement representée par ses scènes et actes: ny à
la Comedie sans prejudicier au Balet, qui honore, esgaye et rempli
d’harmonieux recits le beau sens de la Comedie. Ce que m’estant
bien advis vous avoir deu abondamment instruire de mon intention,
ie vous prie aussi ne vous effaroucher de ce nom et prendre le tout
en aussi bonne par, comme i’ay desire vous satisfaire pour mon
regard.
Although the quaint spelling of the old French may offer a passing
difficulty to some readers, I have felt it advisable to give the
address as it stands, for it presents several points of extraordinary
interest.
First and foremost is the fact that it claims Beaujoyeux’s ballet to
be the first ever printed!
His description of a ballet as “_meslanges geometriques de plusieurs
personnes dansans ensemble_” is extremely interesting. Pylades the
Latin dancer-mime declared that no man could become a perfect
mime who did not understand music, painting, sculpture _and_
geometry! And in recent years a well-known Italian _maître_ with
whom I was discussing Ballet remarked, as he held up a case of
drawing instruments, “Here is the whole art of choreography,” or
ballet-composition. This may seem a somewhat exaggerated assertion,
but it is a fact that without some knowledge of geometry it would
be difficult for a composer of Ballet to tell the effect that would
be produced by lines and groups of dancers in the sight of a huge
audience all looking at the stage from different angles.
Beaujoyeux’s claim to appeal to and satisfy “_l’œil, l’oreille, et
l’entendement_” is also interesting, and quite in accord with modern
ideas of the Ballet.
The entertainment itself must have been a remarkable affair. It began
with a fine water display by a fountain with twelve sides, on each of
which were two naiads, with musical instruments, for the “concert,”
which accompanied the singers. Above the fountain-basin, which was
full of fish, rose another on pillars, where twelve niches made seats
for so many nymphs. In the middle, dolphins carried a crown and
formed a throne for the Queen. Two other basins rose again above,
formed of other dolphins grouped, which spouted great jets of water,
and the whole was topped by a golden ball five feet in diameter.
It was from this “machine,” drawn by sea-horses and accompanied by
twelve tritons and as many sirens with their instruments, that there
descended the Queen, the Princesse de Lorraine, the Duchesses de
Mercueil, de Guise, de Nevers, d’Aumale and de Joyeuse, Marechal de
Raiz, and de l’Archant and the Demoiselles de Pons, de Bourdeille
and de Cypierre--who had all been seated in golden cars, and who
were dressed in silver cloth and crêpe encrusted with gold bullion
and precious stones. Thus they made the first entrance, arranging
themselves in twelve different figures. At the first entrance they
were six abreast and three in front in a triangle, of which the Queen
formed the first point.
After this impressive opening the ballet meandered through the story
of Circe, with musical interludes, songs and dances, and elaborate
allegory. But as the first act began at ten in the evening and the
last did not finish till after five in the morning, it will be seen
that the production was as lengthy as it was magnificent. Some idea
of the splendour of the fête, indeed, may be gathered from the
fact that it cost something over three and a half million francs.
The conclusion was graceful. The Queen and the Princesses, who
had represented naiads and nereids, presented gold medals to the
princes and seigneurs who, in the guise of tritons, had danced with
them--presumably as a reward for their patience! This presentation of
gifts became quite a custom at these courtly ballets, and doubtless
the modern _cotillon_ is a survival.
The “Ballet Comique” set a fashion throughout Europe, and various
Courts vied with each other in similar entertainments. The English
Court had, of course, already had its ceremonial balls, masked balls
and “masques,” but their splendour had been nothing to this, and the
subsequent fêtes at the Courts of Elizabeth and James were directly
influenced by the example of the French in this direction, as we
shall see when we come to deal with the English masque as a form of
Ballet.
Let us first, however, consider the dances of the period, for which
we have an excellent authority in the work of Thoinot Arbeau.
CHAPTER VII
THOINOT ARBEAU’S “ORCHÉSOGRAPHIE,” 1588
“In Spring,” we know, “the young man’s fancy lightly turns to
thoughts of love.” In the winter of life it would seem that an
old man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of the dances that his
time-stiffened limbs can no more achieve with their earlier agility
and grace, and he takes to--writing about them. For it is strange
but true that some of the most entertaining volumes on the subject
are those written on the history of the dance by “grave and reverend
seigneurs”; who, one would imagine, had long foregone all thought of
youthful pastimes and turned their minds to solemner affairs. Three
such, at least, I can recall--Thoinot Arbeau, Bonnet, and Baron.
Over three centuries ago--nay, nearly four, we come upon a somewhat
sage and elderly gentleman, Thoinot Arbeau, whose book with its
strange title, _Orchésographie_, was published in 1588.
Was it shyness, or sheer fraud that made him write it under a false
name, a _nom de théâtre_ it would almost seem. For Thoinot Arbeau
was _not_ his name, but a sort of anagram on his real one, which was
Jehan Tabourot. Moreover, he was sixty-seven when he wrote it, and
was a Canon of the Church! He was born at Dijon in 1519, and was the
son of one Estienne Tabourot, a King’s Counsellor! Think of it--born
four hundred years ago, yet he speaks to our time, telling us, albeit
in somewhat stiff and difficult French, of the dances that were in
vogue in _his_ dancing days.
As to the strange title of his work, its meaning will of course be
apparent to all who know anything of the history of the subject,
for they will remember that the Greek word for the dance was
_Orcheisthai_ (the _Orchestra_ being the floor-space where the
dancers performed); and so Orchéso_graphie_ is merely a treatise on
the writing of dances; that is, the setting of them down in such form
that subsequent readers could study the dances therefrom.
The recording of the actual steps of dances has always been a
problem, and other leading masters in France (such as Beauchamps,
Pécourt, Feuillet) and in England (such as Weaver) had several more
or less successful shots during the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries at inventing a sort of dance-shorthand.
The very first author to attempt such a thing with any real success
was apparently our friend Arbeau; for earlier works, such as that of
Caroso, are very poor. Into the full details of his system, however,
I do not propose to enter now, for the matter is somewhat technical.
The interest of Arbeau’s work, however, is by no means mainly
technical.
The book, which was published at Lengres in 1588, is written in the
form of a dialogue “by which everyone can easily learn and practise
the honest exercise of the dances,” to give the quaint phraseology of
the original, the two speakers being Arbeau the author, and Capriol,
a youth who some few years earlier had left Lengres to go to Paris
and Orleans and now, on his return, has sought out Arbeau to learn
from him all that he can of dancing. Thoinot at first does not
recognise him because, as he says, “You have grown so, and I believe
that you have also enlarged your spirit by virtue and knowledge.” He
asks the young man’s opinion of the study of Law, remarking that he
was also once a law-student.
Capriol expresses his admiration for the law as a necessary
institution, but complains that his neglect of the polite arts, while
in the company of the Orleans law-students, has made him dull and
wooden. He says that his knowledge of fencing and tennis makes him an
acceptable companion with other youths, but he fails as a dancer to
please the _demoiselles_, a point on which, it seems to him, depends
the whole reputation of a young man who contemplates marriage. Then
follows some sound advice, with curious details, from Arbeau, on the
advantages of dancing as a matrimonial agent, and he acclaims the art
as one necessary to social welfare.
Capriol agrees and expresses his disgust that the dance should have
been so subject to bitter attacks, of which he quotes historic
instances. Arbeau neatly responds that, “For one who has blamed, an
infinity have esteemed and praised the art,” also following with
quoted examples, saying, indeed, that “_Le S. prophete royal dauid
dāça au deuāt de l’arche de Dieu_,” or, in other words, that “the
holy prophet, King David, danced before the Ark of God.”
In the course of their conversation, Arbeau makes learned references
to the derivation of the word “Dance,” mentioning others then in use
that were allied to it, such as _saulter_ (from the Latin _saltare_),
_caroler_ (hence our “carols,” or songs which, originally,
accompanied certain religious dances), _baler_, and _trepiner_,
Capriol remembers that the ancients had three kinds of dances: the
sedate _Emmeleia_, the gay _Kordax_, and the mixed _Sikinnis_, the
first of which Arbeau likens (quite unhistorically) to the _pavanes_
and _basse-dance_ of his own period; the second, to the _gaillardes_,
_voltas_, _corantos_, _gavottes_ (note that--a reference to the
_gavotte_ in 1588!) and _branles_ (or, as Elizabethan Englishmen
called them, “brawls”); while the third, he declares, must have been
similar to the _branles doubles_ and to “the dance which we call
_bouffons_ or _matachins_.”
Then, very wisely, he points out that most objections to dancing
have been provoked not by decent but by--objectionable dancing!
And as Capriol hastily assures his austere but kindly teacher that
he wants none of _that_ sort, but that he is anxious to teach his
twelve-year-old sister what Arbeau is good enough to teach him, the
old man proceeds on most polite and methodical lines.
Arbeau, truly remarking that rhythm is the basis of the dance, as it
was always of all military marching and evolutions, then goes on to
give a wonderful disquisition on that glorious instrument, the drum,
and a masterly analysis of its rhythmic possibilities, both as an
inspirer of soldiers on the march and as a stimulus to the dance.
The old man’s enthusiasm for an instrument that has never really
received its due homage is truly fine, and he gives no less than
seventy-six examples of drum-beat on a common-time basis. He follows
this with an exposition of fife-playing (with musical examples); his
earnest plea for this study of drum (_tambour_) and fife being only
preparatory to a study of the _basse-dances_, which were properly
accompanied by both instruments.
As several of these dances of three centuries agone have been revived
in our time, it is of interest to consider them in some detail, more
especially as they formed the choregraphic basis of all the ballets
subsequently for some two centuries. Arbeau informs us that most of
what he calls the “recreative” dances (or as we might say “social,”
as opposed to the more ceremonial affairs necessitating an orchestra)
were performed in his forebears’ time to the music of the flute and
little drum.
Capriol asks: “Tell me, what are these dances and how are they done?”
To which Arbeau replies that they danced, in his father’s days,
“_pavanes_, _basse-dances_, _branles_ and _courantes_, which have
been in use some forty or fifty years.”
Capriol asks: “How did our fathers dance the _basse-dance_?”
Arbeau replied that they had two sorts, the one common and regular,
the other irregular, the former being danced to “_chansons
régulieres_,” and the latter to “_chansons irrégulieres_,” and
proceeds to explain that, for the former songs, there were sixteen
bars which were repeated, making thirty-two to commence with; then a
middle part of sixteen bars; and a close of sixteen, repeated; making
eighty bars in all. If the air of the song was longer than this, the
_basse-dance_ played on it was termed “irregular.” He then explains
that the _basse-dance_ proper was in three parts, the term being
really only applied to the first; the second being called “_retour de
la basse-dance_,” and the third and last being termed “_tordion_.”
Then comes the following:
“_Memoire des mouvements pour la basse-dance._
R b ss d r d r b ss ddd r d
r b ss d r b c.”
Not unnaturally Capriol, who is for ever asking quite intelligent
questions, wants a translation of this cryptic-looking array of
letters. It is better understood when one hears that “R” stands
for _reverence_, “b” for a _branle_, “ss” for _deux simples_, “d”
for a _double_ (or three “ddd” for three “doubles”); the small “r”
stands for a _réprise_, and “c” for _congé_; all of which are terms
understood by dancers of to-day.
He gives very careful directions not only for performing the
“_reverence_,” the “_simple_,” the “_double_,” the “_réprise_,”
and the “_congé_,” but for performing the various movements of the
_basse-dance_, the _retour_, and the _tordion_; as, for instance,
when he remarks that “You begin the dance of the _tordion_, which is
in triple time, just like the _basse-dance_: but it is (to give his
own words) _plus legiere and concitée_.”
He describes the _Pavane_ as “easy” to dance, and gives details of
its performance, together with the music of that famous and lovely
example, “_Belle qui tiens ma vie captive_,” the words being given in
full, for four voices and _tambour_ accompaniment.
The _Gaillarde_, he says, is so-called “_parce qu’il fault estre
gaillard and dispos pour la dancer_,” and with much detail as to its
performance explains that while danced somewhat like the tordion the
latter is done “_plus doulcement and avec actions and gestes moings
violents_.”
He gives nearly a dozen musical examples for the _gaillarde_, one
called “_La traditors my fa morire_”; another “_Anthoinette_”;
another, with the charming title “_Baisons nous belle_”; another,
“_Si j’ayme ou non_.”
Capriol, by the way, remarks _apropos_ after the second-named, that
“At Orleans when we give _Aubades_ we always play on our lutes and
_guiternes_ a _gaillarde_ called ‘_La Romanesque_,’” but that it
seemed so hackneyed and trivial that he and his companions took to
“_Anthoinette_” as being livelier and having a better rhythm.
The _Gaillarde_ was in triple time, and was made up of five steps
(or four steps and a leap) and one “position”; the term _cinq pas_
also being alternatively applied to it, hence the Shakespearean
“cinque-pace” and “sink-a-pace.”
The _Volte_, from which is derived the modern valse, was described
by Arbeau as “a species of _gaillarde_ familiar to the Provençals,”
danced, like the _tordion_, in triple time, and consisting of two
steps and a leap. The _Volte_, or _Volta_, as it was as often called,
was popular in England, as was the _Gaillarde_, and references to
it are found in Shakespeare (_Troilus and Cressida_) and in the one
really great work on the Dance in English literature, namely, Sir
John Davies’ richly imaginative and finely musical poem, _Orchestra,
or a Poeme on Daunciny_, which was published in 1596, only eight
years after Arbeau’s _Orchésographie_.
The _Courante_, Arbeau describes as very different from the _Volte_.
It is also (in contrast to the _Pavanes_ and _Basse-dances_) a _danse
sautée_, but in twelve time, with running steps, requiring from time
to time not the quick, light leaping of a _volte_, but the sort of
slow soaring for which Vestris was famous in the eighteenth century
and Volinin and Bohn can perform so superbly to-day.
Arbeau says that in his youth the dance was given as a kind of
“ballet,” by three young men and three girls, with grace and dignity
and he bewails its subsequent decadence. The old English term was
“current traverse.” In Sir John Davies’ _Orchestra_ one finds the
following reference:
“What shall I name those currant travases
That on a triple _dactyl_ foot do run
Close by the ground in sliding passages?”
In Shakespeare’s _Henry the Fifth_, too, is the following:
“_Bourbon_: They bid us to the English dancing-schools
And teach _lavoltas_ high and swift _corantos_;”
and Sir Toby Belch, it will be recalled, asks: “Why dost thou go to
church in a _galliard_ and come home in a _coranto_? My very walk
should be a jig ... sink-a-pace.”
There seems, however, considerable ground for question as to what the
_courante_, or _coranto_, really was, whether a slow or quick dance.
Arbeau’s directions are, for once, not quite clear. He speaks of it
being a more graceful affair in his younger days; and he was an old
man at the time his _Orchésographie_ was published. In England it
certainly seems to have become a fairly lively dance, of which the
main feature was its “running” steps.
In France that characteristic seems to have been the same though the
_tempo_ may have been slower. Certainly it became slower there, for
the _courante_ under Louis Quatorze was considered a dull dance,
disappearing in favour of newer types requiring a more developed and
quicker technique.
However, dances alter in character, like everything else, in the
course of time. The _waltz_ or _valse_ has considerably altered since
it was first introduced into London drawing-rooms--and considered
shocking!--in the first decade of the nineteenth century; and even
to-day there is considerable difference between the _valse_ as danced
by Swiss or German peasants, and as seen in the London ball-room.
It is probable that the _courante_ of Arbeau’s day was as varied in
performance as the tango of our later time.
Let us return, however, to his description of other dances of the
period. The _Allemande_, he explains, “_est une dance plaine de
mediocre gravité, familiere aux Allemâds, et croy qu’elle soit de noz
plus anciennes car nous sommes desendus des Allemandes_.” But his
authority for the latter statement he does _not_ give! It was danced
by two or more people, in twelve time, and later was a very popular
dance with Louis the Thirteenth.
A lengthy description follows of the _Branle_, which is also
sometimes spelt _Bransle_, and from which comes our English word
Brawl, the meaning of which has sadly degenerated from its original
significance.
Saying that, “since you know how to dance the _Pavane_ and the
_Basse-dance_, it will be easy for you to dance the _branles_,” he
then proceeds to give account of over a score, including two which
seem later to have assumed a right to be considered as separate
dances, namely, the _Triory de Bretagne_ (or simply, the Triory) and
the _Branle de la Haye_, sometimes called merely the Haye, Hay, or
Hey, which was an interlacing chain-dance.
Among the examples he gives is a _Branle d’Escosse_, of which he
says: “_Les branles d’Escosse estoient en vogue y a environ vingt
ans_,” and it is much like the customary Scotch reel. The _Branles
des Lavandières_, he explains, is so-called because the dancers
make a noise by clapping their hands to represent that made by
the washerwomen who wash their clothes on the banks of the Seine.
Another, the _Branle du Chandelier_, was danced with lighted candles.
A description of the _Gavotte_ follows, and it is interesting to note
that this dance which is still seen on the stage sometimes to-day,
was an established favourite as far back as 1588. Then comes an
account of the “Morisque” dance, the origin of which Arbeau places
in the Saturnalia of the ancient world, not without reason, one
fancies; and then he gives account of the _Canaries_, which, he says,
_some_ say takes its name from the Canary Isles, while others derive
it “from a ballet composed for a masquerade in which the dancers
were dressed as kings and queens of Mauretania, or even as savages
therefrom, with headdress of varied plumage.” The last chapter is
devoted to the dance of Bouffons, a dance with sword and buckler
supposedly derived from ancient Rome and a never-failing source of
delight to French playgoers and opera-lovers of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries.
Before the “Dialogue” actually closes, young Capriol politely
thanks Monsieur Arbeau for the trouble he has taken to teach him
dancing, and Arbeau responds by promising a second volume (alas!
never written) dealing with the ballets of the masquerades “made”
at Lengres. He urges him meanwhile to practise “_les dances
honnestement_,” and so become a worthy comrade of the planets “_qui
dancent naturellement_”: and he closes his discourse very prettily
with the words, “_Je prie Dieu vous en donne la grace_.”
We have lingered somewhat over this old manual of dancing, but there
are some half-dozen points in the history of ballet that it is of
vital importance to emphasise, and Arbeau’s book is one of them.
Dancing itself of course had continued to exist through all time.
But from the decadence of Rome until fairly late in the fifteenth
century, ballet had only a precarious sporadic existence; and the
production of Beaujoyeux’s volume of the _Ballet Comique de la Royne_
in 1582, and Arbeau’s _Orchésographie_ in 1588, made a turning-point
in the history of ballet--the _point where a popular amusement was
once again taken up by men of intellect and given a new form and
a new spirit_. Beaujoyeux created an interest in ballet, Arbeau
assisted an advance in the technique of one of the chief elements of
the art, namely, dancing; and there can be little doubt that both men
were largely instrumental in forwarding that movement towards popular
delight in the theatrical masque and ballet which were to become an
outstanding feature of the next two centuries, the seventeenth and
the eighteenth.
CHAPTER VIII
SCENIC EFFECT: THE ENGLISH MASQUE AS BALLET
In considering di Botta’s elaborate feast, and Beaujoyeux’s “ballet,”
one is struck by their similarity to the English “disguisings” and
masques, which, first introduced to the Court of Henry the Eighth in
1512 as a novelty from Italy, only began to assume definite literary
form about a century later. That century contributed towards the
development of scenic effect.
In studying Arbeau’s manual of contemporary dance and music, one is
struck by another thing: he is dealing with a social amusement of
the upper classes. The dances he describes were mainly the proper
accomplishment of the well born, or were such of lower origin as
might with adaptation become worthy of performance by more courtly
dancers. It is certain he does not describe all the types of dance
known to his period. The old Provençal “_Rigaudon_” which was later
to come into such favour owing to Camargo, is not referred to by
Arbeau; nor the languorous “_Sarabande_,” which was probably of
Moorish origin derived through Spain--or possibly earlier through
Augustan Rome; the lively “_Chaconne_” is another omission; the
“_Tresca_” yet another. These, and perhaps others, must have existed
in Arbeau’s time and long before; but would be among the traditional
amusements of the people, and were not yet elected to the company of
courtly dances.
It is needful to linger over these points here, for they account for
much that we find in the subsequent development of theatrical ballets
in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
Speaking of Beaujoyeux’s “_Ballet Comique_,” Castil Blaze, the
scholarly historian of the Paris opera, remarks that it “became the
model on which were composed a number of _ballets_, sung and danced,
a kind of piece which held the place of Opera among the French
and English for about a century.” That century was, roughly, from
about 1500 to 1600. And he adds: “The English gave them the name of
_masque_.”
In the few years after Henry VIII came to be crowned the young
monarch spent considerable time and spared no expense in entertaining
himself and his Queen with “disguisings,” “revels” and masqued balls.
On Twelfth Night, 1511, before the banquet in the Hall at Richmond,
so records the contemporary chronicler, Edward Hall, there “was
a pageant devised like a mountain, glistering by night as though
it had been all of gold and set with stones; on the top of which
mountain was a tree of gold, the branches and boughs frysed with
gold, spreading on every side over the mountain with roses and
pomegranates; the which mountain was with (de) vices brought up
towards the King, and out of the same came a lady apparelled in cloth
of gold, and the children of honour, called the henchmen, which were
freshly disguised and danced a Morris before the King, and that done
re-entered the mountain: and then was the wassail brought in and so
brake up Christmas.”
The next year the King himself took part in a similar pageant; and
in the next, _i.e._ in 1513, so Hall tells us, “the King with eleven
others were disguised after the manner of Italy, called a Mask, a
_thing not seen before in England_. They were apparelled in garments
long and broad, wrought with gold, with visors and caps of gold; and
after the banquet these masquers came in with six gentlemen disguised
in silk, bearing staff-torches, and desired the ladies to dance.”
A little later came the introduction of singing, and dialogue as well
as dancing, some allegorical story forming the basis of the masque.
In Beaujoyeux’s “ballet” of 1582, we have all this. Up to then in
England the masque made no great advance beyond those of Henry VIII’s
early years. In Beaujoyeux’s “ballet,” however, we have all that
_had_ been, and more. We have dancing, singing, dialogue, elaborate
scenic effect, all in illustration of a mythic and allegorical
story; and achieving a definiteness and grandeur of form hitherto
unequalled, as well as publicity which made it famous throughout
Europe. In some ways it was as much masque as “ballet,” and as much
opera as masque. Actually it did stimulate the development of the
Masque in England; and Opera in France.
At the English Courts of Henry VIII and Elizabeth, the masque
developed in the direction of scenic elaboration and splendour (with
_music_) that made up for its literary shortcomings, at least in its
earlier period.
At the French Courts of Henry IV and Louis XIII, what were known as
Opera-ballets (later to be separated as opera and ballet) developed
a musical richness (_with_ scenic effect) that made up for similar
literary shortcomings. Yet again came another form in the _Comedie
Ballet_ of Molière.
With the accession of James I of England came the real efflorescence
of the English masque, which under the hands of Ben Jonson was to
become a fairly balanced harmony of the three arts--the poet’s, the
musician’s, and the painter-designer’s.
It must of course be understood that in both the masque and ballet
there was dancing; but at the period with which we are now dealing,
namely the last decade of the sixteenth and first few decades of
the seventeenth centuries, the technique of that art was--for
stage purposes--comparatively so primitive as to make it almost a
negligible quantity. There was dancing of course--that of “henchmen”
and men and boys who performed a Morris, or _bouffon-dances_;
and that of courtier, Court-lady, or even, it might be, a Royal
personage, who would take part in the stately _Pavane_ or _Almain_,
now and then unbending sufficiently to dance a _Trenchmore_ (once
Queen Elizabeth’s favourite) or _Canary_.
But it was all either an intrusion, alien to the general purport of
the production, or else vastly overshadowed by the chief design,
which was to present, with the aid of “disguisings” and elaborate
“machines,” a sort of living picture or series of living pictures,
expressing some mythological, allegorical episodes or complimentary
idea.
The chief aim was splendid pageantry; something mainly to please
the eye; and secondarily to charm the ear; without making too great
claims upon the intellect.
Among the leading English masque writers during the period we are
considering were George Gascoigne, Campion, Samuel Daniel, Dekker,
Chapman, William Browne, Beaumont and Fletcher and Jonson.
In France, at the Court of Henri Quatre, and under the direction of
his famous minister, the great and grave Sully--who himself took part
in them--some eighty ballets were given between 1589 and 1610, apart
from state balls and _bals masqués_.
In England among the more notable masques produced during about the
same period were the following:--
1585. The Masque of “Lovely London,” performed before the Lord
Mayor.
1589. A Masque planned by order of Queen Elizabeth in honour of
the wedding of King James VI of Scotland and Anne of
Denmark.
1594. A Masque before Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall.
1604. A Masque by Samuel Daniel, “The Twelve Goddesses,” arranged
by Queen Anne, Consort of James I, in honour of the Spanish
Ambassador, at Hampton Court.
1605. “The Masque of Blackness,” by Ben Jonson (his first real
masque) given on Twelfth Night at Whitehall.
1606. Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Hymen,” for the marriage of Robert
Devereux, third Earl of Essex, with the Earl of Suffolk’s
younger daughter, Frances Howard.
1608. Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Beauty”--a sequel to the “Masque
of Blackness” at the request of the Queen Consort, who, with
the Ladies of the Court, took part in the performance. This
was followed in the same year by his “Hue and Cry after
Cupid,” given at Court on Shrove Tuesday, in celebration of
Lord Viscount Haddington’s marriage.
1609. Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Queens” at Whitehall on Twelfth
Night.
All these were elaborate productions; those of Jonson being indeed
beautiful. Their literary value has long been realised, and one sees
in them some of his finest work. The introductory descriptions and
the stage-directions are singularly minute and careful, and, in their
way, are quite as well worth study as the beauties of his strong and
noble verse.
He writes of scenes and costumes as if he loved them: as when, in
“The Masque of Blackness,” he describes the Moon, “triumphant in a
silver throne.... Her garments white and silver, the dressing of her
head antique, and crowned with a luminary or sphere of light; which,
striking on the clouds, and brightened with silver, reflected, as
natural clouds do, the splendour of the moon. The heaven about her
was vaulted with blue silk, and set with stars of silver, which had
in them their several lights burning.”
And again: “The attire of the masquers was alike in all, without
difference: the colours azure and silver; but returned on the
top with a scroll and antique dressings of feathers, and jewels
interlaced with ropes of pearl. And for the front, ear, neck, and
wrists the ornament was of the most choice and Orient pearl: best
setting off from the Black.”
For the scenery and mechanical effects or “machines” as they were
called--there was Inigo Jones, the travelled artist-architect who
had seen many a masking in Italy; for the music there was Alfonso
Ferrabosco, son of the Italian composer, appointed music-master at
the Court of James I; and for _Maître de danse_, there were Thomas
Giles and Hieronimus Herne.
It was a noble company who took part in the performances. In “The
Masque of Blackness,” though there were only three speaking parts,
Oceanus, Niger and Æthiopia--the impersonators of which are not
recorded--there was no less a personage than Queen Anne herself,
Consort of King James, who appeared as Euphoris, supported by the
Countess of Bedford (Aglaia), Lady Herbert (Diaphane), the Countess
of Derby (Eucampse), Lady Rich (Ocyte), Countess of Suffolk (Kathare)
and other fair ladies of title.
The “Masque of Beauty,” a superb spectacle given at the Court some
three years later by express command of Her Majesty, had for speaking
parts only three, namely those of Boreas--“_in a robe of russet and
white mixed, full and bagged; his hair and beard rough and horrid;
his wings grey, and full of snow and icicles; his mantle borne from
him with wires and in several puffs_”; Januarius--“_in a throne of
silver; his robe of ash colour, long, fringed with silver; a white
mantle; his wings white and his buskins_”; and Vulturnus--“_in a blue
coloured robe and mantle, puft as the former, but somewhat sweeter;
his face black, and on his head a red sun, showing he came from the
East_.”
Following the entrance of Vulturnus, bringing--in reference to the
former “Masque of Blackness”--the good news of his discovery of a
lost isle whereon the black but lovely daughters of Niger had been
languishing in obscurity, there came a fine pageant.
“Here,” as Jonson’s stage directions describe it, “a curtain was
drawn in which the night was painted, and the scene was discovered
which (because the former was marine, and these, yet of necessity, to
come from the sea) I devised should be an island floating on a calm
water. In the midst thereof was a Seat of State, called the Throne
of Beauty, erected; divided into eight squares, and distinguished
by so many Ionic pilasters. In these squares, the sixteen masquers
were placed by couples; behind them in the centre of the throne
was a tralucent pillar, shining with several coloured lights, that
reflected on their backs. From the top of which pillar went several
arches to the pilasters, in front, little Cupids in flying posture,
waving of wreaths and lights, bore up the cornice; over which were
eight figures, representing the elements of Beauty, which advanced
upon the Ionic, and, being females, had the Corinthian order.”
They were: Splendour, Serenitas, Germinatio, Lætitia, Temperies,
Venustas, Dignitas, and Perfectio. Minute description is given of
their garments, but is too lengthy for inclusion here. The stage
directions then proceed:
“On the top of all the throne (as being made out of all these)
stood HARMONIA, a personage whose dressing had something of all
the others, and had her robe painted full of figures. Her head was
compassed with a crown of gold, having in it seven jewels equally
set. In her hand a lyra, whereon she rested.
“This was the ornament of the throne. The ascent to which,
consisting of six steps, was covered with a multitude of Cupids
(chosen out of the best and most ingenious youth in the kingdom,
noble and others) that were torch-bearers; and all armed with bows,
quivers, wings, and other ensigns of love. On the sides of the
throne were curious and elegant arbours appointed; and behind, in
the back part of the isle, a grove of grown trees laden with golden
fruit, which other little Cupids plucked, and threw at each other,
whilst on the ground, leverets picked up the bruised apples and
left them half eaten. The ground-plat of the whole was a subtle
indented maze; and in the two foremost angles were two fountains
that ran continually, the one Hebe’s and the other Hedone’s; in the
arbours were placed the musicians, who represented the shades of
the old poets, and were attired in a priest-like habit of crimson
and purple, with laurel garlands.
“The colours of the masques were varied; the one half in orange
tawny and silver; the other in sea-green and silver. The bodies of
short skirts on white and gold to both.
“The habit and dressing for the fashion was most curious, and so
exceeding in riches, as the throne whereon they lay seemed to be a
mine of light, struck from their jewels and their garments.
“This throne, as the whole island moved forward on the water,
had a circular motion of its own, imitating that which we call
_motum mundi_, from the east to the west, or the right to the left
side.... The steps whereon the Cupids sat had a motion contrary,
with analogy _ad motum planetarum_, from the west to the east;
both which turned with their several lights. And with these three
varied motions, at once, the whole scene shot itself to the land.”
After a chorus with echoing refrain, “Vulturnus the wind spake to the
river Thamesis, that lay along between the shores, leaning upon his
urn, that flowed with water, and crowned with flowers; with a blue
cloth of silver robe about him; and was personated by Master Thomas
Giles, who made the dances.
“_Vul._ Rise, Aged Thames, and by the hand
Receive the nymphs, within the land,
And in those curious squares and rounds
Wherewith thou flow’st betwixt the grounds
Of fruitful Kent and Essex fair
That lends the garlands for thy hair;
Instruct their silver feet to tread,
Whilst we, again, to sea are fled.
“With which the Winds departed; and the river received them into
the land, by couples and fours, their Cupids coming before them.
“These dancing forth a most curious dance, full of excellent device
and change, ended it in the figure of a diamond, and so, standing
still, were by the musicians with a second SONG, sung by a loud
tenor, celebrated.
“So Beauty on the waters stood,
When Love had severed earth from flood!
So when he parted air from fire,
He did with concord all inspire!
And then a motion he them taught,
The elder than himself was thought.
Which thought was, yet, the child of earth,
For Love is elder than his birth.
“_The song ended; they danced forth their second dance, more subtle
and full of change than the former; and so exquisitely performed,
as the king’s majesty (incited first by his own liking to that
which all others there present wished) required them both again
after some time of dancing with the lords. Which time, to give them
respite, was intermitted with a song._
“This song was followed by others.
“_After which songs they danced galliards and corantos; and with
those excellent graces, that the music appointed to celebrate them,
showed it could be silent no longer; but, by the first tenor,
admired them thus_:
“SONG.
“Had those that dwelt in error foul,
And held that women have no soul,
But seen these move; they would have then
Said, women were the souls of men;
So they do move each heart and eye
With the world’s soul, true harmony.
“_Here they danced a third most elegant and curious dance, and not
to be described again by any art but that of their own footing,
which ending in the figure that was to produce the fourth_, JANUARY
_from his state saluted them thus_:
“_Janu._ Your Grace is great, as is your Beauty, dames;
Enough my feasts have proved your thankful flames
Now use your seat; that seat which was, before,
Though straying, uncertain, floating to each shore,
And to whose having every clime laid claim,
Each land and nation urgéd as the aim
Of their ambition, Beauty’s perfect throne,
Now made peculiar to this place alone;
And that by impulsion of your destinies,
And his attractive beams that lights these skies;
Who, though with ocean compassed, never wets
His hair therein, nor wears a beam that sets.
Long may his light adorn these happy rites,
As I renew them; and your gracious sights
Enjoy that happiness, even to envy, as when
Beauty, at large, brake forth and conquered men!
“_At which they danced their last dance into their throne again._”
These quotations, though necessarily brief, illustrate the
characteristic elements in the construction of the masque--dancing,
music, song, spoken verse and _elaborate scenic effect_.
The reference to Thomas Giles, “who made the dances,” to the dances
themselves, “_galliards and corantos_,” and that charming admission
as to “a third most elegant and curious dance” not to be described
again “by any art but that of their own footing”; the reference to
the arbours in which “were placed the musicians, who represented
the shades of the old poets, and were attired in a priest-like
habit of crimson and purple, with laurel garlands”; the song of
the “first tenor”--“Had those that dwelt ...” and January’s speech
apostrophising women’s beauty; above all the loving descriptions of
the scenery and mechanical effects, must all be of uncommon interest
to those who know anything of the history of the French ballet,
because it is so closely paralleled in the descriptions given some
seventy years later by the Abbé Menestrier of the entertainments
at the Court of Louis XIV. The English “masques” of the early
seventeenth were, in effect, the French “ballets” of the early
eighteenth century. To return, however, to the English Court of James
I.
The Queen and Ladies of her Court once again took part in the
entertainment of His Majesty as representatives of the various types
of Beauty introduced in the course of the masque, and yet again were
they found in the noble “Masque of Queens,” celebrated from the House
of Fame, by the Queen of Great Britain with her Ladies, at Whitehall,
February 2nd, 1609, which was dedicated to the young Prince Henry, as
to the origin of which Ben gives the following interesting note: “It
increasing,” he says, “to the third time of my being used in these
services to Her Majesty’s personal presentations, with the ladies
whom she pleaseth to honour; it was my first and special regard, to
see to the dignity of their persons. For which reason I chose the
argument to be _A celebration of honourable and true Fame bred out of
Virtue_.”
All of which in a sense foreshadowed the various symbolic ballets
later at the Court of France, such as _La Verité, ennemie des
apparences_, which we shall come to consider in due course. The thing
to realise now is that these masques of Ben Jonson and of other men
of his period were the finest flowering of a form of entertainment
which had been struggling for definite shape throughout the previous
century, indeed from the days of di Botta’s fête in 1489, and had
received its most recent and most effective stimulus from France
in the production of Beaujoyeux’s wondrous symbolic and mythologic
“ballet” some twenty odd years before Ben Jonson’s first “masque”
was produced. The English masque--partly dramatic “interlude” with
song, music and dance introduced, was in effect a ballet, and was a
direct influence in the formation of the “opera-ballets” which were
subsequently to be the delight of the French Court for a century or
more.
CHAPTER IX
BALLET ON THE MOVE
If the masque was a kind of ballet that did not move from its
appointed place within sight of the Royal and Courtly audience, by
whom it was commanded as a spectacle for private entertainment, there
was a “ballet” which did, and became, like the “carrousels” and
“triumphs,” a very public spectacle, namely the _ballet-ambulatoire_,
or peripatetic “ballet,” said to have originated among the
Portuguese, and much encouraged by the Church.
The Beatification of Ignatius Loyola in 1609 is an instance of
peripatetic “ballet” famous in the history of the dance.
Interesting account of it is given by the invaluable Menestrier, who
writes:
“As the Jesuits had a war-like character, they chose the Siege of
Troy for the subject of their ballet. The first act took place
before the church of Notre Dame de Lorette. It was there they stood
the wooden horse. Full of Jesuits, the machine began to move, while
numerous dancers acted the most remarkable feats of arms of Achilles,
Ajax, Hector and Æneas. The monstrous horse and its retinue advanced,
preceded by a brilliant orchestra. They arrived at the Place St.
Roch, where the Jesuits had their church. The city of Troy, or
at least a part of its towers and ramparts, constructed of wood,
occupied a third of this place. A piece of wall was broken down, to
give entrance to the horse, the Greeks descended from the machine and
the Trojans attacked them with guns. The enemy defended with the
same arms, and the two sides fought--while dancing! Eighteen great
staves filled with fireworks caused the burning and the ruin of Troy!”
One might be puzzled to know how the author of such a drama would
introduce Saint Ignatius Loyola on the scene. The maker of the
“book,” however, had no qualms, and, leaving the Greeks and Trojans
buried beneath the ruins of Ilium, on the following day, he led
the spectators to the seashore. “Four brigantines,” the chronicler
proceeds, “richly decorated and fenced, painted and gilded, covered
with dancers and ‘choirs of music,’ present themselves at the Port.
They bring four ambassadors, who, in the name of the four quarters
of the globe, come to swear homage and fidelity, to offer presents
to the newly beatified, to thank him for his benefits and to beg his
protection for the future. All the artillery of the Forts and of the
vessels salute the brigantines on their entrance. The ambassadors
then mount the cars in waiting and advance towards the College of
the reverend fathers, with an escort of three hundred Jesuits on
horseback, dressed as Greeks! Four troops of inhabitants of the four
quarters of the world, dressed in national costumes, dance round
the cars. The realms, the provinces, represented by their _genii
loci_, march before their ambassador. The troop from America is the
first, and among the dancers are many children disguised as monkeys
and parrots, and twelve dwarfs, mounted on little nags. The car of
Asia is drawn by two elephants. Six superb horses form the team of
the others.” The diversity, the richness of the costumes was not the
least ornament of this singular ballet, for it is said that several
of the actors had on their garments precious stones of great value.
It is the Portuguese who claim to have invented the true ambulatory
ballets, which--designed in imitation of the Thyrennian “pomp”
described by Appius Alexander--were danced in the streets of a town
proceeding from place to place, with movable stages and properties.
The performances were given on saints’ days and with the greatest
solemnity.
In the year 1610 Pope Paul V. canonised Cardinal St. Charles
Borromée, who, under the pontificate of Pius IV., his uncle, was
patron of the kingdom of Portugal, and that grateful nation wished to
honour him publicly.
In order that it should be done with the greater solemnity, they put
his image on board a ship, as if he were coming back once more to
assume the protection of the kingdom of Portugal.
“A richly decorated vessel with flying sails of divers colours and
silk cordage of magnificent hues, carried the image of the saint
under a canopy of gold brocade. On its appearance in the roads all
the vessels in port, superbly arrayed, advanced to meet it, and
rendering military honours, brought it back with great pomp, and
a salute from the guns of Lisbon and all the vessels in Port. The
reliquaries of the patron Saints of Portugal, carried by the nobles
of state and followed by the religious, civil and military bodies,
received the new Saint on disembarcation.”
As soon as the image was landed, it was received by all the monks
and the whole of the ecclesiastical body, who went to meet it in
procession with four large chariots containing different tableaux.
The first car represented Fame, the second the town of Milan, the
third Portugal, and the fourth the Church. Besides the chariots, each
company of monks and each Brotherhood carried its own particular
Saint on rich litters, called by the Portuguese “andarillas.” The
image of St. Charles was ornamented with precious stones to the value
of twenty-six to twenty-seven thousand crowns; several others to the
value of sixty, seventy and eighty thousand crowns, and the jewels
that were displayed at this fête were estimated at more than four
millions.
Between each chariot were troops of dancers, who represented,
in dancing, the more notable of the acts of the Saints. Octavio
Accoromboni, Bishop of Fossombrone, who obtained these honours
for St. Charles, was at this time in the town of Lisbon, where he
had gone to collect certain monies that Portugal was giving to
the Pope. He has left us a description of this fête, in which he
remarks that “the Italians and more especially the Romans, should
not be surprised to read that dances and ballets formed a part of so
sacred a ceremony, because in Portugal processions and fêtes would
not seem elevated nor serious enough unless accompanied by these
manifestations of joy.”
In order to prepare for these fêtes, dances, ballets and processions,
the Lisbon folk had decorated, several days beforehand, big masts
erected at the doors of the churches where the service was to be
held, and at different places on the roads where the processions and
performances would pass. “These masts were of pine, gilded and decked
with crowns, streamers and banners of different colours, similar to
the masts put up in France at the doors of the magistrates’ houses on
the first of May in several towns of the kingdom, a custom which has
given to these masts the name of ‘Maypole.’ The Spaniards call them
‘Mayos,’ or ‘_Arboles de Enamorados_’ (Lovers’ trees) because young
men plant them on the first of May at the door of their mistresses’
houses.” The procession passed through triumphant arches, and the
streets were hung with tapestries and strewn with flowers.
Three masts were planted at the places of the actual performance, one
at the spot at the port where the procession was to start after the
landing of the image of St. Charles, another in the middle of the
route, and the third at the door of the church where the procession
was to end, and where the image of the saint was to be placed. These
masts marked the places for the performances, for it was there the
procession stopped, and the dancers made their chief entrances in the
“ballet.” Needless to say immense sums were spent on the fête.
These are but two instances of the _ballet-ambulatoire_. More might
be given, but these will suffice to afford some idea of a type of
spectacle which the older historians speak of as a “ballet,” but
which is of special interest to us by reason of the contrast it forms
to the masque, which was the reverse of “ambulatory,” and from the
fact that though in direct contrast on another score, namely, that it
was not a private but a public spectacle, it was under the “immediate
patronage” of the Church!
Neither the masque nor the _ballet-ambulatoire_, was yet a theatrical
entertainment; but it is curious, is it not, to note that they had
a certain kinship with theatrical tradition, for these magnificent
peripatetic “ballets” of the ecclesiastics had had a primitive
forerunner in the performance of Thespis with his travelling car in
Grecian towns and villages some six centuries before the Christian
era! Even as, later, we in fourteenth-century England had our Mystery
and Miracle plays travelling from “station” to “station” in similar
fashion, and our “mummers” or mimers; while, on the other hand, the
masque itself, as a private entertainment of the English Court, with
its stage, and “machines,” scenery, dancing, music and song, not to
mention its Royal and Courtly audience, was forerunner of similar
entertainments which a century later were to become the features of
the Courts of Louis XIV and XV, and from that to develop under Royal
Patronage into the Ballet of the Theatre.
CHAPTER X
COURT BALLETS ABROAD: 1609-1650
While the English Court was enjoying its masques, during the reigns
of Henry VIII, Elizabeth and James, and the French were labouring
forth their heroic ballets under Henri Quatre--more than eighty
having been given from 1589 to 1610, without counting insignificant
balls and masquerades--Italy was similarly keeping up in the movement
which her example had originally inspired.
It was the custom there to celebrate the birthday of the Princess by
an annual public fête. As one old historian records, the more usual
spectacles of these celebrations were in the form of “Carrousels,
Tournois, des Comedies, des Actions en Musique, des Festins, des Feux
d’Artifice, des Mascarades quand ces Fêtes se trouvent au temps du
Carnaval, des Presens, des Illuminations, des Chasses, des Courses
sur la Neige et sur la Glace suivant la saison, des Promenades et des
Jeux sur les Eaux.”
The Court of Savoy was particularly devoted to such entertainments.
In 1609 there was a _ballet d’armes_, entitled, “_Il Sol nascente
nell’ oscurità dell Tile_,” danced by the “Serene” Princes of Savoy,
the occasion being the anniversary of the birth of their Royal
father, the Duke Charles Emannuel.
Again, in 1611, the Prince of Piedmont gave a fête in honour to his
father’s birthday, representing “The Taking of the Isle of Cyprus.”
[Illustration: Stage Effect in the 17th Century
(_From a coloured engraving of a scene from “Circe_,” 1694).]
In the year 1615 was produced a mounted ballet at this same Court
(Savoy) for the arrival of the Prince d’Urbin. This was an attack
and a combat to music against three hundred men on foot, who formed
different companies of various shapes, lunated, oval, square and
triangular. They had drilled their horses so well that they were
never out of step with the rhythm of the music. There were numerous
cars drawn by lions, stags, elephants, rhinoceroses, etc., and as
they represented the triumph of Love over War, the Four Quarters
of the World followed the cars of the victors mounted in as many
chariots. The Car of Europe was drawn by horses, that of Africa by
elephants, that of Asia by camels, that of America by “unicorns”! The
cars of this festival had engraved work on them by Callot.
In 1618, “The Elements,” a grand ballet and tourney was represented
by the Duke of Savoy and his son, the Prince of Piedmont, on the
former’s birthday.
“The Temples of Peace and War on Mount Parnassus,” a ballet and
tourney “avec un Festin à la Chinoise,” formed the entertainment of
the following year.
“The Judgment of Flora on the Dispute of the Nymphs over the Crown of
Flowers presented to Mme. Royale on her Birthday,” is the long and
stately title of a fête given at Turin in 1620.
“The Tribute of the Divinities of the Sky, Air, Sea and Infernal
regions,” was a grand ballet and tourney of 1621. “The Ballet of the
Seven Kings of China” was another.
“The Joy of Heaven and Earth,” a fête in honour of the Duke’s
birthday in 1624, was followed by “Bacchus triomphant des Indes, avec
une Action en Musique et une Chasse Pastorale,” in the same year.
This was a fête in honour of the Duke Charles Emmanuel’s birthday,
and was performed by the pages of the Prince Cardinal Maurice of
Savoy, at Rome on January 22nd, 1624.
“Mount Parnassus and the Muses,” “The Quarrel of the Defenders and
the Enemies of the Muses,” took place in February, 1624. “Cadmus,
victorieux du Serpent,” and “Prometheus” were notable ballets in 1627.
One of the most remarkable, and, according to contemporaries,
beautiful mounted ballets ever composed was that of “Æolus, King
of the Winds,” which Alfonso Ruggieri Sansoverino presented at the
wedding of the Prince of Tuscany in the year 1628 in the St. Croix
Square, in Florence. On one of the sides of this square was a large
reef with a cave hollowed out of its rock and closed by a great door
secured with padlocks.
Don Anthony de Medici, who took the part of master of the combat,
having reconnoitred the course, Æolus, King of the Winds, entered,
accompanied by twelve watermen to whom he “had taught the use of
sails and the nature of the winds.” Twelve Tritons walked before him
blowing their trumpets. Eight Sirens replied on other instruments,
accompanied by Hoar-frost. Eight pages represented the many effects
of the Winds, causing cold, hot, damp, dry, clear, dull, serene or
cloudy weather.
The two sponsors walked behind their pages. The chariot of the Ocean
followed, drawn by two big whales. It represented a rock covered
with seaweed, coral and different kinds of shells. Nymphs of the
sea, rivers and springs were seated on this rock, and gave a musical
concert with wind instruments presided over by Dolopea, wife of
Æolus. Æolus, having passed in his chariot and arrived in front of
the Prince’s box, saluted the bride, and after offering her his
kingdom and all his troops, took a lance in his hand; then, suddenly
departing, went and thrust against the door of the Cave of the Winds.
The padlocks broke, and the door being opened, thirty-two mounted men
and a hundred and twenty-eight on foot were set at liberty. The men,
rushing like the winds they represented, ran to the other side of
the square. Here Æolus stopped them and gave them orders to arrange
themselves into a triangular figure. He led them in this order to
salute the Princess for whom the fête was arranged. After having
taken their places, they began to manœuvre their horses in a ring on
the right; they went in single file to make a chain, and sixteen of
them having broken it, they formed a smaller one, from which eight
more detached themselves, making a still smaller one. The first
horsemen, curveting, manœuvred their horses to perform voltes and
half-voltes, joining again without a halt, and, forming twos, fours
and eights, “they mingled capers at the galop, with caracolling in
figures, performing a marvellous labyrinth with their intertwinings
and evolutions.”
In the year 1628, the students of the College at Rheims danced a
ballet in joyful commemoration of the taking of La Rochelle, the
design of which, after ancient Roman models, was “The Conquest of the
Car of Glory by the great Theander.”
Unlike modern musical comedy, or “revue,” there purported to be a
plot. The Giants of the Black Tower, trusting in the might of their
magic, published a challenge “full of empty pride,” by which they
summoned all Knights-errant to the conquest of the Car of Glory.
Lindamor, wishing to chastise the insolence of these fiends, arranges
with three of his friends to go and fight them. The Black Tower is
full of sorceries, and there was no means of opening it, except by
the sounding of an enchanted horn which the Giants had fastened to
the Gate. Lindamor sounds it; the Giants issue forth upon him and his
comrades, and the contest being unequal, Lindamor is compelled to
withdraw and to leave his comrades in the hands of the Giants, who
load them with chains, and fasten them to the Castle Gate to serve as
a trophy to their vanity.
Some country shepherds who had seen the adventure of Lindamor and
the Giants, persuade Caspis to take a part in favour of these
unhappy knights. This shepherd, who was above the power of all
magic, presents himself before the captives, and first of all breaks
their chains and sets them at liberty. Lindamor, well pleased at the
courtesy of Caspis, discusses with him the means of avenging himself
on the Giants of the Black Tower. He learns from this shepherd that
the sword of Cloridan is necessary for this enterprise, and that, in
order to get it, it is necessary to put to sleep the Dragon to whom
the Giants have given the charge of it. The shepherd offers, himself,
to do this and succeeds. But to get the sword of Cloridan something
more was wanted than to put the Dragon to sleep. The shepherd evokes
the shade of Cloridan to find out from him what must be done to make
use of this sword successfully.
The shade when called forth, informs him that Theander alone is
capable of using it. The rumour of this oracular response having got
abroad, Vulcan with his Cyclops prepares arms for Theander, who being
preceded by Renown and followed by Lindamor, reaches the place where
the sword of Cloridan is guarded, seizes the sword, after having
chained the Dragon, presents himself with it at the gate of the Black
Tower, causes the gate to open at the sound of the horn, defeats the
Giants, draws from the Tower the Car of Glory, harnesses the Giants
to it and triumphs finally over the arms and the enchantments of his
enemies.
The story, which smacks of some mediæval romance of Chivalry, was
really allegorical of the capture of La Rochelle. The late king was
Theander; the shepherd Caspis was the Cardinal Richelieu, his prime
minister; Lindamor, the King, Henry III, who, being as yet only Duc
d’Anjou, had attempted this siege in vain. The sword of Cloridan was
that of Clovis; the Black Tower was La Rochelle; and the magic charms
were Heresy and Rebellion.
Again, in the year 1628, a ballet of “The Court of the Sun,” by an
Abbé Scotto, was danced at the Court of Savoy. Night played the
overture, and at her command spirits and goblins made a “pleasing”
entrance, coming on from different directions. Night, however,
warning them to be careful that Day did not surprise them, they
retired into their caves, when the Morning Star introduced visions
of the Morning, bright Dreams issuing from the ivory gate. The Star
of Venus rose from the sea to announce the arrival of the loveliest
Aurora ever seen, and ordered the Zephyrs to rise and to strew
flowers, the Dew to sprinkle perfumed water and the sweetest and most
healthful influences.
Aurora followed them, and having descended from Heaven, suddenly
caused the Palace of the Sun (in Ionic architecture) to appear; the
seven Planets and the twelve Hours were seen in niches, from which
they emerged to dance; the Muses in other niches performed concerted
movements, Time, the Year, the Seasons, the Months and the Weeks
providing the music in the boxes of this palace.
From the last examples, it is seen that philosophic, poetical and
classic allegories were often used as the basis of ballets. The
philosophic were “those in which causes and effects, peculiar
qualities and the origin of things, were expressed in a suitable
story by the devices of the ballet.” Several ballets of this kind
were seen at the theatre of the College of Clermont, principally,
those of “Curiosity,” “Dreams,” “Comets,” “Illusion,” “The Empire of
the Sun,” “Fashion.” In that of “Curiosity” it was desired to show
that the good or bad use made of it contributes to the perfecting or
spoiling of the mind. Curiosity was represented by four characters,
each forming a part of the ballet. The first of these was Useless
Curiosity, which occupies itself only with trifles; the second,
Dangerous Curiosity, which seeks forbidden and harmful things, and it
was shown that these are the two kinds of curiosity to be avoided!
Among Useless Curiosities, was seen Idleness, with a troop of
loiterers who ran about hunting for gossip and false rumours, merely
to pass the time and “to find out what was going on in the world”;
others who consulted almanacks to discover what the weather would be;
and also sleepers, who, awakening, entertained each other with their
dreams, from which they foretold what was about to happen! Mistakes,
New Opinions, Alchemy, Sorcery, Magic and Superstition were some of
the “characters” in the scene showing Dangerous Curiosity.
The third and fourth parts showed Useful and Necessary Curiosity,
respectively. Useful Curiosity was represented by travellers whose
desire to learn all about the manners and customs of different
nations drove them into foreign countries; also “by physicians who
work to gain experience.” In Necessary Curiosity was introduced the
art of navigation, instanced by sailors, who, under the guidance of
Tiphys, helmsman of the _Argo_, set out “to discover new worlds”;
another example of “necessary curiosity” being the fire brought
from Heaven by Prometheus for people eager to discover its use. The
poetical allegories were not less ingenious than the philosophic,
although “they did not pretend,” as one old chronicler informs us,
“to so much precision.”
In the same year at the Savoy Court, “_Alcée_,” a ballet of
fishermen, with _intermezzi_ and some superb presents brought to Mme.
Royale for her birthday by the Prince of Piedmont and his Cavaliers,
was a grand water entertainment in which appeared, to quote an old
historian, “Le Vaisseau de la Felicité accompagné de toutes les
Deitez (sic) avec les Concerts de Musique, des quatres Elemens avec
leur machines; de la Representation en Music (sic), d’Arion, du
Temps avec les années heureuses, des quatres parties du monde avec
des Entrées de Ballets, des quatres Saisons avec le tribut de toutes
leurs douceurs pour le Festin.” This was given by the Duke in honour
of Mme. Royale on her birthday, and it was declared that a fête “plus
complette, plus magnifique et plus agréable” had never been seen.
“Eternity” was the title of a ballet given in 1629; “Le Temps
Eternel” following next year; “La Felicité Publique” the next; and in
1632, “La Chasse Theatrale, representée en Ballet,” by the Cardinal
of Savoy at his country mansion was given in honour of his brother,
the Duke’s birthday.
Among the “moral” ballets, there is hardly one more pleasing than
that composed to commemorate the birthday of the Cardinal of Savoy in
1634. The subject of this ballet was “Truth, the Enemy of Appearance,
as proved by Time”--_La Verita Nemica della Apparenza sollevata dal
Tempo_.
This ballet opened with a chorus of False Rumours and Suspicions,
followed by Appearance and Lies! They were curiously represented by
characters dressed as cocks and hens, who sang a dialogue half in
Italian and half in French, mingled with the cluckings of cocks and
hens. The chorus by the latter ran as follows:
“Su gli albori matutini
Cot, cot, cot, cot, cot cantando
Col cucurrii s’inchini
E bisbigli mormorando
Fra i sospetti, e fra i Rumori
Cu, cu, cu, cu, cu, cu, cu,
Salutiam del novo sol gli almi splendori.”
The cocks replied:
“Faisant la guerre au silence
Cot, cot, cot, avec nos chants,
Cette douce violence
Ravit les Cieux et les Champs.
Et notre inconstant hospice
Cot, cot, cot, cot, cot, coné
Couvre d’apparence un subtil artifice.”
After this quaint song, the scene opened, and a large Cloud was seen,
accompanied by the Winds. “Appearance” also made her entrance at this
moment. She had wings and a long peacock’s tail and her dress was
hung with a number of mirrors. She was brooding over some eggs, from
which hatched out--Pernicious Lies, Deceits and Frauds, White-Lies,
Flatteries, Intrigues, Mockeries, Ridiculous Lies and Idle Tales! An
eternal crew!
The Deceits were dressed in dark colours with serpents concealed
among flowers; the Frauds, clothed in hunters’ nets, struck bladders
as they danced; the Flatteries were dressed as monkeys, Intrigues as
lobster-catchers with lanterns in their hands and on their heads;
Ridiculous Lies were represented by beggars who pretended to be
cripples with wooden legs.
Time, having driven away Appearance with all her Lies, opened the
nest on which she had been sitting and there appeared a great
hour-glass from which Time ordered Truth to come forth; the latter
then calling back all the Hours, danced with them the finale of the
“grand ballet.”
Surely, the time is ripe for a revival of such a production!
“Pâris” (1635), “Le Théâtre de la Gloire” (1637) and “La Bataille des
Vents” (1640) were notable productions at the Court of Savoy; but one
of the most interesting of these seventeenth-century entertainments
was that on February 19th, 1640, when at the same Court was given a
“Ballet of Alchemists” in which, under a charming allegory, they made
fun of those seekers of the philosopher’s stone who pretend to make
gold.
Hermes Trismegistus, dressed as a philosopher, with the master’s
ring, introduces some of the most celebrated chemists of different
nations: Morieno, an Italian; Bauzan, a Greek; Körner, a German;
Untser, a Swede; Calid, a Turk; Sandivoge, a Pole; Raymond Lulli
and Hortulaus, Spaniards; Dolcon and Beguin, Frenchmen; Pierre, a
Lorrainer; Rasis, a Jew; and Geber, an Arab.
The Italian and the Greek brought in a furnace of five storeys and
octagonal in shape. The German and the Swede brought in the alembics;
the Turk and the Pole came with flowers for distilling, which they
carried in baskets; the two Spaniards brought charcoal; the French
came with bellows to blow up the fire; the Lorrainer carried sieves
for sifting; the Jew and the Arab had in front of them leathern
aprons with various pockets, where they carried alum, vitriol,
sulphur and ingots of metal.
For the grand ballet they all worked together around the furnace,
whence they drew a thousand pretty novelties to give to the ladies
in the audience--essences, liqueurs, glass jewellery, mirrors,
bracelets, Cyprus powder, paint and other treasures, very much as
presents are given at Cotillons and big fancy dress balls to-day.
Yet another delightful production of this period must be chronicled,
namely, the “Ballet of Tobacco,” danced at Turin, the last day of
Carnival, 1650. The scene represented the Isle of Tobago, “_from
which tobacco took its name, and gave happiness to the nations to
whom the gods had given this plant_. First entered four High Priests
of that country, who drew forth snuff from certain golden boxes
which they carried, and threw this powder in the air to appease
the Winds and Tempests. Then with long pipes they smoked around an
altar, making of their smoking tobacco a sort of sacrifice to their
favourite Deities. For the second entry two Indians were twisting
into a rope tobacco leaves. Two others were pounding it in mortars
to reduce it to powder, and made the third entrance scene. The
fourth was of snuff-takers, who sneezed and presented the snuff to
each other, taking it in pinches with amusing ceremony; while the
fifth was a band of smokers gathered together in an Academy or place
set apart for smoking, wherein Turks, Spaniards, Poles and other
nationalities received the tobacco from the Indians and proceeded to
take it in their different ways.”
Such, in brief, were some of the continental ballets of the first
half of the seventeenth century, a period, it must be admitted, not
lacking in ingenuity, or resource in means of entertainment.
CHAPTER XI
THE TURNING POINT: LE ROI SOLEIL AND HIS ACADEMY OF DANCING, 1651-1675
For some two centuries Italy had amused herself with Ballet as a
courtly entertainment; and so, during one, had England and France.
Now, in 1651, it was France who was to give the lead to Europe, for
in February of that year Louis-Quatorze, then a lad of thirteen,
appeared in a ballet by Benserade, entitled “Cassandra,” and this was
the first of many in which he took part until, at the age of thirty,
he withdrew from the stage and gave his farewell performance in the
ballet of “Flora” in 1669. Strange, is it not, to think of a king as
a ballet-dancer? Yet, had not our own King Henry VIII been among the
joyous masquers?
But Louis XIV was to become more than a mere participant in
Ballet--he was to become the virtual founder of modern Ballet as seen
on the stage; for it was he--universal patron of the arts--who was
to found a Royal Academy of Dance and Music, to the existence and
encouragement of which the modern development of both arts is largely
due.
All these ballets had been either the principal object or the
supplement of superb fêtes given at Versailles or in the other royal
palaces. Historians have described the fêtes which Fouquet, the
Comptroller of Finances, offered to Louis XIV. As a sidelight on the
Comptroller’s magnificence and extravagance, the following is of
interest.
The king left Fontainebleau one evening in September, 1660,
with his entire Court, in order to have supper at the castle of
Vaux-le-Vicomte. The route, five leagues long, was illuminated with
waxen torches; and booths, put up at intervals, were laden with all
kinds of refreshment for the travellers. The castle, blazing with
light, seemed to Louis like some palace of faerie. A magnificently
furnished suite was set apart for His Majesty, and the Court was put
up in the minister’s house. An immense sideboard, laden with gold
and silver plate, was a feature of the room in which the king was
to have supper, with a fountain playing in the middle. A splendid
banquet was served, and a band placed in a gallery discoursed sweet
music. Numerous other tables were set out for the Court; and the
whole of the king’s guard, even to the famous livery servants, were
entertained most sumptuously during the two days that the fête lasted.
After supper the king took a walk by a lake the shores of which were
decorated with orange trees, lemon trees, and pomegranates, planted
in gilded tubs, the fruit being available to all who wanted any.
Thousands of torches diffused a brilliant light. A theatre, built
in the middle of the lake, offered yet further entertainment with a
representation of “The Triumph of Venus,” a ballet of a new kind, in
which Tritons and Nereids, having swum about in the waves, afterwards
proceeded to sing eulogies of King Louis. All the best musicians of
Paris had been added to the king’s orchestra, and they were hidden
behind the scenery of the theatre, and in the neighbouring thickets.
On the following day there was a royal hunt, with tables served at
all the meeting-places. There was fishing in the lake, from which
the net brought in enormous fish; there was a play, then a ball, and
finally fireworks; not to mention the sumptuous and delicate fare;
the exquisite wines and delicious liqueurs which were provided on
the same scale of unlimited extravagance.
On the first day Louis, whilst admiring the gardens and park from his
window, had remarked on its beauty, but said that the view would be
still more lovely if it were not shut in by a wood of tall trees that
he pointed out. Next morning Fouquet drew the king to the same window
and led the conversation in such a way that Louis might repeat the
remark he had made the evening before.
“Sire, since that wood has the misfortune to displease you, it shall
fall immediately.”
Then at a given signal the forest disappeared with a crash as if
by magic, and the royal eye could see to the horizon. Sawn through
during the night and attached to ropes that a hidden army of peasants
pulled all at the same time, the trees fell at the voice of command.
All this magnificence and extravagance astonished the courtiers, but
served also to arouse considerable suspicion. The king’s brother
remarked that the name of the castle should rather be _Vol-le-Roi_
than _Vaux-le-Vicomte_. This fête, an act of homage, as imprudent as
it was ambitious, hastened the downfall of its author, and from that
very day his doom was assured.
Among the many ballets in which Louis XIV himself took part, the more
notable were “Le Triomphe de Bacchus,” “Le Temps,” “Les Plaisirs,”
“L’Amour Malade,” “Alcibiade,” “La Raillerie,” “L’Impatience,”
“Vincennes,” and “Les Amours Déguisés,” as well as some of the
comédie-ballets of Molière.
Louis represented only the more exalted characters, such as Jupiter,
Neptune, Apollo; though on occasion, to display the variety of his
talent, he essayed an experiment in _genre bouffonesque_. Among the
_entrées_ in the “Triomphe de Bacchus,” for instance, there was one
for some _filous, traîneurs d’épée, sortant du palais de Silène,
échauffés par le vin_, and the King playing the _rôle_ of one of the
“filous,” sang the following stanza:
“Dans le metier qui nous occupe
Nos sentiments sont assez beaux,
Car nous prisons plus une jupe
Que nous ne ferions vingt manteaux.”
The Duc Mercour, the Marquis de Montglas, the Messieurs Sanguin and
Lachesnaye, garbed as attendants on Bacchus, addressed the following
verses to the ladies of the Court, and the author had carefully
indicated that they were to be spoken to the “demoiselles”:
“Il n’est pas mal aisé d’acquérir nos offices,
Et pour y parvenir le chemin en est doux;
Mais vous ne sauriez mieux vous adresser qu’à nous,
Si vous voulez apprendre à devenir nourrices.”
Copies of the “book” of the ballet are, I believe, extant; and the
designs for the costumes of the actors are still more curious.
The members of His Majesty’s ballet, if they were not expert ballet
dancers, could at least give ample proof of their nobility. Louis
XIV counted marquises and marchionesses, dukes and duchesses, even
princes and princesses and queens among his subjects, that is, his
dancing subjects.
It was in 1661 that the king founded the Dancing Academy. A room in
the Louvre was assigned to this learned society, which, however,
preferred to gilded ceilings the smoky walls of an inn having for
its sign “L’Epée de Bois.” It was in this favourite retreat that
the members of the new Academy met together. It was here that the
interests of the kingdom of the _rigaudon_ and the _minuet_ were
regulated, where elections were held, and, without breaking up the
session, without even leaving their academic chairs, dinner was
served to the members on the table where each had just cast his
vote. A tablecloth covered the green cloth; the bottle followed the
inkhorn; supper replaced the ballot-box; and the assembly drank long
draughts to the health of the new member.
The letters patent for the foundation of the Dancing Academy read
curiously. In the preamble, for instance, the king thus expressed
himself:
“Although the art of dancing has always been recognised as one of
the most honourable, and the most necessary for the training of the
body, to give it the first and most natural foundations for all
kinds of exercises and amongst others to those of arms; and as it
is, consequently, one of the most useful to our nobility and others
who have the honour of approaching us, not only in times of war in
our armies, but also in times of peace, in the performance of our
ballets, nevertheless, during the disorder of the last wars, there
have been introduced into the said art, as in all others, a great
number of abuses likely to bring them to irretrievable ruin.
“Many ignorant people have tried to disfigure the dance and to spoil
it, as exhibited in the personal appearance of the majority of people
of quality: so that we see few among those of our Court and suite who
would be able to take part in our ballets, whatever scheme we drew up
to attract them thereto. It being necessary, therefore, to provide
for this, and wishing to re-establish the said art in its perfection,
and to increase it as much as possible, we deemed it opportune to
establish in our good town of Paris a Royal Academy of Dancing,
comprising thirteen of the most experienced men in the said art, to
wit:
MM. Galant du Désert, dancing-master to the Queen;
Prévôt, dancing-master to the King;
Jean Renaud, dancing-master to His Majesty’s brother;
Guillaume Raynal, dancing-master to the Dauphin;
Nicolas de Lorges;
Guillaume Renaud;
Jean Picquet;
Florent Galant du Désert;
Jean de Grigny.”
These, let us note, are the names of the patriarchs of the French
dance.
In 1669 the Abbé Perrin, who was official introducer of Ambassadors
to Gaston, Duc d’Orléans?, having obtained exclusive rights from the
king, went into theatrical management, taking as his colleagues the
Marquis de Sourdeac to direct the scenic and mechanical effects, and
Cambert to supply the music. A certain Champeron advanced the money,
and on March 28th, 1671, “Pomone,” a pastoral in five acts, words by
Perrin, music by Cambert, dances by Beauchamps, was produced at the
theatre of the Rue Mazarine.
The whole thing was poor, but this did not prevent the house being
crowded for eight months, so that at the end of this time Perrin drew
out thirty thousand francs as his share: but the various members of
the little syndicate disagreed when it came to sharing out. Lulli
profited by their disputes, cleared out Perrin and his partners,
and started again in a disused tennis-court known as the _Bel Air_,
situated in the Rue de Vaugirard, near the Luxembourg. He had as
colleagues Quinault for the poetic libretti, and an Italian named
Vigarani for the mechanical effects, one of the cleverest stage
managers in Europe at the time. They produced there in 1672 the
“Fêtes de Bacchus et de l’Amour.” When Molière died in the following
year, the hall of the Palais-Royal, which he had occupied, was given
to Lulli.
Louis XIV, by letters patent, dated 1672, concerning the
non-forfeiture of nobility of ladies and nobles who were prepared
to figure in the scene at the opera, authorises his “faithful and
well-beloved Jean-Baptiste Lulli to add to the Royal Academy of Music
and Dancing, instituted by these presents, a school suitable to
educate pupils as much for dancing as for singing and also to train
bands of violins and other instruments.”
The Sun-King, in fact, exerted his care to such a point that he
himself superintended and wrote with his own hand the budget of the
_corps de ballet_ at the Opera.
The order is dated January 11th, 1713.
The male dancers were twelve in number.
Their united salaries amounted to 8400 francs.
Two of them had 1000 francs.
Four, 800 francs.
Four, 600 francs.
Two others, 400 francs.
The ten female dancers earned together 5400 francs.
The two principals had 900 francs.
The four seconds had 500 francs.
The four last 400 francs.
There were besides:
A master of the dancing-room, at 500 francs.
A composer of ballets, at 1500 francs.
A designer, at 1200 francs.
And a master-tailor, at 800 francs.
The king busied himself even with the author’s royalties, and it must
be confessed that he showed himself more generous proportionately
towards the authors than towards the artists. According to a rate
fixed by him, a hundred and twenty francs were paid for a ballet
for each of the first ten performances and sixty francs for each
following.
La Bruyère, author of “Les Caractères,” has spoken of the virtuosi of
the dance who shone in his time, and in criticising their methods,
he sheds light on the difficulties which had already been surmounted
in 1675. “Would the dancer Cobus please you, who, throwing up his
feet in front, turns once in the air, before regaining the floor?”
Again, “Do you ignore the fact that he is no longer young?” says La
Bruyère, when speaking to the susceptible ladies of the Court. It was
Beauchamps or Le Basque, dancers at the Opera, that he meant. The
famous Pécourt is also described under the name of Bathyle. “Where
will you find, I do not say in the order of knights which you look
down upon, but among the players in a farce, a young man, who leaps
higher into the air whilst dancing, or who cuts better capers? As for
him, the crowd is too great, he refuses more women than he accepts.”
Pécourt, the adored of the beauties of the time, was the favoured
lover of Ninon de l’Enclos. One day, the Maréchal de Choiseul, his
rival, met, at the house of their common mistress, the popular
dancer, who was dressed in what was apparently a uniform.
“Ah,” said he ironically, “since when have you turned soldier, M.
Pécourt? And in what corps are you serving?”
“Marshal,” was the reply, “I _command_ a _corps_ in which you have
long _served_.”
Blondi, Beauchamps’ nephew; Feuillet, Desaix, Ballon, Baudiery-Laval,
and his son Michel-Jean, a good dancer and an excellent mechanical
contriver; Mesdemoiselles Subligny, Prévôt, Carville, and Le Breton,
were also stars of the period, of some of whom there will be more to
say presently.
BOOK II: THE SECOND ERA
CHAPTER XII
SOME EARLY STARS AND BALLETS
For some time after the founding of the King’s Dancing Academy the
French Opera stage was ungraced by the feminine form, though women
took part in the performance at some of the minor theatres, such as
the famous Theatres of the Fair in Paris.
For the entertainment of the more exalted sections of Society the
more exalted ladies themselves performed; at Court, however, _not_ on
the public stage, where, as in our own theatre in Elizabethan times,
youths played the women’s _rôles_.
Such was the case in the production of a ballet by Lulli and
Desbrosses in 1672, “Les Fêtes de l’amour et de Bacchus,” in which M.
le Duc de Monmouth, M. le Duc de Villeroy, M. le Marquis de Rassen,
and M. Legrand, executed various dances “supported” by Beauchamps, M.
André, Favier and Lapierre, professional male dancers at the Opera.
Of these the leader was Beauchamps, director of the Royal Academy
of Dancing, composer of, and superintendent of, the Court Ballets
of Louis XIV in 1661, and made _maître des ballets_ to the Academy
in 1671. He danced with the king in the entertainment at Court,
and though La Bruyère says of him, “_qu’il jetait les jambes en
avant, et faisait un tour en l’air avant que de retomber à terre_,”
showing that even in those days the public loved “sensation,” he
was ordinarily a grave and dignified executant. He was one of the
first experimentalists in the direction of inventing a system of
Choreography, or the writing down of dances in a kind of shorthand,
so that a dance once designed should never be lost, but could be
read and repeated as easily as a piece of music. In this he was only
following on the track of old Arbeau, but his system was different,
and, if not ideal, at least it paved the way to a better. Beauchamps
died in 1705.
Pécourt, who was “_premier danseur et maître des ballets de
l’Opéra_,” made his _début_ only in 1672. His style was what is known
as “_demi-caractère_,” and he is said to have had notable effect on
the ladies of his day, his amazing lightness fairly turning their
heads.
Blondi, a nephew of Beauchamps; Ballon, who became _maître à danser_
to Louis XV; Baudiery-Laval, a nephew of Ballon, who succeeded his
uncle as dancing-master to the Royal Family and _maître des ballets_
at Court; Michel-Jean Baudiery-Laval, son of the last-named, who
was not only a _maître à danser_, but is said to have been the
first stage manager to have used lycopodium powder, which used to
be the chief means of producing stage lightning; these were some
of the lesser stars of the end of the seventeenth and beginning of
the eighteenth centuries in France, and they were to be followed by
Louis-Pierre Dupré, who came to be known as _Le Grand Dupré_, and
who surpassed all his forerunners by the grace and the dignity of
his dancing, and the _noblesse_ of his poses. He made his _début_ in
1720, was long the _premier danseur_ at the Opera, and did not retire
till 1754.
To hark back, however, to 1672, when there were only men to play
the women’s parts. The reason for the dearth of feminine stars was
quite simple. The Academy was in its infancy. There were no properly
qualified professional _danseuses_, and the courtly amateurs were too
courtly--and too much amateurs--to appear to advantage on the stage.
The Academy came to alter all that.
It revived a genuine interest in dancing as an art worthy of
serious consideration; and Lulli, that inspired monkey of a
dancing-musician, did the rest; for it was his opera-ballet, “Le
Triomphe de L’Amour,” produced on May 16th, 1681, which brought the
presence of women dancers to the boards.
Various high ladies of the Court, the Dauphine, la Princesse de
Conti, Mlle. de Nantes, and others, formed a useful background, but
the entire feminine _personnel_ of the dancing school numbered only
four--Mlle. Lafontaine, Mlle. Le Peintre, Mlle. Fernon, and Mlle.
Roland, the first-named being the leader, the _première des premières
danseuses_, and accorded the title so often granted to successive
_premières_ since then, of _Reine de la Danse_.
That admirable historian of French opera, Castil-Blaze, has given
excellent account of the state of affairs towards the end of the
seventeenth century.
“The lack of good dancers,” he says, “was doubtless an obstacle in
the way of the introduction of grand ballet at the Royal Academy.
‘Les Fêtes de L’Amour et de Bacchus,’ ‘Le Triomphe de L’Amour,’
and all productions of the same kind commonly called at that time
Ballets, were really nothing less than Operas treated in such a way
as to give a little more freedom for the introduction of dances,
the singing being nevertheless still the main object. Pécourt, who
made his _début_ in ‘Cadmus,’ shared the honours of the dance with
Beauchamps, with Dolivet, a capital mime, and another good dancer
named L’Etang. The company of singers also included some notable
personalities, and though the functions of singer and dancer were
usually kept pretty well apart, one actress, Mlle. Desmatins,
managed, in the opera of ‘Perseus,’ to score a double success as
singer and dancer, a very unusual combination, as it is seldom indeed
that a dancer is good for much as a vocalist. Vigarani, an Italian
theatrical _machiniste_, of great talent, had charge of the theatres
of the Court; and another Italian, Rivani, and Francis Berein,
fulfilled a similar function with regard to the Opera.”
Italian ballets, executed by Italian dancers, were among the
favourite diversions of the French Court towards the end of the
seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth centuries, which accounts
for the frequency with which they appear in the paintings of Watteau,
Lancret, and other artists of the period. That of “L’Impatience”
had been partly translated into the French in order that Louis XIV
might take part in it, and was, like all the comedy-ballets of the
time, a series of detached scenes quite independent of each other,
merely depicting the various amusing examples of impatience which one
usually finds--in other people!
The taste, however, for the Italian ballet, by no means interfered
with the development of the native type, which received not only the
support of the nobility, but increasing support on the professional
and technical side, for authors, musicians, and dancers were
beginning to realise that ballet was a form of art which had long
been too neglected, and that it was worthy of attention.
“Le Temps de la Paix,” represented at Fontainebleau, was given by the
_corps de ballet_ of the newly founded _Académie Royale_, illustrious
dancers and scions of the nobility all taking their share in the
production. The women dancers from the theatre, who mingled with the
princesses and ladies of the Court, were termed _femmes pantomimes_,
in order to distinguish them from the titled _dilettanti_. Among
the amateurs one finds the name of the Princesse de Conti; Duchesse
de Bourbon; such good old names as Mlle. de Blois, D’Armagnac, de
Brienne, D’Uzès, D’Estrées; on the theatrical side such artists as
Hardouin, Thévenard, and the amazing Mlle. de Maupin--heroine of
a hundred wild and questionable adventures--were among the more
illustrious of the singers; while Ballon, whom we have already named,
won applause for the energy and vivacity of his dance, and Mlle.
Subligny was equally admired for the grace and dignity of hers.
CHAPTER XIII
PANTOMIME AT SCEAUX: AND MLLE. PRÉVÔT
The mention of Subligny recalls the interesting fact that during the
reigns of Louis XIV and Louis XV of France there was a considerable
importation of French and Italian actors, singers, dancers, and
musicians into England.
We all know the complaints in _The Spectator_ and other journals of
the period against the craze for Italian opera.
A little earlier than that Cambert, who had been Director of the
King’s Music to the Court of Louis-Quatorze and organist at the
Church of St. Honoré in Paris, and who, after breaking fresh ground
in French opera, was also one of the first to experiment with Ballet,
became attached to the Court of our own Charles II in 1677. He died
in London, whence he had withdrawn out of jealousy towards his
pushing young rival Lulli.
Desmarets, Campra, Destouches, Rebel, Bourgeois, Mouret and
Monteclair are also names of French composers of opera and ballet,
from about 1693 to 1716, well known to students of musical history,
perhaps their only successor worthy of mention being Quinault, until
all, from Lulli onwards, were to be eclipsed by the greater Rameau,
who was composer of nearly a score of notable ballets, and who
made his appearance on the musical horizon in the ’thirties of the
eighteenth century.
To return, however, to the dancers. Nivelon was one of the more
famous French dancers who visited London towards the end of the
seventeenth century, and had considerable success; as did another
of the early _danseuses_, Mlle. Subligny, who came to London with
influential introductions to John Locke, of all people in the
world, author of the famous but soporific _Essay on the Human
Understanding_, which, however, omits any reference to that of the
charming dancer.
It can readily be imagined that the introduction of women to the
French stage made for improvement in many directions besides access
of grace. The little rivalries and successes of women dancers induced
a general spirit of emulation that had its effect on technique.
Now, following on the introduction of women dancers to the stage,
we come to another interesting point in the history of the dance
and ballet; for, once again, it was due to a woman that we had the
invention--or rather the revival--for it had not been seen since the
days of Bathyllus and Pylades in Augustan Rome--of ballet-pantomime,
a ballet acted entirely pantomimically, or in dumb-show.
It was the happy idea of the learned and extravagant Duchesse
du Maine, whose _Nuits de Sceaux_ have been chronicled by that
fascinating bluestocking, Mlle. Delaunay, who was later to become
famous as Madame de Staël.
Among the endless round of fêtes and entertainments at Sceaux,
at the little theatre in which she took such prominent part, the
ever-restless Duchess never presented her guests with a greater
novelty. Day and night--and especially night--they had all been
requisitioned to invent ingenious amusements. Sleep had been banished
from the exigent little Court. Dialogues, “proverbs,” “literary
lotteries,” songs and comedies had been turned out without cessation
as from a literary factory. Always it had been “words, words, words,”
and play on words. Now, for the first time for centuries--as it
_was_, in fact, and must certainly have _seemed_ to the Duchess’s
house-parties!--there was to be silence on the stage at Sceaux.
[Illustration: The Duchesse du Maine]
Having chosen the last scene of the fourth act of Corneille’s
“Horace,” the Duchess commanded the composer Mouret to set it to
music as if it were to be sung. The words were then ignored, the
music was played by an orchestra, and the two well-known dancers,
M. Ballon and Mlle. Prévôt, of the Royal Academy, mutely mimed the
actions and emotions of the leading characters, so dramatically and
with such intensity of feeling that, it is said, both they and their
audience were moved at times to tears!
Françoise Prévôt, or Prévost, was born about 1680, made her _début_
at the age of eighteen, and when Subligny retired in 1705, took her
place as _première danseuse_. For some twenty odd years she was the
joy of all frequenters of the Opera, for her grace and lightness
of style. She retired in 1730, and died eleven years after. Among
the more famous of her pupils were Marie Sallé and Marie-Anne de
Cupis de Camargo, of both of whom there will be more to say in due
course. Meanwhile, among the dances mainly in vogue during Prévôt’s
earlier period were the _Courantes_, _Allemandes_, _Gigues_,
_Contredanses_; and in her later years, _Chaconnes_, _Passacailles_,
and _Passepieds_. For the dancing of the last Prévôt was especially
famed.
In the preface to his “_Maître à Danser_,” published four years
after the dancer’s retirement, Rameau describes her in the following
terms: “_Dans une seule de ses danses sont renfermées toutes les
règles qu’après de longues méditations nous pouvons donner sur
notre art, et elle les met en pratique, avec tant de grâce, tant
de justesse, tant de légèreté, tant de précision qu’elle peut être
regardée comme un prodige dans ce genre._”
Again, Noverre, in his _Lettres sur la Danse_, published later, makes
graceful reference to Prévôt in recalling his impressions of famous
dancers whom he had seen in earlier years, and gives us, too, an
interesting criticism of the methods of the composers of ballet in
the mid-eighteenth century. “_La plupart des compositeurs_,” he says,
“_suivent les vieilles rubriques de l’opéra. Ils font des passe-pieds
parceque Mdlle. Prévôt les courait avec elegance; des musettes
parceque Mdlle. Sallé et M. Dumoulin les dansaient avec autant de
grace que de volupté; des tambourins parceque c’était le genre où
Mdlle. de Camargo excellait; des chaconnes et des passacailles
parceque le célèbre Dupré s’était comme fixé à ces mouvements; qu’ils
s’ajoustaient à son goût, à son genre et à la noblesse de sa taille.
Mais tous ces excellents Sujets n’y sont plus; ils ont été remplacés
et au-delà, dans des parties et ne le seront peut être jamais dans
les autres...._”
Though Noverre was writing this about 1760, we have to remember
that he cannot actually have seen Prévôt, since he was only born
1727, and _she_ retired in 1730. But he records an interesting
tradition in complaining that the greater number of the composers of
his time still followed the older canon of the opera, and composed
_passepieds_ because “Mdlle. Prévôt _les courait_”; for it shows
that the technique of the dance had already begun to outgrow that
of the composer. Musicians were following in their forerunner’s
tracks; dancers were advancing on the road of invention. Indeed, we
shall see that this was so when we come to consider the differences
between the styles of Prévôt and her later successors. For the moment
it suffices to record that Prévôt, star of the French opera from
about 1700 to 1730, was famous for her elegance, for her “grace,”
“lightness,” “precision,” as revealed in the comparatively slow
dances of her period, when the technique was obviously not immature
(or Rameau could not have noted such qualities in her dancing), but
evidently had not yet developed in the direction of speed, or of
_tours de force_ such as some of the later dancers were to exhibit.
The _passepied_, of which an old French dancer-poet wrote:
“_Le léger passe-pied doit voler terre à terre_,”
was a dance in three-four time, a species of minuet, performed, as
the poet records, “_terre à terre_,” hence Noverre’s description:
“Mdlle. Prévôt les _courait_ avec elegance.”
A modern versifier has--perhaps presumptuously--put the following
lines into the dancer’s mouth:
PRÉVÔT SPEAKS
“Though others by Courante may swear
Or some the grave Allemande prefer,
Or vow for Gigues alone they care,
Or Contredanse’s vulgar stir:
For me--who am no villager!--
I love not dances rough and free,
Nor yet too slow! Without demur
The Passepied’s the dance for me.
“Hark to its gentle, plaintive air!
Was music ever mellower,
More full of grace, more sweetly fair?
No dancer, sure, could wish to err
From the staid rhythms that recur--
As softly as a breath may be--
With base like a pleased kitten’s purr:
The Passepied’s the dance for me!
“No other music now may share,
With this my favour, or could spur
My feet new measures now to dare.
What of Camargo? As for her--
(Of passing fancies harbinger!)
Quickness, but naught of grace has she.
_She_ dance? That plain, fast foreigner?
The Passepied’s the dance for _me_!”
ENVOI
“_Lovers of dance, let naught deter_
_Your love from graces all can see_
_In Passepied! And all aver_
_The Passepied’s the dance for me!_”
Of the jealousy which might have impelled Mlle. Prévôt to speak thus
of her young rival Camargo and her quicker style there will be more
to say presently. It is necessary for a while to turn aside (even
to hark back a little, perhaps, since in dealing with a period of
transition there must be several threads to trace back and gather
up), and to glance at another phase of theatrical history than that
of the _première danseuse_ and the august Royal Opera, namely, the
less exalted--and more popular--theatre; one which proved often
the antechamber to the greater stage and Royal favour, to wit--the
Italian Comedy and the Theatres of the Fair.
CHAPTER XIV
ITALIAN COMEDY AND THE THEATRES OF THE FAIR
Humanity, like history, repeats itself in its recurring moods.
Some years ago London playgoers went rather mad over what was
a comparatively new thing to that period, the production of a
delightful play without words, namely, MM. Carré and Wormser’s
“L’Enfant Prodigue,” acted to perfection by a cast headed by Mlle.
Jane May, as Pierrot, with Mlle. Zanfretta as Pierrette.
About two thousand years ago the playgoers of ancient Rome began
to go mad about what was _then_ thought to be a really new
thing--pantomime acting without words.
The two pantomimists, Bathyllus and Pylades, then set a standard in
mimetic representation never achieved before. The two Roman actors
were “dancers,” but it was because they were panto-mimes of such
brilliant quality that they became famous. Had they been merely
dancers they would hardly have made the impression they did.
The modern ballet-dancer--as we understand the word--knows, or should
know, that dancing without the ability to mime is not enough to win
the fame of a Taglioni, a Grisi, Génée or Karsavina, in ballet.
In opera a voice of the loveliest tone, together with an acquired
technical excellence in the use of it, has not the power to move the
hearers if _expression_ is lacking. _It is the art of the mime which
gives expression and significance to the art of the dancer_; and it
was as dancer-mimes that Pylades and Bathyllus moved their audience
to something like worship.
It is, of course, a pretence, this doing without words. I say
“pretence” because you cannot do away with words. You may have a
“wordless” play, but behind the dumb-show there are still the words.
It is so in life. Behind all things is--the Word. Things are only
representative of thoughts; and thoughts are inconceivable without
words. We may not always speak with tongue and voice; but, if we have
the impulse to speak, the instrument matters not, and we may “speak”
with our hands. So doing, a look or gesture becomes a word, a series
of gestures a sentence.
Now, in ancient Roman days when the ordinary spoken comedy merged
first into a sort of musical comedy, and then, at the dawn of the
Christian era, into unspoken comedy or pantomime; and when, in
addition, all the Greek plays and stories of the Greek and Latin
myths were drawn upon for pantomime, some of the original characters
stayed and others were incorporated in the general make-up of the
purely wordless play as this form of entertainment grew increasingly
popular; and among the new-comers was probably Mercury, who became a
sort of Harlequin, with gift of invisibility and magic wand.
The _spoken_ comedy of ancient Rome becoming superseded, first by
the pantomimes and secondly by the craze for the circus, finally
died down with the fall of the Empire itself, and did not revive
for some hundreds of years, until the world’s great reawakening, in
the Middle Ages, to the wonders of the classic past. But it is more
than probable that this dumb comedy, or _panto-mime_, any more than
dancing, _did not die_.
In Sicily and Southern Italy more especially it would have survived;
for expressive pantomime was always as much a means of speech among
the Southern Latins as verbal language itself.
In the old Latin Comedy the same set of characters were often made
to appear in other guises, and in different comic situations. Maccus,
for instance, though still called so, would appear at one time as an
old maid, at another as a raw soldier: Pappus would be a doting old
husband, or father whose daughter was abducted: and he was usually
outwitted whatever the situation he was in. These and various other
types, and this custom of making them each a kind of “quick-change”
artist, survived, or at least revived.
In Italy, as time went by, various local types were added to the
original cast of the pantomime. The old man would be a Venetian; the
Doctor, from Bologna, famous for its University and--poisons; the
Clown would be a peasant-servant from Bergamo; the braggart soldier,
a “Capitan,” would be from Spain; sometimes they would each speak
in their own particular dialect, and fun would be made thereof.
Throughout the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries the
fame of the Italian comedians spread throughout the world.
Troupes found their way to Paris and London, and no slight traces
of their influence are to be found in Shakespeare and Molière.
Pre-Shakespearean comedy in England was often impromptu and
pantomimic; and the actors worked much as the Italian players had
always done.
In 1611 a well-known Italian comedian, Flaminio Scala, printed a book
of plays performed by his company. _There was no dialogue!_ They were
simply something like what we know as “plots,” though the French
word “_canevas_” expresses it better. It was merely the outline of
the play, entrances, exits, “business” written on canvas and hung
up in the wings as a reminder to the actors, who “gagged” the play
throughout, each usually introducing his own stock tricks or business
(_lazzi_ was the Italian word) as the play proceeded. In one of the
Flaminio Scala’s plots we find a Pantalon, a Dottore or Doctor, a
Captain (a braggart such as Pistol), a Pedrolino, later to become
better known to us after various changes of spirit as Pierrot.
In seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Paris the Italian players had
a sensational success, being honoured by Louis XIV and his successor;
and were regularly introduced into the lighter operas, were copied by
the players in the Paris Fair Theatres, and were often the subject of
the brush of Watteau and other artists.
In a little volume I have, _Le Théâtre Italien_ (published 1695), by
the famous actor, Evariste Gherardi, the author explains that “the
reader must not expect to find in this book entire comedies, because
the Italian plays could not be printed, for the simple reason that
the players learn nothing by rote, and it suffices for them merely
to have seen the subject of the comedy a moment before stepping on
the stage.” He says that “the charm of the pieces is inseparable from
the action, and their success depends wholly on the actors, who _play
from imagination rather than from memory, and compose their comedy
while playing_.”
Among the titles of the plays we find: “Arlequin, Emperor in the
Moon”; “Colombine, Advocate”; “Arlequin Proteus”; “Arlequin Jason”;
“The Cause of Woman”; “Divorce”; and “Arlequin, Man of Fortune.”
In most we find Arlequin assuming various disguises--“_Arlequin
en More_,” “_Arlequin deguisé en Baron_,” “_Arlequin deguisé en
Comtesse_” being among stage directions, for instance, to “The Cause
of Woman.”
By the early eighteenth century the leading characters had
become Arlequin, Pantalon, Punchinello, the Doctor, the Captain,
Scaramouche, Scapin, Leandre, and Mezzetin; and women had become
incorporated in the generally enlarged cast, the chief being
Isabelle, Octavie and Colombine.
Reference has already been made to the Duchesse du Maine, who in
1708 revived the art of pure pantomime by producing an act of
Corneille’s “Horace,” which was performed entirely in dumb show by
the dancer-mimes, Mdlle. Prévôt and Monsieur Ballon, to music by
Mouret.
Soon after, Nivelon, and other dancers who were also mimes, such as
Sallé, began to come to London; and in the early eighteenth century
was seen the birth of the first real English _pantomime_, which bore
some resemblance to that of ancient Rome, owed something to the
Italian comedy and to the more recent French theatre, with certain
new ideas of its own--especially in the way of costume and elaborate
staging. This was due to the enterprise of John Rich.
By Rich’s time Arlequin had become the all-important character of
the French comedy-stage, and he followed a then recent custom (also
the ancient Latin custom) of placing one character in various sets
of circumstances. His first production at the Lincoln’s Inn Fields
Theatre in 1717 was “Harlequin Sorcerer,” which was followed by
several others with Harlequin as the hero. Their form was always
much the same. A serious, classic or fabulous story, such as one
from Ovid, was the basis of the work; while between the serious
scenes, and partly woven into them, ran a lighter story, consisting
mainly of Harlequin’s courtship of Columbine, with interference from
other characters, on whom in turn Harlequin played tricks with his
magic wand. Rich played Harlequin, and made him dumb, for the simple
reason that, though a clever actor, he could not speak well enough
for the stage. Thus he gave us once again the ancient classic art of
pantomime, which now became the true wordless English Harlequinade;
and he taught his players of the other parts, Pantaloon, Pierrot,
Clown, Columbine, an art of wordless acting equal to his own. He
realised the value of fine mounting, and his productions were
gorgeously staged and almost invariably successful.
It would be interesting, of course, to trace with some detail the
history of Italian comedy and its influence on the French and English
stage; indeed, to go fully into the vexed question of its origin.
Certain modern scholars, such as Miss Winifred Smith in her extremely
able and interesting volume on the _Commedia dell’ Arte_, issued by
the Columbia University of America, holds the view that it was _not_
derived from the classic stage at all, but was a spontaneous growth
of fifteenth-century Italy.
Another view is that there was an unbroken thread of tradition from
Greece, through Sicily and the Greek settlements in south-eastern
Italy, and that when the _Commedia_ attained its great vogue in
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, spreading through Italy
and thence through western Europe, the charm and complexity of its
texture was due to the numerous strands that had been gathered up
from various localities in the progress of years.
Yet another possibility is, that this central idea of pantomime, or
dumb acting, may merely have occurred again and again through the
centuries, as a “new” idea, without direct impulse from tradition.
Personally I feel that acting _without_ words implies a greater
technical advance in the art of representation than acting _with_
them, for it makes the actor more than merely repeater, or even
interpreter, of an author; _it makes him partly creator, or author_.
It is impossible, however, to go fully now into the question of the
origin of the art of pantomime. Whatsoever diverse theories students
may hold, the fact remains that it _was_ known in classic days, and
that the form of it which we know under the Italian title of the
_Commedia dell’ Arte_ flourished in the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, and certainly had its influence on the French and English
stage, literature and art, and also on Ballet.
The Duchesse du Maine in her pantomime production of Corneille’s
“Horace” was deliberately harking back to a form of entertainment
which she believed had held the classic stage; and the production
was not without effect on the history of Ballet. The appearance of
Italian pantomime actors in Paris had additional influence.
Look at some of the pictures of Watteau, Lancret and Fragonard. You
will see there the types of the Italian Comedy; turn to the scores
of the opera-ballets of the early eighteenth century and you will
note that, more often than not, the Italian players were introduced;
just as we to-day, in our _revues_, have introduced Russian dancers,
or English players impersonating, or parodying, the Russians--simply
because the Russians have in recent years attained a vogue similar
to that attained by Italian singers in the ’forties of last century,
and to that attained by the Italian comedy troupes of two centuries
ago. These things are introduced into current dramatic productions
just because they have their vogue, just because they are “topical.”
Equally they influence art and literature.
Even the French critics seem hardly to have realised the extent to
which French art of the early eighteenth century was influenced
by the contemporary stage. All can see, of course, that it _was_
influenced, to the extent of introducing the types of Italian comedy.
One has only to glance at Watteau’s “L’Amour au Théâtre Italien” to
see that patent fact. But the fact also that, except for his earlier
landscapes and camp scenes, several of Watteau’s pictures were, in
all probability, _derived from ballets actually seen_ on the French
stage seem to have been overlooked.
One of the earlier works attributed to Watteau is a picture
representing the “Departure of the Italian Comedians.” The engraving
of it by L. Jacob in the wonderful Jullienne collection of engravings
from Watteau’s works plainly gives the date of the incident as 1697.
Watteau, however, did not arrive from Valenciennes to take up his
abode in Paris until after 1702, when he came to reside and work
with Claude Gillot, the engraver.
So either this seems a mistake on Jullienne’s part, or the picture is
not by Watteau, but is worked up from sketches and descriptions by
Gillot or some other person who was an eyewitness of the incident;
for it is quite obvious that Watteau cannot have seen what took place
in Paris before he arrived there, and when he was only thirteen years
old, as he would have been in 1697.
Let us turn aside for a while from this minor problem and consider
who, exactly, were these Italian comedians. From the sixteenth
century, in 1570 as a fact, when Catherine de Medici invited a
company of Italian players to Paris, there had been several troupes
arriving from time to time, under Court patronage. One of the
earliest of importance came in 1576, and were known as _Gli Gelosi_,
_Les Jaloux_, that is, according to one authority, folk jealous of
pleasing; though they may also have been so called from the fact that
they achieved their success first in a comedy of that name, _Gli
Gelosi_, or _Les Jaloux_.
Nearer the dates which are our concern was Fiorelli’s troupe, which
in 1660 was properly established at the Palais Royal, where they
played alternately with Molière’s company, and received the title of
“_Comédiens du Roi de la troupe Italienne_.”
In 1684 it was established by order of the Dauphin that the troupe
should always be composed of twelve members, four women and eight
men, made up as follows: two women for “serious _rôles_,” two for
comic, two men for lovers, two for comic parts, two “_pour conduire
l’intrigue_,” and two to play fathers and old men generally. These
kept the traditional names respectively of: Isabelle, Eularia;
Columbine, Marinette; Octave, Cinthio; Scaramouche, Arlequin;
Mezzetin, Pascariel; Pantalon, and the Doctor.
In 1697, however, the Italian comedians, who by now had begun to
develop, from the _Commedia dell’ Arte_, or purely improvised dumb
show play of an earlier period into a more or less written “literary”
comedy, had the audacity to produce under the title of “La Fausse
Prude,” a play, the title of which seemed to suggest foundation on a
novel (published in Holland) which had attacked the King’s mistress,
Madame de Maintenon. For this they were banished, and were not
recalled to Royal favour until 1716.
Hence the problem of deciding Watteau’s connection with the painting
of an incident that occurred in 1697, five years before he _can_
have reached Paris; and also of “placing” the rest of his avowedly
theatrical pictures, when apparently the Italian comedians were
not to be seen, or if seen, _not until 1716_; thus giving Watteau
only five years before his death in 1721 to account for the fairly
extensive collection of works dealing expressly with these stage
types.
Speaking of the period shortly after Watteau arrived in Paris, one
critic has declared (though it in no way lessens the value of his
decisions concerning Watteau’s art): “Indeed, during these early
years Watteau could have had no opportunity of studying the Italian
comedy, otherwise than through the works of his new preceptor and
friend”: this “preceptor and friend” being, of course, Gillot, by
whose enthusiasm for the stage Antoine’s own was unquestionably
awakened.
The same writer goes on to say: “It can hardly be doubted that from
him--and not, as legend has it, from the stage itself--Watteau
obtained his first peep into the strange realms of the _Commedia
dell’ Arte_.”
But the plain fact is that there was every opportunity, despite this
earlier banishment of the Royal troupe of Italian comedians, for
Watteau to have obtained not only his first peep into the realms of
the _Commedia dell’ Arte_ and to have been influenced throughout his
Paris life, especially by Ballet.
From the time Antoine reached the city in 1702 until his death in
1721 there were four marked opportunities for stage influence,
namely, the legitimate and royally patronised French comedians; the
Opera, still flushed with Lulli’s magic, and not despicably illumined
by Campra; the Ballet, then finding wings to soar; and finally,
the Theatres of the Fair, which, with their gay quarrel against
authority, with their reckless parodies and splendid spectacles, have
been strangely neglected by Watteau’s biographers as a contributory
influence on his choice of subject.
Let us consider first the Theatres of the Fairs. The fairs
themselves, of St. Germain and St. Laurent, were of ancient
institution, and from early times they had their side-shows of
tumblers, rope-dancers, trained animals, such as performing bears,
monkeys, and white mice, as well as balladists and marionettes, which
were the chief attraction by the middle of the seventeenth century.
Towards the end of the century each Fair had one or more troupes
of actors, especially Italian, who played improvised pieces in
dumb-show, as well as written farces, vaudevilles and parodies in
Italian, French, and sometimes a mixture of both languages. These
troupes were quite apart from those which from time to time had been
brought from Italy by special invitation from the French Court.
It was the Royal Troupe _only_ that was expelled in 1697, for its
performance of “La Fausse Prude”; and it was really their expulsion
which aroused the Theatres of the Fair to a new and more vigorous
life.
[Illustration: The Departure of the Italian Comedians, 1697
(_From an engraving by L. Jacob of Watteau’s picture_).]
[Illustration: Pierrot and Arlequin in the early 18th Century
(_From Riccoboni’s “Histoire du Théâtre Italien”_).]
The Fair of St. Germain was open from February 3rd to Easter Sunday;
the Fair of St. Laurent began at the end of June and closed in
October, so that for the greater part of the year both offered
opportunities for amusement of a less expensive and more popular sort
than did the aristocratic Comédie Française and Comédie Italienne;
in fact, so popular were they that, on suppression of the Comédie
Italienne, the aristocracy themselves patronised the foreign troupes
of the Theatres of the Fair.
From the dawn of the eighteenth century, however, this very
popularity became a source of worry to the managers of the troupes
at the Fairs, for it involved the jealousy of the Comédie Française
and the still youthful Opera; and the attempts of grandiose Authority
to smother these minor theatres (which had public sympathy wholly
on their side) and the amazing resource shown by their managers in
meeting each fresh legal thunderbolt by some new and more hilarious
evasion, is a veritable comedy in itself, but must not detain us
now. All we need to consider at the moment is that, despite attempts
to suppress them there _were_ these troupes, at the Theatres of the
Fair, from before 1702, when Watteau came to Paris, until after 1721,
the date of his death.
There was the troupe of Madame Jeanne Godefroy, widow of Maurice Von
der Beck, from 1694 to 1709; that of Christopher Selles, from 1701
to 1709; that of Louis Nivelon (who, by the way, was a theatrical
visitor to London), from 1707 to 1771; that of Saint-Edmé from 1711
to 1718; and, most important of all, that of Constantini, known as
Octave, from 1712 to 1716.
Thus from the time he arrived in Paris Watteau could, for a few
pence, have seen any of these companies, and in view of the fact
that the first thing any young man up from the country usually does
is to see the “sights” of the town, and more especially in view of
the fact that soon after his arrival Watteau was in the studio of
Gillot--popular engraver of such popular subjects, and himself a
lover of the stage--what was more probable than that Antoine _did_
include the Theatres of the Fair among the sights he saw, and so was
influenced to choose, as some of the earlier subjects of his brush,
the Italian players he _could_ see there.
CHAPTER XV
WATTEAU’S DEBT TO THE STAGE
The stage has from time to time been indebted to Watteau for costume
and _décor_. But Watteau’s debt to the stage of his period, to the
Opera, to the Italian Comedy, and to the Theatres of the Fair, has
hardly been considered sufficiently. Here is not the place to bring
forward all the evidence that could be produced. Only an indication
of some of the leading possibilities can be given. But while the
subject has an interest of its own, on the purely critical side, it
is also of interest to students of the ballet, for they may trace in
some of the famous French pictures of the early eighteenth century
the influence of ballet on contemporary art. Again, history “repeats
itself” to-day, for have not many artists of our own time found
inspiration in many of the productions of the Russian ballet?
It is interesting first to compare Watteau’s picture of “L’Amour au
Théâtre Italien” with the reproductions given here from an old volume
in my possession, Riccoboni’s _Histoire du Théâtre Italien_, which
was not published until six years after Watteau’s death, but which
may be regarded as a contemporary work since it describes the stage
of his time.
These prints represent the various types of the Italian comedy as
they were actually costumed, and comparing these with the figures in
Watteau’s group, one sees in their close resemblance proof that the
master was painting from things seen, from life itself (albeit stage
life), not some graceful creations of his own imagination, as some
of us to-day have been too apt to think.
In “L’Amour au Théâtre Italien” we have a faithful record of
costumes actually worn; but the whole attitude of the group of
figures suggests something vastly more than merely an artist’s study
of costume. The figures are alert, the moment dramatic. Something
is happening, or rather has happened, and there is a suggestion
of culmination, as if the interruption of a song by the entry of
a character had called forth, or was about to call forth, some
whimsical comment from Pierrot, the singer. It seems a captured
moment in a comedy.
Comparing it with the obviously companion picture, “L’Amour au
Théâtre Français,” one might well be somewhat puzzled by the title,
since in neither is there any apparent love-scene taking place. The
one suggests an interruption in a comedy, the other--a dance in
progress.
Beneath the engravings of these two by C. N. Cochin in the Jullienne
collection, however, are inscribed a couple of six-line stanzas, one
beneath each, in which the treatment of love themes in Italian and
French comedies respectively is contrasted.
L’AMOUR AU THÉÂTRE FRANÇAIS
“L’amour badine en France; il se montre un grand jour
Il ne prend point de masque, il se parle sans detour;
Il vit dans les festins, aux plaisir il s’allie,
C’est une liberté que le noeud qui nous lie
Nous servons sans constrainte e Bacchus e l’Amour.
Et nos tristes voisins nous taxent de folie.
M. ROY.”
L’AMOUR AU THÉÂTRE ITALIEN
“La jalouse Italie effrayante les amours,
Les fait marcher de nuit, les constraint au mistère
Mais une Serenade y supplie aux discours;
Un geste, un sel regard conclud on rompt d’Affaire,
L’impatient Francois en intrigue préfere,
Des chemins moins couverts, les croyée--vous plus courts?
M. ROY.”
These stanzas are by Roy, a contemporary poet who was a librettist
for the Opera, two of whose operas were produced in 1712.
One thing is certain, that Watteau’s own eyes must have noted the
contrast between the Italian and French comedy to have painted such
pictures. He could not have painted them without being an observant
theatre-goer. What, then, did he see, and when could he have seen
such productions as might suggest such works? While acknowledging
that positive evidence is still to be sought, I cannot help feeling
that these two pictures, and one or two others, could fairly safely
be placed as work done about 1711-1712.
In 1709 Antoine, still with Audran at the Luxembourg, competed for
entry, and was admitted with four other students, for the Academy.
Then he left Paris for Valenciennes, defraying expenses by selling a
military picture, “Départ des Troupes,” to the dealer, Sirois, who
urged him to paint a similar picture, which he did at Valenciennes.
[Illustration: L’Amour au Théâtre Italien]
[Illustration: L’Amour au Théâtre Français
(_From the Jullienne engravings from Watteau, British Museum_).]
There is no direct evidence that Watteau painted any stage-pictures
_before_ this period; and it would seem that his work in the country
was mainly on military and naturalistic subjects. We _do_ know that
he was again in Paris at a date uncertain in 1712, and went to live
with a Monsieur Crozat, by whom he was engaged to paint a series of
panels of The Seasons. It is extremely likely that he would have
returned to Paris refreshed by his country sojourn and with a new
zest for work, _and_ for theatre-going, which was then beginning to
be particularly interesting, a crisis in the Fair Theatre troubles
being over by 1710, and some new productions there as well as at
the opera being well worth seeing.
As I would trace his movements, still admitting that positive
evidence is required, Watteau returned to Paris early in 1711, took
up his quarters for a time with Sirois the dealer, who would have the
disposing of work done at Valenciennes. One of his first pictures
of this period was probably “Gilles and his Family,” in the Wallace
collection, which is supposed to be a portrait of Sirois dressed as
a Pierrot or Gilles (the names being synonymous at the period) in a
costume supplied by Watteau’s own wardrobe.
Then would come visits to the Fairs of St. Germain and St. Laurent,
whence he would return reinspired with a love for the gay, reckless,
satiric Italian comedy.
One has only to compare the Hertford House “Gilles” with the central
figure of Pierrot in the “L’Amour au Théâtre Italien” to see that one
is an earlier work and is the figure of a man somewhat self-conscious
and not quite used to the clothes he is wearing; the other a maturer
work, representing a vivid impression of a born comedian, momentarily
master of the scene. Doubtless at this time, too, would be done some,
but only some, of the remaining works dealing with the Italian stage
types, such as “Les Jaloux,” “Arlequin Jaloux,” “Comédiens Italiens,”
and “Pierrot Content.” A little after, I think, would come such works
as “Arlequin et Colombine,” (in the Wallace collection), “Mezzetin,”
and the maturer “Gilles,” in the Louvre.
In 1712 there were at the Theatres of the Fair in Paris two famous
players of Gilles or Pierrot, namely, Hamoche, who made his _début_
in that year with the St. Edmé troupe; and Belloni, who was also a
lemonade-seller, quite a popular character, notable, as one chronicle
tells us, “for the grand simplicity of his acting and for his naïve
and truthful speech.”
The most famous of the players of Arlequin was Pierre-François
(otherwise Domenique) Biancolelli, who was also of the St. Edmé
troupe, somewhere between 1710-1712.
Thus it was not unlikely that Watteau saw these actors, as he may
have seen another, Delaplace, as Scaramouche, and Desgranges, who
came to Paris from Lyons, in 1712, as “the Doctor”; though the
Mezzetin offers a minor problem in that Angelo Constantini, the most
famous impersonator of the character, after suffering banishment with
the Italian comedians in 1697, went to Poland, where an intrigue
with the Queen resulted in his imprisonment for twenty years, by
which time Watteau was no more. Him, therefore, Watteau cannot have
seen. But the character was a familiar one on the stage at the time,
1710-1712, and must have been played by other popular actors, even if
not of sufficient note to be chronicled.
To turn from the Italian actors to other theatrical characters which
form the subjects of some of Watteau’s pictures, it is of interest
to note that one of the engravings in the Jullienne collection
represents “Poisson en habit de paysan.” Poisson was a familiar
name in the annals of the French stage, for it was borne by three
generations of Parisian actors, Raymond Poisson, who died in
1690, Paul, his son, and François, grandson. Watteau’s picture is
presumably that of the second, Paul.
Another interesting point to note is that a portrait of Raymond
Poisson, painted by Netscher, was engraved by Edelinck (who was
employed by Watteau’s employer--Audran) and represents the actor
in the character of Crispin, one of his most famous parts (that of
a sort of black-dressed Pierrot, a messenger distinguished by his
long boots, worn by Raymond Poisson to increase his stature), which
was successively played by his son Paul, and grandson François, and
became a traditional type.
Watteau cannot have seen Raymond, who died twelve years before the
artist came to Paris, but he may well have seen Paul, and it is
significant that he should have drawn a figure representing _not_
“_Poisson en habit de Crispin_” (whose costume was now a tradition)
but “_en habit de Paysan_” as if it was the very fact that the part
was one different from that especially associated with the Poisson
family which made it of interest to Watteau.
In connection with the same portrait there is one point that is
particularly noteworthy, namely, _that it is exactly like the central
figure in “Le Concert,” or “Les Charmes de la Vie” in the Wallace
collection_; and close consideration of the latter inclines me to the
belief that the picture represents--as certain others not unusually
so considered may well do--a scene from an opera.
Another of the engravings in the Jullienne collection of “Mdlle.
Desmares en habit de Pelerine.” Mlle. Desmares was a well-known
Danish actress; and “pelerines” appear in Watteau’s “L’Embarquement
pour l’Ile de Cythère.”
One has only to pass in review a succession of Watteau’s works, or
reproductions thereof, to notice how very frequently he repeats
himself in matters of detail. In a general way, for instance, it is
curious to note how frequently dancing and music are repeated in
the course of his life’s work. In “L’Amour au Théâtre Français” is
a couple dancing; in the “Bal sous une Colonnade” another; in “Le
Contrat de Mariage” and its variants--another, and very similar; in
“Le Menuet” (at the Hermitage, Petrograd) another; in “Amusements
Champêtres” (Chantilly), and in the “Fêtes Vénitiennes” (Edinburgh)
are more such couples; while there is, of course, the dainty single
figure of the child in “La Danse,” in the Royal Palace, Potsdam; and
the famous “L’Indifférent,” in the Louvre, also represents a young
man dancing. Dancers and musicians are thus a constant theme for
Watteau’s brush.
There are, however, more distinctive and more curious repetitions
to note than these obvious evidences of a general taste for music
and the dance; the repetitions of figures or groups in particular
positions, and of details in _mise en scène_.
The well-known “Joueur de Guitare,” in the Musée Condé, reappears
_in almost exact facsimile_ in “La Surprise” (in Buckingham Palace)
and also in the “Fête Galante,” or “Fête Champêtre,” in the Royal
Gallery, Dresden.
The couple in “La Gamme d’Amour” is simply a detail from the centre
of the “Assemblée dans un Parc,” in the Royal Gallery at Berlin. The
musician in “La Leçon de Musique” (Wallace collection) is repeated in
“Le Concert,” also in the Wallace collection.
To turn now to details of _mise en scène_, it is curious to note that
the pillars seen in the last-named picture also occur in the “Bal
sous une Colonnade,” in the Dulwich Gallery.
The reclining statue to the right of the picture, known as “Les
Champs Elysées,” in the Wallace collection, is another, presumably an
earlier version of the “Jupiter and Antiope,” in the Louvre.
The statuette and amorini in the “Fête d’Amour” at the Dresden Royal
Gallery are variants of those in the “Embarquement pour l’Ile de
Cythère”; while the terminal statue of Pan seen in the “Arlequin et
Colombine,” in the Wallace collection, reappears again and again in
the Italian Comedy series.
[Illustration: Le Concert
(_From the painting by Watteau, Wallace Collection_).]
[Illustration: La Leçon de Musique
(_From the painting by Watteau, Wallace Collection_).]
To some, unaware, perhaps, of the influence which the stage of
Watteau’s time was exerting in other directions, these comparisons
may possibly seem unnecessary. But in considering the extent to which
that influence may have expressed itself in the painter’s work, it
is just these details which, taken in conjunction with the trend of
theatrical taste at that time, are likely to be of importance. There
was never an artist yet--whether in colour, sound, or spoken or
written word--who created a new world out of nothing. The spirit
of art can only find its expression in the manipulation of existing
material. Every work of art must surely be the culmination of a long
series of impulses due to external stimuli the connection of which,
perhaps over a lengthy period, consciousness has failed to analyse
and memory to record.
Now Watteau’s work as a whole exhibits the frequent repetition of
certain _motifs_, but they were never of something he can never
have seen in reality. It was not automatic reiteration of some
pictured or imagined type, group or material object. His earliest
impressions of stage-life, it is true, may well have been those
conveyed by the prints or paintings of his master Gillot. But there
was _no necessity_ for him to subsist for the rest of his life for
inspiration on second-hand impressions.
When, therefore, we find in works _other_ than those avowedly
theatrical, a repetition of certain details which _are_ found in
those dealings obviously with the theatre, it may be conceded,
perhaps, that the direct influence of stage scenes and stage effects
upon his art was somewhat more extensive than might be thought
merely from a study of those pictures which are ostensibly studies
of dramatic types and subjects; and for an instance we may take the
introduction of a group of Italian comedians among the bystanders in
the “Bal sous une Colonnade,” already referred to. They need a little
looking for amid so many figures, but when discovered one might
question what Pierrot, Arlequin and their fellows are doing “dans
cette galère.”
When we come, again, to consider the picture called “Le Concert” (in
the Wallace Collection) and find, in the central figure, a striking
likeness to another picture by Watteau of “Poisson” in the costume
of a peasant: and observe also a repetition of a scenic detail such
as the terrace-columns, which are similar to those of the Colonnade:
further noting that the treatment of the distance between these
same columns is strangely suggestive of the flatness of a stage
“back-cloth,” it begins to seem not improbable that we have here a
pretty faithful translation of actual stage scenes.
In one of these, the “Fêtes Champêtres,” also known as “Les Fêtes
Vénitiennes” (in the National Gallery, Edinburgh), it is possible
that we have a clue.
Can it be mere coincidence that from 1710--the year after Watteau had
become a student at the Academy--one of the most popular and most
frequently revived ballets at the Opera was Campra and Danchet’s “Les
Fêtes Vénitiennes?”
True, Watteau must be presumed to have been at Valenciennes from
about the end of 1709 until shortly before 1712, when he took up his
abode with Crozat, but the ballet was revived again _in_ 1712; not to
mention a _pastiche_ called “Fragments de Lulli,” which included an
_entrée_ entitled “La Vénitienne,” produced in January, 1711, which,
as has already been suggested, was the more likely time than 1712 for
Watteau’s return to town after his stay at Valenciennes.
At this time, in any case, there were several productions at the
Opera which may have easily proved an influence in the thoughts of
an impressionable young artist. It was in 1712 that two operas were
produced, namely, “Créüse l’Athénienne” and “Callirhoé,” the libretti
of which were by Roy, whose stanzas form the inscriptions already
referred to as appearing under the engravings of “L’Amour au Théâtre
Français” and “L’Amour au Théâtre Italien.”
In one of the few of Watteau’s letters quoted by the Goncourts is
one to Gersaint in which Antoine accepts an invitation to go “avec
Antoine de la Roque,” and dine next day. It is not insignificant that
the first opera of which De la Roque was librettist was produced in
April, 1713, and entitled “Médée et Jason.”
[Illustration: Les Plaisirs du Bal
(_From the Jullienne engravings from Watteau, British Museum_).]
To return, however, to “Les Fêtes Vénitiennes.” The score of this
ballet, or rather “opera-ballet,” was published by the great French
printer Ballard in 1714, and an examination of it reveals further
possibilities of its having influenced not only the picture of
the same name, but the “Bal sous une Colonnade,” “Le Concert,”
and possibly others of Watteau’s composition, just as yet others
might have been partly inspired by Monteclair’s ballet “Les Fêtes
de l’Eté,” published in 1716, and Bertin’s “Les Plaisirs de la
Campagne,” published in 1719.
“Les Fêtes Vénitiennes” was in four acts or _entrées_, with a
prologue. The third act was entitled “De l’Opéra,” and opens with a
music-lesson, practically the rehearsal of a duet between Léontine,
the prima-donna, and her music master, just before the production
of a miniature opera; and the fourth is headed “Du Bal.” The stage
directions for this are: “_Le Théâtre représente un lieu préparé pour
un Bal_”; and in a bragging duel between the music-master and the
dancing-master the latter boasts:
“Je scais l’art de tracer aux yeux
Les sons qui frappent les oreilles,”
which the other counters by saying that he can raise a storm
musically, which he proceeds to do, giving a musical representation
of the rising wind, of thunder, and so on. This, however, is by
the way. The one thing important is that there _are_ these two
acts devoted to illustrating the charms of music and the dance,
that the opera contains an “air pour les Arlequins,” an “air des
Polichinelles,” an “air Champêtre,” and closes, as several other
ballets of the period also did, with a sort of _divertissement_,
introducing the Italian players, and a general gathering of all
the _dramatis personæ_ on the stage while the dances of this
_divertissement final_ are in progress; all of which suggests the
“Bal sous une Colonnade” of Watteau.
Monteclair’s “Les Fêtes de l’Eté” is of special interest in that
it was produced in 1716. In 1717 Watteau, after requests from the
Academy authorities, painted his diploma picture, the immortal
“Embarquement pour Cythère.” It would seem that Monteclair’s ballet
contains the first suggestions which culminated in that picture.
It is in three acts, with a prologue, and the stage directions for
this are: “_Le Théâtre représente une Campagne dont les beautés
commencent à fletrir: Le Printemps y paroit environné d’Amants et
Amantes qui lui font la cour._” In the course of the act one of the
lovers, expatiating on this charm of their surroundings, sings: “_Et
la mère du Dieu des Amants a quitté Cythère pour ces lieux charmés._”
The second act has the following stage directions at the start: “_Le
Théâtre représente un relais de chasse, on y voit un char doré,
une Meute et une partie de l’equipage des Chasseurs._” One of the
characters introduced is a young man, Lisidor, who is remarkable for
his indifference to feminine charms, and might well be the origin
of Watteau’s exquisite “L’Indifférent.” Another of the characters,
Dorante, is counselled to imitate him; and in a discussion between
Agatine and Cephise, the former is advised by the latter “_pour
s’assurer de ce qu’on aime, la feinte indifférence est d’un puissant
secours_.”
In 1730, by the way, a play was produced at the theatre of the St.
Laurent Fair called “L’Indifférence,” in which the hero preaches the
doctrine of indifference to love! Watteau, of course, cannot have
seen this play, but it is significant that both in 1716 and 1730, the
stage should be found dealing with what was evidently a current type
of character.
[Illustration: Mlle. Desmares en habit de Pèlerine
(_From the Jullienne engravings from Watteau, British Museum_).]
[Illustration: L’Embarquement pour l’Ile de Cythère
(_From a photograph, by E. Alinari, of Watteau’s painting in the
Louvre_).]
In the third act of Monteclair’s ballet, the opening directions are:
“_Le Théâtre représente les Rives de la Seine. On voit le soleil prêt
à se coucher_” (which might possibly account for the soft, warm tone
of Watteau’s Embarquement) and one of the characters comes to warn
some lovers with a song: “_Tendres amants, la Barque est prête_”;
and the ballet concludes with a _dance divertissement_, as was usual
at the period.
One cannot dogmatically assert that these operas _did_ directly
inspire the pictures named, but that Watteau caught his first
suggestion of some from such performances as his own taste and his
association with a theatrical and musical set would have led him to
frequent, must seem, at the least, probable.
CHAPTER XVI
_THE SPECTATOR_ AND MR. WEAVER
Queen Anne had long been dead, but she can never have been very
lively when alive, for her period was one when political intrigue,
theological controversy, and the War of Spanish Succession were
the chief subjects that occupied everybody’s attention, especially
her own, and--could anything be duller? Moreover, she was of
somewhat portly proportions, had a solemn husband, and--unlike Queen
Elizabeth--was really no dancer.
With such a queen on the throne, at such a time of stress, can it
be wondered at that theatrical dancing was at a comparatively low
ebb? Why, there were only two theatres, Drury Lane and Lincoln’s Inn
Fields! and they were striving hard to outdo each other--in dullness.
Indeed, it was not until practically the close of Queen Anne’s reign
that stage-dancing began to come to its own; for though the craze for
pantomimes (and his importation of French dancers) started by John
Rich in Anne’s last year, were mainly responsible for this, I cannot
help thinking that Steele and Addison’s ever lively _Spectator_,
together with the works of Mr. John Weaver, had considerable effect
in rousing the attention of playgoers as to the possibilities of
dancing on the stage; for while there are four papers in _The
Spectator_ in which dancing as a _social_ accomplishment is
discussed, Steele, in one of them, makes the interesting suggestion
that “It would be a great improvement, as well as embellishment to
the theatre, if dancing were more regarded, and taught to all the
actors”; and another calls special attention to _An Essay towards
an History of Dancing_, by John Weaver (a 12mo. volume published
in 1712), who was also author of a very interesting _History of
Pantomimes_. These literary efforts cannot have been without their
influence on current taste in things theatrical.
Before the appearance of _The Spectator_, however, Addison had made
amusing reference to a dancing-master in one of his papers for _The
Tatler_. The date is 1709. He heads it as written “From my own
Apartment, October 31,” and goes on: “I was this morning awakened by
a sudden shake of the house; and as soon as I had got a little out of
my consternation, I felt another, which was followed by two or three
repetitions of the same convulsion. I got up as fast as possible,
girt on my rapier, and snatched up my hat, when my landlady came up
to me and told me that the gentlewoman of the next house begged me to
step thither, for that a lodger she had taken in was run mad; and she
desired my advice; as indeed everybody in the whole lane does upon
important occasions,” he slyly adds.
With much detail and delightful humour Addison goes on to describe
his adventure, at greater length than can be given here. Suffice it
to say that he went in next door and upstairs, “with my hand upon the
hilt of my rapier and approached this new lodger’s door. I looked
in at the keyhole and there I saw a well-made man look with great
attention at a book and, on a sudden, jump into the air so high that
his head almost touched the ceiling. He came down safe on his right
foot, and again flew up, alighting on his left; then looked again at
his book and, holding out his right leg, put it into such a quivering
motion that I thought he would have shaken it off.”
Eventually, of course, he discovers the lodger is a dancing-master,
and on asking to see the book he is studying Addison “could not make
anything of it.” Whereupon the _maître_ explains that he had been
reading a dance or two ... “which had been written by one who taught
at an academy in France,” adding the interesting comment “that now
articulate motions, as well as sounds, were expressed by proper
characters; and that there is nothing so common as to communicate
a dance by a letter.” Ultimately Addison begs him to practise in a
ground-room, and returns to his own residence “meditating on the
various occupations of rational creatures.”
To return, however, to the later publication, _The Spectator_, in
which Addison was also assisted by Steele and other writers of such
varied character as Motteaux (debauchee, tea-merchant and translator
of _Don Quixote_), Ambrose Philips (whom Swift nicknamed “Namby
Pamby”), and Isaac Watts--the famous hymn-writer. In a comparatively
early number a short note introduces in very learned fashion a
quaint letter purporting to be from “some substantial tradesman
about ‘Change,’” in which the writer grows querulous over the way in
which his daughter (who “has for some time been under the tuition of
Monsieur Rigadoon, a dancing-master in the city”), has been taught to
behave at a ball he takes her to.
With some of the dancing the old man is delighted, as he is with the
art generally, but presently he has to complain: “But as the best
institutions are liable to corruptions, so, sir, I must acquaint
you that very great abuses are crept into this entertainment. I was
amazed to see my girl handed by and handing young fellows with so
much familiarity,” and he finds that fault especially with “a most
impudent step called ‘Setting.’”
There can be little doubt, however, that the good citizen was shocked
by a dance that was probably quite innocuous, and only seemed to
suggest a familiarity of behaviour unusual to his prim eyes, viewing
a ball-room for the first time.
Almost the whole of one issue of _The Spectator_ is taken up with a
letter from John Weaver, to whom Steele gives a fine advertisement by
not only printing the letter _in extenso_, but introducing it with
sapient comments from himself. One point he makes somewhat recalls to
mind the complaint of Arbeau’s young friend, the law-student Capriol,
who had grown dusty over his studies.
Speaking of dancing, Steele says: “I know a gentleman of great
abilities, who bewailed the want of this part of his education to
the end of a very honourable life. He observed that there was not
occasion for the common use of _great_ talents; that they are but
seldom in demand; and that these very great talents were often
rendered useless to a man for want of small attainments.” One can
hardly perhaps consider dancing to-day as a “small attainment,”
however it may have been considered in the reign of Queen Anne.
Weaver’s own letter is too long to quote in its entirety, but I
cannot refrain from giving at least the following, since, while
speaking of his own work, he offers incidentally several peculiarly
interesting glimpses as to the state of the art in 1712.
“MR. SPECTATOR,
“Since there are scarce any of the arts or sciences that have
not been recommended to the world by the pens of some of the
professors, masters, or lovers of them, whereby the usefulness,
excellence, and benefit arising from them, both as to the
speculative and practical part, have been made public, to the great
advantage and improvement of such arts and sciences; _why should
dancing, an art celebrated by the ancients in so extraordinary a
manner, be totally neglected by the moderns, and left destitute of
any pen to recommend its various excellencies and substantial merit
to mankind?_
“_The low ebb to which dancing is now fallen_ is altogether owing
to this silence. _The art is esteemed only as an amusing trifle_;
it lies altogether uncultivated, and is unhappily fallen under the
imputation of being illiterate and ‘mechanic.’ And as Terence, in
one of his prologues, complains of the rope-dancers drawing all the
spectators from his play; so may we well say, that capering and
tumbling is now preferred to, and _supplies the place of, just and
regular dancing in our theatres_. It is, therefore, in my opinion,
high time that someone should come to its assistance and relieve it
from the many gross and growing errors that have crept into it, and
overcast its real beauties; and to set dancing in its true light,
would show the usefulness and elegance of it, with the pleasure and
instruction produced from it; and also lay down some fundamental
rules, that might so tend to the improvement of its professors, and
information of the spectators, that the first might be the better
enabled to perform, and the latter rendered more capable of judging
what is (if there be anything) valuable in this art.
“To encourage, therefore, some ingenious pen capable of so generous
an undertaking, and in some measure to relieve dancing from the
disadvantages it at present lies under, I, who teach to dance,
have attempted a small treatise as an _Essay towards an History of
Dancing_; in which I have enquired into its antiquity, origin and
use, and shown what esteem the ancients had for it. I have likewise
considered the nature and perfection of all its several parts, and
how beneficial and delightful it is, both as a qualification and
an exercise; and endeavoured to answer all objections that have
been maliciously raised against it. I have proceeded to give an
account of the particular dances of the Greeks and Romans, whether
religious, war-like or civil; and taken particular notice of
that part of dancing relating to the ancient stage in which the
pantomimes had so great a share. Nor have I been wanting in giving
an historical account of some particular masters excellent in that
surprising art; after which I have advanced some observations on
the modern dancing, both as to the stage, and that part of it
so absolutely necessary for the qualification of gentlemen and
ladies; and have concluded with some short remarks on the origin
and progress of the character by which dances are writ down, and
communicated to one master from another. _If some great genius
after this would arise, and advance this art to that perfection it
seems capable of receiving, what might not be expected from it._”
All modern students of dancing will be interested especially in the
passages I have italicised in the foregoing excerpt, for one gets
a significant glimpse as to the state of theatrical dancing (they
had no native _ballet_) in London during the reign of Anne; such a
contrast to Paris, where Louis XIV’s _Académie Royale de la Danse_
was beginning to bring forth “rare and refreshing” fruit and the
Ballet was beginning to be understood as a genuine work of art.
“The art is esteemed only as an amusing trifle!” In an earlier paper
had not “Mr. Spectator” introduced the subject with a little apology
for dealing at all with a reputedly trivial theme, and had he not
backed himself up with scholarly reference to classic writers on the
Dance, such as Lucian?
Oh! Anne! That the art should have been, in your reign, “esteemed
only as an amusing trifle!” And when you might have followed a royal
example and, emulating your contemporary Louis, ennobled the art by
founding an English “Royal Academy of Dancing.”
Well, Weaver, at any rate, knew that the art was something more than
an “amusing trifle” when he wrote almost prophetically: “If some
great genius after this would arise and advance this art to that
perfection it seems capable of receiving, what might not be expected
from it.” What would he have said had he lived to see the triumphs of
Noverre, of Blasis, and of the British, French or the Russian Ballet
of modern times?
CHAPTER XVII
A FRENCH DANCER IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY LONDON
We have seen that the state of dancing in England was nothing to
boast of in the early eighteenth century. We have seen that London
had not yet what Paris had had some fifty years--State-aided Opera
and Ballet.
But the public appreciation of art was there all the same, and an
astute manager of that day was as capable of realising, quite as
well as any modern, that where there was no home supply it might be
profitable to import foreign talent.
Strange, is it not, that there was not then, any more than to-day,
anyone clever enough, apparently, to realise that since foreign
talent would prove attractive to a dance and spectacle-loving
public (had not the English proved their innate love of spectacle
in Elizabethan times?) it _might be less expensive and still more
profitable, to encourage native talent_. Still that is our way.
We let the foreign artist discover England, and then discover the
foreign artist. We never seem to discover ourselves. We shirk the
horrible revelation that the English really are an artistic, an
art-loving nation. But whatsoever the foreigner may have or have
had against us, he can never accuse us of lack of enthusiasm, of
indifference to his efforts to please.
In the early eighteenth century--French actors, dancers, and
acrobats; in the later eighteenth and mid-nineteenth--Italian
opera singers and ballet; in the later nineteenth--light French
Opera (at the Criterion, Gaiety and Opera Comique); and in the
twentieth--Russian Opera and Ballet; these London has had, and more,
and always greeted with generous praise and enthusiastic approval.
Whatsoever may be said of the English as a nation of “shopkeepers”
slow to adopt new ideas, there is nothing small or hesitating about
their adoption and praise of foreign art and artists; and so it was
that the delectable French dancer Mlle. Marie Sallé, one of the two
chief pupils of the famous Prévôt, found a warm welcome when she
visited London in the reign of George I.
Mlle. Sallé, born in 1707, was the daughter of one minor theatrical
manager, niece of another, and made her first appearance at the age
of eleven in an opera-comique by Le Sage--author of the lively “Gil
Blas”--entitled “La Princesse de Carisme,” at the St. Laurent Fair,
in Paris, in 1718. She spent the next few years in touring, or, when
not on tour, in playing at the Fair theatres in Paris. It is just
possible that Watteau may have seen her as a young girl at the Fair
theatres before he died in 1721. That, however, though pleasant
to contemplate as a possibility, is less our concern than the
circumstances of her _début_, and her subsequent appearance in London.
“La Princesse de Carisme,” a romantic-satirical, three-act musical
comedy, dealt with the love-affairs and adventures of a Persian
Prince and his boon companion and “confident”--Arlequin. There was
some charming music in it, and so great was its success at the
theatre of the St. Laurent Fair that it was put on at the Opera in
Paris by Royal command.
By the year 1718, it will be remembered, old Christopher Rich had
died, leaving his theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields in London to his
son John Rich, who made himself famous and increased his wealth
by producing the first pantomimes ever seen in the great metropolis,
which were mounted on the stage with all the attractions of gorgeous
scenery and dresses, grand “mechanical effects,” appropriate music,
and striking ballets; the various acts of the spectacle being
interspersed with a comic or serio-comic element, supplied by the
eternal love-affairs of Arlequin and Columbine.
[Illustration: Marie Sallé
(_From an engraving by Petit after a picture by Fenouil_).]
This form of entertainment became so popular as to rival seriously
the power of London’s two chief theatres, Drury Lane and Haymarket,
mainly through Rich’s enterprise in securing all the best
opera-singers, dancers, acrobats and other performers from the
Continent. In fact, he may fairly be described as London’s earliest
music-hall manager, for the entertainment provided at the Lincoln’s
Inn Fields theatre was much like that of a modern variety house. It
was thus he came to engage Mlle. Sallé and her brother, who made
their first appearance here as dancers in an English comedy, “Love’s
Last Shift,” in October, 1725.
Next year also they appeared in London, and in April, 1727, Mlle.
Sallé was given a complimentary benefit, in which she and her brother
introduced some of their youthful pupils. In that same year she made
her _début_ at the Paris Opera, where she remained till, for some
obscure reason, she broke therefrom, and in October returned to
London, once more under John Rich’s management.
The reason for the break may have been that professional jealousy did
not give her the place which her talents should have justified; or
may have been over the question of costume-reform, which was a matter
of burning interest to some of the younger spirits in those days.
Or it may have been merely as the result of managerial changes at
the Opera in 1728. But whatsoever the reason, what Paris lost London
gained, and her greatest triumph here came at the end of 1733, when
she made her first appearance at Covent Garden, following it up with
still greater success in the spring of the following year, when she
achieved a striking success in a classic ballet, “Pygmalion,” in
more or less correct costume, instead of in the absurdly befrilled
garb, with laced cuirasse, powdered hair and plumed helmets, which
were considered _de rigueur_ on the stage at that absurdly artificial
period.
Marie Sallé was not only a dancer of exquisite lightness and grace,
she was a woman of taste and sense, and, forestalling Noverre’s fight
on the same ground, had tried to bring about costume-reform at the
_Académie Royale_ in Paris, only to find that those in authority were
strong in--authority, _and_ convention! She rejoiced, therefore, in a
return to London, that gave her more scope for the expression of her
artistic ideas, and two ballets of her own composition, “Pygmalion”
(February, 1734) and “Bacchus et Ariane” (March, 1734), were mounted
with more regard for classic feeling. Her appearance in both caused
a furore. Royalty came to Covent Garden on the nights she danced.
The whole town flocked to see her, and numerous duels were fought by
ardent young gentlemen who trod on each other’s toes when jammed in
the crowds that endeavoured to enter the theatre.
Mlle. Sallé must have been a woman of character. In a loose era she
was cordially detested by her stage colleagues in Paris for her
virtue! It was such a reflection on them that one should not be as
they!
Another aspect of her is revealed in a significant little anecdote.
The great Handel, having admired her in Paris, had offered her three
thousand francs to appear at Covent Garden, and specially composed
for her a ballet, “Terpsichore.” Hearing of this, Porpora, Handel’s
great rival and manager of the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, promptly
offered her three thousand guineas, and had the tact to suggest that
she might accept it as she had not yet signed a contract with Handel.
To which proposal Sallé replied with quiet scorn: “And does my word
then count for nothing?”
London was delighted with the novelty of Mlle. Sallé’s ideas in the
production of Ballet, and with the personal grace of the young dancer
herself. One of the older historians of the dance has described her
in the following glowing terms: “_Une figure noble, une belle taille,
une grâce parfaite, une danse expressive et voluptueuse, tels étaient
les avantages de Mademoiselle Sallé, la Taglioni de 1730._”
As an influence in the revolution of the Dance and Ballet she might
perhaps not incorrectly be described as the Isadora Duncan of her
period. True, she did not dance barefoot, but she came to loosen the
bonds of tradition, and to free the spirit of the Dance from the
stiffening conventionalities which had grown up around Ballet as seen
at the Paris Opera. In London she had greater freedom, and--greater
success; indeed, so triumphant was her final season that when she
did return to Paris she was welcomed by Voltaire with the following
verses:
“Les Amours, pleurant votre absence,
Loin de vous s’étaient envolés;
Enfin les voilà rappelés
Dans le séjour de leur naissance.”
In yet another poem he pays tribute to her virtue in describing her
thus:
“De tous les cœurs et du sien la maîtresse,
Elle alluma des feux qui lui sont inconnus.
De Diane c’est la prêtresse
Dansant sous les traits de Vénus.”
Later there was to come a change and the idealistic young dancer was
to be attacked for the very virtues her adoring poets--for Voltaire
was not the only one--had celebrated. Her austerity got on the
Parisian nerves! A more modern scribe has pictured her thus:
SALLÉ
“The perfect dance needs music sweet
As dreams; seductive, so the feet
Are led to move as by some spell;
Or music as of murmuring shell.
True dance shows naught of haste or heat,
Nor trick, nor any kind of cheat.
Beauty and Joy, twin souls, should meet
To make that lovely miracle,
The perfect dance.
“A field of wind-kissed waving wheat;
A swaying sea, scarce waked to greet
The dawn; clouds drifting; these things tell
What dance may be--if it excel.
Men said they saw in hers complete,
The perfect dance!”
But if the Parisians did not quite appreciate her as they should have
done at first, her return to Paris after her London successes was
triumphant. Her portrait was painted by Lancret; her every appearance
was greeted with enthusiasm.
She remained at the Opera for some years, retired therefrom in
1740, but made frequent appearances after, at Versailles and at
Fontainebleau, until a few years before her death in 1756.
It is interesting to think that her personal dignity had won her
the respect, and her beauteous art the homage of London before her
qualities came to be recognised in Paris. It is possibly just the
suggestion of austerity about her performance that appealed to the
London audience. She had a poetic distinction above the average.
She was an expressive _mime_, and her dancing was marked by supreme
refinement, a magnetic reserve, a strange suggestion of pictured
stillness, an exquisite simplicity and grace.
CHAPTER XVIII
LA BELLE CAMARGO
Some say that Camargo had no right to be described “La Belle.”
Contemporary accounts of her appearance differ. It was a time when
people took sides, and duelled for their opinions.
It is a curious fact that several famous dancers have been of
questionable beauty--at least, as to face, and when in repose; for
it is another curious thing that no dancer ever did or possibly ever
could, look plain when dancing, that is, if dancing really well. The
animation or gentle grace of the dance, whether quick or slow, seems
inevitably to confer a beauty that otherwise might not be apparent.
This fact in itself would appear to suggest that in dancing, as in
other arts, and in life itself, it is the “spirit which quickeneth”;
and, where that sufficiently illumines the body, what the body itself
may otherwise be profits little.
But if some of her more jealous colleagues may have found Camargo too
dark for their taste--“swarthy,” said some--you may in turn criticise
her critics and see for yourself what she was like if you go to view
her portrait by Lancret, in the Wallace collection in Hertford House.
Marie-Anne de Cupis de Camargo was born at Brussels early in April,
and baptised in the parish of St. Nicholas--it is well to be exact in
matters of such importance!--on the 15th of that month, in 1710.
She was the daughter, and first child, of a gentleman who had “seen
better days”--and, through his daughter, was to see them again. At
the time of her birth he was a teacher of music and dancing, and was
employed by, or dependent on, the Prince de Ligne. Through her father
the little dancer claimed descent from an exalted Roman family, which
from time to time had given a bishop, an archbishop, and a cardinal
to Holy Church; while on her mother’s side she was descended from a
famous and ancient Spanish house.
Romance was ever ready to find in the earliest years of a popular
star predictions of future fame, and it is probably only romance that
tells how Camargo danced, on hearing a violin played, when she was
but six months old!
It is rather more certain, though, that her first lessons were from
her father, and that under his tuition she did well enough, by the
time she was nearly ten, to deserve the patronage of the Princesse
de Ligne, when that lady paid the expenses of some few months’ study
under the then famous Mlle. Prévôt.
Even so she must have been remarkably precocious, for before she
was eleven she had returned to Brussels finished enough to achieve
a remarkable success on her first appearance. An auspicious _début_
was followed by an engagement at Rouen, but, through no fault of
Marie-Anne be it said, the manager failed.
As the Camargo luck would have it, however, there was a new director
at the _Académie Royale_ in Paris, by name Francine, and from him the
little dancer received the welcome chance of appearing at the Opera,
where she made her Paris _début_ on May 5th, 1726, in “Les Caractères
de la Danse,” and achieved an instant and emphatic success.
Over the new-comer the impressionable capital fairly lost its head,
and soon every fashion--shoes, hats, fans, coiffures, everything--was
“_à la Camargo_,” of which craze relics survive, for even to-day we
have Camargo shoes. Such a threatened eclipse of her own popularity
not unnaturally made poor Prévôt--now about forty-six, and having
been before the public over twenty years--furiously jealous, and
for the next year or so Marie-Anne’s progress was made difficult
by intrigue, and ere Paris set its seal of favour on her art by
imitating her fashions, the young dancer had to find herself more
than once occupying the comparative obscurity of the “back row.”
Her chance came, though, when one of the famous male dancers,
Dumoulin, for some reason failed to make his entry, and Camargo, in
a sudden devil-may-care mood, taking up his cue, leapt forward and
went through his dance with such dazzling brilliance and won such
universal acclaim that henceforth any intrigue for the suppression
of the youthful artist was impossible, and it was Prévôt, not
Marie-Anne, who eventually had to go.
While Sallé--also a pupil of Prévôt--was making a bid for fame in
London, Camargo was taking Paris by storm, and creating another of
which she was temporarily the unhappy centre. Furious at this second
obtrusion on the public notice Mlle. Prévôt bitterly upbraided her
pushing young pupil, refused to give her any more lessons, and even
to dance with her in an _entrée_ in which the Duchesse de Berri had
asked her to appear.
A well-known male dancer of the Opera, seeing Camargo in tears, said
to her: “Leave this severe and jealous mistress, who seeks only to
mortify you. I will give you lessons, and will compose the _entrée_
which the Duchesse requires and you shall dance in it.” Under the
careful direction of Blondi the young dancer--then only sixteen--made
rapid progress. She combined _noblesse_ and brilliance of execution,
with grace, lightness, and a gaiety which was natural to her--on
the stage. One who had seen her described her in the following
terms: “_C’était une femme d’esprit; fort gaie sur la scène et fort
triste à la ville; qui n’était ni jolie ni bien faite, mais légère,
et la légèreté était alors un mérite fort rare. Elle exécutait
avec une extrême facilité la ‘royale’ et ‘l’entrechat’ coupé sans
frottement...._”
There was for a little time considerable rivalry between Sallé,
Camargo and a third young dancer named Roland, of whose record
history has been neglectful. But the rivalry was testified by an
anonymous scribe whose verses may be translated as follow:
“Of Camargo, Roland, Sallé
The connoisseurs have much to say!
One holds ’tis Sallé’s grace that tells,
And one--Roland in joy excels.
But each is struck by the display
Of nimble steps and daring way
Of Camargo.
“Equal the balance ’twixt the three
But were I Paris, forced to choose,
Only I know I could not use
But crown the dance, sublime and free,
Of Camargo.”
There was of course the inevitable tribute from Voltaire, whose poem,
apart from the ingenuity with which he divides his favours between
the rival stars, is of unusual interest, since it gives a useful
impression of their contrasted styles in apostrophising the dancers
thus:
“Ah! Camargo, que vous êtes brillante!
Mais que Sallé, grand dieux! est ravissante!
Que vos pas sont légers, et que les siens sont doux!
Elle est inimitable, et vous êtes nouvelle;
Les nymphes sautent comme vous
Et les Grâces dansent comme elle.”
It is all safe praise of course, but when we separate the qualities
one finds that he is only versifying the current opinion--Camargo
is “brillante,” her steps are “légers,” and the “nouvelle” refers
less to _her_ than to the novelty of her steps, with the clever
invention of which she delighted her audience; and the nymphs, you
observe, “_sautent_ comme vous,” an appropriate phrase for one whose
_entrechats_ amazed a generation to which such things were new. On
the other hand, Sallé was “ravissante,” her steps were “doux”; she
was “inimitable,” and “les Grâces _dansent_ comme elle,” a point of
special significance when we recall the historic distinction between
the words _sauter_ and _danser_.
Voltaire’s admiration was not exactly fevered--could the icy
“intellectual” ever have been that? Not so the rest of Paris.
Rumour soon gave her countless lovers--as it will a pretty actress
to-day?--but history does not record that she succumbed to their
protestations. Certainly duels were fought on her behalf; but
probably she was unaware that she was the cause; and certainly she
did not provoke them. _Was_ she a pretty actress? Setting aside the
opinion of her feminine contemporaries, unbiased colleagues thought
not. Yet painters such as Lancret, Vanloo, and Pater sought for the
honour of depicting her graceful figure and--was it her face? Well,
as to actual features perhaps she was not faultlessly beautiful,
but with that mingled Italian and Spanish blood, even if she were
swarthy as some said, she must have been striking, temperamental,
full of fire and “interesting” as we might say to-day. Much of her
fascination must have been in expression, and one feels that she had
that quality which often makes a dancer--sheer joy in dancing.
[Illustration: M. Ballon and Mlle. Prévôt
(_After an engraving [reversed] in the Bibliothèque de l’Opéra_).]
[Illustration: Camargo
(_From the painting by Lancret in the Wallace Collection_).]
Her style was noted by contemporaries as combining quickness with
grace to a degree not previously achieved, and she won special credit
for her invention of new steps. Her improvisation of new dances
was remarkable, and it is important to note that she was the first to
perform an _entrechat_, which, only for the benefit of non-dancing
readers, may be described as the step in which a dancer actually
crosses her feet rapidly while in mid-air. This historic innovation
took place in 1730, and she could make four crossings; while eight
are said to be as many as any dancer has since performed.
Another interesting point to note is that until the advent of Camargo
the ballet skirts reached nearly, or quite, to the ankles. She was
the first to shorten it, not, of course, to the brevity one can only
regret has been too often seen since, but to such degree as to enable
the steps to be better seen and the dancer to have greater freedom of
movement. Her favourite dances were the _Tambourin_, _Gavotte_, and
_Rigaudon_, or _Rigadoon_, as it is known in English. But for all the
shortening of the skirt and the rapidity of her steps, Marie-Anne was
never accused from departing from modesty, grace, and refinement of
deportment.
A curious personal characteristic was, that while on the stage
she was the incarnation of gaiety, yet in private life she was
for the most part strangely grave, and even sad; though, with all
the advantages of talent, position, and wealth of which she was
possessed, it might have been expected she should be quite otherwise.
No one ever discovered the reason. One imagines it to have been that
modern disease, “the artistic temperament,” and a steady perception
of the pitiful fact that all stage triumphs are but transient; and
that, popular as she might be, and was, on her retirement in 1751,
her fame would not long endure after her death, which actually
occurred in 1770. Yet to-day she lives for us in Lancret’s exquisite
picture, for all to see who visit Hertford House.
CAMARGO SPEAKS
“Talk to me not of poor Prévôt,
With all her peevish airs and graces;
Her day is past! ’Tis sad, I know,
But then--we cannot _all_ be aces!
’Tis time she learned her proper place is
A little lower in the pack;
For all in favour now _my_ pace is:
Of Rigaudons I have the knack.
“Though some still like a vogue that’s slow,
Formal, and stiff, the present craze is
All for the dance that has some ‘go;’
And Minuet enjoys all praises.
But yet my dance the more amazes,
And none can follow on my ‘track,’
As step with swift step interlaces.
Of Rigaudons I _have_ the knack.
“When in my aerial flight I go,
High leaping, see the people’s faces!
How round their eyes begin to grow,
And what a shout each one upraises!
Perchance some jealous girl grimaces.
But what of that! when, smiling back,
I see the one thing _she_ betrays is--
Of Rigaudons _I_ have the knack!
ENVOI
“_But oh! one fear my soul abases._
_Time will some day my fair limbs rack!_
_Who then will reck that now the phrase is--_
_‘Of Rigaudons I have the knack’?_”
CHAPTER XIX
THE HOUSE OF VESTRIS
It is recorded that during one of the many revolts indulged in by
the dancers of the Paris Opera against managerial control, which
incidentally meant, of course, State and Royal control, some of the
leaders were sent to Fort l’Evêque--including Auguste Vestris.
So melodramatically pathetic was the farewell scene with his father,
Gaetan, that even his colleagues laughed! “Go my son,” said _le Diou
de la Danse_. “This is the most glorious moment of your career. Take
my carriage, and ask for the cell which was occupied by my friend the
King of Poland. I will meet every expense.”
And the great Gaetan is said to have added, with an air of injured
dignity, that this was the first time in history that there had been
“any difference of opinion between the House of Bourbon and the House
of Vestris!”
What _was_ the--“House of Vestris?” Well, it was a fairly numerous
one, of which, so far as our interest is concerned, Gaetan was
virtually the founder. He had a father it is true, who, being
employed, it is believed, in a Florentine pawnbroker’s, got into some
trouble and with his young family “cleared” to Naples. There being no
trains, “wireless” or Scotland Yard in those days, they stayed there
in safety for a while; the children, who had been taught music and
dancing, being made to exercise their talents in that direction for
their general support.
Palermo was the next move, where two of the girls, Marie-Therese and
Violante, with one of the sons, Gaetan, entered the Opera. After
that they seem to have scattered and travelled over most of cultured
Europe, appearing now in one opera house, now in another, and always
deeply engaged in love affairs. It is with their arrival in Paris,
and with Gaetan more especially that we now have to do.
He was one of the eight children of Thomas Vestris and his wife,
_née_ Violante-Beatrix de Dominique Bruscagli, but only of three of
the family have we much record, namely, Gaetan and the two sisters
already mentioned.
Gaetan-Appolino Balthazar Vestris was born at Florence in April,
1729, and in importance--though far from it in physique--was the
Mordkin of his era. There, however, the resemblance ceases.
He was a little man, with the biggest ideas of his own talents.
But his size did not detract from his merits, his sheer style as
a dancer; and from all accounts he is to be ranked as one of the
finest male dancers the world has ever known. Indeed, it is hardly an
exaggeration to say that he is one of the most important factors in
the history of the modern dance and that his influence as a teacher
is seen to-day in the real classic school, that is, the school
which is based on ages of tradition. For Gaetan was in his time the
supreme leader of the Dance, and undoubtedly gave a new standard and
tradition to Paris, the influence of which spread to every Opera
House on the Continent.
He is a link in a chain. One of the first dancing masters to assist
Louis XIV in establishing his Royal Academy of Music and Dance--and
modern theatrical dancing dates from that event--was Beauchamps,
whose pupil was “the great” Dupré. _He_ taught Gaetan Vestris. Gaetan
in turn taught his son Auguste, of whom, in his later years, Carlotta
Grisi was a pupil, and there may be some to-day who have studied
under pupils of Carlotta Grisi, who herself died comparatively
recently.
According to a contemporary biographer Gaetan made his _début_ at
the Royal Academy of Music and Dance “_sans retribution_,” in 1748;
entered there for study in 1749, became a solo dancer in 1751, a
Member of the Académie Royale de Danse in 1753; _maître de ballet_
in 1761 until 1770, and composer and master of Ballet from that year
until 1776.
From time to time he visited Stuttgart--as the Russian dancers to-day
have visited London--in vacation, and in the theatre there under the
direction of that master of ballet-composition and stage reformer,
Jean Georges Noverre, found greater scope for his artistic abilities
than in the more conventional work of the Paris Opera.
We have seen that by her invention of new and rapid steps, Camargo
infused new life into the technique of theatrical dancing some years
before the rise of Gaetan Vestris to supremacy. He, in turn, came to
bring a new influence mainly in the direction of a certain _largeur_
of movement and gesture, a certain grandiosity, as well as setting a
new standard in perfection of execution.
A contemporary critic declared: “When Vestris appeared at the Opera
one really believed it was Apollo who had come to earth to give
lessons in grace. He perfected the art of the Dance, gave more
freedom to the ‘positions’ already known, and created new ones.”
Undoubtedly he learnt much from Noverre, even as the latter had
learnt much from David Garrick. Noverre conceived the idea of
creating the dance with action, in short, the ballet-pantomime; at
least its creation was claimed, and by some of his contemporaries,
attributed to him; though we have seen that he had forerunners
in the Duchesse du Maine, and, too, in Sallé, who was an ardent
stage-reformer and seems to have influenced Noverre. But it was the
latter who took practical steps towards instituting the real ballet
in action, the true ballet-pantomime as we have seen it to-day.
Up to this time, opera-ballet had had a somewhat rigid form: there
were music, singing and dancing; but the dances were detached items
in the general effect. The regulation form was: _passe-pieds_ in the
prologue; _musettes_ in the first act; _tambourins_ in the second;
_chaconnes_ and _passacailles_ in the third and fourth.
In all this it was not the plot of the opera which decided the
introduction of the dances, but quite other considerations, such as
the particular excellence of particular dancers in their special
dances--the best performers usually appearing last. It was routine,
not the action of the story by which these things were ordered; and
the poet who had provided the plot, the musician who had composed
the music, the costumier and scenic artist, and even the ballet
master, each worked detachedly, without regard to consultation and
cooperation towards an artistic unity of effect.
The lines had been set, the routine laid down for all time; any
deviation therefrom seemed impossible, a thing vainly imagined only
by a heretic, who could not hope to win in a fight against the
established form and authority of the Opera. Yet the reformation
came. Noverre, the reformer, found in Gaetan Vestris a technical
exponent who responded to his influence; and in Dauberval, another;
and at Stuttgart the time and place for artistic experiment. It is
to this triumvirate that credit was given in their own time for
the reform of the _scène chorégraphique_, a reform which had to
struggle against and overcome tradition, prejudice, ignorance and the
obstinacy of authority. Slow progress was made at first. Stuttgart
had its effect, but the Paris Opera still clung to the bizarre
accessories which were then regarded as inherent to the dignity of
the theatre--the masks, under which the faces were hidden, the
towering wigs by which the heads were bowed; the absurd panniers; the
puffed skirts; the great breastplates, all forming the heroic panoply
by which the leading histrions were known for hero and heroine, and
traces of which may be found in those spangled figures beloved of our
grandfathers and grandmothers in their childhood, during the first
half of last century.
[Illustration: Gaetan Vestris
(_From an old print_).]
Gaetan Vestris was the first dancer who dared to discard that
absurd convention--the mask, and so reveal that expressive play of
feature which made _acted_ ballet possible. This was in 1770, when
he appeared in a ballet-pantomime on the story of _Medea and Jason_.
He astonished the audience by the dramatic force of his miming and
by the nobility of his physiognomical expression. One critic wrote:
“_Le mérite particulier de Vestris, c’était la grâce, l’élégance et la
délicatesse. Tous ses pas avaient une pureté, un fini dont on ne peut
se faire une idée aujourd’hui et ce n’est pas sans quelque raison
qu’on compare son talent à celui de Racine._”
For all his artistic talent as dancer and mime, however, Gaetan was
practically illiterate; ignorant of all save the art in which he
excelled; and his conceit was colossal.
One day, when he was coming from a rehearsal at the Opera, a somewhat
ample lady happened, in passing, to tread rather heavily on one of
his feet. In deep concern she apologised profusely, and expressed an
earnest hope that she had not seriously hurt him.
“Hurt me, Madam!” he answered. “Me? You have merely put all Paris
into mourning for a fortnight!”
His pride in his son was stupendous, and he once declared that, “If
Auguste occasionally descends to touch the earth it is merely out
of consideration for the feelings of less talented colleagues.” As
to himself, on one occasion he volunteered the assertion that his
century had produced but three really great men--Frederick the Great,
Voltaire and himself!
Of the many susceptible ladies who succumbed to the questionable
fascination of this “_Diou de la Danse_”--as in his Italianate-French
he called himself--the most notable--apart from his legitimate wife,
the beautiful _danseuse_ Heinel, whom he married in 1752--was Mlle.
Allard.
Born of poor and none too honest parents, Marie Allard first drew
breath on August 14th, 1742, at Marseilles, where at an early age she
entered the local theatre. On the death of her mother, she decided
to leave a disreputable father and made her way to Lyons, where she
found another not very brilliant theatrical engagement. At the age of
fourteen, tiring of Lyons, she set out to win fame in Paris, where
she entered the Comédie Française. In the course of time, she came to
know Gaetan Vestris, and with him she studied dancing.
She made her _début_ at the Opera in June, 1761, and delighted the
audience with the verve, grace and gaiety of her dancing. Though she
shone especially in comedy, she was noted as a clever actress in
tragedy; and while “Sylvie,” in the comedy-ballet of that name, was
one of her most successful parts, she is said to have moved beholders
to tears by her performance in Noverre’s “Medea.”
In the lighter _rôles_, however, she was especially popular, and from
the moment of her _entrée_ (she was the only dancer at the Opera who
was allowed to compose her own _entrées_, not edible!) her gaiety of
manner was such as almost to eclipse the real talent displayed in her
dancing.
Unfortunately, her public career came to a close all too soon for
her admirers, from a cause which even she with all her agility
and incessant exercise, was unable to control--a tendency to
_embonpoint_! She retired in 1781, and died in 1802; not before she
had seen the success of her and Gaetan Vestris’ son, Auguste, who,
known as Vestr’-Allard, seemed to combine within him the respective
choreographic perfections of mother and father.
Gaetan Vestris, having retired in 1782, lived until 1808, and
rejoiced to see his son acknowledged as supreme. On him he graciously
conferred the title of _Le Diou de la Danse_; and he declared that
it was, after all, only natural that Auguste should excel, since the
young man possessed one advantage over himself--he “had Gaetan for
his father!”
Auguste, or Marie-Auguste, to give his full name, was born at
Paris in 1760. He made his _début_ at the age of twelve in a
_divertissement_ entitled “Cinquantaine” with a _chaconne_, which he
danced in a manner such as had never been seen. In 1773 he made a
strikingly successful appearance as Eros in the ballet of “Endymion;”
and though already recognised as a master he entered the Academy
school in 1775 and the Opera in the following year. For some time he
accepted subordinate _rôles_, but gradually his consummate ability in
all he undertook brought him forward, and as he became more and more
the pet of the ladies of the Opera and the admiration of its patrons
he began to develop his father’s traits, especially conceit.
On one occasion the Director, de Vismes, annoyed at some impertinence
of the young man, said, “Monsieur Vestris, do you know to whom you
speak?”
“Yes,” Auguste replied, “to the farmer of my talent.”
It says much for that talent that his appearance at the Opera during
some thirty-five years, under Louis-Seize, the Republic and the
Empire, largely accounted for its prosperity in those amazing times.
He had his father’s grace, precision, suppleness, and style, but
more spirit and vivacity; a greater gift of mime; and was as good in
_genre_ as in the nobler _rôles_. He paid several visits to London,
always with success.
He married in 1795, a young dancer, Anne-Catherine Augier, who had
made her _début_ at the Opera two years before under the _nom de
théâtre_ of _Aimée_, but his infatuation for her modesty and charm
and many good qualities did not last any longer than had his other
infatuations for worse qualities in less desirable ladies, and his
infidelities led her to attempt suicide, with results that left
her more or less an invalid until death put an end to her unhappy
existence in 1809. Auguste Vestris himself died in 1842, and left
one son Auguste-Armand. He made his _début_ at the Opera, as did a
cousin, Charles Vestris, both being pupils of Auguste; and both went
abroad; but neither added greater brilliance to the family name than
had been achieved for it by first Gaetan, and then Auguste, the first
and most distinguished upholders of the House of Vestris.
CHAPTER XX
JEAN GEORGES NOVERRE
Supreme above all other writers on the dance and ballet is Jean
Georges Noverre, whose genius has been praised by Diderot, Voltaire,
by D’Alembert, Dorat, and by David Garrick, the last of whom
described him as “the Shakespeare” of the dance.
Born at Paris in April, 1727, he was the son of a distinguished Swiss
soldier, who had served as an adjutant in the army of Charles XII,
and intended his son for a military career.
Jean, however, early developed a passion for the stage, and
especially for dancing, so was apprenticed by his father to the
famous Parisian dancer and _maître de ballet_, Dupré.
In August, 1743, young Noverre made his _début_ at the Court of
Louis-Quinze in a fête at Fontainebleau, but with only moderate
success. Not discouraged, however, he went a little later to the
Court of Berlin, where he became a favourite with Frederick the Great
and his brother, Prince Henry of Prussia.
He returned to France in 1747, and two years later obtained the
post of _maître de ballet_ at the Opéra Comique, where the success
of his “Ballet Chinois” aroused considerable jealousy among his
colleagues and brought him some distinction in the art world. But
the success was not great enough for his ambitious spirit, and he
again travelled, and did not return to Paris for nearly twenty
years. Noverre and such are seldom recognised as prophets in their
own country, until their genius has received recognition abroad. As
Castil-Blaze, the historian of opera in France, has neatly expressed
it: “Noverre and the two Gardels effected in the dance the same
revolution that Gluck and Sacchini achieved some years later in
French music.” But Noverre was unable to do this as a young man
in Paris fighting against the sheer dead weight of convention and
hide-bound authority. He was unable to do it until he had won his
laurels abroad.
Sallé, one of the most exquisite and “intellectual” of _danseuses_,
had left Paris for a more appreciative audience in London because
the Paris Opera disliked her attempts to discard the ridiculous
conventions of stage costumes then ruling and to “reform it
altogether” in favour of something more congruous.
Noverre visioned to himself a theatre devoted to a kind of ballet as
different from that he saw in Paris, as the Russian ballet we have
seen to-day differs from that which London had seen in the ’thirties
of last century; a ballet that should be informed by a technique
so perfect as to be unobtrusive, and combining the arts of dance,
pantomime, music and poesy into a new, subtle, resourceful and
comprehensive means of artistic expression.
He wanted to see swept away all the mechanical rules of ballet
composition, the stereotyped and unimaginative story, the
conventional arrangement of stage groups, the stilted “heroic” style
of the dancers, the formal sequence of their _entrées_, and above
all, the _bizarrerie_ of their masks, their panniers and helmets with
waving, funereal plumes. He wanted to infuse a new spirit of art and
efficiency into what he found about him and--he had to go elsewhere!
An invitation from the Duke of Würtemberg to become _maître de
ballet_ at the luxurious Court of Stuttgart gave him his chance, and
he founded here the school which was to influence European Ballet in
that and the successive generation, as the school of Petrograd seemed
like to do to-day.
The publication of his _Lettres sur la Danse et sur les Ballets_, in
1760, dedicated by permission to this same Duke of Würtemberg and
Teck, caused a sensation among dancers in Paris and other capitals,
and having produced ballets in Berlin, London (1755), Lyons (1758),
and Stuttgart, he was reintroduced to Paris by Vestris (who had been
in the habit of visiting Stuttgart every year to dance during his
vacations) in 1765, when he achieved a success with his tragic ballet
of “Medea.”
Later he was to visit Vienna, to superintend the fêtes on the
occasion of the marriage of the Archduchess Caroline (Queen of
Naples), produce there a dozen ballets, and become appointed Director
of Court fêtes and _Maître de Danse_ to the Empress Maria Theresa and
Imperial Family, the Empress heaping favours upon him and granting a
lieutenancy to his son.
From Vienna he went to the Court of Milan, where he was created
Chevalier of the Order of the Cross; then to the Courts of Naples and
Lisbon; then to London, and finally again to Paris, in 1775, on the
invitation of his old pupil, Marie Antoinette, who made him _Maître
des Ballets en Chef_ at the Imperial Academy of Music, and Director
of the fêtes at the Petit Trianon; finally retiring at the outbreak
of the French Revolution, to London, where it is possible--or, at any
rate, in England--some of his descendants may yet be living.
A translation of these wonderful _Lettres sur la Danse et sur les
Ballets_ was published in London in 1780, and was dedicated to the
then Prince of Wales, later George IV. In the preface the anonymous
translator says: “The works of Monsieur Noverre, especially the
following letters, have been translated into most of the European
languages and thought worthy of a distinguished place in the
libraries of the literati.” To which, let me add, they should be so
thought to-day, at least in their original French form, for they are
of uncommon interest and literary charm.
In the somewhat stiff manner of the English of the late Georgian
period, his translator remarks of Noverre’s work in the original:
“His manner of writing is chaste, correct and elegant; perfectly
master of his subjects, he treats of them with the utmost
perspicuity; and by the connection which he proves to exist between
the other arts, and that of dancing, the author lays down rules and
precepts for them all; so that the poet, the painter and the musician
may be greatly benefited by the perusal of his works.”
The translator follows with a short history of dancing, and three
extremely interesting epistles to Noverre from the great Voltaire, in
the first of which, apropos the publication of Noverre’s _Lettres_,
he says: “I have read, sir, your work of genius: my gratitude equals
my esteem. You promise only to treat of dancing, and you shed a
light on all the arts. Your style is as eloquent as your ballet is
imaginative.” In another he remarks: “I have for admiring you, a
reason personal to myself; it is that your works abound with poetical
images. Poets and painters shall vie with each other to have you
ranked with them.” Again he says: “I am surprised that you have not
been offered such advantages as might have kept you in France; but
that time is no more when France sets the example to all Europe”; but
elsewhere remarks, curiously enough: “I believe that your merit will
be fully recognised in England, for there they love Nature.”
[Illustration: Jean Georges Noverre]
It was just this love of Nature and “natural” acting which brought
Noverre and Garrick together in mutual admiration and friendship, to
the latter of whom, by the way, the French _maître_ pays the highest
tribute in his tenth letter. To turn, however, to the first:
“Poetry, painting and dancing are, or ought to be, the faithful copy
of Nature ... a ballet is a piece of painting, the scene is the
canvas; in the mechanical motions of the figures we find the colours
... the composer himself is the painter.
“Ballets have hitherto been the faint sketch only of what they might
one day be. An art entirely subservient, as this is, to taste and
genius, may receive daily variations and improvements. History,
painting, mythology, poetry, all join to raise it from that obscurity
in which it lies buried; and it is truly surprising that composers
have hitherto disdained so many valuable resources.... If ballets
are for the most part uninteresting and uniformly dull, if they fail
in their characteristic _expression_ which constitutes their very
essence, the defect does not originate from the art itself, but
should be ascribed to the artists. Are then the latter to be told
that dancing is an imitative art? I am indeed inclined to think that
they know it not, since we daily see the generality of composers
sacrifice the beauties of the dance and forego the graceful _naïveté_
of sentiment, to become servile copyists of a certain number of
figures known and hackneyed for a century or more.... It is uncommon
and next to impossible now to find invention in ballets, elegance in
the forms, neatness in the groups, or the requisite precision in the
means of introducing the various figures.”
“Ballet masters should consult the productions of the most eminent
painters. This would bring them nearer to Nature and induce them
to avoid as often as possible that symmetry of figures which, by
repeating the object, presents two separate pictures on one and the
same canvas. A ballet, perfect in all its parts, is a picture drawn
from life, of the manners, dresses, ceremonies and customs of the
various nations. It must be a complete _panto-mime_ and through
the eyes speak, as it were, to the very soul of the spectator. If
it wants expression, if it be deficient in point of situation and
scenery, it degenerates into a mere _spectacle_, flat and monotonous.
“This kind of composition will not admit of mediocrity; like the art
of painting it requires a degree of perfection the more difficult
to attain in that it is subordinate to a true imitation of Nature,
and that it is next to an impossibility to achieve that all-subduing
truth which conceals the illusion from the spectator, carries him, as
it were, to the very spot where the scene lies; and inspires him with
the same sentiments as he must experience, were he present at the
events which the artist only represents.
“Ballets, being regular representations, ought to unite the various
parts of the drama. Most of the subjects, adapted to the dancer,
are devoid of sense, and exhibit only a confused jumble of scenes,
equally unmeaning and unconnected; yet it is in general absolutely
necessary to confine oneself within certain rules. The historical
part of a ballet must have its exposition, its incidents, its
_dénouement_. The success of this kind of entertainment chiefly
depends on choosing good subjects, and dealing with them in a proper
manner.”
The above brief quotations are all of interest as bearing on
particular points in dancing and ballet-composition, but I cannot
refrain from giving one more and a lengthier excerpt, the sound
common sense of which applies to-day and will appeal to all modern
dancers who realise that the finest opportunities of displaying their
skill are, and can only be, found in ballets worthy of their art.
“Every ballet,” he says, “complicated and extensive in its subject,
which does not point out, with clearness and perspicuity, the action
it is intended to represent, the intrigue of which is unintelligible,
without a program or printed explanation: a ballet, in fine, whose
plan is not felt, and appears deficient in point of exposition,
incident and _dénouement_; such a ballet, I say, will never rise, in
my opinion, above a mere _divertissement_ of dancing, more or less
commendable from the manner in which it is performed. But it cannot
affect me much, since it bears no particular character, and is devoid
of expression.
“It may be objected that dancing is now in so improved a state
that it may please, nay, enchant without the accessory ornaments
of expression and sentiment.... I readily acknowledge that, as to
mechanical execution, the art has attained the highest degree of
perfection: I shall even confess that it sometimes is graceful: but
gracefulness is but a small portion of the qualities it requires.
“What I call the mechanical parts of dancing are the steps linked
to each other with ease and brilliancy, the aplomb, steadiness,
activity, liveliness, and a well-directed opposition between the
arms and legs. When all these parts are managed without genius, when
the latter does not direct these different motions, and animate them
by the fire of sentiment and expression; I feel neither emotion nor
concern. The dexterity of the dancer obtains my applause; I admire
the automaton, but I experience no further sensation. It has upon
me the same effect as the most beautiful line, whose words are
uncouthly set asunder, producing sound, not sense. As for instance,
what would a reader feel at hearing the following detached words:
_Fame-lives-in-dies-he-cause-who-in-virtue’s?_ Yet these very words
aptly joined by the man of genius, by Shakespeare, express the
noblest sentiment:
‘He lives in Fame who dies in Virtue’s cause.’
“From the above comparison we may fairly conclude that the art
of Dancing has in itself all that is necessary to speak the best
language, but that it is not enough to be acquainted only with its
alphabet. Let the man of genius put the letters together, form
the words, and from these produce regular sentences; the art shall
no longer be mute, but speak with true energy, and the ballets
will share with the best dramatic pieces the peculiar advantage of
exciting the tenderest feelings; nay, of receiving the tribute of a
tear; while, in a less serious style, this art will please, entertain
and charm the spectators. Dancing thus ennobled by the expression of
sentiment, and under the direction of a man of true genius, will,
in time, obtain the praises which the enlightened world bestows on
poetry and painting, and become entitled to the rewards with which
the latter are daily honoured.”
The closing lines of the above are so curiously prophetic one
questions whether we have not already reached the period when an
“enlightened world” bestows on dancing--at any rate on dancers--the
“rewards” with which poetry and painting have been (or ought to have
been) hitherto honoured.
CHAPTER XXI
GUIMARD THE GRAND: 1743-1816
For some thirty of Madeleine Guimard’s seventy-three years of life
she was the idol of Paris, having risen from obscurity to power, and
returned again from a joyous life set in high places to a lonely
death in obscurity.
Authorities differ, as authorities so often do over the advent of new
stars in the firmament of life, as to the date of Guimard’s birth.
One says the 2nd, and another the 10th, and yet a third the 20th of
October. Edmond de Goncourt--not infallible on other points--gives
the date of her baptism correctly as December 27th, 1743.
She made her _début_ before the Parisian public when she was about
sixteen, at the Comédie Française. She was received into the Academy
in 1762, at the age of nineteen, and at a salary of six hundred
livres.
In face she was not beautiful; some have described her even as ugly.
She certainly had not Sophie Arnould’s shrewish wit, though she had
humour; but her gestures, her face, above all her expressive eyes
spoke eloquently, her dancing seemed ever the true and spirited
expression of sentiments really felt, and in whatsoever _rôle_ she
was always brilliant, entrancing. She had that glamour which makes
up for lack of looks, and had, too, caprice of mood and a commanding
manner, both qualities which susceptible men find adorable.
Her historians have not always been kind. A contemporary wrote: “_La
Guimard a des caprices entre nous. On ne peut compter sur elle....
Son arrogance n’a pas de nom.... Ce que la Guimard veut, bon gré,
mal gré, il faut qu’on le veuille._” And there you have it! “What
Guimard wishes, willy-nilly one must wish.” That is a touch that
tells; the words ring true. Intriguing, capricious--masterful! What
wonder, then, that she came to rise by her own buoyancy, of manner
and morals, and sought the rarefied, but, in the days of Louis XV,
far from inaccessible atmosphere of Court circles.
Guimard made her _début_ at the Opera in May, 1762, as Terpsichore in
a ballet called “Les Caractères de la Danse,” and achieved a triumph.
From that time until she retired from the stage she was practically
without a rival in the affections of the Parisian audiences. One
testimony to her popularity is found in the promptitude with
which she was nicknamed. Guimard, if not beautiful in face, had,
nevertheless, a beautiful figure, was quite unusually graceful,
carried herself nobly, was altogether a commanding and magnetic
personage, but for all her beauty of figure Guimard was amazingly
slim.
Seeing her in a classical ballet dancing as a nymph between two
fauns--impersonated by the celebrated male-dancers Vestris _père_ and
Dauberval--Sophie Arnould said it reminded her of “two dogs fighting
for a bone.” Another of her footnotes on Guimard was her description
of her as “Le Squelette des Grâces,” which also had the saving grace
of being partly a compliment, and it was by this nickname that
Madeleine was generally known throughout Paris.
To judge from this insistence on Madeleine’s thinness one might
imagine that she could not be as attractive, certainly hardly as
graceful as has been said. But such nicknames are, though emphasising
some special characteristic, usually only marks of popularity, and
that Guimard really was graceful can be gathered from the summing-up
of Noverre who had seen her dance for years and knew, as only a great
ballet-master could, what he was talking about when he said that “...
from her _début_ to her retirement she was always graceful, naturally
so. She never ran after difficulties. A lovable and noble simplicity
reigned in her dance; she designed it with perfect taste, and put
expression and sentiment into all her movements.”
Of her performance in Gardel’s ballet, “La Chercheuse d’Esprit,” in
which she played the title-_rôle_, a contemporary wrote that “her
eloquent silences surpassed the vivid, easy and seductive diction
of Mme. Favart;” and he mentions one point that is of interest when
he remembers that the struggle that Noverre had had to achieve
some reform of costume on the opera-stage, namely, that Guimard,
“following the example of Mme. Favart, discarded the panniers and the
cuirasse of conventional costume.”
In the ballet of “Les Fêtes de l’Hymen et de l’Amour,” in 1766,
Guimard had the misfortune to have one of her arms broken by a piece
of falling scenery. Such was her place in public regard even at this
time, that a Mass was said at Notre-Dame for her recovery.
It was not long after success came to her that Guimard accepted the
protection of the notorious Prince de Soubise. One of her first
acquisitions, in 1768, was a superb residence at Pantin, just outside
Paris, which was decorated by Fragonard. It was visited by everybody
who _was_ anybody, for, apart from the charms of its mistress, there
was a theatre in the mansion, where entertainments of a very special
kind were staged, little poetic trifles or risky comedies, which
while delighting a circle of appreciative connoisseurs would not have
been staged in the ordinary way, as being caviare to the general.
The place at Pantin, however, did not suffice the exigent Madeleine,
and a town-house was taken also in the Chaussée d’Antin,--next to
that of Sophie Arnould by the way--where another theatre was built
and where even more festive entertainments were provided, a theatre
which could seat five hundred persons (only present by invitation)
which received the name of The Temple of Terpsichore. It was designed
by the architect Ledoux, decorated by Fragonard, who did numerous
lovely panels in which Guimard appeared; and by David, then a
youthful assistant, whom Madeleine’s generous aid is said to have
sent to Rome for the furtherance of his art education.
Here in the course of time all Paris came. Here Guimard held her
famous receptions--three a week, to the first of which were invited
members of the Court circles, the aristocracy of the aristocracy;
to the second--artists, actors, actresses, musicians, poets, the
aristocracy of the world of intellect; to the third--all the polished
rakes and roués, with their attendant Phrynes, the aristocracy of
vice.
There seem to have been wild times in the Chaussée d’Antin Hôtel, and
some of Madeleine’s private theatrical productions must have been
worthy of tottering Rome. Well might discreet Abbés, and reputedly
virtuous ladies of the Court hide behind the curtains of the darkened
and mysterious boxes with which her theatre was provided. Not be seen
while seeing was their only chance to retain a virtuous reputation!
It was now doubtless that after having long danced _le genre
sérieux_, Guimard abandoned it as one record says for the _genre
mixte_, and was “inimitable” in “les ballets Anacréontiques!”
One example of the sort of dramatic fare Madeleine was giving her
guests on occasion at Pantin, or at the Chaussée d’Antin residence,
will suffice. In 1721 at the Château of St. Cloud, in the presence
of the Duc d’Orléans as Regent, there had been given a ballet called
“Les Fêtes d’Adam.” Some of her friends suggested that Madeleine
should go one better and produce a ballet on a classic subject with
herself as Venus rising from the sea. But the Archbishop of Paris
got news of the affair and managed to nip the suggestion in the bud.
Perhaps it was never seriously intended; it may have been “merely a
suggestion--nothing more.”
One of her first lovers was Delaborde the financier, poor only as
an amateur musician, who directed her theatre at Pantin till it
was closed in 1770; and only of greater importance in her life,
financially, was Soubise. But Madeleine had a particular _penchant_
for bishops it seems, and incidentally some of her later and most
devoted friends were De Jarente, Bishop of Orleans, De Choiseul, the
Archbishop of Cambrai, and Desnos, Bishop of Verdun.
The first-named of these clerical worthies had the disposal of a
whole sheaf of livings, that is to say, he was supposed to have, but
it was really Madeleine who allotted them--abbeys, priories, chapels
and so forth. She did not forget her friends, and De Jarente found
himself unable to resist. “What Guimard wishes one must wish!” It was
this allotment of the bishops’ _feuille des bénéfices_ which drew
from Sophie Arnould the whimsical remark that “_Ce petit ver à soie_
(Guimard) _devrait être plus gras. Elle ronge une si bonne feuille._”
Another favour which, through the Prince de Soubise, Madeleine was
able to dispense among her friends was permission to hunt in the
Royal forests, and it led to trouble on more than one occasion--her
friends were so much of a _genre mixte_.
But if men were weak where Guimard was concerned, there is no need
to consider her as infamous. There is so often a tendency among
chroniclers to consider that because a pretty woman, with every
inducement to succumb to temptation, had a “protector,” all her men
friends found her equally ready to receive their attentions. Nothing
could be more unjust. There may have been reasons why Madeleine did
not marry sooner than she did, and she may not have been quite that
paragon of virtue our present time prefers, but in an age notorious
for its callousness and cruelty as well as for its moral laxity she
was distinguished as a woman not merely of fascination but of good
heart and generous impulses.
Did not one writer say of her that “_En quittant le théâtre, cette
virtuose emporta le genre agréable avec elle_?” Did not Marmontel,
referring to her well-known acts of charity, write of her the poem
beginning:
“Est-il bien vrai, jeune et belle damnée
Que, du théâtre embelli par tes pas,
Tu vas chercher dans le froid galetas,
L’humanité plaintive abandonnée?”
Did not a preacher speak of her in the pulpit as “Magdalen not yet
repentant, but already charitable?” and add, too, that “The hand
which gives so well will not be refused when knocking at the gates
of Paradise?” And why? Because all who were in trouble had but to
turn to Guimard for help--poor players, artists, poets, all. Because,
though every year she received a handsome present from Soubise, one
year, in 1768, when the winter had dealt cruelly with the Paris poor,
she begged that instead of sending her jewellery, the Prince would
send her the equivalent in money, and when she received it she added
more, and herself went to all the poor folk in her neighbourhood and
fed the starving; went unostentatiously, from simple good-heartedness
and sympathy; and it was the populace who spoke of it, not she.
She had her foibles, her little vanities perhaps, as when at
Longchamps one summer she appeared in an equipage most gorgeously
embellished with somewhat startling arms--mistletoe growing out of a
gold mark, which glowed in the middle of a shield, the Graces serving
as supports, with a group of Cupids as a crown.
Guimard could be jealous on occasion. A Mlle. Dervieux, appearing
as a singer at the Academy without success, had the audacity to
reappear as a dancer and triumph. This Madeleine would possibly not
have minded, but her own pet poet Dorat celebrated Mlle. Dervieux’s
success in verse, and this poetic infidelity was more than Madeleine
could stand, with the consequence that all the pamphleteers of Paris
were forthwith ranged on sides and a paper war took place between the
rival supporters of the two fair dancers, characters were torn to
rags, and in the course of time the battle burnt itself out, as such
usually do, without anyone being seriously the worse.
Strangely enough it was just at this time that Guimard herself
elected to make an appearance as a singer. When there was a revival
of some of the old pieces in the repertoire of the Royal Academy,
including “Les Fêtes d’Hébé ou les Talents Lyriques,” for which
Rameau had written the music, Guimard appeared in this as Aglaia, one
of the three Graces--“with song and dance,” as one might say to-day.
But it was, as so often the case in modern days, only the charm of
the dance that made it possible to forgive the disillusion of the
song, for Madeleine’s voice was thin and hard.
It was as a dancer and always as a dancer that Guimard excelled.
It was as a dancer she won her chief successes in the ballets “La
Chercheuse d’Esprit” (1778), “Ninette à la Cour” (1778), “Mirza”
(1779), “La Rosière” (1784) and “Le Premier Navigateur” (1785), all
of which, by the way, were by Maximilien Gardel. Of her work in these
one historian has written: “Her dance was always noble, full of life,
light, expressive and voluptuous; her acting naïve, gay, piquante,
tender and pathetic.” Connoisseurs reproached her at times for having
grown a little “mannered,” but she always preserved in her dance that
finish, even preciosity, and those delicate _nuances_ of style of
which later times have proved the rarity.
It was as a dancer she had the good fortune to please the King who,
always a generous patron of the arts--with the nation’s money!--gave
her for one dance she performed before him and the Queen, a pension
of six thousand livres a year, giving at the same time a pension of
one thousand a year to the man who danced with her, Despréaux, who
later became her husband. This pension came to her the year following
her appearance in “Le Premier Navigateur,” in 1786, apparently
just at a time she was much in need of money. One may believe that
Madeleine’s impulsive generosity had helped to bring about that need,
as well as her known extravagance. For one thing, apart from her
being ready to assist less fortunate artists, she had been the prime
mover in an act of wholesale renunciation.
The Prince of Soubise, in the manner of his King, a generous patron
of the arts, had been allowing a handsome annual pension to a number
of dancers at the Opera, as well as treating them all to periodical
supper-parties of most sumptuous kind. Suddenly the supper-parties
ceased, the Prince was no longer seen among the audiences at the
Opera and it came to be known that his son-in-law, the Prince de
Gueméné, had become bankrupt, disastrously so, and that the entire
family were doing their best to meet the creditors honourably. When
this was known all the dancers foregathered in Madeleine’s _loge_
at the Opera and a stately, kindly, tactful letter was drawn up and
signed by all the _pensionnaires_, some thirty or more, headed by
Guimard. The length of it precludes entire quotation in a chapter
all too short to cover Madeleine’s crowded seventy-three years,
but after referring to their regret at the Prince’s absence, to a
delay in approaching him due to fear lest they be thought wanting
in consideration, and to the urgent motive which had overcome such
delicate scruples on hearing the news of the bankruptcy confirmed on
all sides, the writers of the letter proceed that, finding there can
be no prospect of the position improving, they feel they would be
guilty of ingratitude were they not to imitate the Prince’s exemplary
renunciations on behalf of his relative, and restore the pensions
with which his generosity had provided them. “Apply,” the letter
continues, “these revenues, Monseigneur, to the relief of so many
old soldiers, poor men of letters, and such unhappy retainers as the
Prince de Gueméné draws with him in his downfall. As for us, other
resources remain. We shall have lost nothing, Monseigneur, if we
retain your esteem. We shall even have gained if in refusing to-day
your kindly gifts we force our detractors to acknowledge that we were
not unworthy of them. We are, with deep respect, Monseigneur, your
Serene Highness’s very humble servants, Guimard, Heinel, Peslin,
Dorival, etc., etc.” The letter is dated 6th December, 1782.
It was now that Guimard was paying periodical summer visits to London
for the Opera seasons. Edmond de Goncourt in his monograph on the
dancer gives two very interesting letters written by Guimard apropos
to these London sojourns, one to Perregaux the Banker, dated 20th
June, 1784, the other to M. de la Ferté, Director of the Académie,
dated 26th May, (1786) and both addressed from No. 10, Pall Mall.
In the former she gives a spirited and amusing account of the way in
which Gallini and Ravelli, then directing the Opera in London, had
sought to take advantage of a fire at the old Opera House in order to
break through the contract with Guimard by which she was to receive
six hundred and fifty guineas for the season. The fire seemed at
first likely to put a closure on the season, but Covent Garden was
placed at the disposal of the Opera. Gallini, making alleged losses
the excuse, tried to persuade Madeleine to lower her terms for the
rest of the season. Finding she would only agree to providing her
own costumes--no light consideration--he pretended satisfaction and
departed. Ravelli, however, followed and, evidently by arrangement,
informed her that Gallini was several kinds of idiot, and that he had
been deposed in favour of Ravelli who, as the new stage-manager, came
to offer her fresh terms--twenty-five louis a performance, on behalf
of Gallini.
Guimard smiled and expressed astonishment that Ravelli should make
such propositions from Gallini since the latter was no longer in
power, and added that she held them to her contract. When she turned
up at rehearsal with a couple of witnesses and having consulted
solicitors, Ravelli “looked green” and Gallini “stupefied.” They
offered fresh proposals and tried hard to wriggle out of their
contract but Guimard won, of course, and the more so in that though
her chief friends among the English aristocracy, notably the Duchess
of Devonshire, were out of town, enough were left to make things
uncomfortable for Gallini, who found his conduct the talk of the town.
The second letter, to M. la Ferté, is mainly good advice on the
direction of the Opera and encouragement of rising talent, and for
this giving of counsel she begs that he will excuse her since it
is out of friendship for him and also on account of her desire, in
her own words, “_ne pas voir détruire entièrement la belle danse,
que j’ai vu exister à l’Opéra_.” In both letters she sends--in
the inevitable postscript!--charming messages to the wives of her
correspondents and mentions some little commissions with which they
had entrusted her.
That she did not have a bad time in London may be gathered from the
fact that she excuses herself for not having written sooner because
since she arrived in town she had not been left a minute to herself
by “_les plus grandes dames_,” and principally by the Duchess of
Devonshire with whom she spent most of the time that she had away
from the theatre; and of the London audiences generally she remarks:
“_Ils m’aiment à la folie, ces bons Anglais!_” Not the first time a
charming foreign dancer has been beloved of “_ces bons Anglais!_”
But with all the friendship of the great and the love of the populace
and her six hundred and fifty guineas for the London season,
Guimard’s financial position was not what it had been. The Soubise
pension had been relinquished; that she received from the King in
view of twenty years’ service at the Opera hardly sufficed her rather
magnificent requirements, and the time came, in 1786, when she found
it convenient to dispose of her mansion in the Chaussée d’Antin.
This she did by arranging, without police sanction, a lottery, the
tickets for which numbered two thousand five hundred, at a hundred
and twenty livres each, a total sum of three hundred thousand livres.
There was a fierce demand for the tickets, and twice the number could
have been sold. The drawing took place in a salon of the Hôtel des
Menus-Plaisirs, Rue Bergère, on the 1st of May, 1786, and Madeleine’s
mansion with all its furniture went to the Comtesse du Lau, who, by
the way, had only taken one ticket!
It is worth noting now that Madeleine had reached the age of
forty-three, that she had never been pretty and that she was marked
with smallpox, with which--a current danger at those times--she had
been attacked in 1783. To a clever and magnetic personality age
matters not, nor do looks mean everything since in any case they are
bound to alter in the course of a few decades; and even smallpox is
not fatal to fascination. But these things, nevertheless, have to be
admitted when one comes to years of discretion, and forty-three may
be accounted such. One wonders whether Madeleine, who was eminently
a woman of sense, began about now to face facts and the future, and
whether the doing so, or else mere circumstances, political and
social, impelled her to the next step in her career.
People had wondered how Guimard had managed to keep exactly the
same appearance for so many years. This was the secret! When she
was twenty she had a portrait painted that was true to life and
afterwards, for some twenty years or so, every morning she would
study this and make herself up to resemble it exactly; and neither
lover nor friend was ever admitted to this toilette.
This was an ingenious idea, but it could not last for ever. It is
all the more interesting then to note the next important incident in
Guimard’s career. Ninon de l’Enclos, acting on the principle that
it’s never too late to have a lover, flirted when she was ninety.
Guimard gave up lovers when she was past forty and took a husband, a
man, moreover, whom she had known for years.
In 1789, Guimard retired from the Opera; in 1789 she married Jean
Despréaux, dancer and poet; and in 1789 the gathering storms of
Revolution broke and Paris, smitten first by famine, became for the
next few years a hell, in which strangely enough, there was still a
demand for entertainment lighter and less fervid than massacre.
When Guimard and Despréaux--comrades for at least twenty-five
years--married, they settled down, on a fairly comfortable income,
derived from their pensions and acquired property, at Montmartre
and one of Jean’s poems gives a charming picture of their retreat
in those troubled times. But during the Revolution, State finances
were in disorder, and pensions were curtailed or discontinued and
all the old favourites of the Opera were more or less involved in
difficulties. In 1792, the city of Paris having confided the care
of the Opera to Francoeur and Celerier, they nominated Despréaux
director of the theatre and a member of the administrative committee,
but this did not last. The following year Francoeur and Celerier
were imprisoned, the actors were authorised to manage the theatre
themselves and Despréaux--whose father, by the way, who had been
leader of the orchestra at the Opera, killed himself the same year
from despair at the general ruin around him--was allotted some part
in the management of the public fêtes.
In 1796--the year of the establishment of the Directory--Madeleine
made a reappearance at a benefit given on January 23rd for the
veteran performers at the Opera who had all suffered grievous
losses in the Revolution. In 1807, three years after the crowning
of Napoleon, by which time the national ferment had begun to
settle down a little and the languished arts to take hope again,
an Imperial decree dated July 29th, reduced the number of theatres
in Paris to eight, and the Académie Impériale de Musique--as it
was now called--had for Director, Picard, the comic poet, and for
“inspecteur”--Despréaux.
But these casual and precarious employments were not enough to remedy
the losses that husband and wife sustained in the lean and fevered
years from 1789, when they settled down in their high-perched nest
overlooking all Paris in Montmartre until 1807, when Despréaux became
again attached to the Opera, and that this employment too did not
last we know from a letter which Madeleine wrote to a friend in 1814
imploring him to use his influence with people at Court to obtain
from Louis XVIII some position for her husband, a letter in which she
mentions the loss of their entire fortune owing to the Revolution
and pleads that “_nos besoins sont bien urgents_.”
There is then every probability that their needs really were urgent.
Guimard had never been charged with thrift; and Despréaux was a poet.
Both started married life with a fair capital--all things henceforth
held in common of course, according to the law--but fortune was
against them, and though they might perhaps have weathered the storm
had they been twenty years younger, it was almost inevitable that,
their pensions gone, their capital diminishing, they should find the
struggle growing yearly harder and their chances of replenishing
their coffers less and less. De Goncourt gives what one cannot but
feel is a too idyllic picture of the last years of the old couple,
mainly on the basis of Jean’s poems (and _he_ was ever an optimist!)
but he also gives us one true, interesting, and poignant glimpse of
Madeleine as an old lady who, with her toy theatre, would, for the
amusement of friends who chanced to drop in, go through the scenes of
former splendour and with her frail fingers perform the steps that
had made her famous in many a ballet of the past.
Apparently Madeleine’s appeal to friends at Court must have had some
success for Despréaux. In the following year, 1815, he was appointed
inspector-general of the Court entertainments, and professor “_de
danse et de grâces_” at the Conservatoire. But it is probable that
only the last three or four years of their married life brought them
any return of fortune.
[Illustration: Madeleine Guimard
(_From the painting by Fragonard_).]
Madeleine died on May 4th, 1816, and, for years out of sight of
a public which had long had other and less gracious objects for
thought, her death passed almost unnoticed by the populace for whose
amusement she had worked so loyally in her prime. Four years later,
on March 26th, 1820, Despréaux followed her who had been his adored
comrade for the greater portion of their lives. He had seen her,
as little more than a child, win her earliest triumphs at the Opera,
had seen her growing splendour as a woman of fashion, watched her
through many years, danced with her, written for her and about her,
seen her worst and best, and loved her well enough all through to
wait till she would consent to marry him and with him retire from the
stage they had so long adorned; and through the years, troublous for
no fault of theirs, which followed their marriage, he cheered and
consoled her for all she had relinquished, for the public worship all
foregone, and for the neglect of the rising generation.
He it was who, though their means can hardly have permitted it,
instituted the little _déjeuners_ and supper-parties of kindred
spirits, where songs were written and ballads sung in praise of love
and wine and “la Gloire”--the one cry of the French Romanticists;
all, one may well think, to cheer his beloved whose charm and
goodness, poet himself, he never ceased to sing.
All this could not have been had not Guimard, with all her faults had
more reserves of goodness than her earlier circumstances can have
given opportunity for developing. Guimard had been grand; Guimard had
been gay; but through it all Guimard must have been good in heart,
full of sympathy and courage and generous charities of mind and soul;
and Despréaux, gentle, wise, humorous, idealistic, honest, must have
found her so, to speak and write of her as he always did, with ardour
and a kind of boyish awe, even after she had passed away. No note of
discord marred their married years, and when Guimard came to make
her exit from the stage of life, silently, with nothing but ghostly
memories of applause, her comrade, well we may be sure, waited only
with impatience for his cue to follow her.
GUIMARD SPEAKS
(Ætat. 70)
“Yes, ye may laugh at Mère Guimard,
Laugh well, my girls, while laugh ye may!
But none of ye will fare as far
As I, who long have had my day.
Time was when Paris all did pray
Because I broke my arm! And yet
Who now recalls my queen-like sway
O’er those whom Death did not forget?
“Time on my visage many a scar
Hath graven deep. No longer gay
My voice, that once could make or mar
The Minister who failed to pay
Just tribute to my charms. Decay
My once slim, rounded limbs doth fret;
And scarce my feet could tread their way
O’er those whom Death did not forget.
“Yet ere I dance to where they are,
Take heed, my girls, the words I say!
I had a power none might bar,
A court that rivalled the array
Of aught Versailles could best display,
For at my Court Versailles was met!
And still I triumph, old and grey,
O’er those whom Death did not forget.
ENVOI
“‘Squelette des Grâces’ they called me!
Yea, and now? Sans-graces! A mere ‘Squelette!’
But grace I _had_, and have, to-day
O’er those whom Death did not forget.”
CHAPTER XXII
DESPRÉAUX, POET AND--HUSBAND OF GUIMARD
There can be nothing more irksome to a man than to be known merely as
the husband of his more famous wife.
In speaking, however, of Despréaux as “husband of Guimard,” it
is not my intention to cast any slight on an estimable and, in
his own time, well-known personality; but I do so merely that the
reader will thereby be able to “place” her genial and accomplished
husband, M. Despréaux to whom reference has already been made. He
was born in 1748, five years after Mlle. Guimard, and was the son
of a musician at the Paris Opera, where he himself was entered as a
supernumerary-dancer in 1764. He made rapid progress in the art of
his choice and won increasing reputation until, unhappily a wound in
the foot completely closed his career as a “star,” and being a man
of much theatrical experience and general culture, he then became a
_maître de ballet_ and also gave dancing lessons. In 1789 he married
Madeleine Guimard, whom he had long worshipped, and the two retired,
as we know, at the opening of the Revolution to a cosy nest on the
heights of Montmartre. So high, indeed, were they and so steep was
the roadway approaching their dwelling, that the patrols refrained
from troubling them, and save for financial losses, and rumours of
revolution and distant guns, the couple remained untroubled by the
red and raging Anarchy in the city stretched at their feet.
Edmond de Goncourt makes out--on what authority I cannot fathom--that
Despréaux was born in 1758, and _not_ 1748, thus making him out to
be fifteen years the junior of Guimard when they married in 1789. As
on other points he writes with such accuracy and copious wealth of
detail one might suppose him to be correct, but seeing that Despréaux
was undoubtedly entered a supernumerary-dancer in the Opera in 1764,
and could hardly have been so at the age of six, one can only infer
a slip of the pen, and that Goncourt really meant 1748, which would
make the young male dancer’s age the likelier one of sixteen on
appearing at Opera as a super, although he would, of course, have
been training earlier.
The question of age, however, is comparatively small. The thing that
matters for us is that Despréaux, following modestly in the footsteps
of his far greater predecessor Boileau-Despréaux (not an ancestor, by
the way) had cultivated a taste for poetry, and during his retirement
at Montmartre, divided his time between amusing his wife and friends
with cutting silhouettes--at which he was an expert--and singing
songs and parodies which he wrote himself.
It seems an odd thing, does it not? that a man should be thus amusing
himself and his friends--should be sufficiently undistracted to do
so--while the greatest revolution then known to history should be in
progress. But what could he do? He was a dancer, a singer, an artist;
and could have had little weight had he meddled in the risky game of
politics. As it was, perhaps, he chose the saner course, and when
most were losing their heads he kept his own, and, as Richard Cœur de
Lion had when in prison, wiled away the hours in song.
His poems were collected and published in two volumes under the
title: “_Mes Passe-Temps: Chansons, suivies de l’Art de la Danse,
poème en quatre chants, calqué sur l’Art Poétique de Boileau
Despréaux._” They were “adorned” with engravings after the design of
Moreau Junior, and the music of the songs appears at the end of the
second volume.
The work was published after the Revolution fever had subsided,
in 1806, and perhaps the very strangest comment on the Revolution
is implied in Despréaux’s preface, which calmly opens with the
following: “In 1794 I suggested to a number of friends that we should
meet once or twice a month to dine together, under the condition that
politics should never be mentioned, and that each should bring a song
composed upon a given word. My proposition was taken up; we decided
that the words should be drawn by lot, after being submitted to the
judgment of the gathering, in order to eliminate subjects which might
only present needless difficulties.”
And so the year 1794, being one of the worst of all those red years
of Revolution, this little centre went placidly through it, dining
and wining and rhyming, as if there were nothing worse than a sham
fight raging round the distant horizon. It positively makes one
wonder if there _was_ a French Revolution after all. But no, there
evidently was, for our author had a nice little library, and in the
following year, owing to monetary losses occasioned by the general
_débâcle_, had to sell many of his beloved volumes. Of course he
made song about it--“Ma Bibliothèque, ou Le Cauchemar”--in which he
pictures the spectre of want asking him what he will do, and urging
him to sell his books for food. “Que feras-tu, Despréaux?” the
nightmare questions:
“Ni bois ni vin dans ta cave
De chandelle pas un bout:
Faussement on fait le brave
Lorsque l’on manque de tout!
* * *
Une tartine de beurre
Vaut plus que jadis un bœuf
Dans un mois, à pareille heure
Quel sera le prix d’un œuf?
Par décade mille livres
Ne peuvent payer ton pain
Mon ami, _mange tes livres_
_Pour ne pas mourir de faim_.”
The spectre points out that the prospect of having to do so is
no mere dream and urges him to sell “_tous tes auteurs fameux_,”
pointing out that he could live on the “divine” Homer for at least
a day or two, while on the “pensif” Rousseau he could exist a long
time. He could count on his precious Virgil for the rent, while the
translation “de Delille” should yield his old gardener’s wages. Among
the many works mentioned in indiscriminate order are Plutarch, La
Fontaine, Don Quichotte, Anacreon, Newton, Milton, Cicero, Horace,
Juvenal, Boccaccio, Erasmus, Montesquieu, Boileau, Corneille,
Voltaire, Racine, Favart, Molière, Plato, Dorat, Seneca, and a set of
the British Drama!
It should be noted, by the way, that Despréaux had some knowledge of
English and had paid occasional visits to London with his wife, who
was rather a favourite of the then Duchess of Devonshire, and in one
of his poems he gives an amusingly bitter “Tableau de Londres,” in
which he complains of--
“Cette atmosphère de cendre
Qui ne cesse de descendre,”
speaks of the lower classes as “insolent” and chaffs the English
taste for beer and the eternal “roast-biff” (_sic_); while as to the
English Sunday, the stanza must really be given in full:
“Deux cents dimanches anglais,
N’en valent pas un français,
Ce jour, si joyeux en France,
Est le jour de pénitence;
Et lorsqu’un Anglais se pend
Se pend, se pend,
C’est un dimanche qu’il prend;
A Paris, le dimanche on danse.
Vive la France!”
Our poet’s range of subject was remarkable--high philosophy,
discussed with smiling raillery; curious life-contrasts, like that
of his wife being a popular dancer and his sister a nun; charades,
dialogues, charming and pathetic little word-pictures like “La
Neige,” a “Bacchic” song on “The End of the World,” and so forth,
nothing seemed to come amiss that could be turned into song.
Throughout his varied work there runs a consistent strain of Gallic
gaiety--itself a form of bravery; and if his Muse has not the hard,
biting intensity of a Villon, nor the lofty rhetoric of a Victor
Hugo, it manages to keep a middle course of sanity and pleasantry
with invariable success and an infallible though limited appeal.
Among his many ingenious poems are two of special interest to
stage-folk of all time, one “Le Langage des Mains,” _Chanson
Pantomime_, the other “Le Langage des Yeux”; both of which require to
be illustrated by the actor who sings them and emphasise the need of
facial and manual expression. As he truly says:
“Le comédien ou l’orateur,
Sans mains, serait un corps sans âme.”
In one of the poems appears the phrase, “La Walse (_sic_) aux
mille tours,” while among the notes at the end of the volume is a
definition which may be translated as follows: Walse--a Swiss dance
the music of which is in 3-4 time; but it has only the value of two
steps. It is done by a couple pirouetting while circling round the
salon. It has nothing in it of complexity; it is the art in its
infancy. When its rhythm is in 2 time it is called “_sauteuse_.” The
word “_sauteuse_” suggests the ordinary polka in 2-4 time, in the
customary manner, for any dance described as “sauteuse” means one
in which the feet are raised from the ground, or in which leaping
is indulged in, _not_ when the feet glide on the ground, as in
the modern waltz. The old _volta_, from which the modern waltz is
derived, was, it will be remembered, a _leaping_ dance.
The greater part of the second volume is mainly devoted to his
lengthy paraphrase of the great Boileau’s “L’Art Poétique,” under the
title of “L’Art de la Danse,” which is full of sound instruction to
dancers and interesting criticism of his contemporaries.
CHAPTER XXIII
A CENTURY’S CLOSE
We have lingered somewhat over these sketches of the eighteenth
century; let us hasten over that century’s close, for was it not
steeped in blood?
“Revolution,” did they not call the madness which seized France?
Heralded by fair promises of universal brotherhood, what did all the
fine talk of her “intellectuals” and “philosophs” end in? A state of
anarchy, national madness; in which no man’s life was safe, and no
woman’s honour.
War is horrible enough between nations. What, then, is universal war
between individuals, “men, _brother_ men?”
Strange, is it not, that while the dying century was performing
its dance of death, theatres should be open; operas, comedies, and
ballets be performed.
Before Guimard and her literary husband had begun to find their
fortunes affected by the advent of the popular madness called
Revolution, there were few theatres in Paris. Indeed, there were only
five of any importance giving daily performances in 1775 and of these
the Opera was of course the leading house as of old--the work of
Gluck, Grétry, Piccinni and Sacchini holding the bill in Opera, for
a period of some thirty years onward, the work of ballet composition
being mainly in the hands of Noverre and the brothers Maximillian and
Pierre Gardel.
It was from the end of that year, too, when Noverre’s “Médée et
Jason” was produced that the novelty of ballet-pantomime, having
come to replace the earlier opera-ballet, now became generally known
simply as ballet.
In 1781 the Paris Opera was the scene of a tremendous conflagration,
in which, owing to the presence of mind of Dauberval, one of
the leading dancers, in quickly lowering the curtain, during a
performance of the ballet, the audience were able to escape, but
several of the dancers were burnt, and Guimard herself, discovered
cowering in one of the boxes clad only in her underwear, was rescued
by one of the stage hands. The famous house was ruined, and the
company removed to a provisional house erected by the architect
Lenoir by the Porte St. Martin.
Ten years later, in 1791, a Royal decree establishing the freedom
of the drama did away with the former paucity of Paris in regard to
places of amusement, and in that year alone eighteen new theatres
were added to those already in existence, and old ones sometimes
changed their names.
The Opera was known as _L’Académie Royale de Musique_. Then the
King having displeased his people and fled to Varennes, it became
simply the _Opera_. Then the King having pleased his subjects they
graciously permitted a return to _L’Académie Royale_. Then, a month
later, in October, 1791, it became the _Opera-National_; and later
the _Théâtre des Arts_, all of which changes foreshadowed in a way
the advent of blind Revolution; and the next change of title to
_Théâtre de la République et des arts_; which yet was not its final
title. Meanwhile, what of the dancers?
Guimard had left the stage in 1790. Two years later the leaders
of the ballet were Mlle. Miller (later to become Madame Pierre de
Gardel), Mlle. Saulnier, Mlle. Roze, Madame Pérignon, Mlle. Chevigny.
Pierre Gardel, born in 1758 at Nancy, had been _maître de ballet_
at the Opera from 1787, and had produced “Télémaque,” “Psyché,” and
other ballets out of which he made a fortune. “Psyché” alone was
given nearly a thousand times! In most of them Madame Gardel appeared
and with remarkable success. At fifty, as at twenty, she was still
admired. She was an excellent mime, a graceful dancer in all styles,
seemed in each new _rôle_ to surpass herself, and Noverre, describing
her feet, said “they glittered like diamonds.”
Then there were the brothers Malter, the one known as “the bird,” the
other as “the Devil,” because he usually played the _rôles_ of demons.
Madame Pérignon, who succeeded Madame Dauberval (_née_ Mlle.
Theodore), was a dancer of talent, but was considerably surpassed
by Mlle. Chevigny of whom an eyewitness of her dancing remarked:
“_Quelle verve! quelle gaîté dans le comique! dans les rôles sérieux,
quelle chaleur! quel pathétique! Tout le feu d’une véritable actrice
brillait dans ses beaux yeux._”
Then there were Miles. Allard, Peslin, Coulon, Clotilde, Beaupré,
Brancher, Chameroy; Gosselin, who was, despite _embonpoint_, so
supple as to win the nickname “the Boneless”; Fanny Bias, and
Bigottini; and M. Laborie, who in 1790 had “created” the title-_rôle_
in “Zephyre;” Messieurs Lany, Dauberval; Deshayes, a marvel of
soaring agility; Henry, whose mobile figure recalled “le grand
Dupré”; Didelot, Duport; Auguste Vestris, with whom we have already
dealt; and Lepicq, known as the Apollo of the Dance.
Throughout the Revolution the theatres had been open, and had been
full. The people had gone mad with lust of blood and lust of power;
but the dancers continued to maintain their aplomb in difficult
_poses_, and pick their steps, more carefully amid the lit and
flowered splendours of the theatre, than statesmen could theirs upon
the blood-stained slippery mire of current “politics.”
France might hold its fantastic State ballet, the Fête of the
Supreme, indeed might go stark mad, and all Law and Order and Reason
be overthrown, but one man, the greatest world-man known to history,
was gathering strength to bring order out of chaos, to remake a
nation and a nation’s laws; to set the world a-wondering if he should
master it.
Strangest of all, perhaps, that he, the great Napoleon, should have
found time to flirt with a ballet-dancer--the famous Bigottini, of
whom the Countess Nesselrode in her letters said that the effect she
produced with her dancing and miming was so moving as to make even
the most hardened man weep.
But she seemed rather to have amused Napoleon, more especially when,
having told the President of the Legislative Chamber, Fontanes, to
send her a present, she received a collection of French classics;
and on being asked later by Napoleon--unaware of the nature of the
gift--if she was content with Fontanes’ choice, she exclaimed that
she was not entirely.
“How so?” asked Napoleon.
Bigottini’s reply must be given in the original.
“Il m’a payée en _livres_; j’aurais mieux aimé en _francs_.”
In spite of the library, Mlle. Bigottini became a millionaire--in
francs.
BOOK III: THE MODERN ERA
CHAPTER XXIV
THE EARLY NINETEENTH CENTURY
Though it had not died during the Revolutionary period, either in
Paris or London, the art of Ballet, from the death of Louis XV was
really of little artistic interest, and was to remain so until the
famous ’Forties of last century.
The dancers were mostly mechanical; the ballets uninspired; the
mounting meretricious; and it was not till the ’forties of last
century that a new and all-surpassing _danseuse_, Marie Taglioni,
came to infuse a new spirit into the art and found a tradition that
holds to-day.
In London Ballet was in almost the same state as in Paris, but not
quite, possibly because having been always imported at its best, it
had had less opportunity of becoming hide-bound by tradition at its
worst, as in the case of an old-established continental school. For
the continued production of soundly artistic ballet the existence of
a good school is a necessity, a school founded and sustained on right
principles. But in its continued existence there is inevitably danger
of ultimate stultification from the “setting” of the very tradition
it has created, unless there is a perpetual infusion of new ideas.
In Paris the new idea was not then encouraged, if it came counter to
the traditional technique of which the Vestris, father and son, were
the supreme exponents.
In London there was more freedom, because there was less of
tradition; and while we had to wait until the mid-’forties for the
productions which were to the Londoners of the early Victorian period
what the Russian ballet has been to Londoners in recent years, there
was some fairly sound work being done here from 1795 to 1840.
I have, among my books, a volume of libretti of ballets composed
by Didelot and produced at the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, from
1796 to 1800. It contains “Sappho and Phaon,” _grand ballet
érotique, en quatre actes_; “L’Amour Vengé,” _ballet épisodique,
en deux actes, dans le genre anacréontique_; “Flore et Zephire,”
_ballet-divertissement_, in one act; “The Happy Shipwreck, or
The Scotch Witches,” a dramatic ballet in three acts; “Acis and
Galatea,” a pastoral ballet in one act; and “Laura et Lenza, or The
Troubadour,” a grand ballet in two acts, “performed for the first
time for the benefit of Madame Hilligsberg,” who played Laura.
“Laura and Lenza,” is of particular interest to us to-day, for among
the performers, in addition to M. Didelot, who played the troubadour
hero, Lenza, was a M. Deshayes--a capable dancer and producer of
ballet in London and Paris--and a Mr. d’Egville, bearer of a name
which is well-known in both cities at the present day.
“Flora et Zephire,” was the most popular, and was frequently revived
even as late as the ’thirties, when Marie Taglioni made her _début_
in it at King’s Theatre, for Laporte’s benefit, on June 3rd, 1830.
Both in Paris and London, however, during the first two decades of
the nineteenth century Ballet was comparatively undistinguished
and it was not really until the ’thirties that it began to assume
new interest. True, there were in Paris, some remarkable exponents
of advanced technique as regards dancing, but in the glamour of
technical achievement the greater idea of the art of Ballet was
somewhat obscured.
At the Paris Opera the _dieux de la danse_ were MM. Albert Paul
and Ferdinand, all of whom visited London from time to time and
the second of whom was known as _l’aérien_, a descriptive nickname
emphasised by the quaint criticism of a contemporary who wrote: “Paul
used to spring and bound upwards, and was continually in the clouds;
his foot scarcely touched the earth or rather the stage; he darted up
from the ground and came down perpendicularly, after _travelling a
quarter of an hour in the air_!”
M. Paul, by the way, later became a celebrated dancing-master at
Brighton, in good Queen Victoria’s early days.
Then, too, there was Paul’s sister who became Madame Montessu, hardly
less celebrated than her brilliant brother. Then, too, Mlle. Brocard,
who so won Queen Victoria’s girlish admiration that some of her dolls
were dressed to represent the pretty dancer in character. Brocard,
however, was more remarkable for her beauty than for her dancing.
Another famous artist of the period was M. Coulon, to whose careful
tuition the graceful, and _élégante_ Pauline Duvernay owed much of
her success, as did also the sisters Noblet--Lise and Alexandrine,
the latter of whom forsook the dance to become an actress.
Of Lise Noblet a contemporary chronicler wrote in 1821: “_Encore un
phénix! Une danseuse qui ne fait jamais de faux pas, qui préfère le
cercle d’amis à la foule des amants, qui vient au théâtre à pied, et
qui retourne de même!_” In 1828, she created, with immense success,
the _rôle_ of Fenella, in _La Muette de Portici_, and was described
as “_le dernier produit de l’école française aux poses géométriques
et aux écarts à angle droit_”; the same critic drawing an interesting
comparison between the old school and the rising new one, in adding:
“_Déjà, Marie Taglioni s’avancait sur la pointe du pied--blanche
vapeur baignée de mousselines transparentes--poétique, nébuleuse,
immatérielle comme ces fées dont parle Walter Scott, qui errent la
nuit près des fontaines et portent en guise de ceinture un collier
de perles de rosée!... Lise Noblet se résolut non sans combat--à
prouver qu’il y a au monde quelque chose de plus agréable qu’une
femme qui tourne sur l’ongle de l’orteil avec une jambe parallèle
à l’horizon, dans l’attitude d’un compas farée. Elle céda, à Fanny
Elssler, ‘Fenella’ de La Muette qu’elle avait créée, et lui prit en
échange--‘El Jales de Jérès.’ ‘Las Boleros de Cadiz’ ‘La Madrileña,’
et toutes sortes d’autres cachuchas et fandangos. Grâce à ces
concessions, Mdlle. Noblet resta jusqu’en 1840, attachée à l’ Opéra._”
These references to contrast of styles, to Scott, and to Spanish
dances are particularly interesting as illuminating the change which
was coming over the Ballet about 1820-1830. Mere technique as the
chief aim of Ballet was beginning to fail. It had become too academic
and needed the infusion of a new spirit of grace and freedom. It came
in a sudden craze for national dances, particularly Slav and Spanish,
and in the craze for Scott and all his works, which undoubtedly
became an influence on Opera and Ballet, as they did on the forces
which led to the growth of the great Romantic movement, of which
Hugo was to be hailed as leader and of which the effects passing
on through the Art and Literature of the ’fifties, ’sixties, and
’seventies, can still perhaps be traced to-day.
Much of the popularity of the Spanish and Slav dances during the
early part of the nineteenth century was due to their frequent
performance by Pauline Duvernay, Pauline Leroux and the Elsslers.
There were two Elsslers, sisters, the elder of whom, Thérèse, was
born in 1808, and Fanny in 1810, both at Vienna.
Thérèse was less brilliant a dancer than her sister--whom she
“mothered” always--but had a charming personality. She eventually
gave up the stage to marry, morganatically, Prince Adalbert of
Prussia, and was afterwards ennobled.
[Illustration: Fanny Elssler
(_From an old engraving_).]
[Illustration: Carlotta Grisi
(_From a lithograph_).]
At the outset of her career Fanny achieved distinction, or had it
thrust upon her, by becoming an object of the “grande passion,” on
the part of l’Aiglon, the Duc de Reichstadt, Napoleon’s ill-fated
son. But it was said that the rumour was only put about by her astute
manager, in order to get the young dancer talked about, and as an
advertisement the manœuvre succeeded admirably.
Both sisters, after acquiring a favourable reputation in Germany,
came to London, and it was here, in 1834, that Véron, the manager of
the Paris Opera, came over to tempt them to appear in Paris with a
salary of forty thousand francs, twenty thousand each. Thinking to
impress the young Viennese with an example of Parisian magnificence,
Véron gave a dinner-party in their honour at the Clarendon, in Bond
Street, to which the best available society was invited, and the
menu, the wine and the equipage were of unparalleled quality. At
dessert an attendant brought a silver salver piled high with costly
presents for the ladies of the company--pearls, rubies, diamonds,
superbly set--a miniature Golconda. But somehow it all fell a trifle
flat. The Elssler girls, true to their simple German training, drank
only water with their dinner, and with dessert merely accepted, the
one a hatpin, and the other a little handbag; and they would not
agree to sign their contract until the day of Véron’s departure!
Both in Paris and London the sisters were triumphantly successful,
and when in 1841 they toured through America they met with a
reception that was sensational. It was “roses, roses all the
way”; and in some of the towns triumphal arches were erected. At
Philadelphia their horses were unharnessed and their carriage drawn
by the admiring populace, headed by the Mayor!
Fanny was an especial favourite, and when the sisters left New
Orleans, some niggers, who were hoisting freight from the hold of an
adjacent steamboat--and niggers are notoriously apt at catching up
topical subjects--thus chanted, as the vessel bearing the dancers
left the wharf:
“Fanny, is you going up de ribber?
Grog time o’ day.
When all dese here’s got Elssler fever?
Oh, hoist away!
De Lor’ knows what we’ll do widout you,
Grog time o’ day.
De toe an’ heel won’t dance widout you.
Oh, hoist away!
Day say you dances like a fedder,
Grog time o’ day.
Wid t’ree t’ousand dollars all togedder.
Oh, hoist away!”
Fanny Elssler was at her best in the ballet of “Le Diable Boiteux,” the
plot of which is founded on Le Sage’s famous romance. An enthusiastic
contemporary described her in the following quaint terms: “_La_ Fanny
is tall, beautifully formed, with limbs that strongly resemble the
hunting Diana, combining strength with the most delicate and graceful
style. Her small and classically shaped head is placed on her shoulders
in a singularly elegant manner; the pure fairness of her skin requires
no artificial whiteness; while her eyes beam with a species of playful
malice, well-suited to the half-ironical expression at times visible in
the corners of her finely curved lips. Her rich, glossy hair, of bright
chestnut hue, is usually braided over a forehead formed to wear, with
equal grace and dignity, the diadem of a queen, or the floral wreath of
a nymph; and though strictly feminine in her appearance, none can so
well or so advantageously assume the costume of the opposite sex.”
As a dancer she excelled in all spirited dances, such as the
_Fandango_, and the _Mazurka_, while in the _Cachucha_ and the
_Cracovienne_, she stirred her audience to a frenzy of admiration.
Thérèse Elssler retired from the stage in 1850. Fanny, a year later,
married a rich banker, withdrew, and died in 1884.
CHAPTER XXV
CARLO BLASIS
The Dance and Ballet had made progress during the past two centuries
and had reached the point when, unable to attain to greater
perfection of technique, it needed some fresh artistic inspiration.
Italy, however, had long been degenerate as regards the Dance, her
whole artistic ambition having expressed itself in Opera and an
unrivalled excellence in vocal technique. So that towards the end of
the eighteenth century and for half the nineteenth, her singers were
unmatched throughout the world.
The introduction of French dancers and the production of some of
the ballets of French composers turned the attention of the lovers
of _bel Canto_ to the possibilities of the sister art. Noverre
had produced some of his ballets at Milan, and his methods and
artistic taste gradually spread through Italy, his influence being
further extended by several of his Italian pupils, such as Rossi and
Angiolini.
It was not, however, until Carlo Blasis came to preside over the
Imperial Academy of Dancing and Pantomime at Milan, 1837, that the
Italian ballet began to assume any importance, and the Milan Academy,
becoming recognised as the first in Europe, came in turn to influence
Paris, London and other capitals of the world. Indeed, it is hardly
too much to say that probably every opera house which has been
established a century owes something directly or indirectly to the
genius of Carlo Blasis, who in his enthusiasm for, and appreciation
of, the Dance and Ballet, and in his ability to write thereon
was another Noverre, but with an even wider range of talent and
scholarship.
In the history of art there can be few records of such amazing power
of assimilation, combined with a high standard of achievement. We
have but to glance at a list of his works, to realise this. While
the theory and practice of dancing were his leading theme, one to
which he returned again and again, few things failed to stimulate his
interest and his pen.
“_Observations sur le Chant et sur l’Expression de la Musique
Dramatique_” were a series of essays contributed to a London paper.
He wrote considerably on the art of Pantomime. He contributed
biographies of Garrick and of Fuseli to a Milan periodical; and
another of Pergolesi to a German paper. A dissertation on “Italian
Dramatic Music in France,” was another of his subjects. He left
in manuscript works on François Premier; on Lucan and his poem of
Pharsalia; on Alexander the Great; on the Influence of the Italian
Genius upon the World; on the then Modern Greek Dances; on “_La
Grande Epoque de Louis XV en France, en Italie, et en Angleterre_”;
a “Lexicon of Universal Erudition”; while perhaps the greatest of
his works--according to contemporary criticism--was “_L’Uomo Fisico,
Intellettuale e Morale_,” a book of some thousand pages.
His education had been of a kind that should incline him to take,
as Bacon did, “all knowledge,” for his province. Madrolle, the
famous French publicist of his period, described Blasis as “a man
of the most comprehensive mind that he had ever known,” and further
declared him “a universal genius.” Indeed, though he achieved fame
as a _maître de ballet_, he seems really to have been a sort of
super-maître of all the arts.
He was born at Naples on November 4th, 1803, the son of Francesco
Blasis and Vincenza Coluzzi Zurla Blasis, both, it is said, of noble
descent. The family claimed an ancestry reaching back beyond the
reigns of Tiberius and Augustus, when there were patricians known
as the Blasii. Machiavelli mentions the same family, and various
monuments in Italy and Sicily bear the name of De Blasis.
When Carlo was two years old, his father, who had forsaken the
ancestral profession of the sea for literature and music, took
his family from Naples to Marseilles, where the _De_ was dropped,
for political reasons, and the name became simply Blasis. Having
studied the tastes and tendencies of his children somewhat carefully
Francesco determined to give his son Carlo a thorough grounding
in the classics and the fine arts. His daughter Teresa was taught
singing and the pianoforte; and his younger daughter Virginia, who
was born at Marseilles, was destined to Opera. It must be set to the
credit of the fond father’s discernment and influence that each of
his children achieved distinction in their own sphere and day.
The education of Carlo, we are told in a contemporary biography,
“was at once literary and artistic and theatrical.” He showed such
enthusiasm and ability in his studies that it was said that he might
easily have become a painter, a composer of music, or a dancer and
ballet-master. He finally chose the last as his profession owing
to the fact that it offered more lucrative prospects as well as
combining all the varied opportunities for artistic expression which
his young soul craved. In other directions, however, his general
education was not neglected, and the subjects he studied all came to
be employed in the profession he had chosen, rendering him valuable
assistance in dancing, pantomime and the composition of ballets. In
later life when asked how he came to get through such masses of work
as he did he used to declare: “_Le temps ne manque jamais à qui sait
l’employer_,” and to add Tissot’s saying: “_Dormons, dormons, très
peu; vivons toute notre vie, et pendant trois semaines que nous avons
à vivre, ne dormons pas, ne soyons pas morts, pendant quinze jours._”
Indeed, he _lived_ every minute of his incessantly active life, and
in his later years seldom worked less than fifteen hours a day.
As a lad he studied music, in all its branches, with his father.
Drawing, painting, modelling, architecture, geometry, mathematics,
anatomy, literature and dancing he studied with some of the best
available masters of his period, at Marseilles, Rome, Florence,
Bordeaux, Bologna and Pavia; and when he came to practise his
profession as ballet-master and composer, he was able not only to
evolve the plot of the ballet, and explain every situation, teach
every step and gesture and expression, but to furnish designs for the
costumes, scenery, and mechanical effects.
He was avid of learning, and absorbed something of value from all
with whom he came in contact. He haunted the artists’ studios and
made a special point of visiting all he could in any town in which
he happened to stay, Thorwaldsen, Longhi and Canova being among the
more prominent of the sculptors and artists whom he came to know. He
became a connoisseur and collector of paintings, sculpture carvings,
cameos, jewellery, old instruments; had a remarkable library, not
only of books in Greek, Latin, Italian, French, English, German and
Spanish, but an interesting collection of music, from Palestrina to
his own time, his library and gallery being valued at somewhere about
ten thousand pounds.
He started his professional career and travels at the age of twelve,
when he appeared as a dancer in the leading theatre at Marseilles,
then at Aix, Avignon, Lyons, Toulouse; finally settling with his
family for some time at Bordeaux, where he had a very successful
_début_ and where--under the able direction of Dauberval, of whom
we have already heard--most of the best dancers in France appeared
preparatory to an engagement in Paris.
Blasis then received an invitation to the capital, where his _début_
was so extraordinarily successful that he was promptly placed in
the front rank, and for a time studied under the famous Gardel, who
thought so highly of him that he selected for him as partner in
several ballets, Mlle. Gosselin, one of the leading dancers at the
Opera, followed by Mlle. Legallois, a dancer of the classic school.
On account of intrigues and cabals--which are not, alas, unusual in
the theatrical profession, or in any other perhaps--Blasis left the
Opera and was next engaged at Milan, first going on a successful
tour, during which he composed various ballets, notably “Iphigénie en
Aulide,” “La Vestale,” “Fernando Cortez,” “Castor and Pollux,” “Don
Juan” and “Les Mystères d’Isis.”
His appearance at La Scala, Milan, was triumphant, and he remained
there for fourteen seasons, as dancer and ballet-composer. Then
followed a successful Italian tour. Painters, sculptors and engravers
as well as various poets celebrated his progress, and one Venetian
painter, having seen him dancing some _pas de deux_ with his
famous partner Virginia Leon, in which they entwined and enveloped
themselves in rose-coloured veils--presumably very much as Mordkin
and Pavlova did in the “L’Automne Bacchanale,” made sketches of the
various graceful groupings and afterwards introduced them into the
decorations of an apartment in the house of a rich Venetian nobleman.
There can be no doubt that the appeal of Blasis’ work to artists was
greatly due not merely to his technical excellence as a dancer but to
the fact that--steeped as he was in the study of music, sculpture and
painting--his work was a living expression of a classic art-spirit.
Again and again in his writings he emphasises the necessity the young
dancer is under of studying not only music, but drawing, painting
and sculpture. In one interesting passage, especially, he remarks:
“It is in the best productions of painting and sculpture that the
dancer may study with profit how to display his figure with taste
and elegance. They are a fountain of beauties, to which all those
should repair who wish to distinguish themselves for the correctness
and purity of their performances. In the Bacchanalian groups which
I have composed, I have successfully introduced various attitudes,
arabesques and groupings, the original idea of which was suggested
to me, during my journey to Naples and through _Magna Grecia_, on
viewing the paintings, bronzes and sculptures rescued from the ruins
of Herculaneum.”
The publication at Milan, of his first work, in French, _A
Theoretical, Practical and Elementary Treatise on the Art of
Dancing_, brought Blasis into prominent notice throughout the
Continent and in London, owing to press notices and demands for
translations of a work that was unrivalled of its kind and is
valuable to-day.
In 1826 Blasis came to London, where, at the King’s Theatre,
Haymarket, he was triumphantly received as dancer, actor and
ballet-composer. He remained here for some time, and in 1829-1830
published his still more important work, in English, namely, _The
Code of Terpsichore_ in which the whole subject of dancing is
dealt with exhaustively. The book was “embellished” with numerous
line-engravings, accompanied by music, composed by his sisters,
Virginia and Teresa Blasis, and was dedicated to Virginia, then Prima
Donna of the Italian Opera at Paris. The work was an instant success
and did much to further the aim which Blasis had in all his writings,
namely, the raising of the art of the Dance and Ballet nearer to a
level with the other imitative arts.
[Illustration: Carlo Blasis
(_From a lithograph_).]
The _maître_ now divided his time between England and Italy,
sometimes appearing as a dancer, sometimes producing ballets of his
own composition; or yet again as journalist and author, contributing
articles to leading reviews, or seeing some fresh volume through the
press, always occupied in propagating his school and principles,
demonstrating his method, and putting into practice wherever he went
every new improvement or suggestion which could advance the cause
he had at heart; always encouraging and inspiring all those of his
profession with whom he came in touch, with a newer and higher idea
of the possibilities of theatrical dance and ballet. It was now said,
indeed, that “all who followed the same profession became either his
disciples or imitators.”
His triumphs as a dancer, however, were unhappily cut short during an
engagement at the San Carlo, Naples, by an accident which occurred
during rehearsal, some unaccountable injury to the left leg, for
which every remedy was tried without avail. Though he was not unable
henceforth to perform the simpler and more natural movements he found
himself handicapped by a certain stiffness that made anything like a
_cabriole_ or _entrechat_ impossible, and wisely decided to retire
rather than diminish the fame he had already acquired as a dancer.
Hereafter it was as a composer of ballets and as a widely informed
writer on the arts that he elected to occupy himself, and in Italy,
France and England--notably at Drury Lane--his productions both
on the stage and in the Press, won him increasing recognition and
respect.
In 1837 Blasis was appointed by the Italian Government Director of
the Imperial Academy of Dancing and Pantomime at Milan, where the
reforms he introduced and the new artistic ideal he created shortly
raised it to the position of the leading Academy of the world.
By the end of the eighteenth century dancing and ballet at the Paris
Opera, had grown, as we have seen, a stiff, formal, dull affair.
Carlo Blasis’ rule at the Milan Academy, which put new life into the
art, had a tremendous influence throughout the Continent, so much so
indeed that Russia, Austria, France, and even England _all_ to-day
owe something to the traditions of style and efficiency his genius
laid down at that time.
The system of training he instituted then is still much the same in
present-day opera-houses, from which most of the famous dancers are
drawn. Pupils entered the Milan Academy at an early age. No one was
admitted before the age of eight years, nor after twelve, if a girl,
or fourteen, if a boy. They were to be medically examined, and be
proved to have a robust constitution and to be in good health. They
had to be children of respectable parents; and, when admitted, were
to remain in the school, devoted to its service and to the service of
the theatre for eight years. For the first three years they were to
be considered as apprentices and receive no salary; those who were
qualified for performance in the theatre came to receive progressive
salaries. Their daily practice in the school was for three hours in
the morning, from nine to twelve, at dancing; after which they were
to be exercised in the art of pantomime for one hour.
To-day the training is just as severe and much the same. For the
Russian ballet pupils enter the Academy at Petrograd at the age
of nine and remain till eighteen. Madame Karsavina, one of the
most finished dancers in the world, has told us how, even now, she
continues to practise a couple of hours or more every day.
A well-known Italian _maître de ballet_ at a famous West End theatre
once told me that he always practised dancing from two to three hours
a day, and “pantomime” or “mime,” as it is usually called, from one
to two hours. Mlle. Génée, too, has stated that she practises from
two to three hours daily. Such practice is necessary, not merely to
a pupil, but to a finished and successful dancer to keep the limbs
absolutely supple and enable the artist to give that impression of
consummate ease in performing the most difficult steps, which is the
true test of the really great dancer; while the study of “miming”
is equally necessary, since it is the art which gives life and
expression to the dance.
Before a dancer has achieved the distinction of becoming a “star,” it
may be safely reckoned that she has had from eight to ten years daily
drudgery, and that her earlier years have been without financial
reward, and may even have involved her parents or relatives in
considerable expense for her training or apprenticeship. Given the
physique, the instinct for dancing, and the intelligence, what then
must the prospective “star” expect before she can become a _première
danseuse_, or even a “seconde”?
Go into any large school where “toe-dancing” is taught and what will
you see? A large, barely furnished room, on one or two, or perhaps on
all sides of which is fixed a bar or pole, some four feet from the
ground. Here, having already been thoroughly grounded in the “five
positions,” which every dancer learns, the pupils, perhaps a dozen or
more in number, ranging from eight upwards, will be found at “side
practice,” as it is called, going through the various “positions”
and steps, while one hand rests on the bar. Here she goes through
the fatiguing and endless training known as practice “on the bar,”
learning “_battements_,” which consist in moving one leg in the air,
now forward, now back, while the other, on tip-toe, supports the
body; learning the even more difficult _ronds de jambes_, or circles
made by one leg while resting on the other; learning all the while
to get the legs free and supple, to keep the shoulders down and the
elbows loose, before proceeding to the more complex steps and poses.
After incessant drilling at the bar comes the “centre practice,” in
which many of the same positions and steps are repeated with new and
more difficult ones, away from the bar; until little by little after
months, indeed, it may be years, of incessant practice, the young
dancer becomes qualified to take a place in the minor ranks of the
ballet where, in watching the more finished work of the _première
danseuse_, she is further inspired to yet more arduous practice
in the school or at home, in the hope of achieving a perfection
that shall bring her similar rewards--a princely income, unlimited
bouquets, and the clamorous applause of an adoring audience.
All this is severe enough training; but the dancer’s training always
has been severe. The hard thing, from the ballet composer’s point of
view is--that the individuality and artistic spirit of the dancer is,
only too often, crushed by the training or at least subordinated to
an exaltation of mere technique. Technique is a necessity, of course.
But it was in the power of such men as Noverre and Blasis to inspire
in their disciples something more than an emulation for technical
efficiency, and to give them an artistic ideal which made the
drudgery of their training seem worth while as a means of attaining
to greater ease of artistic expression. Blasis’ influence undoubtedly
ran like a quickening spirit through the capitals of Europe and led
the way to that great revival of romantic ballet which marked the era
of the ’forties and found its fullest and most poetic expression in
the idealism of Taglioni.
CHAPTER XXVI
MARIE TAGLIONI (“SYLPHIDE”)
The great theatrical sensation of the mid-’forties was the famous
_Pas de Quatre_, composed of Lucile Grahn, Fanny Cerito, Carlotta
Grisi, and Marie Taglioni, the last-named making a welcome return
to the stage after an absence of some years. This was in 1845.
Taglioni’s reappearance and a dispute between the dancers as to the
order of their _entrée_ gave the event a handsome advertisement.
In the end the difficulty was settled by Lumley, the manager of the
Opera, deciding that, as Mlle. Taglioni herself was indifferent as to
when she made her entrance, they should appear according to age, the
youngest first; and in consequence Lucile Grahn led the quartette,
a crescendo of applause finishing in a terrific climax as Taglioni,
greatest of them all, appeared, and, as one witness declared, “the
whole house went clean mad.”
Marie Taglioni, greatest of the four, was the first to give the
impulse towards the creation of that new school which the others
represented. The technique of all four was virtually the same, that
which had always been traditional. In the foundations of their art
all were of the old school. All had been thoroughly drilled in the
eternal “five positions.” But in the spirit of this art all were as
new for their period, and by contrast with the eighteenth-century
school, as Camargo had been when she first quickened that school
by the introduction of a fresher inspiration and new miracles of
execution; and as Sallé had been when she had striven to replace the
convention of pannier and cuirasse for classic hero and heroine, with
a costume nearer to Hellenic truth and beauty. And of the four who
made theatrical dancing in the ’forties of last century what it was,
Taglioni was the pioneer.
She was one of a family of Taglionis. There was Louise, who had won
distinction at the Opera under the Empire, and who had a sister so
beautiful that when she left the stage to marry an Italian gentleman
and settle down at Venice, it came to be a proverb, “To see Venice
and the beautiful Contarini.” Marie was the niece of these two.
Born at Stockholm in 1804, she was the daughter of Philip Taglioni
(1777-1871), a ballet-master from Milan, and a Swedish mother, _née_
Anna Karsten, whose grandfather had been a famous actor and singer
at the Swedish Court. In these two strains probably we have one of
the secrets of Marie Taglioni’s art, for, while from the Italian side
she would have inherited that passion for technique which is innate
in the Latin races, from the maternal she would have received the
impulse towards a poetic and dreamy idealism which is characteristic
of the North.
Add to this the fact that her father was not only a really
accomplished teacher of dancing but was steeped in the romantic
legends and poetry of Scandinavia, and we are better able to
understand how it was the stiff formalism and poetic conventionalities
of Ballet in the pre-Taglioni period had to succumb to the new breath
of inspiration which was to set all London and Paris raving of its
beauty in the ’forties, and fire even so temperate and cynical an
observer as Thackeray to enthusiastic expressions of admiration of
Marie Taglioni in “Sylphide.”
As a child she was unprepossessing to look at and had physical
defects. It is said that when the famous dancing master, Coulon, was
consulted as to the teaching of the child, he exclaimed: “What _can_
I do with that little hunch-back?”
Nevertheless, her father intended that she should become a dancer,
and, taking her in hand himself, a dancer she became; with the result
that--to adapt the expression of an ingenious French critic--between
them they ultimately _taglionised_ the Ballet.
Marie made her first appearance at Vienna in 1822, in a ballet
bearing the lengthy title, “Réception d’une jeune nymphe à la cour de
Terpsichore.” Her father had arranged a _pas_ for her _début_, but in
her confusion, it is said, she forgot it, and substituted another of
her own invention, which proved a triumphant success.
From Vienna she went to Stuttgart, where the Queen of Würtemberg
became so attached to her that she treated her like a sister, and was
seen to shed tears on the occasion of Taglioni’s last appearance at
the Stuttgart Opera House. She next proceeded to Munich, where she
was equally well received by the royal family, finally making her
_début_ at Paris on July 23rd, 1827, in a ballet called “Le Sicilien.”
Her appearance was an immediate success, and was followed by fresh
triumphs in “La Vestale,” “Fernando Cortez,” “Les Bayadères” and
“Le Carnaval de Venise,” this first engagement terminating on
August 10th. One critic of her time writes enthusiastically of the
effect she created with: “_sa grâce naïve, ses poses décentes et
voluptueuses, son extrême légèreté, la nouveauté de sa danse, dont
les effets semblaient appartenir aux inspirations de la nature au
lieu d’être les résultats des combinaisons de l’art et du travail
de l’école, produisirent une sensation très vive sur le public.
Le talent d’une virtuose qui s’éloigne de la route battue par ses
devanciers, trouve des opposants que la continuité des succès ne
désarme pas toujours: il n’y eut qu’une voix sur Mlle. Taglioni: tout
le monde fut enchanté, ravi._”
The Ballet had grown formalised, stale. Taglioni came as spirit from
another sphere to infuse new vitality and idealism into its wearied
splendour, and she provided jaded opera lovers with a new thrill.
After her Parisian _début_, she was re-engaged for the following year
and returned in the April of 1828 to win further admiration in “Les
Bayadères,” and “Lydie” and “Psyché”; then, the year after, in “La
Belle au Bois dormant,” a fifteen years’ engagement being finally
offered to her at the Opera, with intervals of absence sufficient to
enable her to pay visits to Germany, Russia, Italy and England, when,
in every country, she achieved fresh triumphs.
Her London _début_ at the benefit of Laporte, manager at Her
Majesty’s Theatre, took place on June 3rd, 1830, in Didelot’s ballet
of “Flore et Zephire.”
A contemporary account of her dancing says: “Taglioni unquestionably
combines the finest requisites for eminence in her art. The union
she displays of muscular ability with the most feminine delicacy of
frame and figure is truly extraordinary. A charming simplicity, the
principal characteristic of her demeanour on the stage--an utter
absence of that false consequence and _bombast_ of carriage and
manner which have so peculiarly marked too many artistes of our time;
and a native grace and matchless precision in her movements, even
those in which the most astonishing difficulties are conquered, and
which yet appear to demand of _her_ no effort, leave us delighted
with the _fairyism_ of the lovely being before us ... and enchant
us into forgetfulness of the unwearied perseverance and application
by which, in aid of the lavish gifts of Nature, such unrivalled
excellence has been attained.”
Every contemporary account of Taglioni insists always on that one
note, the _idealism_ of her art. The late Mme. Katti-Lanner, who saw
her dance, told me once that she appeared like some fairy being
always about to soar away from the earth to which she seemed so
little to belong.
Was it not Victor Hugo who inscribed a volume which he sent to her:
“_à vos pieds--à vos ailes_”?
It was but natural then that she should be the ideal exponent of the
title-_rôle_ in that graceful Ballet “Sylphide,” which was produced
at Paris on March 14th, 1832.
The importance of the new influence brought to bear on the art
of Ballet by the advent of Taglioni and the contrast between the
older and the newer schools was well defined by Théophile Gautier
who, writing of “Sylphide” said: “_Ce ballet commença pour la
chorégraphie une ère toute nouvelle et ce fut par lui que le
romantisme s’introduisit dans le domaine de Terpsichore. A dater
de la ‘Sylphide,’ les ‘Filets de Vulcain,’ ‘Flore et Zephire’ ne
furent plus possibles: l’Opéra fut livré aux gnomes, aux ondins, aux
salamandres, aux elfes, aux nixes, aux willis, aux péris et à tout
ce peuple étrange et mystérieux qui se prête si merveilleusement aux
fantaisies du maître de ballet. Les douze maisons de marbre et d’or
des Olympies furent reléguées dans la poussière des magasins, et l’on
ne commanda plus aux décorateurs que des forêts romantiques, que des
vallées éclairées par le joli clair de lune allemand des ballades de
Henri Heine...._”
The poet Méry remarked of the new dancer: “_Avec Mlle. Taglioni la
danse s’est élevée à la sainteté d’un art._” That is just what she
achieved. Dancing, which had become a mechanical display of technical
_tours de force_, was restored to the dignity--or sanctity--of an art.
But her influence extended further. She enlarged the perspective of
the stage effects. The stiff formalism of “classic” scenes, of neat
temples and trim vistas gave place to mysterious lakes and umbrageous
forests, vast spaces that stirred the imagination and prepared the
mind for the _entrée_ of visionary dancers.
The story of “Sylphide” is of the love of a sylph for a handsome
young Highland peasant, who is haunted by visions of her in his
dreams and memories of the vision on awaking, so much so that the
heart of his own betrothed is broken and his brain is turned by the
manifestation of his aerial love, who herself becomes the victim
of an unhappier fate by a terrible spell cast on her by infernal
powers and woven during a witches’ sabbath, which forms one of the
more impressive scenes of the ballet. The plot was adapted from
Charles Nodier’s story, _Trilby_, by Adolphe Nourrit, and the music
by Schneitzhöffer was pronounced “excellent” by Castil-Blaze, who
remarked that it was an “_Œuvre infiniment remarquable dans un genre
qui peut devenir important lorsqu’un homme de talent et d’esprit
veut bien l’adopter_.” He also reports of the first production of
“Sylphide” in Paris, that it had a _succès merveilleux_.
Elsewhere Taglioni’s success was no less remarkable. Indeed,
wheresoever she went she achieved a triumph. At Petrograd such
tempting offers were made by the Emperor and Empress that she
prolonged her stay for three years, and left laden with gifts from
their Imperial Majesties. At Vienna, on one occasion, having been
called before the curtain twenty-two times, when she finally got
away from the Opera House her carriage was drawn to her hotel by
forty young men of the leading Austrian families. In London she was
worshipped by the public, and was one of the special admirations of
the youthful Queen Victoria, some of whose dolls (as in the case of
Brocard, Pauline Leroux, and other dancers) were dressed to represent
the characters Taglioni played, and may be seen to-day in the London
Museum.
[Illustration: Marie Taglioni
(_From a lithograph dated 1833_).]
[Illustration: The Pas de Quatre of 1845
(_Lucille Grahn, Fanny Cerito, Carlotta Grisi, and in the centre
Marie Taglioni_).]
Taglioni was married to Gilbert, Comte de Voisins, in 1835, but the
marriage was not a happy one and was dissolved in 1844. She retired
for a little time, but returned to the stage again and appeared in
London, with triumphant success, in 1845.
The climax of a great season came in July of that year, when, at
the request of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, the _Pas de Quatre_, to
which reference has already been made, was arranged for the four
great dancers, Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi and Lucile Grahn. One
critic remarked that the appearance of four such stars on the same
boards and in the same _pas_ was “truly what our Gallic neighbours
call _une solennité théâtrale_, and such a one as none of those who
beheld it are likely to witness again.”
It was, he declared rightly, “an event unparalleled in theatrical
annals, and one which, some two score years hence, may be handed down
to a new generation by garrulous septuagenarians as one of the most
brilliant reminiscences of days gone by.”
Without being a septuagenarian, or being in a position to remember an
event about which to grow garrulous, all who have studied theatrical
history at all can freely endorse the remark. Probably never in any
theatre was seen such excitement as there was on this occasion.
Contemporary testimony, when authoritative, is always valuable in
such cases, and as there is no better account of the famous “Pas de
Quatre” than that given by the _Illustrated London News_ of that day,
July 19th, 1845, it may be quoted at length with advantage.
Speaking of the curiosity which so unusual an event must necessarily
excite, and which led him to “hurry” to the theatre, the writer
declared that:
“curiosity and every other feeling was merged in admiration
when the four great dancers commenced the series of picturesque
groupings with which this performance opens. We can safely say we
have never witnessed a scene more perfect in all its details. The
greatest of painters, in his loftiest flights, could hardly have
conceived, and certainly never executed, a group more faultless
and more replete with grace and poetry than that formed by these
four _danseuses_: Taglioni in the midst, her head thrown backwards,
apparently reclining in the arms of her sister nymphs. Could such
a combination have taken place in the ancient palmy days of art,
the pencil of the painter and the song of the poet would alike have
been employed to perpetuate its remembrance. No description can
render the exquisite, and almost ethereal grace of movement and
attitude of these great dancers, and those who have witnessed the
scene, may boast of having once, at least, seen the perfection of
the art of dancing so little understood. There was no affectation,
no apparent exertion or struggle for effect on the part of these
gifted artistes; and though they displayed their utmost resources,
there was a simplicity and ease, the absence of which would have
completely broken the spell they threw around the scene. Of the
details of this performance it is difficult to speak. In the
_solo_ steps executed by each _danseuse_, each in turn seemed to
claim pre-eminence. Where every one in her own style is perfect,
peculiar individual taste alone may balance in favour of one or the
other, but the award of public applause must be equally bestowed;
and, for our own part, we confess that our _penchant_ for the
peculiar style, and our admiration for the dignity, the repose, and
exquisite grace which characterise Taglioni, and the dancer who
has so brilliantly followed the same track (Lucile Grahn), did not
prevent our warmly appreciating the charming archness and twinkling
steps of Carlotta Grisi, or the wonderful flying leaps and
revolving bounds of Cerito. Though, as we have said, each displayed
her utmost powers, the emulation of the fair dancers was, if we may
trust appearances, unaccompanied by envy.
“Every time a shower of bouquets descended, on the conclusion of
a _solo pas_ of one or other of the fair _ballerines_, her sister
dancers came forward to assist her in collecting them; and both
on Saturday and Tuesday did Cerito offer to crown Taglioni with a
wreath which had been thrown in homage to the queen of the dance.
We were also glad to see on the part of the audience far less of
partisanship than had been displayed two or three years since, on
the performance of a _pas de deux_ between Elssler and Cerito. The
applause was universal, and equally distributed. This, however,
did not take from the excitement of the scene. The house, crowded
to the roof, presented a concourse of the most eager faces, never
diverted for a moment from the performance; and the extraordinary
tumult of enthusiastic applause, joined to the delightful effect of
the spectacle presented, imparted to the whole scene an interest
and excitement that can hardly be imagined.”
Yet another triumph for Ballet was scored in the following season,
July, 1846, when Taglioni’s appearance in “La Gitana” having been
hailed with quite extraordinary enthusiasm, there came a piece of
managerial enterprise equalling that of the famous _Pas de Quatre_.
A new ballet by Perrot, “Les Tribulations d’un Maître de Ballet,” was
arranged for production and during the performance a _pas_ was to
have been introduced, combining the matchless three--Grahn, Cerito
and Taglioni, supported also by the niece of the last named, Louise
Taglioni; and St. Leon, husband of Cerito; and Perrot, husband of
Carlotta Grisi.
This _pas_ for the leading dancers was intended to form part of
a _divertissement_ entitled “Le Jugement de Pâris,” which the
aforesaid _maître de ballet_ was supposed to be arranging and to be
having “tribulations” about. But on putting the _divertissement_
into rehearsal the idea was found to be so attractive and to assume
such importance as to overshadow the rest of the production and the
“Jugement de Pâris” was therefore detached and staged as a separate
ballet in itself with the happiest result.
The _pas_ so isolated was of course the famous _Pas des Déesses_, the
goddesses naturally being the fair rivals Juno, Minerva and Venus,
impersonated by the three great _ballerines_, who contended for the
apple thrown by the Goddess of Discord, and awarded by Paris to the
most beautiful of the three.
Needless to say, with such dancers, the production found favour with
audiences and critics, one of whom wrote:
“The idea of this _pas_ is an excellent one; for it is an important
qualification in choregraphic compositions, that the dancing should
appear to be a necessary result of the action--that an intelligible
idea should be conveyed by it, and a story kept up throughout.
Without this, dancing, however beautiful in itself, loses half
its charm to those who look for something more in it than mere
power and grace of motion. Here there is a purpose in the varied
attitudes and graceful evolutions of each _danseuse_, as she is
supposed to be endeavouring to outstrip her rivals, and vindicate
her right to the disputed apple; and the effect is a charming one,
independently of the interest and excitement that must inevitably
attach to the combined performance of such unequalled artists
as these. The _Graces_, enacted by Louise Taglioni, Demississe,
and Cassan; _Cupid_, by that graceful child, Mdlle. Lamoureux;
_Mercure_, by Perrot, etc., etc., are all numbered amongst the
_dramatis personæ_ of the _ballet_, and a more charming combination
could hardly be met with.
“Taglioni is, however, the principal ‘star’ at the present moment.
Those who have visited Her Majesty’s Theatre predetermined to find
her marvellous talent diminished, and to ‘regret’ her reappearance
on the English stage, have come away enchanted, despite themselves,
at that marvellous union of unrivalled agility, with the most
perfect grace and elegance, in which no dancer has as yet equalled
her. If there is any change perceptible, she seems to have advanced
in her art--in person, an increase of _embonpoint_ has proved
decidedly favourable to her appearance. It is, no doubt, in the
_danse noble_ that she excels; but in every style of dancing the
_je ne sais quoi_ of peculiar refinement and grace, for which she
is remarkable in her style, distinguishes her. As long as Taglioni
continues to dance, she will continue to excite an enthusiasm of
applause, as the famous Guimard, styled in 1770, ‘La Reine de la
Danse,’ had done before her. A peculiar gentleness and amiability
of look, and a dignity of manner which never abandons Taglioni, is
in admirable keeping with the style of her dancing; and, if we may
believe report, these do not belie her real character.”
As a matter of fact, the appearances and “report” did _not_ belie her
character, for Taglioni always won the respect and love of all she
met. She had done so abroad, where crowned heads and royal families
had made a friend of her, enchanted with her sweetness and modesty,
and won to equal respect by her innate dignity of character.
It was the same in London, where, it is said, she received not
only the generous homage of her stage colleagues and was offered a
superb testimonial at the close of the season of 1846, but also met
with special favour from Queen Victoria herself, who was as much a
connoisseur of good dancing as she was of virtuous conduct.
It may have been by reason of this that Taglioni was appointed
teacher of dancing and deportment to some of the younger members
of the English Royal Family; and later undertook the tuition of a
few favoured young dancers. Yet Fortune did not favour her always,
and she died at Marseilles on April 25th, 1884; like Guimard, also
neglected and in poverty. But while there is one to read the records
of the stage her name will survive as one of the founders and supreme
exponents of the idealistic school of Ballet.
TAGLIONI (“SYLPHIDE”)
“Slim, virginal, upon the stage she springs:
And joy forthwith relumines weary eyes
That, looking ever on dull mundane things,
Long had forgot youth’s heritage of joy:
Slim, virginal, clad in resplendent white
With floral coronal and fluttering wings
She stands serenely poised; then, swift to rise,
Gleams like a sunlit dove in sudden flight:
So, once again, return to our dulled sight
Dreams of a golden age without alloy.
“How many sages sought in ancient time
Some magic stone transmuting all to gold;
Elixirs rare have many yearned to find,
Recalling refluent youth ere life depart;
How many strove to conjure from the air,
From water, earth or fire with subtle art
The elemental beings therein divined!
“But thou, with art more potent and sublime,
Transmutest all! None seeing thee is old!
All hearts forlorn, from dross of woe are freed!
And in the magic glamour of thy grace,
Hope’s listless wings win strength once more to fare
Towards that Ideal whose lineaments we trace
Importally incarnate in--‘Sylphide!’”
CHAPTER XXVII
CARLOTTA GRISI (GISELLE)
Seldom is a good dancer also a born singer; and still more rarely do
both talents develop simultaneously to such a point that there can be
any serious doubt as to which to relinquish in favour of the other.
Yet such was the happy fate of Carlotta Grisi, the cousin of the two
famous singing sisters, Giuditta and Giulia Grisi.
Carlotta at one time showed such promise of becoming a vocalist
that no less a person than the great Malibran advised her to devote
her life to singing. But when Perrot, the famous ballet-master, who
had received his _congé_ from the Paris Opera, saw her, when she
was earning her living as a dancer at Naples, he was clever enough
to suggest that she should develop _both_ talents, fully intending
that under his encouragement and tuition she should become at least
a finished _danseuse_, for he saw in the future of such a pupil
an opportunity of securing his own return to the Opera. Moreover,
although--as a famous _maîtresse de ballet_ of our time once
described him to me--“ogly as sin,” he managed to become her husband!
Carlotta Grisi was born in 1821 at Visnida, in Upper Istria, in
a palace built for the Emperor Francis II. When a mere child of
five years old she was dancing, with other children, at the Scala,
Milan, where she danced with such grace that she was nicknamed _La
petite Heberlé_, a Mlle. Heberlé then being a very popular star.
Subsequently she toured with a company through Italy appearing at
Florence, Rome, Naples, and it was here she met and became the pupil
and then wife of Perrot.
Brief visits to London, Vienna, Milan, Naples followed, the young
dancer gathering fresh triumphs at each, until finally she made her
Parisian _début_ at the Renaissance on February 28th, 1840. Here
she appeared both as singer and dancer in “Le Zingaro,” but on the
closing of the theatre she went in February, 1841, to the Opera, and
achieved an instant success in “La Favorita.” From that moment her
career was one of continued triumph.
In June of that year she appeared in “_Giselle, ou les Willis, ballet
en deux actes, de MM. de Saint Georges, Th. Gautier et Coralli,
musique de M. Adam, décors de M. Ciceri_,” as it is described on my
copy of the original libretto. Carlotta’s appearance in it was _the_
artistic sensation of the Continent.
“Giselle” is founded on one of those romantic legendary themes in
which Germany was once so rich, and tells of the fate of a village
girl who falls a victim to the mysterious _Willis_, or spirits of
betrothed girls who in life were passionately fond of dancing, who
have died ere marriage, and are doomed after death to dance every
night from midnight to dawn, luring whom they may to the same fate.
This, and the story of shattered hope and love forlorn, which bring
about poor little Giselle’s destruction, are the two leading themes
of a ballet which, touching both the heights of gaiety and depths
of tragedy, is rich in every element that can interest or charm,
and presents many dramatic situations that demand from a supremely
accomplished dancer a power of mimic expression, intensity and poetic
sympathy that are rare. Carlotta Grisi was ideally equipped, and she
was _par excellence_--Giselle. A revival of the second act, under the
title of “les Sylphides,” was given by the Russian dancers at the
Coliseum a few seasons ago.
Gautier’s admiration for Grisi was enthusiastic. “_Qu’est-ce que
Giselle?_” he asked the day after the first performance, thus
answering his own question: “_Giselle, c’est Carlotta Grisi, une
charmante fille aux yeux bleus, au sourire fin et naïf, à la démarche
alerte, une Italienne qui a l’air d’une Allemande à s’y tromper,
comme l’Allemande Fanny avait l’air d’une Andalouse de Séville....
Pour la pantomime, elle a dépassé toutes les espérances. Pas un geste
de convention. Pas un mouvement faux. C’est la nature prise sur le
fait._”
Another of her admirers described Carlotta in the following quaint
terms: “... a blonde beauty; her eyes are of a soft and lovely
blue, her mouth is small, and her complexion is of a rare freshness
and delicacy.... Her figure is symmetrical, for, though slight,
she has not that anatomical thinness, which is so common among the
_danseuses_ of the Académie Royale. Her grace is not more surprising
than her aplomb. She never appears to exert herself, but can execute
the most incredible _tours de force_ with a perfect tranquillity.”
Grisi’s success in London was stupendous. She appeared here at Drury
Lane, and later at Her Majesty’s, for the Opera seasons. On her
farewell appearance in “The Peri” (by Théophile Gautier, Coralli
and Burgmüller) at the end of the season in November, 1843, the
_Illustrated London News_ gave the following note:
“Carlotta Grisi took her farewell of an English audience on
Saturday night (i.e. November 18th, 1843) in the popular ballet of
‘The Peri,’ when a brilliant company was present to bid adieu to
their favourite dancer. On the entrance of Mdlle. Grisi, there was
one unanimous burst of applause, and each movement of her graceful
figure was the signal for renewed approbation. When the famous
leap was given, cries of _encore_ re-echoed from every part of the
house, and once again the favourite, with a spirit undaunted,
leaped into the arms of the lover in the ballet. The applause
continued undiminished until the fall of the curtain--then the
enthusiasm became a _furore_, and the name of ‘Grisi’ was uttered
by a thousand voices. She soon appeared, led on by Petipa, and in
looks more expressive than words, spoke her thanks for the kindness
which she has received and merited. Wreaths and bouquets were
plenteously showered on the dancer, and our artist has attempted a
representation of the enthusiastic scene.
“After the performances, Mr. Bunn gave an elegant supper in the
grand saloon of the theatre to about seventy of his friends
and patrons. The entertainment was intended as a complimentary
leave-taking to Carlotta Grisi, on her quitting London to fulfil
her engagements in Paris. After proposing the health of Carlotta
Grisi, Mr. Bunn presented that lady with a superb bracelet of black
enamel, richly ornamented with diamonds, as a slight _souvenir_ of
her highly successful career at Drury Lane Theatre. Attached to the
bracelet was the following inscription: ‘_Présenté à Mlle. Carlotta
Grisi, la danseuse la plus poétique de l’univers, avec les hommages
respectueux de son directeur A. Bunn, Théâtre Royal, Drury Lane,
18th November, 1843._’”
A contemporary enthusiast, writing of her in 1846, said: “Her
name is henceforth inseparably connected with the charming and
poetic creations which her own grace and beauty have immortalised:
‘Giselle,’ ‘Beatrix,’ ‘La Péri,’ have attained a celebrity equal
to that of ‘La Sylphide’ and ‘La Fille du Danube,’ and the most
devoted admirer of Taglioni can scarcely refuse a tribute of homage
to the bewitching elegance of Carlotta Grisi. Wherever she goes,
her reception is the same; if she is idolised in Paris, she is
adored in London. The impression produced by her performance of ‘La
Péri,’ at Drury Lane, in 1843, will not be easily forgotten, and her
more recent triumph in the ‘Pas de Quatre’ is still fresh in the
recollection of the _habitués_ of the Opera. Nor must we omit her
last creations of Mazourka in the ‘Diable à Quatre’ and ‘Paquita.’ It
is impossible to describe the fascinating _naïveté_ of her manner,
the arch and lively humour of her pantomime, and the extraordinary
precision and grace of her dancing!” High praise, certainly! But,
evidently not exaggerated, for all contemporary accounts of Grisi are
equally enthusiastic.
Carlotta’s married life was not entirely happy. She had many
admirers, and her husband had a temper, and though she always kept
the former at a discreet distance, the latter was not so easily
managed, and after a few years of marriage, which had apparently
been entered upon more as a matter of mutual interest than mutual
affection, she and her husband agreed to separate. Grisi left the
stage in 1857 at the climax of her success, and retired to live
quietly in Switzerland, where she died only a few years ago.
CHAPTER XXVIII
FANNY CERITO (“ONDINE”)
Of the great quartette, Cerito was the especial pet of London
audiences, among whom she was always known as the “divine” Fanny.
This but echoed the pretty worship of her good old father to whom
she was always “La Divinita,” and who in the heyday of her success
used to go about with his pockets stuffed with her old shoes, and
fragments of the floral crowns which had been thrown to her on the
stage.
From the time of her birth at Naples, in 1821, he had guarded her,
and his pride in her talent and her triumphs was but natural, seeing
how young she was, how early she won fame, and how great was her
charm.
She made her _début_ at the San Carlo, Naples, in 1835, in a ballet
called “The Horoscope.” She then toured, appearing at most of the
Italian cities. Even before she had left Italy she had earned, on her
_début_ at Milan, the complimentary title of “the fourth Grace,” one
of the many “fourth” Graces the world has seen since ancient classic
days!
After Italy there followed a couple of years at Vienna and then,
strangely enough, reversing the customary order of things, her London
_début_ was made some years before she appeared in Paris. She was
seen regularly in London for some seasons from 1840 onwards.
In May, 1841, she appeared at Her Majesty’s, in the “Lac des Fées,”
with great success; in June “Sylphide” was revived for her, and on
August 12th she took her benefit, to which people flocked from all
parts of London and, notwithstanding the usual deserted state of
town at such a time, the audience was one of the biggest and most
fashionable on record. Then she went on a brief visit to Liverpool,
and then returned for a time to Vienna.
It was in the two ballets, “Alma” and “Ondine,” that the beauteous
Fanny achieved her greatest triumphs, in the former representing
a fire-spirit, in the latter, a water-nymph given, as was Hans
Andersen’s little Mermaid, mortal life and form.
She appeared in “Alma,” a ballet by Deshayes, on its first production
in London during July, 1842, on the night when the famous “Persiani”
row took place, and which was said to be worse than several similar
riots in the previous year at the Opera. Mme. Persiani had been “too
ill to sing,” and the audience had been incredulous. Comparative
quiet was at length secured by the respected manager, Lumley,
and, as a journal of the time quaintly records: “A beautiful,
sylph-like Cerito, danced in the splendid ballet of ‘Alma,’ and by
her inspiration hushed the stormy elements with a repose that ought
always to reign when genius and talent are supreme.”
Another chronicler speaks of the “new and glittering ballet of
‘Alma,’ which reflects the greatest credit on the inventor, M.
Deshayes,” and adds: “We have no hesitation in saying that this is
the ballet of all ballets, and carries our memory back to our young,
innocent and merry days of juvenility, when care was not care,
and tears not tears of woe, to the days of bright sunny smiles,
when fairies in our eyes _were_ fairies, and when the brilliant
realisations of the doings of ‘Cherry and Fair Star’ were real,
existing things of creation, and part and parcelling of our then
dreamy nature and being. Such is the new ballet of ‘Alma.’ It is one
of the best ever put on the opera boards.” That this impression was
created was due certainly to the talent, both as actress and dancer,
of Cerito, for whom the ballet had been specially composed.
Apropos of her great popularity in London a contemporary record
mentions an interesting “fact which will bear testimony at once to
her perfect embodiment of the poetry of motion and her excellent
private character,” namely, that “The Queen Dowager of England was
lately graciously pleased to bestow on her a splendid enamel brooch,
set with diamonds, and accompanied by a most flattering message.”
“Alma” was succeeded in the following year by “Ondine,” also composed
specially for her, by Perrot, with admirable music by Pugni, and
produced at Her Majesty’s on June 22nd, 1843. The plot is somewhat
like that of Hans Andersen’s story, “The Little Mermaid,” and the
production gave Cerito fine opportunities for expressive miming
as well as dancing, one of the great moments of the ballet being
the scene in which the little Naiad realises at last the mortal
life which has been given her, when, for the first time she sees
her shadow cast by the moonlight; and then came one of the chief
sensations of the ballet--Cerito’s dancing of the famous _pas de
l’ombre_, a thing of such beauty that the audience wished it a joy
for ever.
Cerito made her Parisian _début_ with success in 1847, in a ballet
called “La Fille de Marbre,” composed by St. Leon.
A French critic, speaking of her personal attractions, described her
as “_petite et dodue ... les bras ronds et d’un contour moelleux, les
yeux bleus, le sourire facile, la jambe forte, le pied petit, mais
épais, la chevelure blonde, mais rebelle_.” A charming little picture.
[Illustration: Fanny Cerito and St. Leon]
[Illustration: Lucille Grahn and Perrot]
Another critic wrote: “Short in stature and round in frame, Cerito
is one example of how grace will overcome the lack of personal
elegance, how mental animation will convey vivacity and attraction to
features which, in repose, are heavy and inexpressive. With a figure
which would be too redundant, were it not for its extreme flexibility
and abandon, Cerito is yet a charming _artiste_, who has honourably
earned a high popularity and deservedly retained it.”
Some idea of her style as a dancer, as well as of her personal
appearance, is afforded by another contemporary who described her as
“bondante and abondante.”
Among her other successes were “La Vivandière” and “Le Diable au
Violon.” For the last-named the violin was played by St. Leon, the
violinist and ballet-master, whom she married. She separated from
him in 1850. In April, 1854, she won a striking success in a ballet,
“Gemma,” which she had composed in collaboration with Théophile
Gautier--a great admirer of her--and she retired later in the same
year.
CHAPTER XXIX
LUCILE GRAHN (“EOLINE”)
Lucile Grahn was born at Copenhagen, June 30th, 1821, and is said to
have been so delighted with a ballet to which she was taken when only
four years old, that she forthwith insisted on learning to dance, and
made her regular theatrical _début_ as Cupid when she was seven!
For a time she left the stage in order to pursue her studies as a
dancer. After seven years of the usual and always taxing training she
reappeared, at the age of fourteen, first in “La Muette de Portici,”
following with success in a ballet of her own composition, “Le Cinq
Seul,” then creating the _rôle_ of the Princess Astride, in a ballet
entitled “Waldemar,” and followed with the title-_rôle_ in “Hertha,”
both Scandinavian in subject.
Then she proceeded to Paris, and after studying a while under Barrez,
was recalled suddenly to Copenhagen to take part in a fête arranged
in honour of the Queen of Denmark, and so did not make her Parisian
_début_ until she appeared at the Opera in “Le Carnaval de Venise,”
in 1838, in which she achieved an immediate success, only excelled
in the following year when she captured all Parisians’ hearts in the
ballet which Taglioni had already made famous--“Sylphide.”
Unhappily, in the spring of 1840, her career was interrupted by an
accident while rehearsing a _variation_ which she was to perform at
the benefit of Madame Falcon, the singer; and in consequence of
inflammation of the knee she was laid up for some time in spite of
the most careful attention. She never appeared at the Paris Opera
again; but in the next few years her recovery was sufficient to allow
of her achieving many successes in London, as well as taking part in
the famous Quartette.
In 1844 she appeared in “Lady Henriette” at Drury Lane, and in the
following Spring was engaged for the entire season of the Italian
Opera at Her Majesty’s, where she won the most dazzling of her
successes in a ballet entitled “Eoline,” produced in April, 1845.
A contemporary critic records the production in the following
amusingly naïve terms: “The ballet ‘Eoline,’ with its poetic story,
and its lovely feminine features (_sic_), was the great hit of the
first night, spite the difficulties of complicated scenery and
mechanical effects. The ballet worked wonders, and Lucile Grahn
exhibits nightly the most delightful grace and modesty of deportment,
in addition to certainty and aplomb of position, reminding one of
Canova’s masterpieces of sculpture.”
Grahn made a great success as Catarina in “La Fille du Bandit,”
during May, 1848. According to one critic it “exhibited her talents
in a higher degree than anything she has previously appeared in. As
the bandit’s daughter she assumes a dignified bearing, like that of
one born to command, and supports it throughout whether in dancing or
action ... and the grace of her solos commands numerous encores.”
Yet greater success followed in “Le Jugement de Pâris,” the honours
therein, however, being shared with Cerito and Taglioni. This
appearance was in connection with one of the most striking sensations
of the theatrical season of 1848 (certainly the most remarkable in
the history of ballet, save for the famous _Pas de Quatre_ of three
years before), namely, the _Pas des Déesses_, which was performed in
the presence of Her Majesty Queen Victoria.
Even the Russians of our day never evoked greater excitement or
enthusiasm than that which greeted the appearance of these three
great dancers of the ’forties in one ballet. A contemporary critic,
contrasting the production with that of the former _Pas de Quatre_
remarked that “for poetry of idea and execution the _Pas des Déesses_
has decidedly the advantage,” and goes on to say: “Besides this,
though the attention is principally directed to the three great
_danseuses_, yet the grouping is rendered far more effective by the
addition of other actors.
“The _Pas des Déesses_ has another recommendation; it is longer, and
the intervals while the three ‘stars’ are resting themselves, are
filled up by the charming butterfly steps of Louise Taglioni, and the
most incredible feats on the part of St. Leon and Perrot. In fact,
all here surpass themselves--of Taglioni, Grahn, Cerito, each in turn
seems to obtain the advantage--though, of course, the palm is finally
adjudged by each spectator accordingly as his taste is originally
inclined. For ourselves, as critics, obliged to put away all previous
predilections, we are compelled to confess that each in her peculiar
style, in this _pas_, reaches the _ne plus ultra_ of her art, and
each is different.
“Though the styles of Taglioni and Lucille Grahn at first sight
would seem to be identical, yet they have both their own peculiar
characteristics. The buoyant energy of Grahn contrasts with that
peculiar quietness that marks Taglioni’s most daring feats, while
Cerito, who by her very smallness of stature, seems fitted by nature
for another style of dancing, bounds to and fro, as though in the
plenitude of enjoyment. We have never seen either of these great
_danseuses_ achieve such wonders as in this _pas_. The improvement
of Lucile Grahn is, above all, marvellous; she introduces a step
entirely new and exquisitely graceful; and, though it must be of most
difficult achievement, she executes it with an ease and lightness
which gives her the appearance of flying. It is a species of _valse
renversée_ on a grand scale. One of the most effective moments with
Cerito is that in which she comes on with St. Leon, executing a
_jetés battus_ in the air, and, at the same moment, turning her head
suddenly to catch a sight of the much-desired apple. This never fails
to elicit thunders of applause, and an encore.
“As for Taglioni, after taking the most daring leaps in her own easy
and exquisitely graceful manner, she flits across the stage with a
succession of steps, which, though perfectly simple, are executed
with such inconceivable lightness and such enchanting grace, as
invariably to call forth one of the most enthusiastic encores we
ever remember to have witnessed; in fact, from beginning to end
of the _divertissement_, all the spectators are kept in a state
of excitement, which finds vent in clappings, in shoutings, and
_bravas_, occasionally quite deafening.”
The reference to the styles of Taglioni and Lucile Grahn as being
almost “identical” is made additionally interesting by the discerning
manner in which the critic contrasts the “buoyant energy of Grahn”
with that “peculiar quietness” that marked Taglioni’s most daring
efforts.
Both had studied in the traditional school and to that extent were
bound to be somewhat similar. Their differences were due to physique
and temperament, Grahn, the fair Dane, was somewhat heavier in build,
had always been stronger and was also younger than Taglioni, who,
weakly in childhood, had always been of more _raffinée_ build and
temperament, and was now perhaps a shade less energetic than in the
days when she had delighted London with her earliest appearances some
fifteen years before. Still, that “peculiar quietness” had always
distinguished her and was that very quality which had made her so
ideal an exponent of “Sylphide.”
Lucile Grahn, who was tall, slim, with blue eyes and blonde hair, was
said, as regards her dancing, to possess “less strength than Elssler,
less flexibility than Taglioni, but more of both than anyone else.”
She appeared in London each season until 1848, when the arrival of
Jenny Lind created such a craze for Opera--and for Jenny Lind--that
Ballet temporarily lost its attraction for London audiences. She
comes close to our own times, for she died at Munich in the spring of
1907.
CHAPTER XXX
THE DECLINE AND REVIVAL
Following what may be called “the Taglioni era” came a period of
comparative dullness. There _were_ successors who charmed their
audiences in London, in Paris, in Rome, Vienna and America. There was
the brilliant Caroline Rosati; the stately Amalia Ferraris; dashing
Rita Sangalli--who married a Baron; dainty Rosita Mauri; Petipa,
Fabbri, and others whose name and fame were brilliant but transient.
But these, you will say, were all foreigners. Had we no English
ballet dancers? Well, it may safely be said that Ballet in England
was never more thoroughly English, or more thoroughly banal, than for
some twenty years before and after the Taglioni period.
From 1850 onwards it was the period of the Great Utilities, of which
Ballet was not one! Save for a few good examples later at the old
Canterbury Music Hall, with Miss Phyllis Broughton as _première
danseuse_, at Weston’s Music Hall, Holborn, and at the Alhambra under
Strange’s management, and some good productions at the Crystal Palace
arranged by M. Leon Espinosa, it was practically a close time for
artistic dance and ballet for something like a quarter of a century.
The state of public disfavour into which the art had fallen is
well seen from the interesting extract from the _Era Almanack_ of
1872, in which one reads: “Judging from Mr. Mapleson’s extensive
productions the ballet was another sheet anchor on which he relied.
Madame Katti Lanner, a Viennese _danseuse_ of great repute, was, with
other foreign artists, engaged for the _express purpose of reviving
an interest in the old-fashioned, elaborate ballet of action_. The
experiment was boldly made, but failed; and it is clear that all
modern audiences care for is an incidental _divertissement_ which
may mean something or nothing. As for a story worked out by clever
pantomime, people refuse to stay and see it, and the deserted
appearance of the theatre while ‘Giselle’ and other ballets were
in progress was a significant hint that incidental dances only are
appreciated by opera-goers of the present day. The ballets invented
by Madame Katti Lanner were ‘La Rose de Séville,’ ‘Hvika’ and one or
two nameless _divertissements_. She danced in them all, and in the
first act of ‘Giselle.’”
Thus, London audiences from, roughly, 1850 to 1870, had not that
burning interest in the art of ballet which they had displayed for
the twenty years or so preceding 1850; indeed, they had little or
no interest in it. In Paris conditions were much the same. There
were dancers of some ability and transient popularity, as we have
noted, but no ballet and no dancer appeared of outstanding merit
such as those of the great periods of the eighteenth century, the
mid-nineteenth, or such as we have seen to-day. Even dancing, apart
from ballet, was of comparatively little interest.
In London, with the ’eighties came the dear old Gaiety and another
_pas de quatre_, that in “Faust Up-to-Date,” a very different one
from that of the ’forties, not the toe-dancing of classic ballet, but
step-dancing of the characteristic and admirable English school; and
it was a very bright and inspiring dance done with tremendous _verve_
by the Misses Florence Levey, Lillian Price, Maud Wilmot, and Eva
Greville.
Supreme, however, as an exponent of the English school of dancing
was, unquestionably, Kate Vaughan, who, with Sylvia Grey, Alice
Lethbridge, Letty Lind, and others of that period, and for well into
the ’nineties, were the delight of London.
Kate Vaughan herself was one of the most distinguished dancers
England has ever had--distinguished for incomparable grace, finish,
and characteristically English refinement of manner. There were
no ragged edges to her work. Her art was--as all good art must
be--deliberate; her every pose and movement beautiful, and always
instinct with the quintessence of a special and personal charm that
never failed her to the end. I saw her dance, shortly before her
death, at a concert given on behalf of one of the various charities
which arose out of the Boer War; and all the art and all the charm
which had made Kate Vaughan a stage influence in her time were as
amply evident as when she had first delighted us some twenty years
before.
With the ’eighties came the rise of the Ballet as a regular London
institution, on the founding of those two veteran Vaudeville houses,
the Empire and the Alhambra, where for about a quarter of a century,
practically without interruption, Ballet was the chief item on their
always varied and attractive programmes. Of course, there was in
1884 the famous production of Manzotti’s great ballet “Excelsior” at
Her Majesty’s Theatre; but it was not really until the opening of
the two aforenamed houses that we had a real revival of Ballet in
London apart from the Opera, and without that State-aid which the art
receives on the Continent.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE ALHAMBRA: 1854-1903
Both the Alhambra and the Empire were alike in having had a somewhat
varied career before they became the rival “homes of English ballet.”
There was something like a craze for music-halls in the early
’sixties of last century, and it was probably partly due to this that
the Alhambra, which had been opened in 1854 as a Panopticon of the
Arts and Sciences (with a Royal Charter granted by Queen Victoria in
1850) failing of its more ambitious purpose, ceased (unsuccessfully)
to instruct, and sought (with better success) only to amuse.
First it was given over to more or less unorthodox religious services
on the Sundays and to boxing contests and wrestling on the week days!
Then for a time it came under the direction of a then well-known
theatrical manager and speculator, the late Mr. E. T. Smith, who
called it the Alhambra, and in 1870 secured a regular music-hall
licence. The place was still not very successful. It became a circus
for a short time.
Then it was taken over by a Mr. William Wilde, of Nottingham, who
introduced Leotard, the famous gymnast, about whose wonderful grace
and daring London went mad, so much so that on his return visit in
1866, under the late John Hollingshead’s management, he received a
salary of £180 a week.
Then Mr. Frederick Strange, who had been connected with the Crystal
Palace, became manager and introduced ballet, his most notable
production being one called “L’Enfant Prodigue,” which was adapted
from Auber’s opera. Mr. Jules Riviere was the conductor of the
orchestra; and among those who became responsible for the arranging
of the ballets were the brothers Imré and Bolossy Kiralfy, assisted
by their sister Aniola, one of their most successful productions
being one entitled “Hungary.”
At this period the old quarrel between the young “music-halls”
and the “legitimate” theatres was growing serious. A ballet might
be produced so long as it was called and was, in effect, a mere
_divertissement_. Anything else, a musical sketch, or opera--in which
words were said or sung--was held an infringement of the rights of a
regular theatre, and when John Hollingshead, as stage director during
1865-1867, produced in 1866 a pantomime called “Where’s the Police?”
the management were fined by a magistrate some two hundred and forty
pounds. Apart from ballet and such a production as this pantomime,
there was, of course, plenty of the “variety” element, contributed by
such performers as Leotard, the Farinis, and the Foucarts, gymnasts;
and various vocalists known to their period.
With the dawn of the ’seventies came a new taste for ballet and “Les
Nations” was staged at the Alhambra with a Mlle. Colonna and other
dancers, including Esther Austin (a sister of Emily Soldene) in the
cast; and a “Parisian Quadrille” became a feature of the production.
Then came a season of “Promenade” Concerts, and during the
Franco-Prussian war the conductor, Mr. Jules Riviere, gave the “War
Songs of Europe,” those of the French and Prussian nations evoking
such passion that free fights occurred, and the theatre lost its
music-hall licence; and the Directors of the Alhambra Company
promptly secured a regular theatre licence from the Lord Chamberlain!
So on April 24th, 1871, the place was opened as the Alhambra
Theatre, with an evening’s entertainment including a farce, “Oh,
My Head!”; a comic opera, “The Crimson Scarf”; and two ballets,
“The Beauties of the Harem” and “Puella.” Then followed another
ballet “The Sylph of the Glen”; and then “A Romantic Tale,” by J. B.
Johnston, and an extravaganza, “All About the Battle of Dorking.”
In September of the same year the Vokes, a famous family of dancers,
made their appearance, the programme including “The Two Gregorys,”
a comic ballet, and “The Mountain Sylph,” and “The Beauties of the
Harem,” in which a Mlle. Sismondi appeared with much success. The
Christmas pantomime which followed, with the title “Harlequin Prince
Happy-go-Lucky, or Princess Beauty” (a title quite in the good old
pantomime style), included a ballet, with such performers as Mlles.
Pitteri, Sismondi, and another well-known dancing family, the Elliots.
There was a change of management in March, 1872, when John Baum,
from Cremorne Gardens, took up the reins and produced Offenbach’s
“Le Roi Carotte,” with M. Jacobi as musical director, and ballets
as a feature of the production. Then followed “The Black Crook,”
and Offenbach’s beautiful opera, “La Belle Hélène,” and then, in
December, 1873, “Don Juan,” in each of the last two Miss Kate Santley
playing “lead.”
In the spring of next year came “La Jolie Parfumeuse,” followed in
the autumn with a ballet, “The Demon’s Bride,” and “Whittington,” an
_opéra bouffe_, in which the honours were shared by Miss Kate Santley
and Miss Julia Mathews.
In the autumn of 1875, with Mr. Joseph A. Cave as Manager and
producer, came “Spectresheim,” and a comic ballet, “Cupid in
Arcadia,” in which the Lauri family and “The Majiltons” appeared.
A succession of farces, pantomimes, extravaganzas, light opera and
ballets followed, the more noteworthy productions being Strauss’s
“Die Fledermaus,” produced at the Alhambra on January 9th, 1877.
As an example of the lavish manner in which the audiences of those
days were catered for, the programme for that evening is interesting.
There was none of the “9 to 11” business about the theatres then. The
“gallery boy” paid his sixpence, or the “pittite” his two shillings
expecting a run for his money--and got it! The majority of theatres
began their performance at 7.15 p.m.; and those that did not, started
even earlier, sometimes as early as six o’clock, and often with four
or five productions. On January 9th, 1877, the programme at the
Alhambra was as follows:
7.15. “A Warning to Parents.” A Farce.
8.0. “Die Fledermaus.” Opera Comique by Johann Strauss.
10.0. The Celebrated Girards. Eccentric Dancers.
10.15. “The Fairies’ Home.” A New Grand Ballet.
“Die Fledermaus” had an excellent cast, including Miss Emma
Chambers--a very popular soubrette of the time--and Mr. Harry
Paulton; while in the ballet were a Mlle. Pertoldi, a very handsome
_danseuse_ of statuesque proportions, a Mlle. T. de Gillert, a clever
mime, and among lesser lights Mlles. Sismondi, Melville, Rosa and
Richards, who were for several years to be more or less prominently
associated with the Alhambra ballet.
In September of the same year was staged Offenbach’s _opéra bouffe_,
“Orphée aux Enfers,” with handsome, golden-tressed Cornélie d’Anka
as the chief attraction; the same programme including the ballet of
“Yolande,” “invented and designed” by Alfred Thompson, with music
by Mons. G. Jacobi, and dances by Mons. A. Bertrand, from the Paris
Opera, who was later to become more closely associated with Alhambra
productions. The principal _danseuses_ were Mlles. Passani, Pertoldi,
de Gillert and M. A. Josset.
It has been stated that it was “towards the end of 1877” that the
late Mr. Charles Morton--one of the ablest theatrical managers London
has known--took charge of the Alhambra, and that he started his
connection therewith by reviving one of his former great successes,
namely, “La Fille de Madame Angot.” He may have become connected with
the theatre towards the end of 1877, but apparently the first time
his name appeared on the programme as Manager was early in January,
1878; and not with “Madame Angot” as his first production, but with
“Wildfire,” a “Grand, Spectacular, Fairy, Musical and Pantomimic
Extravaganza” (as it was described) by the then very popular
_collaborateurs_, H. B. Farnie and R. Reece--an extra extravagant
extravaganza in three acts and fourteen tableaux!
This remarkable production had a strong cast, including Harry
Paulton, J. H. Ryley, two charming singers, Miss Lennox Grey
and Miss Pattie Laverne; and among the _danseuses_ in the
_divertissement_--Mlles. Pertoldi, de Gillert and Sismondi.
Next month came a triple bill, starting at 7.20 with a farce,
“Crowded Houses”; then, at 8, “La Fille de Madame Angot,” with
Mlles. Cornélie d’Anka, Selina Dolaro and Lennox Grey as the bright
particular stars; followed, at 10.30, with “Les Gardes Françaises,” a
grand military ballet; with Mlles. E. Pertoldi and T. de Gillert as
the leading artists, the dances being arranged by Mons. A. Bertrand,
the whole production proving very successful.
Much of its success--as in the case of the two or three preceding
spectacles--was attributable largely to the beauty of the staging and
the splendour of the costumes, apropos to which it should be noted
here that it was first in 1877 that M. and Mme. Charles Alias first
began to make costumes for the Alhambra, and were associated with it
in several subsequent productions until the end of 1883.
It was not, however, until 1884, when the Magistrate’s licence for
music and dancing was again recovered, that M. Alias (to whom I am
indebted for several details of the theatre’s history) regularly took
up the position of Costumier to the Alhambra, in which capacity he
had entire control of the costume department--a very important factor
in spectacular production--and supplied every dress worn on the stage
for a period of about thirty years. Considering that there were some
nine or ten complete changes of management during that time it speaks
volumes for his ability and the excellence of the work done by M.
Alias that his services should have been retained through so lengthy
a period.
To return, however, to the days when the Alhambra was not a
“music-hall” but a theatre, with the Lord Chamberlain’s licence, and
was giving _opéra comique_ and _opéra bouffe_ as well as ballet.
Charles Morton’s next production, in April, 1878, was another
Offenbach revival, namely, “The Grand Duchess,” with Mlle. Cornélie
d’Anka, Miss Rose Lee and J. D. Stoyle (“Jimmy” Stoyle), Pertoldi and
T. de Gillert in the cast, M. Bertrand (by now engaged as “resident”
ballet-master) introducing two ballets, one Hungarian and the other
Bohemian.
In the following June came the production of Von Suppé’s comic opera,
“Fatinitza,” adapted by Henry S. Leigh, with the late Aynsley Cook,
Miss Rose Lee, John J. Dallas and other popular stars in the cast. It
was preceded by a farce, “Which is Which,” and followed by a “grand
Indian” _ballet d’action_ by the late J. Albery, entitled “The Golden
Wreath,” arranged by Bertrand, with music by Jacobi, and with Mlles.
G. David, E. Pertoldi and T. de Gillert as dancers. It was, from
all accounts, a very gorgeous production. Indeed, so successful was
it that when Offenbach’s “Geneviève de Brabant” was staged in the
autumn, this ballet was “still running.”
The sensation of the following spring was the production of “La Poule
aux Œufs d’Or,” a “new grand Spectacular and Musical _féerie_,” by
MM. Denhery and Clairville, adapted to the English stage by Frank
Hall, with a very strong cast including such well-known favourites
as Constance Loseby, Emily Soldene, Clara Vesey, Violet Granville,
the celebrated French duettists Bruet and Rivière, Aynsley Cook, E.
Righton (“Teddy” Righton), with Pertoldi and de Gillert as leading
_danseuses_.
In the autumn came a revival of Offenbach’s “The Princess of
Trebizonde,” with Miss Alice May, Miss Constance Loseby, Miss Emma
Chambers, Mr. Charles Collette, Mr. Furneaux Cook, in the cast, the
opera being followed by “Le Carnaval de Venise,” a ballet in which
that fine, statuesque dancer and expressive mime, Mme. Malvina
Cavallazi--later to become so great a favourite with the Empire’s
audiences--was supported by Mlle. de Gillert and other Alhambra
favourites, and for which, as in the case of many ballets at this
period--the gorgeous costumes were from designs by Faustin.
This was succeeded by Lecocq’s comic opera “La Petite Mademoiselle,”
of which the English libretto was by Reece and Henry S. Leigh, a
very brilliant cast including the late Fred Leslie, Harry Paulton,
Constance Loseby, Emma Chambers and Alice May, the opera being
preceded by a farce and followed by a ballet, “Carmen,” dances by
Bertrand and music by Jacobi.
On December 22nd, 1879, came the production of “Rothomago,” a “Grand,
New, Christmas Fairy Spectacle,” arranged by H. B. Farnie from the
French, in four acts and _seventeen tableaux_! It was the day of big
adjectives and big productions.
This apparently started the modern fashion of requiring a positive
syndicate of musical collaborators, for the late Edward Solomon was
responsible for the music of the First Act, P. Bucalossi for the
Second, Gaston Serpette (composer of “Les Cloches de Corneville”) for
the Third, no less than three ballets being contributed by Jacobi.
The cast included Constance Loseby, Mlle. Julie, Emma Chambers, Harry
Paulton, Pertoldi, de Gillert, Rosselli; the costumes were designed
by Mr. C. Wilhelm, and executed, as were so many of the costumes for
these earlier productions, by Madame Alias, Miss Fisher and Mrs. May.
The spring of 1880 was marked by the successful production of
Offenbach’s “La Fille du Tambour-Major,” with an excellent cast
including Constance Loseby, Edith Blande, Fanny Edwards, the
fascinating Fanny Leslie--who later became so popular a “variety
artiste”--Fred Leslie, and Fred Marvin. It was followed by a gorgeous
Egyptian ballet “Memnon,” in which Mlle. Pertoldi, Miss Matthews--a
very handsome English dancer--and Mlles. Rosa and Marie Muller
(pupils of Mme. Katti Lanner) were the chief attractions, not to
mention Ænea, known as the “Flying Wonder.”
Mr. Charles Morton left the Alhambra in 1881, and a striking success
was achieved by the new manager, Mr. William Holland, with “Babil and
Bijou,” the cast including Miss Rosa Berend, Miss Constance Loseby,
Harry Paulton, and Harry Monkhouse; while in the two grand ballets
arranged by Bertrand and for which the dresses were designed by
Mr. Wilhelm, were to be seen Mlle. Pertoldi, and Mme. Palladino, a
_petite_ and fascinating dancer who later was to become one of the
leading favourites at the Empire.
In December, 1882, the theatre was burnt down, and on rebuilding
various successful productions were staged. The house, however, did
not really enter upon its most triumphant phase until October, 1884,
when it became the Alhambra Theatre of Varieties, with ballet now as
its main attraction.
The first of the productions was “A Village Festival,” a new grand
ballet of Olden Times, with Mlle. Palladino as the _première
danseuse_. It was followed in the December with another, a very
successful ballet, “The Swans,” with Mlle. Palladino and a Miss
Mathews, a very popular dancer in her day. On the Christmas Eve
yet another was staged, “Melusine,” a new fantastic ballet, in
which a Mlle. Sampietro was supported by Miss Mathews. “Nina the
Enchantress”; “Le Bivouac”--a military spectacle; “Cupid;” “The
Seasons”; “Nadia”; “Algeria”; “Dresdina”; “Enchantment”; “Antiope”;
“Ideala,” a “pastoral divertissement”; “Irene”--a fantastic
ballet; “Our Army and Navy”--patriotic spectacle; “Astrea,” were
progressively successful productions.
“Asmodeus”; “Zanetta” followed, bringing us to June, 1890, and these
too, were notable for some gorgeous stage effects which drew “all
London,” and for the dancing of principals such as the two already
mentioned, and of Mme. Cormani, Signorina Legnani, Signorina Bessone,
Mme. Roffey and Signor de Vicenti, the last named being for many
years associated with the Alhambra productions.
“Salandra,” given for the first time on June 23rd, 1890, was a
remarkably fine production, and with the late Charles Morton as
Acting Manager, Vernon Dowsett as Stage Manager, Mr. T. E. Ryan for
Scenic Artist, Signor Casati as _maître de ballet_, M. and Mme.
Alias responsible for the costumes; and a superb orchestra of fifty
instrumentalists under Mons. G. Jacobi, the Alhambra’s new era of
growing prosperity was now assured.
The ballet was in five tableaux, and involved some striking changes
of scene. The heroine, Salandra (Signorina Legnani) was a Gipsy
Queen, and the opening scene introduced various Tzigane dances.
There was an exciting wrestling match, and a lively hunting dance in
the third tableau; a charming fair scene in the last, and the whole
production exhibited to the full those characteristics of brightness,
efficiency of performance, and splendour of stage effect, which were
long to mark the Alhambra as a house of distinction and one high in
popular favour.
For Christmas of that year “The Sleeping Beauty” proved attractive,
and was followed in 1891, by “On the Roofs,” a “pantomime
ballet” by the famous Lauri troupe. “Oriella,” a new fantastic
ballet--described as “the most beautiful of all” then produced at
the Alhambra--followed; then a musical pantomime by Charles Lauri,
“The Sculptor and the Poodle”; then a comic ballet, “The Sioux,” by
Charles Lauri and his troupe, with music by Mr. Walter Slaughter; and
in September, 1892, came “Up the River,” a very popular production
invented by the late John Hollingshead (who was now Manager) in which
the rural and riverside scenery by Mr. T. E. Ryan was very much
admired; the scenic effects--including a remarkable storm--being
admirably managed; the ballet capitally performed; and M. Jacobi’s
flowing and richly orchestrated music proving better than ever.
“Temptation,” a “new, grand fantastic ballet, in three tableaux,”
invented and arranged by Signor Carlo Coppi, with scenery by Ryan,
and music by M. Jacobi, was a big and very successful production, in
which a Signorina Elia, as _première_, made a hit.
The production of “Aladdin” by John Hollingshead on December
19th, 1892, called forth tributes of praise for the enterprising
and ingenious Manager. The familiar story was well kept to, the
situations were telling, and the four changes of scene were effected
without once lowering the curtain, while the last, “The Veil of
Diamonds,” was amazing. A tableau curtain of glass was introduced,
composed of some 75,000 glass facets held together by _twenty-four
miles_ of wire, and illuminated by various electric and other lights
of different colours, the whole achieving one of the most wonderful
effects ever seen on the stage, one not easily forgotten.
The cast was a strong one, Signorina Legnani--a finished dancer of
the typical Italian school--as the Princess; Mlle. Marie, a charming
little dancer and clever mime, as Aladdin; Signorina Pollini, as the
Spirit of the Lamp; that fine actor and dancer, Mr. Fred Storey, as
the Magician; with good support from Mme. Roffey, Miss Hooten, the
Almonti Brothers, and, of course, a wondrous array of beauty among
the Alhambra _corps de ballet_. Mr. Bruce Smith had provided artistic
scenery; Mr. Howard Russell was the designer of the costumes--as for
several of the Alhambra ballets--which were admirably turned out as
usual by M. and Mme. Alias; and M. Jacobi had once again surpassed
himself in the music, that for the beautiful “chrysanthemum” scene
and a waltz in A, in the finale, proving especially popular.
Another great success was achieved in the production of “Chicago,” in
March, 1893, a lively, up-to-date production, which later ran into a
second edition. “Fidelia,” adapted from “Le Violon du Diable,” was a
romantic ballet that also went into a second edition. The Alhambra
by now had as Business Manager, Mr. Albert A. Gilmer, with Mr. A. G.
Ford as Stage Manager, though Signor Casati, as _maître de ballet_,
M. G. Jacobi, as conductor and composer of the music, were still
continuing in their accustomed spheres.
Yet another success achieved under the same able direction was
“Don Quixote,” with Mr. Fred Storey as a brilliant exponent of the
title-_rôle_, and Signorina Porro as the Dulcinea, La Salmoiraghi as
the niece, and Mr. Fred Yarnold, as the Sancho Panza, other parts
being well filled by Miss Julia Seale (a handsome and clever dancer
and mime long associated with the Alhambra), Mme. Roffey, Miss Hooten
and the Almontis.
The ballet was a great success with the public, and a happy comment
by a leading critic was as follows: “Within the charming framework
of the four admirably painted scenes by Ryan there is a continuous
procession of ballet incident, the costumes quaint, picturesque,
poetic, splendid, and nevertheless suggestive always of old Spain.
Mr. Howard Russell, the designer, deserves great praise for the
fancy and versatility which he has been able to show without proving
unfaithful to his theme. While his beautiful dresses give rare
variety and character to the dances of maidservants, pages, millers,
grape-gatherers, brigands, wood-nymphs, in the earlier portions of
the piece, they are seen to really magnificent effect in the grand
gathering of all the Terpsichorean forces of the theatre in the final
tableau. The stage organisation of the Alhambra is always good.
Nowhere do we see better mass dancing; and nowhere either do the
dancers receive more assistance from the musician. M. Jacobi’s ballet
music is as sympathetic as its tunefulness is inexhaustible. This is
M. Jacobi’s eighty-ninth ballet here.” That last remark may come as a
revelation to those who do not realise how much of ballet we have had
at two London theatres in the past thirty years. “Don Quixote” was M.
Jacobi’s “eighty-ninth ballet” at the Alhambra, and--there were other
Jacobian productions to follow!
Mr. Alfred Moul in 1894 became the General Manager of the Alhambra
and the evidences of his long associations with the dramatic and
lyric stage were quickly apparent in the series of brilliant
successes with Ballet which now were placed to the credit of the
historic house of which he had assumed control.
A marked success in the summer of the same year was “Sita,” the story
of which dealt with an Indian girl’s hopeless love for the accepted
lover of her master’s daughter.
A grand spectacular ballet, on the familiar theme of “Ali Baba and
the Forty Thieves,” was the sensation of the close of 1894, more
particularly owing to the introduction of an “aerial ballet” by
the well-known Grigolati troupe. The treatment of the story was on
conventional lines, naturally, but the ballet was gorgeously staged,
and introduced an especially attractive dancer, Signorina Cecilia
Cerri, while Mlle. Louise Agoust, as Morgiana, added to the laurels
she had already won in other productions as a first-rate mime of
dramatic character. “Bluebeard” was another popular success on
familiar lines; and “Rip Van Winkle”--with Mr. Fred Storey, masterly
as Rip--yet another, towards the end of 1896.
Mr. Alfred Moul then staged “Victoria and Merrie England,” a “grand
national ballet in eight tableaux,” the scenario being arranged
and the ballet “invented” by Signor Carlo Coppi, the music being
by no less a personage than Sir Arthur Sullivan, M. Jacobi still
conducting, while the scenery was by Mr. T. E. Ryan, the costumes
by M. and Mme. Alias from designs by Mr. Howard Russell, the cast
including Signorina Legnani, Miss Ethel Hawthorne, Miss Julia Seale
and Miss Josephine Casaboni. The ballet was a huge success. It was
certainly one of the finest spectacular and “patriotic” productions
ever seen on the London stage, and it is one of the proudest records
of the Alhambra that the performances were honoured with nearly a
score of Royal visits.
One of the great successes of the spring of 1898 was a grand ballet
on the old theme of “Beauty and the Beast,” invented and produced by
Signor Carlo Coppi, with music by M. Jacobi, the interest being kept
up throughout in a _crescendo_ of pageantry. The sensation of the
production was, perhaps, the second tableau, “The Garden of Roses,”
in which the popular Signorina Cerri, supported by the _corps de
ballet_, appeared in a grand valse representing every known kind of
rose, each dancer being almost hidden by gigantic presentments of
the flowers--red, tea, moss roses and every other type--a luxurious
mass of living blossoms, weaving itself into ever fresh and endless
harmonies of colour and enchantment. Yet another gorgeous effect was
attained by a Butterfly ballet, and the whole thing was one more
triumph for Mr. T. E. Ryan as scenic artist, Mr. Howard Russell and
M. Alias, responsible for the wonderful costumes; a triumph indeed
for all associated with the production.
On the retirement of Mr. Moul, which took place in 1898, Mr. C.
Dundas Slater became General Manager, with Mr. James Howell as
Business Manager, Mr. Charles Wilson as Stage Manager, Mr. H.
Woodford as Secretary and Treasurer; and Mr. G. W. Byng as Musical
Director--the last two named gentlemen holding their appointments for
many years following.
A very popular production of this year was “Jack Ashore,” modestly
described as “an unpretentious Sketchy _Divertissement_ in One
Tableau” which was invented and produced by Mr. Charles Wilson, with
dances arranged by Signor Pratesi, and music by Mr. George Byng. It
had a delightful early nineteenth-century setting for its dramatic
little story and was capitally done by a cast including Miss Julia
Seale, Miss Casaboni, the Misses Grace and Sybil Arundale, Mr. Albert
Le Fre, and the Brothers Almonti.
An attractive production of the following year was “A Day Off,”
which, however, was somewhat outshone by the beauty of “The Red
Shoes,” a fine spectacular ballet based on Hans Andersen’s famous
story, with a good cast including Mlle. Emilienne D’Alençon, Miss
Julia Seale, and Miss J. Casaboni--a very vivacious and attractive
dancer.
Two noteworthy ballets of 1900 were “Napoli,” in one scene, written
by Signor Giovanni Pratesi, produced by Mr. Charles Wilson, with
music by Mr. George W. Byng; and a patriotic military display,
“Soldiers of the Queen,” produced by Mr. Charles Wilson, under the
direction of Mr. C. Dundas Slater, the scene representing Queen’s
Parade, Aldershot, from sunrise to sunset, concluding with an
Inspection and Grand March by the combined bands of Infantry, Drums
and Fifes, _corps de ballet_, chorus and auxiliaries, numbering
over two hundred and fifty, and representing some thirty leading
regiments. Needless to say, produced as it was when patriotic feeling
was at its height on account of the Boer War, it was as successful as
it was magnificent.
A “romantic nautical ballet,” in three scenes, entitled “The Handy
Man,” followed in January, 1901. It was written and produced by
Mr. Charles Wilson, with music by Mr. George W. Byng, and dances
arranged by Signor Rossi. In the same programme was a vocal _ballet
divertissement_, “The Gay City,” by the same author and musician,
the dances arranged by Mme. Cormani. Later this was retained, and
was followed by a “fanciful” grand ballet, entitled “Inspiration,”
invented and written by Mr. Malcolm Watson, the music being by Mr.
George W. Byng, and the dances by Signor Carlo Coppi, the cast
including Miss Audrey Stafford, as the Goddess of Inspiration, Miss
Judith Espinosa, as the Genius of Inspiration, Miss Edith Slack, as
a Greek Dancer, Mr. Fred Farren, as Caliban, and other well-known
people. The year closed with a charming _divertissement_, “Gretna
Green,” and a revised edition of “Soldiers of the King.”
[Illustration: Mlle. Palladino in “Nina” at the Alhambra]
[Illustration:
_Dover St. Studios_
Mlle. Britta]
“In Japan,” a delightful ballet, adapted by Mr. S. L. Bensusan, from
his story, _Dede_, with music specially composed by M. Louis Ganne,
proved particularly attractive. There was a good story, the acting
and dancing were unusually good, and the mounting and stage effects,
under the direction of Mr. C. Dundas Slater and Mr. Charles Wilson,
were fresh and beautiful, especially the “Ballet of Blossoms.”
The theatre at this period was now again to come under the influence
of Mr. Alfred Moul. At an Annual General Meeting of the Shareholders
at the commencement of the year 1902, when the fortunes of the
theatre seemed once more uncertain, Mr. Moul was invited again by
both Shareholders and Directors to assume control. He responded, and
within a few weeks was installed as Chairman of the Company, once
more throwing his energies into a congenial task. One of his first
achievements was to secure the services of an old _protégé_ and a now
eminent musician, Mr. Landon Ronald.
From the pen of that accomplished artist came the music for a
spectacular Patriotic Ballet entitled “Britannia’s Realm,” in a
prologue and four scenes, invented and produced by Mr. Charles
Wilson, with dances by Signor Carlo Coppi. It was one of the best
planned and most extraordinarily sumptuous productions ever seen
at the Alhambra, long famous for the splendour of its effects, and
while there were several charming novelties, such as the _Pas des
Patineurs_, in the Canadian Skating Carnival scene (the music of
which must still haunt those who heard it), for sheer magnificence
probably nothing finer has ever been produced on the Alhambra stage
than the Indian jewel scene, and the grand _finale_ representing
“Homage to Britannia,” and the formation of the Union Jack. It was a
remarkable achievement, and well deserved the enthusiasm with which,
night after night for some months, it was received.
An excellent ballet of 1903 was “The Devil’s Forge,” invented by
Mr. Charles Wilson and Mme. Cormani, with music by Mr. George Byng.
This also ran for some months, and was a charming and dramatic work,
beautifully staged, and uncommonly well acted, particularly good
work being done by Miss Edith Slack (a clever mime) as the hero,
Karl, and Miss Marjorie Skelley, a sound and graceful dancer, as the
Fairy of the Mountain.
Before this was withdrawn a delightful adaptation of “Carmen” had
been staged, with much of Bizet’s music, ingeniously handled by Mr.
George Byng, who had composed some admirable extra numbers. It was
finely staged, notable for the strength of the cast and vitality of
the entire _corps de ballet_, but above all for the superb acting of
Guerrero as Carmen and M. Volbert as Don José.
Apart from Guerrero’s fine presence, her magnificent dancing, the
breadth, realism and intensity of her acting throughout, all of which
one could never forget, there were two particularly memorable moments
of that production; one was the fortune-telling scene, the other--the
scene in which Carmen flirts with the Lieutenant of Gendarmes in
order to lure him away from the gipsy camp, and is dividing her
attention between her flirtation and the knowledge that Don José has
only just been frustrated from stabbing her while so engaged, by the
sudden intervention of her comrades, who are endeavouring to drag him
away silently so that the Lieutenant who is just in front shall not
hear and so discover the presence of the gipsy band.
In the card scene, Guerrero gave in all its fullness the sense of a
tragic, overhanging doom. In the other, all the combined cunning and
fighting instinct of a savage animal at bay with circumstance, and
trying by sheer cunning and audacity, to master it, came out, and it
was not acting but reality, the real Carmen of Mérimée extricating
herself and her comrades from discovery and disaster by superb daring
in the use of her dazzling, unconscionable charm.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE ALHAMBRA 1904-1914
There was plenty of novelty and ample charm in “All the Year Round,”
a ballet in seven scenes, written and produced by Mr. Charles
Wilson, with bright and appropriate music by the well-known _chef
d’orchestre_ of Drury Lane, Mr. James Glover, on January 21st, 1904,
by which time the late Mr. George Scott was Manager.
It was one that should always be worth revival, with topical
modifications, and though a genuine ballet with a central idea
connecting its varied scenes, it seemed in form somewhat to herald
the _revue_ which has since become such a craze. It was what one
might call a ballet in free form.
The chief theme was the whim of a young French Marquis, who, having
invited friends to a dinner-party and engaged a Hungarian band for
their entertainment, himself turns up late to find that his _chef_
is about to resign because the dinner is spoilt, and the servants
are on the verge of striking, while the guests are dancing. Annoyed
at a clock which reminds him of his unpunctuality, he orders its
destruction. The band now “strikes” and as everything is topsy-turvy,
the young host--not too blasé to enjoy any new freak--suggests that
servants and guests shall change places. This done, they welcome in
the New Year, and on the departure of the last guest, the butler
brings his master a large Calendar which the young man is mockingly
about to destroy also, when the Spirit of Happiness descends from
it, and as he pursues her, she asks him to learn how he may obtain
Happiness throughout the dawning year--thus paving the way for a
sort of _revue_ of the Months.
The scheme gave scope for a number of charming and novel effects and
topical reference to various old festivals, such as St. Valentine’s
Day, St. Patrick’s Day; various sports and pastimes; a river scene, a
seaside bathing scene, an August Bank Holiday Revel. But the greatest
charm of the production was in scenes where a more poetic fancy had
had free play, as in the May scene, with the approach of Spring, a
glory of white and pink may, lilac and laburnum, and heralding the
blossoms of early summer, finishing with a ballet of swallows and May
flowers.
The Autumnal scene, with its ballet of wheat, cornflowers, poppies
and autumn leaves, was a charming incident and provided an excellent
contrast to the earlier scene in the warmth of its colouring. The
November scene was, rightly enough, placed in London, on the Thames
Embankment by Cleopatra’s Needle, amid a typical London Fog; while
that of December closed with a grand Christmas ballet of holly and
mistletoe and icicles, with snow-clad tree and hedgerow in the
background.
It was indeed a capital production and was still in the programme
when a new and topical ballet, “The Entente Cordiale,” was staged on
August 29th following. This also was invented and produced by Mr.
Charles Wilson, with excellent music by Mr. Landon Ronald, and dances
arranged and composed by Signor Alfredo Curti, who was for the next
few years to be closely associated, in the capacity of _maître de
ballet_, with the Alhambra Theatre.
The opening prologue took place in the “Grove of Concordia,” where
the five Great Powers of Europe assemble to pay homage to the Goddess
of Progress. But, later, the Demon of War enters upon the world-stage
and stirs up strife among the Nations, so that all the horrors of
War are felt throughout the world, until finally Peace prevails
and summons the Ambassadors to enter and the Nations to assemble in
the Temple of Peace, where the Representatives of all the Nations,
assisted by the Orders of the Legion of Honour of France and the
Garter of England, at last form a grand alliance of all the Powers
and ensure the peace of the world in one _Grande Entente Cordiale_, a
scene of splendour strangely annulled in the face of present history
but, let us hope, prophetic of the future.
“Parisiana,” a grand ballet in six scenes, invented and produced by
Mr. Charles Wilson, with music by Mr. James W. Glover, and dances
arranged by Signor Alfredo Curti, and some gorgeous costumes by
Alias, from designs by Comelli, gave us in 1905 fascinating glimpses
of Paris at various periods--1790, 1830, 1906. Among noteworthy
members of the cast were Mlle. Jane May, heroine of the earlier
production of “L’Enfant Prodigue,” and one of the finest modern
mimes; and also Miss Edith Slack, Miss Cormani, Signor Santini, and,
for a time, Signorina Maria la Bella.
Between October, 1906, and May 14th, 1907, the Alhambra underwent
partial reconstruction, with complete and elaborate redecoration,
under the supervision of Mr. W. M. Brutton, the Alhambra Company’s
architect; and big as the task was it was carried through with entire
success and with additional triumph in that it was done without
closing the theatre for a single night!
Mr. Alfred Moul had now assumed the dual task of Chairman and
Managing Director, with the result that under the influence of a
gentleman of extensive theatrical experience, and wide musical
culture, the Alhambra entered upon a new and even yet more brilliant
phase of artistic success in 1907, when “The Queen of Spades,” a
striking ballet of which the action and dances were composed and
arranged by Signor Alfredo Curti, was staged and proved so successful
as to run into a second “edition” and continue in the programme for
some months.
Signor Alfredo Curti hailed from the Scala, Milan, where he had
studied the difficult art of Ballet composition on the historic lines
laid down by the virtual founder of the Milan school, Carlo Blasis,
of whom, as of Noverre, he was a great admirer, and about whom I had
many an interesting conversation. Signor Curti, whose scholarship in
the history of the dance was remarkable, was an enthusiastic follower
of the traditional school, and as an accomplished dancer and mime, an
artist, trained geometrician, and devotee of literature and music,
he brought to bear on his work as composer of Ballet, a theatrical
experience and artistic sympathy, somewhat akin to that of Blasis
himself; and while the action of his ballet was always coherent and
dramatic his appreciation of stage effect and handling of massed
groups of dancers in motion, were uncommonly fine.
In the production of “Queen of Spades,” a dramatic ballet, the
story of which dealt with the allure of gambling, he was supported
on the musical side by that distinguished Italian composer, Signor
Mario Costa, some additional numbers being contributed by Mr. George
W. Byng, the costumes, of course, being by Alias, from designs by
Comelli, and scenery by Mr. T. E. Ryan.
With Signorina Maria Bordin, a finished dancer of the typical Italian
school, as _prima ballerina assoluta_, seconded by that admirable
mime, Miss Julia Seale, Signorina Morino, Signor Santini, and an
excellent _corps de ballet_, the production achieved instant success,
and enthusiastically appreciative audiences found special reason for
approval in the novelty of the stage effects, such as the “Dream
Visions” in the third scene, with its “Valse des Liqueurs,” the
“Grand March of Playing Cards and Roulettes,” the novel “Bridge”
minuet; the “Conflict between Evil and Good,” not to mention the
dramatic effect of the “Temptation” scene which followed, and the
gorgeous finale in the “Nymphs’ Grotto of La Source.”
Ambitious and successful as was this production, it was followed, in
October, 1907, by one even more striking, namely, “Les Cloches de
Corneville,” adapted from Planquette’s world-famous _opéra comique_.
The _ballet d’action_ was invented and presented by Signor Alfredo
Curti to the original music, as ingeniously selected, arranged and
supplemented by Mr. George W. Byng. Some wonderful costumes were
supplied by Alias from designs by Comelli, and the entire spectacle
was produced under the personal direction of Mr. Alfred Moul. Signor
G. Rosi gave an uncommonly fine study of the miserly Gaspard,
Signor Santini making a “dashing” Marquis de Corneville, Miss Daisy
Taylor an attractive Germaine, Miss Julia Seale playing cleverly as
Grenicheux, Signorina Morino as Serpolette, while Signorina Maria
Bordin won fresh laurels as the Spirit of the Bells, a part naturally
calling less for dramatic ability than for the music of motion.
The production was beautifully staged. No prettier scene has ever
been set on the Alhambra stage than that of the Hiring Fair and Apple
Harvest, with its dance of apple-gatherers and sabot dance; nor one
more gorgeous than the last, in the Baronial Hall of the Corneville
Château, with its striking Grand March of Knights. The ballet ran
continuously _for over seven months_, and was revived with no less
success two years later.
Once more a “topical” ballet held the place of honour in the
programme on May 25th, 1908. “The Two Flags,” a Franco-British
_divertissement_, arranged and produced by Signor Curti, with some
capital music by Mr. George W. Byng, was presented under the personal
direction of Mr. Alfred Moul, the chief _rôle_ of “La Gaieté de
Paris” being taken by Mlle. Pomponette--the very personification of
French _enfantine_ gaiety--well supported by Miss Julia Seale, Signor
Rosi, Signorina Morino, and other Alhambra favourites.
In the same programme was given, under the title of “Sal! Oh My!” an
amusing satire on what we may term the Salome School of Dancing, then
recently instituted by Miss Maud Allan. The Alhambra skit, described
as “a musical etcetera” (the delightful music of which, by the way,
was by Mr. George W. Byng), served to introduce to a London audience
for the first time La Belle Leonora, a very handsome _danseuse_ of, I
believe, Spanish origin, who was, for several seasons, to become the
“bright, particular star” of the Alhambra.
These two productions held sway for some months, but gave place in
October, 1908, to “Paquita,” a charming romantic ballet arranged
and produced by Signor Alfredo Curti, with music by Mr. George W.
Byng, who once more proved his talent for composition of the kind
essential for ballet, music rich in expressive melody, dramatic in
orchestration, and always appropriate to the action and mood of the
situation. The production introduced to London audiences for the
first time, Mlle. Britta, a young Danish dancer, with an interesting
personality and a marked gift for acting.
In the same programme was included “On the Square,” a
_divertissement_ arranged and produced by Miss Elise Clerc, the scene
of which was laid in Herald Square, New York, and formed a background
for dances by newsboys, flower-girls, equestriennes, cake-walks,
“apache” dances, a dance of “Fluffy Ruffles and Rough Riders,” a
clever eccentric _pas de deux_, by Miss Elise Clerc herself and the
late Mr. Frank Lawton (the whistler, who first came into prominence
in London in the original production of “The Belle of New York”),
the most attractive item in the whole production perhaps being a
marionette _pas de deux_ by Mlle. Britta and Miss Carlotta Mossetti,
a clever dancer and mime.
[Illustration:
_Hana_
Mme. Guerrero]
[Illustration:
_Dover St. Studios_
Mlle. Leonora]
The _divertissement_ held its place in the programme for a
considerable time, but was in general character hardly up to the
artistic tone of the Alhambra’s past; and the production of “Psyche,”
a classic idyll in three scenes, of which the dramatic action and
dances were by Signor Alfredo Curti, and the melodious, and always
expressive music was by Mr. Alfred Moul, came as a welcome relief to
the banalities of ragtime, the more so in that it provided a fine
opportunity for another striking success by Mlle. Leonora, whose
statuesque grace was particularly well displayed by the classic
beauty of the setting provided for her.
“Femina,” another fine production by Signor Curti, gave Mlle. Leonora
opportunities, of which she fully availed herself, more especially in
her own national dance, and Mlle. Britta achieved a marked success
both as dancer and actress. Since then the more recent influx of
Russian dancers to the Alhambra, in “The Dance Dream,” invented and
produced by Alexander A. Gorsky, and notable for superb mounting and
the fine dancing of Mme. Catrina Geltzer and M. Tichomiroff; then the
exquisite “1830,” and since then again, another superb production of
a new version of “Carmen,” produced by Mr. Dion Clayton Calthrop,
and with some especially fine dancing by La Malaguenita and other
Spanish artists, all offered us fresh and delightful examples of the
enterprise of the management responsible for them.
We must, however, leave any further consideration of the many
notable examples of Ballet at the Alhambra, which during the past
two or three years has been mainly given up to the _Revue_; and
must now turn to the Empire where an extensive series of always
artistic productions have provided those who witnessed them with many
interesting and happy memories.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE EMPIRE 1884-1906
Before it opened its doors as a regular theatre, with the late H. J.
Hitchins as Manager, on April 17th, 1884, the Empire had “played many
parts.” The site had been occupied by a royal residence which became
in time a picture, or exhibition gallery and a café chantant, before
being burnt down in 1865. Then the late John Hollingshead and some
friends proposed erecting a theatre on the site, but the scheme fell
through and the ruin remained ruinous for some years, until it became
for a time a panorama of Balaclava. Then a theatre was started, to
be called the Pandora, but did not get finished under that title.
Finally it opened as the Empire in 1884, with “Chilperic,” a musical
spectacle in three acts and seven tableaux, founded on the opera
adapted by H. Hersee and H. B. Farnie, with music by Hervé. The
production included three grand ballets invented and arranged by
Monsieur Bertrand.
The sensation of the third act was a “midnight review and electric
ballet of fifty Amazons, as invented by Trouvé, of Paris (being the
first time where three electric lamps are carried and manipulated by
one person, with the most startling and gorgeous effect).”
The dancers included Mlle. Sismondi, Mlle. Aguzzi and Fräulein
Hofschuller; and the costumes by Mons. and Mme. Alias were after
designs by Bianchini, Faustin and Wilhelm, the last name being famous
in association, from the opening in 1884, with the many brilliant
productions at the Empire.
It does not seem to be commonly known that while still counted as
a “theatre,” the Empire was already foreshadowing its destiny as a
home of English Ballet. The production of “Polly” was followed by
a real ballet, a version of Coppélia--_not_ that of Delibes--but
one founded on Hoffman’s famous story, with music by Léo; Delibes’
“Sylvia” also being produced at about the same period. Probably few
people of to-day are aware that the famous ballet “Giselle” was also
given in these early days at the Empire, in December, 1884. And
again, on December 21st, 1885, was produced “Hurly Burly,” a military
pantomime ballet. Yet again, on June 12th, 1886, came “The Palace of
Pearl,” in which there were a Moorish ballet, with a Mlle. Luna as
_première_, and a lace ballet, in which Mlle. Pertoldi was the bright
particular star. The Empire was afterwards occupied for a time by the
Gaiety Company in burlesque, while a French company was occupying the
Gaiety, and, later, by the musical extravaganza, “The Lady of the
Locket,” in which Miss Florence St. John played the lead, and Mr.
Hayden Coffin, I believe, made his first appearance as “Cosmo.” Mr.
Edward Solomon’s opera, “Billee Taylor,” was also mounted for a short
run, as well as--on March 3rd, 1886--a version of “Round the World in
Eighty Days,” in which Miss Kate Vaughan and Mons. Marius appeared.
Its career as a regular theatre not being as successful as had
been hoped, a fresh licence was obtained, and on December 22nd,
1887, under the joint direction of Mr. George Edwardes and the
late Sir Augustus Harris--with Mr. H. J. Hitchins as Manager--it
started afresh as a theatre of varieties, with Ballet as its chief
attraction, and it at once assumed an important place as one of the
leading variety houses of the world.
At the beginning of the Empire’s prosperous career a wise choice was
made in the selection of the late Madame Katti Lanner as _maîtresse
de ballet_.
Daughter of the famous Viennese waltz composer, Joseph Lanner--who,
when he died, was followed to the grave by some ten thousand
people--and herself a keen lover of music, Mme. Katti Lanner had been
in her earlier years a famous _danseuse_, who had appeared as a child
at the Vienna Opera-House, and later made her world-tour, as great
dancers did then and do to-day.
She told me, in the first of many pleasant interviews I had with her
in her retirement, how, as a young girl, she had danced with Cerito,
and with Fanny Elssler, and how the latter had prophesied for her a
successful career; and she spoke with deep enthusiasm of the personal
fascination, the brilliant art, and the noble bearing of the great
dancer who was known to London of the ’forties as the “divine” Fanny.
In the course of time Mme. Lanner came to settle in London, and
had produced ballets at Her Majesty’s--at which she had also
appeared--and at Drury Lane, before her invaluable services were
secured by the far-seeing management of the Empire in 1887.
She had already, some ten years before, established her National
School of Dancing; and with this to draw upon, it was only natural
that, from the first, her productions at the Empire should be
marked by a uniformly high standard of technique. At no theatre or
opera-house can a high standard be maintained unless it can draw upon
some such school, either on the premises or off, where young talent
is fostered and developed, where consistent practice is kept up under
critical eyes, and where a uniform degree of technical efficiency and
a high sense of style are cultivated. So it has been with Milan and
Paris, Vienna and Petrograd; and so it became when Mme. Lanner began
her association with that series of productions at the Empire of
which it may be truthfully said that each achieved both artistic and
financial success.
The programme on the opening night, Thursday, December 22nd,
1887, included two ballets, “Sports of England” and “Dilara.”
The former--the costumes for which were designed by Mr. Percy
Anderson--was, as its title betokens, a representation of the various
British sports and pastimes, and was naturally very popular with the
_habitués_ of the Empire. The second--the costumes of which were
designed by Mr. C. Wilhelm--was a brilliant spectacle, of Eastern
character; and both ballets, arranged by Mme. Lanner, with music by
Hervé, had a run of some months.
They were succeeded by “Rose d’Amour” in May, 1888, which those who
remember it speak of to-day as one of Mme. Katti Lanner’s greatest
triumphs. It was notable, too, for the appearance of such dancers
as Mlle. Adèle Rossi--who, I believe, had come from the Paris
Opera--Mlle. Santori, Mlle. de Sortis; Ænea, the flying dancer, and
the wondrous Mons. Cecchetti, who, gifted with amazing youth, was
appearing recently with the Russians at the Royal Opera, Covent
Garden. “Rose d’Amour,” like Darwin’s poem of a century earlier,
dealt with “the loves of the plants,” or at any rate of the flowers,
and the quarrels in flowerland. It was a long and rather elaborate
production, with a prodigal array of lovely costumes designed by
Mr. Wilhelm; and it rather opened the eyes of Londoners as to the
possibilities of the art of Ballet. “Diana,” a graceful idyll on
classic lines--the scenario of which was suggested by Mr. Wilhelm,
and arranged by Mme. Lanner--followed on October 31st of the
same year, with that graceful dancer, Mme. Palladino, and Signor
Albertieri in the cast, and, later, Mme. Malvina Cavallazzi, who
appeared for the first time in ballet skirts at the Empire, and
for the last time in the same typical costume; her subsequent
appearances being usually in male character, of which she was a truly
fine exponent. “Diana” was followed by “Robert Macaire.”
Early next year came the first London production of Paul Martinetti
and Hervé’s “A Duel in the Snow,” which was less in the nature of a
regular ballet than of pure pantomime, was a finely dramatic effort
well staged and acted. In the spring of ’eighty-nine was produced
another superb ballet, “Cleopatra” (inspired by Sir Rider Haggard’s
novel, then appearing in serial form in the pages of the _Illustrated
London News_), which ran for some four months and was immensely
admired.
In the autumn it gave place to a popular production, dealing with
the diversions, and bearing the title of “The Paris Exhibition”; and
in December of the same year, on the eve of Christmas Eve, came a
wonderful production, “The Dream of Wealth,” by Mme. Katti Lanner,
with music by that fine composer--so long afterwards associated
with the Empire--Mons. L. Wenzel, and with costumes and accessories
designed “as before” by Mr. Wilhelm. The cast included that superb
mime, Signora Malvina Cavallazzi, as a Miser; Signor Luigi Albertieri
as the Demon of Avarice; and dainty little Mlle. Bettina de Sortis as
_première_, representing “The Key of the Jewel Casket.”
The same admirable trio were included in the new ballet, “Cécile”
(by Lanner, Wenzel, and Wilhelm, again), which followed on May
20th, 1890, the _première danseuse_ being Mlle. Giuri, a dancer of
exquisite finish and singularly _élégante_ style, as well as a most
admirable mime. The period of the _divertissement_ was Louis-Seize,
and the production was very charmingly staged, one of the chief
points being a wonderful colour scheme of almost one tone, composed
of white and silver and mother-of-pearl. This was in the second
tableau, depicting a court in the palace of a Rajah who had very
wrongly abducted a pupil from a French school! In this ballet that
delightful English dancer Miss Topsy Sinden first made her London
_début_ as a tiny child, with her brother, Bert Sinden.
The spring of next year was marked by the production of “Orfeo,”
the scenario of which was by Mr. Wilhelm, the scenery by Telbin. It
was an impressive example of classic ballet. Mme. Cavallazzi was a
superb exponent of the title-_rôle_, Miss Ada Vincent was excellent
as Eurydice, and good support was given by Mlle. Adèle Rossi and
Signor Cecchetti. The autumn of the same year saw the advent of “By
the Sea,” perhaps the earliest of the “up-to-date” ballets; and on
December 22nd that of “Nisita,” the latter a romantic ballet with an
Albanian setting, a very pretty second tableau showing a “Revel of
the Fairies,” and with Mlle. Emma Palladino as the handsome heroine
Nita, and Mme. Cavallazzi as the hero, Delvinos. The first night this
was produced, December 22nd, 1891, by the way, there was one of the
very worst fogs London has ever seen, so thick that you could not see
the drop curtain from the third row of the stalls! But the innate
brightness of the production overcame its gloomy environment at birth
and it ran for months.
In May, 1892, came “Versailles,” another superb production for the
scenario of which, as well as of course the costumes, Mr. Wilhelm
was mainly responsible, though it was as usual “choregraphically”
arranged by Mme. Katti Lanner, with delightful music by Mons. Leopold
Wenzel. This ran until September, when “Round the Town” (a ballet
the scenario of which was by Mr. George Edwardes and Mme. Lanner)
was staged, and proved so popular as a topical _divertissement_ (not
unlike our present day _Revues_) that it held the bill for some
months. An interesting point in connection with this ballet was
that the late Miss Katie Seymour, one of the very neatest English
dancers that ever trod the London boards, joined the cast after
the production had run a little time, and as a Salvation Lassie
performed an eccentric dance with Mr. Willie Warde, also an extremely
able English dancer, that was one of the successes of the theatrical
season. In 1893, the theatre was closed from October 27th to November
2nd, owing to intervention by the County Council.
One of the finest productions yet seen at a theatre which by now had
become famous for its ballets, was “Faust,” first produced on May
6th, 1895. The scenario of this, as well as the costume designs,
were by Mr. Wilhelm, and it was an ingenious variation of the Gounod
version, the music not by Gounod, but by Mr. Meyer Lutz and Mr.
Ernest Ford, the ballet being arranged as usual by Mme. Lanner. Mme.
Cavallazzi was superb as Faust; Miss Ada Vincent was the Gretchen,
Mlle. Zanfretta was a striking exponent of Mephistopheles, and among
the cast was Mr. Will Bishop, a clever eccentric dancer, who was
associated with the Empire for several seasons. This was followed,
in the January of 1896, by a charming ballet entitled “La Danse,” in
which the history of dancing was illustrated and various dancers of
the older schools, such as Sallé, Taglioni and others, as well as the
modern, were typified. In October came “Monte Cristo”--another superb
production staged and designed by Mr. Wilhelm, to whom I am indebted
for many interesting details of the Empire’s history. This brings to
a close the record of success from the opening of the Empire in 1887
to the close of 1896. This first phase was one of increasing triumph;
a second, more splendid still, was to come. We had seen Ballet
perfect of its kind. But yet, perfection was to be crowned by the
supremacy of terpsichorean and mimetic art--the art of Adeline Génée.
“Under One Flag,” a topical ballet in celebration of Queen Victoria’s
Diamond Jubilee, in 1897, ran for some months. Before the close of
the year the Treasure Island tableau in “Monte Cristo” was staged,
and in this, on November 22nd, 1897, a certain historic event took
place--Mlle. Adeline Génée made her London _début_ at the Empire
Theatre.
One of her critics at the time wrote that: “Her _pas seuls_ commanded
encores which were thoroughly deserved. The dancer is lissom to a
degree and thoroughly mistress of her art. With her terpsichorean
ability she has the advantage of a prepossessing personality,
which will assist in endearing her to the public.” So much did
her personality endear her to the public that Mlle. Génée’s first
engagement at the Empire _for six weeks extended to over ten years_,
with return visits after that!
Looking back at the great dancers of the past, we see that all
illustrate the incalculable value of personality in art. The
technique of a Camargo or Sallé, Taglioni or Grahn, Karsavina or
Génée, has the same foundation--the traditional “five positions,”
which are to the Dance what the octave is to the sister art of Music.
Before a dancer can hope to appear with success on any stage she
must have acquired a knowledge of those “five positions,” and their
possibilities of choregraphic combination. The ease and rapidity with
which she illustrates them, the fluidity of the phrases and melodies
of movement which she evolves from them, and the qualities of
“finish” and “style” are finally achieved only by incessant practice.
She must attain as complete a mastery of the mechanism of her body as
can be attained. No technique in any art is acquired without labour;
and no success is won without technique. That much therefore can be
taken for granted in any great artist. But persistent practice and
the acquisition of a fine technique may still leave a dancer merely
an exquisite automaton if she has not “personality”; a quality
not readily defined, but which undeniably marks her as different
from others. Perhaps that is, after all, the truest definition--a
differentiation from others.
Endowed with the royal gift of personality, Mlle. Génée had worked
incessantly before she made her first appearance in London at about
the age of seventeen. Born in Copenhagen of Danish parents, the
famous dancer began her training when only eight years old, under
the tuition of her uncle and aunt, Mons. and Mme. Alexander Génée,
both of whom (the latter as Mlle. Zimmermann) had won considerable
reputation as dancers, and producers of ballet, at various
continental opera-houses and theatres in the ’sixties and ’seventies.
They had appeared at Copenhagen, Vienna, Dresden, Munich, Budapest,
and at Stettin, where Mons. Alexander Génée had a theatre for some
years, and where Mlle. Adeline made some of her earliest appearances
as a child. Subsequently she went to Berlin and to Munich, and it was
while dancing in the latter city that she was called to London by Mr.
George Edwardes on behalf of the Empire management.
Her first appearance here was emphatically a success. But it was her
performance as the Spirit of the “Liberty of the Press” in the famous
Empire ballet, “The Press” (invented and designed by Mr. Wilhelm with
the choregraphic support of Mme. Lanner and music by Mons. Wenzel),
on February 14th, 1898, that first marked her--and for many years
to come--as a London “star.” The ballet gave her scope for some
wonderful _pas_, and proved immensely popular. It was a novel idea,
artistically carried out, and illustrated the history and power of
the Fourth Estate. A number of charming coryphées were ingeniously
attired as representatives of the various newspapers, boys’ costumes
indicating the morning and girls’ the evening journals. The venerable
_Times_ was typified by a man in the guise of Father Time, with
hour-glass and other symbols of his ancient office, and accompanied
by a retinue. Mme. Cavallazzi represented Caxton, Father of the
Printing Press; Mlle. Zanfretta, the Spirit of Fashion; and there
were typical costumes for _The Standard_, _The Daily Telegraph_, _The
Globe_, _The Daily Mail_ (then two years old!), _The Illustrated
London News_ (who announced that she was “Established 1842”), _The
Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News_, _The Lady’s Pictorial_, _The
Sketch_, _The Referee_, and others too numerous to name. So popular
did the ballet prove that this also ran for months, and it was not
until October of the same year that a new production, “Alaska,” was
staged, the scenario of which was by Mr. Wilhelm, the choregraphy by
Mme. Lanner, and music by Mons. Wenzel.
The production which a contemporary critic described as “one of
the most gorgeous ballets ever produced at the Empire,” is another
example of the influence of topical events on the history of the
Ballet, for it was due to the discovery of the Klondyke goldfields,
the first news of which had come to us the year before, that is,
in Jubilee year, but the real wonders of which only began fully to
reveal themselves in the summer of 1898, when everyone talked and
dreamed of little else than “Klondyke”! The ballet opened with a
blinding snowstorm, and the scene, laid in the snow-bound regions
of the North-West, glowed, as the storm ceased, with the grandeur
of the Aurora Borealis. The story dealt with the adventures of one
Alec Wylie (Mme. Cavallazzi), leader of an expedition to Klondyke,
who, tempted by the Demon Avarice, quarrels with and leaves for
dead his partner, Frank Courage, whose life is saved by the ice
fairies and who is vouchsafed a vision of golden realms by the Fairy
Good Fortune. The production was rich in striking scenes and stage
effects, and once again Mlle. Génée further confirmed her growing
capacity to “endear” herself to London audiences by her performance
as the Fairy Good Fortune.
On May 8th of the following year, 1899, “Round the Town Again,” by
Mme. Lanner, Mr. Wilhelm and Mons. Wenzel, was produced. This was
entirely different from the original “Round the Town,” and with a
second edition, also further altered, in January, 1900, ran until the
end of August, 1900, that is, for fifteen months! Mlle. Génée, Mlle.
Zanfretta and Mr. Will Bishop were the leading dancers, with a change
of cast for a time when Mlle. Edvige Gantenberg took up Mlle. Génée’s
part of Lisette, a French maid, during the latter’s absence on a
brief holiday. A revised edition of “By the Sea,” under the title
of “Seaside,” came on in September, 1900, the cast including Mlle.
Génée, Signor Santini, Mr. Will Bishop and also Mr. Frank Lawton,
whose whistling had so long been one of the attractions, elsewhere,
of the “Belle of New York.”
Next came a fascinating ballet “Les Papillons,” the scenario and
staging of which were by Mr. Wilhelm. Of this an enthusiastic critic
declared: “It is, indeed, a beautiful butterfly ballet that the
Empire Theatre is just now able to boast. With it the management
draws crowded houses, and sends them away delighted--delighted with
the colour, exhilarated by the movement, charmed by the fancy, and
ready to sing the praises of all concerned in a truly marvellous
production, and particularly of Mr. Wilhelm, whose designs have given
further proof of the taste which governs his fertile imagination
and invention, and of Mme. Katti Lanner, for whom the dances and
evolutions mean another veritable triumph.” Mlle. Adeline Génée,
as lead, played “Vanessa Imperialis,” the Butterfly Queen, who
was “discovered” at the opening of the ballet fast asleep in the
lovely realm over which she reigned. A glow-worm patrol guarded her
slumbers, which ended with the coming of dawn, when she joined her
subjects and the flower-fays in dances, and the revels of a fairy
midsummer’s day dream.
On November 6th of the same year followed “Old China,” a delightful
ballet, invented and designed by Mr. C. Wilhelm, associated, as
usual, with Mme. Lanner and Mons. Wenzel, and with Mlle. Génée
as _première danseuse_. The opening scene showed a mantelpiece,
backed by a great mirror, in which the actions of a little Dresden
China Shepherdess (Mlle. Génée) and her two troublesome lovers,
were exactly repeated in the looking-glass, through which finally
the indignant damsel stepped--to the chagrin of her disconsolate
lovers--right into Willow Pattern Land, which formed the second
scene, and into which some particularly rich and beautiful effects
were introduced. “Old China” ran for some months, and on May 28th of
the following year was succeeded by another “topical” ballet, “Our
Crown,” again the work of the accomplished trio, who had so long
contributed to the success of the Empire productions, and were now
receiving the brilliant assistance of the Danish _première_, who had
thoroughly established herself in popular favour. It was, of course
in celebration of that crowning of the late King Edward which had
been so unhappily postponed, through his late Majesty’s illness on
the very eve of what should have been his Coronation. This, again,
was a most brilliant production, and the final tableau, practically
a “Staircase” scene, in which the great stage was built up with
groups representative of the jewelled products of the various British
colonies, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, pearls, was magnificent. As in
the case of the Victorian Jubilee ballet of five years before, this
was a conspicuous triumph in the particularly difficult sphere of
_ballets d’occasion_.
The first production of 1903 was also the first of what may be
called essentially the Génée ballets--ballets, that is, which seemed
more particularly than before, infused with the personality of this
accomplished dancer. Since her London _début_ in 1897 she had played
the leading part, certainly, but now it seemed almost as if her
personality coloured the whole ballet itself, even as unquestionably
her supreme technique set an example and had its influence in raising
the already high standard of technique throughout the _corps de
ballet_. The scenario and staging of “The Milliner Duchess” were by
Mr. Wilhelm, and the story was specially designed to give Mlle. Génée
an opportunity of further exhibiting her gifts as an actress. Into
a fashionable throng frequenting the establishment of an up-to-date
duchess who was running a milliner’s business was introduced her
demure little niece, impersonated, of course, by Mlle. Génée; and her
first entrance, in a gown of primitively early-Victorian simplicity,
was charming in its hesitancy, and one realised that she was
something more even than a finished dancer, namely, a born mime with
a fine artistic appreciation of the _nuances_ of comedy.
In her dance descriptive of the charms of country life, so clever
and so perfect was the combination of mime and dance that a positive
illusion was created; and only at the close did one realise,
suddenly, that it was veritably a song without words. A step, a
gesture, a little glance, and one could have sworn one heard a poet’s
lines! Popular as the dancer had already made herself, her work in
this particularly charming ballet confirmed the growing opinion that
here was a dancer who was supreme in her art as a dancer-mime; one to
be reckoned among any gallery of the great artists of the past.
In the autumn of the same year was staged a ballet by the same
experienced trio, Wilhelm, Lanner and Wenzel, entitled “Vineland,”
which introduced to us some novel and sumptuous colour schemes
and gave us the sensation of Mlle. Génée’s “champagne” dance, a
piece of terpsichorean music as sparkling as the most glittering
of Offenbach’s operatic melodies. Early next year there followed
the lively, up-to-date _divertissement_, “High Jinks,” in which
the leading parts were played by Mlle. Génée, Mlle. Zanfretta, Miss
Dorothy Craske, and Mr. Fred Farren.
An adaptation by Mr. Wilhelm from the popular Viennese ballet, “Die
Puppenfee,” under the English title of “The Dancing Doll,” was
produced on January 3rd, 1905, and was notable, among other things,
for Mlle. Génée’s impersonation of an automaton in situations not
very dissimilar from those of “La Poupée,” and a notable point in the
production was a delightful eccentric dance by Miss Elise Clerc and
Mr. W. Vokes, as a pair of Dutch dolls. This very successful ballet
went into a second edition on April 3rd, and on June 30th the theatre
was closed for redecoration.
When it reopened on October 9th of that year the _habitués_ found
considerable alterations had taken place under the direction of Mr.
Frank Verity, F.R.I.B.A., all designed for their increased comfort,
while the decorative style, representative of the true Empire period,
had a note of distinction hitherto lacking in some of the London
vaudeville houses, a note more in keeping with the demands of modern
times. The opening ballet, by Mr. C. Wilhelm and Mr. Sidney Jones,
was “The Bugle Call,” which had a well defined plot, and in which
Mlle. Génée played the part of a French bugler boy of the late
eighteenth century.
On the afternoon of January 6th (1906) a version of “Cinderella,”
one of the most charming of Mr. Wilhelm’s creations, was staged,
originally with a view only to _matinée_ performances, but it
proved so successful that it went into the evening bill on February
5th. The creator of the ballet had treated the age-long legend of
Cinderella with that respect for its mingled poetry and pathos which
an artist of sympathy must always feel for one of childhood’s most
appealing legends; and he provided Mlle. Génée once more with an
opportunity for proving her remarkable gifts as an actress, fully in
sympathy with the character and sufferings of the little heroine she
impersonated.
On May 14th, Delibes’ classic example of Ballet in its ideal form,
namely, “Coppélia,” was produced specially for Mlle. Génée, and
gave her, as the heroine, Swanilda, fresh opportunity for further
revelations of her amazing accomplishments as a dancer and for her
expressive acting; in which, by the way, she was admirably supported
by Mr. Fred Farren in the character of the old doll-maker, Coppélia;
and by Miss Dorothy Craske as Coppélia’s somewhat wavering lover. The
production was a great success. How should it have been otherwise?
Perfectly staged and perfectly performed, it is, with its haunting
Slav rhythms and flowing _valse_ melodies, one of the most charming,
and musically, one of the most expressive ballets in the world’s
_répertoire_.
This was followed on August 6th by one of the most exquisite
productions the Empire had yet seen, a ballet by Mr. C. Wilhelm,
entitled “Fête Galante,” which had been expanded from the opening
scene of “Cinderella.”
To see the “Fête Galante” was itself a liberal education in the art
of stage effect. It was an ideal realisation of the art of Watteau,
Lancret, and Fragonard. The very spirit of the period was caught, and
it was as if all that one had learnt at secondhand of the people, the
dress, the manners, dances, arts and music of the “Grand Century” in
France had suddenly awakened into life, and become a living reality
of which one was a living part. Yet, paradoxically, it was strangely
dream-like still, even as are Watteau’s pictures.
The scene represented a garden such as you see in so many of his
paintings, and those of his school, primarily reminiscent of Pater’s
“Conversation Galante” and Watteau’s “Fête Galante,” “L’amour au
Théâtre Français,” and the “Terrace Party.” One of the young Court
ladies reminded one of the central figure in the “Bal sous une
Colonnade.” A minuet was in progress. All was stately and dream-like,
made the more so by the music.
For all the gaiety of the huntsmen’s entrance it was gaiety demure,
as if restrained by an inherent sense of fitness with stately
surroundings; and so with the troupe of dancers, introduced for the
diversion of the Marquise Belle Etoile, and the Court ladies and
courtiers grouped about her. The mood of all, demurely gay, or gaily
demure, was suffused with a stately languor, a dream-like grace that
found an echo in the subtle colour-harmonies of the old-world garden
in which the people moved.
And when the opera-dancer, L’Hirondelle, and Passepied the master
of the revels, began their _pas de deux_, the climax of exquisite
illusion was reached, and Camargo was before us--the Camargo
of Lancret’s famous picture, with the soft, full white skirts,
trimmed with garlands of small pink roses and falling almost to the
ankle; Camargo with the red-heeled, red-rosetted shoes; with blue
shoulder-knot and powdered hair adorned with pale blue ribbons.
As the fête drew to a close the picture mellowed in the amber light
of a waning day; and, amid fallen leaf and chestnut bloom, slowly
marquise and prince, Court lady and courtier, dancer and page, began
in stately fashion to dance, their shadows lengthening in the failing
light, the music growing slower and dreamier as, little by little,
the picture was re-formed into the likeness of the opening scene, and
the falling curtain brought one back into the world of living things
to-day.
Another brilliant reconstruction of the Past was achieved by Mr.
Wilhelm in his creation of “The Débutante” (November 15th, 1906),
which revivified the men and maids and _modes_, the dance of life,
and the life of the dance, of that strangely interesting period of
the ’thirties and ’forties, the days of Pauline Duverney, Leroux,
Fanny Elssler, and Taglioni’s earlier years. The scene represented
the _Salon de Danse_ attached to an opera-house, the story dealing
with the refusal of a star to take up her part in a ballet which is
on the eve of production, her place being taken at the eleventh hour
by a _débutante_ (Mlle. Génée) with almost miraculous abilities.
For this production, and in order that the style of the earlier
dances should be represented on the stage with regard for accuracy
and tradition, Mme. Katti Lanner, who had left the Empire in 1905,
was induced to withdraw from her retirement temporarily at the
request of the Directors, and out of personal friendship towards Mr.
Wilhelm, with whose artistic aims she had so constantly shown her
sympathy. Her reappearance to take another “call” proved another
personal triumph. The ballet was indeed a charming work, fascinating
to students of the dance and mime; and it proved so successful that
a new one was not required until “Sir Roger de Coverley,” by Adrian
Ross and Dr. Osmond Carr, staged by Mr. Wilhelm, came into the bill
on May 7th in the following year. As its title betokens, it dealt
with the period of Queen Anne and showed a charming representation
of the life of old Vauxhall. This, too, ran for some months and
was succeeded on September 30th by “The Belle of the Ball,” which
delighted many old frequenters of the Empire with its recollection of
scenes from many of the earlier operatic favourites of the ’sixties
and ’seventies, such as “Madame Angot,” “The Grand Duchess,” and
other light operas, coming up to more recent productions, such as
“The Belle of New York,” “The Geisha,” and others.
[Illustration: Mlle. Adeline Génée]
The production marked the _début_ of that brilliant young English
dancer, Miss Phyllis Bedells, and also the end of Mlle. Génée’s
unbroken ten years’ reign at the Empire Theatre, the tenth
anniversary of her first appearance being celebrated on November
22nd, when the house was packed from floor to ceiling with a crowd
whose growing enthusiasm culminated in a perfect tornado of
applause on the falling of the curtain and something like a score of
“calls”; the dancer having achieved by her personality and technique
such a triumph as had not been known in London since the great days
of Taglioni and the famous _Pas de Quatre_ of the ’forties. She left
to carry her influence to America, but there were of course return
visits which concern us not at present in dealing only with what may
be styled her ten years’ reign.
But in watching that decade closely with all its procession of
successes, one thing there is that strikes one very forcibly. It
was only the natural corollary of the previous decade before the
advent of Mlle. Génée. For some twenty years the artistic influence
of one mind had been, never obtrusive, but invariably evident; never
obtrusive, that is, to the detriment of that balance of the arts
which makes a perfect ballet; I mean the artistic influence of Mr.
C. Wilhelm. Before the coming of Mlle. Génée they had had some good
dancers and some great artistic successes; but there had hardly been,
perhaps, quite that unity and perfection of _ensemble_ which the
coming of a dancer of superb technique made possible, and which, it
may be, enabled a designer of ballet, already of great experience
and inspired always by high artistic motives--not only to aim at,
but to _count on_, achieving just the effect at which he aimed.
Theatrical art must always be a somewhat composite art, but its best
achievements come from a perfect blending of artistic sympathies,
forming a source of mutual inspiration. So, while the personality and
technical accomplishment of Mlle. Génée must have proved a stimulus
to the poetic imagination of an artist like Mr. Wilhelm, so, too,
the famous Danish _danseuse_ could well afford to admit a debt of
inspiration to the refined, sensitive and poetic art of Mr. Wilhelm,
who has provided so invariably a worthy and gracious medium for her
supreme art as dancer-mime.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE EMPIRE 1907-1914
When the news was first announced that an end was to come to Mlle.
Adeline Génée’s ten years’ reign at the Empire and that the famous
dancer was seeking, if not new worlds to conquer, at least to conquer
what was once always spoken of as “The ‘New’ World,” many who had
followed the progress of Ballet in London must have wondered where
anyone could hope to find a successor to her throne, and who would
have the courage to accept an offer thereof.
But London theatrical managers are not lacking in resource, or
English girls in courage; and it was with real pleasure that we
heard that so worthy a successor had been found as that graceful and
essentially English dancer, Miss Topsy Sinden, who had already been
associated with the Empire as a child some years before.
Of Mlle. Génée’s triumph in “The Belle of the Ball,” I have already
spoken. Shortly after, the production underwent a change, and the
fact that the new version was still in the bill on the following June
1st, proves the popularity of the production and of the Empire’s
choice of Miss Sinden as _première danseuse_. Her success was the
more interesting in that in temperament and in methods she was
entirely different from the famous Danish dancer. A typical English
girl, with all the charm of looks and manner implied thereby, she
had studied not so much the purely traditional French or Italian
school of ballet-dancing--though she had, of course, acquired that
too--but the English school; of which the late Miss Kate Vaughan was,
in her time, the finest exponent, and of which Miss Sylvia Grey, Miss
Phyllis Broughton, the late Miss Katie Seymour, Miss Letty Lind,
Miss Alice Lethbridge, and Miss Mabel Love, may be taken as leading
representatives during the past twenty years.
Miss Sinden had had long and invaluable stage experience before
becoming _première danseuse_ at the Empire; had appeared in pantomime
at Covent Garden, Drury Lane, at the old “Brit,” and at Liverpool
and elsewhere; had “done” the Halls; had appeared at the Haymarket
under Sir H. Beerbohm Tree’s management; had appeared at the Gaiety
in “Cinderella Up-to-Date,” “In Town,” “Don Juan,” “The Gaiety Girl,”
and “The Shop Girl”; at Daly’s in “The Greek Slave,” in “The Country
Girl,” and other productions; and always she won fresh distinction as
one of the most vivacious, _piquante_, graceful and finished English
dancers the London stage has ever known.
Her appearance in “The Belle of the Ball” was marked by the most
cordial welcome from the Press and the public, and one of the first
greetings she received on her return to the Empire was a telegram
from Brighton which ran as follows: “My good wishes, and I hope
you will do yourself justice. You are one of the best dancers I
know.--Adeline Génée.” That Miss Sinden _did_ do herself justice
was seen in the enthusiastic cheers and demands for _encores_ which
greeted her at the close of her scenes on that “big night” of her
return to the Empire stage.
“The Belle of the Ball” gave place to a revival of “Coppélia”
and--the return of Mlle. Adeline Génée. Many as her triumphs had been
during her ten years’ unbroken reign, that Wednesday night, June
10th, 1908, must be recorded in Mlle. Génée’s memory in letters
of gold, for even she can never have seen such a house, so crammed
from floor to ceiling with a distinguished audience, including King
George (then Prince of Wales), and been welcomed with such thunderous
cheering and applause as greeted her on her first appearance through
the little brown door of Swanilda’s balconied house, when she floated
down the stairs to the centre of the stage, so lightly indeed that
she seemed almost to flutter before the storm of enthusiasm which
welcomed her return. And how she danced! Only her peer among poets
could describe it, and then he would probably feel as Thackeray felt
when endeavouring to do justice to Taglioni in “Sylphide!”
For some seasons past we have had the Russian ballet as a standing
dish, over which various epicures have gloated as if no other fare
had ever been. But it is interesting to note that the first of “all
the Russias” was Mlle. Lydia Kyasht, who made her London _début_ at
the Empire, in some dances with M. Adolph Bolm, on August 17th, 1908.
For the present, and to preserve historical order, let the fact be
merely recorded, leaving further reference thereto until the time it
becomes necessary to chronicle the handsome Russian dancer’s later
successes.
On September 7th of that same year came the production of one of the
most perfect gems yet seen in the historic gallery of Ballet, namely,
“The Dryad,” a pastoral fantasy in two tableaux, by that brilliant
composer, Miss Dora Bright. From time to time, in such productions
as “The Milliner Duchess,” “Coppélia,” and “The Débutante,” we had
had an opportunity of realising something of Mlle. Génée’s gifts as
an actress apart from her supremacy as a dancer, but it was mainly
as a dancer, surrounded by dancers, that we have seen her. Now,
however, we were to have a conclusive revelation of the fact that
had Mlle. Génée not elected to become a great dancer she could have
achieved distinction as an actress. The story, of which she was the
heroine, gave her an opportunity of proving that; and with herself
in the title-_rôle_, that artistic singer, Mr. Gordon Cleather,
as a shepherd, and with the support of wonderfully expressive and
beautifully orchestrated _mimodrame_ music, the sister arts of dance,
song, mime, and music, were brought together to give us a balanced
harmony of lovely and memorable impressions.
The fantasy told how a certain Dryad, fairest of the Wood Nymphs,
subdued all mortals to her by her loveliness and the magic of her
dancing, whom the implacable Aphrodite caused to be imprisoned
in an oak tree, only granting her freedom to come forth once in
every ten years between sunrise and sunset until she should find
a mortal faithful to her during the allotted period. A shepherd,
passing through the wood on the night of her freedom, sees her
dancing beneath the moon, and is lured to love her and vows eternal
constancy. When the dawn breaks she bids him farewell and re-enters
the tree, which closes around her. After ten years have passed away,
the Dryad comes forth again seeking to allay the longing she has
kindled, but her lover had not been constant, and the wood is empty.
She dances through the night, deluding herself with hope until the
hour of her doom returns and she is compelled to re-enter the tree.
The Dryad, afire with joy at being released from the imprisoning
tree, and discovering the beauty of the sunlit, flower-strewn
forest glade; joyous in her love of the handsome shepherd and his
love returned; her sorrow at parting to return to the tree; her
deeper joy on her renewed release; her alternating hope and fear
as the concluding moment of the ten-year tryst draws nigh; her
eager search for her lover; the shuddering tremors of doubt as she
finds him not; her triumphant happiness as she hears his voice; the
heart-wringing suspense, and then the overwhelming despair, as she
finds he has forgotten her for another love and passes on his way,
leaving her solitary and doomed to be imprisoned yet again within
the tree, desolate amid autumnal desolation; these, and a thousand
more _nuances_, expressive of poetic emotion, were conveyed with a
sureness, a sensitiveness, a depth of instinctive dramatic genius
that astonished, delighted and enthralled.
So great was the success of “The Dryad” that Mlle. Génée’s engagement
was extended, but the strain of appearing in both “Coppélia” and
Miss Bright’s exquisite fantasy proving too considerable, the
famous dancer reserved her strength for her final appearance in the
latter, while Mlle. Lydia Kyasht, then comparatively a new-comer to
the Empire audiences, took up the part of “Swanilda,” in Delibes’
masterpiece with considerable success.
Ere departing for a forty weeks’ tour of America, Mlle. Génée gave a
farewell “professional” _matinée_ at the Empire, at which everyone
of note in “_the_ profession” was present, and gave her the same
enthusiastic appreciation as had always been accorded by the lay
public.
Following Mlle. Génée’s departure for America, and Mlle. Kyasht’s
appearance in “Coppélia,” came the production on October 19th, 1908,
of a ballet in five scenes by Lieut.-Col. Newnham-Davis, entitled
“A Day in Paris,” produced by Mr. Fred Farren, with music by Mr.
Cuthbert Clarke, the entire production being designed and supervised
by Mr. C. Wilhelm, who was at his happiest in invention and control
of colour in the prismatic beauty of the final tableau of the
Artists’ Ball.
On the occasion of her previous appearance Mlle. Kyasht’s name had
been printed in the programme as Mlle. Lydia Kyaksht, and I remember
well the humorous dismay the late Mr. H. J. Hitchins expressed to me
as he asked: “How _can_ one pronounce a name like that?” and the
eagerness with which he welcomed the suggestion that it would be
easier if the second “k” were omitted. Kyasht it became, and it is as
Mlle. Kyasht that we shall always remember the handsome dancer who
was first of the Russians to win a following in London. She had, of
course, received her training at the Imperial Theatre, Petrograd, to
which she had been attached some time, appearing there for some eight
months each year, and at Monte Carlo and other fashionable centres
for the remaining months, before she made her London _début_. She has
little of that vehemence and abandon which characterises so many of
the modern Russian school, but she has _au fond_ the same technique,
a finely formed and balanced figure, and personal beauty, and her
first appearances with that fine dancer, M. Adolf Bolm, in national
dances and _pas de ballet_ evoked very cordial admiration.
“A Day in Paris” was notable not only for the appearance of the
new Russian _première_ in a couple of _pas seuls_ and an extremely
charming _Danse Russe_, but for the brilliant acting and step-dancing
of Mr. Fred Farren, who as a Montmartre student freakishly
officiating as “a man from Cook’s” to a party of tourists, proved
himself a born comedian; while in association with that lithe and
graceful dancer, Miss Beatrice Collier, his _Danse des Apaches_--a
dance without the charm of beauty but undeniably clever--was one
of the “sensations” of the production, so much so that the dancers
became in much request for entertaining at social functions that
season, as Tango performers have been since. Another member of the
company, who, though but a child, achieved a marked success, was
Miss Phyllis Bedells, who did some wonderful toe-dancing with,
and without, a skipping rope. The ballet was one of the liveliest
and “jolliest” of many such topical and essentially “modern”
entertainments at the Empire, and it ran from October 1908, well into
the next summer.
Yet once again Mlle. Adeline Génée returned to the scene of her
former triumphs to achieve one more, this time in the famous
_ballet-divertissement_ from the third act of Meyerbeer’s opera,
“Roberto il Diavolo,” which was produced by her uncle, M. Alexandre
Génée, on July 3rd, 1909, the _mise en scène_ and costumes being
designed and supervised by Mr. C. Wilhelm. Once more we had an
opportunity of enjoying a perfect representation of one of the
classics of Ballet, in which Mlle. Adeline Génée appeared as the
Spirit of Elena the wicked abbess, who, with the spectres of the dead
and buried nuns, haunts a ruined Sicilian Convent. It was a fine and
_spirituelle_ performance, and a fitting crown to what we may perhaps
be allowed to call Mlle. Génée’s Imperial career.
This was followed on October 9th, 1909, by “Round the World,” a new
dramatic ballet in six scenes, by Lieut.-Col. Newnham-Davis and Mr.
C. Wilhelm, the entire production being designed and supervised by
the latter, and the dances arranged by Mr. Fred Farren, who himself
played the part of a resourceful chauffeur, while Mlle. Lydia Kyasht
impersonated the lovely heroine, Natalia, a Russian gipsy girl, and
Miss Phyllis Bedells her younger brother, Dmitri. The story concerned
the winning of a wager by the hero, a Captain Jack Beresford, (Mr.
Noel Fleming), who has to circle the world in a month; and the course
of his adventures took us from the grounds of the Monaco Club to the
Place Krasnaia, Moscow, on the occasion of a wonderfully realised
national fête, where he rescues Natalia and her brother from Tzabor,
a brutal proprietor of a troupe of gipsy dancers. The third scene
was on the Siberian railway; the fourth a lovely scene at Tokio, in
the Garden of Ten Thousand Joys, where the hero is nearly poisoned;
the fifth, ’Frisco, in “One-eyed Jack’s” saloon, with a capital
_Duo Mexicain_ for Mr. Fred Farren and pretty Miss Unity More; the
sixth and last scene being laid in the foyer of the Empire Theatre.
The production was a sort of cinema-ballet in the variety of its
scenes and the excitement of its story, and gave scope for a number
of attractive and characteristic dances from Mlle. Kyasht, Mr. Fred
Farren and Miss Phyllis Bedells. It proved so popular that it ran on
into 1910, when, on March 21st of that year, it went into a second
edition called “East and West.”
Mlle. Kyasht and M. Adolf Bolm, who, early in May, 1910, appeared
in a “Fantaisie Chorégraphique,” a series of charming dance-idylls,
produced by M. Bolm, are remarkable for that high-voltage
dancing, that volcanic energy and rapidity yet grace of movement,
characteristic of the Russian school, some notable exponents of which
were appearing just about the same time elsewhere.
The chief dance of the suite at the Empire was one in which Mlle.
Kyasht appeared as a beautiful Princess, and M. Bolm as her enamoured
slave--Mlle. Kyasht all charm and poetic ecstasy, M. Bolm all fiery
energy and terpsichorean miracles, now whirling madly as the wildest
of Dervishes, now suddenly stopping, poised and posed like some
perfect example of classic statuary. The dancers received excellent
support from Miss Phyllis Bedells and Mr. Bert Ford; the mounting
and costumes were novel and admirably designed; and the production
generally was voted a great success.
In the following July came a delightful _ballet-divertissement_, “The
Dancing Master,” by Mr. C. Wilhelm, adapted from the first scene
of his earlier success, “The Débutante,” the period chosen--that
of 1835--affording a delightful opportunity for a quaint and
picturesque _ensemble_ of “early-Victorian” or slightly pre-Victorian
character and costume. Mr. Fred Farren repeated his excellent
character-study of M. Pirouette, the excitable _maître de ballet_
at the Opera-House; Mlle. Kyasht made a handsome impersonation of
Mimi the _débutante_; and Miss Phyllis Bedells added to her laurels
as Mlle. Lutine, the clever head pupil. On August 8th of the same
year Miss Bedells took up Mlle. Kyasht’s part of Mimi during the
latter’s absence on a holiday, and made a great hit as a bewitching
representative of the _débutante_.
On October 10th following Mlle. Kyasht and Mr. Fred Farren appeared
in another of Miss Dora Bright’s ideal little fantasies, “The
Faun,” in which the former played Ginestra, a little flower-girl,
and the latter appeared in the title-_rôle_ as a marble faun who
comes to life when sprinkled with water from a magic fountain. The
production, designed and supervised by Mr. C. Wilhelm, was enchanting
in its blending of legend and mystery, with a sunny naturalism in
presentation.
It was a charming idyll, and provided an excellent opportunity for
clever acting by Mr. Fred Farren, who fully realised the classic
and poetic idea in his representation of the Faun, while Mlle.
Kyasht quite surpassed her former work in her appealing and dramatic
impersonation of the bewitched Ginestra.
A considerable contrast to the classic grace of this Tuscan idyll
was seen in the following month when “Ship Ahoy!” a nautical
one-scene _divertissement_ by Mr. C. Wilhelm, with music by Mr.
Cuthbert Clarke, was staged by Mr. Fred Farren, who also arranged
the dances. It was a lively and attractive production, with plenty
of fun and a dash of melodrama, the fun being contributed mainly by
Mr. Fred Farren as a dandy young officer on leave, and for all his
“dudism” wide-awake enough to frustrate the horrid machinations of a
treacherous Ayah (originally and admirably played by Miss Beatrice
Collier and later by Miss Carlotta Mossetti) and her accomplice.
The young officer’s lighter moments were happily given up to
entertaining the Anglo-Indian passengers on H.M.S. _Empire_ with
step-dancing, the nimbleness and neatness of which only Mr. Farren
can excel. Bright and charming dances were also contributed by
Miss Phyllis Bedells and Miss Unity More, while Mlle. Lydia Kyasht
distinguished herself as Léontine L’Etoile, a French _danseuse_; and
a special word of commendation is due to the freshness of invention
and novelty of effect achieved by the designer in dealing with the
somewhat hackneyed stage subject of life aboard ship. The final
_ensemble_, when the lady passengers improvised fancy ball costumes
from the ship’s flag-lockers and danced beneath the soft glow of the
swinging lanterns was a particularly novel, pretty and inspiriting
picture.
Once more we had a classic ballet when, on May 18th, 1911, Delibes’
“Sylvia,” which, originally in five tableaux, was compressed by Mr.
C. Wilhelm into one for production at the Empire. With its poetic
mythological story and charming sylvan setting, “Sylvia”--first
produced at the Paris Opera on June 14th, 1876--has always been
popular on the Continent; and it is curious that London should have
had to wait some twenty-five years before again seeing a ballet,
selections from which had long been familiar as _entr’acte_-music
for theatre orchestras. Still, it was worth waiting to see it so
admirably staged.
Another contrast followed in the extremely modern and somewhat
formless production, “New York,” an original ballet in two scenes,
by Lieut.-Col. Newnham-Davis, in which seemingly every form of
American eccentricity in dancing--including the “Yankee Tangle!”--was
introduced. There was a dance of Bowery boys and girls; a “Temptation
Rag,” by Mr. Fred Farren; a Buck Dance, an “Octette Eccentric”; a
“Bill-poster’s Dance”; the aforesaid “Yankee Tangle,” and other not
particularly beautiful or edifying examples, though the staging of
the “Roof Garden” scene gave one a very agreeable scheme of warm
crimson and rosy colour, and a picturesquely conceived and dressed
episode of Pilgrim Fathers and Red Indians.
Early in the next year, a brief but graceful “Dance Episode” was
staged, “The Water Nymph,” arranged by Mlle. Kyasht, who followed
on September 24th with another, entitled “First Love,” in which
she was supported by Mons. Alexander Volinin. This was followed on
February 11th, 1913, by another fanciful ballet-idyll, “The Reaper’s
Dream,” in which Mlle. Lydia Kyasht appeared as the “Spirit of the
Wheatsheaf,” seen and pursued in his dream by the reaper (Miss F.
Martell); while Miss Phyllis Bedells made a dazzling personage as
“Sun-Ray,” flitting in and out the autumn cornfield, which formed
the setting for some very pretty dances by the three ladies and the
Empire _corps de ballet_.
One of the most artistic productions at the Empire in quite recent
years was certainly the choral ballet, in three tableaux: “Titania,”
which, adapted of course from Shakespeare’s “Midsummer Night’s
Dream,” was arranged and produced by Mlle. Lydia Kyasht and by Mr.
C. Wilhelm, the latter of whom was, as usual, entirely responsible
for the pictorial side of the ballet. It is interesting to note
that this was not the first time a Shakespeare play had been so
treated. No less a person than the great Dryden had adapted “The
Tempest” at a time, shortly before the Great Fire of London, when
Sir William Davenant was producing “dramatic operas” at a theatre
designed by Wren, the Duke’s Theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, which
he held under a patent granted in 1662 by Charles II. These, as an
earlier historian records, were “all set off with the most expensive
decorations of scenes and habits, with the best voices and dancers.”
[Illustration:
_Dover St. Studios_
Mme. Lydia Kyasht]
[Illustration:
_Hugh Cecil_
Miss Phyllis Bedells]
Then, too, it was but a return to early history to give us
vocal-ballet, for all the earliest ballets on the French stage
were always described as “opera-ballets,” long declamatory and
choral scenes being interspersed with dances. Lulli, Rameau, Mouret,
Campra and Monteverde were among the composers of such ballets, many
of which, musically at least, seem wonderfully fresh to-day. This,
however, is but a digression. “Titania” at the Empire was a very
graceful and poetic production, quite fairy-like enough, one feels,
to have delighted even Shakespeare himself, with Mlle. Lydia Kyasht
as a truly regal-looking Titania, Mr. Leonid Joukoff as a dignified
Oberon, Miss Unity More as a nimble Puck (a part later played by Miss
Ivy St. Helier), and Miss Phyllis Bedells as an enchanting “first
fairy,” Philomel. On Mlle. Kyasht’s departure for America the part of
Titania was taken up by Miss Phyllis Bedells, who added yet another
to her growing list of artistic successes. The ballet, which was
beautifully staged, gave us some enchanting pictures, one of which,
the apotheosis of the Fairy Realm seen through a tangled hawthorn
brake, lingers hauntingly in one’s memory.
A new edition of “The Dancing Master” was subsequently staged and
was notable for some brilliant dancing by Miss Phyllis Bedells,
and by Mr. Edouard Espinosa in the title-_rôle_, by whom it was
produced. Mr. Espinosa, by the way, forms an interesting link with
the historic past. As the son of Mons. Leon Espinosa (1825-1903),
an Officier D’Académie, Mr. Edouard is heir of a great tradition,
and sustains the heritage most worthily. His father was a pupil of
seven of the great masters of the early nineteenth, namely, Coulon
(1820), Henri (1821), Albert (1829), Perrot (1831), Coralli (1831),
Taglioni (1834), and Petipa (1839), to most of whom reference has
already been made, and who were themselves, variously, pupils of the
previous generation--which included Vestris, Noverre, Gardel, and
Dauberval--who, in turn, were tutored by Pécourt and Beauchamps in
the reign of Louis-Quatorze. Mr. Edouard Espinosa himself is a fine
dancer and teacher of the classic and traditional school, and is also
one of the best informed on the history of the dance.
“Europe,” a topical and patriotic _divertissement_, invented,
designed and produced by Mr. C. Wilhelm (who, despite his _nom de
théâtre_, has an English name and is essentially English born and
bred), achieved, on its first performance on September 7th, 1914, an
instant success. It was worthy of the best traditions of the Empire
Theatre. The choice of such a theme as the condition of Europe,
just before and during the greatest war in history, might have
been called into question on the score of taste, and in the hands
of any but a fine artist might have easily been trivialised. The
subject was treated with marked dramatic ability and poetic dignity,
and the production, passing from the comparative lightness of the
first scene, into the more serious note of the second, attained
to a high level of art in the patriotic symbolism of the third,
and offered a tableau worthy the brush of any English painter of
historical subjects. Since then we have seen “The Vine,” an Arcadian
dance-idyll, invented, designed and supervised by Mr. C. Wilhelm,
while it was produced, and the dances were arranged, by Mr. Fred
Farren. It was superbly staged and proved one of the most original,
picturesque and dramatic productions ever seen at the Empire. Miss
Phyllis Bedell’s impersonation of the Spirit of the Vine seemed to
have in it something of Dionysiac fire and revealed her not only as
an exquisite dancer, but a sensitive and temperamental actress. Miss
Carlotta Mossetti, another singularly expressive and sympathetic
mime, exhibited a sense of classic inspiration in her study of the
young Shepherd tempted by the Vine-Spirit; excellent work also being
done by Miss Connie Walter as the Shepherd’s unhappy wife, and
“Little June,” a lithe and clever little dancer, as the Spirit of
the Mountain Stream. The scenery, painted by Mr. R. C. McCleery;
the costumes, executed by Miss Hastings, were well in keeping with
the poetic character of the story, and the entire stage effect
achieved formed an exquisite setting for the dancer-mimes who were to
interpret the dramatic little idyll.
So runs, in brief, the chronicle of ballet at the Empire, one which,
if it is somewhat attenuated in later years by the increasing
emphasis of that somewhat casual type of entertainment, the “Revue,”
is nevertheless quite remarkable when one remembers that of the
sixty or more ballets produced at the famous house in twenty-seven
years all were commercially as well as artistically successful, and
that the theatre has not received State-aid, as have the continental
opera-houses where Ballet has been a staple attraction.
Thoughtless folk, who know little or nothing of the hard, unremitting
toil which goes to make a dancer, or of the artistic training,
thought and feeling which go to make a designer or producer of
ballet, often speak lightly and slightingly of a type of theatrical
production in which are blended colour, form, movement and music
into a balanced harmony of varied arts under the term the art of
Ballet. They rank it, usually, somewhere lower than Drama or Opera.
But the placing of a colour in a colour scheme requires quite as
delicate a taste as the placing of a word in a sentence, or a chord
in a phrase of music; the introduction of a dancer or a group needs
just as critical a care as the introduction of a character in a play
or opera; and the telling of the story, albeit mutely mimed, may be
just as dramatic in effect as in any verbal drama. The art of Ballet
is a complex and beautiful art, at its best a very beautiful; and
those who are prone to dismiss it lightly as a thing that more or
less occurs of itself, and is of slight account as a vehicle for the
deliberate expression of beauty, should rather feel proud to think
that at the Empire in London we have seen, in the course of a quarter
of a century, Ballet of such artistic value as to place it among the
few real art influences of nineteenth and early twentieth-century
London.
CHAPTER XXXV
FINALE: THE RUSSIANS AND--THE FUTURE
It is curious to recall the fact that a taste for dancing has always
been a characteristic of the Londoners, who have supported really
artistic ballet as often as they have had an opportunity.
The Elizabethan masques; the ballet dancers imported by Rich in the
reign of Anne; and by Garrick, later; by Lumley at Her Majesty’s in
the ’forties; the native productions of Ballet at the Empire and
Alhambra for over a quarter of a century; and, since, the importation
of Russian ballet, first at various “vaudeville” theatres and then
at Covent Garden and at Drury Lane, have all met with enthusiastic
support, and the support has been as catholic as it has been cordial.
Dancers, of various schools, whether of the traditional ballet
“school,” or otherwise, have quickly found their way into popular
favour. Looking back over theatrical memories of the past twenty
years or so, dance lovers will recall with pleasure seeing at the
Palace Theatre that statuesque and extremely graceful dancer,
Miss Mimi St. Cyr, in a delightful little miniature ballet, “La
Baigneuse,” a dance-_scena_ invented by Mr. George R. Sims, in which
she lured to life the fountain-statue of a piping faun. Some will
recall also a dancer of very different school, Miss Lottie Collins,
whose “Tarrara-boom-de-ay” was a sensation in its way. Then, too, who
that saw her could ever forget that electric dancer hailing from
Australia, Mlle. Saharet, who entered as on the wings of a whirlwind
and, seeming all compact of
“Passion and power and pride incarnate in laughter,” held us all
spellbound and breathless with sympathetic joy in her abounding
vitality, stimulating and tonic as champagne.
In more recent times the sensational success of Miss Maud Allan--who
presented us with the somewhat mystical definition of dancing as “the
spontaneous expression of a spiritual state”; and, subsequently,
of Mme. Pavlova and M. Mordkin; is too recent to need recalling,
and too evident to call for specific praise from me when so many
and abler pens have already exhausted their ink in regretting they
could not write in fire. Admirers, particularly feminine devotees,
flocked in hundreds to see Miss Maud Allan dance in a manner which
many doubtless thought wholly new to London, though some might
have recalled that it was somewhat of the same school--though
temperamentally very different--as that of Miss Isadora Duncan, who
had given us dances of a rather similar order some ten years before,
and that they were akin to the mimetic dances of ancient days.
Miss Allan achieved a remarkable flexibility of movement that
was seen to advantage in her dances to the music of Chopin and
other classic masters. Her interpretation of the “Spring Song” of
Mendelssohn was not wholly new to those who had seen Miss Isadora
Duncan’s exposition of the same music some ten years before. Her
“Salome,” a melodrama in dancing, created a sensation, though
somewhat morbid in effect, and hardly of the same artistic interest
as some of her other achievements. Of her popularity there was no
doubt, and a photograph of one of the queues which awaited any
one of her performances, especially the _matinées_, would--if one
exist--always be valuable to future historians of our time as a mute
but eloquent record.
Mme. Pavlova, who also first appeared at the Palace Theatre, is an
extremely accomplished _danseuse_ who probably has not troubled, and
certainly has not _needed_ to trouble herself, about definitions of
the dance, for she belongs to a “school,” the basis of which was
defined a century or more ago, and she herself is one of its most
recent and perfect blossomings. Mons. Mordkin, nurtured by the same
school, is superb, and it was no wonder that the first appearance
of these two artistes in their wonderful _pas de deux_, “L’Automne
Bacchanale,” should have fired some of our finest dramatic critics to
expressions of almost frenzied admiration and doubtless driven shoals
of lesser men to the neighbourhood of Hanwell in despair at the
impossibility of finding suitable adjectives for the new wonder that
had come amongst us. One can only deplore the fact that the harmony
which made possible the _pas de deux_ of the first season should
have been, even temporarily, broken, and permitted us only to enjoy
the work of both dancers subsequently in _pas seuls_, or in _pas de
deux_--with other partners.
One could hardly close a reference to the popular Palace--a reference
necessarily brief, as must be any concerning the various “vaudeville”
houses in a review covering so wide a field--without a passing word
of grateful praise to that bevy of bright young dancers, the “Palace
Girls.” As people of catholic enough taste to enjoy _all_ dancing
that is good in itself--from the vigorous cellar-flap of the street
urchin to the aerial _pas_ of a Pavlova--we may agree that, in a
sense, the Palace has been all the more attractive for the “Palace
Girls.” Somehow the modern comedic spirit appears to express itself
best in short skirts, shapely legs and a jolly smile; and in their
insouciante charm, their neatness, agility, precision and _enfantine_
gaiety, the “Palace Girls” always seemed to focalise the requirements
of “vaudeville,” and symbolise the attractions of music-hall
modernity.
Then, at the London Hippodrome, in many a Christmas entertainment,
ingeniously arranged and gorgeously staged, half pantomime, half
ballet, we have seen regular feasts of dancing and always with
enjoyment. But apart from the spectacular productions for which the
Hippodrome early became famous, many a delightful solo dancer and
dance-_scena_ have been viewed there. To have seen those exquisitely
dainty artists, the Wiesenthal Sisters, is to have ineffaceable
memories of a stage-art that seems strangely enough to link up the
classic simplicity of ancient Greece with the Watteauesque artifice
of the eighteenth century, and yet again the clear-seeing artistry,
the supreme and joyous colour-sense of latter day decorative art.
The tone and hue of their chosen background, the simple yet daring
colour-scheme of their dress, the thoughtful, almost dreamy, grace
of their every pose and movement, the purely picture-like effect of
their whole performance, summed up the modern spirit in art that
is striving--perhaps as yet half-consciously--for a revolt from
old methods and stereotyped traditions and for something simpler,
clearer, more direct and, be it said, more beautiful and vital than
we have yet had; the art, in fact, of the men to come rather than the
men who have been, albeit it has drawn inspiration from the eternal
past. The Wiesenthal Sisters were not mere “performers”; they were
poems.
Elsewhere, at various houses, what other dancers have we seen of
individual distinction? Long remembered must be the sensation caused
by Miss Loie Fuller on her first appearance in London some years
ago, as the introducer of a curious form of dance in which the stage
effects she achieved were the paramount attraction. And what effects
they were--kaleidoscopic, magic, wonderful! Just a woman, with a
brain and shapely form, a mass of filmy draperies floated here and
there, on which were shed the splendour of changing coloured lights,
so that she seemed now some wondrous butterfly, now like a mass of
cloud suffused with the gold of dawn, now like a fountain of living
flame! Yes, Loie Fuller should have been an artist! Should have? _Is_
an artist, who has not painted pictures but has lived them.
Then there was Miss Ruth St. Denis at the Scala--a vision of all
the poetry and the mystery of the East. Ruth St. Denis in an Indian
market-place representing a snake-dance, making cobras of her
flexible arms and hands! Ruth St. Denis as a Buddhist acolyte in the
jungle! Ruth St. Denis in a “Dance of the Senses,” so significantly
poetic and full of strange allure. Always the glamour of the East,
but without its menace and without its vice; the East exalted and
austere. Moreau himself might have envied her those dreams of form
and colour she made manifest, and all who saw her surely must have
realised that Ruth St. Denis danced her lovely pictures as an artist
born.
Yet another artist of marked individuality and intellectual
distinction, Miss Isadora Duncan, was really the first to appear
in London who showed any marked ability to break away from the
traditional schools of ballet and step-dancing, and, casting back
to the days of ancient Greece, began deliberately to use posture
and movement as a means of expressing poetic ideas. I first saw her
at her London _début_, when she appeared in a performance of “A
Midsummer Night’s Dream,” one of a series of Shakespearian revivals
which Mr. F. R. Benson was giving--on February 22nd, 1900--at the old
Lyceum.
She had but lately arrived from America, and was fired with an
enthusiasm for the graceful dance of classic days, an enthusiasm
which found ample expression in her dance as a wood-nymph in a
Shakespearian production which I still remember as one of the most
beautiful I have seen. Shortly after Miss Duncan gave a special
_matinée_ at the old St. George’s Hall entitled, “The Happier Age
of Gold,” at which idylls of Theocritus, poems by Swinburne and
other poets of classic inspiration, were recited to music and were
either accompanied or followed by an appropriate dance designed
and performed by Miss Duncan, who also set herself the task of
interpreting well-known musical _morceaux_ by means of a dance.
One of the items on her programme was Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song,”
which received a thoroughly graceful and sympathetic interpretation.
Miss Duncan has, of course, appeared in London frequently since then,
and all dance-lovers will remember the extraordinary charm of the
series of _matinées_ which she gave at the Duke of York’s Theatre at
which she introduced a number of child pupils. There has never been
anything meretricious or pretentious about the work of Miss Isadora
Duncan. It has always been marked by a sense of deep-rooted culture,
classic dignity and poetic charm, and to her, certainly, so far as
London is concerned, belongs the credit of having first introduced a
form of dancing which has only too often since been parodied under
the term of “classic dancing”; and even as she was the first, so, in
my humble judgment, she is the best and truest exponent of a school
which is justified by the beauty of its results, and which is having,
and is likely yet to have, far-reaching influence.
[Illustration:
_Dover St. Studios_
Miss Isadora Duncan]
Then again, the Coliseum, young as it is, has already created dance
traditions for itself, and of the best sort. Was it not there first
of all that we were enchanted with the Russian ballet? They were not
the first Russian dancers seen in London, for Mlle. Kyasht and Mme.
Pavlova had preceded them; but they were the first collective example
of Russian ballet from the Moscow and Petrograd Opera-Houses, and
it was here we first saw Mme. Karsavina, one of the most supremely
finished and _élégante_ dancers it has been London’s good fortune
to see. What lightness, what purity and dignity of style, what
perfect execution and perfect ease, and what poetic charm!
Her _variation_ in the “Sylphide” was a revelation of classic art of
the Taglioni school, and howsoever some may prefer one “school” to
another there must always be much to be said for a training which
assists the evolution of such artists, for at least it is a sure
training with sure and gracious results.
There is something in tradition when all it said and done, and one
has to remember that while even an iconoclastic “Futurist” cannot
help creating tradition in attempting to do away with it, and while
pure ballet-dancing may not be the one and only kind which can
give delight, it must command the respect that is due to any art
which respects its own traditions, and can produce such dancers as
Mme. Karsavina and those who were first associated with her at the
Coliseum.
More recently, we were to see at the same house, “Sumurun!” It was
strange indeed to think that a London audience could be held by some
seven scenes of a play in which not a word was spoken; it was a _tour
de force_ of the art of miming, but then also it was a revelation of
the art of stage effect. The decorative scheme, with its simple lines
and ample space, was unlike anything that we had had before--unless
perhaps in the nobler art of Mr. Gordon Craig--and the colour
schemes, mostly of a curiously dry, cool note, were a pleasant change
from the traditional attempts at a stage realism that is only too
often too unreal.
Since then too there was, of course, the appearance of that dainty
Dresden-china dancer, Mme. Karina in a graceful little dance-_scena_,
“The Colour of Life,” the expressive music of which was by Miss
Dora Bright. Mme. Karina, another dancer who hails from Denmark,
won instant appreciation for the beauty of her work, and is indeed
notable for her precision, grace and distinction.
Yet again has Mlle. Adeline Génée made welcome reappearances at
the Coliseum, especially in “La Danse”--first produced, I believe,
at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York--which formed a series
of representations of the dances and dancers of the historic
past--forming practically a collection of little cameos of the dance,
having a distinct educational value and presenting a veritable
re-creation of all the great stars of Ballet in the past, from Prévôt
to Taglioni; in all of which the world-famous dancer exhibited the
same high qualities of artistry that she had ever done.
But among the many dance productions seen at this handsome house
probably the two most satisfactory judged as ballet were the
production of Mr. Wilhelm’s “Camargo,” with Mlle. Génée in the
title-_rôle_; and M. Kosloff’s production of “Scheherazade,” the two
forming an outstanding contrast in one’s memory. The former, with
the quiet dignity, soft light and sumptuous stage embellishments
of furniture and _décors_, and the dream-like quality assumed by
the characters in this rich and harmonious setting. One found in it
something of that visionary quality which gave the peculiar charm
to the “Versailles” production which I spoke of in referring to the
Empire. The music and the acting were so expressive that one did not
miss the words, and yet half-consciously one knew they were not there
just because of the dream-like atmosphere which the music itself so
helped to create.
The royal grace and dignity of Louis-Quinze, the butterfly vivacity
of Camargo herself, and the more vital and quieter actions of her
young soldier friend for whose misdeeds she pleads for pardon from
the King, were all but dream figures in a dream, and it was as if
the veil of the past had been suddenly drawn aside and one had a
glimpse of a century seen through the half light of early dawn. Once
more Mlle. Génée excelled herself in doing apparently impossible
things with consummate ease, and once more one was glad to welcome
the sensitive, expressive and scholarly work of so accomplished a
musician as Miss Dora Bright.
There was nothing of the cool and dream-like quality, however,
about Mons. Kosloff’s “Scheherazade.” Exotic, bizarre, palpitant
with warmth and colour, the production stormed the imagination with
its extravagance of hue and tone, even as the tangled rhythms and
seductive melodies of the music captured the hearing and through it
subdued the mind to a sort of dazzled wonder. It was a stupendous
achievement, the more so in that it was brief.
At various times and at various places we have seen in London during
the past ten years or so every form of dance and ballet it would
seem could possibly exist. “Sand” dances; “Buck” dances; “Hypnotic”
dances; “Salome” dances; “Vampire” dances; “Apache,” “Classic,”
“Viennese,” Turkish, Egyptian, Russian, “Inspirational” dancers, and
even English ballet-dancers in an all-British ballet once at the
handsome Palladium; and also at the Court and Savoy, where Stedman
staged some delightful ballets performed, under the direction of Miss
Lilian Leoffeler and Mr. Marshall Moore, by English dancers. Not only
at the regular vaudeville houses and theatres, however, is to be
found genuine appreciation of the British dance and dancer. Elsewhere
an English school of dance has been founded, and that in a form for
which the English nation was famous in Shakespeare’s time.
Henley made his plea for “Gigues, Gavottes and Minuets,” but there
are many other lovely, or lovelier, examples of old-world dance to
old-world music, which scholarship has revived and good taste has
been eagerly accepting wherever they were seen--_Pavane_, _Chaconne_,
_Coranto_, _Galliard_, _Bourrée_, _Rigaudon_, _Passepied_, and
_Sarabande_. These, and other ancient dances, were, as we know, the
delight of the Courts of Queen Elizabeth, of Charles II, of Anne,
of Louis-Quatorze--_le Grand Monarque_, of Louis-Seize and Marie
Antoinette. Many have been revived and performed to the music of
the harpsichord, violin, viola, viole-d’amour, and ’cello; and the
curious thing--or, rather, interesting thing, for it really is not
strange--is that both to scholars and to those unlearned in their
history, to cultured townsman or woman, and to country lad and lass,
to bored frequenters of the West End drawing-room, and to those who
find only in their dreams relief from the sordidness of an East End
environment, this old-world dance and music make an instant appeal.
I saw this put to the test once when, at a hall in the somewhat dingy
neighbourhood of Bethnal Green, a performance of the “Ancient Music
and Dances,” arranged by Miss Nellie Chaplin, was received by an
audience of East End work-people with such whole-hearted enthusiasm
that practically every item in a programme often performed in West
End drawing-rooms and at Queen’s and Albert Halls, as well as at
Liverpool and Manchester, Guildford, Oxford and elsewhere, was
encored, and several were doubly and trebly so.
A Galliard of the seventeenth century, an Allemande by an English
composer, Robert Johnson (1540-1626), Handel’s Oboe Concerto (1734),
a Sarabande by Destouches (1672), “Lady Elizabeth Spencer’s Minuet”
performed at Blenheim in 1788--all these and other historically
interesting items were encored by the audience, not because of
their historic interest, but simply because of their joyousness and
charm; while a _bourrée_ by Mouret (1742), and the fascinating Old
English dance, “Once I loved a maiden fair” (one of a group including
“Althea,” “Lord of Carnarvon’s Jig,” and Stanes’ Morris-dance) had
to be given three times. This was all complimentary, of course, to
the beautiful way in which the dances and music were performed; but
it was an interesting revelation of the eternal appeal to humanity,
whatsoever the degree of caste or wealth, of the really good thing in
art, and certainly the centuries are bridged with ease by the charm
and joyousness of these old-time dances to their appropriate music,
seen and heard more recently and to such advantage amid congenial
environment in “Shakespeare’s England” at Earl’s Court.
Veritably we seem to have seen every known form of dance and type of
dancer in London during the past twenty years or so, and latterly we
have had at the Royal Opera-House, and, since, at Drury Lane, such a
festival of ballet as has not been seen in England since the ’forties
of last century, for here we have seen a galaxy of dancers from the
two great opera-houses of Russia, that of the Mariensky at Petrograd,
and that of the great theatre in Moscow, where the traditional
training for ballet has been kept up and infused with a new artistic
spirit such as is hardly to be found in any other continental
opera-house.
Early in last century Carlo Blasis brought the Milan school to
perfection, and thence went teachers to Paris, Vienna, Dresden,
Moscow, Petrograd, wherever they went carrying something of the
artistic spirit and culture of their master, one of the most
versatile _maîtres de ballet_ there has ever been, for there seems to
have been scarcely an art of which he did not know something, and of
which he could not say something worth hearing.
But since those days probably nowhere quite as in Russia has the
ballet moved with the times and been so imbued with the new artistic
spirit which has been at work within the past generation.
Painter, musician, poet, dramatist, and _maître de ballet_, are
called upon to produce the homogeneous and individual spectacle which
we call the Russian ballet.
One has to recall but a few examples from the Russian _répertoire_ to
note with what serious artistic purpose the art of Ballet is studied
by the representatives of the best school. Glazounov’s “Cleopatra,” a
“mimodrame” in one act; “Les Sylphides,” a _rêverie romantique_, the
music by Chopin; Schumann’s exquisitely whimsical “Le Carnaval,” made
into a pantomime-ballet in one act; “Le Dieu Bleu,” by that curiously
interesting and _rêveur_ composer Reynaldo Hahn. These are among
the productions which, ranging over classic, poetic and romantic
subjects, would veritably have appealed to such artists of the
Ballet as Rameau, Noverre, Gardel and Blasis, not to mention other
_maîtres_ of more recent times. And what dancers to interpret them!
M. Nijinsky, perhaps the best male dancer of our time, so good that
one’s usual objection to the male dancer melted into admiration: Mme.
Karsavina, Mlles. Sophie Fedorova and Ludmilla Schollar were among
the _danseuses_ who had been seen in London previously, and were
each in their degree remarkable not only as dancers but as brilliant
mimes. There was not one among the extensive and interesting cast who
was not of Russia’s best, the best that is that can come from the
school where the traditional art of Ballet is understood not to be
the result of a mere few lessons in “dancing,” but the result of a
study also of all that is best in the traditions of art and music and
literature, from all of which the art of Ballet draws its inspiration.
Yet again, one must pay tribute to the Russian artists on their
masterly sense of stage effect, and for that supreme sense of what
the ballet should be, namely, a harmony of the arts. One has but to
contrast three such productions as “Les Sylphides,” “Cleopatra,” and
Schumann’s “Carnaval,” to see a revelation of stage artistry which
put to shame the conventionality which, save in rare instances--and
in English ballet--had characterised the London stage so long.
In “Les Sylphides” we had the very essence of that spirit of
romanticism in which cultured Europe was revelling during the
’twenties and the ’thirties of last century, a spirit which found
expression in depicting the wildness and grandeur of mountain
scenery, in the cloud-like fantasies of Shelley, in the poignant
intensity of Byronic passion, and the romantic glamour of Spanish and
German legend.
In “Cleopatra” we had a glimpse of the pride and passion of an
imperious Queen, ruling over a nation whose own passions were but
subdued by tyranny, in a land where earth itself seemed satiated
with the fructifying influence of water and a burning sun. From the
first moment to the last the stage was in a glow, and a red thread of
tragedy deepened to a climax of despair.
What a change to turn from such a production to the whimsies, romance
and fantasy of such a thing as Schumann’s “Carnaval!” Here was the
obverse of the romanticism of “Les Sylphides”; the undercurrent of
mockery and poetic cynicism so characteristic of Schumann’s own music
in its lighter moods, characteristic of Heine and of de Musset. Here
again one found a masterly idea in the audacious simplicity of the
stage setting. To see the great stage of Covent Garden decorated
with long curtains and two sofas of the truly early-Victorian
pattern--stiff, prim, unyielding, and covered with striped repp--was
a thing to take one’s breath away, until, as the music began, little
figure after little figure slipped, like figures in a dream, between
the curtains: Pierrot, Pierrette, Harlequin--little men and women of
the ’thirties mingling with these eternal characters of drama, to
make a series of pictures of wooings and repulses, of meetings and
partings, of provocations and denials, revealing the comedy of life,
seen as it were in a glass “not darkly,” but as a dream far off and
mistily; eminently unreal; yet, in some other world far, far away,
in some mysterious land of dreams, one felt such things perchance
might be.
“Le Sacre du Printemps” was an ambitious attempt at primitivism--if
one may use the word--but while disliking its suggestion of
megalomania and the formlessness of its decoration, one could not
but admire so audacious an endeavour to break wholly with tradition;
and it was redeemed by the virility and fantastic, mocking humour
and scenic splendour of Rimsky-Korsakov and Michel Fokine’s “Le Coq
d’Or,” and still more by the beauty of Leon Bakst and Tcherepinin’s
“Narcisse,” and the poetic charm of “Le Spectre de la Rose.”
These, however, are but brief impressions of recent pleasures, shared
by many others who may have been differently impressed. We have had
many books and articles on the Russian ballet--some perhaps a little
over-enthusiastic--and it is not my purpose to deal extensively with
history so recent that most readers can as readily give account
thereof.
When all is said, the significant fact remaining is--that at this
end of the history of an art some two thousand years old we find
most recently in popular favour not English ballet as it was in the
sixteenth-century days of the essentially English Masque; not French
as it was in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; not Italian,
as it was in the ’forties of last century; nor English as we have
seen it, at its best, at the Empire and Alhambra in the past quarter
of a century; but the Russian ballet! the balance of the arts;
which the Russians have only been able to do _by sheer technical
efficiency_--quite apart from ideas or ideals expressed--in _all_
the arts of which ballet is composed, and which has enabled them to
do exactly that which they have set out to do. That, perhaps, is the
one thing that Russian ballet has shown us, which is of the greatest
value and significance for any lovers of the art in any capital of
the world.
[Illustration:
_E. O. Hoppé_
Mme. Karsavina and M. Adolf Bolm in “L’Oiseau de Feu”]
One may ask, however, what is the position of England in regard not
only to ballet, but to the other arts? We have State, and County
Council Art and Craft schools; we have the Royal Academy of Music,
the Royal College, the Guildhall School, and numerous private schools
and “academies” where music and the dramatic arts are taught; all
admirable as far as they go. We have, as yet, no State-aided theatre
and no State-aided opera-house, to which, as on the Continent, an
academy for the study of the dance and ballet is attached. Is it not
strange that the richest city in the world should be deficient in
these things?
It may be that there is greater vitality in the arts when they are
pursued only under the conditions of competitive, private enterprise;
but it is curious that in practically every other country the
dramatic arts have been fostered by the State, and that we in this
country seem ever to show a greater welcome to foreign singers and
dancers than we do to our own.
There is, of course, always a great danger that an institution,
secure in the support it receives from the State, may become
conventional; the spirit of its art may grow arid and unprofitable,
but at least it ensures a standard of technical efficiency, and, if
there be a vital spirit in the nation, that spirit will show itself
in the work of such an institution. Russia has proved all this.
Given a National Opera-House, to which were attached a Royal Academy
of Dancing, what might the future of Ballet be in this country?
The answer depends mainly, one feels, on the extent of the
possibilities to which the art of Ballet could be realised by those
who lead in the artistic expression of the national spirit. The poet,
the artist, the musician, the Master of Dance, and the dancers--men
and women--realising the possibilities of the composite art of
Ballet, might foreshadow possibilities greater than any we have
seen. Yet greater possibilities might be foreshadowed of one who was
all these things; and could combine (as Mr. Gordon Craig would have
the master of the Art of the Theatre combine) _all_ the arts of the
theatre.
It would seem that now and then, through lack of technical efficiency
in one or other of the arts which go to the making of ballet, that
ballet itself has not always attained its highest possible level in
England.
But without that basic technical efficiency in the living material
which he manipulates, how can the creator of the ballet express
himself? A standard of technique at least should exist. That given,
what might not yet be done with this art, which history shows
has always been so plastic in the hands of the master-artist, so
responsive to the artistic or national moods of the people among whom
it has been found.
It has the value and significance of painting, together with the
vital and impressive effect of drama. It is not the art of depicting
reality; but the art of pictorial suggestion, giving life and form to
poetic ideas.
At the Royal or Ducal Courts of earlier days the compliment to
monarch or to minister would be conveyed by means of a courtly
ballet, the story of which dealt outwardly perhaps only with the
doings of some mythic hero of the classic past. But the art of Ballet
always had greater possibilities than courtly compliment, in that it
is always a plastic vehicle for the expression of all ideas; and,
given the standard of efficiency which makes production possible
at all, it only becomes a question of what theme shall be treated
by this means rather than by the arts of painting, or of music, or
drama, or of literature.
On these two points--the standard of technical efficiency attained
by those associated in the production of ballet, and on the choice
of theme and manner of treatment by the artist-mind ultimately
responsible for the production, depends the whole future of the art
of Ballet. The spirit of the artist and his means of expression;
there lies the future.
What shall be the technique of ballet, and to what extent shall it be
influenced by that of the dance?
To-day, the forms of dancing are various, but there are three main
divisions: first, all popular forms of “step,” or, to adopt an old
and useful term, “toe-and-heel” dancing; secondly, the traditional
“toe”-dancing of classic ballet, capable of every _nuance_ of
expression; and thirdly, the various forms of rhythmic movement
and effects of poise, which seem to approach nearly to the ancient
Hellenic ideal of the Dance, and of which Miss Isadora Duncan was
perhaps the first exponent in England, as Mrs. Roger Watts is the
latest; while yet another phase of the same ideal is seen in the
Eurhythmic system of Jacques Dalcroze, which has had, and will have,
great influence in many directions.
We have seen on the London stage ballets in which the dancing was
almost wholly “step”-dancing, toe-and-heel--such as “On the Heath,”
at the Alhambra; we have seen numberless ballets in which the
traditional “toe”-dancing was paramount, from “Coppélia” to “Roberto
il Diavolo,” or the later productions of the Russians; we have not
yet seen a ballet composed entirely, or even mainly on the lines of
the Hellenic revival, though we have had hints of it in concerted
dances by pupils of Miss Duncan and others, and the complete thing
may yet come, though, personally, I question the advisability. We
have already had some curious, interesting, and not quite illogical
attempts to suggest scenic effect by means of living people
performing appropriate and rhythmic movements, as in the production
of Mr. Reginald Buckley’s poetic drama “King Arthur.”
In one or other of these three divisions of the dance and the
respective technical advance in each, lie the chief means of artistic
expression for the master of ballet in the future, and it may be that
the traditional “ballet”-dancing, with its marvellous flexibility
of expression, will, so long as the present standard of technique
is sustained, always maintain its supremacy over the purely popular
forms of dancing, and the newer modes of rhythmic movement and
gesture. It has at least stood the test of time, as a definite and
logical medium of artistic expression.
As to the master-mind that is to select one or other of these forms
of the Dance, and combine it with miming, music and scenic effect to
achieve a ballet that shall be the medium of ideas, worthy to range
as a work of art alongside the tried masterpieces of painting, music,
drama or literature, it may be questioned if we shall see anything
worthier than the past has given us at its best. Some new Noverre or
Blasis, Wilhelm or Fokine may yet arise, of course; but until such
a one come forth we may be well content with the standard which the
Past has managed to achieve.
To that standard this volume is a willing tribute; a faithful
record, which may have novelty for some, unaware of days before
their time; while for others, whose memory of more recent--but yet
receding!--events, grows dim, it may come as a friendly reminder of
pleasant hours spent, by writer and by reader, in contemplating from
the auditorium the varied examples seen at London theatres of the
protean Art of Ballet.
THE END
INDEX
Adam, Adolphe, composer, 236, 277
Addison, Joseph, 142-147
Ænea, dancer, 259, 279
Æschylus, 25, 37
Agoust, Louise, dancer, 264
Aguzzi, Mlle., dancer, 276
Albert, Ferdinand, dancer, 209
Albert, Paul, dancer, 209
Albertieri, Luigi, dancer, 279, 280
Albery, James, dramatist, 257
Alembert, Jean le Rond d’, 171
Alençon, Emilienne d’, dancer, 266
Alexander, Appius, 85
Alhambra, 249, 252-275, 308
Alias, M. et Mme., costumiers, 257, 259, 260, 264, 265, 271-273, 276
Allan, Maud, dancer, 274, 310
Allard, Marie, actress and dancer, 168, 203
Allemande (Almain) dance, 68, 74, 115;
by Robert Johnson, 317
Almonti, brothers, dancers, 262, 263, 265
Anderson, Percy, designer of costumes, 279
André, dancer, 109
Angiolini, pupil of Noverre, 213
Anka, Cornélie d’, singer, 255, 257
Arbeau, Thoinot, author of _Orchésographie_, 1588, 60-70, 110,
145
Arlequin. _See_ Harlequin
Arnould, Sophie, dancer, 179, 180
Arundale, Grace, dancer, 265
Arundale, Sybil, dancer, 265
_Atellanæ_, 43
Athenæus, quoted, 23
Auber, D. F. E., composer, 253
Audran, engraver, 132, 134
Augier, Anne Catherine, married Auguste Vestris, 169, 170
Austin, Esther, dancer, 253
Baif, author, 51
Bakst, Leon, ballet producer, 321
Ballard, French printer, 139
Ballet Comique de la Royne, 56-60, 70-73
Ballet-ambulatoire, 83, 87
Beatification of Ignatius Loyola, 83
Canonisation of S. Charles Boromée, 85
Ballet in England from early 18th century, largely imported from
France and Italy, 182
new spirit infused in first half of 19th century, 208
of small artistic value from 1850-1870, 250
revival as London institution at Alhambra and Empire, 251, 308
all British ballet, 316
no State-aided training, 322
Heroic;
eighty given in France from 1589-1610, 88
Pantomime, 114
Russian, 308, 321;
given first at Coliseum, 313;
at Covent Garden, 318;
at Drury Lane, 318;
dancers from the Mariensky, Petrograd, and from Opera House,
Moscow, 318
Savoy, Court of, 89-91
Ballets:
Acis and Galatea, 208
Aladdin, 261
Veil of Diamonds, 261
Alaska, 285
Alchemists, of, 96
Alcibiade, 101
Algeria, 260
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, 264
All the Year Round, 269
Alma, 241
Amour, Malade l’, 101
Amour Vengé, l’, 208
Amours Déguisés, les, 101
Antiope, 260
Asmodeus, 260
Astrea, 260
Automne Bacchanale, l’, 217, 311
Babil et Bijou, 259
Bacchus et Ariane, 152
Baigneuse, la, 308
Bayadères, les, 225
Beatrix, 238
Beauties of the Harem, 254
Beauty and the Beast, 264
Belle au Bois Dormant, 226
Belle of the Ball, 292, 294, 295
Bivouac, the, 260
Bluebeard, 264
Britannia’s Realm, 267
Pas des Patineurs, 267
Bugle Call, the, 289
By the Sea, 281
Cadmus, 111
Caractères de la Danse, 157, 180
Camargo, 316
Carmen, 258, 268, 275
Carnaval (Schumann), 320, 321
Carnaval de Venise, le, 225, 244, 258
Cassandra, 99
Castor and Pollux, 217
Cécile, 280
Chercheuse d’Esprit, la, 181, 185
Chicago, 262
Chinois, 171
Cinderella, 289
Cinq Seul, le, 244
Cinquantaine, 169
Cleopatra, 280
Cleopatra (Glazounov), 320, 321
Cloches de Corneville, les, 273
Colour of Life, the (dance-_scena_), 315
Coppélia, 277
Coppélia (Delibes), 290, 295, 296, 298, 325
Coq d’Or, le, 321
Cupid, 260
Cupid in Arcadia (Comic), 254
Dance Dream, the, 275
Dancing Doll, the, 289
Dancing Master, the, 301
Danse, la, 282, 316
Day in Paris, 298, 299
Day Off, a, 265
Débutante, the, 291, 296, 301
Débutante, the, new edition, 305
Demon’s Bride, the, 254
Devil’s Forge, the, 267
Diable au Violon, le, 243
Diana, 279
Dieu Bleu, le, 319
Dilara, 279
Don Juan, 217
Don Quixote, 262
Dream of Wealth, 280
Dryad, the, 296-298
Duel in the Snow, 280
Enchantment, 260
Endymion, 169
Entente Cordiale, the, 270
Eoline, 245
Europe, 306
Excelsior, 251
Fairies’ Home, the, 255
Fantaisie Chorégraphique, 301
Faun, the, 302
Faust, 282
Femina, 275
Fernando Cortez, 217, 225
Fête Galante, la, 290
Fêtes d’Adam, les, 182
Fêtes de Bacchus et de l’Amour, 104, 109, 111
Fêtes d’Hébé, les, 185
Fêtes de l’Hymen et de l’Amour, 181
Fêtes Vénitiennes, les (opera ballet), 138, 139
Fidelia (le Violon du Diable), 262
Filets de Vulcain, les, 227
Fille du Bandit, la, 245
Fille du Danube, la, 238
Fille de Marbre, la, 242
First Love, 304
Flora, 99
Flore et Zephire, 208, 226, 227
Gardes Françaises, les, 256
Gay City, the, 266
Gemma, 243
Giselle, 236, 238, 277
Gitana, la, 231
Golden Wreath, 257
Gretna Green, 266
Handy Man, the, 266
Happy Shipwreck, the, 208
Hertha, 244
Horoscope, the, 240
Hungary, 253
Hurly Burly, 277
Hvika, 250
Ideala, 260
Impatience, l’, 101
Inspiration, 266
Iphigénie en Aulide, 217
Irene, 260
Jack Ashore, 265
Japan, in, 266
Jugement de Pâris, le, 231, 245
Pas des Déesses, 246
Lac des Fées, 241
Laura and Lenze, 208
Lydie, 226
Médée et Jason, 201
Melusine, 260
Memnon, 259
Milliner Duchess, the, 288, 296
Mirza, 185
Monte Cristo, 282
Mountain Sylph, 254
Mystères d’Isis, les, 217
Nadia, 260
Napoli, 266
Narcisse, 321
Nations, Les, Parisian Quadrille, 253
New York, 303
Nina the Enchantress, 260
Ninette à la Cour, 185
Nisita, 281
Old China, 287
Ondine, 241, 242
On the Square, 274
Or, Le Coq d’, 322
Orfeo, 281
Oriella, 261
Our Army and Navy, 260
Our Crown, 287
Palace of Pearl, 277
Papillons, les, 286
Paquita (Grisi), 239
Paquita (Alhambra), 274
Paris Exhibition, 280
Parisiana, 271
Peri, the, 237, 238
Perseus, 111
Plaisirs, les, 101
Polly, 277
Premier, Navigateur, le, 185, 186
Press, the, 284
Printemps, Le Sacre du, 322
Psyche (1787), 202
Psyche (Alhambra), 275
Puella, 254
Pygmalion, 152
Queen of Spades, 271, 272
Raillerie, la, 101
Reaper’s Dream, the, 304
Réception d’une jeune nymphe à la cour de Terpsichore, 225
Red Shoes, the, 265
Rip van Winkle, 264
Roberto il Diavolo, 300, 325
Robert Macaire, 280
Rose d’Amour, 279
Rose de Séville, 250
Rosière, la, 185
Round the Town, 281
Round the Town Again, 286
Round the World, 300
Sacre du Printemps, le, 320
Salandra, 260
Sal! Oh My! 274
Sappho and Phaon, 208
Scheherazade, 316
Seaside, 286
Seasons, the, 260
Ship Ahoy! 302
Sicilien, le, 225
Sioux, the (comic), 261
Sir Roger de Coverley, 292
Sleeping Beauty, 261
Soldiers of the Queen, 266
Spectresheim, 254
Spectre de la Rose, le, 321
Sports of England, 279
Swans, the, 260
Sylph of the Glen, 254
Sylphide, 224, 227, 228, 236, 238, 241, 244, 296, 315
Sylphides, les, 320, 321
Sylvia, 277, 303
Télémaque, 202
Temps, le, 101
Temps de la Paix, le 112
Temptation, 261
Titania, 304
Tobacco, of (1650), 97
Tribulations d’un Maître de Ballet, 231
Triomphe de l’Amour, 111
Triumph of Bacchus, 101
Triumph of Venus, 100
Two Flags, the, 273
Two Gregorys, the, 254
Under One Flag, 282
Versailles, 281, 316
Vestale, la, 217, 225
Victoria and Merrie England, 264
Village Festival, 260
Vincennes, 101
Vineland, 288
Vine, The, 306
Vivandière, la, 243
Water Nymph, the, 304
Wildfire, 256
Yolande, 225
Zanetta, 260
Zephyre, 203
Ballon, M., dancer, 106, 110, 115, 123
Baltasarini. _See_ Beaujoyeux
Banquet-ball, 53-55, 71
Baron, author, 61
Basse-dance, 63-66
Bathyllus, Roman actor, 44-46, 114, 119
Baudiery-Laval, maître de ballet, 106, 110
Baudiery-Laval, Michel-Jean, dancer, 106, 110
Baum, John, manager Alhambra, 254
Beauchamps, dancer, 62, 106, 109-111, 164
Beaujoyeux (Baltasarini), designer of Ballet Comique de la Reine,
1581, 56-60, 70-73, 82
Beaumont, Francis, dramatist, 74
Beaupré, Mlle., dancer, 203
Bedells, Phyllis, dancer, 292, 299-305, 306
Belloni, actor, famed as Pierrot, 133
Beni Hassan, 29, 31
Benserade, arranged ballet of “Cassandra” in which Louis XIV
appeared, 99
Benson, F. R., 313
Bensusan, S. L., adapted ballet from his novel, _Dede_, 266
Berein, Francis, theatrical mechanician, 111
Berend, Rosa, actress, 259
Bergonzio di Botta, arranged the Banquet-ball, 1489, 52-56, 71, 82
Bertin, Antoine, author, 139
Bertrand, A., ballet master, 255-258, 276
Bessone, Mlle., dancer, 260
Bianchini, designer, 276
Biancolelli, Pierre-François (Domenique), actor, famed as Arlequin,
133, 134
Bias, Fanny, dancer, 203
Bigottini, Mlle., dancer, 203, 204
Bishop, Will, dancer, 282, 286
Blande, Edith, actress, 259
Blasis, Carlo, actor, dancer, writer, and Director of Imperial
Academy of Dancing and Pantomime at Milan, 23, 24, 148,
213-220, 222, 272, 319, 320
Blasis, Francesco, 214
Blasis, Teresa, sister of Carlo, 218
Blasis, Vincenza Coluzzi Zurla, 214
Blasis, Virginia, sister of Carlo, prima donna, 218
Blaze, Castil, writer on Paris Opera, 72, 111, 172;
quoted, 228
Blondi, dancer, 106, 110, 158
Boileau, Nicolas, Sieur Despréaux, 196, 200
Bolm, Adolphe, dancer, 296, 299, 301
Bonnet, author, 61
Bordin, Maria, dancer, 272, 273
Bouffon, dance, 63, 74
Bourgeois, composer, 113
Bourrée, dance, 318
Brancher, Mlle., dancer, 203
Branle (bransle) dance, 63, 64, 68, 69
Bright, Dora, composer, 296, 302, 315, 317
Brissac, Duc de, 56
Britta, Mlle., dancer, 274, 275
Brocard, Mlle., dancer, 209, 228
Broughton, Phyllis, dancer and actress, 249, 295
Browne, William, poet, 74
Brutton, W. M., architect, 271
Buckley, Reginald, 325
Bunn, manager Drury Lane, 238
Byng, G. W., musical director Alhambra, 265-268, 272-274
Cachucha, dance, 212
Calthrop, Dion Clayton, 275
Calverley, C. S., translation quoted, 34
Camargo, Marie-Anne de Cupis de, dancer, 115-117, 156-162, 223
Cambert, musician, 104, 113
Campion, Thomas, poet and musician, 74
Campra, composer, 113, 128, 138, 305
Canaries (Canary), dance, 69, 74
Canova, sculptor, 216
Canterbury Music Hall, 249
Captain, The, conventional character of 18th century Italian comedy,
121, 122
Caroso, author, 62
Carr, Osmond, Dr., 292
Carville, Mlle., dancer, 106
Casaboni, Josephine, dancer, 264-266
Casati, M., ballet master, 260
Cavallazi, Malvina, Mme., dancer, 258, 280, 281, 282, 285
Cave, Joseph A., manager Alhambra 254
Cecchetti, M., dancer, 279, 281
Celerier, director of Opera, 191
Cerito, Fanny, dancer, 223, 229, 231, 240-243, 245-247, 278
Cerri, Cecilia, dancer, 264, 265
Chaconne, dance, 71, 115, 166, 317
Chambers, Emma, actress, 255, 258, 259
Chameroy, Mlle., dancer, 203
Chaplin, Nellie, reviver of ancient music and dances, 318
Chapman, George, dramatist, 74
Chevigny, Mlle., dancer, 202, 203
Choiseul, de, Archbishop of Cambrai, 183
Choiseul, Maréchal de, 106
Cibber, Colley, quoted, 17
Cinthio, character in French pantomime, 126
Clarke, Cuthbert, composer, 298, 302
Cleather, Gordon, singer, 297
Clerc, Elise, dancer and ballet producer, 274, 289
Clermont, College of, ballets at, 93
Clotilde, Mlle., dancer, 203
Clown, 121, 123
Cochin, C. N., engraver, 131
Coffin, Hayden, actor, 277
Coliseum, 313
Collette, Charles, actor, 258
Collier, Beatrice, dancer, 299, 303
Collins, Lottie, dancer, 309
Colonna, Mlle., dancer, 253
Columbine, conventional character of 18th century Italian comedy,
122, 123, 126
Comedie Ballet, 73
Comelli, designer of costume, 271-273
Constantini, Angelo, actor, famous impersonator of Mezzetin, 134
Contredanse, 115
Cook, Aynsley, actor, 257, 258
Cook, Furneaux, actor, 258
Coppi, Carlo, ballet producer, 24, 261, 264, 266, 267
Cormani, Mme., dances arranged by, 260, 266, 267
Cormani, Miss, dancer, 271
Corneille, Pierre, author, 115, 123
Costa, Mario, composer, 272
Coulon, Mlle., dancer, 203
Coulon, M., dancer, 225
Courante (Coranto) dance, 63, 67, 68, 81, 115, 317
Covent Garden Theatre, 152, 295, 308
Cracovienne, dance, 212
Craig, Gordon, 315, 324
Craske, Dorothy, dancer, 289, 290
Crozat, patron of Watteau, 132, 138
Crystal Palace, 249
Curti, Alfredo, ballet master, 24, 271, 272, 273, 275
Dalcroze, Jacques, 325
Dallas, John J., actor, 257
Dance, older than drama, 26
early instinct of mankind, 27
ritual of, in Egypt, 28
sacred, secular, theatrical, 28, 40
in Greece, 31-40
in Greek drama: _Emmeleia_, _Hyporchemata_,
_Kordax_, _Sikinnis_, 37, 63
Pyrrhic, 38
in honour of Jupiter, of Minerva, of Apollo, of Innocence to
Diana, of Delos to Venus, 38
in Eleusinian mysteries, 39
Collar, 39
individualistic, 39
Dancing, value of personality in, 283
Daniel, Samuel, poet, 74
Dauberval, dancer, 166, 180, 202, 203, 216
Dauberval, Mme. (_née_ Mlle. Theodore), dancer, 203
Davenant, Sir William, 304
David, G. Mlle., dancer, 257
David, Jacques Louis, painter, 182
Davies, Sir John, author of _Orchestra, or a Poeme on
Dauncing_, 67
Dekker, Thomas, dramatist, 74
Delaborde, financier, 183
Delaplace, actor, played Scaramouche, 134
de la Roque, Antoine, 138;
librettist of “Médée et Jason,” 138
Delibes, composer, 277, 290, 298, 303
Dervieux, Mlle., dancer, 185
Desaix, M., dancer, 106
Deshayes, M., dancer and producer of ballet, 203, 208, 241
Desmarets, composer, 113
Desmares, Mlle., Danish actress, 135
Desmatins, Mlle., dancer, 111
Desnos, Bishop of Verdun, 183
Despréaux, Jean, dancer and poet, 190-201
Destouches, composer, 113, 317
Didelot, M., ballet master, 203, 208, 226
Diderot, Denis, encyclopædist, 171
Doctor, The, conventional character of 18th-century Italian comedy,
121, 122, 126, 134
Dolaro, Selina, actress and dancer, 256
Dolivet, M., dancer, 111
Dorat, poet, 171, 185
Dorival, Mlle., dancer, 187
Dowsett, Vernon, stage manager Alhambra, 260
Drama, early, 25-29
Drury Lane Theatre, 142, 237, 295, 308
Dryden, Alexander, 304
Dumoulin, M., dancer, 116, 158
Duncan, Isadora, 153, 310, 313, 314, 325
Duport, M., dancer, 203
Dupré, Louis Pierre, dancer, 110, 116, 164, 203
Duverney, Pauline, dancer, 209, 210, 292
Edelinck, engraver, 134
Edwardes, George, theatre manager, 277, 281, 284
Egville, d’, M., producer of ballet, 208
Elia, Mlle., dancer, 261
Elliots, the, family of dancers, 254
Elssler, Fanny, dancer, 210-212, 248, 278, 292
Elssler, Thérèse, sister of above, dancer, 210-212
Emmanuel, _La Danse Grecque_, 35
Empire Theatre, 252, 276, 294-308
closed, October 27 to November 2, 1893, by County Council, 282
Espinosa, ballet producer, 249
Espinosa, Edouard, dancer, actor and producer, 305
Espinosa, Judith, dancer, 266
Eularia, character in French pantomime, 126
Euripides, 25
Fabbri, dancer, 249
Fairs, Theatres of the, 109, 128-130, 132, 133
St. Germain, February to Easter, 128, 133
St. Laurent, June to October, 128, 133, 140, 150
Falcon, Mme., singer, 244
Fandango, dance, 212
Farinis, the, gymnasts, 253
Farnie, H. B., librettist, 256, 258, 276
Farren, Fred, dancer, actor and producer, 266, 289, 290, 299-304,
306
Faustin, designer of costumes, 258, 276
Favart, Mme., dancer, 181
Favier, M., dancer, 109
Fedorova, Sophie, dancer, 320
Fernon, Mlle., dancer, 111
Ferrabosco, Alfonso, composer, 76
Ferraris, Amalia, dancer, 249
Ferté, de la, M., Director de l’Académie, 187, 188
Feuillet, ballet master, 62, 106
Fleming, Noel, actor, 300
Fletcher, John, dramatist, 74
Fokine, Michel, ballet producer, 24, 322, 326
Fontanes, President of the French Legislative Chamber, 204
Ford, A. G., stage manager Alhambra, 262
Ford, Bert, dancer, 301
Ford, Ernest, composer, 282
Foucarts, the, gymnasts, 253
Fouquet, Comptroller of Finances, 99
Fragonard, 125, 181, 290
Francine, a director of Royal Academy of Dance and Music, Paris, 157
Francoeur, director of Opera, 19
Fuller, Loie, dancer, 312
Fuseli, Henry, painter, 214
Gaillarde (_cinq-pas_), dance, 63, 66, 81, 317
Galeazzo, Duke of Milan, 53, 54
Gallini, director of Opera in London, 187, 188
Ganne, Louis, composer, 266
Gantenberg, Edvige, dancer, 286
Gardel, Maximilien, maître de ballet, 23, 172, 181, 217, 320
Gardel, Pierre, brother of above, 201, 202
Garrick, David, 165, 171, 214, 308
Gascoigne, George, poet and dramatist, 74
Gautier, Théophile, 24, quoted 227, 236, quoted 237, 243
Gavotte, 63, 69, 161, 317
Geltzer, Catrina, dancer, 275
Génée, Adeline, 119, 220;
début in London, 283, 284-298, 300, 316
Génée, Alexandre, uncle to Adeline, 284, 300
Gersaint, correspondent of Watteau, 138
Gherardi, Evariste, quoted, 122
Gigue, dance, 115, 317
Giles, Thomas, dance-master, 76, 81
Gillert, Mlle. T. de, mime, 255-259
Gilles. _See_ Pierrot
Gillot, Claude, engraver, 126, 127, 137
Gilmer, Albert A., manager Alhambra, 262
Giuri, Mlle., dancer, 280
Glazounov, composer, 318
Glover, James W., composer, 271
Gluck, Christoph, composer, 172, 201
Goncourt, Edmond, 179, 187, 196
Goncourts, de, 138
Gorsky, Alexander A., ballet producer, 275
Gosselin, Mlle., dancer, “the boneless,” 203, 217
Grahn, Lucile, dancer, 223, 229, 231, 244-248
Granville, Violet, actress, 258
Gregory, Nazianzen, quoted, 49
Grétry, composer, 201
Greville, Eva, dancer, 250
Grey, Miss Lennox, singer and actress, 256
Grey, Sylvia, dancer, 251, 295
Grigolati troupe, 263
Grimaldi, 42
Grisi, Carlotta, 119, 164, 223, 229, 231, 235-239
Grisi, Giuditta, singer, cousin of Carlotta, 235
Grisi, Giulia, singer, cousin of Carlotta, 235
Gueméné, Prince de, 186
Guerrero, Mme., dancer, 268
Guimard, Madeleine, dancer, “le squelette des Grâces,” 179-195, 199,
201, 202, 233
Haggard, Sir Rider, ballet founded on his _Cleopatra_, 280
Hahn, Reynaldo, composer, 320
Hall, Edward, chronicler, 72
Hamoche, actor, famed as Pierrot, 133
Handel, George F., composed “Terpsichore” for Mlle. Sallé, 153
Hardouin, dancer, 112
Harlequin, 122, 123, 126, 133
Harlequinade, 41, 123
Harris, Sir Augustus, theatre manager, 277
Hastings, Charles, quoted, 43
Hawthorne, Ethel, dancer, 264
Haymarket Theatre (King’s), 151, 218
Heberlé, Mlle., dancer, 235
Heinel, Mme., dancer, wife of Gaetan Vestris, 168, 187
Henley, W. H., poet, 316
Henry, M., dancer, 203
Hermitage, the, Petrograd, 135
Herne, Hieronimus, dance master, 76
Herodotus, 30
Hersee, H., 276
Hertford House, 133, 135-137, 161
Hervé, composer, 276, 279, 280
Hilligsberg, Mme., 208
Hippodrome, 311
Hitchins, H. J., manager Empire, 276, 277, 298
Hofschuller, Fräulein, dancer, 276
Holland, William, manager Alhambra, 259
Hollingshead, John, 252, 253, 261, 276
Hooten, Miss, dancer, 262, 263
Howell, James, business manager Alhambra, 265
Hylas, roman actor, 45, 46
Iliad, quotation from Book xviii, 32
Isabella of Aragon, 53, 54
Isabelle, conventional character of 18th-century Italian comedy,
122, 126
Italian comedians in Paris, 125, 129, 137
early troupe in 1576, _Gli Gelosi_, 126
Fiorelli’s Royal troupe, Palais Royal, 126
banished from France, 1679-1716, 127
at Theatres of the Fairs, 128, 129
troupes of Mme. Jeanne Godefroy, Von der Beck, of Christopher
Selles, of Louis Nivelon, of St. Edmé, of Constantini
(known as Octave), 129, 133, 134
Jacobi, G., composer, 255, 257, 258, 260, 261, 263, 264
Jarente, de, Bishop of Orleans, 183
Johnson, Robert, composer, 318
Jones, Inigo, 76
Jones, Sidney, composer, 289
Jonson, Ben, 74, 81, 82
Josset, Mlle. M. A., dancer, 256
Joukoff, Leonid, dancer, 305
Joyeuse, Duc de, 56
Julian the Apostate, 49
Julie, Mlle., dancer, 259
Jullienne collection of engravings after Watteau, 125, 126, 131, 135
Justinian, Emperor, 48
Karina, Mme., dancer, 315
Karsavina, Mme., 119, 220, 315, 320
“King Arthur,” poetic drama, 324
Kiralfy, Imre, 253
Kiralfy, Bolossy, 253
Kiralfy, Aniola, 253
Kosloff, M., ballet producer, 316
Kyasht, Lydia, dancer, 296, 298-305, 314
Laborie, M., dancer, 203
La Bruyère, quoted, 105-106, 109
Lafontaine, Mlle., dancer, 111
La Malaguenita, dancer, 275
Lancret, Nicholas, painter, Louis XIV., 112, 125, 154, 156, 161, 290
Lanner, Katti, Mme., maîtresse de ballet, 24, 226, 250, 259,
278-282, 308
her National School of Dancing, 278
Lanner, Joseph, waltz composer, 278
Lany, M., dancer, 203
Lapierre, dancer, 109
Laporte, 208
La Salmoiraghi, dancer, 262
Lau, Comtesse de, 189
Lauri family, dancers, 254, 261
Laverne, Pattie, singer, 256
Lawton, Frank, whistler, 274, 286
Leandre, conventional character of 18th-century Italian comedy, 122
Le Basque, dancer, 106
Le Breton, Mlle., dancer, 106
Lecocq, composer, 258
Ledoux, architect, 182
Lee, Miss Rose, actress, 257
Le Fré, Albert, dancer, 265
Legallois, Mlle., dancer, 217
Legnani, Mlle., dancer, 260, 262
Leigh, Henry S., dramatist, 257, 258
Leoffeler, Miss L., dance-mistress and producer, 317
Lenoir, architect, 202
Léo, composer, 277
Leon, Virginia, dancer, 217
Leonora, La Belle, dancer, 274, 275
Leotard, gymnast, 252, 253
Le Peintre, Mlle., dancer, 111
Lepicq, M., dancer, 203
Leroux, Pauline, dancer, 210, 228, 292
Le Sage, Alain, 150
Leslie, Fanny, actress, 259
Leslie, Fred, actor, 258, 259
L’Etang, M., dancer, 111
Lethbridge, Alice, dancer, 251, 295
_Lettres sur la Danse, et sur les Ballets_, by Noverre,
published 1760, English translation 1786, 173;
quoted, 174-178
Levey, Florence, dancer, 250
Ligne, Prince and Princesse de, 157
Lincoln’s Inn Fields Theatre, (Duke’s), 123, 142, 150, 151, 304
Lind, Jenny, singer, 248
Lind, Letty, dancer, 251, 295
Locke, John, author, 114
Longhi, Giuseppe, engraver, 216
Longus, vintage dance in his novel _Daphnis and Chloe_, 37
Loseby, Constance, actress, 258, 259
Lovati, Mlle., dancer, 264
Love, Mabel, dancer, 295
Lucian, quoted, 23, 34, 39, 147
Lulli, Jean-Baptiste, composer, 104, 110, 113, 128, 138, 305
Lumley, manager of the Opera (Her Majesty’s), 223, 308
Luna, Mlle., dancer, 277
Lutz, Meyer, musician, 282
Lycurgus, 38
McCleery, R. C., scenic artist, 307
Maccus, prototype of Punch, 43, 121
Machiavelli, 215
Madrolle, French publicist, 214
Maine, Duchesse du, 114, 115, 122
Majiltons, acrobatic dancers, 254
Malibran, Maria, singer, 235
Malter, the brothers, dancers, 203
“Maneros,” 30
Manzotti, ballet producer, 24, 251
Mapleson, manager Covent Garden, 250
Marguerite of Lorraine, 56
Maria la Belle, Mlle., dancer, 271
Marie, Mlle., dancer, 262
Marie Antoinette, Queen, 173, 316
Marinette, character in French pantomime, 126
Marius, M., actor, 277
Marmontel, Jean François, writer, 184
Martell, F., Miss, dancer, 304
Martinetti, Paul, ballet producer, 280
Marvin, Fred, actor, 259
Mask first discarded by Gaetan Vestris in dancing, 167
Masque, 60, 72, 73, 82, 87
list of notable, 1585-1609, 74
Elizabethan, 308
Matachin, dance, 63
Mathews, Julia, actress, 254
Matthews, Miss, dancer, 259, 260
Maupin, Mlle. de, dancer, 112
Mauri, Rosita, dancer, 249
May, Miss Alice, actress, 258
May, Jane, Mlle., 119, 271
Mazurka, dance, 212
Melville, Mlle., dancer, 255
Menestrier, Abbé, quoted, 21, 22, 23, 81, 83
Méry, poet, 227
Meursius, 40
Mezzetin, conventional character of 18th-century Italian comedy,
122, 126, 134
Miller, Mlle., dancer, later Mme. Pierre de Gardel, 202, 203
Minuet, 317;
Lady Elizabeth Spencer’s, 318
Molière, Jean Baptiste, 73, 104, 121, 126
Monkhouse, Harry, actor, 259
Monteclair, composer, 113, 139, 305
Montessu, Mme. (_née_ Albert), dancer, 209
Moore, Marshall, producer, 317
Mordkin, dancer, 164, 217, 310, 311
More, Unity, dancer, 301, 303, 305
Moreau, Junior, engraver, 197
Morino, Mlle., dancer, 272-274
Morisque dance (Morris), 69, 74
Morton, Charles, theatrical manager, 256, 259, 260
Mossetti, Carlotta, dancer, 274, 275, 302, 306
Motteaux, translator of Don Quixote, 144
Moul, Alfred, manager Alhambra, 263-265, 267, 271, 273, 275
Mouret, composer, 113, 115, 123, 305;
bourrée by, 318
Muller, Rosa, dancer, 259
Muller, Marie, dancer, 259
Musetto, dance, 166
Mystery plays, 30
Napoleon and Bigottini, 204
Netscher, Theodore, painter, 134
Newnham-Davis, Lieut.-Col., 298, 300, 303
Nijinsky, dancer and ballet producer, 320
Ninon de l’Enclos, 106, 190
Nivelon, dancer and mime, 113, 123
Noblet, Alexandrine, dancer, 209
Noblet, Lise, dancer, 209, 210
Nodier, Charles, author, 228
Nourrit, Adolphe, writer, 228
Noverre, Jean Georges, ballet master and writer on the dance, 23, 24;
quoted 115, 148, 152, 165, 166, 168, 171-178, 181, 201, 203, 213,
222, 272, 320
Nuittier, maître de ballet, 24
Octave, 126
Octavie, conventional character of eighteenth-century Italian comedy,
122
Offenbach, Jacques, composer, 254, 257, 258, 259, 288
Opera--National. _See_ Royal Academy of Dance and Music
Operas (opera-bouffe, etc.):
Belle Hélène, la, 254
Billee Taylor, 277
Callirhoé, 138
Chilperic (musical spectacle), 276
Créüse l’Athénienne, 138
Don Juan, 254
Fatinitza (comic), 257
Faust-Up-to-Date (comic), 250
Favorita, la, 236
Fille de Mme. Angot, 256
Fille du Tambour-Major, 259
Fledermaus, die, 255
Geneviève de Brabant, 257
Grand Duchess, 257, 292
Lady of the Locket (extravaganza), 277
Muette di Portici, la, 209, 244
Orphée aux Enfers, 255
Petite Mademoiselle, la, 258
Poule aux Œufs d’Or, la, 258
Princesse de Carisme, 150
Princesse de Trebizonde, 258
Roi Carotte, le, 254
Whittington, 254
Zingaro, le, 236
“Palace Girls,” 311
Palace Theatre, 309
Palladium Theatre, 310
Palladino, Emma, dancer, 259, 260, 279, 281
Panorama of Balaclava, 276
Pantaloon (Pantalon), 121-123, 126
Pantin, 181, 182
Pantomime, English, 123
French, 121, 125
Italian, 121, 122, 124
Roman, 41-46, 119, 120
Pantomimes:
Arlequin, Emperor in the Moon, 122
Jason, 122
Man of Fortune, 122
Proteus, 122
Sorcerer, 123
Enfant Prodigue, l’, 43, 119, 253, 271
Cause of Woman, 122
Columbine, Advocate, 122
Divorce, 122
On the Roofs (pantomime ballet), 261
Rothomago (Fairy Spectacle), 258
Sculptor and the Poodle (musical), 261
Sumurun, 43, 314
Where’s the Police? 253
Pappus, forerunner of Pantaloon, 43, 121
Pascariel, character in French pantomime, 126
_Pas de Quatre_, 1845, 223, 229, 231, 239, 245
Passacaille, dance, 115, 166
Passani, Mlle., dancer, 256
Passepied, dance, 115-117, 166, 318
Pater, Jean Batiste, painter, 160, 290
Paul V, Pope, 85
Paulton, Harry, actor, 255, 256, 258, 259
Pavane, dance, 63, 64, 66, 317
Pavlova, Anna, dancer, 217, 310, 311, 314
Pécourt, dance master, 62, 106, 110, 111, 305
Pedrolino. _See_ Pierrot
Pérignon, Mme., dancer, 202, 203
Perregaux, banker, 187
Perrin, Abbé, 104
Perrot, dancer, husband of Carlotta Grisi, 231, 235, 246
Perrot, maître de ballet, 24, 242
Persiani, Mme., singer, 241
Pertoldi, Mlle., dancer, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 277
Peslin, Mlle., dancer, 187, 203
Petipa, dancer, 238, 249
Philips, Ambrose, poet and dramatist, 144
Phrynichus, 37
Picard, comic poet, 191
Piccinni, composer, 201
Pierrot (Pedrolino, also Gilles), 122, 123, 133
Pitteri, Mlle., dancer, 254
Pius IV, Pope, 85
Plato, 34
Plutarch, 37
Poisson, family of Parisian actors:
Raymond, 134
Paul, 134
François, 134
Pollini, Mlle., dancer, 261
“Pomp” Thyrennian, 85
Pomponette, Mlle., dancer, 273
Porpora, manager of Haymarket Theatre, 153
Porro, dancer, 262
Pratesi, M., ballet master, 265, 266
Prévôt, Mlle., dancer, 106, 115-118, 123, 157, 158
Price, Lilian, dancer, 250
Pugni, composer, 242
Punchinello, 122
Pylades, Roman actor, 44-46, 59, 114, 119
Quinault, 104, 113
Rameau, Jean Philippe, composer and writer on music, quoted, 115,
185, 305, 320
Ravelli, director of opera in London, 187, 188
Rebel, composer, 113
Reece, Robert, author, 256, 258
Reichstadt, Duc de, l’Aiglon, 211
René, King of Anjou, inaugurated procession of Fête Dieu, 51
Rheims College, ballet at, 91
Riccoboni, _Histoire du Théâtre Italien_, 130
Rich, Christopher, owner of Lincoln’s Inn Theatre, 150
Rich, John, son of above, 123, 142, 150, 151, 308
Richards, Mlle., dancer, 255
Rigaudon (Rigadoon) dance, 71, 161, 318
Righton, Edward, actor, 258
Rimsky-Korsakov, composer, 322
Rivani, theatrical mechanician, 111
Riviere, Jules, conductor, 253
Roffey, Mme., dancer, 260, 262, 263
Roland, Mlle., dancer, 111, 159
Ronald, Landon, composer, 267
Rosa, Mlle., dancer, 255
Rosati, Caroline, dancer, 249
Rosi, G., Signor, actor and dancer, 273, 274
Ross, Adrian, librettist, 292
Rosselli, actor, 259
Rossi, pupil of Noverre, 213
Rossi, Adèle, dancer, 279, 281
Rossi, ballet master, 266
Roy, M., eighteenth-century poet, 132, 138
Royal Academy of Dance and Music, Paris, 99, 102, 109, 112, 147,
152, 157, 165;
Imperial academy in 1807, 191;
Opera, 202;
Opera National, 202;
Théâtre des Arts, 202;
Théâtre de la République et des Arts, 202
Roze, Mlle., dancer, 202
Russell, Howard, costume designer, 262, 263, 264, 265
Ryan, T. E., scenic artist, 260, 261, 263, 264, 265, 272
Ryley, J. H., actor and singer, 256
Sacchini, Antonio, composer, 172, 201
Saharet, Mlle., dancer, 310
St. Cyr, Mimi, dancer, 309
St. Denis, Ruth, dancer, 313
St. Helier, Ivy, dancer, 305
St. John, Florence, actress, 277
St. Leon, musician and ballet master, husband of Fanny Cerito, 231,
242, 243, 246
Sallé, Marie, Mlle., dancer and mime, 115, 116, 123, 150-155,
158-160, 165, 172, 224, 282
Sallé, brother to above, 151
Sampietro, Mlle., dancer, 260
San Carlo Theatre, Naples, 219, 240
Sangalli, Rita, dancer, 249
Santini, Signor, dancer, 271-273, 286
Santley, Kate, actress and dancer, 254
Santori, Mlle., dancer, 279
Sarabande, dance, 71, 318;
by Destouches, 318
Saulnier, Mlle., dancer, 202
Savoy, Court of, ballets at, 89-91, 93-98
Scala, Flaminio, 121
Scala Theatre, London, 312
Scapin, conventional character of eighteenth-century Italian comedy,
122
Scaramouche, conventional character of eighteenth-century Italian
comedy, 122, 126, 134
Sceaux, pantomime at, 114
Schneitzhöffer, composer, 228
Schollar, Ludmilla, dancer, 320
Scott, George, manager Alhambra, 269
Scott, Sir Walter, 209, 210
Seale, Julia, Miss, dancer, 263, 264, 265, 266, 272, 274
Serpette, Gaston, composer, 259
Seymour, Katie, dancer, 281, 295
Sims, G. R., 309
Sinden, Bert, dancer, 281
Sinden, Topsy, dancer, 281, 294
Sirois, picture dealer, 132, 133
Sismondi, Mlle., dancer, 254, 255, 276
Skelley, Marjorie, dancer, 268
Slack, Edith, dancer, 266, 268, 271
Slater, C. Dundas, manager Alhambra, 265, 266, 267
Slaughter, Walter, composer, 261
Smith, Bruce, scenic artist, 262
Smith, E. T., director of Alhambra, 252
Smith, Miss Winifred, author of _Commedia dell’ Arte_, 124
Soldene, Emily, actress, 253, 258
Solomon, Edward, composer, 277
Sophocles, 25
_Sophonisbie_, 51
Sortis, de, Bettina, dancer, 279, 280
Soubise, Prince de, 181, 183, 184, 186, 187, 189
Sourdeac, Marquis de, director of ballet, 104
_Spectator, The_, 113, 142-147;
quoted, 144, 145
Staël, Mme. de (Mlle. Delaunay), 114
Stafford, Audrey, dancer, 266
State-aided Opera and Ballet, 104, 149, 322
Stedman, ballet producer, 317
Steele, Richard, writer, 142, 144, 145
Steps of dances recorded, 62, 65
Storey, Fred, actor, 262, 264
Stoyle, J. D. (Jimmy), actor, 257
Strange, Frederick, manager Alhambra, 253
Subligny, Mlle., dancer, 106, 112-115
Sullivan, Sir Arthur, composer, 264
Suppé, F. von, composer, 257
Tabourot, Jehan. _See_ Arbeau
Taglioni, Marie, 24, 119, 207-209, 222-234, 244-247, 282, 292, 293
Taglioni, Louise, aunt to Marie, 224
Taglioni, Louise, niece to Marie, 231, 246
Taglioni, Philip, ballet master, father of Marie, 224
Tambourin, dance, 161, 166
_Tatler, The_, quoted, 143
Taylor, Miss Daisy, dancer and actress, 273
Tcherepinin, ballet producer, 321
Telbin, scenic artist, 281
Telestes, actor, 37
Thackeray, W. M., 224, 296
Théâtre des Arts. _See_ Royal Academy of Dance and Music
Théâtre de la République et des Arts. _See_ Royal Academy of
Dance and Music
Thebes (Egypt), 29, 31
Theocritus, Idyll xviii, 33-34
Theodora, Empress, 48
Thespis, 25, 37, 87
Thévenard, dancer, 112
Thorwaldsen, sculptor, 216
Tissot, quoted, 215
_Togatæ_, 43
Tolstoy, 18
Training of dancers, Milan, 220;
Petrograd, 220, 299;
general, 221, 222
Tree, Sir H. Beerbohm, 295
Trenchmore, dance, 74
Tresca, 71
Trianon, Petit, 73
Valenciennes, 125, 132, 138
Vanloo, Charles André, painter, 160
Vaughan, Kate, dancer, 251, 277, 295
Vaux-le-Vicomte, Château, 100
Verity, Frank, architect, 289
Véron, manager of Paris opera, 211
Vesey, Clara, actress, 258
Vestris, Auguste Armand, son of Marie Auguste, 170
Vestris, Charles, nephew of Marie Auguste, 170
Vestris, Gaetan Appolino Baltazar, 164-169, 173, 207
Vestris, Marie Auguste, son of Gaetan and Marie Allard, 163, 164,
168-170, 180, 203, 207
Vicenti, de, M., dancer, 260
Victoria, Queen, dolls, 209, 228, 233, 246, 252
Vigarani, theatrical mechanician, 104, 111
Vincent, Ada, dancer, 281, 282
Vismes, de, Director of Opera, Paris, 169
Voisins, Gilbert, Comte de, married Marie Taglioni, 228
Vokes, W., dancer, 289
Volinin, Alexander, dancer, 67, 304
Volta, 63, 66
Voltaire, 153, 159, 167, 171, 174
Wallace Collection, Hertford House, 133, 135, 136, 137
Walse, la, 199
Warde, Willie, dancer, 282
Watteau, Antoine, 125-141, 290
Amour au Théâtre Français, l’, 131, 135, 138, 290
Amour au Théâtre Italien, 125, 130, 138
Amusements Champêtres (Chantilly), 135
Arlequin et Colombine (Hertford House), 133, 136
Arlequin Jaloux, 133
Assemblée dans un Parc (Berlin), 136
Bal sous une Colonnade (Dulwich), 135-137, 139, 291
Champs Elysées, les (Hertford House), 136
Charmes de la Vie, les (Hertford House), 135
Comédiens Italiens, 133
Concert, le (Hertford House), 135-137, 139
Danse, la (Potsdam), 135
Départ des Troupes, 132
Desmares, Mlle., 135
Embarquement pour l’Ile de Cythère, l’ (Louvre), 135, 136, 140
Fête Galante (Dresden), 136, 290
Fêtes Vénitiennes, les (Edinburgh), 135, 138
Gamme d’Amour, la, 136
Gilles (Louvre), 133
Gilles et sa Famille (Hertford House), 133
Indifférent, l’ (Louvre), 135, 140
Jaloux, les, 133
Joueur de Guitare (Musée Condé), 136
Jupiter et Antiope (Louvre), 136
Leçon de Musique, la (Hertford House), 136
Menuet, le (Petrograd), 135
Mézzetin, 133
Poisson en habit de Paysan, 134, 137
Surprise, la (Buckingham Palace), 136
Terrace Party, 290
Watts, Dr. Isaac, 144
Watts, Mrs. Roger, 325
Weaver, John, author of _An Essay towards a History of Dancing_,
and _History of Pantomimes_, 62, 143;
quoted, 145-147, 148
Wenzel, L., composer, 280, 281, 284-288
Weston’s Music Hall, Holborn, 249
Wiesenthal Sisters, dancers, 312
Wilde, William, manager of Alhambra, 252
Wilhelm, C., 24, 259, 276, 279-282, 284-292, 314, 326
Wilmot, Maud, dancer, 250
Wilson, Charles, stage-manager, Alhambra, 265-267, 271
Woodford, H., Secretary and Treasurer, Alhambra, 265
Yarnold, Fred, dancer, 262
Zacharias, Pope, bull suppressing “baladoires,” 50
Zanfretta, Mlle., 119, 282, 285, 286, 289
Zimmermann, Mlle. (Mme. Alexander Génée), dancer, 284
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Exodus_, XV. 20.
[2] I _Samuel_, XXI. 11.
[3] II _Samuel_, VI. 14.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Minor French language errors and punctuation errors have silently
been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling such as
“ballet-dancers/ballet dancers” and “terre-à-terre/terre à terre”
have been maintained.
Em-dashes within the Index have been removed in order to improve
readability.
Cover image created by transcriber and placed in the public domain.
Page 12: “PRÉVOT” changed to “PRÉVÔT”.
Page 12: “LÉON” changed to “LEON”.
Page 22: “evolutions du labyrinth” changed to “evolutions du
labyrinthe”.
Page 43: “tours de forces” changed to “tours de force”.
Page 69: “d’Escosse estoiet” changed to “d’Escosse estoient”.
Page 69: “Je prie Deu” changed to “Je prie Dieu”.
Page 94: “La Vaisseau” changed to “Le Vaisseau”.
Page 102: “vous addresses” changed to “vous adresser”.
Page 109: “Choregraphy” changed to “Choreography”.
Page 168: “choregraphic” changed to “choreographic”.
Page 192: “Madaleine” changed to “Madeleine”.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Art of Ballet" ***
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