The Russian Ballet

In Short

This book offers an intimate account of the Russian Ballet’s impact on international audiences, detailing the specific ballets, choreographers, and designers who redefined the form. It moves beyond simple review to explore the collaboration between composers like Stravinsky, designers like Bakst, and dancers like Nijinsky and Pavlova. By examining individual productions—from the romantic elegance of Les Sylphides to the primal, controversial energy of Le Sacre du Printemps—it explains why this company’s arrival in the West was a historic, once-in-a-lifetime cultural phenomenon.

The Story

The narrative begins by positioning the Russian Ballet not as a sudden novelty, but as a sophisticated revival of ancient dance traditions. The opening chapters trace the ballet’s theatrical evolution, establishing it as a modern institution that draws its strength from fundamental, almost religious, human impulses. From this foundation, the book moves into the specific machinery of the company’s success, emphasizing the "ensemble" as the secret to its triumph.

As the account progresses, it delves into the individual ballets that defined the repertoire. The story of the company is told through the lens of these distinct performances. We see the tragic, jerky despair of Pétrouchka, where a puppet experiences a hollow, atrophied humanity that transcends mere pantomime. We witness the fierce, bacchic frenzy of Thamar and the sensuous, unbridled cruelty of Scheherazade. Each production is treated as a discrete act in a larger drama of artistic experimentation, where the brilliance of Léon Bakst’s set designs and costumes provides the visual spine for the dancers' physical interpretations.

The middle section shifts toward the experimental and the controversial. The narrative focuses on the work of Nijinsky, whose choreography for L’Après-Midi d’un Faune and Le Sacre du Printemps marks a turn toward the archaic and the primitive. The book does not shy away from the friction these works caused. It describes the confusion of the contemporary spectator, who suddenly found their established aesthetic standards challenged by "eccentric" music and stark, angular movements.

Finally, the arc reaches the realm of the ethereal and the academic. The book celebrates the enduring grace of dancers like Pavlova, whose technical mastery brings a sense of logic and intention to even the most conventional pieces. The final chapters contrast the "clownish antics" of debased, pre-Russian traditions with the "triumphant strains" of the new era. It concludes with an appreciation of the total work of art, where music, scenery, and movement are no longer separate parts, but a unified expression of human passion. The book leaves the reader with a clear picture of the company’s trajectory: from the romantic, fairy-tale resolution of L’Oiseau de Feu to the sophisticated, often jarring, intellectual puzzles of their later, more modern works.

How It Unfolds

The origins of dance The book establishes the ballet’s roots in ancient religious ritual, connecting the modern stage to the concerted movements of early civilizations. This historical grounding provides a framework for understanding why the Russian revival felt both revolutionary and strangely familiar.

The secret of the ensemble The focus shifts to the practical alchemy of the company, highlighting how Léon Bakst’s designs and the use of original music created a unified purpose. Every dancer and painter is portrayed as a gear in a machine designed to sustain a total aesthetic experience.

The tragedy of the puppet A detailed look at Pétrouchka serves as the emotional heart of the book, illustrating the expressive power of the dancer to convey complex, atrophied human emotion. The narrative lingers on the puppet’s futile struggle against his environment, framing it as a masterpiece of both choreography and acting.

The primitive turn The story moves into the more radical phase of the company, where Nijinsky leads an exploration into the archaic and the subconscious. These chapters describe the shock of the new, documenting the intense audience reactions to the stark, rule-breaking productions.

The spirit of the dancer The final beats celebrate the individual virtuosity of performers like Pavlova, who bring a refined, artistic intelligence to the stage. The book closes by reflecting on the company's lasting legacy, noting how they forever killed the "bastard entertainment" of the old, moribund variety shows.

The People

The figures in this book are defined by their artistic temperament and their specific contributions to the Russian aesthetic. Nijinsky is the central, mercurial force. He is portrayed as a genius of both movement and mime, capable of embodying the "half-human" despair of a puppet or the "animal" lust of a faun. His evolution from a classical dancer to a provocative, avant-garde choreographer serves as the book’s intellectual backbone.

Léon Bakst acts as the visual architect of this world. His creations are described as the "fundamental secret" of the company, though the text notes with a hint of regret that his intricate designs often suffer in translation from paper to stage. Igor Stravinsky emerges as the musical engine of the company, praised for his "shrewd appreciation of character" and his ability to turn "slender occasions" into complex, rhythmic narratives.

Pavlova represents the pinnacle of grace and intentionality. Unlike the more experimental dancers, she is the link to the classical past, possessing a "superb mastery of technique" that delights the intelligence as much as the eye. Zobéide and the Blackamoor in Scheherazade serve as essential examples of the company’s success in depicting elementary human passions like lust and cruelty, while the Fire Bird and Ivan Tsarevitch represent the company’s capacity for poetic, fairy-tale beauty. Each character is framed not just as a role, but as a vessel for the specific philosophical inquiry the ballet aims to explore.

In Its Own Voice

The theatrical ballet is comparatively a modern institution, but its real origin is to be found in the customs of very early times.

This sentence opens the author’s inquiry into how the Russian dancers revived a deep-seated human tradition of ritual and expression.

There is a touch of diablerie in his impersonation of the luckless puppet which most poignantly conveys the sense of atrophied humanity.

This remark describes how the lead dancer elevated the role of Pétrouchka from a simple comic turn to a deeply moving, symbolic performance.

It is an unbridled affair altogether, and for this very reason the ballet is among the most completely successful performances which the Russians have given.

The author makes this point while discussing the raw, elemental success of Scheherazade as a study in violence and passion.

What It's Really About

The central argument is that the Russian Ballet was successful because it restored the "unity of purpose" to the stage. It treats the ballet as a Gesamtkunstwerk—a total work of art where scenery, music, and choreography function as a single, indivisible entity. Beneath the descriptions of individual productions lies a deeper question: to what extent can the stage hold the supernatural or the primitive without losing its artistic integrity? The book grapples with the tension between the "academic" beauty of classical dance and the "eccentric", often jarring innovations of modernism. It is a meditation on the power of the human body to act as a bridge between the ancient, mythic past and a rapidly changing modern world.

Why Read It Today

Readers who value the history of performance art will find this book an invaluable, firsthand account of a pivotal moment in dance. It is written with an elegant, turn-of-the-century cadence that is both observant and slightly formal, reflecting the intense excitement that the Ballets Russes generated in cities like London and Paris.

The book is particularly rewarding for those who want to understand the intent behind the movements. You will experience the frustration of a spectator witnessing something truly new and confusing—the "primitive" art of Stravinsky and Nijinsky—which makes the writing feel surprisingly contemporary. It is honest about the fact that some of these performances were "hoaxes" or "parlour tricks," which adds a refreshing, critical edge to its high praise.

Be aware that the book does not provide a modern, detached analysis; it is deeply embedded in the period’s own attitudes toward "primitive" cultures and gendered archetypes. If you can move past these dated frameworks, you will be rewarded with a rich, detailed souvenir of a time when the world of dance was being torn down and rebuilt from the ground up. It stays with you as a testament to the fleeting nature of the stage and the enduring, almost religious power of the human figure in motion.