Diaghilev – The Genius Puppet Master

Rupert Christiansen’s book Diaghilev’s Empire. How the Ballets Russes Enthralled the World is a labour of love except there is nothing laborious about it. The author’s obsession with the subject is evident throughout and reads like a dream. And a dream it was. One of the most extraordinary moments in the history of art was ephemeral, like the ballet itself, but left a lasting mark in the memory of those who had the chance to experience it and inspired countless artists then and since.

     Charles Dickens once said he was terrified of any new discovery about Shakespeare that could potentially have damaged the great playwright’s godlike status. Diaghilev for many was God and those who have co-created the Ballet Russes were his starlit galaxies but what’s left are written and spoken memories and a choreographic legacy but no recordings or films. The magic of Nijinsky, Pavlova, Karsavina, Fokine, Massine and many others, with their names often changed to sound more Russian or exotic, will remain forever an unforgettable mirage that happened at the time of no television cameras.

     The story of Diaghilev is a story of arguably the greatest impresario ever but also a moment in time when artistic ferment reached its boiling point, assembling a dazzling bouquet of talent, egos and personalities, perhaps the last such moment so far in the history of Western civilisation when art and beauty created such long-lasting effects. Everyone wanted to be a part of it and no expenses were spared to achieve its revolutionary results.

     One could say ballet was an odd choice for someone like Diaghilev to conquer the world. Even though the origins of the genre go back centuries to Italy and France, where the Sun King would commission a 13-hour extravaganza called Ballet Royal de la Nuit to show his prowess as the future king and his passion for dancing, by the 19th century ballet had faded into dusty, backstage entertainment for bored wealthy men on the lookout for a pretty companion. With a few exceptions, like Giselle or Les Sylphides, its future looked bleak and uninteresting. Matters changed with Marius Petipa and his collaboration with P.I. Tchaikovsky. The Sleeping Beauty, which premiered in 1890, provided this distinguished but conservative choreographer with music of unrivalled subtlety and sophistication. For once in his life he raised his game and the final work, though not an overnight triumph, became the summit of classical ballet and a source of wonder and inspiration.

     It was in that pivotal year that the 18-year-old Sergei Pavlovich Diaghilev arrived in St Petersburg, quickly joining the ranks of the Nevsky Pickwickians, a small gathering of upper-middle-class men whose interests focused on ballet, opera, literature and anything of an aesthetic nature rather than the usual womanising, drinking and sports. An unlikely creature, he was aptly summarised by his life-long friend Alexander Benois in this way: “He was not a creative genius, he was perhaps lacking in creative imagination, but he had one characteristic, one ability, which none of us had and which made of him of what he later became: he knew how to will a thing, and he knew how to carry his will into practice.” It was that immense willpower that galvanised others and produced such astonishing results. Like most of the burning-hot creativity of the time, the scope of his initial endeavours was wide and varied. There was the Mir Iskusstva (The World of Art), a lavishly illustrated art magazine covering a broad array of topics, and there was an exhibition of Russian art in 1906 in Paris that fascinated and inspired but also introduced “Serge de Diaghileff” to the crème de la crème of Parisian high society, which would soon be supporting his projects and forking out vast amounts of money.

     Paris at the turn of the 20th century had insatiable curiosity and Diaghilev’s next idea was perhaps a clearer sign of what was to come. In 1907, five concerts of Russian orchestral music were presented and an evening of arias sung by Fyodor Chaliapin, whose voice and charisma took Paris by storm. The following year a fully staged production of Boris Godunov felt like an inevitable fiasco, with little rehearsal time and a chaotic production, but somehow caused a sensation. Having sung the role of the tragic tsar, Chaliapin remarked to Diaghilev: “We’ve done something tonight. I don’t know what, but we’ve really done something!”

     That special “something” would continue to happen for the next two decades till the sudden death of the “master orchestrator” in 1929. It is impossible to list all the Ballets Russes’s productions and collaborations. Some were tributes to the past, like Le Pavillion d’Armide, with its sumptuous and elegant rococo sets straight from the Fragonard paintings or Madame de Pompadour’s apartments, albeit with Russian music and the supernatural Nijinsky hovering in the air.

     Others would leave an enduring mark on history of the genre, such as Petrushka, where the often-fraught collaboration between composer Igor Stravinsky, set designer Alexander Benois and choreographer Michel Fokine resulted in a piece both Russian and European in its aesthetics.

     As George Banks, the Scottish writer and avant-garde artist, wrote in the journal Rhythm, “I have never seen anything which suggested sentiment, passion and the inevitable sequence of things, produced by movement and sound alone without consciousness of the elimination of dialogue as this production does.”

On the other hand, works such as The Rite of Spring would prove as scandalous and revolutionary as problematic. Written largely on an upright piano in the composer’s apartment by Lake Geneva, it was heavily rehearsed between 1912 and 1913, with six intense weeks at the Aldwych Theatre and at least 130 hellish rehearsals. The score, both rhythmically and harmonically unprecedented, posed enormous challenges in terms of both difficult-to-explain choreography (Nijinsky was helped here by Cyvia Rambam, later known as Marie Rambert, a formative figure in the history of British ballet) and complex music requiring a very large orchestra.

     What was partly a Diaghilev-fuelled first-night riot soon subsided into a more civilised run of performances. The legend lives on but the ballet survived largely in an orchestral version, with very few choreographers brave enough to tackle its stage challenges successfully.

     Diaghilev’s mesmerising and forceful personality attracted talent like moths to a flame. Some stayed on, some rebelled, some lost sanity and others lived long and fruitful lives.

     You may be forgiven while staying at the luxurious Grand Hotel Suvretta House in St Moritz for not knowing it was the last place the legendary Nijinsky performed his “final act” to a baffled audience of some 20 guests, so stunned in the end by its incomprehensible weirdness that they didn’t know whether to clap or leave. This sulking, rarely smiling dancing divinity spent the rest of his life locked up or locked in, becoming a tantalising memory of himself.

     Dancing is good for you, as long as your body survives years of battering, and some dancers of Diaghilev’s stable lived till the ripe age of 90. One such ballerina was the queen of the early Ballets Russes seasons, Tamara Karsavina, who died in 1978, prior to which she had been the vice-president of the Royal Academy of Dance in London, passing her wisdom to younger generations, among them Margot Fonteyn, Moira Shearer and Antoinette Sibley.

     The critic Richard Buckle recalled of his first meeting with Karsavina: “I felt like a very inferior mandarin received in audience on the steps of the Temple of Heaven.” He too became a kind of balletomane but above all one of the most distinguished ballet critics and a curator of an immensely important exhibition commissioned by the Edinburgh International Festival to mark the 25th anniversary of Diaghilev’s death. This massive enterprise proved hugely successful, with costumes, designs, documents and sets creating an intoxicating and immersive environment. After its Scottish run it moved to London, where nearly 140,000 people visited, including such luminaries as Princess Margaret, Noel Coward, Somerset Maugham and Audrey Hepburn.

     Diaghilev’s premature death sparked worries about the future of the genre, with doomsayers predicting its total demise. Arthur Rubinstein remarked after hearing the news that “the whole of artistic Paris was in mourning. The loss of this great magician of beauty bereaved our hearts; we were suddenly aware of our great debt to him for the years of unforgettable enchantment and excitement which this great man bestowed upon us so generously. Young composers became orphans and dancers cried at the news.” Even though the European press talked of the end of an era – “The puppet-master is gone; the puppets must be returned to their boxes” – they were wrong. The era had ended but the puppets did not return to their boxes.

     Diaghilev did more than just create a legendary dance company. With the help of incredible assembly of talent he facilitated its future development, sparked a flame of inspiration and showed a way for this genre that no one thought possible. He pushed and broke the boundaries, which would ensure its future development. Without his vision, such well-established and loved companies as the Royal Ballet, the New York City Ballet or the Rambert Dance Company might have never existed.

Rupert Christiansen, Diaghilev’s Empire. How the Ballets Russes Enthralled the World, Faber & Faber 2022