[Illustration]

                      [Illustration: RUSSIAN ART

                THE ALEXANDER KOGAN PUBLISHING COMPANY]




                               COPYRIGHT
                          BY ALEXANDER KOGAN
                  PUBLISHING COMPANY, “RUSSIAN ART”,
                                BERLIN




                                 BAKST

                            [Illustration]

                                MCMXXII




                    THE STORY OF LEON BAKST’S LIFE




                           [Illustration: I

                   PORTRAIT OF BAKST BY MODIGLIANI]




                                 TEXT

                                  BY

                            ANDRÉ LEVINSON


                         BRENTANO’S, NEW YORK

                   THE AMERICAN EDITION OF THIS WORK
                    CONSISTS OF 250 NUMBERED COPIES

                                Nº. 247


                          PRINTED IN GERMANY


                         DR. SELLE & Co. A.G.,
                                BERLIN




[Illustration: II

“CHASTISING CUPID”

PROJECT OF DECORATIVE PANEL]




PREFACE

[Illustration]


In the book of fame, the name of Leon Bakst is writ large. Many a time
and oft, illustrious critics have heralded his praises. In speaking
today of the contribution made by Bakst, there is really nothing that
one can add or improve upon. The inventory of his achievements has been
completed; the unexampled influence which he never ceased to exercise
has been rightly evaluated. Nevertheless, there remains a task which
must not be neglected. Paris, to be sure, enthusiastically watched the
development of his art; but for us, Russians, has been reserved the
most thrilling experience of all--that of chronicling the unfolding of
his genius. We have here the spectacle of a towering, unusual,
self=revealing personality, and of a style that develops progressively
and that blazes new ways after bitter struggles.

More than that, in order to obtain a composite picture of his work, in
order to arrive at a general estimate of the man, we must try to
reproduce the intimate atmosphere of his artistic development, the
material and intellectual surroundings which shaped his course.

As a compatriot and contemporary of the master, I have, on the whole,
breathed this same atmosphere. I have been an eye=witness of those
earlier creations of his that mark an epoch in the history of Russian
painting and of the Russian theater. This knowledge constitutes my
qualification for attempting this biography. The latter would be
incomplete unless his childhood and adolescence were also to be
recalled. In so far as this period of his life is concerned, I am
reporting Bakst’s own words; with moderation I have supplied a running
comment.

Thus these pages present the first attempt at a story of Bakst’s life.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




THE YELLOW DRAWING ROOM


It was in a dull and mediocre home of the well=to=do middle class that
our artist who, as the originator of expensive pageants and the
dispenser of unheard=of splendor, was destined some day to modify
profoundly the whole conception of the western stage, spent his early
childhood. Leon Bakst’s family lived at Petrograd, on Sadovaia street.
Now, there is nothing more incongruous than the different sections of
the Russian capital--“the most phantastic in the world,” to use a phrase
of Dostoievski.

The Sadovaia is a rather narrow but very lively street, which cuts
across the market=place and is flanked by the arches of three huge
galleries where countless small tradesmen carry on their business. Here,
in the adjacent streets, in the gutters of the sidewalks which,
depending upon the time of the year, were muddy or dusty, Roskolnikov
lived his life of superhuman anguish; a few steps from here, in a
gloomy red house, during all of a terrible night Rogojin and Prince
Mishkin watched over their murdered love; here, too, one day Nicholas I,
the giant=like autocrat with the countenance of an Apollo, standing at
the entrance to the temple which overhangs Sennaia Square, by a single
imperious word brought the revolting mob, which was exasperated by the
plague and the shedding of blood, to their knees.

Thus to a dreamer who is haunted by memories the very stones of this
district, which has been the silent witness of tragic fates, whether
imaginary or real, seemed to be harbingers of bad luck.

And yet, notwithstanding, there is nothing more noisily commonplace than
the daily routine in broad daylight of this same Sadovaia: large public
houses, but devoid of rustic cheerfulness; mechanics’ shops in which the
songs had died. Dull boredom of an industrious popular life, but how
discolored, deadened, and enervated by the peculiar atmosphere of this
artificial town--this city of officials, of soldiers and of ghosts!

Nevertheless the little soul of the well=behaved child, blocked up
though it was by realities that afforded no way out, possessed its
wondrous sesame, its secret garden. Every Saturday Levoushka would walk
toward the Nevsky Prospect where, but a few steps from General Army
Headquarters with its imposing semi=circular façade of red, from Winter
Palace Square, and from the Admiralty--a veritable fairy=land of lofty
architecture--, his grandfather lived, a noble and vaguely mysterious
being who, without in the least being conscious of it, awakened in the
future artist a reverence for Beauty, a holy fear of the Unknown.

The child thus came into unusual surroundings which constituted the
artificial paradise of his early life. Whatever it was--precocious
influence or atavism--this fascination dominated the life of Bakst and
at least decided his calling. At any rate the master himself, who one
day told me at length about his earliest recollections, seems to think
so.

His grandfather, a peculiar fellow, was a Parisian of the Second Empire,
a man of society who, it may well be, not long ago had been out walking
with the Mornys and the Paivas. An amiable Epicurean he was, a man of
fine discernment in the manner of his time, who had set up a retreat for
himself at Petrograd that was well adapted to his ineffaceable memories.

Everything in this home of dreams appealed to the sensibilities of the
child--the brocaded silks, the graceful and heavily gilded trinkets. But
his greatest delight was the large gilded parlor, with panels of yellow
tapestry, with furniture of rock and shell=work in the style of 1860,
with its white marble, its yellow flower stand, filled at all times with
rare plants, and (this constituted his supreme happiness) its four
gilded cages in which canary birds were chirping. In a corner, on a
stand, a large model of the Temple of Salomon displayed its imaginative
architecture. A large painting had for its subject the lament of the
Jews before the demolished walls of Zion, for the former Parisian “lion”
did not renounce his race; he had not forgotten Jeremiah over Theresa.

The irritable old man at times scared the impulsive and vivacious
urchin; kindhearted old grouch that he was, he often angrily charged the
wretched disorder up to the young lad. Levoushka was therefore not sorry
to see his grandfather leave for his customary Saturday promenade, for
this was indeed the right moment for him to make the large clock, with
its mechanical doll, ring, and to wind up the music boxes of every
description that were to be found in the yellow drawing room.

His own home furnished Leon no such emotions. Besides, the indifference
to matters of art was practically general in the Russian intellectual
classes of that time. The grandfather was therefore the idol of the
child, his sole arbiter of good taste. No sooner had he returned home,
than Levoushka would turn his room upside down and would try to arrange
his modest furniture according to the exquisite æsthetic principles of
the yellow drawing room; and he would try to hide from view the things
that were devoid of beauty.

Yet throughout all this there was never any idea of painting. Later, his
grandfather never got to know that Bakst was sketching. Meanwhile Leon
was about to become ten years old. His entry into school put an end to
his weekly pilgrimages to the Nevsky Prospect. Sesame had closed.




THE UNGRATEFUL AGE


No sooner had Leon become encased in the uniform which distinguishes the
city student from the provincial youngster in gray--viz., a black blouse
with silver buttons--, than he came to know the monotonous and
depressing life of the Russian schoolboy: rising by lamp=light during
the long winter months; returning with his school=bag on his back;
suffering the petty annoyances of an oppressive discipline and the black
boredom of official education.

It was then that he discovered the theater. Not that he had ever been
there. Like everybody else, his family had subscribed to a season ticket
at the Italian Opera which was then at the height of favor and which
eclipsed all efforts of an unappreciated national music to win its way;
but our hero, being too small, was not allowed to go to the family box.
With great difficulty, however, he had gained the privilege of staying
up on Mondays--the days on which his family had the box--until their
return. With delight he would then listen to his brother’s account of
the “Puritans” or the “Favorita” and their tragical and pompous
vicissitudes.

Tired of listening without acting, he constructed his own theater. He
cut out his heroes from the sheets of colored paper soldiers, his
princesses from the engravings in popular fairy tales illustrated at
Epinal, his court ladies from the fashion magazines. Then he would place
his actors on a paste board stage and “brush in” the scenery in water
color with paint plundered from his color=box. The subjects were
plentifully provided by the librettos of Verdi’s operas, augmented by
supplementary murders. As for the audience--it was never lacking, Leon
having always been the appointed and recognized entertainer of his
little sisters.

This play of make=believe did not, however, entirely satisfy his
precocious ardor. The strong desire for disguising and masking is, after
all, quite general among children, who possess a genius for dramatizing
the facts of life. Improvised plays were, therefore, put on. The most
frequently recurring motif was the visit of the doctor. There was much

[Illustration: III

D’ANNUNZIO’S “MARTYRDOM OF ST. SEBASTIAN” (MME. RUBINSTEIN IN THE 5th
ACT).]

[Illustration: IV

JUDITH OF BETHULIA (PANEL)]

illness at Leon’s home! Young Leon, besides being stage manager, would
now play the role of the doctor with black robe, now that of the
druggist, now even, with self=denial, the rather contemptible part of
the patient.

[Illustration: SKETCH OF COVER FOR THE REVIEW “APOLLON”]

One day, as he had concocted a drug by diluting green coloring matter,
he pursued realism to the point of swallowing the concoction. He fell
ill. Only with the greatest effort in the world was it possible to save
him by making him drink a quantity of milk.

Throughout all this, however, we do not yet see the painter come to the
fore. Indeed, our schoolboy was decidedly not a success at drawing,

[Illustration: REMEMBRANCE (“ELYSIUM” CYCLE)]

and with envy he watched how his chums sketched fine battle scenes upon
the margins of their note books. His life’s calling announced itself for
the first time when he was almost twelve years old. His school, known as
“the sixth gymnasium”, was making preparations to celebrate the

[Illustration: ETERNAL WANDERERS (“ELYSIUM” CYCLE)]

centenary of Joukovsky, the celebrated Russian poet. A good portrait was
wanted for the ceremony. Accordingly, a prize competition was organized.
Bakst decided to enter it. He reverently took home the little engraving
which was to serve as model, and four or five days later he brought
back his drawing. The prize was awarded him, and his masterpiece put in
a glass frame and hung in the gymnastic hall. From then on Bakst was
unanimously proclaimed a painter, and he was able to pride himself on
winning many a prize.

Leon’s father was not much pleased over this sort of success, especially
since bad marks were raining thick in the other studies. He conceived
the notion that his son’s predilection for drawing was due to sheer
laziness. He therefore positively forbade him this pastime which, he
argued, interfered with serious studies. Leon therefore continued
drawing in secret, at night=time, by the light of a candle.

On the other hand his accomplishments brought him the friendship of his
drawing and penmanship teacher, who became much attached to the
youngster. Andrei Andreevitch was a diminutive little man with bowlegs;
but this tail=coated freak in blue was fired with a divine enthusiasm.
Striding about the class room he would talk incessantly to the pupils,
now pondering the volutes of an acanthus leaf, now discussing the lives
of great painters, their struggles, their triumphs. So volubly and so
well did he speak that he stirred deeply the imaginative soul of little
Bakst and awakened all the latent passion in him. Subsequently, the
artist’s entire magnificent life was to be animated, as it were, by
these rhythmic fits of intellectual fever, from which he was to emerge
renewed, transformed, his mind’s eye turned toward unexplored horizons.

The profession of painting, therefore, suddenly appeared to Levoushka to
be the highest of all destinies--one bearing the halo of heroism. Filled
with this romantic dream, he was anxious to quit school at once. And he
insisted with such impetuosity that his parents, routed in the argument,
decided by way of setting him right to seek the advice of the sculptor
Marc Antokolsky, a friend of the family and a recognized authority on
all matters pertaining to art. The late Antokolsky was little known in
Paris where he used to live, nor do people care much about him in Russia
today, although his works, which are quite numerous, fill the museums of
Moscow and especially of Petrograd. So deceptive is artistic glory!

For indeed, he had his day of glory. In Russia he was the sculptor of
the century--of that nineteenth century which had lost the plastic

[Illustration: V

“FORSAKEN CHLOE”. PROJECT OF DECORATIVE PANEL. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: VI

PORTRAIT OF MR. T. (RED CHALK)]

arts almost completely. The conception of a strict naturalism placed
at the service of humanitarian and social ideals, dominated by the idol
People, a conception that also characterized the notable and prophetic
“<g>Association des expositions ambulantes</g>”, was also his. Moreover,
Stassov, the voluble and prolix critic who composed for the great
Moussorgsky the monstrously confused text of “Khovanshchina”, turned
Antokolsky’s mind toward Russian history.

And thus, through his bronze and marble sculptures, Antokolsky became
the historical illustrator and portraitist of Russia. He wrought Ivan
the Terrible, Nestor the Annalist, Peter the Great, and even Ermak the
Cossack, conqueror of Siberia. With keen psychological sense he also
composed the likenesses of heroes and martyrs of free thought: a dying
Socrates, a Spinoza and a Christ insulted, the latter work being
conceived in the spirit of Strauss and Renan. All these monumental
figures which greatly stirred his contemporaries no longer show any
signs of life.

There remains the personality of Antokolsky, which was in every respect
a pure one. Not without reason did this poor and pertinacious young Jew,
who hardly knew how to write Russian, become the idol and the oracle of
two generations. We see but too clearly today that he travelled the
wrong road. But he had faith. His artistic convictions were unalterable,
unselfish, absolute,--those of a fanatic. More than that--a thing seldom
to be found--, this fanatic was kindness itself.

Antokolsky, then, on being consulted made much of the misfortunes and
bitter disappointments that one embarking upon an artistic career must
expect. But he was not unwilling to look Leon’s drawings over. Pestered
by the youngster, his father sent several sketches to Paris. Lo and
behold! when the reply, so anxiously awaited by the boy, arrived, it was
favorable, decisive, almost intoxicating. The master had found the
drawings quite well done and advised the boy’s going to the Academy of
Fine Arts, on condition, however, that he pursue his general education.

Thus Leon, the intractable and mediocre schoolboy of the day before, was
to become a painter, a chosen and quasi-legendary being. He was then
sixteen years of age.




THE TWO SPHINXES


Leon, then, presented himself for examination but failed. Before being
admitted to another test he had for a year to practice drawing from
models; and only after he had solved the mysteries of this form of
academic discipline, was he admitted. For another year he kept abreast
of both his artistic studies and his general secondary education; soon,
however, he neglected school and, after a few feeble attempts, gave it
up altogether. Let us state the fact without bitterness: Bakst never
received the Bachelor’s degree.

The first day that Bakst, attired in his new green uniform, wended his
way along the granite embankment toward the Academy and, having passed
under the eyes of the two Sphinxes from Thebes with a hundred gates
which guard the sanctuary, decided to enter, his astonishment and his
proud ecstasy knew no bounds. However, despite the grand pretense of a
temple, the Imperial Academy of 1890 was a rather curious institution.

The academic instruction which flourished at the beginning of the
century, maintained its power and authority until the close of Nicholas
I’s reign. But from 1863 on it was badly shaken by the famous secession
of the “Thirteen”, with Kramskoi at the head. These thirteen later
became the first “wanderers”; they were destined to herald the arrival
of a certain humanitarian realism closely related to the teachings of
Proudhon and of Courbet. They professed the haughtiest contempt for
disinterested pictorial beauty, for mere virtuosity, yes, even for sound
craftmanship based upon traditional experience.

Among the “pompiers” classicism had degenerated into hackneyed copying;
teaching became vulgar pedantry. Among the revolutionaries classicism
was the complete and absolute negation of art, admitted only as a
function of social apostleship. But the younger artists had public
opinion behind them, which hailed the catastrophe as a liberation. Yet
for thirty years the Academy, powerful solely because of its official
authority, continued to stick to the past and to live outside the pale
of a throbbing artistic life.

Not until 1893 did the “wanderers”, led by Makovsky and Repine, enter
the citadel in order to establish a bold and frank dilettantism while
still respecting the remnants of the old Academy. At that time Bakst had
already broken with his first masters; we shall soon see why.

Let us first, however, briefly complete the history of the institution
on the Nicholas Embankment. Toward 1910 a reaction set in against the
anarchy of the “wanderers” and in favor of a classic revival, of a
rehabilitation of craftmanship. This movement was of short duration,
however, for the October Revolution abolished the Academy and
established <g>free studios</g> upon its ruins, the management of which was
placed in the hands of artists who supported the Communist regime. On
the day of its death the Russian Imperial Academy was more than 150
years old.

Thus, at the Fine Arts School, Bakst found a training that clung to
unchanged formulæ, but that was decadent, inert, and lifeless. He spent
three months drawing from bas=reliefs and one year sketching models.
Then, after having passed the class in costumes and copied draped
mannequins, he was admitted to the studio class. His teacher,
Tchistiakoff, did not encourage him to continue; he considered Bakst a
promising sculptor, and whenever his pupil tried to talk painting to
him, he would invariably turn the conversation to sculpture.
Tchistiakoff’s colleague, Venig, was more far=sighted and, while
disapproving of a certain vivacity and truculence of colors which netted
young Bakst the ironical title of “Rubens newly ground”, he was not
unfriendly to him. This meant a great deal, for it was impossible to
think of any more intimate relations--any communion of ideas or of
feelings--between the pope=like officials and their pupils who were as
yet unknown quantities.

Far more important were his relations with his fellow students,
especially with the class that was about to leave. At school and at his
paternal home he had been placed in a position of isolation because of
his artistic aspirations; here he found himself surrounded by young
people devoted to that same art that was viewed with such suspicion by
the Russian intellectuals of yesteryear. At the Academy Bakst met
Nesteroff who, following Vasnetzoff and contemporaneous with Vroubel,
was to attempt a revival of the ikon,--a revival which, besides proving
abortive, was more in the nature of sentimental and artificial
imitation. This craze for old national art went hand in hand among
certain students with a strong animosity against the “<g>métèques</g>”;
besides, anti-Semitism was officially encouraged and stimulated, since
it served to side=track the hatred which was more and more undermining
the autocratic power. Bakst, sensitive and meticulous, was grieved at
this. He therefore clung all the more closely to Seroff, several years
his senior, who was finishing his education and who aspired to winning
the Grand Prize for Painting--the gold medal. This future portraitist
was a son of the celebrated musician whose masterpiece, “Judith”, is
known to Parisians only by partial selections. Already he had achieved,
in the eyes of his fellow students, the intellectual and moral prestige
that was due to the uprightness--albeit somewhat morose--of his
character and the tenacity of his effort. Soon, indeed, he came to the
forefront of his generation.

This man, already matured, reserved, and little given to effusive
outbursts, took a fancy to the red haired young lad. The pair would sit
together in the studio; they would spend the evenings chatting in the
modest students’ apartment where Seroff lived and drinking plenty of
tea. Those were the happy days! They lasted for eighteen months. Clouds
were, however, gathering over the head of Bakst who had already given
repeated offense to his superiors by his whims of independence. A free
competition was announced in which “The Madonna Weeping Over Christ” was
to be the subject and the Grand Medal of silver the prize. Bakst joined
the competitors.

He sought inspiration from those artists of his time who had attempted a
revival of religious subjects by displaying a realistic setting--thus
breaking away from the iconographic traditions of the Renaissance--, by
giving care to ethnographic detail, by minutely studying the expression
observed. These artists included Repine and Polienoff in Russia, and
Munkaczy abroad. But, carried away by a youthful enthusiasm, he wished
to go beyond the fastidious and cautious realism of these painters and
make a ten=strike.

He therefore chose a canvas of enormous dimensions--almost seven feet in
length--and plunged into his work. For the characters of the legend he
set down Jewish types that were obviously overdone, and imparted

[Illustration: VII

“MODERN DRESS” (A “FANTAISIE”)]

[Illustration: VIII

“DAPHNIS AND CHLOE PARTING IN THE EVENING”. SKETCH FOR DECORATIVE PANEL
(GOUACHE).]

a movement to them that imitated the gesticulation of Lithuanian
clothing merchants or of elders in the synagogue. As to the Virgin, she
was an old, dishevelled woman, with eyes red from weeping. Our candidate
was, to be sure, vaguely conscious of the fact that he was digging his
own grave; nevertheless he obstinately persisted in his daring attempt.

[Illustration: “SYRENS”. PROJECT OF PANNEAU.]

What anguish he suffered while he awaited the decision of the jury on
the winding staircase that constituted the Bridge of Sighs for the young
daubers of Petrograd!

And justly so, for when his name was called and he appeared before the
tribunal, he saw his canvas crossed out by two furious strokes of
crayon, and he had to listen to an official rebuke by the president.

The next day he quit the Academy under the impassive glances of the two
bearded sphinxes of pink marble, emerging from the gloomy twilight.

[Illustration: A HUT (SAVOY). DRAWING]




A WRONG START


Leon was free now and left alone with his pride in his recent revolt;
but there was also a great void in his soul. A country holiday out at
Pavlovsk, the delightful suburban residence district where Constantine,
the grand duke-poet, lived, afforded him salutary diversion. In the
beautiful English park--the loveliest in all Russia--, where every clump
of trees, every hill, every lawn forms part of a grandly-devised and
complex general plan conceived by an architectural genius; in this park,
in which he walked about carrying the burden of his liberty--a
melancholy figure, he found what he lacked most: a friend. This
new-found friend was a cartoonist by the name of Shpak, a pupil of
Repine, and, though but a mediocre artist, yet one who gave himself to
painting with a passionate and unselfish spirit. He guided Bakst in
looking for <g>motifs</g>, spurred him on to direct observation of Nature, and
awakened in him the proper respect for his profession. But this
influence soon gave way to another.

[Illustration: HUTS IN THE MOUNTAINS (SAVOY). DRAWING]

Luck would have it that Bakst, during that same autumn, chanced to meet
Albert Nikolaievitch Benois, the celebrated water-colorist who had no
rival in Russia. He was a member of that “dynasty” of Benoises who have
played so prominent a part in the artistic development of Russia. Albert
Benois, a handsome, chivalrous and affable man, handled the brush with
remarkable ease. He possessed a technique that was as natural for him as
<g>bel canto</g> singing is to the Neapolitan beggar. But while his
productions, at the same time that they possessed certain qualities of
good taste and true knowledge of his art, nevertheless were rather too
tame, their success in the eyes of the public was complete. This success
of the “master”, who was fêted and flattered by his aristocratic and
feminine <g>entourage</g>, and who was unanimously elected to the presidency of
the society of water-color painters, dazzled young Bakst, blunted for a
while in him the haughty pride of the seeker after new truths, and
stimulated other ambitions in him. The fierce rebel who sneered at the
Academy suddenly craved Success!

He achieved a success that was immediate, brilliant, and disastrous.
Soon he began to neglect landscape painting in favor of the society
portrait. Having tasted the apple, he next painted Eve. And, as he
abandoned himself to these effeminate and futile pursuits with that same
insatiable fervor with which he went into everything, he undertook, he
simply allowed himself to drift. Besides, his good friend Shpak was no
longer there to awaken his sleeping artistic conscience--he had died
quite suddenly. Serov, too, was far away in Moscow and unable to warn
him.

When I questioned him about this period of his life of which there are
few traces left, Bakst spoke about them quite eloquently, yes, even
persistently. He took evident pleasure in this confession; he seemed
even to relish the mortification that it must have cost. Was it that in
this race toward the abyss he tasted something of that spirit of
adventure, of that happy faculty of spending without counting, of giving
oneself body and soul to God or the Devil, which, indeed, was a part of
his nature? Or was he dreaming of those pretty hands of women, slender
but strong, which stroked his curly hair? As far as we are concerned, we
must content ourselves with recounting briefly the outstanding facts in
the early history of our friend and hero.

The most important of these is a long stay abroad. At Paris he made
friends with Albert Edelfeldt, a Finnish painter and a remarkable man,
to whose lot it fell to break the ground for the birth of a national art
in his own country, in that he transmitted to it the enlightened
knowledge of France. It should be noted in passing that all the Norse
revivals which endowed the Scandinavian countries with an intense and
original artistic life had their origin on the banks of the Seine.
Edelfeldt was neither a creative genius nor an artist in the vanguard.
He stuck to the cautious methods of a Bastien=Lepage. But he was a
forceful and able painter. Some of his canvases are to be found in
Paris, among them, if I remember correctly, his portrait of Pasteur.

The habit of working outdoors, the study of daylight and its effect upon
massive subjects which Bakst pursued with his new friend who also in
some respects became his teacher, contributed powerfully toward his
success in performing the enormous task that was soon thrust upon his
youthful energy. The Russian government asked the Prodigal Son

[Illustration: IX

“SHEHERAZADE” BALLET. FIRST EUNUCH. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: X

AN INFERIOR DEITY. “NARCISSUS” BALLET. (GOUACHE)]

of the Imperial Academy to paint a canvas that was to have for its
subject the arrival of Admiral Avellan in Paris.

Perhaps the reader remembers that this visit which, unless I am very
much mistaken, took place in 1893, was one of the first formal
ceremonies arranged in connection with the nascent Russo=French
alliance. This canvas, the result of painstaking and honest labor, which
displays a freshness of color and a virtuosity of touch that is by no
means vulgar, is preserved today in the Navy Museum at Petrograd. Was
the young rebel of yesterday to become the Roll or the Mentzel of the
imperial fastes? Today we know that nothing of the sort happened.

One afternoon as Bakst, back from Paris, was lording it over a tea table
surrounded by beautiful ladies, and was basking in the sunshine of his
reputation, with flattering chatter all about him, he noticed a young
man enter whose manners at first offended him. With a monocle in his
eye, with haughty pride writ across his dark=complected face,
round=shouldered, attired in the student’s green blouse with blue
collar, he carried on the conversation with an ease that bordered upon
disdain and insult. Yet in the very arrogance of the young upstart there
was something that fascinated. Bakst took him aside and, when he pressed
him for an expression of opinion as to what he thought of his painting,
the young man replied candidly that, while he had the profoundest
respect for the technical mastery of his questioner, the painting itself
absolutely displeased him, and for good cause.

This young man’s name was Alexander Benois. As for Bakst, little did he
imagine that he had arrived that afternoon at a turning point in his
artistic career.

[Illustration]




THE CLUB


For a number of years a group of students from May College a private
institution, had been in the habit of meeting at the home of their
comrade, Alexander Benois. Among them was Constantine Somoff, a son of
the venerable director of the Hermitage, and the future originator of
“Echoes of Days Past”; Philosophov who later, when he was associated
with Dimitri Merejkovsky, was destined to become one of the revivers of
religious sentiment in Russia; and others besides who afterward
constituted the nucleus of the society named “The Artistic World” and
who still later supplied the staff of the Russian Ballet. Unique,
indeed, was the atmosphere of this house.

I have already had occasion to speak of the Benois family. They were the
descendants of one of those numerous immigrants who for more than a
century, from the accession of Peter the Great till the Moscow Fire,
were called upon to help in the transformation of Russia. All of these
newcomers went through a similar experience: the tremendous
opportunities for initiative, the vast geographical extent and the
artistic impulses of the young empire called forth the highest
development of their abilities. Many a mediocre artist--or at least one
assumed to be mediocre--who had become half suffocated amid the rabble
of the western world, became transfigured in these favorable
surroundings. The originality of the Russian character, the breadth of
view of the <g>grands=seigneurs</g> of Catherine II’s time, the primitive
simplicity of the life of the people--all this stirred their
imagination. And so these men, who transplanted into Russia the artistic
methods of the West, the conceptions of style and the traditions of art
that had matured in Europe, became Russians themselves in heart and
spirit. More than that: it is to these “Russianized” fellow=countrymen
of ours that, in a large measure, we owe the birth of a modern Russian
art.

The Benoises were related to the Cavos family, a veritable progeny of
artists. Alexander’s maternal grandfather had been a noted composer of
music, his uncle a theatrical architect of distinction. The Cavos family
were of Venetian origin and never lost contact with their former

[Illustration: A STREET IN LA VILETTE (PARIS). STAGE DECORATION FOR
“ALAIDIN”]

fatherland; the Benoises had French blood in their veins. All this is of
importance to those who are interested in looking for the origin of
certain aspirations, of certain artistic inclinations and habits of
mind, in atavism or in the call of blood. All of which did not prevent
the Benois brothers, two of whom we already know and the third one of
whom was an architect and later was made rector of the Academy of Fine
Arts, from becoming the eminent Russian artists that in fact they are.

As for Alexander, from earliest childhood he possessed all the qualities
needed for becoming, if not an intellectual leader, at least an
intellectual centre. His general culture, broad indeed and so varied as
to have become eclectic; a certain pedagogic inclination,--a tendency to
instruct, to educate, to make ideas spring forth; added to this, a
liveliness of temperament, an acuteness of perception which made him a
malcontent, a wide=awake dreamer--all these rare qualities determined
his life’s work. His attempts at painting, excepting only his theatrical
creations, never seemed able to free themselves of a certain
amateurishness. But this was a natural complement to the fact that he
was primarily a theoretician or rather a man of artistic tastes who
re=enforces his intuitions and his sensibilities with an exact sense of
logic and with the true talent of a writer.

For many years Alexander Benois has been the most famous critic of
Russia. He is passionate and imaginative. He proceeds either by
invective or by panegyric. He is a thunderbolt. He gets worked up over
some artist, some idea. Oftimes he is mistaken and his candidate for
fame fails. That is due to the fact that Benois, who had really
constructed his hero from his imagination, endowed him with his own
ideas, and magnified his own conceptions in him, would suddenly, some
nice day, leave the poor wretch to his own designs.

When Bakst was admitted to this group, or club, the school boys had
become students and the original circle had widened. Philosophov had
introduced into it a cousin of his, just in from the provinces,--a fat,
chubby lad, exceedingly free in his manners, dictatorial and quite
aggressive, inexhaustible in paradoxes which at times were absurd, but
which he defended to the limit without in the least attempting to be
polite about it. Benois was the soul of this group; the newcomer was to
become its will, its moving power--he was to lead it to its supremest
heights. The name of this fellow from the provinces was Serge
Diaghileff.

Now what was it that transpired during these interminable confabs? The
club had set itself up as a supreme court which was to judge the quick
and the dead. Before doing anything constructive--they didn’t know
themselves what--its members first wanted to wipe out everything
existing. They would agree upon the victime, appoint someone as
prosecutor, and then conduct a trial. The defendant might be a Shishkin
or a Verestchagin--in any case he was one of those celebrities whose
wrongly acquired reputation was debasing the real character of Russian
genius in the eyes of the whole world! But this whole work of tearing
down could not satisfy this enthusiastic group of young people. They
felt the need of giving themselves over to something, of consuming
themselves

[Illustration: XI

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR BALLET “ORIENTALES”. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XII

A NEGRO’S COSTUME (SHEHERAZADE)]

for something. At first their idol was Tchaikovsky, the composer of
the “Sleeping Beauty”. Tchaikovsky had already become famous; there was
therefore no “Battle of Hernani” to fight. It was merely a question with
them of which work of this master should be given preference. They
decided upon the “Queen of Spades” and placed it upon the pinnacle. What
thrilled our friends about this work was the fact that it conjured up
the 18th century in Russia. The action of the opera, the text for which
was taken from a story by Pouchkine, takes place amid a setting that is
an exact reproduction of “Old Petrograd”,--amidst a scenery that is
familiar and famous. The promenade in the summer garden, the little
bridge over the winter canal--this, when displayed on the stage, called
to mind anew the beauty of the venerable capital--a beauty ever present,
but unappreciated and neglected--and rehabilitated its declining fame.

If I have dwelt rather at length upon the feats and exploits of a group
of unknown youths, it is due to the fact that these young men, who after
theater would walk along the quais during the “white night” singing a
duet from the “Queen of Spades”, or would lean pensively over the cold
granite parapet to listen to the clock of the Cathedral of Peter and
Paul pealing forth its crystal melody over the gloomy walls of the
prison fortress,--it is due, I say, to the fact that these young men
were destined to reshape Russian artistic sense from top to bottom.
Later, on the eve of the new century, the “Mir Iskousstva” Society was
founded; with the generous aid of Princess Tenicheff, a magazine was
published; art expositions were arranged. A new epoch was beginning.
Bakst helped to shape it--and we already know that he gave himself to
every task whole heartedly.

At this point I do not propose to narrate the story of “Mir Iskousstva”.
It was a revolution and was outrageously attacked as such. But its
exponents held that it saved Russian art. Today some people contend that
it was a menace to art. A quarter of a century lies between these two
conflicting opinions. It is not for me to judge which is right. But
Bakst’s participation in the work of this society forms a beautiful page
in the life of my friend and therefore, too, of this story of mine. And
my task would be incomplete were I to omit giving a brief description of
this great movement of ideas which for a long time determined the future
of Russian art.

[Illustration: STAGE DECORATION FOR CHOPIN’S “NOCTURNES”]




“MIR ISKOUSSTVA”


The small vanguard took position hastily; impetuously it fell upon the
enemy. Diaghileff, charging at the head of this handful of friends,
sounded the rallying cry. He was successful. Moscow, too, had its
raising of the shield. Serov supported the movement. Levitan, the
landscape painter, contributed his tremendous popularity to the young
cause. During this recruiting fever mistakes were not wanting; for
instance, Vasnetzoff, the insipidly sweet imitator of icons, was singled
out for praise. He had soon to be dropped. But instead Golovine,
Polienov and others joined them who drew upon the real popular sources.
It is further true that they almost succeeded in “reforming” Vroubel,
the great romantic decorator who was haunted by the Demon.

Above everything this group was looking for allies from abroad. These
were to be found at the very gates of Petrograd. A “young Finland” was
rising about Edelfeldt as founder--the Axel Galiens, the Jaernefeldts,
the Enkels; in short, all those who were destined to endow the “country
of a thousand lakes” with a national art. The Finns accordingly took
part in the first exposition in which “Mir Iskousstva” faced Russian
public opinion. At the second there appeared French guests who after
three generations found their way back to Russia.

This proved a decisive feat. An end was thus put to the isolation in
which a waning Russian art found itself. For, at that time the whole
European artistic movement was ignored in Russia. The prize winners of
the Academy would go to Rome to perfect themselves and would there copy
the <g>Stanze</g> of Raphael, or else, perhaps, they would go to study
historical painting under Piloty, the De la Roche of Munich. The moving
spirits of the school--a Kramskoi, or a Repine--would return from their
western travels with nothing but contempt for the “futile” (as they
called them) masterpieces of beautiful painting or else an infatuation
for the virtuosity of the brush of a Fortuny or a Meissonnier.

Diaghileff and Benois flung the doors wide open. A motley crowd enters
pell=mell; even the “decadents” of the Viennese Secession, with Renoir
and Carrière. Mistakes are made; there is as yet no scale of values; the
obscure Belgian, Léon Frederick, is put upon a pedestal while Cézanne is
ignored until 1904. The reason for this is the fact that this group at
first has no positive program. But its negative influence is
inestimable. Repine, one of the most powerful exponents of this
ideologic naturalism which I have mentioned in passing, launched a
counter=attack in the name of the survivers of traditional academic
style. Diaghileff, by his virulent reply, threw the champion of routine
out of the saddle. It is a great period of ringing battles, of hard
contests with the adversary who mangled even Ingres’ very name. These
struggles were the more heroic since the public remained averse to them.

The editorial offices of their magazine were the hot=house in which new
ideas were hatched and the staff headquarters where the big offensives
were planned. Now, the editorial staff itself was divided into two
sections. In the large salon we find Philosophov, handsome and slender
as a thoroughbred courser, who meets the contributors to the literary
section. There is Merejkovsky, who contributes his best works to the
review and who introduces us to the art and the doctrines of Tolstoy and
Dostoievsky; Leon Shestov, the apostle of “eradication” with his
emaciated face of a Jewish Socrates; Rosanov who pried into the very
depths of the sexual problem, a towering spirit who used to bare his
inmost thoughts with candor. Of all these men, who were radiant in their
young fame, Rosanov alone did not profess a supreme philosophical
contempt for the fine arts. The painters, accordingly, would shrink back
from the haughtiness and the affected attitude of the literary folk and
would seek refuge in the office of the secretary=general, the
headquarters of the artistic section.

There they would find Bakst, who was collecting the material that
oftentimes was queer enough, and who in fact worked out the whole
review. No task was too hard for him. He would group the various
component parts and make up the pages. It would happen that Diaghileff,
disconcerted over an engraving that came out badly and that had the
earmarks of a confused work, would come to Bakst who would take up the
work on the plate and give form to an amorphous jumble of touches.
Another one of his steady tasks was that of decorating the book, of
designing the cover, of drawing the ornamented letters, of supplying the
tail=pieces. In this connection it should be recalled that the art of
book decorating was revived at the end of the last century. The English,
with Walter Crane at the head, started the procession. It was an
Englishman, furthermore,--Aubrey Beardsley--who designed arabesques of
extraordinary sharpness and delicacy upon the geometrical quadrangles of
the pages. This new method was also being experimented upon in
Petrograd. A number of artists of the second generation of “Mir
Iskousstva”, such as Narbout and Mitrochin, are exclusively
“vignettistes”. As for this first group, they had to do everything and
accordingly they did everything. Benois, Somov, that other Russianized
Frenchman Lanceray--all were experts at this art. Bakst, too, went
through it. There are magazine covers of his extant

[Illustration: XIII

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR OSCAR WILDE’S “SALOMEA”. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XIV

“PHAEDRA” TRAGEDY. PHÆDRA’S NURSE]

[Illustration: A YOUNG BEOTIAN. (“NARCISSUS” BALLET). WATER COLOUR]

on which statuettes in Directoire style flank a medaillon, or on which
there are artistic frames. At the same time he tried his hands at pure
illustrating; there is, for instance, a water-color of his which
illustrated “The Nose”, a grotesque story by Gogol. Today we look upon
these designs as the first attempts at the masterful costume-pages of
later days. “Bakst has hands of gold”, wrote Benois in his history of
Russian painting, a work of which we shall speak again later. He admired
his manual skill and the elasticity of his spirit and of his
workmanship. But he was unconscious of his powerful personality.

Later on, dissatisfied with pen sketching that was then reproduced by
the mechanical process of engraving, the group tried themselves at
original lithography. Here, again, Bakst was successful: a head of
Levitan brings out in sharp juxtaposition the intense black and white of
the drawing.

Thus, then, we see Bakst working away at his table, which is covered
with waste paper, with photographs and proofs. Around him, people talk
idly, or loll about the couches, or draw caricatures, or debate. Then,
through a cloud of smoke produced by ten cigarettes, Diaghileff comes
rushing in, chasing a new rainbow. He tells of his latest discovery, or
he scoffs at some idol that he adored the day before. His enthusiasm is
as intermittent as it is uncompromising. He is the life of this party of
outspoken, unreserved painters; he cares little for men of letters.
Alexander Benois, on the other hand, forms the connecting link between
the two clans; he arranges and coordinates everything by virtue of his
broad and supple understanding. Soon new initiates--Grabar and
Jaremitch, the artist=writers, and Kouzmin, the poet=musician, and
others--join in the work of strengthening the somewhat difficult union
of these two sections.

Within this community of painters, however, there was little agreement
as to the road that should be followed. They agreed in their hatreds,
but differed as to aims. Diaghileff, always hyper=sensitive to the
sensations of the day and ready to take his ideas out of the clear sky,
would misjudge the value of ephemeral tendencies and therefore

[Illustration: CNOSSOS HARBOUR (CRETE). SKETCH FOR ALBUM]

[Illustration: STAGE DECORATION FOR PROLOGUE IN ORIENTAL STYLE]

at times get himself into an impasse. Thus he allowed himself to be
carried away into enthusing over that atrocious “modern style”, the
architectural vestiges of which today disgrace every large city in the
world. Bakst together with his older friend Serov set himself against
painting in the style of Gustav Klimt and against architecture à la
Olbrich in the name of an honest, direct and robust art.

The weak spot about all this combativeness and intellectual ardor, which
proved fatal and unavoidable amid these divergent points of view, was
the lack of creative ability on the part of the group. This group had
deposed and duly trampled under foot the art of the “wanderers” with its
social tendencies and its worship of the moujik. It had done this to the
greater glory of an art that is unselfish and creative. But almost
immediately its members turned toward literature. Among all those former
members of the Club (I except only Serov and the Moscovites), there was
not a single painter in the real sense of the word. Benois, who never
when working at a canvas could completely overcome his amateurish
clumsiness, Lanceray, later Doboujinsky--they all were first and
foremost illustrators, rather than painters, who were steeped in
precious recollections, who gleaned from every style and who discovered
forgotten beauties.

With this select group, then, the <g>motif</g> prevailed more and more over its
<g>execution</g>; the brush became a means of interpreting a history perceived
with a sort of sentimental homesickness mixed with irony. Is it
surprising, then, that the retrospective attitude got the upper hand
more and more, and that the offshoots of this movement were sacrificed
to a propaganda for the past?

As a matter of fact, discovery followed upon discovery. Preceding
generations, going into Russian extremes, became infatuated with the
idea of progress. Accordingly they either ignored or misunderstood their
national past. Then, under Nicholas I the czar-gendarme, the old
architecture was disfigured by German builders. As for the unique and
grandiose beauty of the structures in the style of the Empire and of
Louis XVI,--buildings without parallel in the occidental world--these
were confounded by the public with that implacable hatred that it bore
toward the regime that had erected and that was maintaining them. An
educated Russian could not possibly find anything beautiful about the
Winter Palace, this fine masterpiece of Rastrelli; he would decline to
admire the Admiralty Building because the defeat of Tsushima was
prepared within its formidable walls. The writer of this sketch was
himself brought up in this atmosphere of hateful contempt for the
“official ugliness” and the “style of the barrack.”

Benois and his friends discovered this slandered beauty and became
enamoured of it. Later on we shall see how Bakst discharged his debt of
gratitude to old Petrograd, this wonderful city which rose miraculously
from the surface of the waves.

But the surprises were not yet over. In his history of modern Russian
painting, Benois with boldness and with charming eloquence recalled the
founders of this style of painting, the portrait-painters of the
eighteenth century, especially Levitzky and Borovikovsky. He cast

[Illustration: XV

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR HINDU BALLET (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XVI

MME. IDA RUBINSTEIN AS ST. SEBASTIAN]

[Illustration: XVII

THE IMPERIAL PALACE (“THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. SEBASTIAN”)]

[Illustration: XVIII

MME. IDA RUBINSTEIN IN “THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. SEBASTIAN”]

[Illustration: STAGE DECORATION FOR D’ANNUNZIO’S TRAGEDY “LA
PISANELLA”]

overboard all existing estimates and showed up the emptiness of the
“wanderers” school. But his justified and impetuous enthusiasm
proved--or nearly so--the undoing of “Mir Iskousstva”.

The magazine deteriorated before one’s eyes. Side by side with it Benois
brought out a collection, or analytical inventory, called “The Art
Treasures of Russia”. The creator became a collector. Ceaselessly he and
his friends collected. Bric-a-brac occupied a prominent place. Icons of
the school of Novgorod were dug up, likewise family portraits done by
serfs in the old households of the nobility, mahogany furniture dating
back to the Peace of Tilsit, and popular likenesses.

For a time Diaghileff allowed himself to drift. As usual he treated this
craze for the past on a grand scale. He even resumed it in a definite
effort of which I shall speak later. But for the present he and his
friends felt themselves reduced to the role of custodians of a museum
or of benevolent guides, a thing that was repugnant to his ambition and
his temperament. He looked for a way out. The stage alone seemed to
offer it.

Naturalism had just won its greatest triumphs, thanks to the Moscow Art
Theater. But if comedy was taken possession of by the naturalists, the
opera and the ballet could react. Already Mamontov, the famous mæcenas
who discovered Shaliapin, had ordered stage decorations from the Moscow
painters, Vroubel and Golovin. At Petrograd everything was given a
trial. I cannot, without exceeding the limits set me, speak at greater
length of what became of this movement; some day, perhaps, I shall be
able to strike its balance. As a matter of fact, I have already had to
enlarge considerably upon my subject in order to set the subject of my
sketch down in his proper surroundings, in that unique atmosphere,
created by historical and personal contingencies, which is ignored for
the most part by the Russian people, and which entirely escapes the
attention of the foreign reader. Besides, this union of a handful of men
who were determined to restore the artistic greatness of their country
was so brotherly, so fraternal that it would be wrong to differentiate
between their respective roles and artificially to isolate their
efforts.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: AN ALMEE. “SHEHERAZADE” BALLET]




THE THREE KNOCKS


Resolutely Diaghileff turned his co=workers towards the theater. The
time was propitious. Vsevolojsky, the director of the Imperial theaters,
had just resigned his position which he had filled so brilliantly.
Himself a dilettante nobleman and a man of good taste he had personally
designed most of the costumes that, under his direction, were built for
the ballet and the operas. He had to a large extent reconstructed the
Russian and foreign repertoire, devoting himself to Tchaikovsky and
making a place for Wagner. A galaxy of stars surrounded him. Marius
Petitpas, the greatest living choreographer, exercised his successful
dictatorship over the ballet. A brilliant young woman, just out of
school, was about to eclipse the celebrated Italian virtuosos. Highly
respected painters--the Shishkovs and the Botcharovs--who were experts
at the art of stage decoration, executed the ideas of their director. In
short, he did everything. Was it his fault that his activity fell within
the worst epoch of a century that was called the stupid century? Is he
to be blamed that the sources of his inspiration and the quality of the
documents consulted by him bore the marks of that terrible decadence of
the artistic instinct of which the year 1900 marks the climax and
presages its end? However that may be, he prepared a glorious end for an
obsolete art. The old opera passed away in beauty.

Yet with all the extraordinary perfection of execution, a certain
uneasiness was germinating. Vague manifestations of independence were
threatening the rigorous traditional discipline. In the midst of this
crisis the helm was given to a young man. Prince Serge Volkonsky, who
had distinguished himself in the Court theater by his splendid bearing
and his clever acting, belonged to one of the noblest Russian families.
His grandfather had taken part in the famous “Decembrist insurrection”
of 1825; his grandmother had followed her husband to his Siberian
convict prison with a devotion that inspired Nekrasov to write a
celebrated poem. Volkonsky let the dead bury their dead and from the
very first made his appeal to the young men and women--to Diaghileff and
his friends. They plunged into their work: a revival of Delibes’
“Sylvia” was decided upon.

The Mir Iskousstva painters agreed to make their first attack upon the
stage together. Accordingly, they divided up the work by acts, Alexander
Benois leading--Benois who even today, after his successful
collaboration with Stravinsky, retains a real feeling of reverence for
Delibes whom he places, without hesitation, in a class with Wagner.
Bakst and Serov also collaborated.

But the opera was never put on. There is a veritable hoode about this
“Sylvia”, which kept haunting the Russian artists and yet was never
produced. The late Andrianov, an exceedingly good dancer, was about to
show an abridgement or sketch of this piece, but the attempt came to
naught; Fokine dreamed about it vainly for many years.

As to this first attempt at cooperative work, it failed for personal
reasons. From the beginning Volkonsky felt his prestige as manager

[Illustration: XIX

THE “WOMEN OF GOOD HUMOUR” BALLET. RINALDO. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XX

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR “PHÆDRA”. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XXI

A COSTUME. “NARCISSUS” BALLET]

[Illustration: XXII

THE PILGRIM (“BLUE GOD” BALLET). (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: DRAWING OF A LIVING MODEL FOR A PICTURE]

threatened by the consuming energy and the unscrupulous ambition of his
“employé”, Diaghileff. To be sure, Diaghileff, conscious of his actual
superiority, carried himself as though he were the boss. Fearing he
would be supplanted by this <g>maire du palais</g>, the director requested
Diaghileff to resign voluntarily. Diaghileff would do nothing of the
sort. Exasperated, Volkonsky promptly discharged him, by applying the
famous “paragraph three” of the rules and regulations to his case, by
the terms of which the “government secretary Diaghileff” was forever
barred from all public appearance. Who knows but that to this act of
administrative jealousy we owe the grandiose effort of the “Russian
Season”? Excluded from official life, Diaghileff, the great <g>condottiere</g>
of art, could unfold his full power!

Diaghileff left, his friends followed, a great gap closed in about the
director, and several months later, not being able to have the last say
in a quarrel with a star who was both famous and powerful, Volkonsky had
himself to resign and leave.

Bakst, however, had not participated in this boycott of the prince; he
plunged into his work for its own sake. But it was not at the Marie
Theater that he made his real <g>debut</g>. Grand-Duke Vladimir Alexandrovitch
had brought back with him from one of his frequent trips to Paris the
text for a pantomime, the author of which was Fèvre, the comedian. This
play, The Heart of the Marchioness”, found favor with the directors. It
was decided to play it at the Hermitage Theater, an auditorium reserved
exclusively for the Imperial family and the members of the Court. It was
connected with the Winter Palace by a passage. The French actors of the
Michel Theater, under the direction of the <g>maître de ballet</g>, Enrico
Cecchetti, executed the pantomime before an audience of grand dukes and
chamberlains.

Vladimir entrusted the scenery to Bakst. The latter conceived a
semicircular pavilion as stage setting. For costumes he went straight to
authentic sources and utilized the elements for devising a good
ensemble. He brought a new idea to the theater: that of style. That is,
at least, what eye-witnesses claim; nothing has been preserved of this
work of his.

As the pantomime was tremendously successful, the Emperor had this show
put on at a gala benefit performance in the Marie Theater--and this is
how Bakst for the first time appeared on the most famous of all Russian
stages. This winter of 1900, then, when for the first time he went upon
the stage that, according to Goethe, “means the universe”, decided his
future. Who could today imagine what the fate of modern scenerie would
be without the contribution of Bakst? And who could conceive of a Bakst
remaining a stranger to the theater? It took him ten years to find his
place. The three knocks struck home. For the first time the curtain
rises over a work of Bakst. Ten years later Paris will crown
“Sheherazade”.




THE THEBAN GATE


Meanwhile Colonel Teliakovsky had succeeded Volkonsky. He owed his
appointment as director to the fact that he had been in the Horseguards
with Baron (later Count) Freedericksz, minister of the Court. A
ludicrous figure he was--this horseman promoted

[Illustration: A ROAD IN THE FIELDS (SAVOY). DRAWING]

to be stage manager--, without either ideas or prestige and consequently
unable to contribute anything of value. But he gave others a free
hand--and that is a great deal during a period of fermentation and
revival.

Thus, soon after his appointment, he authorized an experiment of
far-reaching importance. Alexander Theater was preparing to bring out
Euripides’ tragedy, “Hippolytus,” the attempt being made to produce it
as nearly like the ancient original as possible. The young stage
director, Osarovsky, hoped to make a grand <g>coup</g>. The play was translated
by Merejkovsky in exceedingly beautiful verse and with an extremely
intense modern feeling. Among the Russian intellectuals of that time,
Nietzschean ideas were held in great fascination. Now, in this early
masterpiece the philosopher had transfigured the whole conception of the
spirit of the ancients. Under the marble-like and placid guise of the
Greece of Apollo’s time he had revealed the Dionysiac ecstacy, the
pathetic distress and the mystic impulse of the masses. What had been
considered as the key to their souls, viz., this sovereign and plastic
art, was but a sham emancipation.

For a quarter of a century the government had tried to curb turbulent
youth by means of the classical ferule. Greek was loathed as much as was
the royal blue of the gendarme uniform. But the translation by
Merejkovsky and the enthusiastic eloquence of Professor Zielinski,
scholar and poet, who commented upon it as “the birth of tragedy”,
caused great surprise and soon extreme fondness for it. It was
necessary, however, in order to bring about this rehabilitation of
antiquity, to make use of the best possible medium, namely, its
consecration by the stage.

The scenery and costumes for “Hippolytus” were ordered from Bakst. After
an interval of four years there followed “Oedipus at Colonnæ” and
Sophocles’ “Antigone”.

It was an arduous task indeed, for the problem was that of adapting the
essential dualism of the Greek tragedy--its lyric choruses and its
active players, its dithyrambs and its dialogue, Dionysius and
Apollo--to the arrangement of the modern theater, with its odd-shaped
stage, like a box opened toward the side of the spectators. Bakst made
the attempt. Once having entered upon the road to Thebes he solved the
enigma of the Sphinx without stumbling and forced open the gate. By
raising the background of the stage he made the foreground available for
the <g>proscenium</g>, with the altar of the god of the tragedy in the middle.
On this <g>proscenium</g> the choruses executed evolutions, the choristers
chanted the strophes and anti-strophes rhythmically, while the ensemble
of supernumeraries scanned certain final verses. At the end the leader
of the chorus would ascend the steps which connected the <g>proscenium</g> with
the platform in order

[Illustration: XXIII

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR ACT 4th OF D’ANNUNZIO’S “ST. SEBASTIAN”
(GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XXIV

THE CZAREVITCH’S COSTUME (“THE BIRD OF FIRE”)]

[Illustration: XXV

PROJECT OF STAGE DECORATIONS FOR “SLEEPING BEAUTY”]

[Illustration: XXVI

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR THE VAULT SCENE (“ST. SEBASTIAN”)]

to pronounce Fate’s supreme sentence upon the protagonist who had been
prostrated by the gods.

Thus, for the first time, an attempt was made at a logical dissociation
of the rhythmic and dramatic elements of the ancient theater. Years were

[Illustration: A BRANCH. SKETCH]

to elapse before the German Max Reinhardt invented the monumental
staircase and the <g>proscenium</g> of Lysistrata; and still a longer period
until that same intrepid pioneer let loose upon the arena of a circus
the hysterical multitude of a chorus of wild persons. Bakst was the
first, not only in Russia, but in the world, to try to work out a stage
and a conventional plastic language that was in accord with our modern
conception of ancient art.

The Greeks who faced each other in the tragic dilemmas of “Hippolytus”
and especially of “Oedipus” were no longer those classical personages

[Illustration: A ROAD IN UPPER SAVOY. DRAWING]

with rounded gestures, draped in white, blue or red tunics that looked
like a schoolboy’s drawing after a plaster=cast relief of Phideas. They
displayed the angular shoulders of the warriors on one of Aegina’s
bas=reliefs; the conical helmet with a visor protecting the brow and the
nose, as well as the metal shin protectors, tended to simplify the
lines of the actor. On the other hand the garments were brightcolored;
the purple robe of Creon was resplendent with its ornamentation copied
from Ionian pottery. The sixth century dispossessed the fifth, archaic
art crowded out the classical canons, the intense colors of many hues

[Illustration: PROJECT OF LANDSCAPE (UPPER SAVOY). DRAWING]

obtained preference over the marble whiteness of the statues. People
breathed again; they felt themselves freed.

The great age of Pericles, which for three centuries had been exploited
by every academy of Europe, which had been vulgarised, debased,
enervated by the Alma=Tademas and the Siemiradskis, seemed gloomy,
formal, deathly cold. Besides, an art that is perfect and definite, and
that has reached its zenith affords no occasion for further research,
for further development. It condemns its followers either to imitating
it or else to diminishing it. Instinctively Bakst took issue with the
academic rules. The fact that he possessed this divination of the right
road to take is what placed him several years ahead of his
contemporaries.

For he was quite alone in his passion for this Greek antiquity which at
every new turn seemed different from every preconceived notion. His
friends of the “Mir Iskousstva” were entirely taken up by their craze
for rococo curios or for the majesty of imperial architecture;
Diaghileff was looking for Russian portraits of the eighteenth century
and was preparing the famous exposition of the Tauride Palace; Alexander
Benois was living at Versailles, fascinated by the sight of regal
splendor. The only one who followed his efforts with solicitude was
Serov. So that, when Bakst felt the urgent need of testing his
intuitions by direct observations, of knowing positively what he had
merely guessed at, he succeeded in persuading the great portraitist to
join him on his voyage of exploration into archaic Greece--a journey
that was one of the outstanding events of his intellectual life.

Our great master has reserved to himself the task of some day telling in
detail the thrilling events of this journey. With that devotion to
friendship that is characteristic of him he has kept a minute account of
the utterances and impressions of Serov’s manly and delicate mind. It
will make a splendid volume some day.

Serov had guided Bakst’s first steps. This Greek expedition was Bakst’s
return gift. With the help of these antique realities, which served him
as striking arguments, he turned the tormented realist, the sensitive
psychologist that Serov was, to a study of syntheticized painting
expressing itself in broad and severe forms. And so Serov, pupil of
Repine the “wanderer”, portraitist of important Moscow merchants and of
great Russian intellectuals, brought back from this voyage a memorable
“Abduction of Europa”. His days, however, were counted. And once again
Bakst had to continue his solitary way unaided.

[Illustration: XXVII

“TERROR ANTIQUUS”.

FIRST GOLDEN MEDAL. 1911 UNIVERSAL EXHIBITION (BRUSSELS)]

[Illustration: XXVIII

“TERROR ANTIQUUS” (DETAILED)]

[Illustration: A ROAD IN THE FIELDS. DRAWING]




TERROR ANTIQUUS


Bakst did not go to Greece in order to say his “prayer upon the
Acropolis”, to venerate the Attic serenity, “the sublime grace and the
sweet grandeur” discovered by Winkelmann and Goethe. He visited hot
Argos, and Mycenæ with its tomb of the Atrides which several years
before had inspired the poet d’Annunzio with the panting dialogue of his
“Dead City”; Mycenæ whose gates called forth in him something like a
homesickness for Egypt. He strolled about Crete, among the remnants of
the palace of Minos, dreaming about Medea the Sorceress, about the
Minotaur conquered by Theseus, about the monsters, the Titans, all those
brutal or mystic figures--the Gorgons, the Eurynies--who by their
incessant assaults shook the pedestal where the Divine Archer defied
them. The fantastic and passionate conception of the stage decorations
for the Greek tragedies and ballets which were to earn such applause in
Paris had its origin in these meditations of his in the occult presence
of Hellas’ clear sky.

But there was something else that made his heart beat fast as he
strolled among the cliffs of Crete. That was the wind which blew up from
the shore--a wind that was perfumed and that seemed to come from the
vast Orient hidden in the fog. Who knows but that in such moments the
call of the ancient Asiatic was indistinctly awakened in this Occidental
Jew? Certain it is that underneath the chisel and the polishing tool of
Greek culture he discovered the lavish, ardent and sensual oriental raw
material. And the archaic sculptures, massive, with rigid frontlets,
straightway transported him to Egypt. Then, too, his readings--Maspéro
and the book by Fustel de Coulanges about the “Antique City” which had
captivated him--confirmed his theories. He therefore did not hesitate to
take from the Egyptians the ornaments in live colors with which he
embellished the costumes for his “Oedipus”.

One cannot help but wonder, when one lets “Cleopatra”, “Helen of Sparta”
and “St. Sebastian” pass in review, what would have happened if this
extraordinary man had not been born on the banks of the Neva and in the
fullness of the nineteenth century! Would he, under the pharaohs, have
added new figures to the dancers on the tombs of Sakkarah? Or earlier
still, would he, as a Phœnician sailor, in his leisure moments have
designed the figures on the prows of the triremes of Hamilcar? He would
well have fitted into the brilliant, arid, implacable atmosphere which
forms the setting for Flaubert’s “Salambô”. But enough of these
digressions.

What he had observed and meditated upon during these feverish weeks he
intended to mass together in one single work, a decorative synthesis and
at the same time a philosophical symbol: Terror antiquus, ancient
terror!

In the foreground of the picture, cut off by the frame at knee-length, a
colossal archaic Cypris rises. The hair of the idol is draped about its
head in fluted curls; the large eyes with their distended pupils have a
magic fixedness; a ferocious grin plays about the corners of the lips.
The goddess carries a blue dove in the palm of her hand. Powerfully
modeled, she turns her back to the picture, to the fury of the elements,
to the panic distress of men. Impassive, implacable she turns away from
this world which is tumbling. Behind the statue the eye

[Illustration: A BLIND ALLEY IN FIESOLE. DRAWING]

beholds a landscape, an archipelago seen from a high elevation, and
displayed like a map in relief; cliffs submerged by the rising waves;
diminutive humanity seeking refuge under the porticos of the temples and
attempting to escape the inevitable; an enormous stroke of lighting
rending the air. It is the twilight of the gods, the last judgment of
the Greek world, the end of Atlantis.

With its mysterious mixture of congealed grandeur and mad anguish the
panel, when it was exhibited (if I am not mistaken) with the Association
of Russian Artists, created something of a sensation. People flocked to
the lectures of Viatcheslav Ivanov, the poet=philosopher and author of a
treaty on Dionysios and the religion of the gods, who explained this
Greek Apocalypse.

As for Bakst, this work of his constituted a striking but isolated
episode in his life as an artist. Man of the theater that he was, his
aim was that of utilizing and transforming <g>space</g> in accordance with his
vision; here he transformed a surface, in the sense of material and
philosophic depth.




THE SPIRAL ROAD


Into this period of researches and visions in Greece falls many an
episode that is entirely different but no less significant. Since 1903
Bakst had been using the ballet of the “Dolls’ Fairy” on the imperial
stage. It furnished the prototype of those romantic productions, of
those entertainments for children which are colorless reflections of
Hoffmann’s Coppelius or of Andersen’s tales and in which one sees toys
awakened to an artificial and mechanical life by a magic
wand--entertainments, furthermore, which have become vapid by their
being produced on innumerable German stages. Also, he rendered homage
thereby to that “old Petrograd” that was dear to the members of “Mir
Iskousstva”.

The prologue, which represents the busy coming and going in a doll shop
in the capital city of 1830, is acted by a big crowd of
people--shop=attendants, customers of every sort, small merchants and
grand ladies, lackeys and grenadiers, mailmen and policemen produced on
the stage as the naive action unfolds. All these masques and costumes
are absolutely authentic, but they seem fragile and delicate like a
dream. The fact is that the documents from which the <g>dossier</g> of the
decorator was constructed were anything but commonplace. Bakst did not
seek his information from the more direct sources supplied by the
engravings of that time: he went to the show cases of porcelain ware.

Too little are the charming products of Russian porcelain makers--the
Gardners and the Popovs--known. To be sure, they often merely
misrepresent, in their style, the models from Saxony or Sèvres, but they
do it with a naive flash of pure color that appeals to rustic artisans.
But side by side with such imitations these obscure Russian artists
modeled an entire little world of their own in tender clay--cossacks in
uniform, drunken serfs, nude women, coiffed “en cabriolet” and burying
their chilly hands in fur muffs. Whatever tastefully conventional there
was in these figures, Bakst transposed into the language of the theater.
Ever since that time this form of ballad (or “boutade”, as it was
called

[Illustration: XXIX

SUBMARINE MONSTERS (“SADKO” OPERA). (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XXX

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR THE BALLET “WOMEN OF GOOD HUMOUR” (SECOND
VERSION). GOUACHE]

[Illustration: XXXI

A BACCHANALIAN DANCE (JOSEPH) BY R. STRAUSS]

[Illustration: XXXII

Mr. NIJINSKY AS “BLUE GOD”. (GOUACHE)]

in the time of Cardinal Mazarin), the dancing for which had been
designed by Serge Legat, a splendidly endowed young man who committed
suicide in a fit of passion and despair over a love affair, has
maintained its place on the program. Examples of it are the “Carnival”,
“Phantom of the Rose” and “Secret of Suzanne”, that delightful
little=work in which one already sees Napoleon evolving from Bonaparte.

[Illustration: IN UPPER SAVOY. DRAWING]

But Bakst had by no means given up his painter’s easel for his
theatrical sketches. Numerous portraits of his bear out this fact, such
as that of the philosopher and lay theologian Vassili Rosanov, of his
friend Benois, of Levitan the remote emulator of Corot who discovered
the intimate and poignant beauty of the humble Russian landscape, of
Diaghileff and his old nurse. Painted with keen observation, with
facility of touch and in vivid colors that spread over broad surfaces,
these portraits coming from the school of Serov showed nothing of that
painful affectation, of that anguish of definitive, absolute expression
with which the Moscow master often endowed his canvases to the point of
tiresomeness. In the case of Bakst there is nothing of the exact analyst
who dissects and torments the soul of his model. With our artist
everything seems to be improvisation, happy inspiration; it is a style
for which the fine term “prime=sautier” (ready=wit), once coined by
Montaigne, is exactly appropriate.

His growing familiarity, however, with Greek art, which is in a high
degree plastic and linear, turned him in the direction of more
concentrated and more simplified processes. The painting of vases in the
merest outlines and on flat surfaces neatly silhouetted, imperceptibly
drew him into the path followed by Ingres. He therefore gave up his
paint brushes in favor of the lead pencil and the colored crayon. In his
portraits thus designed it is the line which circumscribes the person,
which sets it out in space, which expresses its character and suggests
its size. Thus the Russian painter is already en route towards that
strictly linear transposition of a body of three dimensions without the
aid of the model, or of any standard of values, or of any material
record; a style which some day Pablo Picasso employed as master and
Modigliani as spiritual dreamer.

But even all this could not satisfy that fever for activity, that fecund
restlessness which at all times determined the tremendous productivity
of Bakst. It was necessary, people were agreed, to offer, in opposition
to the Academy of Fine Arts, managed by pedantic dilettants who were
embittered by the triumph of the new art, a form of instruction at once
free and sane. The haughty air of the Academy’s official staff was not
justified either because of any venerable tradition nor because of the
most elementary <g>savoir faire</g>. The “wanderers”, having dislodged from the
Academy the pedants whom Bakst knew, placed themselves in their seats.
Their æsthetic carelessness was complete, their ignorance of Western art
absolute and provoking. At the same time young artists who rebelled at
this teaching were reduced to the necessity of acquiring the rudiments
of painting by themselves.

Affairs were in such a condition that they absolutely needed to be
remedied. Bakst therefore associated himself with Mstislas Doboujinsky,

[Illustration: A HUNTRESS IN 1930]

a remarkable offspring of “Mir Iskousstva”, who excelled in the
designing of the ornament and of the vignette, and who later worked with
considerable success in the theater, in order to start a free school. I
recall having been able, in connection with an exposition organized by
the review “Apollo”, to estimate the results achieved during the first
year of the school’s work. One series of studies symbolized a nude man
on a background of red material. There was none of that “academic” way
of placing things in a vacuum or in a neutral atmosphere, nor of
sketches colored amid gray shadows. The bright red of the background
played upon the subject in green lights; the rhythm of the colored
surfaces superimposed itself upon the anatomic harmony of the body. All
these attempts were strictly anonymous as far as the public was
concerned; it was not the personal pride of the students that was to be
flattered; it was merely a question of establishing the validity of the
method. That did not hinder the fact, however, that some of those young
unknown painters today enjoy a reputation that borders upon renown.

We have now reached the year 1908. Bakst seems to have condensed his
effort. He has summoned back the ancient legendary tale and has restored
it to the theater. This myth he has also projected upon a famous canvas.
In his portraits his incisive line closely encompasses material and
internal realities. In his romantic dreams he has been able to live
again through what Stéphane Mallarmé has called “la grâce des choses
fanées”. Later he makes a division of his artistic property among his
enthusiastic students. How much there is in this to fill a beautiful
life! One might think that the circle of such men as Bakst is completed
in one harmonious curve. But it is nothing of the sort.

Bakst is one of those men whose road is laid out in spiral form. What
seems like a stop, is in fact nothing but a turn of the road. And at
each turn the circle widens. At Petrograd his task is completed. There
is nothing left there except to follow. But there remains Paris and the
universe.

In reality, I am at the end of my task, which is that of acquainting the
reader with a Bakst who has not yet been written up, of speaking of his
formative period and of the intimate and hidden sources of his
inspiration. Once my hero had entered upon public life, I ought already
to have left the domain of his private existence. It is with regret that
I take leave of the good little fellow who goes into ecstasy over his
grandfather’s canary birds; of the uncompromising youth who defies his
ignorant masters; of the young man who risks his future--and what a

[Illustration: XXXIII

THE RED SULTANA]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: XXXIV

THE PINK SULTANA. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XXXV

THE YELLOW SULTANA. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XXXVI

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR THE “BLUE GOD”]

[Illustration: A DRAWING]

future!--for the sake of the exquisite form of a smile and the profile
of a tapering hand; and finally of the artist whom I see in my country
becoming identified with all big projects, either undertaking them or
excelling in them.

But this study would perforce be incomplete if I did not decide to
accompany our friend on his exodus toward the West and to put together
the main facts of his recent activity which sends its rays over the
entire world--an activity of which, for the most part, I am a witness.

Therefore, en route to Paris!

[Illustration]




A SHOW IN AN ARMCHAIR


In 1906 or thereabouts, following immediately upon the first Russian
revolution that failed so grievously, the group of young artists and
poets marched side by side through the breach that had been opened in
the citadel of public opinion. The “modernists” of “Mir Iskousstva”, who
had been jeered by the common herd, came into their own. But a certain
uneasiness troubles this rising power; it feels itself incomplete,
limited in a fatal manner. It is not equipped to reestablish great
painting; it can only count upon illustrators, decorators, and poets of
the

[Illustration: DRAWING OF COLOUR FOR THE REVIEW “APOLLO”]

past. And, as is the case with authority everywhere when it feels itself
threatened, so too this group, not being able to assert itself, was
anxious to spread out.

Accordingly, they looked for new fields to conquer. Once again we see
Diaghileff leading the attack. He releases that great exodus of Russians
to the West--the brilliant and victorious march on Paris. The offensive
starts with a Russian exhibition at the “Salon d’Automne”, an exhibition
which under the guise of being retrospective is in reality a fighting
manœuvre. A collection of icons, of numerous portraits of the eighteenth
century symbolizes the return to a tradition which the young men of the
“Monde Artiste” proclaim to be their own. Similarly the arbitrary gaps
indicate their complete break with the unnatural art of the “wanderers”,
the latter having been nearly entirely eliminated.

Bakst took part in this enterprise not alone as a painter. He decorated
the hall of the eighteenth century, which had been transformed into a
grove, with a trellis surmounted by vases. This conception of an
exposition hall forming an organic whole, making a coherent <g>ensemble</g>,
and therefore having a distinctive atmosphere--is not this, again, a
gift belonging to the Russians?

This first attack could do no more than break through the first lines of
the enemy. Painting, it was evident, was not sufficient as an object for
combat. So Diaghileff thought of music. His historical concerts of
Russian music caused the greatest excitement; Parisian opinion was
deeply stirred. Bakst’s role in this first and formidable success was
quite accidental. He drew some portraits for the program, notably that
of Balakirev, the composer of “Thamar”: bold lines and a synthetic
contour set out the head of the aged oriental sorcerer as though it were
sculptured.

It now became a question of following up this first victory. Diaghileff
turns once again to the theater, counting for his success upon its
numbers and upon the wide range that it afforded. All circumstances are
favorable for his project. His old group of co=workers surrounds him,
abler through strife and experience. A galaxy of stars of the
dance--Pavlova, Karsavina--await but the signal to make them gleam forth
on the western sky. At the same time a marvellous dancer is
discovered--Nijinsky. And, as a will is needed to give life to all these
latent forces, behold, Michael Fokine presents himself,--Fokine, a young
master of

[Illustration: XXXVII

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR ACT 3rd OF VERHÆREN’S “HELEN OF SPARTA”.
(GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XXXVIII

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR THE “CLEOPATRA” BALLET. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XXXIX

COSTUME FOR TCHEREPNINE’S “ADORATION”]

[Illustration: XL

COSTUME FOR STRAVINSKY’S “BIRD OF FIRE”]

[Illustration: A WANDERING MUSICIAN’S COSTUME. (“WOMEN OF GOOD
HUMOUR”)]

the ballet, a rebel at the hundred=year=old tradition in vogue in the
imperial theaters, who is ready to offer himself body and soul to the
cause of the painters who take possession of the theater as masters.
Into this renunciation of tradition he puts all the fervor of a neophyte
and an infinite measure of talent. What was there that one could not
dare to undertake with such a band of the élite?

What followed is well known: fifteen times the celebrated “Russian
Seasons” have already borne in upon Paris like shining waves breaking
into foam.

It is not for me here to trace in detail the fate of the “Seasons”,--the
transformations which they underwent, their successes as well as their

[Illustration: FACING THE MONT-BLANC. DRAWING]

failures, the latter oftentimes being more creditable than the
successes. Whatever else may have been their mission, certain it is that
they brought two men forth into fame and glory: Stravinsky the musician
and Leon Bakst the painter.

“Cleopatra” had caused extraordinary surprise. “Sheherazade” in 1910
surpassed everything. In recalling the annals of the modern theater, it
is scarcely possible to recollect any production that was given a
similar reception.

I had intended to sum up the successive stages of the fifteen years of
productive work accomplished. Yet here I find myself, as I face my
sources and my documents, overwhelmed with the almost magic

[Illustration: A VERANDAH. DRAWING]

abundance of the material, the description, yes, the mere ordered
enumeration of which would fill many a volume. These sources consist in
part of numerous productions which maintain their place in the theater
from season to season without losing their popularity because of the
ever present memories of others. But on the other hand we also have the
“dossiers” of these productions,--the sketches and models of the
decorations and costumes. These sketches are without a doubt the most
authentic references. But besides having value as documents they possess
an intrinsic value as works of art. These water-colors or emphasized
sketches are more than mere guide-lines for the scissors of the costume
maker or the brush of the stage decorator. These statuettes of
odalisques, of girls of the street, of a marquis each have an existence
of their own, each possesses an individual rhythm. The artist imparts
movement to them--the whole dynamic rhythm of the future ballet
pre-exists there potentially. Jotted down upon a white sheet of Waltmann
they energize and give life to this surface. More than that: they
suggest the character of the particular role.

Think of the sensual passion of the Oriental dancers in pink or green or
of the fragrance of the rustic idyll that breathes from the exquisite
pages drawn for Daphne! Think of the Gothic and mournful sensuality of
Sebastian! Indeed, what an inspiring “show in an armchair” it is to turn
over these pages, which are a microcosm of a world come into reality
upon the stage!

To this show I would invite the reader; as for myself, I would but turn
the pages.

       *       *       *       *       *

“Sheherazade” was Bakst’s real debut at Paris. “Cleopatra” had been a
revival. It represented an attempt to utilize the small ballet inspired
by a story of Théophile Gauthier’s and supported by a mediocre score
composed by Arensky. On top of this score were grafted fragments from
Rimsky-Korsakov, Moussorgsky, Glinka, and Glazounoff in order to
transform it into an historic whole. Bakst undertook the thankless task
of re-creating the unity of this heterogeneous collection. He created a
monumental and sinister background, saturating the Egyptian granite with
color. He wrought into an harmonious whole the motley crowd of brown
slaves with white loin-cloths, the Greek young men raising the panther
skin of Dionysos, the captive Jewesses with somber hooded cloaks
punctuated by the white in which their single and troubled figure is
draped.

[Illustration: XLI

THE “BOUTIQUE FANTASQUE” BALLET THE CHILD WITH DOLLS]

[Illustration: XLII

THE “BUTTERFLIES” BALLET. A VALET IN 1850]

[Illustration: XLIII

A HUNTRESS. DECORATIVE PANEL]

[Illustration: XLIV

THE “BOUTIQUE FANTASQUE” BALLET. A DOLL]

[Illustration: SILENUS. “NARCISSUS BALLET”]

The action which begins as an idyll and which is lulled by the soft
music of the violin is suddenly upset by the strident notes of the
flutes. Preceded by musicians who carry instruments of antique and
unusual design and by solemn guards, a number of slaves carry a long
closed box upon a litter. One side of the palanquin slides down and a
mummy is revealed, tall and motionless, whom the slaves stand upright
upon its feet encased in cothurns of sculpted wood. The slaves, running
around her, free her of the bandages in which she is wrapped, and when
the last fetters have thus dropped, the queen steps down from the
cothurns, unnaturally tall, her hair colored with blue powder. She walks
toward the regal couch and in doing so, a nude limb is revealed, longer
and bolder than those of the fairies in the pictures of English
pre-Raphaelite artists. This female being, this queen is Ida Rubinstein.

It is not the first time in the life of Bakst that we see this haughty
and pallid profile of the implacable empress appear. Several years
previously Bakst had adapted the stage setting of Sophocles’ “Antigone”

[Illustration: A BROOK IN THE MOUNTAINS. DRAWING]

to this young débutante, who then appeared under an assumed name. I
clearly remember this unique production. And I see again the proud
maiden as she is wrapped in the numerous and complicated folds of her
black mourning robe. In working out this conception Bakst had drawn his
inspiration from a tombstone or else had deciphered the clever pattern
from the sides of a Greek vase.

Later this young woman with her disconcerting and mysterious beauty,
this mystical virgin, voluptuous yet frigidly cold, with a will

[Illustration: RABBITS. A SKETCH]

of iron underneath a fragile frame, and possessed of a haughty and cold
intelligence, who dressed in eccentric clothes, became one of the Muses
of our artist. Hers was the gift of driving his imagination to
exasperation. Even after many years had elapsed she still held for him
the allpowerful attraction of the strange, of the unreal, of the
supernatural. His Muse--perhaps that is not the right term: rather, his
Friendly Demon.

Having once touched upon the chapter of the Muses, another female image
rises in my mind’s eye--that of Mme. Marie Kousnetzoff, the opera star.
She is not the white and lunar Lilith; she is the Eve of the terrestrial
paradise. This Russian brunette, with a Levantine face, a blooming
flower in human flesh, with full, muscular form, seemed to have been
created for the very purpose of wearing the turbans and the revealing
veils designed by Bakst. Those who have seen her in the “Legend of
Joseph”, garbed as a Venetian of the Renaissance, and wearing the
thick-soled shoes suggested to Bakst by the celebrated costume designer
Cesare Vecellio, brother of Titian, will forever retain this wonderful
picture of the Biblical story of lust. Thus Mme. Kousnetzoff was the
very incarnation of the oriental mirage that many a time haunted Bakst.
Was she his Muse? No--his female Double!

But enough of these parenthetical remarks! Why was it that “Sheherazade”
established itself and retained its place? Why was it that it could keep
its prestige undiminished, even after it had called forth innumerable
imitations in a territory extending all the way from the Opera to the
meanest of suburban music halls?

The reason for it is the fact that this Persian ballet, which adapts the
prologue of the “Thousand and One Nights” to a subtle and decorative
score composed by Rimsky-Korsakoff, the eminent colorist, is the
affirmation and, what is still more important, the realization of a
great principle--the optic unity of a production. The sides of a large
green tent enriched with gold and black encase and encircle the ladies’
apartment which is peopled with a crowd dressed in orange, pink and
green clothes, who surround the single royal jewel, the Sultana Zobeide,
a blue sapphire in a setting of rubies and emeralds. Thus the costumes
either blend with the scenery in an infinity of fine shades and
gradations of value that have been carefully studied out, or they
contrast with the scenery in accordance with the visible logic of
complementary colors.

Is the result, then, a ballet? It is a living scenery with
interchangeable elements.

Was I going to speak of optic unity? Do I mean by it that unity stops at
the surface? Certainly not! This ardent and cruel magnificence of color,
this effluvium of sensuality which emanates from the setting produces an
action in which the very excess of passionate ecstacy can only be
satiated by the spilling of blood. This harmonious giddiness, this
measured paroxysm seems to recall the title which Maurice Barrès gave to
a famous book: “Concerning Blood, Sensuality, and Death.”

“Sheherazade” remains as the model work in Bakst’s oriental sphere of
endeavor; neither he himself nor his competitors surpassed it. But

[Illustration: XLV

A PAGE. (“ALADIN” BALLET)]

[Illustration: XLVI

A PAGE IN LOUIS XIV’s STYLE. (“ALADIN” BALLET)]

[Illustration: XLVII

THE EMPRESS ELISABETH PETROVNA HUNTING. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: XLVIII

DELPHI. (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: POPULAR BATHING AT LIDO]

round about this luminous center other visions of hashish radiate forth:
“Thamar”--a Cleopatra in Georgian style, a symphony in blue major; “The
Blue God”, a Hindu fairy=tale; “Peri”, more recently, “Alladin”, and,
only the other day, “The Adoration.” Astonishment takes hold of one as
one tells the large pearls on this necklace that is worthy of the
funeral=pile of Sardanapalus. Turn over the pages of the ballets that I
have cited and look for the sketches; if you are in possession of the
magic word of Ali=Baba, force open the sesame of the Museum of
Decorative Arts in which are jealously guarded the most beautiful of
these sketches; and you will find how justified was the saying of the
late Joséfin Péladan, “Bakst, the Delacroix of the Costume.”

Consider the wisely arranged orgy of “Sheherazade”, (for Bakst has this
supreme gift that great masters possess, of being concerned about the
smallest button on a legging at the same time that they are getting a
whole army to march) and in this whole eruption of vigorous colors you
will not observe the slightest suggestion of white. There is,
nevertheless, in the work of Bakst a whole corner, enveloped in
sunshine, in which the white--shining and serene, virginal and
fresh--dominates resolutely.

The sensual within him is duplicated by the romantic. We saw this come
to the fore for the first time in the “Fairy of the Dolls”; Schumann’s
“Carneval” revealed the “white Bakst” to the Parisians. They never grew
tired of these adorable puppets, sentimental and crafty, who glide over
the floor to the musical text of Schumann like the dolls on the cover of
a music box. Harlequin and Pierrot, Chiarina or Colombine--they are not
merely endless masks costumed in the styles of 1830, with furbelows and
coiffures in ringlets; they are the incarnations of that playful and
exquisite Viennese spirit; they are the descendants of Mozart and of
Haydn. And the cut of their hazy cambrics, their whole bearing is in
“Biedermayer” style--that quaint and charming style of bourgeois
romanticism in the Germany of old. In order not to crush these fragile
and delicate beings with the four walls of reality, as they flitted like
butterflies about the stage. Bakst removed all stationary decoration: a
background of drapery, a couch set off against this background--that was
all. Nothing encumbers the view nor impedes the imagination of the
spectator as he is enticed by the graceful or ironical episodes of the
play to picture to himself a ball room or a boudoir or a park.

If the costumes of “Papillons”, which was connected with Schumann’s
“Carneval” by Fokine, who discovered a certain aroma and dynamic rhythm
common to both, are a continuation, so to speak, of the style of
costumes employed in the first ballet, the “Spectre of the Rose”, on the
other hand, carries us almost without our noticing it over to the land
of France. The music is by Weber, the German composer who captivated
Gèrard de Nerval, but it receives its orchestral form at the hands of
Hector Berlioz, and the text is supplied by two lines from Théophile
Gauthier, who had already inspired “Cleopatra” and the “Pavillon
d’Armide” by Benois. This young girl in white flounced gown belongs more
to Achille Dévéria and Eugène Lamy

[Illustration: “WOMEN OF GOOD HUMOUR” BALLET. THE VALET NICCOLO.
(GOUACHE)]

than to Franz Krueger or Kriehuber; the ball from which she returns
might be the ball at Sceaux of Honorè de Balzac; this night which
filters through the glass door is a night in France; this dying rose
which is impersonated by the divine ephebe Nijinsky is a rose of France.
The young girls of times gone by, about whom the gentle Francis Jammes
dreamed, would not be displeased at this airy pavilion with white
wainscoting and white furniture in which, on the wall paper of blue
cobalt, white bouquets are scattered about. Into this virginal quietude
of soothing colors, detaching itself from the sombre verdure of the
background, the human flower projects itself--a flower of purplish pink,
feverish and consumed with amorous languor. The setting for a comic
opera, “The Secret of Suzanne”, develops the same theme more in detail.

This brief catalogue of Bakst’s romantic cycle would, however, be
incomplete were I not to mention the costumes of the “Boutique
fantasque” which is in fact chiefly a sketch, but more centered, more
pointed, more compressed than the “Fairy of the Dolls” which marks the
beginning of Bakst’s career. This was a memorable enterprise, for it was
marked by the collaboration of two great artists: the dolls by Bakst
perform evolutions against a background painted by André Derain.

We have already seen how Bakst discovered the tragic and magnificently
barbaric Greece of pre=Hellenic and ante=European times which he brought
to the stage, by designing stage settings the rude grandeur of which
formed a fit background for the growing despair of Antigone or for the
doom that overwhelmed Oedipus. Once again he brings out all the anguish
in the fear of the ancients, the primitive hysteria of people bewildered
by the cruel play of unfathomable forces--the hot wind which blows from
the Asiatic desert and which leashes the blood almost into insanity, the
triumph of Eros in the midst of fratricide and horror. He staged this
“Helen of Sparta” by Verhaeren for Mme. Rubinstein--this play in which a
great modern poet incarnates his intent, violent and prophetic soul in
the characters of a legend which had already absorbed the Grand Old Man
of Weimar. The return of Helen, however, which for Goethe had been the
symbol of restored and re=born classical antiquity, to the Flemish poet
seemed a passionate and terribly human dilemma hidden under an archaic
guise.

[Illustration: XLIX

GALISSON, PRINCE CHARMANT’S TUTOR LOUIS XIV BALLET (PAVLOVA TOURNEE).
GOUACHE]

[Illustration: L

THE BIRD OF FIRE (ANOTHER VERSION). GOUACHE]

[Illustration: LI

THE “BOUTIQUE FANTASQUE” BALLET. THE ENGLISHWOMAN]

[Illustration: LII

THE “BOUTIQUE FANTASQUE” BALLET. THE ENGLISHMAN]

[Illustration: STAGE DECORATION FOR “LÂCHETÉ”]

Now, Bakst designed a bare and harsh setting for the martyrdom of Helen,
who is condemned to be coveted unto death by all who come in contact
with her: the ground reduced to lime, stones that have a burnt smell,
heavy gates of the royal fortress, smoke of woodpiles--in short,
everything in this volcanic landscape is a latent menace.

This grim and desolate face of Hellas is seen for the last time in an
act of “Daphnis and Chloe” where one sees the pirates dancing a
war-dance among the steep declivities of the red rocks. But how sweet is
the idyll which they disturb! All that there is of Ionic sweetness
envelops this pastoral scene. I know nothing in the entire work of Bakst
that is equal to these tender, fresh, damp greens of the meadow and of
the forest where the two children walk about displaying the charming
torment of love that knows nothing of itself. It is a sketch for the
first act, but in it lies all of the Greece of Theocritus, of Moschus,
and also of André Chenier’s Aoristys. Thus the short novel by Longus

[Illustration: PROJECT OF A CRYSTAL CUP]

which had already inspired the painter Pierre Bonnard to draw the
lithographs which constitute the lyric flower of his work, live once
more through the brush of the great Russian.

The mythological world had, besides, already been displayed in another
work of Bakst’s,--“Narcissus”. The setting is unique: in the foreground
is a spring bordered by large somber rocks and shaded by branches of
trees which droop into a brook of emerald. Through an

[Illustration: GOGOL’S “NOSE”. AN ILLUSTRATION]

opening of the rocks one sees a meadow upon which a tropical heat lies
heavy. The natural bridge over which we presently see the nymph Echo
pass lamenting and garbed in a mourning robe of violet, forms the second
tier, raised above the scenery of the foreground in much the same manner
as one sees it raised in the stage settings of Torelli in the
seventeenth century, or as one also sees it in the “Parnassus” of
Andrea Mantegna at the Louvre. And it is the vivacious and manycolored
figures of the Greece on the terra=cottas that monopolize the scene,
clad in fresh and simple colors--blue and green that match with the
color of the sky and the forest, lemon=yellow and brick=red that form
patches on the short white tunics.

Bakst reserved, however, for the “Afternoon of a Faun”, the pastoral
poem for which Debussy received his inspiration from a poem by Stéphane
Mallarmé, his attempt at solving the paradox of setting forth upon the
stage the authentic rhythm of the figures that keep turning forever on
the sides of Greek vases. The background is an old forest; a convenient
hill, on which the Faun reclines, narrows the platform and leaves only a
small proscenium free. On this proscenium the dancers project themselves
in profile, dressed in long tunics with frilled folds like the fluting
of an Ionic column. Moving on a single elevation they convey the idea of
having but two dimensions like the arabesques that decorate a surface.

Bakst does not, however, allow himself to be imprisoned in this
three=fold domain. His imagination is forever travelling along thousands
of crossing paths. And quite willingly he stops at the great crossroads
of civilization, where hostile worlds confront each other and establish
themselves.

Of such a character is the exuberant “Martyrdom of St. Sebastian”, where
the Rome of Heliogabalus, closed about by Asia, conveys to us both the
naiveness of the mediæval mysteries and the imagination of the
Quatrocentrist painters. Again, there is “Pisanelle”, another French
work from the pen of Gabriele d’Annunzio. It is a poem of the
Mediterranean, in which the Latin West, feudal and mystic, clashes with
the rigid and solemn Byzantium, while the imperishable perfume of Hellas
rises from the land of Cyprus from which Aphrodite sprang forth.

It would take volumes to enumerate all the pictorial elements in these
productions, and even then one could not construct a component whole.

But the large architectural outlines, the clusters of small black and
gold columns which form the portal for the “Jeu de la Sainte
Courtisane”,


[Illustration: LIII

STAGE DECORATIONS FOR “THAMAR”]

[Illustration: LIV

SADKO]

[Illustration: LV

THE “BOUTIQUE FANTASQUE” BALLET “LA POUPÉE AUX DENTELLES”]

[Illustration: LVI

MODERN COSTUME (A “FANTAISIE”). (GOUACHE)]

the enormous twisted columns in the “Conseil des faux Dieux”, over whom
Sebastian triumphs--these impress themselves indelibly upon one’s
memory.

This architectural conception, the best possible setting for the actor
and for the “round relief” which the human body forms, especially
determined the grandiose and graceful setting for the ballet “The
Sleeping Beauty”,--this French masterpiece born of the soil of Russia
which is fertile in miracles. In this work, the production of which was
reserved for London, Bakst returns squarely to the surprises afforded by
extraordinary short=cuts, to the harmony of masses that are organized,
to the magic play of stage elevations raised in tiers, to the severe
splendors of linear perspective.

We see him, after a century of realistic still=life deception, taking up
again the work of the great decorators and architects, of the
geometricians

[Illustration: A WOMAN LYING. TOUCHED UP DRAWING]

of theatrical vision, whether their names be Gonzaga or Bibiena, whether
Sanquirico or Ciceri.

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE POET JEAN COCTEAU]

This masterpiece, concerning which the author of these lines has written
a book, is a free “capriccio” of the Great Age when Tiepolo

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE DANCER M.]

brushed elbows with Mansart. “Artémis troublée”, a ballet produced at
the Opera during the spring of the present year, is a graceful
mythological play springing from a similar set of ideas.

I am far from having exhausted the plentiful material of these
innumerable works, for during almost a quarter of a century Bakst has

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE PAINTER GOLOVINE]

initiated numerous productive ideas. He discovers new veins but is ever
ready, after a few blows with the pick=axe, to abandon them to those who
follow him.

Is it not he who dares introduce the modern sportive costume to the
lyric stage as a decorative and expressive element? Remember the “Jeux”
which he undertook with Nijinsky! And was not this vogue for things
Venetian of the eighteenth century, for the Venice of Pietro

[Illustration: LVII

PORTRAIT OF IDA RUBINSTEIN]

[Illustration: LVIII

A CALL (POSTER FOR AN EXHIBITION AT VIENNA). (GOUACHE)]

[Illustration: LIX

A LIVING MODEL. RED CHALK AND CHALK]

[Illustration: LX

THE “BOUTIQUE FANTASQUE” BALLET. AN ITALIAN DOLL]

[Illustration: THE COMPOSER BALAKIREV. DRAWING. (THE TRETIAKOFF
MUSEUM, MOSCOW)]

Longhi and of Guardi, this vogue for beauty and for the fan called forth
by his exhilarating “Women of Good Humour” in which, with the greatest
unconcern, Bakst exchanges the toe=slippers of the pasha with the red
shoe=heels of Giacomo Casanova?

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE MARCHESA CASATI TOUCHED UP DRAWING]

And lastly, was not his intervention decisive in bringing about a
transformation of feminine costumes?

These sketches of gowns constitute an epoch in the history of fashion,
and they afford an access to painters into this domain from which they
have been excluded ever since the days of Gavarni. For

[Illustration: SKETCH]

Bakst is more than an a solitary creator. He is an inspirer whose
influence radiates forth over a huge periphery. How numerous are the
aspects

[Illustration: SKETCH]

of modern life that bear Bakst’s indelible seal, which is a label of
greatness and which confers an air of nobility in which one is never
mistaken!

These are the things of which I am thinking as I turn over with you, my
readers, the pages of this book. And as we have finished, we must begin
again--this time, however, in silent meditation, which is even more
gratifying.

[Illustration: LXI

PORTRAIT OF THE POET ANDREI BELY. CRAYON AND PENCIL]

[Illustration: LXII

A PORTRAIT]

[Illustration: LXIII

PORTRAIT OF THE BOY Z. RED CHALK]

[Illustration: LXIV

THE “WOMEN OF GOOD HUMOUR” BALLET. DOROTHEA]





EPILOGUE

[Illustration: PROJECT FOR EMBROIDERY]




BAKST AND RUSSIA


We have followed Bakst through each of the fields with which he was
familiar, whatever their nature. Each road in this labyrinth of styles
brought us back to the native land of the artist. Throughout, the exotic
or “Eurasiatic”--to use a word coined by a group of Russian dreamers in
exile--dominated. For the common herd Bakst is over and above all the
creator of an oriental fairyland. Even his very name, monosyllabic,
quickly pronounced, and cutting like the blade of a Turkish simitar,
seems to call up a fleeting but intense vision of Asia.

[Illustration]

Bakst was bound forever to disconcert the lovers of convenient formulas.
You think you have caught up with his jerky and lightning-like course,
when, lo! he has already escaped, to the delight of one of the “four
winds of the spirit”. There remains in your hand the sixth skin of the
serpent which it divests itself of--only to clothe itself again in the
seventh.

Recently, in the spring of 1922, we witnessed a new <g>avatar</g> of the
artist. Ten years previously he had left his fatherland for a new
fatherland that was more hospitable--for France. Now, under a splendid
impulse of piety, of tender homesickness, of filial love he returned of
his own accord to his Mother--Russia, bruised, trampled

[Illustration: LXV

“A PEASANT WOMAN” (SKETCH BY POTEMKINE). GOUACHE]

[Illustration: LXVI

“A PEASANT WOMAN” (SKETCH BY POTEMKINE). GOUACHE]

[Illustration: LXVII

COSTUME FOR “LE CHANTRE ET LA DÉVOTE”]

[Illustration: LXVIII

COSTUME OF PEASANT WOMAN FOR POTEMKINE’S “VILLAGE”]

[Illustration: DRAWING OF COVER FOR THE BOOK “RUSSIAN EX-LIBRIS”]

upon, dragged into the mud and blood by infamous villains. When all the
world deserted her, he watched by her bedside.

Chance had it that, at the very moment when Alexander Benois’
masterpiece, “Petroushka” was produced at the Opera, a mimic drama by
Bakst was played on the scanty stage of the Femina theater entitled
“Lâcheté”. Between these two surprising plots lies nothing less than a
half=century of Russian history--the fall of a throne and of a world.

The “burlesque scenes” of Benois seemed like the final blossoming=out of
ancient Petrograd, like a nostalgic vision of the imperial city, called
forth by an ardent lover of an abandoned past. A mob of people,
truculent, jeering, deafeningly noisy, with an exuberant movement of
cheerfulness, monopolizes the stage; a forceful, manifold, strikingly
lively rhythm constitutes, properly speaking, the action. In the rigid
and stiff scenery of the fated city, popular fancy has erected its
paradise of outlandish hovels, its blue and red “balagani”, in the open
air. Personages from the prints at ten kopecks and from the pictures of
Epinal come to life again and bestir themselves; comely “nounous” strut
about and try to attract; with noisy clatter of boots bearded coachmen
hasten the step of their squatting dance. Russian rural life for one
last time spends itself in these Slavic saturnalia. Even the dolls which
are the protagonists of the grotesque drama try to shake off their
mechanical torpor. They would like to become flesh and blood; they have
a hungry desire to live; at times, indeed, they really do live.

The action of “Lâcheté”, likewise, is staged at St. Petersburg which,
however, has become Petrograd--but not in the clear sunshine of a
winter’s day; rather within the concrete walls of the “People’s House”
which the last of the Czars erected to the glory of the modern capital.
Here the wooden horses are moved by powerful dynamos under the searching
light of electric lamps. But what has become of the mob in
“Petroushka”,--the motley, varied crowd? The doll, the artificial,
mechanical, automatic puppet has dispossessed the human being; it gets
the better of the disabled actor. There remains enough soul, however, in
this changed world to supply the bodies of five human

[Illustration]

beings; and what a soul, good God! Nothing in these puppets reminds one
of the smiling indifference of “Petroushka”. We are on the eve of
terrible happenings, and we feel it with sadness; a dull <g>ennui</g> weighs
upon us heavily, like the low cloud before a storm.

Ah! we are now in the Petrograd of 1916! How can we express all the
trickiness in the apathetic inertia of these figures that are scarcely
articulate, that are uniformly costumed and that skip about or sink down
at the will of their wires that direct them? Before this pliability,
this evil passivity of shapeless puppets, this cynical swaying motion of
impotent figures, this “dance of death” of inertia, the mimicked action
vanishes, and living men disappear. The drama of the passion--death
which passes, hideous and sneering,--becomes pallid under the gaze
without eyes of hostile faces.

How the inevitable closes about us! Everything in this atmosphere of
anguish and of hallucination becomes a latent menace. The day is near at
hand--one feels it with one’s whole soul, nervous with fear--when this
mass, inert, blind, crushing, will hurl itself upon quivering Russia.

Happy the blond student in green blouse who finds death as he pursues a
dream of love; he will not see it. He will not know hunger or exile or
disgrace. Who of us Russians would not envy him?

Such were the two faces of Russia which were exhibited by two painters
who are more than painters,--Benois who has the power of retrospective
divination, Bakst who possesses an understanding of modern life and of
its tumultuous forces.

But behold! the curtain which has just fallen on the bristling, rough,
malicious scenery of “Lâcheté”, rises once more to unfold before our
eyes a third Russia--a Russia debonair and drunken, ignorant and full of
spirit.

The vaudeville act “Old Moscow” depicts a rich and opulent city of
merchants wearing their <g>kaftans</g>, of free carousals, of a jovial
savagery. Two frames, reaching to the knees of the actors, form the
stage setting. On them is a miniature reproduction of the orphaned
capital with its forty times forty cupolas, encircled by the crenelated
walls of the Kremlin. And amidst this delightfully exaggerated parody of
a stage full of moujik=bourgeois, we see funny human beings,
overbubbling with good health, moving about dressed in wide, stiff
skirts that are sky=blue or tri=colored; likewise country women weighing
a hundred kilos.

The thing that is of importance above everything else in this caricature
composed without any masked thought is that aroma of the land which,
even in its funniest moments, makes the tears come to the eyes of Moscow
<g>émigrés</g>.

Today Bakst is completely absorbed by this forgotten world which rises
about him on a background of a distant past. He is consumed with an
appetite for Russian memories, emotions and visions. Each day in his
studio a population of Russian figures keeps multiplying--models and
groups of which not only their costume but their very attitude has
something indefinably national about them, something profoundly popular,
in short, something authentic. And to what purpose? The artist as yet
does not know. Once the actors are placed upon the stage, he says to
himself, the play will start spontaneously. And in pursuing his enormous
and unceasing labors he lets things take their course without hastening
them.--

We have accompanied Bakst up to his last station. It is time, therefore,
for this sketch to end. The writer takes leave of his readers and
descends into the audience in order with his readers to await the rising
of the curtain for the next act of the most beautiful of plays: the life
of a grand and noble artist.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




CONTENTS




TEXT


The Story of Leon Bakst’s Life. Preface                               13

The Yellow Drawing Room                                               15

The Ungrateful Age                                                    18

The Two Sphinxes                                                      32

A Wrong Start                                                         40

The Club                                                              48

Mir Iskousstva                                                        56

The Three Knocks                                                      77

The Theban Gate                                                       89

Terror Antiquus                                                      107

The Spiral Road                                                      110

A Show in an Armchair                                                132

Epilogue. Bakst and Russia                                           217




PLATES


Portrait of Bakst by Modigliani                                I

“Chastising Cupid”, project of decorative panel               II

D’Annunzio’s “Martyrdom of St. Sebastian”,
Mme. Rubinstein in the 5th act                               III

Judith of Bethulia (panel)                                    IV

“Forsaken Chloe”, project of decorative panel. (Gouache)       V

Portrait of Mr. T. (red chalk)                                VI

“Modern dress” (a “fantaisie”)                               VII

“Daphnis and Chloe parting in the evening”, sketch for
decorative panel. (Gouache)                                 VIII

“Sheherazade” ballet. First Eunuch. (Gouache)                 IX

An inferior deity. “Narcissus” ballet. (Gouache)               X

Stage decorations for ballet “Orientales”. (Gouache)          XI

A Negro’s costume (Sheherazade)                              XII

Stage decorations for Oscar Wilde’s “Salome”. (Gouache)     XIII

“Phædra” tragedy. Phædra’s nurse                             XIV

Stage decorations for Hindu ballet. (Gouache)                 XV

Mme. Ida Rubinstein as St. Sebastian                         XVI

The imperial palace (“The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian”)      XVII

Mme. Rubinstein in “The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian”        XVIII

The “Women of good humour” ballet. Rinaldo.
(Gouache)                                                    XIX

Stage decorations for “Phædra” (Gouache)                      XX

A costume. “Narcissus” ballet                                XXI

The Pilgrim (“Blue God” ballet). Gouache                    XXII

Stage decorations for act 4th of D’Annunzio’s
“St. Sebastian”. (Gouache)                                 XXIII

The Czarevitch’s costume (“The Bird of Fire”)               XXIV

Project of stage decorations for “Sleeping Beauty”           XXV

Stage decorations for the vault scene (“St. Sebastian”)     XXVI

“Terror antiquus”. First golden medal. 1911 Universal
Exhibition (Brussels)                                      XXVII

“Terror antiquus” (detailed)                              XXVIII

Submarine monsters (“Sadko” opera). Gouache                 XXIX

Stage decorations for the ballet “Women of good
humour” (second version). Gouache                            XXX

A bacchanalian dance (Joseph) by R. Strauss                 XXXI

Mr. Nijinsky as “Blue God”. (Gouache)                      XXXII

The red Sultana                                           XXXIII

The pink Sultana. (Gouache)                                XXXIV

The yellow Sultana. (Gouache)                               XXXV

Stage decorations for the “Blue God”                       XXXVI

Stage decorations for act 3rd of Verhaerens’s “Helen
  of Sparta”. (Gouache)                                   XXXVII

Stage decorations for the “Cleopatra” ballet             XXXVIII

Costume for Tcherepnine’s “Adoration”                      XXXIX

Costume for Stravinsky’s “Bird of Fire”                       XL

The “Boutique fantasque” ballet. The child with dolls        XLI

The “Butterflies” ballet. A valet in 1850                   XLII

A huntress. Decorative panel                               XLIII

The “Boutique fantasque” ballet. A doll                     XLIV

A page (“Aladin” ballet)                                     XLV

A page in Louis XIV’s style (“Aladin” ballet)               XLVI

The Empress Elisabeth Petrovna hunting. (Gouache)          XLVII

Delphi. (Gouache)                                         XLVIII

Galisson, Prince Charmant’s tutor. Louis XIV
  ballet (Pavlova tournée). Gouache                        XLXIX

The Bird of Fire (another version). Gouache                    L

The “Boutique fantasque” ballet. The Englishwoman             LI

The “Boutique fantasque” ballet. The Englishman              LII

Stage decorations for “Thamar”                              LIII

“Sadko”                                                      LIV

The “Boutique fantasque” ballet. “La poupée aux
  dentelles”                                                  LV

Modern Costume (A “fantaisie”). Gouache                      LVI

Portrait of Ida Rubinstein                                  LVII

A call (Poster for an exhibition at Vienna). Gouache       LVIII

A living model. Red chalk and chalk                          LIX

The “Boutique fantasque” ballet. An Italian doll              LX

Portrait of the poet A. Bely. Crayon and pencil              LXI

A portrait                                                  LXII

Portrait of the boy Z. Red chalk                           LXIII

The “Women of good humour” ballet. Dorothea                 LXIV

A peasant woman (Sketch by Potemkine). Gouache               LXV

A peasant woman (Sketch by Potemkine). Gouache              LXVI

Costume for “Le chantre et la dévote”                      LXVII

Costume of peasant woman for Potemkine’s “Village”        LXVIII

[Illustration]

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

certain amateurishsess=> certain amateurishness {pg 50}

Offtimes he is mistaken=> Oftimes he is mistaken {pg 50}

due do the fact=> due to the fact {pg 50}

quite agressive=> quite aggressive {pg 50}

when its was exhibited=> when it was exhibited {pg 109}

uncompromising youth wo defie=> uncompromising youth who defie {pg 122}

painter Pierre Ronnard=> painter Pierre Bonnard {pg 180}

Baskt exchanges=> Bakst exchanges {pg 203}