Ballet in Two Tableaux by Michel Fokine.

Music by Igor Stravinsky.

Scenery and Costumes designed by Golovine.

AN element of unreality is of advantage in the theme of a ballet. It not only excuses, but demands, the fantastic, for which the means of expression at disposal—pantomimic action, illustrative or suggestive music, for example—provide a suitable vehicle. It eases matters all round, and converts what are obstacles to the convincing treatment of a strictly realistic theme into positive aids.

It may be noted that this element of unreality, in varying qualities and degrees, is present in nearly all the themes which the Russians have chosen for presentation, and is most pronounced in those ballets which achieve the greatest artistic effect. Indeed, these dancers and mimes may be observed to introduce a suggestion of the fantastic, subconsciously if not deliberately, even where such is not necessarily required, seeming thereby to recognise tacitly the useful modification of the restrictions of their art which a remoteness from literal fact effects. “Le Carnaval” would not be the exquisite thing it is but for the impersonal, fantastic character with which the gay, flitting figures of the bal masquÉ are so delicately endowed. Even when historical tradition is drawn upon, as in “ClÉopÂtre,” the episode is treated with an imaginative licence which removes it very nearly into the region of fancy.

The plot of “L’Oiseau de Feu” is based upon a folk tale. At least, if precisely such a story is not to be found in any known folklore, it is obvious whence its inventor has derived inspiration. To watch a performance of this ballet is to see one of Grimm’s Tales come to life before one’s eyes—an experience as agreeably thrilling in these later (but let us hope not entirely sophisticated) years, as was formerly a perusal of pages in that immortal book. In some respects, perhaps, it is an experience more thrilling, for the story of the Fire Bird has the advantage of being unfolded to the accompaniment of Stravinsky’s music—an enhancement of its dramatic value which it would be difficult to over-rate. Stravinsky’s orchestral methods, it may be remarked in passing, have a special interest of their own, but it is enough here to comment on the descriptive quality of his music for this ballet, which is great.

The fantastic note is sounded at the very outset by the overture. Strange mutterings and uncouth, unexpected harmonies attune the hearer to an atmosphere of mystery and enchantment; he is ripe, when at length the curtain rises, for adventure in the gloomy forest whose midnight depths are disclosed. For the moment the eye takes in but little detail of the darkened stage. Gradually an open space within the forest depths is perceived, at the back of which stand high gates, giving upon a flight of stone steps. Whither the steps lead, what lies beyond, is hidden by the gloomy shadows. No friendly lamp surmounts the gates to light and welcome the belated traveller. If not the disused portals of some derelict demesne swallowed up by the encroaching forest, they must surely guard the secret lair of sorcerer or ogre. Dimly the wall in which the gates are set can be descried, but nothing else is visible save a low tree upon which a pale moonbeam falls slantingly.

Nought is stirring in the forest, but the midnight stillness is pregnant with mystery. Magic influences are abroad, there is a sense of something untoward about to happen. Suddenly a queer little motif, already heard in the overture, assails the ear; the music glows (if the image be allowed) like an ember fanned; and shedding a golden effulgence all around, the Fire Bird floats downward through the trees. The radiant object vanishes almost as soon as it is seen; but hardly has it gone when a stir among the trees attracts attention, and a young man is seen looking over a low wall that adjoins the mysterious gates. He peers eagerly in the direction taken by the Fire Bird, then vaults the wall and dashes impetuously in pursuit. Such wondrous quarry was never seen before by mortal hunter, and lured by its splendour Ivan Tsarevitch has ventured far from beaten tracks, heedless in his infatuated quest of the danger into which his careless steps have strayed.

But as he dashes across the clearing he is arrested by a faint gleam of something in the moonlight. Wonder fills him as he sees that the tree, which alone of all surrounding objects is illumined, bears golden fruit. He is about to satisfy his curiosity by a closer inspection, when again there is warning of the Fire Bird’s approach.

Quickly Ivan takes refuge beneath the clustered branches of the tree, and from this place of concealment spies upon the glittering apparition of the Bird of Fire. Unwitting of his near proximity the latter disports itself gleefully in the open clearing. Twice it approaches the tree, as if to seize the golden fruit, and each time Ivan, for all his daring, is powerless to make the longed-for capture. The brilliant light which emanates from the radiant creature dazzles and perplexes him. But once more the Fire Bird nears the tree, and this time Ivan, with a sudden impulse, springs forward and boldly seizes the coveted quarry.

There follows a passage between captive and captor, which can scarcely be described as a dance, yet is something more than the mere acting of a scene. Desperately and repeatedly the Fire Bird strives to escape from the strong arms which imprison it; again and again the Prince, though hard put to it to retain the elusive creature in his grasp, frustrates these fluttering efforts. Though dancing, in the sense of rhythmic movement, is not the precise descriptive term for these expressive postures and motions, one needs it to convey the poetic sense of beauty which Karsavina here reveals. It is no easy thing to suggest the panic fears, the tremulous attempts at flight of a captured wild bird; yet by look, by pose, above all by gesture and the motion of quivering, restless arms and hands, the dancer subtly achieves that difficult effect.

Frantically the Fire Bird struggles to escape; determinedly, at each new effort, the strong arms renew their hold. Then the creature has resort to guile, luring its captor to look full upon its dazzling countenance. The ruse is nearly successful; half-blinded by his captive’s beauty the Prince’s grip relaxes, but he doggedly keeps his advantage and release is still denied.

A ransom only will suffice. With sudden gesture the Fire Bird plucks a gleaming feather from its body and holds it forth—a talisman against evil, and pledge of its owner’s aid in hour of need. The Prince, abashed, accepts it, and as he places it for

safety in his girdle, the Fire Bird, rejoicing with agile dance in its regained freedom, vanishes into the recesses of the forest. As it flits away a momentary compunction pricks the young man. That such a wondrous quarry should elude him irks his hunter’s pride, and he snatches up his cross bow with intent to shoot. But even as he draws the string he calls to mind the compact made, and remembers that he is bound in honour to abstain from new aggression. With petulant gesture he lowers the weapon from his shoulder, and turns to go.

The darkness which has shrouded the forest depths is fading now. Through the no longer impenetrable gloom a sloping bank is seen, to which the steps behind the closed gates give access. Athwart this bank is now discernible a castle tower, and through the archway of this, even as the Prince, with astonished gaze, is wondering whither he should turn his steps, a young girl suddenly appears. She pauses silently for a moment, then slowly advances along the bank. Other maidens emerge behind her from the tower. Flesh and blood, and very fair to look upon, they seem, but in their long white gowns, so suddenly and strangely appearing, they have an almost spectral aspect, and the young man, caution prompting, hastily seeks a hiding-place from which he can watch unobserved.

One by one the maidens, in number twelve, gather upon the bank. The gates fly open at their approach, and with girlish glee they trip forth into the forest clearing. A moment later, hurrying to join her companions, yet another damsel appears, whose mien and richer attire seem to indicate a lofty rank. She hastens to the magic tree and gently shakes its bough. Down falls a shower of gleaming fruit, to the delight of the expectant maidens, who nimbly pursue, helter-skelter, the golden apples as they roll.

Sportively they dance and toss the apples to and fro, innocently enjoying their hour of liberty, and unaware that any stranger’s eye observes them. But Ivan, in his place of concealment, finds his curiosity irresistible. Bursting impetuously forth, he appears before the frolicsome, now startled, group. In dismay, the maidens drop their playthings and flee in apprehension before the bold intrusion. Ivan doffs his cap, and with a courtly salutation seeks to allay their fears. Observing an apple that has rolled to his feet, he picks it up, and with outstretched hand proffers it gently to the leader of the timid band. She takes it shyly, obviously not insensible to the grace and handsome bearing of the stranger; but upon Ivan seeking to improve this advantage by a nearer approach, all fly from him in fresh alarm. Again he does them reverence, endeavouring by his attitudes to reassure them, and presently has the gratification of seeing their confidence return.

The prince-errant discovers now his whereabouts, and the strange peril of his situation. He is before the castle, it seems, of Kostchei Live-for-Ever, an ogre of monstrous villainy, who loves to practise sorcery on such benighted travellers as may chance to ask his hospitality. Some he bewitches and keeps immured within his dreadful asylum: others he petrifies—as the stone figures looming in the background bear grimly silent testimony. His fair companions, Ivan learns further, are a luckless princess and her attendants, who have fallen under the ogre’s spell, and though escaping malformation at his evil hands, remain prisoners pent within his domain. A brief hour of release nightly is all their respite—and already the moment is at hand when they must retire into the enchanted castle.

Already between the gallant prince and the lovely Tsarevna tender looks have been exchanged, and there follows a charming love passage between the two. The chivalrous constraint of the ardent youth, the shy modesty of the not less ardent maiden, and the climax of mutual surrender are romantically portrayed in expressive pantomime.

But the ecstasy to which the lovers, all intervening barriers broken down, at last commit themselves is quickly interrupted. Warning sounds are heard, and though for these the enraptured pair have at first no ears, the attendants of the Princess are driven by fear to call attention to them. Hurriedly the maidens pass through the magic gates, the beautiful Tsarevna lingering for a last embrace. With difficulty she tears herself from her lover’s imploring arms, and slips through the already moving gates, only in the nick of time. Impetuously Ivan darts forward, but the gates clang to in his face. Within, at the threshold of the dark tower, which is to swallow her up, he has a glimpse of the Princess’ last fluttering signal of farewell.

It is light now. All around is plainly visible the fantastic foliage of the enchanted forest. The stone images of hapless predecessors, who perchance once found themselves in similar plight, are close at hand. Prudence dictates an instant flight from the horrid spot. But the young man is frantic. Warnings are forgotten, caution is ignored. With bold determination he seizes the iron gates, and shakes them violently. They yield to his wrench and fly suddenly open.

On the instant there is a loud clanging of bells, discordant music peals through the air, and forth from the gloomy tower there rushes a terrifying crowd of extraordinary persons—terrifying alike for the suddenness of their appearance, the swift fierceness of their irruption, and the strangeness of their aspect. A horde of savage Indians, leaping wildly down the sloping bank, has pounced upon the wretched Ivan and borne him to the ground, even while he recoils before the staggering result of his temerity. Close upon their heels follow Turks and Chinamen, clowns and dancers—an odd medley of grotesque figures garbed in a glittering array of fantastic dresses. Some bear arms—lances, swords, shields and poniards; others are studded with flashing gems; all comport themselves in some freakish manner, which inspires horror even while it moves to mirth. Here is a comic pair who advance with a kind of jog-trot dance; there waddle a number of wretched creatures with bent, distorted legs. No monarch of bedlam was ever surrounded by so wild, incredible a court.

The effect of this sudden development is startling; in the space of a few brief moments the gloomy forest clearing, now brilliantly illumined, is filled with this astonishing rout. On the steps behind the gates, too, and upon the sloping bank to which they lead, the fantastic assembly is massed. At one side, guarded by his strange captors, and overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events, the rash Prince regards the scene in stupefied amazement.

The riot of senseless movement which the crowd of figures has maintained continuously from the moment of entry ceases suddenly, and those lining the bank above the clearing suddenly prostrate themselves. In a moment all are grovelling flat, with faces turned abjectly to the ground. Their lord and master, Kostchei Live-for-Ever, approaches—an unclean, hairy monster, with claw-like avaricious fingers, embodiment of malice and all evil. Queer hunchbacks, in motley garb and bearing wands of office, attend him.

The ogre’s restless eye lights upon Ivan, and the latter is dragged forward to confront him. Seeing no trace of pity in that evil countenance, the dismayed Prince makes an effort to fly. But the Indians and the bent-legged deformities fling themselves upon him and he is overcome before he can escape. A ray of hope sustains him as at this moment he sees the beautiful Tsarevna and her maidens hurrying to the scene. Imploringly the girls intercede on behalf of Ivan, but the ogre thrusts them aside, determined to add one more to his tale of victims. He advances to where the Prince stands beside the group of melancholy stone images.

Vindictively the ogre makes passes in the air. The Prince, bracing himself to meet the attack, endeavours to resist the magic influence, and for the moment is successful. But he reels under the strain of effort, and when a second pass is made it is clear that he is within an ace of succumbing. At his final gasp, however, Ivan bethinks him of the feather bestowed upon him by the Fire Bird. He pulls it from his girdle and brandishes it in his enemy’s face.

The ogre staggers back before the flashing token, his discomfiture increasing at the apparition, in the same moment, of the Fire Bird, against whom he knows his black arts to be of no avail. Baffled, he totters to his hunchback retinue, while the Fire Bird usurps his power of domination. With rhythmic gesture it stirs the supine crowd to movement; and the movement it presently excites to a dance, the dance to a frenzy. Now here, now there, flitting to and fro the dazzling creature goads to fiercer efforts. Faster with every moment the pace increases, till the whole mad throng is swept into a wild whirl, which oscillates obedient to the Fire Bird’s waving arms. All at length collapse exhausted upon the ground, and yielding further to the Fire Bird’s mystic influence are presently sunk in slumber. Last to succumb is the thwarted ogre, but even he is forced to give way to the drowsiness which assails him.

Standing amongst the prostrate figures the Fire Bird points to the sleeping figure of Tsarevna, and with signs directs the wondering Ivan to remove her to a post of safety. The young man obeys, and gently props the inert body of the Princess against the trunk of a convenient tree. Then, further following the directions of his protector, he steps into a hollow tree and fetches from it a casket. As he emerges with this in his hand the sleepers stir uneasily, and as he places it on the ground and lifts the lid their torpor swiftly leaves them. Excitedly they raise themselves, while the ogre, starting from slumber, dashes forward in an agony of fear.

From the casket Ivan draws forth a monstrous egg, which he holds aloft. The ogre’s terror is dire—for the egg contains his soul, and he is Kostchei Live-for-Ever only so long as the egg remains unbroken. The strange object exercises an almost equal fascination upon the victims of the ogre’s malice. Every eye is fixed upon it. Ivan makes as if to drop it, and a shudder runs through all; when sportively he throws it lightly from hand to hand, there is pitiful consternation.

The ogre is in the last extremity of fright. Desperately he endeavours to seize the precious thing, but Ivan is too quick, and raising the egg above his head he dashes it to the ground. As it breaks in two Kostchei Live-for-Ever falls dead at his feet. There is a loud crash, and black darkness.

When presently the light returns, Ivan finds himself still in the forest clearing. But the Fire Bird has vanished; vanished, too, the ogre and his strange court. Wonderingly he gazes round. Close at hand, on the spot where previously was the group of stone effigies, a band of young men, handsomely attired, is waiting to greet him: opposite there is a bevy of maidens in whom he recognises the enchanted damsels of his late adventure. Gladly his eye lights, too, upon the beautiful Tsarevna, still wrapped in sleep in the place of safety to which he committed her. The strange scene which lingers so vividly in his mind was not, then, a mere dream.

But who are these gracious persons now advancing to pay him courtesies? Gratefully the young men explain that they are victims of the ogre’s sorcery now released by that monster’s overthrow—no other indeed than the stones come to life. The maidens give him the joyous tidings that in similar wise the spell which held them is also broken.

Even while these explanations are going forward, two servants descend from the castle and fling wide the gates. Forth there comes a gallant company of men and women, no longer full of grotesque antics or clownishly bedizened, but clothed with dignity and in their proper minds. These, too, pay courtesies to their deliverer, who presently perceives that the Princess, awakened from her trance, has risen to her feet. He approaches and salutes her; then before the assembled company, she consenting, embraces her. Pages and attendants bring from the castle a flashing crown and sceptre, and as the Prince is being invested with these, the Fire Bird, its mission accomplished, soars upward in dazzling flight. The joyous climax is reached, and upon the proud figure of Ivan Tsarevitch, surrounded by a loyal court, the beautiful Tsarevna’s hand in his, the curtain falls to triumphant strains of music.

There is not the least doubt that they lived happily ever afterwards.