Alone in the gathering gloom, Narcissus continues in rapt adoration of
his own fair image. As presently appears, he is rooted, literally, to
the spot. For as he stands there gazing he slowly sinks downward into
the mossy soil, and in his place there rises a tall narcissus flower,
whose pale petals glimmer luminously in the dusky twilight. From nooks
and crannies the sylvan sprites creep silently forth, to pry with timid,
curious eyes upon this strange apparition. Upon this ghostly scene, and
the forlorn figure of Echo, passing sadly across the leafy bridge, the
curtain gently descends.
One regrets to end this account of what is in many ways a charming
ballet upon an adverse note. But a protest _must_ be entered against the
Brobdingnagian flower, so evidently a thing of paint and paste-board,
which is thrust up from the trap-door cavity by which Narcissus makes
his escape. The whole business is so monstrously crude and childish that
one can scarcely credit its occurrence. In conception the conclusion of
the ballet is admirable, but if trap-doors and cardboard flowers
(popping up from the soil in full bloom and fresh with the property
master’s paint) are the only means by which such an ending can be
accomplished, it seems amazing that such ordinarily nice taste as the
Russians display should tolerate these enormities. There is a sense of
proportion lacking here, as at the opening of the ballet when a clumsy
heaviness of hand, seeking to make the most of the elfin creatures of
the wood, effectually reduces them to nothing. The poignant final
passage between Echo and Narcissus, eloquently expressed by Karsavina
and Nijinsky, is spoilt by this grotesque termination.
Happily these blunders are as rare as they are inexplicable. Only
perhaps in “Le Dieu Bleu,” with its similar resort to the artifice of
the trap-door, its matter-of-fact demons, and impossible flight of
aerial steps, is there a parallel to these which mar the beauties of
“Narcisse.” Too close an attention to the cult of the body is perhaps
the cause of this material, ultra-realistic touch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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