nts, and it must be admitted that, even
with his weaker company, he gave us finer exhibitions of stage art than
had previously been even the exception here.

In the circumstances, however, certain pieces, which were originally
produced when the company was in the flush of its first glory, should
never have been presented here at all. It was not the part of reason,
for example, to pitchfork on the Century stage an indifferent
performance of _Le Pavilion d'Armide_, in which Nijinsky once disported
himself as the favourite slave, and which, as a matter of fact, requires
a company of _virtuosi_ to make it a passable diversion. _Cleopatre_, in
its original form with Nijinsky, Fokine, Pavlowa, Ida Rubinstein, and
others, hit all who saw it square between the eyes. The absurdly
expurgated edition, with its inadequate cast, offered to New York, was
but the palest shadow of the sensuous entertainment that had aroused all
Paris, from the Batignolles to the Bastille. The music, the setting, the
costumes--what else was left to celebrate? The altered choregraphy, the
deplorable interpretation, drew tears of rage from at least one pair of
eyes. It was quite incomprehensible also why _The Firebird_, which
depends on the grace and poetical imagination of the filmiest and most
fairy-like actress-dancer, should have found a place in the repertoire.
It is the dancing equivalent of a coloratura soprano role in opera.
Thankful, however, for the great joy of having re-heard Strawinsky's
wonderful score, I am willing to overlook this tactical error.

All things considered, it is small wonder that a large slice of the
paying population of New York tired of the Ballet in short order. One
reason for this cessation of interest was the constant repetition of
ballets. In London and Paris the seasons as a rule have been shorter,
and on certain evenings of the week opera has taken the place of the
dance. It has been rare indeed that a single work has been repeated more
than three or four times during an engagement. I have not found it
stupid to listen to and look at perhaps fifteen performances of varying
degrees of merit of _Petrouchka_, _Scheherazade_, _Carneval_, and the
dances from _Prince Igor_; I would rather see the Russian Ballet
repeatedly, even as it existed in America, than four thousand five
hundred and six Broadway plays or seventy-three operas at the
Metropolitan once, but I dare say I may look upon myself as an
exception.

At any ra