Petrushka, curious, inimitable ballet-child of Igor Stravinsky, was given last week for the first time this season at the Metropolitan Opera House, Manhattan. Poor Petrushka, superbly done by Adolf Bolm, danced and danced, wriggled and writhed, beat his breast, accomplished nothing, became in the end just the pitiful ghost of the brave puppet he was. Florence Rudolph was the ballerina; Giuseppe Bonfiglio, the dashing Moor who won her; Serge Sondeikine, the author of the dazzling bright sets; Stravinsky, the genius in back of it all, Stravinsky at his best—sure, reckless, rhythmical, vivid.
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