When Vaslav Nijinsky's brain cracked so that he could no longer recognize people or places, his friends had the idea of taking him once more to see the Diaghilev Ballet which he had helped to make the world's greatest dancing corps. Only once during the performance did Nijinsky appear to see through the fog. Serge Lifar, a young protégé of Diaghilev, started to dance Le Spectre de la Rose in which Nijinsky did his never-to-be-forgotten leap through an open window. When the music started Nijinsky's dead, dumb eyes suddenly brightened. He turned to his wife and said, "Can he jump?"* Partly because of this episode, partly because Lifar, now ballet master at the Paris Opera, does many of Nijinsky's roles, the saying has gone around that the 28-year-old Russian "now wears Nijinsky's mantle." Excited by such advance talk, New Yorkers jammed a theatre to overflowing this week for the U. S. debut of Serge Lifar. But when the evening was over consensus was that Lifar's "mantle" was threadbare and worn beyond recognition. If it had ever been Nijinsky's it had shrunk to a loincloth. Like Nijinsky, everyone wanted to know if Lifar could jump. He could and it was a pretty jump, but not impressively long or high. He could do smooth, floating arabesques. He leaped once into the air. did a picturesque wriggle and landed gracefully curled up on his side. But his dancing had little of the flowing, unbroken quality which made Nijinsky's seem like a logical supplement to the music. His choreography was banal, his company incompetent. Only in L'Apres-Midi d'un Faune did he achieve the unusual. Then, in flesh-colored tights and a leafy wreath, he went through a series of postures which were a model of muscular grace.
Green Table