The great theatrical sensation of the mid-’forties was the famous Pas de Quatre, composed of Lucile Grahn, Fanny Cerito, Carlotta Grisi, and Marie Taglioni, the last-named making a welcome return to the stage after an absence of some years. This was in 1845. Taglioni’s reappearance and a dispute between the dancers as to the order of their entrée gave the event a handsome advertisement.
In the end the difficulty was settled by Lumley, the manager of the Opera, deciding that, as Mlle. Taglioni herself was indifferent as to when she made her entrance, they should appear according to age, the youngest first; and in consequence Lucile Grahn led the quartette, a crescendo of applause finishing in a terrific climax as Taglioni, greatest of them all, appeared, and, as one witness declared, “the whole house went clean mad.”
Marie Taglioni, greatest of the four, was the first to give the impulse towards the creation of that new school which the others represented. The technique of all four was virtually the same, that which had always been traditional. In the foundations of their art all were of the old school. All had been thoroughly drilled in the eternal “five positions.” But in the spirit of this art all were as new for their period, and by contrast with the eighteenth-century school, as Camargo had been when she first quickened that school by the introduction of a fresher inspiration and new miracles of execution; and as Sallé had been when she had striven to replace the convention of pannier and cuirasse for classic hero and heroine, with a costume nearer to Hellenic truth and beauty. And of the four who made theatrical dancing in the ’forties of last century what it was, Taglioni was the pioneer.
She was one of a family of Taglionis. There was Louise, who had won distinction at the Opera under the Empire, and who had a sister so beautiful that when she left the stage to marry an Italian gentleman and settle down at Venice, it came to be a proverb, “To see Venice and the beautiful Contarini.” Marie was the niece of these two.
Born at Stockholm in 1804, she was the daughter of Philip Taglioni (1777-1871), a ballet-master from Milan, and a Swedish mother, née Anna Karsten, whose grandfather had been a famous actor and singer at the Swedish Court. In these two strains probably we have one of the secrets of Marie Taglioni’s art, for, while from the Italian side she would have inherited that passion for technique which is innate in the Latin races, from the maternal she would have received the impulse towards a poetic and dreamy idealism which is characteristic of the North.
Add to this the fact that her father was not only a really accomplished teacher of dancing but was steeped in the romantic legends and poetry of Scandinavia, and we are better able to understand how it was the stiff formalism and poetic conventionalities of Ballet in the pre-Taglioni period had to succumb to the new breath of inspiration which was to set all London and Paris raving of its beauty in the ’forties, and fire even so temperate and cynical an observer as Thackeray to enthusiastic expressions of admiration of Marie Taglioni in “Sylphide.”
As a child she was unprepossessing to look at and had physical defects. It is said that when the famous dancing master, Coulon, was consulted as to the teaching of the child, he exclaimed: “What can I do with that little hunch-back?”
Nevertheless, her father intended that she should become a dancer, and, taking her in hand himself, a dancer she became; with the result that—to adapt the expression of an ingenious French critic—between them they ultimately taglionised the Ballet.
Marie made her first appearance at Vienna in 1822, in a ballet bearing the lengthy title, “Réception d’une jeune nymphe à la cour de Terpsichore.” Her father had arranged a pas for her début, but in her confusion, it is said, she forgot it, and substituted another of her own invention, which proved a triumphant success.
From Vienna she went to Stuttgart, where the Queen of Würtemberg became so attached to her that she treated her like a sister, and was seen to shed tears on the occasion of Taglioni’s last appearance at the Stuttgart Opera House. She next proceeded to Munich, where she was equally well received by the royal family, finally making her début at Paris on July 23rd, 1827, in a ballet called “Le Sicilien.”
Her appearance was an immediate success, and was followed by fresh triumphs in “La Vestale,” “Fernando Cortez,” “Les Bayadères” and “Le Carnaval de Venise,” this first engagement terminating on August 10th. One critic of her time writes enthusiastically of the effect she created with: “sa grâce naïve, ses poses décentes et voluptueuses, son extrême légèreté, la nouveauté de sa danse, dont les effets semblaient appartenir aux inspirations de la nature au lieu d’être les résultats des combinaisons de l’art et du travail de l’école, produisirent une sensation très vive sur le public. Le talent d’une virtuose qui s’éloigne de la route battue par ses devanciers, trouve des opposants que la continuité des succès ne désarme pas toujours: il n’y eut qu’une voix sur Mlle. Taglioni: tout le monde fut enchanté, ravi.”
The Ballet had grown formalised, stale. Taglioni came as spirit from another sphere to infuse new vitality and idealism into its wearied splendour, and she provided jaded opera lovers with a new thrill. After her Parisian début, she was re-engaged for the following year and returned in the April of 1828 to win further admiration in “Les Bayadères,” and “Lydie” and “Psyché”; then, the year after, in “La Belle au Bois dormant,” a fifteen years’ engagement being finally offered to her at the Opera, with intervals of absence sufficient to enable her to pay visits to Germany, Russia, Italy and England, when, in every country, she achieved fresh triumphs.
Her London début at the benefit of Laporte, manager at Her Majesty’s Theatre, took place on June 3rd, 1830, in Didelot’s ballet of “Flore et Zephire.”
A contemporary account of her dancing says: “Taglioni unquestionably combines the finest requisites for eminence in her art. The union she displays of muscular ability with the most feminine delicacy of frame and figure is truly extraordinary. A charming simplicity, the principal characteristic of her demeanour on the stage—an utter absence of that false consequence and bombast of carriage and manner which have so peculiarly marked too many artistes of our time; and a native grace and matchless precision in her movements, even those in which the most astonishing difficulties are conquered, and which yet appear to demand of her no effort, leave us delighted with the fairyism of the lovely being before us ... and enchant us into forgetfulness of the unwearied perseverance and application by which, in aid of the lavish gifts of Nature, such unrivalled excellence has been attained.”
Every contemporary account of Taglioni insists always on that one note, the idealism of her art. The late Mme. Katti-Lanner, who saw her dance, told me once that she appeared like some fairy being always about to soar away from the earth to which she seemed so little to belong.
Was it not Victor Hugo who inscribed a volume which he sent to her: “à vos pieds—à vos ailes”?
It was but natural then that she should be the ideal exponent of the title-rôle in that graceful Ballet “Sylphide,” which was produced at Paris on March 14th, 1832.
The importance of the new influence brought to bear on the art of Ballet by the advent of Taglioni and the contrast between the older and the newer schools was well defined by Théophile Gautier who, writing of “Sylphide” said: “Ce ballet commença pour la chorégraphie une ère toute nouvelle et ce fut par lui que le romantisme s’introduisit dans le domaine de Terpsichore. A dater de la ‘Sylphide,’ les ‘Filets de Vulcain,’ ‘Flore et Zephire’ ne furent plus possibles: l’Opéra fut livré aux gnomes, aux ondins, aux salamandres, aux elfes, aux nixes, aux willis, aux péris et à tout ce peuple étrange et mystérieux qui se prête si merveilleusement aux fantaisies du maître de ballet. Les douze maisons de marbre et d’or des Olympies furent reléguées dans la poussière des magasins, et l’on ne commanda plus aux décorateurs que des forêts romantiques, que des vallées éclairées par le joli clair de lune allemand des ballades de Henri Heine....”
The poet Méry remarked of the new dancer: “Avec Mlle. Taglioni la danse s’est élevée à la sainteté d’un art.” That is just what she achieved. Dancing, which had become a mechanical display of technical tours de force, was restored to the dignity—or sanctity—of an art.
But her influence extended further. She enlarged the perspective of the stage effects. The stiff formalism of “classic” scenes, of neat temples and trim vistas gave place to mysterious lakes and umbrageous forests, vast spaces that stirred the imagination and prepared the mind for the entrée of visionary dancers.
The story of “Sylphide” is of the love of a sylph for a handsome young Highland peasant, who is haunted by visions of her in his dreams and memories of the vision on awaking, so much so that the heart of his own betrothed is broken and his brain is turned by the manifestation of his aerial love, who herself becomes the victim of an unhappier fate by a terrible spell cast on her by infernal powers and woven during a witches’ sabbath, which forms one of the more impressive scenes of the ballet. The plot was adapted from Charles Nodier’s story, Trilby, by Adolphe Nourrit, and the music by Schneitzhöffer was pronounced “excellent” by Castil-Blaze, who remarked that it was an “Œuvre infiniment remarquable dans un genre qui peut devenir important lorsqu’un homme de talent et d’esprit veut bien l’adopter.” He also reports of the first production of “Sylphide” in Paris, that it had a succès merveilleux.
Elsewhere Taglioni’s success was no less remarkable. Indeed, wheresoever she went she achieved a triumph. At Petrograd such tempting offers were made by the Emperor and Empress that she prolonged her stay for three years, and left laden with gifts from their Imperial Majesties. At Vienna, on one occasion, having been called before the curtain twenty-two times, when she finally got away from the Opera House her carriage was drawn to her hotel by forty young men of the leading Austrian families. In London she was worshipped by the public, and was one of the special admirations of the youthful Queen Victoria, some of whose dolls (as in the case of Brocard, Pauline Leroux, and other dancers) were dressed to represent the characters Taglioni played, and may be seen to-day in the London Museum.
Taglioni was married to Gilbert, Comte de Voisins, in 1835, but the marriage was not a happy one and was dissolved in 1844. She retired for a little time, but returned to the stage again and appeared in London, with triumphant success, in 1845.
The climax of a great season came in July of that year, when, at the request of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, the Pas de Quatre, to which reference has already been made, was arranged for the four great dancers, Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi and Lucile Grahn. One critic remarked that the appearance of four such stars on the same boards and in the same pas was “truly what our Gallic neighbours call une solennité théâtrale, and such a one as none of those who beheld it are likely to witness again.”
It was, he declared rightly, “an event unparalleled in theatrical annals, and one which, some two score years hence, may be handed down to a new generation by garrulous septuagenarians as one of the most brilliant reminiscences of days gone by.”
Without being a septuagenarian, or being in a position to remember an event about which to grow garrulous, all who have studied theatrical history at all can freely endorse the remark. Probably never in any theatre was seen such excitement as there was on this occasion. Contemporary testimony, when authoritative, is always valuable in such cases, and as there is no better account of the famous “Pas de Quatre” than that given by the Illustrated London News of that day, July 19th, 1845, it may be quoted at length with advantage.
Speaking of the curiosity which so unusual an event must necessarily excite, and which led him to “hurry” to the theatre, the writer declared that:
“curiosity and every other feeling was merged in admiration when the four great dancers commenced the series of picturesque groupings with which this performance opens. We can safely say we have never witnessed a scene more perfect in all its details. The greatest of painters, in his loftiest flights, could hardly have conceived, and certainly never executed, a group more faultless and more replete with grace and poetry than that formed by these four danseuses: Taglioni in the midst, her head thrown backwards, apparently reclining in the arms of her sister nymphs. Could such a combination have taken place in the ancient palmy days of art, the pencil of the painter and the song of the poet would alike have been employed to perpetuate its remembrance. No description can render the exquisite, and almost ethereal grace of movement and attitude of these great dancers, and those who have witnessed the scene, may boast of having once, at least, seen the perfection of the art of dancing so little understood. There was no affectation, no apparent exertion or struggle for effect on the part of these gifted artistes; and though they displayed their utmost resources, there was a simplicity and ease, the absence of which would have completely broken the spell they threw around the scene. Of the details of this performance it is difficult to speak. In the solo steps executed by each danseuse, each in turn seemed to claim pre-eminence. Where every one in her own style is perfect, peculiar individual taste alone may balance in favour of one or the other, but the award of public applause must be equally bestowed; and, for our own part, we confess that our penchant for the peculiar style, and our admiration for the dignity, the repose, and exquisite grace which characterise Taglioni, and the dancer who has so brilliantly followed the same track (Lucile Grahn), did not prevent our warmly appreciating the charming archness and twinkling steps of Carlotta Grisi, or the wonderful flying leaps and revolving bounds of Cerito. Though, as we have said, each displayed her utmost powers, the emulation of the fair dancers was, if we may trust appearances, unaccompanied by envy.
“Every time a shower of bouquets descended, on the conclusion of a solo pas of one or other of the fair ballerines, her sister dancers came forward to assist her in collecting them; and both on Saturday and Tuesday did Cerito offer to crown Taglioni with a wreath which had been thrown in homage to the queen of the dance. We were also glad to see on the part of the audience far less of partisanship than had been displayed two or three years since, on the performance of a pas de deux between Elssler and Cerito. The applause was universal, and equally distributed. This, however, did not take from the excitement of the scene. The house, crowded to the roof, presented a concourse of the most eager faces, never diverted for a moment from the performance; and the extraordinary tumult of enthusiastic applause, joined to the delightful effect of the spectacle presented, imparted to the whole scene an interest and excitement that can hardly be imagined.”
Yet another triumph for Ballet was scored in the following season, July, 1846, when Taglioni’s appearance in “La Gitana” having been hailed with quite extraordinary enthusiasm, there came a piece of managerial enterprise equalling that of the famous Pas de Quatre.
A new ballet by Perrot, “Les Tribulations d’un Maître de Ballet,” was arranged for production and during the performance a pas was to have been introduced, combining the matchless three—Grahn, Cerito and Taglioni, supported also by the niece of the last named, Louise Taglioni; and St. Leon, husband of Cerito; and Perrot, husband of Carlotta Grisi.
This pas for the leading dancers was intended to form part of a divertissement entitled “Le Jugement de Pâris,” which the aforesaid maître de ballet was supposed to be arranging and to be having “tribulations” about. But on putting the divertissement into rehearsal the idea was found to be so attractive and to assume such importance as to overshadow the rest of the production and the “Jugement de Pâris” was therefore detached and staged as a separate ballet in itself with the happiest result.
The pas so isolated was of course the famous Pas des Déesses, the goddesses naturally being the fair rivals Juno, Minerva and Venus, impersonated by the three great ballerines, who contended for the apple thrown by the Goddess of Discord, and awarded by Paris to the most beautiful of the three.
Needless to say, with such dancers, the production found favour with audiences and critics, one of whom wrote:
“The idea of this pas is an excellent one; for it is an important qualification in choregraphic compositions, that the dancing should appear to be a necessary result of the action—that an intelligible idea should be conveyed by it, and a story kept up throughout. Without this, dancing, however beautiful in itself, loses half its charm to those who look for something more in it than mere power and grace of motion. Here there is a purpose in the varied attitudes and graceful evolutions of each danseuse, as she is supposed to be endeavouring to outstrip her rivals, and vindicate her right to the disputed apple; and the effect is a charming one, independently of the interest and excitement that must inevitably attach to the combined performance of such unequalled artists as these. The Graces, enacted by Louise Taglioni, Demississe, and Cassan; Cupid, by that graceful child, Mdlle. Lamoureux; Mercure, by Perrot, etc., etc., are all numbered amongst the dramatis personæ of the ballet, and a more charming combination could hardly be met with.
“Taglioni is, however, the principal ‘star’ at the present moment. Those who have visited Her Majesty’s Theatre predetermined to find her marvellous talent diminished, and to ‘regret’ her reappearance on the English stage, have come away enchanted, despite themselves, at that marvellous union of unrivalled agility, with the most perfect grace and elegance, in which no dancer has as yet equalled her. If there is any change perceptible, she seems to have advanced in her art—in person, an increase of embonpoint has proved decidedly favourable to her appearance. It is, no doubt, in the danse noble that she excels; but in every style of dancing the je ne sais quoi of peculiar refinement and grace, for which she is remarkable in her style, distinguishes her. As long as Taglioni continues to dance, she will continue to excite an enthusiasm of applause, as the famous Guimard, styled in 1770, ‘La Reine de la Danse,’ had done before her. A peculiar gentleness and amiability of look, and a dignity of manner which never abandons Taglioni, is in admirable keeping with the style of her dancing; and, if we may believe report, these do not belie her real character.”
As a matter of fact, the appearances and “report” did not belie her character, for Taglioni always won the respect and love of all she met. She had done so abroad, where crowned heads and royal families had made a friend of her, enchanted with her sweetness and modesty, and won to equal respect by her innate dignity of character.
It was the same in London, where, it is said, she received not only the generous homage of her stage colleagues and was offered a superb testimonial at the close of the season of 1846, but also met with special favour from Queen Victoria herself, who was as much a connoisseur of good dancing as she was of virtuous conduct.
It may have been by reason of this that Taglioni was appointed teacher of dancing and deportment to some of the younger members of the English Royal Family; and later undertook the tuition of a few favoured young dancers. Yet Fortune did not favour her always, and she died at Marseilles on April 25th, 1884; like Guimard, also neglected and in poverty. But while there is one to read the records of the stage her name will survive as one of the founders and supreme exponents of the idealistic school of Ballet.
TAGLIONI (“SYLPHIDE”)