THE THEATRE.
THE " CHATIVE-SOURIS " AT lah LONDON PAVILION.
WHISTLER, I believe, in one of his attacks on nationalism in art, said that it was as absurd to speak of an essentially English art as it was to speak of an essentially Italian algebra. Were he alive now, he could see something even more strange—an essentially Russian smile. The Chauve-Souris might conceivably have upset his theories, if, and this is more probable, he had not left the theatre within the first half-hour of the performance (I must confess to such an impulse) in uncomprehending disgust. For it must be remembered that the Chauve-Souris are some- thing infinitely more Russian than the Russian Ballet. Ballet is a universal art. The Russian Ballet is nothing more than a familiar dish served in the Russian manner—a Salade Busse, while the Chauve-Souris, to pursue the simile, are as wholly Russian as vodka. Their humour is personal and intimate; one must be in key with the Russian mind to appreciate it. Without this sympathy their performance is nothing more than a series of highly finished music-hall turns. I can imagine a hardened music-hall goer hailing it with delight. He would find the slightly coarse and indispensable funny man, the "refined dancing turn," the lady with the abominable voice singing abominable songs, the " select " music item, and a gang of comedians providing plenty of horse-play. Perhaps a tightness in the atmosphere would make him vaguely uncom- fortable, that would be all.
The Chauve-Souris have a startlingly varied programme. If they can be extremely funny they can also be serious ; and though the result is not art in the highest sense, it is delightfully enter- taining. The inevitable tableau of china shepherds and shepherdesses becomes with them a thing of frail and restrained beauty. Again, two sopranos sing Russian sentimental songs. The stage is darkened—their costumes are a symphony of delicate blues. The setting epitomizes sentimentality. Of course, some items in the programme are completely out of tune with English ideas, and their effect is lost. In others one realizes the " point " with something of a shock. This could be said of " A Night at Yard's." The scene is in Yard's Restaurant at Moscow some eighty years ago. A party of Tzigany singers and dancers is entertaining the diners. These simulated Chauve- Souris gipsies are as truly Hungarian as the Cuadro Flamena in the Diaghileff Ballet was Spanish. It is more than a matter u local colour. This metamorphosis into another nationality borders on the occult. The Russian smile is as broad as the Steppe and as enigmatic as Siberia. One of the most amusing numbers, a burlesque Italian Opera, is sung in a spurious Italian of musical terms. The characters are marionettes with human heads, and the miniature stage with an orange backcloth is
very happily designed. The extreme gravity of such choruses as
"Rum ritenuto, rum sostenuto," the prima donna's coloratura, and her flickering conceited smile are irresistibly funny. Sometimes the stage is given up to unblushing buffoonery. In the Chorus of the Zaitze-ff Brothers " the effect is largely obtained by exaggerated gesture of the kind made familiar by cinematograph comedies. In the flesh this device is vastly more entertaining than on the films. Each sketch is introduced by a few inane remarks from M. Nikita Balieff, who is, as it were, the cement which binds these unrelated fragments into some sort of homogeneity. Allowing for his unfamiliarity with the English language, it cannot be said that he is a second M. Pelissier.
The Chauve-Souris have published their history." It can be obtained at the theatre. The repertoire they have yet to draw on contains much that is interesting. The music, for instance, of the present programme is weak, and it will be refresh- ing to hear Mozart, Liadof, and Glinka. In spite of the per- formance being given in Russian and scarcely intelligible French, the interest of the audience is held by sheer mimetic skill. I am certain, however, that an entertainment of this nature could be produced more effectively in a small theatre. The London Pavilion intruded in an unwelcome fashion. C. H.
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