Читать книгу The Art of Ballet - Mark Edward Perugini - Страница 13

Table of Contents

In considering di Botta’s elaborate feast, and Beaujoyeux’s “ballet,” one is struck by their similarity to the English “disguisings” and masques, which, first introduced to the Court of Henry the Eighth in 1512 as a novelty from Italy, only began to assume definite literary form about a century later. That century contributed towards the development of scenic effect.

In studying Arbeau’s manual of contemporary dance and music, one is struck by another thing: he is dealing with a social amusement of the upper classes. The dances he describes were mainly the proper accomplishment of the well born, or were such of lower origin as might with adaptation become worthy of performance by more courtly dancers. It is certain he does not describe all the types of dance known to his period. The old Provençal “Rigaudon” which was later to come into such favour owing to Camargo, is not referred to by Arbeau; nor the languorous “Sarabande,” which was probably of Moorish origin derived through Spain—or possibly earlier through Augustan Rome; the lively “Chaconne” is another omission; the “Tresca” yet another. These, and perhaps others, must have existed in Arbeau’s time and long before; but would be among the traditional amusements of the people, and were not yet elected to the company of courtly dances.

It is needful to linger over these points here, for they account for much that we find in the subsequent development of theatrical ballets in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Speaking of Beaujoyeux’s “Ballet Comique,” Castil Blaze, the scholarly historian of the Paris opera, remarks that it “became the model on which were composed a number of ballets, sung and danced, a kind of piece which held the place of Opera among the French and English for about a century.” That century was, roughly, from about 1500 to 1600. And he adds: “The English gave them the name of masque.”

In the few years after Henry VIII came to be crowned the young monarch spent considerable time and spared no expense in entertaining himself and his Queen with “disguisings,” “revels” and masqued balls.

On Twelfth Night, 1511, before the banquet in the Hall at Richmond, so records the contemporary chronicler, Edward Hall, there “was a pageant devised like a mountain, glistering by night as though it had been all of gold and set with stones; on the top of which mountain was a tree of gold, the branches and boughs frysed with gold, spreading on every side over the mountain with roses and pomegranates; the which mountain was with (de) vices brought up towards the King, and out of the same came a lady apparelled in cloth of gold, and the children of honour, called the henchmen, which were freshly disguised and danced a Morris before the King, and that done re-entered the mountain: and then was the wassail brought in and so brake up Christmas.”

The next year the King himself took part in a similar pageant; and in the next, i.e. in 1513, so Hall tells us, “the King with eleven others were disguised after the manner of Italy, called a Mask, a thing not seen before in England. They were apparelled in garments long and broad, wrought with gold, with visors and caps of gold; and after the banquet these masquers came in with six gentlemen disguised in silk, bearing staff-torches, and desired the ladies to dance.”

A little later came the introduction of singing, and dialogue as well as dancing, some allegorical story forming the basis of the masque. In Beaujoyeux’s “ballet” of 1582, we have all this. Up to then in England the masque made no great advance beyond those of Henry VIII’s early years. In Beaujoyeux’s “ballet,” however, we have all that had been, and more. We have dancing, singing, dialogue, elaborate scenic effect, all in illustration of a mythic and allegorical story; and achieving a definiteness and grandeur of form hitherto unequalled, as well as publicity which made it famous throughout Europe. In some ways it was as much masque as “ballet,” and as much opera as masque. Actually it did stimulate the development of the Masque in England; and Opera in France.

At the English Courts of Henry VIII and Elizabeth, the masque developed in the direction of scenic elaboration and splendour (with music) that made up for its literary shortcomings, at least in its earlier period.

At the French Courts of Henry IV and Louis XIII, what were known as Opera-ballets (later to be separated as opera and ballet) developed a musical richness (with scenic effect) that made up for similar literary shortcomings. Yet again came another form in the Comedie Ballet of Molière.

With the accession of James I of England came the real efflorescence of the English masque, which under the hands of Ben Jonson was to become a fairly balanced harmony of the three arts—the poet’s, the musician’s, and the painter-designer’s.

It must of course be understood that in both the masque and ballet there was dancing; but at the period with which we are now dealing, namely the last decade of the sixteenth and first few decades of the seventeenth centuries, the technique of that art was—for stage purposes—comparatively so primitive as to make it almost a negligible quantity. There was dancing of course—that of “henchmen” and men and boys who performed a Morris, or bouffon-dances; and that of courtier, Court-lady, or even, it might be, a Royal personage, who would take part in the stately Pavane or Almain, now and then unbending sufficiently to dance a Trenchmore (once Queen Elizabeth’s favourite) or Canary.

But it was all either an intrusion, alien to the general purport of the production, or else vastly overshadowed by the chief design, which was to present, with the aid of “disguisings” and elaborate “machines,” a sort of living picture or series of living pictures, expressing some mythological, allegorical episodes or complimentary idea.

The chief aim was splendid pageantry; something mainly to please the eye; and secondarily to charm the ear; without making too great claims upon the intellect.

Among the leading English masque writers during the period we are considering were George Gascoigne, Campion, Samuel Daniel, Dekker, Chapman, William Browne, Beaumont and Fletcher and Jonson.

In France, at the Court of Henri Quatre, and under the direction of his famous minister, the great and grave Sully—who himself took part in them—some eighty ballets were given between 1589 and 1610, apart from state balls and bals masqués.

In England among the more notable masques produced during about the same period were the following:—

1585. The Masque of “Lovely London,” performed before the Lord Mayor.

1589. A Masque planned by order of Queen Elizabeth in honour of the wedding of King James VI of Scotland and Anne of Denmark.

1594. A Masque before Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall.

1604. A Masque by Samuel Daniel, “The Twelve Goddesses,” arranged by Queen Anne, Consort of James I, in honour of the Spanish Ambassador, at Hampton Court.

1605. “The Masque of Blackness,” by Ben Jonson (his first real masque) given on Twelfth Night at Whitehall.

1606. Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Hymen,” for the marriage of Robert Devereux, third Earl of Essex, with the Earl of Suffolk’s younger daughter, Frances Howard.

1608. Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Beauty”—a sequel to the “Masque of Blackness” at the request of the Queen Consort, who, with the Ladies of the Court, took part in the performance. This was followed in the same year by his “Hue and Cry after Cupid,” given at Court on Shrove Tuesday, in celebration of Lord Viscount Haddington’s marriage.

1609. Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Queens” at Whitehall on Twelfth Night.

All these were elaborate productions; those of Jonson being indeed beautiful. Their literary value has long been realised, and one sees in them some of his finest work. The introductory descriptions and the stage-directions are singularly minute and careful, and, in their way, are quite as well worth study as the beauties of his strong and noble verse.

He writes of scenes and costumes as if he loved them: as when, in “The Masque of Blackness,” he describes the Moon, “triumphant in a silver throne.... Her garments white and silver, the dressing of her head antique, and crowned with a luminary or sphere of light; which, striking on the clouds, and brightened with silver, reflected, as natural clouds do, the splendour of the moon. The heaven about her was vaulted with blue silk, and set with stars of silver, which had in them their several lights burning.”

And again: “The attire of the masquers was alike in all, without difference: the colours azure and silver; but returned on the top with a scroll and antique dressings of feathers, and jewels interlaced with ropes of pearl. And for the front, ear, neck, and wrists the ornament was of the most choice and Orient pearl: best setting off from the Black.”

For the scenery and mechanical effects or “machines” as they were called—there was Inigo Jones, the travelled artist-architect who had seen many a masking in Italy; for the music there was Alfonso Ferrabosco, son of the Italian composer, appointed music-master at the Court of James I; and for Maître de danse, there were Thomas Giles and Hieronimus Herne.

It was a noble company who took part in the performances. In “The Masque of Blackness,” though there were only three speaking parts, Oceanus, Niger and Æthiopia—the impersonators of which are not recorded—there was no less a personage than Queen Anne herself, Consort of King James, who appeared as Euphoris, supported by the Countess of Bedford (Aglaia), Lady Herbert (Diaphane), the Countess of Derby (Eucampse), Lady Rich (Ocyte), Countess of Suffolk (Kathare) and other fair ladies of title.

The “Masque of Beauty,” a superb spectacle given at the Court some three years later by express command of Her Majesty, had for speaking parts only three, namely those of Boreas—“in a robe of russet and white mixed, full and bagged; his hair and beard rough and horrid; his wings grey, and full of snow and icicles; his mantle borne from him with wires and in several puffs”; Januarius—“in a throne of silver; his robe of ash colour, long, fringed with silver; a white mantle; his wings white and his buskins”; and Vulturnus—“in a blue coloured robe and mantle, puft as the former, but somewhat sweeter; his face black, and on his head a red sun, showing he came from the East.”

Following the entrance of Vulturnus, bringing—in reference to the former “Masque of Blackness”—the good news of his discovery of a lost isle whereon the black but lovely daughters of Niger had been languishing in obscurity, there came a fine pageant.

“Here,” as Jonson’s stage directions describe it, “a curtain was drawn in which the night was painted, and the scene was discovered which (because the former was marine, and these, yet of necessity, to come from the sea) I devised should be an island floating on a calm water. In the midst thereof was a Seat of State, called the Throne of Beauty, erected; divided into eight squares, and distinguished by so many Ionic pilasters. In these squares, the sixteen masquers were placed by couples; behind them in the centre of the throne was a tralucent pillar, shining with several coloured lights, that reflected on their backs. From the top of which pillar went several arches to the pilasters, in front, little Cupids in flying posture, waving of wreaths and lights, bore up the cornice; over which were eight figures, representing the elements of Beauty, which advanced upon the Ionic, and, being females, had the Corinthian order.”

They were: Splendour, Serenitas, Germinatio, Lætitia, Temperies, Venustas, Dignitas, and Perfectio. Minute description is given of their garments, but is too lengthy for inclusion here. The stage directions then proceed:

“On the top of all the throne (as being made out of all these) stood Harmonia, a personage whose dressing had something of all the others, and had her robe painted full of figures. Her head was compassed with a crown of gold, having in it seven jewels equally set. In her hand a lyra, whereon she rested.

“This was the ornament of the throne. The ascent to which, consisting of six steps, was covered with a multitude of Cupids (chosen out of the best and most ingenious youth in the kingdom, noble and others) that were torch-bearers; and all armed with bows, quivers, wings, and other ensigns of love. On the sides of the throne were curious and elegant arbours appointed; and behind, in the back part of the isle, a grove of grown trees laden with golden fruit, which other little Cupids plucked, and threw at each other, whilst on the ground, leverets picked up the bruised apples and left them half eaten. The ground-plat of the whole was a subtle indented maze; and in the two foremost angles were two fountains that ran continually, the one Hebe’s and the other Hedone’s; in the arbours were placed the musicians, who represented the shades of the old poets, and were attired in a priest-like habit of crimson and purple, with laurel garlands.

“The colours of the masques were varied; the one half in orange tawny and silver; the other in sea-green and silver. The bodies of short skirts on white and gold to both.

“The habit and dressing for the fashion was most curious, and so exceeding in riches, as the throne whereon they lay seemed to be a mine of light, struck from their jewels and their garments.

“This throne, as the whole island moved forward on the water, had a circular motion of its own, imitating that which we call motum mundi, from the east to the west, or the right to the left side.... The steps whereon the Cupids sat had a motion contrary, with analogy ad motum planetarum, from the west to the east; both which turned with their several lights. And with these three varied motions, at once, the whole scene shot itself to the land.”

After a chorus with echoing refrain, “Vulturnus the wind spake to the river Thamesis, that lay along between the shores, leaning upon his urn, that flowed with water, and crowned with flowers; with a blue cloth of silver robe about him; and was personated by Master Thomas Giles, who made the dances.

“Vul. Rise, Aged Thames, and by the hand

Receive the nymphs, within the land,

And in those curious squares and rounds

Wherewith thou flow’st betwixt the grounds

Of fruitful Kent and Essex fair

That lends the garlands for thy hair;

Instruct their silver feet to tread,

Whilst we, again, to sea are fled.

“With which the Winds departed; and the river received them into the land, by couples and fours, their Cupids coming before them.

“These dancing forth a most curious dance, full of excellent device and change, ended it in the figure of a diamond, and so, standing still, were by the musicians with a second Song, sung by a loud tenor, celebrated.

“So Beauty on the waters stood,

When Love had severed earth from flood!

So when he parted air from fire,

He did with concord all inspire!

And then a motion he them taught,

The elder than himself was thought.

Which thought was, yet, the child of earth,

For Love is elder than his birth.

“The song ended; they danced forth their second dance, more subtle and full of change than the former; and so exquisitely performed, as the king’s majesty (incited first by his own liking to that which all others there present wished) required them both again after some time of dancing with the lords. Which time, to give them respite, was intermitted with a song.

“This song was followed by others.

“After which songs they danced galliards and corantos; and with those excellent graces, that the music appointed to celebrate them, showed it could be silent no longer; but, by the first tenor, admired them thus:

“SONG.

“Had those that dwelt in error foul,

And held that women have no soul,

But seen these move; they would have then

Said, women were the souls of men;

So they do move each heart and eye

With the world’s soul, true harmony.

“Here they danced a third most elegant and curious dance, and not to be described again by any art but that of their own footing, which ending in the figure that was to produce the fourth, January from his state saluted them thus:

“Janu. Your Grace is great, as is your Beauty, dames;

Enough my feasts have proved your thankful flames

Now use your seat; that seat which was, before,

Though straying, uncertain, floating to each shore,

And to whose having every clime laid claim,

Each land and nation urgéd as the aim

Of their ambition, Beauty’s perfect throne,

Now made peculiar to this place alone;

And that by impulsion of your destinies,

And his attractive beams that lights these skies;

Who, though with ocean compassed, never wets

His hair therein, nor wears a beam that sets.

Long may his light adorn these happy rites,

As I renew them; and your gracious sights

Enjoy that happiness, even to envy, as when

Beauty, at large, brake forth and conquered men!

“At which they danced their last dance into their throne again.”

These quotations, though necessarily brief, illustrate the characteristic elements in the construction of the masque—dancing, music, song, spoken verse and elaborate scenic effect.

The reference to Thomas Giles, “who made the dances,” to the dances themselves, “galliards and corantos,” and that charming admission as to “a third most elegant and curious dance” not to be described again “by any art but that of their own footing”; the reference to the arbours in which “were placed the musicians, who represented the shades of the old poets, and were attired in a priest-like habit of crimson and purple, with laurel garlands”; the song of the “first tenor”—“Had those that dwelt ...” and January’s speech apostrophising women’s beauty; above all the loving descriptions of the scenery and mechanical effects, must all be of uncommon interest to those who know anything of the history of the French ballet, because it is so closely paralleled in the descriptions given some seventy years later by the Abbé Menestrier of the entertainments at the Court of Louis XIV. The English “masques” of the early seventeenth were, in effect, the French “ballets” of the early eighteenth century. To return, however, to the English Court of James I.

The Queen and Ladies of her Court once again took part in the entertainment of His Majesty as representatives of the various types of Beauty introduced in the course of the masque, and yet again were they found in the noble “Masque of Queens,” celebrated from the House of Fame, by the Queen of Great Britain with her Ladies, at Whitehall, February 2nd, 1609, which was dedicated to the young Prince Henry, as to the origin of which Ben gives the following interesting note: “It increasing,” he says, “to the third time of my being used in these services to Her Majesty’s personal presentations, with the ladies whom she pleaseth to honour; it was my first and special regard, to see to the dignity of their persons. For which reason I chose the argument to be A celebration of honourable and true Fame bred out of Virtue.”

All of which in a sense foreshadowed the various symbolic ballets later at the Court of France, such as La Verité, ennemie des apparences, which we shall come to consider in due course. The thing to realise now is that these masques of Ben Jonson and of other men of his period were the finest flowering of a form of entertainment which had been struggling for definite shape throughout the previous century, indeed from the days of di Botta’s fête in 1489, and had received its most recent and most effective stimulus from France in the production of Beaujoyeux’s wondrous symbolic and mythologic “ballet” some twenty odd years before Ben Jonson’s first “masque” was produced. The English masque—partly dramatic “interlude” with song, music and dance introduced, was in effect a ballet, and was a direct influence in the formation of the “opera-ballets” which were subsequently to be the delight of the French Court for a century or more.