Sadler's Wells in War-time; part 1
Had the Vic-Wells Ballet not taken root in England the war might well have killed it. The black-out descended, theatres were shut, all the men of the corps de ballet joined the Forces and as time went on more and more of the soloists left for military or national service. Reference has already been made to the disastrous tour in Holland when all the scenery, dresses, scores and orchestral parts of six ballets were lost. Yet within a week of her return Miss de Valois was hard at work on a new ballet, The Prospect before Us (which deals with the misfortunes of a ballet troupe in the eighteenth century), to make up for her losses. Worse than all, the carefully built-up audience had been scattered.
Faced with these calamities, the Vic-Wells Ballet Company showed its mettle by leaving London and going out to find a new audience in the provinces and the munition centres. By doing so it increased its basis a hundredfold, but it was at first a hard struggle financially and physically, and for many months the music was played on a couple of pianos, one of which was manned by the Director of Music himself.
Early in the war Ashton was inspired by the sufferings of Poland to produce his greatest work, Dante Sonata, to the music of Liszt's D'aprcs une lecture de Dante, in which the Children of Light and the Children of Darkness are used as symbolic groups to express souls in purgatory struggling for redemption. Flaxman's designs for the Divine Comedy have inspired Sophie Fedorovitch's decor and the whole work is expressed in terms of pure choreography, the personalities of the chief dancers being merged in the whole. There is a breadth and height about the conception of Dante Sonata which shows it to have been the product of great emotional stress: Ashton had held the mirror up to nature and shown— crucified Poland. Two more ballets followed in quick succession, The Wise Virgins to an arrangement of Bach's music, and in January 1941 The Wanderer to the music of Schubert's great Fantasia in C. Then in 1943 came The Quest, founded on Spenser's Faerie Queene, a long ballet with a definitely heroic theme distinguished for its thrilling music by William Walton and neo-Romantic decor by John Piper but lacking the poignant fervour of Dante Sonata. Ashton was given special leave for the purpose, for since 1941 he has been in the Royal Air Force, taking part in the war against oppression, the spiritual aspect of which he had so ably presented on the stage.
The most remarkable war-time development, however, has been the emergence as choreographer of Robert Helpmann, Australian-born premier danseur, actor and man of the theatre, who has been leading dancer of the Vic-Wells Company since 1936. During 1942 he produced no less than three ballets in different styles. When Markova and Dolin left Sadler's Wells, their places were filled by Margot Fonteyn and Robert Helpmann. The range of both is enormous. Margot Fonteyn, a product of the Sadler's Wells School, resembles Karsavina in that she is equally at home in a severely classical role or in demi-caractire. As Giselle she joins the long line of illustrious exponents since Grisi, having the technique and the dramatic power to fulfil both sides of that exacting part. As the Lady in Comus she has no rival, such white innocence, such pure modesty. Helpmann's sense of the theatre is so great that it outweighs his technical qualifications. He is never dull. Every part is a part for him. The Prospect before Us, a long ballet with a too complicated story, produced by Ninette de Valois in July 1940, is redeemed by two things: the splendid costumes and decor in the broad manner after Rowlandson by Roger Purse the magnificent act-drop, for instance, of 'The Burning of the King's Theatre, 1789,' which always provokes laughter in the theatre—and the superb high comedy performance of Helpmann as Mr. O'Reilly, the manager of the Pantheon. That this chameleon who can be the Prince in the Fairy Tale at one moment and the tipsy manager of the Pantheon at the next should also be able to speak Shakespeare's poetry and be the best Oberon ever seen is remarkable enough. That he should have known how to weld these various traits into a whole and produce Milton's Comus in a new way was unlocked for. Comus (1942) is the most decorative of all the English ballets to date. Even without Milton it is pure poetry. Lambert has given it a most judicious arrangement of ravishing Purcell music, while Oliver Messel has put magic in the air and has clothed Comus in scarlet. The Lady wanders in an enchanted glade such as only grows in a poet's dream, and when music gives way to poetry and Comus speaks some of Milton's lines it is a consummation, a glorious fulfilment. Imitators have tried to repeat this device, this return to the masque atmosphere, but have failed because they lacked Helpmann's sixth sense of what is and what is not possible in the theatre.
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