Nijinsky does not dance from his feet; he dances from his pelvis. The legs do not show off. They have no ornamental pose. Even in his own choreography, though the leg gestures are “composed,” they are not treated as pictorial possibilities. They retain their weight. They tell where the body goes and how. But they don’t lead it. They are, however, completely expressive in this role; and the thighs in the Spectre picture with Karsavina are as full of tenderness as another dancer’s face. It is noticeable, too, that Nijinsky’s legs are not especially turned out, and a similar moderate en dehors seems to be the rule in the Petersburg male dancers of Nijinsky’s generation. But the parallel feet in Narcisse and Faun, and the pigeon toes in Tyl are not a willful contradiction of the academic principle for the sake of something new. They can, it seems to me, be properly understood only by a turned-out dancer, as Nijinsky himself clearly was. For the strain of keeping the pelvis in the position the ballet dancer holds it in for balance is much greater with parallel or turned-in feet (which contradicts the outward twist of the thigh); and this strain gives a new plastic dimension to the legs and feet, if it is carried through as forcefully as Nijinsky does. I am interested, too, to notice that in standing, Nijinsky does not press his weight mostly on the ball of the big toe, but grips the floor with the entire surface of the foot.

A. Bert photographs of Nijinsky in costume for the Kobold variation in Les Orientales, Paris, 1910 Roger Pryor Dodge Collection, Jerome Robbins Dance Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts

I have neglected to mention the hands, which are alive and simple, with more expression placed in the wrist than in the fingers. They are not at all “Italian,” and are full of variety without an emphasis on sensitivity. The hands in Spectre are celebrated, and remind one of the hands in Picassos ten years later. I am also very moved by the uplifted, half-unclenched hands in the Jeux picture, as mysterious as breathing in sleep. One can see, too, that in Petrouchka the hands are black-mittened, not white-mittened as now; the new costume makes the dance against the black wall in the scene a foolish hand dance, instead of a dance of a whole figure, as intended.