The Great Parade: Cocteau, Picasso, Satie, Massine, Diaghilev—and T.S.

Eliot
Author(s): NANCY D. HARGROVE
Source: Mosaic: An Interdisciplinary Critical Journal , March 1998, Vol. 31, No. 1, THE
INTERARTS PROJECT: Part One: Establishing Frameworks (March 1998), pp. 83-106
Published by: University of Manitoba

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 The astounding synergism in the arts in the early decades of the 20th

century is powerfully demonstrated in the striking correspondences

between two of the most experimental and daring works of the time , the
Ballets Russes y ballet Parade and T.S. Elioťs The Waste Land.

The Great Parade:

Cocteau, Picasso, Satie, Massine,
Diaghilev - and T.S. Eliot
NANCY D . HARGROVE

The explosion early

explosion decades of experimentation,
of experimentation, of the 20th innovation, century witnessed and inter- an
innovation, and inter-
penetration in the arts throughout Europe. The battle-cry
"Make it new!" reverberated across all the arts, enriching
every individual field - painting, sculpture, music, dance,
drama, and literature. As Roger Shattuck perceptively notes
in The Banquet Years , "To a greater extent than at any time
since the Renaissance, painters, writers, and musicians lived
and worked together and tried their hands at each other's
arts in an atmosphere of perpetual collaboration" (23). In
this extremely fertile period for the arts, the air was thick
with new beliefs, subjects, and techniques which were dis-
cussed, experimented with, and ultimately adopted,
altered, or rejected. Rather than suffering "The Anxiety of
Influence," artists at this time experienced what might be
called "The Synergism of Influence." While Paris was the
undisputed center of such artistic collaboration, this phe-
nomenon occurred as well in London and other major
European cities. For example, from 1918 onward, London's
Bloomsbury group passionately attended performances of
the newest and most avant-garde productions of

Mosaic 31/1 0027-1276-98/083024$02.00©Mosaic

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84 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

Diaghilev's Ballets Russes, seeing in their Modernist elements "the design,

rhythm, and texture [they] sought in literature no less than painting"
(Garafola 334-35).
In the midst of this creative ferment, there occurred an event which could
be said to have revolutionized the notion of the avant-garde itself. One night
in 1912 while crossing the Place de la Concorde in Paris after a performance of
the Ballets Russes, its director Sergei Diaghilev commanded the young Jean
Cocteau, "Astonish me!" Five years later, he astonished not only Diaghilev but
the entire artistic world. On 18 May 1917 at the Théâtre du Châtelet, the
Ballets Russes presented the première of the ballet Parade, a collaborative cre-
ation with scenario by Cocteau, music by Erik Satie, set, curtain, and costumes
by Pablo Picasso, choreography by Leonide Massine, and programme notes by
Guillaume Apollinaire (see Fig. 1). Innovative and shocking in a multiplicity
of ways - various labels included electroshock, a revolution, a comet, an
earthquake (Kahane 96-97) - it caused a furor; indeed, the first-night audi-
ence responded with an uproar, some cheering, but most booing and hissing.
Because of its notoriety, the performance of Parade for the first time in
England during the 1919 autumn season of the Ballets Russes at London's
Empire Theatre, with the première taking place on November 14, was a major
cultural event, as were its Paris revivals in December 1920 at the Théâtre des
Champs-Élysées and in May 1921 at the Gaîté-Lyrique. In these instances, the
response, while sometimes bewildered, was excited rather than outraged.
Among those excited by the ballet, I wish to argue, was T.S. Eliot; more
specifically, I wish to demonstrate the extent to which the revolutionary
aspects of his own masterpiece of this time - The Waste Land - owe much to
the inspiration of this avant-garde ballet. For if the hallmarks of Eliot's poem
are its fusion of tradition and experimentation, the everyday and the extraor-
dinary, these too are the features of Parade , which in itself demonstrated the
interpénétration of contemporary developments in the arts to a far greater
extent than earlier productions of the Ballets Russes. Critics have, of course,
long recognized a connection between The Waste Land and the Ballets Russes'
1921 revival of Le Sacre du Printemps , but the impact of Parade on the poem
has been totally overlooked. Although a possible reason for this neglect may
be the absence of direct leads - i.e., concrete evidence that Eliot attended a
performance of this ballet - the more likely explanation may have to do with
the way that this once infamous work has tended generally to be forgotten, its
significance at the time paling perhaps as a result of the subsequent brilliant
careers of its various collaborators.

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 85

Fig. 1. Michel Georges-Michel. The Opening of "La Parade," 1917.

Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.

At the same time, there is a great amount of circumstantial evidence that

Eliot did know of and likely saw a performance of Parade , and thus, after first
describing the origins and general features of the ballet, I will look at Elioťs
familiarity with both ballet and music-hall culture. Following this, and consti-
tuting what will ultimately be the major proof, I will detail the many striking
ways that the content, structure, characters, music and sound effects, curtain
and set, and choreography of Parade have correspondences in The Waste Land.
In this way, I hope to suggest that, while Elioťs poem is revolutionary, it is also
very much a compendium and record of the tremendous synergism which
characterized the arts in the early decades of the 20th century.

The conception and creation of Parade demonstrate particularly well the

extensive collaboration among varied artists in the early years of the 20th cen-
tury. The ballet was the idea of Jean Cocteau, who served also as the catalyst in

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86 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

getting the collaborators together. Having met both Satie and Picasso in the
autumn of 1915, he determined to secure them to work on the ballet which he
hoped he could convince Diaghilev to stage. So taken was he with Picasso and
his peers that he immersed himself in the Cubist milieu in Paris centered in
Montparnasse and the Butte Montmartre. As Richard Buckle points out, the
Cubists "were a world apart from the Russian Ballet and its admirers; and
Cocteau was.. .the link between them" (312). Diaghilev had heard and been
impressed by Satie in the summer of 1914, but did not meet Picasso until May
1916 when he was taken to the artists studio overlooking the cemetery of
Montparnasse. At this meeting the two different worlds of the Ballets Russes
and the Cubists came together, and in late August of 1916 Picasso agreed to
join Cocteau, Satie, and the choreographer Massine to create Parade for
Diaghilev's company (Buckle 312, 318). In February 1917, all the collaborators
except Satie gathered in Rome to begin work on the ballet, scheduled for per-
formance in Paris in mid-May.
Their goals were to create a work based on ordinary, contemporary life,
specifically the low-brow world of popular entertainment seen in the music
hall, the street fair, and the circus; to incorporate new technological inventions,
such as the typewriter, the airplane, and the skyscraper; and to use techniques
from the avant-garde developments in all the arts - in short, to create some-
thing entirely innovative and modern. As Massine notes, "[ Parade was] an
attempt to translate [popular art] into a totally new form... [and thus] we uti-
lized certain elements of contemporary show-business - ragtime music, jazz,
the cinema, billboard advertising, circus and music-hall techniques.... [W] e
were mainly concerned with creating something new and representative of our
own age" (105). Parade thus constituted a radical departure from the ballets
previously performed by Diaghilevs company which had been based on stories
and characters from the past or from fantasy and had been Russian or Oriental
in nature; here in contrast was, according to Cocteaus biographer Steegmuller,
"a true theatrical innovation, the first totally modern ballet, the first balletistic
'metaphor of the everyday,' in Lincoln Kirsteins phrase" (189-90).
The plot, created by Cocteau, is a "parade" or preview of the acts of a
troupe of performers on a Parisian boulevard designed to entice the audience
to come in to see the entire show. Reflecting actual acts performed in 1917 in
Parisian music-halls and circuses such as the Cirque Médrano as well as con-
temporary American silent films, they include the feats of a Chinese conjuror,
a little American girl, and two acrobats, which are introduced by two man-
agers and a cheval-jupon (a horse played by two men). The finale is "a rapid

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 87

ragtime dance in which the whole cast [makes] a last desperate attempt to lure
the audience in to see their show" (Massine 105). The plot thus captures vari-
ous elements of everyday, present life, making use of popular entertainment
such as the music hall and fairground, material previously considered unsuit-
able for the elite world of the ballet. As composer Francis Poulenc notes in his
autobiography, "For the first time... the music-hall invaded art - with a capital
A" (89). According to Deborah Rothschild, Cocteau s goal of being vulgar (that
is, common), of showing the "brash commercialism of modern life and the
entertainments patronized not by the beau monde but by the general public,"
was effectively realized (30). This aesthetic belief, shared by all the collabora-
tors, is seen, for example, in the poet Apollinaire s insistence that common
forms of entertainment should inform high art, as demonstrated in his own
poems which contain "street cries, signs, and contemporary urban intrusions
within a format distinguished by formal austerity," as Rothschild notes (45).
She argues convincingly that the "vulgar, commonplace quality" of Parade ,
not its use of Cubism, was the main source of its originality (and of its stormy
reception) and made it the first Modernist ballet (71).

Eliot's exposure to and knowledge of ballet in general and the Ballets Russes
in particular, along with his love of popular entertainments like the music
hall, provide highly persuasive, if circumstantial, evidence that he saw Parade ,
either in London in November/December 1919 or in Paris in December 1920
during a week s visit just prior to Christmas. His interest in the Ballets Russes
seems to have begun during his student year in Paris (1910-11) when the com-
pany presented its third season in June 1911. Its enormous popularity among
the intellectuals and artists, its astounding innovations in dance, and its ideal
of fusing various art forms into one artistic whole, as well as giving Eliot the
opportunity to see Vaslav Nijinsky, the most acclaimed male dancer of the day,
and to learn more about the culture of Russia in conjunction with his reading
of Dostoevsky under the tutelage of Henri Alain- Fournier - all this would
have been a strong attraction. Eliot has clearly indicated that he knew and was
influenced by two of the ballets performed then, Le Spectre de la Rose and
Petrouchka , and there is evidence that he knew a third, Narcisse , as well (see my
"T.S. Eliot" 69-74).
In the late teens and the twenties, there is plentiful concrete evidence of
Eliot's involvement with and interest in dance, for not only did he attend per-
formances of the Ballets Russes in London but also he wrote essays, reviews,
and letters containing various references to ballet and/or the company (see my

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88 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

"T.S. Eliot" 74-83). His literary and artistic friends, such as Clive Bell, Roger
Fry, and Ezra Pound, not only were passionate supporters of the Ballets Russes
but also wrote major articles and reviews about them, particularly in 1919
(Garafola 334-36). Along with his wife Vivien, an aspiring ballet dancer herself
who knew well both the leading dancers and specific ballets (see Patmore 85),
Eliot and various Bloomsbury friends attended a number of performances. On
13 May 1919, for example, in the company of Jack and Mary Hutchinson and
Brigit Patmore, they saw Carnaval, The Firebird, and The Good-Humored
Ladies ( Letters 292), and on 22 July 1919 they accompanied the Sacheverell
Sitwells to the opening night of Diaghilev's newest production The Three-
Corner ed Hat with Massine and Tamara Karsavina dancing. In her diary, Vivien
described this performance as "very interesting and the music very good.
Massine really wonderful," and the next evening Eliot went alone with the
Hutchinsons to see it again, as well as Papillons and Prince Igor ( Letters 320).
When the British première of Parade took place less than four months later,
it is hard to imagine that Eliot would not have attended such a sensational cul-
tural event with some of these same friends; indeed, the dance historian Cyril
Beaumont in his book The Diaghilev Ballet in London: A Personal Record calls
"the long-promised ballet" the "one event of the season" (148). Both the
Sitwell brothers, for example, knew the ballet well and made commentaries on
it; Sacheverell interpreted Picasso's curtain as depicting a company of per-
formers at a fair eating supper before a show (Rothschild 209), while Osbert
rendered the judgment that Parade was both tragic and original (Macdonald
238). Eliot may have been drawn to a performance by his own interest, by that
of friends such as the Sitwells, or by the largely positive reviews that appeared
in all the London newspapers, including the Observer, the Sunday Times, and
the Daily Telegraph. Reviews such as "New Russian Ballet: 'Parade' at the
Empire" in the November 15 issue of The Times reveal the bewilderment but
also the excitement evoked by the ballet. The reviewer begins by asking, "What
phrase can describe it? Cubo-futurist? Physical vers-librei Plastic jazz? The
decorative-grotesque? There is no hitting it off," and concludes by admitting
that, while it is "a world of nonsense, where anything means everything or
nothing, yet everything is exciting to the eye and ear and mind" (10); the last
words in particular would have appealed to one so intensely interested in
artistic innovations as Eliot.

Further, in late 1920 he had another opportunity to see Parade in Paris. In

an article appearing in Comoedia on 21 December, Cocteau, no doubt some-
what disingenuously, urges the Parisian public to see the ballet this time as the

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 89

amusing entertainment that it was meant to be, suggesting that its negative
reception in 1917 was a result of the audience's misunderstanding of its light-
hearted nature: "The horse of Parade is going to reappear on the stage of the
Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. This brave horse who amused us and made sim-
ple stagehands laugh greatly angered the public in 1917 [when] dada was
unknown.... Now there's no doubt that the public recognizes dada in our horse
without malice." He insists, however, that the ballet represents no school, but
is "a big toy [which] Diaghilev is putting.. .in your Christmas stocking" (qtd. in
Kahane 103; trans, mine). Eliot may have seen it at this time, for he was in
Paris just before Christmas of 1920; he wrote to Leonard Woolf on 26
December of reading his review published on December 17 "when I got back
from Paris," and he wrote to his mother on 22 January 1921 that during "my
week in Paris before Christmas... I was.. .mostly with old and new French
friends and acquaintances, writers, painters.. .and the sort of French society
that knows such people" ( Letters 427 , 433; see also 425-26, 430-31), exactly the
kind of companions who might have accompanied him to a performance of
such great import to the cultural and artistic community.
In July 1921, his continuing patronage of the company is evident in his
attending and then writing about its revival of Le Sacre du Printemps with new
choreography by Massine; while he was somewhat disappointed in the dance
itself, he described Stravinsky's music in the October issue of The Dial as pos-
sessing "the sense of the present... the scream of the motor horn, the rattle of
machinery, the grind of wheels, the beating of iron and steel, the roar of the
underground railway, and the other barbaric cries of modern life" (453), i.e.,
the same sounds we hear in The Waste Land .
In addition to his interest in ballet, his love for the music hall constitutes
another form of evidence that he would have been drawn to a performance of
Parade. He was likely to have frequented music halls and circuses, such as the
Cirque Médrano, during his student year in Paris, perhaps even seeing some
of the specific acts from them evoked in the ballet, and he was a devoted
patron of British music halls from the time he settled in London in the mid-
teens through his later years. His admiration for the music hall as well as his
belief that it constitutes a legitimate and meaningful form of art is seen in his
1922 tribute to the music-hall performer Marie Lloyd. Clearly sharing the
view of the creators of Parade that ordinary life is a valid basis for art, he
asserts that "no other comedian succeeded so well in giving expression to the
life of [the working class] audience, in raising it to a kind of art ," noting that
the spectator collaborated in her artistry: "The working man who went to

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90 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

the music-hall and saw Marie Lloyd and joined in the chorus was himself
performing part of the act; he was engaged in that collaboration of the audi-
ence with the artist which is necessary in all art and most obviously in dra-
matic art" ("Marie Lloyd" 172, 174; emphasis mine). It is this kind of
collaboration that The Waste Land requires, as indicated by the protagonist's
direct addresses to the reader, just as Parade's use of realistic aspects of the
everyday, modern life of the lower classes is reflected, for example, in the pub
scene of Section II.
Given his documented attendance at performances of the Ballets Russes in
the teens and twenties, his knowledge of the dance as revealed in letters, essays,
and reviews, and the definite appeal that its music-hall format and subject
matter would have had for him, as well as his interest in a wide variety of the
arts (see, for example, my "The Waste Lanď)> Eliot almost certainly saw (or at
the very least knew about) this radical ballet, the fruit of an extraordinary col-
laboration between the foremost avant-garde artists of the day, which made
use of the most current trends in all areas of the arts and helped to usher in
Modernism, Surrealism, and l' Après-Guerre; yet as Cocteau so perceptively
put it in 1920, " Parade is not dadaist, cubist, futurist, nor of any school. Parade
is Parade " (qtd. in Kahane 103; trans, mine).

Every aspect of Parade from its guiding principles to its concrete details has
striking correspondences in The Waste Land which reveal the powerful forces
of synergism at work in the arts in the teens and twenties in Europe. Perhaps
most obvious is the way in which the music-hall format of the ballet informs
both the structure and the tempo of the poem. The ballet's rapid succession of
acts, which mirrors the manner of presentation in the music hall or circus as
well as the speed of modern life resulting from its new technology (the auto-
mobile, the airplane, and the cinema, for example), is clearly evident in The
Waste Land's quickly shifting series of scenes which comprise its total struc-
ture. Speed and simultaneity (major tenets of Futurism) are also implied in
the poem's references to the traffic of a large metropolis ("The sound of horns
and motors"), to "a closed car" - a car with a roof, which at the time was so
expensive that it could be afforded only by the wealthy - and to an idling taxi
("the human engine waits / Like a taxi, throbbing, waiting"), as well as in the
typist who "Paces about her room again, alone" after the departure of her cal-
lous lover and in the staccato tempo of the wealthy woman's desperate
attempts to elicit a response from her depressed husband ("'What are you
thinking of? What thinking? What?"').

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 91

The characters of the ballet, both as a group and as individuals, are also
reflected in the poem. As a group, the ballet characters are realistic in that they
are based on actual performers currently appearing in Parisian music halls.
Further, they symbolize the artist in general who attempts unsuccessfully to
attract an audience, thus communicating the plight of the arts and the artist in
the modern world. As Rothschild notes,

[The] theme of the ballet is artistic frustration as the performers fail to entice the
audience to enter the real show inside. At the conclusion of the first performances
[in 1917] the Managers and actors collapsed in despair on the stage, and a placard
was lowered reading: "The drama which did not take place for those people who
stayed outside was by Jean Cocteau, Erik Satie, and Pablo Picasso." Thus, the out-
cast Parade performers stood for the creative artists themselves, while the misap-
prehending audience of the scenario represented an uncomprehending public. In a
neat dovetailing of art and reality, the outraged opening night audience was true to
its cast role. (189)

In addition, the charact

thetic of a variety of av
the British dance critic
individual talent to the
manifesto asserted that
anonymous clothing and
and use geometric mo
move in a rigid, stacca
abstractions, and, in th
a sense of humanity.
All three of these trait
cepts at this time; in the
typist, Lil, and Marie (th
had met in 1911), and in
"smoothes her hair wi
unnamed Thames daug
Bridge), as well as in the
of being misunderstood
Some of the individual characters from Parade also seem to have corre-
spondences in The Waste Land. The Chinese Conjuror, danced by Massine
(see Fig. 2), was based on the extremely popular magician Chung Ling Soo,
who performed in music halls in Paris and London from 1906 to 1918; Eliot
may actually have seen him during his 1910-11 year in Paris and/or in the mid-

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92 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

teens in London, when Soo performed at the Empire, the Alhambra, and the
Coliseum, theaters with which Eliot was familiar. As the Conjuror, Massine
swallowed an egg, retrieved it from his foot, breathed out fire, and walked with
a jerky motion (Buckle 331), an act suggesting the magic and mystery of ordi-
nary life as well as the artists ability to create illusion and enchantment. The
Waste Land's fortuneteller Madame Sosostris, associated with magic and mys-
tery, may in part reflect this aspect of the Conjuror. Indeed, the warning she
gives to the protagonist may have been inspired by the well-known fact that
Diaghilev as a child had been told by a fortuneteller that he would die by
water, causing in him such an intense fear of drowning that even as an adult he
was terrified of sea voyages. Furthermore, as can be seen in the photographs of
Massine as the Conjuror, this character, along with the Managers and the
horse, displays a disturbing duality in that beneath the frivolous surface lurks
a menacing element (Rothschild 189), a trait seen in Mr. Eugenides and in
episodes such as the protagonists chance meeting with an old war comrade
Stetson which evokes a sinister and disturbing series of questions or the seem-
ingly innocent canoe trip on the Thames which ends in seduction for the first
Thames maiden. More generally, the angular quality which characterizes the
Conjuror's movements attested to the new "hardness" in art revered in
Modernism and sought after by its artists, including Pound and Eliot. Indeed,
by 1919 the Conjuror in his bright yellow, scarlet, white, and black costume
was used on the company's posters as the symbol of its modernity (Rothschild
101).
The Little American Girl, danced by Chabelska in 1917, Karsavina in 1919,
and Sokolova in 1920 and 1921, reflects the influence of both American silent
films and American popular music and dances in France in the early 20th cen-
tury as well as conveying the freedom and daring of American life. Indeed,
Sokolova asserts in her memoirs that "Parade discovered America" (103).
Dressed in a blazer and pleated skirt (which for the 1917 première had been
bought in a fashionable sports shop the day before), the character is a com-
posite of two American stars of silent movies, Pearl White, whose films "The
Perils of Pauline" and "The Exploits of Elaine" were very popular in France
during World War I, and Mary Pickford, known as "America's Sweetheart"
(Axsom 42). The actions of the Little American Girl come directly from such
films: running a race, riding a bicycle, imitating Charlie Chaplin, chasing a
robber with a revolver, dancing a ragtime, taking a photo, going down on the
Titanic , and playing in the sand, all done in a playful or impudent manner.
This character was also based on young American women who starred in

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 93

Fig. 2. Pablo Picasso. Massine as the Chinese Conjurer in Parade.

© 1998 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society, New York.

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94 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

music halls throughout Europe, such as Jenny Golder, described as a dancer

who "burns up the stage. For high-kicks, knocking out a few dance steps,
winking, juggling and making play with her fan, putting over a joke and even
just showing off a bit, [she] is unrivalled" (qtd. in Jacques Damase 11). When
at the première of Parade Chabelska danced the ragtime, a staple of Parisian
music halls reflecting the popularity of current American music and dances,
many in the audience vociferously expressed their outrage. However, by the
time the role was danced by Karsavina in London in 1919, it no longer evoked
such negative reactions.
In Elioťs poem, the Little American Girl may be reflected in the typist
(since the tapping of typewriter keys accompanies her dance), the Hyacinth
Girl, and the three Thames daughters. Similarly, her more general connections
with the cinema may be seen in several technical aspects of the poem, such as
the abruptly and quickly shifting structure, the fade-in, fade-out (in Section I
when the setting of the desert fades into the German resort), and the close-up
(in Section I when the panoramic view of the crowds crossing London Bridge
zooms in to a close-up of Stetson). Elioťs fondness for cinema and his admi-
ration in particular of the acting of Charlie Chaplin are seen in his comment
that "It is the rhythm... which makes Massine and Charlie Chaplin the great
actors that they are" ("Beating" 12). The Little American Girl's ragtime dance
also has a parallel in Eliot's use of the lyrics of the 1912 rag "That
Shakespearian Rag" in Section II, just as the poems motif of death by drown-
ing may echo her being on a sinking ship, and the seduction of the third
Thames maiden on Margate Sands may be a grotesque parody of her playing
in the sand.

Three other characters (see Fig. 3), which were the most experimental and
elicited the greatest response from audiences, particularly those in 1917, have
even more striking connections to the poem. The first of these are the two
Managers, towering ten-foot high Cubist structures that stamp upon the
stage, trying in the manner of fairground barkers to convince the audience to
come in to see the show. The French Manager, who introduces the Chinese
Conjuror, is a caricature of French culture, combining both a Master of
Ceremonies of the Parisian music hall and a ballet master with his baton, top
hat, tails, and background scene of a Parisian boulevard lined with chestnut
trees. The American Manager, who introduces the Little American Girl, is a
caricature of the French view of the United States in the teens, largely created
by American silent films. He wears cowboy chaps, vest, and a stove-pipe hat
behind which rises a skyscraper with smokestack and carries a placard reading

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 95

Fig. 3. Pablo Picasso. The American Manager, the Horse, and

the French Manager in Parade.
© 1998 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society, New York.

"PA / RA / DE" and a megaphone, the last inspired by Cocteau's having seen a
megaphone at a music hall in December 1916. Through the Managers Parade
criticizes the harsh commercialism, particularly advertising, that imbues the
modern industrialized world in general and the arts in particular; as W.A.
Propert noted in 1921 in his book on the Ballets Russes, they "typify the over-
bearing, unhuman monsters that they must appear [to be] from the point of
view of the artists that work under them" (57). This aspect of the Managers
has a parallel in Elioťs attacks on commercialism in The Waste Land in his
descriptions of the crowds of anonymous, robotic workers crossing London
Bridge on their way into the City District ("A crowd flowed over London
Bridge, so many, /...And each man fixed his eyes before his feet") and of the
industrialized section of the Thames with its pollution and commercial barges
("The river sweats / Oil and tar"). Further, the Cubist nature of the Managers
conveys an inhuman, robot-like, mechanized quality, while their functioning
as both amusing and terrifying figures underlines the dual nature that they
share with the Chinese Conjuror and the Horse.
The Horse, the third experimental character, perfectly illustrates the role of
chance in artistic creation acknowledged in Cubism, Futurism, and Surrealism
in that this creature was originally intended to carry the third manager (a
dummy) who would introduce the acrobats; however, because the dummy
kept falling off in rehearsal, it was scrapped, and the Horse performed alone

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96 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

without musical accompaniment since there was not enough time for Satie to
compose additional music. The Horse was among the most incendiary parts of
Parade at the première because it was considered totally inappropriate in a bal-
let, imitating almost exactly the antics of the cheval-jupon currently appearing
in the clown act of the Fratellini Brothers at the Cirque Médrano as it cavorted
on the stage, dancing cross-legged, kicking, sitting down, and standing pigeon-
toed (Rothschild 33, 186). So popular were the three brothers at this time that
a Fratellini cult had developed; indeed, they were even invited to meet the
actors of the Comédie Française (Damase 31). However, having a horse appear
in a ballet was going too far for many in the audience on opening night.
As the most daring example of the use of the common and everyday in
legitimate or high art, the horse may have encouraged Eliot to be equally
innovative in his poem. Further, the Horse exemplifies two other characteris-
tics of contemporary art espoused by Eliot - the influence of the primitive
and experimentation with duality. Not only was the cheval-jupon a part of
primitive rituals, fairs, and folk festivals, but also Picasso's design for the head
of Parade's Horse reflects the African masks and the double faces with which
Picasso was experimenting at the time (see Marianna Torgovnick on the prim-
itive in modern art). The underlying menace of the primitive residing in the
civilized contemporary world is skillfully conveyed in the duality of the
Horse s head. While the face with its cross-eyed expression looks comical from
the front, its bared teeth as seen from the side make it appear frightening, cre-
ating "psychic displacement and disturbance, "a trait that would never be
found in an actual music-hall horse (Rothschild 186, 189). The Horse thus
demonstrates the blending of the primitive and the contemporary that Eliot
felt to be absent from Le Sacre du Printemps , the transformation of the com-
monplace into art, and the complex ambiguity evoked by dual perspectives, all
of which can be seen in The Waste Land in the ironic evocation of the ancient

associations of fertility in the hyacinths carried by the sensual 20th-century

young woman and in the allusion to the rituals of burying pagan fertility gods
in a present-day conversation about gardening, with the frightening implica-
tion that rejuvenation is not likely in the modern world; similarly, the lines
"Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, / Or with his nails he'll dig it
up again!" exemplify the kind of duality found in the horse by suggesting that
the traditionally friendly dog may in this scenario actually destroy the possi-
bility of resurrection.
Parade's innovative music and sound effects also seem to be echoed in The

Waste Land. Satie's score is both radical and ambiguous in a number of ways,

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 97

revealing the significance of his clever nickname, Esoterik Satie. Most obvious
is its unthinkable combination of classical music (the ballet's prelude, for
example, is a classical fugue) with jazz and ragtime tunes, reflecting the popu-
larity of these types of American music in Parisian music halls and Satie's pre-
vious experience as a pianist in the Montmartre cabaret Le Chat Noir (see
Perloff 45-85). As Cocteau points out, "two melodic planes are superimposed"
so that the music "seems to marry the racket of a cheap music-hall with the
dreams of children, and the poetry and murmur of the ocean" ("Parade" 106).
Satie was one of the earliest great composers to insert popular, indeed com-
monplace material into serious music, creating a discordant effect analogous
to collage in Cubist and Surrealist painting; according to James Ringo, "No
musical style was too humble for him: that of the fair, the circus, the street cor-
ner. It is to his credit that he was among the first 'serious' musicians to realize
that jazz was artistically worthy of his attention" (qtd. in Rothschild 39).
In this way, Satie was demonstrating in music the beliefs held by his collab-
orators that the commonplace could make a contribution to art, as seen in
Cocteau's comment that from Picasso he learned that "a ditty sung by a street
singer may prove more rewarding than ' Götterdämmerung " ( Oeuvres 251).
Satie subtly indicates his methods in the overture " Prelude du Rideau Rouge ,"
which appears to be a "fugue of a classic nature" (Cocteau, " Parade " 106); yet
as The Times reviewer for the 1919 London première notes, "He begins with a
lovely little flowing overture, into which he drops queer hints of squeaks and
crashes; before the ballet is over he is rioting in rich and suggestive cacoph-
ony" (10). For the ragtime dance of the Little American Girl, he inserts into
the score "The Steamboat Ragtime," which in fact is Irving Berlin's "That
Mysterious Rag" (1911), a widely popular piece featured in a revue at the
Moulin Rouge in 1913 (Rothschild 88).
Eliot's use of the lyrics from "That Shakespearian Rag," a tune popular in
music halls at the very same time, is without doubt indebted to Satie's rag in
Parade. The husband's thoughts in Section II contain a fragment of the cho-
rus, reproduced almost exactly. The original's "That Shakespearian rag, Most
intelligent, very elegant" (Buck and Ruby) is only slightly changed in the poem
to "O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag - / It's so elegant / So intelligent," in
which the odd spelling "Shakespeherian" is no doubt meant to suggest the way
it sounds when sung. Further, just as Satie merges two unlike types of music,
so Eliot combines the lyrics of a bawdy ballad about prostitutes popular with
soldiers during World War I ("O the moon shines bright on Mrs. Porter / And
on the daughter / Of Mrs. Porter / They wash their feet in soda water") with

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98 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

lines from two Renaissance poems, MarvelPs "To His Coy Mistress" ("But at
my back I always hear / Time's winged chariot hurrying near") and Day's
"Parliament of Bees" ("When of the sudden, listening, you shall hear / A noise
of horns and hunting, which shall bring / Actaeon to Diana in the spring"):

But at my back from time to time I hear

The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water.

And, perhaps reflecting the more classical aspects of Satie's score, Eliot's poem
contains allusions to Wagner's operas: lines from the first and third acts of
Tristan und Isolde in Section I (11. 31-34, 42) and the refrain of the Rhine
maidens from the third act of Die Götterdämmerung in Section III (11. 277-78,
290-91). These uses of a "ditty" (the Mrs. Porter ballad) and of Die Götter-
dämmerung are an uncanny echo of Cocteau's comment about the value of a
street singer's ordinary song and reveal the similarity of artistic beliefs and
stylistic techniques espoused by the creators of Parade and by Eliot.
Satie's score is experimental in other ways as well. Its rapid shifts from one
type of music to another reflect not only its Cubist nature but also the quickly
changing acts of the music hall, the flickering sequence of images of the early
cinema, and the chaotic, disjunctive quality of modern metropolitan life. In
addition, they create dissonance, which marks the music as distinctly modern
in opposition to the more harmonious and unified classical works then in
vogue; as early as 1921, Propert described it as "noisy and discordant," point-
ing out, however, that "the blatancy and the dissonance were the deliberate
choice of a clever musician" (56). The Waste Land's quickly shifting and dis-
connected scenes can thus be seen not only as reflections of the rapid acts of
the music hall but also as echoes of these aspects of Parade s score. Satie's
composition is noted for its wit and satire, and these too have correspon-
dences in the poem's plays of intellectual wit (as in the superimposition of the
contemporary prostitute Mrs. Porter on the goddess of chastity Diana) and
satire (as in the attacks on materialism and meaningless sexual encounters).
In general, then, underlying both the poem's structure and style are not only
the acknowledged influence of Stravinsky's music for Le Sacre du Printemps ,
but also the unacknowledged influence of Satie's music for Parade.
Another important auditory element of this ballet is its sound effects. In
addition to the noises of the klaxon, calliope, and lottery wheel associated

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 99

Fig. 4. Pablo Picasso. The Front Curtain for Parade.

© 1998 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society, New York

with a fairground, the sounds of typewriters, airplanes, trains, telegraphs,

sirens, and pistol shots provide realism and convey the frenetic, staccato pace
and the mechanization of the highly technological modern world. Indeed,
Satie said, over-modestly no doubt, that his score was only "a background to
throw in relief" these realistic noises, which are, "in music, of the same charac-
ter as the bits of newspapers, painted wood-grain, and other every-day objects
that the Cubist painters employ frequently in their pictures, in order to local-
ize objects and masses in nature" (qtd. in Cocteau, " Parade " 106). While to
Cocteau s dismay the sound effects were almost entirely omitted at the pre-
mière, they were at least partially restored in subsequent revivals; with respect
to the 1919 performance that Eliot might have seen, Beaumont describes "the
clicking of typewriters for the American Girl and the humming of an aero-
plane for the acrobats" (150). This transformation of commonplace, contem-
porary sounds into art is echoed in the poem in the "dead sound on the final
stroke of nine" of St. Mary Woolnoth 's bells (which Eliot heard at the begin-
ning of every working day as he entered Lloyd's Bank), the "sound of horns
and motors" of City traffic, and the music of the typist's gramophone.

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100 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

The front curtain and the set, both designed by Picasso, are equally daring,
though in different ways. Beginning with this production, Diaghilev instituted
the practice of commissioning contemporary artists to create a front curtain
in addition to the set, so that the curtain for Parade was innovative in its very
existence (see Fig. 4). Also radical is its deceptive, double-edged nature. While
it appears placid and conventional at first sight, portraying a group of enter-
tainers in a simple, even primitive style, and is viewed by the audience while
the orchestra plays Saties largely classical overture, these expectations of con-
ventionality are then upset by the ensuing production with its Cubist set, its
cacophonous music, its innovative choreography, and its disturbing charac-
ters. In addition, the viewer s relationship to the scene is unclear; because of
the stage flooring and the red curtains framing the scene, whether the viewer
is in front in the audience or on the stage with the performers is uncertain.
Further, the situation and identities of the figures are ambiguous. Are they
having a meal, relaxing, entertaining each other, and/or practicing? The group
on the right, consisting of two women, a clown, a harlequin, a moor, a sailor,
and a guitarist, are seated around a table and seem to be watching the group
on the left, consisting of Pegasus suckling a foal, a ballerina or bare-back rider,
and a monkey on a ladder. Both Nesta Macdonald and Marianne Martin argue
that the audience is presented with a joke or puzzle to be solved, for the figures
are actually caricatures of people involved directly or indirectly in the produc-
tion of Parade , each of which provides a hidden clue to his or her identity: the
clown is Cocteau, the girl beside him is Chabelska, the guitarist is Picasso, the
girl with the hat is Olga (the dancer whom he was to marry), the sailor is
Diaghilev (an allusion to his fear of drowning at sea), the moor is Stravinsky,
the harlequin is Massine, and the ballerina is Sokolova (Macdonald 239-41).
Further, Rothschild points out that the curtain combines different styles, com-
presses space, presents multiple perspectives, and makes use of strange pro-
portions: the bodies, for example, are not entirely realistic in that body parts
are missing, out of proportion, or in bizarre relationships to one another, as in
the harlequin whose trunk faces forward while his head seems turned back-
ward on his neck, thus presenting both frontal and dorsal views at once and
defying reality (211-14).
Many of these techniques appear in The Waste Land with the same unset-
tling or confusing effects. For example, the reader s position in relation to the
poem is ambiguous at best, since the traditional, noninvolved status is chal-
lenged by the direct addresses at the ends of Section I ("You! hypocrite
lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon frère!") and of Section IV. Further, the

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 101

Fig. 5. Pablo Picasso. The Set for Parade.

© 1998 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society, New York

protagonist has multiple identities which are constantly shifting, and many
characters are described solely in terms of body parts (arms, hair, eyes, back,
knees, feet, fingernails, hands), altering the conventional manner of present-
ing a whole person.
Parade s set is a Cubist cityscape with a steeply angled proscenium at the
center, Italianate balustrades on each side, and characterless apartment build-
ings rising menacingly behind (see Fig. 5). The bizarre angles and confusing
multiple perspectives suggest disorientation, the enormous buildings reflect
the dominance and their blank windows the anonymity of the city, and the
dull ochre and grey colors typical of Cubist paintings denote monotony.
Further, as Buckle notes, some elements of the set are reversed, seen as if "from
the back or in negative, so that the windows of the building at the top centre
[appear] lit up as if by night, while those on either side [are] black rectangles
in a sunlit wall" (330). All conspire to suggest the nightmarish, chaotic, and
alienating effects of the modern industrial city on its inhabitants. This first-
time use in ballet of the modern city as the setting and as a powerful symbol of

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102 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

modern existence may have confirmed for Eliot his similar use of the city in
early poems such as "Rhapsody on a Windy Night" and "Preludes" and
encouraged or reinforced its major function in The Waste Land.
Although the city in Parade is Paris, Elioťs London in The Waste Land is
quite similar. Its nightmarish and menacing quality is evident in such lines as,
"Unreal City, / Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, / A crowd flowed over
London Bridge," while its anonymity and dullness are seen in the bleak
description of the desolate wintertime Thames: "The river's tent is broken:
the last fingers of leaf / Clutch and sink into the wet bank." And the typists
flat, from whose window are "perilously spread / Her drying combinations,"
may well be located in one of those huge, featureless blocks of buildings
caught in Picasso's set. A less obvious similarity is his utilization of the tech-
niques of steep or contorted angles and multiple perspectives in describing
settings. The reader observes both the crowds crossing London Bridge in
Section I and the "hooded hordes swarming / Over endless plains" in Section
V as if looking down on them from a very high angle, while he or she sees the
tolling bell towers "upside down in air" in Section V looking upward from a
low angle, creating an effect of disorientation and confusion. Multiple per-
spectives are seen, for example, in Section I in the abrupt shift from the
German resort to the desert, suggesting that they are one and the same.
Massine's innovations in choreography played a major role in Parade's
startling originality, and, as he explains in his autobiography, he was inspired
to be inventive himself by the originality of his collaborators Cocteau,
Picasso, and Satie: "I found that the music, with its subtle synthesis of jazz and
ragtime, offered me excellent material on which to base a number of new
dance patterns.... Every innovation - the sound effects, the Cubist costumes,
the megaphones - would set off a fresh train of ideas for the choreography"
(102, 106). Cocteau in turn marvelled at Massine's ability to transform into
dance movements the ordinary actions he described for him: "Massine is a
Stradivarius.... I think up every slightest gesture, and Massine executes it
choreographically" (qtd. in Steegmuller 177). The dance movements are
indeed based on reality: the Chinese Conjuror, for example, pantomimes the
actions of Chung Ling Soo by swallowing an egg, retrieving it from his foot,
and breathing out fire; similarly, the Little American Girl pantomimes
numerous actions of Pearl White and Mary Pickford in their films, while the
choreography incorporates popular dances of the day, such as the ragtime
danced by the Little American Girl. The extremely fast tempo in both the
Little American Girl's dance, done at "breakneck speed" (Rothschild 95), and

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 Nancy D. Hargrove 103

the finale performed by the entire cast reflects the speed of modern life, no
doubt an influence of the Futurists' promotion of dynamism.
Another of Massine s innovations in Parade is his use of angular, jarring,
and mechanical movements, in defiance of the traditionally flowing and har-
monious movements of classical ballet, as evidenced in the stamping, rigid
movements of the Managers, the jerky motions of the Conjuror, the Chaplin
imitation done by the Little American Girl, and the pigeon-toed prance of the
horse. Garafola suggests that Massines angularity was "perhaps the most dra-
matic sign of the modernist revolution in ballet" for it hardened the "soft and
'beautiful' line" that was a required component of choreography at that time
(86). Sokolova's description of her performance of the Little American Girl's
dance effectively captures all three innovations as well as the pleasure they
evoked:

[Her entrance and exit] consisted of sixteen bars of music, and with each bar she
had to jump with both feet straight out together in the front and almost touch her
toes with her outstretched arms. This is hard enough to do on the same spot, but
when it was a question of moving around a vast stage at full speed it was no mean
feat. When it got to dancing rag-time in this part, whacking myself on the head
and tripping myself up with the back foot in true Chaplin style, I began to enjoy
myself. (104)

Eliot adapts each of

Waste Land. His use
his allusions to the
cars, and automobile
among others. A con
the frenetic pace of
"rush out as I am,"
announcement "HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME." Indeed, the final stanza
with its dizzying, rapid shifts from fragment to fragment might be seen as the
poetic equivalent of the ballet's exhausting finale. Overall, Eliot's adaptation
of the choreography's hard, angular movements can be seen in The Waste
Land's jarring rhythms of actual speech ("He'll want to know what you done
with that money he gave you / To get yourself some teeth"), its abrupt shifts
from section to section, its unexpected alterations of line and stanza lengths,
and its "hard" images from the modern metropolis.

The striking correspondences between Parade and The Waste Land constitute
an impressive testament to the interartistic synergism so prevalent in the early

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104 Mosaic 31/1 (March 1998)

decades of the 20th century, a period which truly gave meaning to the concept
of "the sister arts." As indicated by Shattuck s comment quoted at the outset,
perhaps never since the Renaissance was there such a high degree of collabo-
ration among various artists, and, although Shattuck is referring to literal col-
laboration, as in Parade , his observation might fairly be extended to include
the kind of indirect collaboration through various artists' knowledge of
experiments and innovations in artistic areas other than their own and the
ensuing interpénétration of influence that seems particularly evident in the
case of Parade and The Waste Land. This mutuality of the arts might in part be
seen as a response to the disruption and separations of various kinds engen-
dered by World War I with the result that, ironically, in the artistic arena the
war caused a creative ferment and interaction unparalleled in modern times.
Certainly, the creation and first performance of Parade in the very midst of
the war testify to the validity of that speculation as does Eliot's composition of
The Waste Land in the disillusioned years just following the war's end; indeed,
while the poem is in part the epitome of the ruins which were the legacy of
the Great War, its daring innovations place it firmly in the context of the rev-
olutionary developments occurring in all the arts at the time, so that it is not
such an aberration as it has often appeared but a reflection of the artistic
trends then in vogue. The creativity and vitality evoked by the literal artistic
collaboration that produced Parade , which was a response to Diaghilevs spe-
cific challenge to Cocteau to "Astonish me!" and which Diaghilev subse-
quently called his best bottle of wine (Cocteau, Foyers 50), astonished and
inspired the entire artistic community, one member of whom, I have argued,
was Eliot as he composed, in indirect collaboration with its creators, his own
great work, which in its turn had an even more powerful and long-lasting
effect on the arts.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Permission to reproduce Fig. 1 is courtesy of the Achenbach Foundation for Graphic

Theatre and Dance Collection, a gift of Mrs. Adolph B. Spreckels (T&D1962.13) to the Fin
Museums of San Francisco. Permission to reproduce Figs. 2-5 is courtesy of The
Collection of the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, Astor, Lenox and
Foundations, and courtesy of the Archives de la Fondation Erik Satie, Paris.

WORKS CITED

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NANCY D. HARGROVE , Professor of English and Giles Distinguished Professor at Mississippi

State University ; is the author of books on T.S. Eliot and on Sylvia Plath as well as more than

thirty essays on 20th-century authors. She is currently working on a book about the influence

of Paris on Elioťs work. She has held Fulbright Lectureships in France , Belgium , and Sweden,

and has received numerous teaching awards.

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