Mr. Rite

It was just a hundred years ago tonight that this dapper, if somewhat world-weary, cosmpolite, unleashed on the world one of the defining artistic scandals of the twentieth century: The Rite of Spring.  He is the impresario nonpareil Sergei Diaghilev (in an atmospheric oil sketch by M. Valentin Serov), and the work was a collaboration for his ensemble, Les Ballets Russes, that involved his extravagantly gifted protégé, dancer turned choreographer Vaslav Nijinsky (a distinctly toothsome young thing), and the spikily modern composer Igor Stravinsky (who was, despite a titanic talent, rather distinctly not).

As is now legend, when the work premiered in Paris, a riot nearly capsized the proceedings (although there was cheering and bows all around at the finale), and the resulting furor made the piece a byword for the adventurous avant garde.  How much of that was canny marketing by M. Diaghilev remains unclear, but I am quite certain he knew his way around a claque and would have had no hesitation in deploying one to good effect.

At one point someone told me I bore a strong resemblance to Diaghilev, and while based on some photographs that may be the most equivocal of compliments, I wouldn't mind looking half so soigné as he does here...