Okay, let's unpack this. We are diving deep today
into one of the most, well, outlandish, bizarre,
and yet utterly foundational pieces of classical
ballet history. It really is. If you thought
the narrative structures of Swan Lake or maybe
Giselle were complex, You should just prepare
yourself for a four hour opium fueled time traveling
spectacle. All set in ancient Egypt, of course.
Of course. We're talking about Marius Petipa's
1862 Grand Ballet, The Pharaoh's Daughter. It's
just the ultimate fusion of 19th century European
exoticism, this kind of archaeological fever
that was gripping everyone and critically a fantasy
that is literally enabled by psychotropic drugs.
Right. And the titles alone sort of hint at the
scale we're talking about. They do. You have
Doc Farona in Russian or La Fille de Ferrand
in French. This thing was absolutely monumental.
It was Petipa's very first full -scale multi
-act grand ballet staged for the legendary St.
Petersburg Imperial Theaters. And when you say
monumental, you really, really mean it. Oh, absolutely.
We mean it. I mean, just the sheer scale is almost
unimaginable by today's standards. Our sources
lay out this. truly bizarre setup right from
the very beginning. The story is anchored in
19th century reality. You've got an English nobleman,
Lord Wilson, and his entourage, and they're sheltering
in a pyramid. Right. But the central action,
the whole four -act spectacle of ancient Egyptian
love and drama, that's all a fantasy. It's triggered
by the nobleman consuming opium. Yeah. It's not
just some simple dream sequence. It's the fundamental
engine of the whole narrative that just transports
the audience across millennia. Exactly. And this
production wasn't just big. It was, well, it
was maximalist. We're looking at a four -hour
runtime. Four hours. Four hours. It required
an immense number of resources. The staging used
every single style and technique available to
the imperial ballet at the time. It required
something like 400 people on stage at once. 400.
This was choreography, a grand spectacle, which
is a term they used to describe this specific
genre of ballet that sort of mirrored the immense,
really over -the -top productions you'd see in
grand opera. about strong, dramatic contrasts,
colossal sets. In these immense casts, yeah.
That context is so vital. We have to remember,
this ballet was created to just overwhelm your
senses. And the creative team was absolutely
top tier for the era. The score, which is so
lush and dramatic, was by Chasseur Pugny. He
was one of the most prolific ballet composers
of his day. And the libretto. So the script and
the storyline for the ballet, that was a collaboration
between Jules -Henri Vernoy de Saint -Georges
and Petitpas himself. But they didn't just invent
the story out of thin air. They based it on the
popular literary exoticism of the time, specifically
a novel by Théophile Gautier called Le Roman
de la Mute. The Romance of the Mummy. Exactly.
And that book had already captured the European
imagination. with its blend of, you know, historical
detail and very high romance. The premier details
really emphasize how important this work was
to the St. Petersburg cultural calendar. It took
place January 30th, 1862 at the Imperial Bolshoi
Kemeny Theater. And the Imperial Theater spared
no expense. I mean, the designers A. Roller and
G. Wagner for scenery, Kelhor and Stolikov for
costumes. Their job was to create this massive,
detailed, ancient world that would just engulf
the audience for four hours straight. And the
original cast list is basically a historical
marker in itself. Oh, for sure. It featured Marius
Petipa himself. He was dancing the principal
male role of Lord Wilson, who, once he's transported
back in time, transforms into this ancient Egyptian
man, Tahor. And opposite him. Opposite him was
the legendary Italian ballerina Carolina Rosati.
She performed the incredibly demanding role of
the mummy who becomes a species. And the supporting
cast is just a who's who of the imperial ballet
system at the time. You have Nicholas Goltz as
the pharaoh. Timothée de Colquhoun played this
very specific, very British supporting role of
the servant. John Bull. John Bull, the national
caricature. Exactly. And Luba Verdina was Ramziah.
Even Felix Straczynski, who was the father of
the very famous ballerina Matilda Straczynski,
he was in the original cast as the vengeful king
of Nubia. What's so fascinating here is that
even with this fantastical, I mean, almost ridiculous
premise, you have the English Lord, the comic
servant, the guide, the opium, the premiere was
recorded as an enormous success. And not just
successful. No, it immediately became the most
popular work in the entire repertoire of the
Imperial Ballet. It sustained dozens of revivals
over the next 50 years. So this really brings
us to our core mission for today. What does this
all mean? How does such an unusual, sprawling,
and frankly structurally chaotic premise become
the defining spectacle of early Russian classical
ballet? It's just a profound testament to Petipa's
genius, his ability to take that literary exoticism
of the moment and transform it into this massive,
structurally innovative choreographic machine
that would define the shape of classical ballet
we still see today. And to really understand
the foundation of that machine, we absolutely
have to dive into the plot details themselves.
Yes, because the specifics of the fantasy are...
just vital. OK, let's jump right into the narrative
then, because the details are, well, they're
spectacular. They're full of high drama and they're
absolutely essential for understanding why this
work, despite its outlandish structure, just
endured. The sources give us a wonderful walkthrough
starting right in the 19th century. Right. The
scene opens on an African safari. Lord Wilson,
our English nobleman, his servant John Bole,
and their guide are all looking for refuge from
this massive, violent sandstorm, a simum. They're
basically tourists sheltering from the elements
inside a newly discovered Egyptian pyramid. And
right here is where we get the first hint of
the dramatic tension. They start making noise
inside this ancient tomb, and the guide immediately
tells them to be quiet. Out of respect. Out of
respect for the pyramid's occupant. The gnomon
is told that Asbija, who is the pharaoh's daughter,
is lying somewhere in a coffin right inside that
pyramid. The dead are always present in this
kind of Egyptian romance. And to pass the long
hours while they're waiting for the storm to
die down, the guide makes this fateful offer.
He gives Lord Wilson some opium. And this isn't
just a casual detail, is it? It's the definitive
catalyst for everything that happens next. Absolutely.
Once the nobleman takes the opium, the supernatural
transition begins with this instantaneous, almost
hallucinogenic speed. The mummies that are littered
around the pyramid's chambers start to stir.
They come alive. And then Asbisha, the pharaoh's
daughter, dramatically rises from her coffin,
which is right there, center stage. This is the
critical moment of transformation. Aspicia lays
her hand over Lord Wilson's heart, which establishes
this link across time. And Lord Wilson, the English
traveler, instantly dissolves into the ancient
Egyptian man, Tahor. So he hasn't just dreamed
a past life. He is literally living a past life,
and it's all enabled by this substance. Exactly.
And now we are firmly in ancient Egypt, and the
adventure begins immediately. Right away. Tahor,
the nobleman's ancient alter ego, is introduced
as a hero. He saves Aspicia from a lion, which
must have been a piece of pure, thrilling stage
spectacle. Oh, I can only imagine. And, naturally,
they fall passionately in love. This is where
the central romantic conflict is established,
and it has to be strong enough to sustain a four
-hour production. So, of course, there's a problem.
There's always a problem. Aspicia, the title
character, is already promised in marriage to
the formidable king of Nubia. This sets up the
classic love triangle in the central chase that
fills up so much of the middle acts. Tahor and
Asbisha, they flee the palace. And they are pursued
relentlessly by the enraged Nubian king and his
guards. They try to seek refuge and hide out
in the secluded fisherman's inn near the Nile,
just to rest and try to evade their pursuers.
And tragedy almost strikes right here. Tahor
goes out with the local fisherman on a trip,
and he leaves Asbisha behind at the inn, thinking
she's safe. A very bad move, as it turns out.
The Nubian king and his men, they eventually
stop at the very same inn for a rest. And, of
course, they immediately discover the hiding
princess. So, faced with capture and this forced
marriage, Aspicia makes the most dramatic theatrical
decision imaginable. She doesn't just surrender.
No. Rather than be taken, she dashes out and
throws herself into the swirling legendary waters
of the Nile River. She jumps into the Nile. Right
into the Nile, just to escape the king's guards.
And this move, this act of desperation, allows
for the next massive... choreographic set piece.
And this is where Petipa just indulges in pure
choreographic fantasy. This is the famous Kingdom
of the River sequence. So a species sinks to
the bottom of the Nile. Where she's met by the
majestic spirit of the Nile. The visual opportunities
here for elaborate stagecraft and lighting, which
were a huge part of this grand spectacle style,
they must have just been breathtaking. I'm picturing
it. And the spirit of the Nile is a demanding
host, I take it. A demanding but generous one.
He hosts a massive welcome for the princess.
He summons the great rivers of the world to dance
for Aspicia. The great rivers of the world. All
of them, all dressed up in elaborate national
costumes showcasing different styles of movement.
The sources specifically mention the rivers ranging
from, like, the sun -drenched Guadalquivir in
Spain all the way to the icy Neva in Russia.
Wait, so there's a dance for a Spanish river
and a Russian river at the bottom of the Nile
in Egypt? Exactly. It's a massive... Dazzling
and utterly illogical dance pageant. It happens
purely for the purpose of a stunning divertissement.
So the spirit of the Nile then complicates the
plot by telling her she has to stay. She's now
a resident of his magical river kingdom. Right.
And Aspicia has to beg and ask for one special
wish, to be brought back to land and return to
the mortal world so she can rejoin her love,
Tahor. The romantic imperative has to triumph
over the supernatural command. And while all
this underwater drama is happening, Back on land.
Back on land, Tahor and the fishermen return
to the inn only to find a species gone. And the
Nubian king, who is utterly furious that his
prize has escaped, captures Tahor and drags him
back to the pharaoh's palace. To face punishment.
For daring to kidnap the princess and defy the
royal betrothal. The climax is just pure, unadulterated,
high drama. It's exactly what the grand spectacle
demanded, isn't it? Absolutely. Tahor is brought
before the pharaoh and sentenced to the most
Egyptian of deaths. A cobra bite. But Aspicia,
having been released from the river kingdom,
arrives just in time. She's often brought back
to the palace by the same fishermen who helped
them escape earlier. And she walks in just as
the execution is about to happen. She does. She
grabs the cobra and threatens to let it bite
her as well. She declares in this huge dramatic
high point that if Tahor dies, she dies. Which
is a move the sources explicitly noted was recognized
by the audience as a classic gesture since Cleopatra's
time, referencing the famous suicide by Asp.
Exactly. The audience would have gotten that
reference immediately. And this action, this
immediate and dramatic display of ultimate self
-sacrifice, finally breaks the pharaoh's resolve.
The pharaoh pulls his daughter back from the
cobra, he grants permission for her and Tahor
to marry, and the enraged Nubian king storms
off, swearing revenge but ultimately defeated.
It's the ultimate romantic victory played out
on the grandest possible scale. And here's the
genius of the opium catalyst. Everyone starts
to celebrate the wedding and the happy resolution
and a grand final divertissement. But just as
the celebration reaches its peak, the opium dream
ends. Snap. It's over. Tahor instantly, abruptly
transforms back into Lord Wilson, the English
nobleman, still inside the dark, dusty pyramid.
It's such a neat narrative device. It allows
the audience to experience this enormous, fantastical
epic, and then just pulls the rug out from under
them, reminding them it was all internal. And
the nobleman is leaving the pyramid with his
servant John Bull, but he looks back at a specious
coffin, remembering the love that they shared
and still share. It leaves you with this enduring
feeling that the love was real, even if the adventure
was, well, chemically induced. It connects the
19th century present to the ancient past through
the emotional permanence of the experience, which
is justified by the fantastic nature of the dream
state. And that emotional core is really what
sustained the production, despite the chaotic
structure. The plot? as sprawling and detailed
as it is, really just served as the vehicle for
Petipa's real breakthrough. This ballet wasn't
just a popular hit, it was a career detonator.
It was a structural milestone for classical ballet.
Absolutely. We have to understand the institutional
reality of the imperial theaters at the time.
The premiere on January 30th, 1862, was recorded
as an enormous success. Which ensured that the
pharaoh's daughter immediately secured a permanent
place right at the very top of the Imperial Ballet's
repertoire. This immediate, undeniable popular
success was a critical, life -altering moment
for Petipa personally. And here is where the
political and artistic history just merge into
one career -defining moment. When Petipa staged
this enormous, successful production, he was
technically only serving as the assistant ballet
master. He was the understudy choreographer,
essentially. Right. He's an assistant to Arthur
Saint -Léon, who is the premier maître de ballet,
the chief choreographer of the entire imperial
system. Petipa was not the top guy yet. No, not
at all. But the immense popular appeal of The
Pharaoh's Daughter gave the Imperial Theatre
Directorate no choice. They had to recognized
Petipa's genius and his popular command. And
the success of this one ballet earned him a critical
promotion. He was awarded the position of second
maître de ballet. This was a crucial institutional
step that just cemented his career trajectory.
He would hold this role until Saint -Leon left
Russia in 1869. At which point, Petipa assumed
the top choreographic position. And defined the
next four decades of ballet history. Exactly.
So a sprawling four -hour spectacle about an
opium dream directly translated into political
leverage in a key institutional position. It's
a huge professional leap based on pure spectacle
and undeniable popular appeal. And the success
wasn't accidental. It was absolutely designed
for maximum impact. We have to look at the principal
dancers, because this entire staging was created
specifically as a benefit performance for the
Italian ballerina Carolina Rosati. And Rosati
was a massive international star, wasn't she?
A huge star. And the benefit performance structure
meant that the role had to be spectacular, challenging,
and dramatic enough to draw a huge audience.
That would maximize her share of the box office
revenue. Petipa had to design a work that could
compete with anything else on the European stage.
And he succeeded by giving Rosati the immensely
demanding central role of Princess Aspicia. And
it's also fascinating to remember that Petipa
himself danced the principal male role, Lord
Wilson Tower, opposite Rosati in this monumental
premiere. And the source notes that this specific
performance, the one that launched his career
as a maître de ballet, was actually his last
professional role as a dancer. Think about the
symbolism of that moment. He finishes his career
as a performer right there on stage in the very
work that established his superiority as a choreographer.
So he literally steps off the stage as a performer
and immediately assumes a higher defining leadership
role based on the work he just created. It's
a perfect handoff from one stage of his career
to the next. And the importance of the work didn't
diminish, did it? He later revived the work multiple
times in 1885 and again in 1898. Which just demonstrates
its enduring importance to the repertoire even
decades after his initial triumph. It kept his
name and his structural innovations front and
center for a very long time. To really understand
why this seemingly chaotic ballet was such a
profound success and why it resonated so deeply.
We need to place it firmly within its artistic
and cultural context. Right. We mentioned the
concept of ballet a grand spectacle. That was
the defining theatrical trend of this era. And
we should probably define that a bit more fully.
Ballet a grand spectacle meant an almost overwhelming
focus on magnitude. It was about rivaling the
massive set pieces and the dramatic flair you'd
see in grand opera. This choreographic trend
demanded that the work be visually stunning,
dramatically over the top, and utilize every
single resource the imperial stage had at its
disposal. So specifically, this meant intense
dramatic contrasts. Exactly. The contrast between
the dark, gloomy pyramids and the vibrant underwater
kingdom. The contrast between the highly technical
classical soloists like Rosati and the massive
choir. de ballet that were used for visual effects
like the 400 people on stage the scale itself
was the selling point it was they used cutting
edge stage machinery elaborate flying rigs pyrotechnics
extensive lighting techniques all to make the
fantastical elements like the kingdom of the
rivers or the terrifying simoom feel totally
real to the audience the four hour run time alone
is a defining characteristic of this maximalist
era Audiences expected a full evening of immersive,
high -stakes drama and dazzling visuals. But
the subject matter, this obsession with ancient
Egypt, wasn't just a random choice. It was a
direct reflection of a contemporary European
fascination. That's right. The mid -19th century
was gripped by Egyptomania. Which was fueled
by major archaeological discoveries, often driven
by French and English explorers. This intense
interest provided Petipa with the perfect backdrop
for the pharaoh's daughter. And the literary
source, Theophilus. Gautier's Le Roman de la
Momie provided the perfect foundation for this
literary exoticism. Godia's work offered several
key romantic elements. You had the passionate
love story of the pharaoh's daughter and Tahor,
but blended crucially with the gothic taste for
dark tombs and gloomy corridors. Which added
an element of delicious danger to the romance.
It did, and the genius, or maybe the psychological
device, of the work is that sense of the fantastic.
It's the use of a border state between reality
and dream. This is what allows those earthly
passions, the pursuit, the love, the sacrifice,
to be played out without the constraints of logic
or geography. And this is where the opium device
becomes so much more than just a cheap plot twist.
The source notes that Gautier, and by extension
Batipa, used an artifact from the past, or critically,
a puff of opium, to add a brighter aura to his
characters. It sets them squarely on the borderline
between life and death. between the waking world
and the spiritual past, which is where all Egyptian
art in this romantic interpretation supposedly
took its nourishment. So the role of opium here
is not just a narrative convenience, it's a cultural
indicator. It really is. Opium was a highly visible,
recognized, familiar influence in the works and
lives of contemporary artists. You have figures
like Thomas De Quincey, author of Confessions
of an English Opium Eater, and many other romantic
era writers. It was an accepted cultural trope
for enabling deep fantasy, for justifying these
huge geographical leaps, temporal shifts, and
the kind of overwhelming imagery required for
a grand spectacle. And significantly, the creators
used irony to keep the whole thing from stinking
into overwrought four -hour melodrama. Yes, Godier
and consequently the ballet frequently use irony.
It often had an anticlimactic effect so as not
to overwhelm his readers with terror or just
drown the peace in seriousness. But the specific
ironic moments that the source highlights are
crucial for appreciating the tone, I think. They
are. Take Lord Wilson, who is defined as the
quintessence of Englishness. He's portrayed as
impassively trying to sketch the desert scene,
even as the violent simum. that massive sandstorm,
is actively disturbing his view. That is peak
19th century colonial detachment. But it's framed
ironically. It's mocking the aloofness of the
traveler. Or what about the moment of a species'
supernatural awakening? After millennia of lying
preserved in her sarcophagus, she finally awakens,
looks into a mirror. A mirror that's just conveniently
there for her. And is pleased to find herself
as pretty as she was a few millennia before.
It injects this very human, almost vain touch
into a supernatural awakening. And it tempers
the potential awe or terror with lightheartedness.
This balance of grand scale, exotic setting,
drug -induced fantasy and ironic distance is
precisely what made it such a huge, accessible
and entertaining hit in 1862. The immense scale
of the production was successful, sure, but the
lasting impact of The Pharaoh's Daughter is really
found in Petipa's structural innovations. He
didn't just stage a hit, he changed the structure
of classical ballet forever. He did it through
his use of the divertissement. This is a fundamental
turning point in the history of dance. Petipa
fundamentally changed the aesthetic and practical
requirements of classical ballet by inserting
the divertissement. These were self -contained
displays of pure dance, often folklore or technical
showpieces, and they were sometimes symbolic
but often had only a loose, almost unnecessary
connection to the main narrative structure. It
sounds a little counterintuitive, doesn't it?
Yeah. To stop the high -stakes plot of Tahor
and Asbisha just to watch a random dance. It
does, but it served a massive dual purpose, one
autistic and one deeply practical, that solved
some key problems facing the imperial stage at
the time. Okay, let's start with the artistic
purpose. The Divertissement was a way to showcase
the talent of Russian -trained dancers. This
was hugely important because, at the time, the
imperial theaters constantly imported massive...
foreign guest artists. Like the lead, Carolina
Rosati. Exactly. And they inevitably dominated
the spotlight. So the divertissement was essentially
mandatory stage time for the home team. So the
Russian dancers who formed the bulk of the corps
de ballet and the rising soloists, they couldn't
necessarily be cast as the pharaoh's daughter.
No, or the major foreign leads. But they could
be the river spirits or the national dancers
or the abstract jewels in a pure dance sequence.
It gave the Russian dancers a chance to shine
and display their own talents without undermining
the star vehicle status of the foreign principal
artist. So it turned a potential weakness, this
reliance on foreign stars, into a strength by
creating designated show -stopping moments for
local virtuosity. And the practical purpose was
just as crucial, particularly in a production
that ran for four hours and demanded such intensity
from the leads. Right. These breaks gave the
principal dancers, like Rosati, necessary time
to recover. To change their immensely detailed
and heavy costumes, refresh their delicate satin
shoes, or simply create essential scene breaks
for the massive mechanical set changes that were
required for the grand spectacle. We need to
put that in perspective for you listening. Imagine
Rosati dancing for nearly three hours in heavy,
ornate 19th century costumes. That five or ten
minutes of ensemble dancing during the Kingdom
of the Rivers is not just for a costume change.
No, it's a necessary recovery period for her
feet, her stamina, and for her hair and makeup
team. Petipa was solving practical theatrical
problems with choreography. And we connect this
to the bigger picture. This is the element of
the Pharaoh's Daughter that Petipa carried forward
into every single one of his subsequent masterpieces.
This technique became his signature. Absolutely.
Petipa started putting these self -contained
divertissement in all of his major ballets that
followed. We're talking about the Act III wedding
sequence in The Sleeping Beauty. The National
Dances in Swan Lake. The Kingdom of the Shades
in La Bayadere and so on. The divertissement
became a standardized signature Petipa technique.
It was adopted by countless choreographers afterward,
and it established the structure of the multi
-act grand ballet that we recognize and study
today. And the most spectacular example. and
the Pharaoh's daughter is, without question,
that fantastical pageant at the bottom of the
Nile we talked about. It is the ultimate expression
of the folkloric divertissement. The visual spectacle
of the Neva and the Guadalquivir dancing together.
The spirit of the Nile summons great rivers from
entirely disparate parts of the world. And they
all arrive dressed up in their national costumes
to dance for Aspicia. This is Petipa's deep penchant
for folklore and national character dance, enhanced
through elaborate costume and staging, showcasing
a dazzling array of techniques and styles. And
this really illustrates the structural freedom
Petipa allowed himself. This dance sequence,
while visually beautiful, has almost nothing
to do with whether Tahor lives or dies. Or whether
Aspicia gets to marry him. It exists purely as
a vehicle for dance and spectacle. Yet the source
notes that while Petipa indulged in folklore
and spectacle, the overall production was criticized
for its historical inaccuracy and the mixing
of styles. Especially outside of St. Petersburg
and places like Moscow. Right. Even in spite
of the general taste for grand sets and costumes
reinvented with a minimum of realism and a maximum
of grandeur, the critiques were there from the
very beginning. Petipa was taking massive artistic
liberties. That tension between historical fantasy
and choreographic opulence is absolutely central
to the work and its reception. It's what allowed
for the spectacle, but it's also what set the
stage for later controversies regarding authenticity
and representation. That initial critique of
historical accuracy and the blending of styles
brings us sharply to the legacy and the controversies
that have defined the ballet's history. particularly
concerning the costuming and representation.
Right. The attempt to reflect Egyptian nationality
through costuming was part of the exoticism that
was so popular, but it ran into immediate artistic
and social problems. The sources detail a new
wave of costuming for the production, where the
newly shortened romantic tutu was decorated with
Egyptian jewelry and ornamentation. This was
intended to give the audience an authentic Egyptian
feel. To reflect Egyptian nationality while remaining
suitable for classical technique. But the conflict
was inherent and unavoidable. Authenticity was
immediately compromised for opulence. The goal
was always to look rich, expensive, and dazzling,
which often meant ignoring historical accuracy
in favor of theatrical grandeur. And this brings
us to the deeply problematic element that exists
in the historical record of this production.
The costuming choices highlighted a clear visual
and social dichotomy within the production. The
principal leads, the massive European guest artists
like Rosati and Petipa, they were dressed in
beautiful, expensive costumes, reflecting European
standards of grandeur and nobility. However,
the ensemble dancers in the nationalistic dances,
the specific parts designed to showcase the exotic
folklore, were often visually distinguished from
the leads through historically offensive methods.
The sources confirm that these dancers could
be covered in blackface to denote them as foreign
or exotic in the context of 19th century performance.
So the spectacle, which was meant to inspire
a feeling of Egyptian exoticism, ended up being
constructed on entirely offensive performance
elements. It visually and racially distinguished
the noble European style leads from the ensemble
performing the exotic dances, often through racist
performance methods and characterization. This
is a painful but essential reminder of the 19th
century cultural context from which this foundational
art form emerged. It's necessary context for
any analysis of historical art. The grandeur
of the spectacle was built in part on cultural
appropriation and racist performance practices
that were common in the time period. And beyond
the costuming issues, the artistic interpretation
of the lead role, Aspicia, itself evolves significantly
over time. It demonstrates Petipa's willingness
to adapt his choreography to the strengths of
different star ballerinas. We can trace this
evolution clearly, can't we? The role was created
for Carolina Rossati, and her interpretation
focused heavily on drama and powerful emotion.
She was an actress dancer. She excelled in the
complex narrative scenes of love, fear, and high
courage, especially that climax where she threatens
the cobra, that classic high -stakes Cleopatra
gesture. And then 20 years later, the role was
taken up by Virginia Zucchi. another formidable
star, but she shifted the interpretation. She
portrayed a more humane, less arrogant princess,
pulling the character away from the purely dramatic
regal style of Rosati toward a more relatable
emotional complexity. And then toward the end
of the century, we arrive at Mathilde Kieschessenskaya.
who is perhaps the epitome of the burgeoning
virtuosity of imperial Russian ballet technique.
She transformed a specia into a major virtuoso
vehicle. It demanded incredible technical difficulty
and speed. So under her influence, the role became
less about acting and more about the dazzling
display of pure ballet technique. Exactly. Petipa
even staged his final revival in 1898, specifically
as a benefit performance for her, tailoring the
steps to her spectacular talents. This shift
is so crucial for understanding the history of
classical technique. It shows the evolution of
the ballerina ideal from a dramatic actress to
a technical marvel, something Chessenskaya absolutely
embodied. And she set the stage for the 20th
century. And thankfully, this 1898 production,
the last one Petipa directly oversaw. was meticulously
preserved. The source confirms that the choreography
and the elaborate staging the mise -en -scene
for that Petipa revival were documented in choreographic
notations, the famous Stepanov notation, which
are preserved in the Sergeyev collection at Harvard
University. This set of records is essentially
the Rosetta Stone for modern revivals. That notation
became the basis for the ballet's survival beyond
the Russian Revolution. Although Alexander Gorski
staged a modified, unauthorized production in
1905 for the Bolshoi Ballet that continued until
1928, it was the preserved notation that allowed
for true historical reconstruction decades later.
It gives us a window back to Petipa's exact intentions.
And the major modern revival we need to highlight
is Pierre Lacoste's and restaging for the Bolshoi
Ballet. Lakot based his work partly on that Stepanov
notation recording of Petipa's final production,
but also on personal recollections and oral histories
of Russian dancers who remembered earlier productions.
It successfully brought the work back into the
regular repertoire after a long, long absence.
And most recently, we have the 2023 Historical
Reconstruction by choreographer Tony Candeloro
for the Mariinsky Theatre. This production was
directly based on the original... up and off
notation. Candeloro's work was informed by his
extensive research. He'd worked with dancers
trained by major figures who carried the imperial
traditions forward, like Luba Vigorova, Olga
Priobrazhenskaya, and Kresenskaya herself. So
Candeloro is clearly positioned as a specialist
in preserving the deep structure of the late
imperial theater and the ballet's Russ's traditions.
His 2023 revival ensures that this grand, sprawling
piece reflects the intended structure and movement
of Fatipa's final staging, even acknowledging
that the original structure mixed styles and
lacked historical accuracy from the start. The
Endurance of the Pharaoh's Daughter is truly
remarkable. It stands from the mid -19th century
through its preservation efforts in the early
20th, all the way to the grand modern stages
of the 21st century in Russia. It's a historical
time capsule of classical ballet's development.
So after this massive, chaotic, opium -fueled
journey into ancient Egypt, what are the ultimate
takeaways for the curious learner today? Well,
what we have here is a massive, often confusing,
and historically complex spectacle that nonetheless
provided the fundamental scaffolding for all
of classical ballet that followed. It laid the
groundwork for the most celebrated narrative
works, the great three - and four -act valets,
through Petipa's institutionalization of the
divertissement and its complete embrace of high
drama and technical display. The enduring value
of The Pharaoh's Daughter is that it shows us
classical ballet right at the moment of its maximalist
birth. It's where the spectacle became formalized,
where the artistic demands on the ensemble became
institutionalized. And where Petipa cemented
his creative control and developed the structural
tools he would use for the rest of his career.
And for you, the curious learner, knowing that
the structural elements of a technical masterpiece
like the Sleeping Beauty or the intense drama
of La Bédère share DNA with this opium -fueled
fantasy provides incredible context. You're watching
a highly polished, technically mastered modern
revival. But its origins are rooted in a bizarre
time travel adventure that begins with a sandstorm
and a character named John Bull. It makes those
technical flourishes and those moments where
the plot seems to stop for pure dance feel less
like random filler and more like essential, intentional
building blocks of the imperial style. We can
appreciate the virtuosity of a modern Aspicia
while understanding that the role had to evolve
radically from a dramatic vehicle for Rosati
to a technical vehicle for Keshitskaya just to
keep pace with the changing demands of the audience.
The history of this ballet also forces us to
confront the difficult intersection of cultural
appropriation and artistic creation in the 19th
century. The fact that its exoticism relied on
elements that were culturally insensitive and
potentially racist. Like the use of blackface
in the nationalistic dances. Even while the leads
were draped in opulence, that tension is part
of the work's DNA. That structural conflict,
this brilliant structure built on a flawed foundation,
leaves us with a final, provocative thought for
you to explore on your own. Given the detailed,
precise information preserved in the Stepanoff
notation, the movement, the structure, the exact
blocking and staging modern choreographers performing
historical reconstructions. Like Tony Candeloro's
2023 Marinsky production. They have a complex
decision to make. When they are charged with
bringing a work back to life, how do they approach
the dual reality? How do they balance respecting
the past structure, the precise steps and mise
-en -scene meticulously recorded in the Stepanov
notation, which is historically sacred, with
the practical obligation to address the cultural
inaccuracies and the inherent racism present
in the original 19th century staging? They must
choose where to draw the line between historical
fidelity and modern responsibility. It's the
enduring challenge of staging historical work
that is structurally brilliant but ethically
complicated. A true deep dive into history always
reveals layers of discomfort beneath the grandeur,
and The Pharaoh's Daughter is a spectacular and
influential example of just that.