Chapter Part of the series Palgrave Studies in the Theory and History of Psychology pp 211-211

Epilogue: Consider Nijinsky

  • Kieran McNally

Abstract

In 1939 Vaslav Nijinsky was visited in a Swiss hospital by press photographers.1 Years earlier Bleuler had assessed the dancer as ‘a confused schizophrenic with mild manic excitement’ (Acocella, 1999, p. xli). Similarly, H.G. Baynes (1940) would see Nijinsky as so arche-typically schizophrenic that he could see the dancer in the drawings of leaping androgynous figures made by others. Although we may question twentieth-century schizophrenia, there is no doubting Nijinsky’s troubled mental history—his own writing and diaries bear witness to it. In a garbled and sometimes incoherent letter to Jean Cocteau, written shortly after his diagnosis, signs of Nijinsky’s unwellness still echo dancelike across the page: ‘Mogi, cogi, togi, jogi. Migi, gigi, gi gi, rigi, Tchigi, tchigi, tchigi, rigi. Tchigi, rigi, rigi, tchigi. Migi, tigi …’ (Acocella, 1999, p. 274). This is tragic, although maybe even delightful in its rhythms for Cocteau, and somewhat fitting for a dancer, who, more than any, was never truly separated from the dance.