Date: 30-01-2005
Owning Institution: Bibliotheque de l'Institut de France, Paris
Publication:     Sunday Telegraph “In The Picture”  
Subject:   17th Century    

Today is the last Sunday of January so this week’s picture is an image inspired by the two-faced god to whom the Romans dedicated that month (and from whose name the word “January” is itself etymologically derived), namely Janus. In Roman mythology Janus was the doorkeeper of heaven, one who looked both into the past and the future, so he often holds a key as well as a sceptre symbolising his power. He was the deity to whom those undertaking new enterprises would make their offerings for good luck, so he also became the guardian of all the fortunes of the new year. His name may have been derived from the masculine form of Diana (Jana). It is possible that he was originally a god of light and day who gradually evolved into the god of the beginnings of all things.

The image of Janus often embellished Roman arches, because his double head was associated with a gate that opens both ways. He thus became the patron of entrances and exits, which lends a certain aptness to the image of him reproduced here. It is a costume design for the character of Janus as he appeared in the so-called “Ballet de la Nuit”, an elaborate theatrical-cum-musical-cum-balletic entertainment staged in honour of Louis XIV of France – one in which the king himself danced, a performer in the very spectacle designed to apotheosise him – on the evening of February 23, 1653.

According to the catalogue of the Bibliotheque de l’Institut de France, which owns a portfolio of some 118 costume designs for the “Ballet de la Nuit”, including this one, they are simply attributed to the hand of an unknown artist of the French school. But Mireille Pastoreau, chief conservator of that institution, who generously responded to my request for further information about this charming and vivid group of watercolours, believes that they are probably the work of Henri de Gissey, a gifted decorative artist who rejoiced in the title of “Dessinateur de la Chambre et du Cabinet du Roi, et Responsable des Divertissements et des Fetes.”

Mme Pastoreau also kindly furnished me with copies of contemporary documents describing the “Ballet de Nuit” as it was actually performed, by and for Louis XIV and his court, as part of the royal celebrations of Carnival in the year 1653. The magnificence of the spectacle, noted by all present, was largely attributed to the ingenious sets and stage machinery created by the celebrated Italian stage designer Jacomo Torelli. The music was written collectively by a number of composers associated with the court, including Cambefort, Boesset, Lambert, Mollier, Vertpre and Mazuel, and the ballet itself comprised some 45 scenes, divided into four acts. The various characters who appeareed were played both by professional court dancers and actors, and by the king and his courtiers themselves. The performance began at six in the evening and ran continuously for a staggering 12 hours, until six in the morning the following day, when the happy (and presumably somewhat exhausted) revellers finally retired to their beds.

Here is my somewhat abridged translation of a transcript of the evening’s entertainment as it unfolded – reaching its climax, as such theatrical extravaganzas generally did, with the spectacle of chaos banished by the arrival of the Sun King himself:

“Act 1 (from 6 to 9 in the evening): Night falls on a maritime landscape. Enter Proteus accompanied by Nereids, followed by hunters, shepherds and bandits. Boutiques appear on the scene, where assorted gallants and coquettes come to make their purchases. Egyptians, male and female, offer to tell the fortunes of passers by and take the opportunity to steal their purses… The robbers conceal themselves in the Courtyard of Miracles…”

“Act 2 (from 9 until midnight): Venus descends from the sky and chases away Old Age and Sadness. The goddess is joined by Games and Laughter and by legendary heroes. All take part in a spectacle on the theme of the marriage of Thetis and Amphitryon.”

“Act 3 (from midnight until 3 in the morning): The Moon appears in her chariot. The Stars who surround her retreat so that she may admire Endymion. The two lovers are borne away in a cloud. Astrologers, peasants and Phrygian priests of the temple of Sibyl worry about the disappearance of the celestial body. The inhabitants of Hell awake: demons, sorcerers and monsters (including werewolves). The set bursts into flames and spreads panic among the peasants.”

“Act 4 (from 3 until 6 in the morning): Sleep and Silence sing, then go to sleep by the entrance of a grotto. The Four Elements emerge. They represent the four tempers of man, as follows: Fire, or the Choler that makes dreams of war (Turks and Christians fight); Air (the bloody dream of Ixion); Water (the night of the Phlegmatic is peopled by cowards tormented by shadows); Earth (the Melancholic sees in his dreams a philosopher and a comic poet, observing the metempsychosis of a woman). Then the world rouses itself. Lovers, money-forgers and blacksmiths with hammers emerge from the grotto. Dawn comes, to announce the imminent arrival of the Sun. The final tableau presents the Sun, incarnated by Louis XIV, in all his splendour. He is surrounded by good spirits: Honour, Victory, Valour, Fame…”

Sadly, there is no mention here – nor in any other contemporary descriptions of the “Ballet de la Nuit”, of Janus, or of what his role might have been in this beguiling spectacle. The dancer playing his part cannot have been terribly comfortable, with his second face, presumably in the form of a mask, strapped to the back of his head. Neither can he have been terribly mobile, with his shoes extending in both directions. Perhaps, given that Janus was among other things the deity of comings and goings, he merely served as some sort of usher, introducing one scene as another ended. It seems that we will never know. But I love this enigmatic little watercolour none the less – a small trace of the vastly elaborate, ephemeral worlds of artifice created by and for the Bourbon kings of France, to incarnate the image of their might, their majesty and their power.