Avec les danseuses royales du Cambodge [With the Royal Dancers of Cambodia]

Fifteen years after working on his beautifully illustrated description of Danseuses cambodgiennes, Anciennes et modernes [Cambodian Dancers, Ancient and Modern] (1913), George Groslier, the founder of the Phnom Penh Museum and of the Ecole des arts cambodgiens, was so alarmed by the state of the Royal Ballet of Cambodia that he decided to encourage its main dancers to help him documenting in photography the repertoire of motions and gestures (ក្បាច់ kbach, in Khmer) expressing the unparalleled aesthetics of Khmer court dance.

With a hastily constituted ​‘commission’ made up of Royal Palace musicians, ballet mistresses and teachers at the School of Cambodian arts, mostly senior, he set up a process described in the present 1928 article, a ​‘gentle awakening’ of an ancient art form that led to him being accepted at the Royal Ballet rehearsals, and allowed him to expand his view on Khmer classical dance. This was recorded in a detailed, often poignant diary spanning from March to August 1927, ending at the passing of King Sisowath ស៊ីសុវត្ថិ (7 September 1840 – 9 August 1927, r. 27 April 1904 – 9 August 1927)

The diary-testimony starts with a somber assessment of the state of the Royal Ballet at the time:

Nous jetâmes un premier coup de sonde en demandant la constitution d’une Commission de Cambodgiens versés dans la tradition théâtrate, de deux maitresses de ballet et de quelques-unes des meilleures danseuses. Notre but était de constituer, à l’aide de la photographie, un répertoire de toutes les poses traditionnelles. Du moins si, dans la suite, nous né pouvions rien obtenir de mieux et s’il était écrit que la danse khmère devait mourir, ce répertoire fixerait tout ce qui, pour le moment, vivait encore et était immédiatement saisissable. A peine proposions-nous ce passionnant travail, que le gouverneur général Pasquier passait à Phnom Penh. Selon la coutume, il y eut soirée de gala au Palais. Jamais le corps de ballet né dansa plus mal. La misère des costumes, la mauvaise humeur et le désordre des ballerines furent tels que chacun en fut frappé et le nouveau Résidant supérieur qui, après vingt ans, revoyait les danses royales, demeura consterné. Voilà les pouvoirs publics découvrant eux-mêmes la plaie. Ainsi, en cette soirée mémorable, les dieux nous furent propices en détournant des ébats de leurs nymphes un front irrité je parle des dieux immortels et des dieux administratifs. [p 536 – 7]

Notre petite commission s’est réunie la première fois aujourd’hui [10 March 1927]. Ce fut un choeur de vieillards. Par rang d’âge, il y avait le vieitlard Pen aux yeux embués, écarquillés, qui n’ont jamais l’air d’être au point. On a recours à lui, au Palais, chaque fois qu’on doit ordonner correctement certaines cérémonies selon le rituel. Malgré ses 70 ans, il fabrique des coiffures et des masques de danse et appartient au personnel de l’Ecole des Arts cambodgiens. De temps en temps, je le vois entrer dans mon bureau, poser une fleur sur ma table, me faire un profond salut et s’en aller sans avoir dit un mot. Venait ensuite le vieillard Kang, chef de l’orchestre royal, qui, durant tout le temps que durèrentnos travaux, arriva toujours avant l’heure, né prononça pas dix paroles, encore furent-elles monosyllabiques. Voici, à côté, notre inspecteur du travail à la direction des Arts, architecte et, enlumineur, esprit avancé, brouillon, ambitieux, un jeune Cambodgien de 50 ans, d’une érudition artistique khmère considérable, un de nos collaborateurs de la première heure. N’oublions pas enfin le Néay Toch, autre vieux musicien érudit, avec une face de mulot à moitié paralysée, féru de tradition. [p 537]

The first temptative step was for us to request the formation of a commission of Cambodians well-versed in the theatrical tradition, two ballet mistresses, and some of the best dancers. Our goal was to compile, with the help of photography, a repertoire of all the traditional poses. At least if, in the future, we could not achieve anything better and if it were written that Khmer dance was to die, this repertoire would record everything that, for the moment, was still alive and immediately graspable. We had just put forward the ideo of such a fascinating task when Governor General Pasquier passed through Phnom Penh. As was customary, there was a gala evening at the Palace. Never had the ballet corps danced so badly. The shabby costumes, the bad mood, and the disorganization of the ballerinas were such that everyone was struck, and the new Resident Superior, who, after twenty years, was reviewing the royal dances, was dismayed. Here are the public authorities discovering the wound themselves. Thus, on this memorable evening, the gods were kind to us by diverting an irritated brow from the frolics of their nymphs — I’m talking about both the immortal and the administrative gods. [p. 536 – 7]

Our small committee met for the first time today [March 10, 1927]. It was a choir of old men. In terms of age, there was the old Pen with his misty, wide-eyed eyes, who never seem to be up to scratch. He is called upon at the Palace whenever certain ceremonies need to be properly ordered according to ritual. Despite his 70 years, he makes headdresses and dance masks and is a member of the staff of the Cambodian School of Arts. From time to time, I see him enter my office, place a flower on my table, give me a low bow, and leave without saying a word. Next came old Kang, head of the royal orchestra, who, throughout our work, always arrived early and never uttered more than ten words, even if they were monosyllabic. Here, next to him, was our inspector at the Arts Department, an architect and illuminator, an advanced, meticulous, ambitious mind, a young Cambodian of 50, with considerable Khmer artistic erudition, one of our early collaborators. Finally, let us not forget Néay Toch, another learned old musician, with the face of a half-paralyzed field mouse, keen on tradition. [p 537]

The instructors and inspectors of Ecole des Arts Cambodgiens in Oct. 1930 on the front steps of the Khmer Museum founded by George Groslier. Pen and Kang are certainly amongst the elders in the photo. The ​‘young Cambodian of 50’ unnamed by the author — and not yet identified on this photo — would probably be Oknha Reachna Prasor Mao, born in 1871 in Kandal province, architect-adjunct of the Royal Palace since 1914, close assistant to Okhnha Tep Nimith Mak (here standing third from the left, first row), born in 1856 in Phnom Penh. [source: National Museum of Cambodia Collection, reproduced in ​‘Cambodian Dancers Ancient and Modern’, augmented English edition of Groslier’s book edited by Kent Davis, DatASIA, 2011].

Acknowleding dancers as artists

To the date, dancers of the Royal Ballet had remained in anonymity, except when they were distinguished by the King’s interest and acceded to the highest rank of queen consorts, like the formidable Khun Than, who had been a spouse of King Ang Duong before becoming one of King Norodom’s queens. Here for the first time, Groslier gave names, faces and character profile to these talented young women, while in Cambodian cultural tradition writers often remained anonymous — and later that was also the case for photographers until the 1970s:

Le lendemain (11 March) arriverent les danseuses. Ith avait été inscrite tout d’abord. C’est une indépendante. Elle est déjà allée en France à l’exposition coloniale de 1922. Elle apparut avec un bon sourire, une fleur rouge sur l’oreille, son port de tête altier. Elle joue les rôles de princes, de héros. Je la soupçonnais indolente et m’aperçus bientôt que je me trompais. La vie cloîtrée du Palais lui pèse et elle s’ennuie. Anong Nari vient ensuite. C’est une vague petite cousine de Sa Majesté. Elle joue les roles de princesses„ de déesses. D’une souplesse, miraculeuse, elle manqué cependant de’ styte et, sachant cent fois mieux son métier que Ith, elle en tire trois fois moins d’effet. C’est une laborieuse, une orgueilleuse, petite nature ingrate et ombrageuse. Anong Nari est son nom de Palais, en réalité elle s’appelle Pong, ce qui veut dire oeuf. Je lui demandai: ​‘Oeuf ? oeuf de quoi ? oeuf de colombe ou de paon ?’ Oeuf de paon, me répondit-elle. Voilà la fille, voilà le tempérament. Tout autre est Suon. Un corps charmant, élégant, mais une face ingrate avec un nez cassé, ce qui n’a pas d’importance, parce qu’elle assure les rôles de yaks, de géants, qui comportent un masque. Trois mots la dépeignent, trois mots à prendre dans leur acception occidentate ta bonne fille. Enfin Khieuvan, rôle de princesse comme Anong Nari et amenée malicieusement par la krouv Lèk, pour damer le pion à Oeuf de paon et à Lompouh, professeur d’Oeuf de paon. 

Dès la première heure, l’intrigue s’insinuait dans notre commission et même la photographie suscitait un branle-bas de combat. Kieuvan, 19 ans ans, figure murée, impassible, petite bouche en croissant, de traits nettement ciselés, d’une souplesse de liane, aristocratique et précieuse. Comment définir son tempérament ? Peut-être la plus travailleuse des quatre. Son sourire est charmant, mais superficiel sous un front d’airain. Humilité qui est peut-être un orgueil démesuré. [p 539 – 40] 21 March: Dès la deuxième séance, nous dûmes prévenir les susceptibilités. Ith né vient pas les mêmes jours qu’Oeuf de paon. Lorsque l’une pose, la maîtresse de l’autre affecte de sortir, de né plus rien voir. Nos paroles doivent être dosées en nombre égal pour chacune dix paires d’oreilles les enregistrent. Nous apprenons qu’il né faut pas plaisanter avec ces choses-là. En revanche, chacune a admirablement compris ce que nous voulons et se dépense sans compter, recommence d’elle-même toute phrase manquée, arrive avant l’heure fixée, discute les photos prises, la séance précédente, les classe, et, du crayon, nous les fait corriger. Et nous apprenons vite qu’il y a chez ces natures .si disparates et si difficiles à comprendre le même orgueil professionnel, la même vanité puérile; la même conscience pas une n’élude, pas une né se dérobe. Quelque chose semble agir et circuler dans cette jeune chair, venu des siècles passés, qui n’emprunte rien aux cerveaux, ni aux coeurs, quelque chose, dirait-on, qui aurait peur de la mort et serait la fin d’une vie. [p 541]

1) Ith had starred in the Cambodian dance performance at Marseille Colonial Exhibition, 1922 [source: Excelsior, 28 May 1922, via gal​li​ca​.bnf​.fr] 2) Ith as Vishnu on Garuda with an unindentified dancer through Groslier’s lens in 1927 [source: plate MNC 092.12g, reproduced in Lucie Labbé, Bertrand Porte, ​“Avec les danseuses royales du Cambodge”, 2018, op. cit.] 3) Ith portrayed by artist Léa Lafugie as the lead dancer at the ceremonies for the coronation of King Monivong, 20 – 25 July 1928.

1) Ith had starred in the Cambodian dance performance at Marseille Colonial Exhibition, 1922 [source: Excelsior, 28 May 1922, via gal​li​ca​.bnf​.fr] 2) Ith as Vishnu on Garuda with an unindentified dancer through Groslier’s lens in 1927 [source: plate MNC 092.12g, reproduced in Lucie Labbé, Bertrand Porte, ​“Avec les danseuses royales du Cambodge”, 2018, op. cit.] 3) Ith portrayed by artist Léa Lafugie as the lead dancer at the ceremonies for the coronation of King Monivong, 20 – 25 July 1928.

1) Ith had starred in the Cambodian dance performance at Marseille Colonial Exhibition, 1922 [source: Excelsior, 28 May 1922, via gal​li​ca​.bnf​.fr] 2) Ith as Vishnu on Garuda with an unindentified dancer through Groslier’s lens in 1927 [source: plate MNC 092.12g, reproduced in Lucie Labbé, Bertrand Porte, ​“Avec les danseuses royales du Cambodge”, 2018, op. cit.] 3) Ith portrayed by artist Léa Lafugie as the lead dancer at the ceremonies for the coronation of King Monivong, 20 – 25 July 1928.

The next day (March 11) the dancers arrived. Ith had been enrolled first. She is an independent one. She has already been to France for the 1922 Colonial Exhibition. She appeared with a kind smile, a red flower on her ear, her head held haughtily. She plays the roles of princes, heroes. I suspected her of being indolent and soon realized that I was wrong. The cloistered life of the Palace weighs on her and she is bored. Anong Nari comes next. She is a vague little cousin of His Majesty. She plays the roles of princesses, of goddesses. Miraculously supple, she nevertheless lacks style and, knowing her craft a hundred times better than Ith, she gets three times less effect from it. She is a hard worker, a proud woman, an ungrateful and touchy little girl. Anong Nari is her palace name; in reality, her name is Pong, which means egg. I asked her, ​‘Egg? What egg? Dove’s or peacock’s egg?’ Peacock’s egg, she replied. That’s the girl, that’s the temperament. Suon is completely different. A charming, elegant body, but an unattractive face with a broken nose, which doesn’t matter because she plays the roles of yaks and giants, which involve a mask. Three words describe her, three words to be taken in their Western sense: your good girl. Finally, Khieuvan, a princess role like Anong Nari, mischievously brought in by the krouv Lèk, to outwit Peacock Egg and Lompouh, Peacock Egg’s teacher.

From the very first hour, intrigue crept into our committee, and even photography caused a flurry of activity. Kieuvan, 19, a walled-off, impassive face, a small crescent-shaped mouth, sharply chiseled features, as supple as a vine, aristocratic and precious. How can we define her temperament? Perhaps the hardest-working of the four. Her smile is charming, but superficial beneath a brazen brow. A humility that is perhaps excessive pride. [p 539 – 40] March 21: From the second session, we had to forestall any sensitivities. Ith doesn’t come on the same days as Peacock Egg. When one poses, the other’s mistress pretends to leave, to no longer see anything. Our words must be measured out in equal numbers for each; ten pairs of ears register them. We learn that we shouldn’t joke about such things. On the other hand, each one has admirably understood what we want and spends herself without counting, starts over any missed sequence on her own initiative, arrives before the appointed time, discusses the photos taken, the previous session, classifies them, and, with a pencil, makes us correct them. And we quickly learn that there is in these natures so disparate and so difficult to understand the same professional pride, the same childish vanity; the same conscience not one eludes, not one shirks. Something seems to act and circulate in this young flesh, come from past centuries, which borrows nothing from brains, nor from hearts, something, one would say, which would be afraid of death and would be the end of a life. [p 541]

Nou Nam’s comeback

Nou Nam had been first dancer and favorite of King Norodom (she was captured in a rare photograph at the Royal Palace in 1901 by French architect and explorer Henri Dufour), then of King Sisowath’s. The idea of calling her back from her retirement and enrolling her talent into his documentation project is a testimony of the author’s profound knowledge of the Cambodian art scene at the turn of the century:

28 mars. – J’ai fait rechercher et retrouvé Nou Nam. Elle dansait encore en 1911 et m’avait posé des dessins alors que j’écrivais mon livre Danseuses Cambodgiennes. A cette époque, elle était au déclin de sa gloire. Favorite de S. M. Norodom, elle le fut aussi de S. M. Sisowath. Quinze ans, elle brilla au front de deux rois, princesse du geste et toute puissante au palais. D’humeur attière et de caractère intraitable, elle dut quitter la cour vers 1912 et sombra dans l’obscurité. Elle est maintenant femme d’un secrétaire et approche de la cinquantaine. Je né l’avais plus revue depuis quinze ans. Elle entre dans mon bureau, humble, maigre, n’ayant conservé de sa beauté que ses yeux de velours, audacieux et intelligents. Elle me reconnaît, s’approche, me presse les bras. Que lui veut-on? Je lui explique le fonctionnement de notre commission, et lui demande de venir nous redonner la traditton d’il y a vingt ans, celle qui n’a pas été touchée par ces derrnières années de décadence. Alors ses yeux s’approfondissent et son orgueil les animé. On né sait plus danser, me dit-elle avec dédain et une moue comme si elle mâchait du fiel. Je la flatte, insiste, la convaincs. Elle me répond qu’elle est vieille, faible. Tu rajeuniras! As-tu donc oublié ? Ah non, elle n’a pas oublié, mais pourra-t-elle? Elle tend un bras maigre qui se replie en arrière, mais les doigts restent raides ça né fait rien. Elle se décide enfin et arrive le lendemain. 

La voilà. Elle a remis la ceinture tressée. Le choeur des vieillards, en la voyant, s’animé et pousse des cris. Elle régnait, naguère, sur la fin de leur jeunesse. Et devant l’objectif, Nou Nam s’agenouille, trace le grand salut initial de toute danse, se lève et se déploie. Reprenant ses poses de princesse légendaire, elle retrouve son arrogance et donne des explications sans réplique, amère. Elle se maîtrise et s’abandonne. Des crampes l’interrompent toutes les trois minutes et elle redevient, sur sa chaise, une petite vieille qui prise du camphre pour se redonner des forces. Parfois elle prend deux poses, presque semblables. D’un ton autoritaire elle dit, de l’une ​“avant”, de l’autre ​“maintenant”, et sa bouche est pleine de dédain. Voilà comme on dansait de Mon temps et voilà ce qu’on fait aujourd’hui. Aujourd’hui, la main s’arrête deux centimètres plus haut que hier et la tête est bien tournée de deux degrés de plus que du temps de Nou Nam. A peine l’avions-nous remarqué, mais le choeur des vieillards s’était agité… En une huitaine de séances, Nou Nam nous, donna près de cent cinquante clichés. Nous rattrapâmes ainsi un pan de passé et ressuscitâmes des choses mortes. Aux jeunes muscles détiés de Kieuvan nous liâmes les vieux os de la danseuse déjà ensevelie dans l’oubli. Considérant dans le silence du bureau les photographies amassées chaque jour, à la face noire et ravagée de la vieille favorite nous voyons se superposer le visage poudré de Ith, et d’entre nos doigts se lève une danseuse pétrie de la noblesse du passé et vibrante de toutes les forces du présent. [p 542 – 3]

March 28. – I had Nou Nam searched for and found. She was still dancing in 1911 and had posed for some of my drawings while I was writing my book Cambodian Dancers. At that time, she was in the waning years of her fame. A favorite of His Majesty Norodom, she was also a favorite of His Majesty Sisowath. At fifteen, she shone on the faces of two kings, a princess of motion, all-powerful in the palace. With a temperamental and intractable character, she had to leave the court around 1912 and sank into obscurity. She is now the wife of a secretary and is approaching fifty. I hadn’t seen her for fifteen years. She enters my office, humble, thin, having retained of her beauty only those velvety, bold and intelligent eyes. She recognizes me, approaches, and squeezes my arms. What do they want from her? I explain to her how our committee works and ask her to come and restore the tradition of twenty years ago, the one that hasn’t been affected by these recent years of decadence. Then her eyes deepen and her pride animates them. ​“They don’t know how to dance anymore,” she tells me with disdain and a pout as if she’s chewing bile. I flatter her, insist, convince her. She replies that she’s old, weak. ​“You’ll grow younger! Have you forgotten?” Oh no, she hasn’t forgotten, but will she be able to perform? She stretches out a thin arm that bends back, but her fingers remain stiff; it doesn’t matter. She finally makes up her mind and arrives the next day.

There she is. She has put the braided belt back on. The chorus of old people, seeing her, comes alive and shouts. She once reigned over the end of their youth. And in front of the camera, Nou Nam kneels, traces the grand initial bow of every dance, stands up, and unfolds. Resuming her poses of a legendary princess, she regains her arrogance and gives explanations without reply, bitter. She controls herself and lets it go. Cramps interrupt her every three minutes, and she becomes, in her chair, a little old lady snuffing camphor to regain her strength. Sometimes she strikes two poses, almost identical. In an authoritarian tone, she says, of one ​“before,” of the other ​“now,” and her mouth is full of disdain. This is how we danced in my time, and this is what we do today. Today, the hand stops two centimeters higher than yesterday, and the head is turned two degrees more than in Nou Nam’s time. We had barely noticed it, but the chorus of old men had stirred… In about eight sessions, Nou Nam gave us nearly one hundred and fifty photographs. We thus recaptured a piece of the past and resurrected dead things. To the young, relaxed muscles of Kieuvan we linked the old bones of the dancer already buried in oblivion. Considering in the silence of the office the photographs amassed each day, to the black and ravaged face of the old favorite we see superimposed the powdered face of Ith, and from between our fingers rises a dancer steeped in the nobility of the past and vibrant with all the forces of the present. [p 542 – 3]

1) Nou Nam leading the cortège of dancers at the Royal Palace, March 1901 [source: detail of a photograph taken by H. Dufour, reproduced in BEFEO 1, 1901]. 2) ​“Those velvety, bold and intelligent eyes”: could this unnamed dancer portrayed by Groslier in his 1913 book be Nou Nam? [drawing from Danseuses Cambodgiennes]. 3) Nou Nam facing Groslier’s camera in 1927 [source: 046.08^d, reproduced in Labbé-Porte 2018, op. cit.]

1) Nou Nam leading the cortège of dancers at the Royal Palace, March 1901 [source: detail of a photograph taken by H. Dufour, reproduced in BEFEO 1, 1901]. 2) ​“Those velvety, bold and intelligent eyes”: could this unnamed dancer portrayed by Groslier in his 1913 book be Nou Nam? [drawing from Danseuses Cambodgiennes]. 3) Nou Nam facing Groslier’s camera in 1927 [source: 046.08^d, reproduced in Labbé-Porte 2018, op. cit.]

1) Nou Nam leading the cortège of dancers at the Royal Palace, March 1901 [source: detail of a photograph taken by H. Dufour, reproduced in BEFEO 1, 1901]. 2) ​“Those velvety, bold and intelligent eyes”: could this unnamed dancer portrayed by Groslier in his 1913 book be Nou Nam? [drawing from Danseuses Cambodgiennes]. 3) Nou Nam facing Groslier’s camera in 1927 [source: 046.08^d, reproduced in Labbé-Porte 2018, op. cit.]

The Inner Workings of the Intangible

For almost three decades, the author has observed and drawn the Cambodian royal dancers at a respectful distance. The same way he denied himself the right to teach at the School of Arts he had founded with Cambodian masters because he was not Khmer (yet the first French artist born in Cambodia). Unlike friends Charles Gravelle or Roland Meyer — of Saramani fame -, he has never courted and married one of these frail and powerful artists. And now, on the morning of 18 June 1927, the photographic work done, he is admitted to the rehearsal of the dances planned for the upcoming King’s birthday at the dance pavilion of the Royal Palace: 

Jamais, peut-être, danseuses royales khmères n’ont répété devant un étranger. [..] Tous les gestes dont aura besoin l’actrice pour jouer le répertoire se succèdent et se complètent, dépouillés de tout sens littéraire et de façon que les membres et chaque muscle entrent en jeu tour à tour et progressivement. D’abord la salutation rituelle, puis des mouvements lents, stations sur les jambes ployées, légères flexions du torse, demi-tours. Peu à peu, les tensions augmentent, deviennent hyperextension, les jambes et les bras travaillent méthodiquement en des dessins plus compliqués. Après 22 minutes environ de ce premier effort lentement exalté, commencent les marches rythmées auxquelles les courses s’enchaînent. Comme, à ce moment, les corps sont essoufflés, un nouveau salut agenouillé rompt l’essor épuisé. Enfin les corps sont repris par la finale dans de grands gestes amples, et la danse cesse après 34 minutes environ d’efforts progressifs. Il n’y a pas un arrêt, pas un trou, pas une rupture. Les danseuses répètent ensemble par catégories, selon les quatre rôles fondamentaux du théâtre khmèr, les princes, les princesses, les géants et les singes, car il est évident que les gestes du géant né sont pas ceux de la princesse. Dans chaque groupe, au premier rang, les étoiles, puis, de rang en rang, les actrices de moins en moins habiles jusqu’aux débutantes. De !a sorte, chacune n’a qu’à suivre celle qui la précède immédiatement. Et devant le premier rang, lorsqu’il y a lieu, une maîtresse de ballet dicte les poses ou les exécute. Les autres maîtresses circulent dans les lignes et, sans parler, corrigent les mauvaises attitudes, redressent un bras, tirent une main qui se renverse mal, ploient un dos, rectifient l’inclination d’une jambe. La patiente continue, impassible, sans être interrompue, les yeux fixés devant elle. Certaine maladroite est flanquée de deux maîtresses, une devant l’autre derrière. Elle est littéralement pétrie, modelée, tordue à la cadence de l’orchestre qui jamais né s’arrête. [p 549 – 50]

Aucun graphique, aucune notation écrite, aucun aide mémoire concret né fixent l’agencement de cette déconcertante horlogerie, puisqu’une telle écriture né pourrait être établie, à la rigueur, qu’en fonction d’un scénario déterminé; or, une actrice joue n’importe quel scénario.
Expérience: voici Me Lèk, 68 ans et la plus jeune de nos maîtresses de ballet, Dakpeay, 38 ans. Formation différente, chacune ancienne danseuse, bien entendu. La pièce que nous mettons en scène aujourd’hui n’a plus été jouée depuis 18 ans. Durée: 3 heures. Nos deux actrices sont en présence. La lectrice dicte, les chanteuses emboîtent le pas et voilà tous les gestes de ces deux femmes qui s’enlacent et se rencontrent sans une erreur, sans une hésitation. Imaginez une mémoire humaine faite d’un millier de cellules numérotées, chacune de forme particulière, et que notre actrice sait en une seconde que les cellules 2, 70, 41, 720 et 454 seules, et seulement dans cet ordre, contiennent les gestes tout faits nécessaires à l’expression de cette phrase banale, une des mille phrases que comporte l’un des vingt rôles que peut être appelée à jouer cette actrice. […] Se plaçant à côté d’une maîtresse en parfaite possession de ce puzzle plastique, la jeune actrice apprend son rôle en imitant son aînée. Elle se meut comme son ombré. Il suffit de quelques répétitions pour que ce rôle soit su par t’Initiée et que, dans sa mémoire, soit ouvert le même nombre de cellules que renferme la mémoire de la maîtresse de ballet. Qu’on songe enfin que cette actrice a dix-sept ans et que, jusqu’à sa mort, elle sera prête rejouer ce rôle. [p 554]

“Hidden clockwork”: transmission of knowledge at Princess Buppha Devi Dance School, Aug. 2022 [photo ADB].

Never before perhaps have royal Khmer dancers rehearsed in front of a foreigner. [..] All the gestures that the actress will need to perform the repertoire follow one another and complement one another, stripped of any literary meaning and in such a way that the limbs and each muscle come into play one by one and progressively. First the ritual greeting, then slow movements, positions on bent legs, slight flexions of the torso, half-turns. Little by little, the tensions increase, become hyperextension, the legs and arms work methodically in more complicated designs. After about 22 minutes of this first slowly exalted effort, rhythmic marches begin, followed by running. At that point, bodies are out of breath and a new kneeling salute breaks the drained-out flight. Finally they are taken up by the finale in large, sweeping gestures, and the dance ceases after about 34 minutes of progressive effort. There is not a single pause, not a gap, not a break. The dancers rehearse together by category, according to the four fundamental roles of Khmer theater: princes, princesses, giants, and monkeys, for it is obvious that the giant’s motions are not those of the princess. In each group, in the front row, the stars, then, from row to row, the actresses of less and less skill, down to the beginners. In this way, each has only to follow the one immediately preceding her. And in front of the front row, when necessary, a ballet mistress dictates the poses or executes them. The other mistresses circulate in the lines and, without speaking, correct bad postures, straighten an arm, pull a hand that is tilted incorrectly, bend a back, correct the inclination of a leg. The patient continues, impassive, without being interrupted, her eyes fixed in front of her. A certain clumsy woman is flanked by two mistresses, one in front of the other behind. She is literally molded, shaped, and twisted to the rhythm of the orchestra, which never stops. [p. 549 – 50]

No chart, no written instruction, no precise aide-mémoire defines the arrangement of this disconcerting clockwork, since such a writing could only be established, strictly speaking, according to a specific scenario; and an actress plays any scenario. One experience: here is Ms. Lèk, 68 years old, and the youngest of our ballet mistresses, Dakpeay, 38. Different training, and both are former dancers, of course. The piece we are staging today has not been performed for 18 years. Running time: 3 hours. Our two actresses are present. The reciter dictates, the singers follow suit, and here are all the gestures of these two women who embrace and meet without a mistake, without a hesitation. Imagine a human memory made up of a thousand numbered cells, each of a particular shape, and that our actress knows in a second that cells 2, 70, 41, 720, and 454 alone, and only in this order, contain the ready-made gestures necessary for the expression of this banal phrase, one of the thousand phrases that comprise one of the twenty roles that this actress may be called upon to play. […] Placing herself beside a mistress in perfect possession of this plastic puzzle, the young actress learns her role by imitating her elder. She moves like her shadow. It only takes a few rehearsals for this role to be known by the initiate and for the same number of cells to be opened in her memory as the memory of the ballet mistress contains. Finally, let us consider that this actress is seventeen years old and that, until her death, she will be ready to play this role again. [p 554] 

On 25 July, the group is given notice that HM King Sisowath is seriously ill. In deference, reherseals are suspended and kru [teacher] Lek is sent with nine dancers to perform a propitiatory dance at Wat Phnom Del, Kompong Siem. On 29 July, the dancers are informed the King’s recovered and preparations for His birthday can now go on. Rehearsal resume at at the Palace dance hall: 

Quelle belle chose que le début du ​“ream” des princesses! Elles s’avancent trois par trois du fond de la salle, d’abord à pas lents coupés, par des poses — puis dans un glissement. Elles marquent de l’hésitation à s’emparer de l’air. Leurs gestes s’y insinuent comme pour écarter des franges, des branches, des nuées. Chacune se néglige encore dans une grâce timide et précieuse, qui rend ambiguë l’implacable rythme de la musique et des batteuses de mesure. On voit, plastiquement traduite, la confusion d’une femme sûre d’elle, mais cependant inquiète et qui s’avance sans bien savoir où la conduisent ses pas. Bien qu’on entende le frôlement de leurs pieds sur le dallage, on comprend que ces jeunes filles se meuvent sur un autre plan que celui d’où nous les observons et suivent des monitrices que nous né voyons pas. La jeune Saruong, il y a une minute, je la regardais courir et effrayer des dindons qui faisaient la roué à quelques mètres de la salle de danse. La voilà à son rang qui apparaît. De sa figure, toute expression enfantine a disparu, laissant un masque de sphinx d’où coulent des regards. Toute vie, tout âge disparurent de son corps depuis que, lente, elle a levé ses bras en les ouvrant et tendu ses doigts rayonnants.

Ce qui sépare la danse classique ou rythmique, telle que nous la concevons en Occident, et la danse khmère, s’impose dès ces premières mesures. Celle-ci n’a pas pour but un mouvement cadencé ou expressif. Le mouvement, au contraire, n’est que le moyen de construire une attitude, une immobilité fugitive où tout le corps s’équilibrera. De là, d’abord, cette lenteur ensuite cette précautionneuse disposition des membres qui, par leur symétrie ou leur dissymétrie, selon le cas, donneront l’idée d’élan et de légèreté sans jamais se servir d’un élan qui favoriserait l’expression de cette légèreté. Par exemple, lorsque l’actrice veut suggérer l’idée qu’elle quitte le sol, plane elle s’immobilise
ce qui est à peu près le contraire de ce que concevrait une danseuse occidentale. Elle compte donc, pour provoquer l’illusion, sur la forme symbolique que prendra son corps, indépendamment de ce qu’auront signifié les gestes précédents, de ce que signifie, si j’ose dire, le contexte. [p 559]

What a beautiful thing the beginning of the princesses’ roam [រាំ, dance] is! They advance three by three from the back of the room, first with slow, halting steps, in poses — then in a glide. They show hesitation in seizing the air. Their gestures insinuate themselves into it as if to push aside fringes, branches, clouds. Each one still neglects herself in a timid and precious grace, which makes ambiguous the implacable rhythm of the music and the beaters. We see, plastically translated, the confusion of a woman sure of herself, but nevertheless worried, who advances without really knowing where her steps are leading her. Although we hear the rustling of their feet on the paving, we understand that these young girls are moving on a different plane from the one from which we observe them and are following instructors whom we do not see. A minute ago, I watched young Saruong run and scare turkeys that were showing off a few meters from the dance hall. Now she appears in her place. All childlike expression has vanished from her face, leaving a sphinx-like mask from which gazes stream. All life, all age, vanished from her body as she slowly raised her arms, opening them and extending her radiant fingers.

What separates classical or rhythmic dance as we understand it in the West from Khmer dance is evident from these first bars. The latter does not aim for rhythmic or expressive movement. Movement, on the contrary, is merely the means to construct an attitude, a fleeting stillness in which the whole body will find its balance. Hence, first, this slowness, then this cautious arrangement of the limbs which, by their symmetry or their asymmetry, as the case may be, will give the idea of​momentum and lightness without ever using an actual movement favoringthe expression of lightness. For example, when the actress wants to suggest the idea that she is leaving the ground, she hovers, she becomes immobile, which is almost the opposite of what a Western dancer would conceive. She therefore relies, to create the illusion, on the symbolic form that her body will take, independently of what the preceding gestures have signified, of what the context signifies, if I dare say so. [p. 559]

The end of an historic phase

Could this dance, essential expression of Cambodian royalty, survive in a country forced under French ​‘protectorate’? For decades, French politicians had bashed the Royal Ballet as a symbol of ​‘depravity’, an outrageously expensive ​‘harem’. Since 1887, the royal coffers had been put under colonial scrutiny. And the Cambodian sovereigns themselves had come to realize that, even if foreign Orientalists valued its cultural values, it was ever more difficult to keep the old traditions alive. In 1928, celebrations for King Monivong’s coronation were to be scrutinized and censored by the ubiquitous Resident-Superior Le Fol. The author was navigating these realities when he wrote 

Par petites phrases éparses qui né se rejoignent et né peuvent avoir de sens que pour nous, puisque nous les cueillons à des bouches différentes, toute la décomposition du corps de ballet royal, décomposition matérielle, professionnelle et morale, s’offre à nous. Plus de répétitions, sauf quelques jours avant une fête. Depuis quinze ans, toujours les mêmes programmes, rabâchés et pourtant jamais sus. Partout le découragement, l’amertume, l’asservissement, le moindre effort, l’absence de scrupule, la misère. Anong Nari, de par sa parenté royale, touché 19 piastres par mois premier sujet; Ith, premier sujet, 10, Suon, 6; alors que pour manger il en faut à ces jeunes femmes environ 12. Ainsi les danseuses royales khmères, uniques au monde, après dix, douze années de service et de claustration, gagnent moins qu’un coolie dont le salaire minimum est, à Phnom Penh, 0 fr. 50 par jour, soit 15 piastres par mois. Elles sont là pour danser, pour travailler, ces jeunes femmes. Il leur faudrait, comme naguère, des exercices journaliers, un entraînement sévère et régulier, afin d’entretenir leur souplesse et leur mémoire. Toutes le savent, toutes le disent, toutes le désirent à la condition qu’on les paye suffisamment et qu’elles sachent, c’est le cas de le dire, sur quel pied danser.

Chacune évoque les fastes de naguère. Régnaient alors d’incorruptibles directrices de ballet, la koun Tan, la princesse Sumphadi, dures, brutales. On répétait au rotin. La danseuse rebelle était mise au cachot. Mais sous ces mains énergiques, cent cinquante ballerines dansaient en mesure, à la perfection, jouissaient d’un grand prestige et paraissaient en public parées de costumes propres et éblouissants. Le roi, jeune, passionné de théâtre, les faisait jouer des nuits entières. En ces temps si peu lointains, les soldes étaient suffisantes, car la vie était bon marché, le roi généreux en gratifications, et les favorites né faisaient pas la loi. Si les peines étaient sévères, si le joug pesait plus qu’aujourd’hui, les satisfactions rutilaient. Dame du palais, danseuse royale, c’était une gloire de l’être. [p 544 – 5]

In small, scattered phrases that only come together and can only have meaning for us, since we pick them up from different mouths, the entire coming apart of the royal corps de ballet — material, professional, and moral decomposition — is revealed to us. No more rehearsals, except for a few days before a celebration. For fifteen years, always the same programs, rehashed and yet never heard. Everywhere, discouragement, bitterness, subjugation, disengagement, lack of scruples, poverty. Anong Nari, by virtue of her royal kinship, receives 19 piastres per month, first subject; Ith, first subject, 10, Suon, 6; whereas these young women need about 12 piastres to eat. Thus, the royal Khmer dancers, unique in the world, after ten or twelve years of service and confinement, earn less than a coolie whose minimum wage in Phnom Penh is 0 francs. 50 a day, or 15 piastres a month. These young women are here to dance, to work. They need, as in the past, daily exercises, rigorous and regular training, to maintain their flexibility and their memory. They all know it, they all say it, they all desire it, provided they are paid enough and know, so to speak, where and how to stand.

Each evokes the splendors of yesteryear. Then reigned incorruptible ballet directors, Koun Tan [Khun Than], Princess Sumphadi, harsh, brutal. Rehearsals were held on a tight leash. The rebellious dancer was put in solitary confinement. But under these demanding hands, 150 ballerinas danced in time, to perfection, enjoyed great prestige, and appeared in public adorned with clean and dazzling costumes. The king, young and passionate about the theater, had them perform for entire nights. In those not-so-distant times, wages were sufficient, for life was cheap, the king generous in gratuities, and favorites did not lay down the law. If the punishments were severe, if the yoke weighed more heavily than today, their fulfillement glittered. Lady of the palace, royal dancer, were titles of glory. [p 544 – 5]

Headdresses, collars, belts, wrists and ankle bracelets, traditionally seen as essential enhancements of the arts, are now valued at market price:

Il nous faudra trois jours pour achever notre inventaire. Bagues, anneaux de chevilles, bracelets, sautoirs simples et doubles, tout est en or et en argent purs, par lots de vingt, de cinquante, de cent. J’examine, crayon en main, 686 bijoux divers, d’un poids total de 43 kg. 987 et d’une
valeur de 960.000 francs-or environ. Ce trésor, sauf quelques pièces, est en sacs, dans des paniers plats, des mouchoirs noués aux quatre coins, ou mis en petit tas au fond d’une armoire. […] C’est un miracle qu’il en reste et il faut encela rendre grâce a l’honnéteté foncière, au désinteressement du Cambodgien. Le développement des affaires du royaume, de son administration, absorbe le ministre du Palais et ses subordonnés. Nous né nous trouvons donc pas en présence d’une négligence coupable, mais, ce qui est bien plus grave, devant les exigences des temps nouveaux. Les crédits prévus au budget royal, chapitre du théâtre, n’ont pas été augmentés depuis dix ans. Et c’est là qu’est le mal. [p 551 – 2] 

It will take us three days to complete our inventory. Rings, anklets, bracelets, single and double necklaces, everything is made of pure gold and silver, in batches of twenty, fifty, one hundred. I examine, pencil in hand, 686 various pieces of jewelry, with a total weight of 43 kg. 987 and a value of approximately 960,000 gold francs. This treasure, except for a few coins, is in bags, flat baskets, handkerchiefs tied at the four corners, or placed in a small pile at the bottom of a wardrobe. […] It is a miracle that any of it remains, and for this we must give thanks to the intrinsic honesty and selflessness of the Cambodian. The development of the kingdom’s affairs, its administration, absorbs the Minister of the Palace and his subordinates. We are therefore not in the presence of culpable negligence, but, what is much more serious, facing the demands of the new times. The credits allocated to the royal budget, in the theatre chapter, have not been increased for ten years. And that is where the problem lies. [p 551 – 2]

An Impossible Rejuvenation?

The reshuffled, remotivated corps de ballet swells, dancers bring in younger sisters and cousins, now 50 girls and young women passionately rehearse every day, guided with professional pride by the ballet mistresses. And then, 

10 août. Sa Majesté Sisowath est morte, hier après-midi, à la fin de sa 88eme année. Cent mandarins s’occupent des rites funéraires. La favorite s’écroule et a fui le palais. Les autorités françaises vont à leurs consignes et maints partisans [courtisans?] font de la diplomatie. Toutes les danseuses, les cheveux rasés, ont quitté leurs écharpes couleurs d’aurore et de couchant pour revêtir des vêtements blancs. Un deuil solennel de quarante jours est ouvert, pendant lequel toute répétition, toute activité seront suspendues.

[…] Quand ce pays était isolé dans ses courtes frontières, maintes traditions animaient sa beauté. Mais depuis 25 années, notre civilisation occidentale le pénètre de toutes parts et jusque dans ses plus intimes replis. Aucune tradition né résiste à l’Occident. C’est pourquoi il était tempsque nous nous servions​.de toutes les ressources qui nous restaient pour isoler cet art merveilleux qui palpite encore, le prendre sous une ferme et définitive protection, raffermir sur son front le diadème aigu, rebroder de pur métal ses pourpoints et l’offrir bien vivant dans sa souplesse retrouvée à tous ceux qui, aux prises avec lès temps nouveaux, né se fussent pas consolés de sa perte. [p 565.]

August 10. His Majesty Sisowath died yesterday afternoon, at the end of his 88^th year. One hundred mandarins are overseeing the funeral rites. The favorite collapses and flees the palace. The French authorities are playing by their book, and many supporters [courtiers?] are engaging in diplomacy. All the dancers, their hair shaved, have taken off their sashes the colors of dawn and sunset to don white garments. A forty-day solemn mourning period begins, during which all rehearsals and all activities will be suspended.

[…] When this country was isolated within its narrow borders, many traditions filled its beauty with life. But for the past 25 years, our Western civilization has penetrated it from all sides and even into its most intimate recesses. No tradition can resist the West. This is why it was time that we used all the resources that remained to us to isolate this marvelous art that still beats, to take it under a firm and definitive protection, to strengthen on its forehead the pointed diadem, to re-embroider its doublets with pure metal and to offer it very much alive in its newfound suppleness to all those who, grappling with the new times, had not consoled themselves for its loss. [p 565.]

This photograph of the Royal Ballet leading dancers by Nadal might have been taken in 1927 or 1928, as it was used as illustration by British reporter Walter B. Harris’ report on King Monivong’s coronation.

For researcher Suppya Nut, who participated in the joint effort to make possible the rediscovery of Groslier’s 1927 photographic work in the years 2000s [see below], the conclusion of Groslier’s account, although a remarkable work in documenting the Royal Ballet form at a difficult period of its history, reflected the ​“successive and indeed repetitive French colonial discourse on the benevolent role of France as protector of the Cambodian arts,” while also highlighting

the personal vision of a man who sought to freeze tradition in time, on the grounds that Cambodian culture was moribund, and that it should not be infected by modern influences. Yet, traditions evolve. The canons of dance captured by Groslier dramatically changed under Queen Kossomak later in the century, an evolution that he could not have predicted.Groslier’s attitude vis-à-vis the royal ballet reflected the tension between the idealized discourse and the reality of colonialism. He was caught in the French Protectorate’s double-sided nature: ​“a blessing and a curse, both a constructive and a destructive force.” [Suppya Nut 2014, op. cit., p 53]

Nearly only year after the end of Groslier’s diary, a journalistic account of King Monivong’s coronation stated

Le Roi a voulu inaugurer, pour son couronnement, un nouveau corps de ballet, pour lequel les costumes traditionnels ont été confectionnés dans les matières les plus belles. Seules demeurent des danseuses du précédent règne, les deux premières ballerines, souveraines de grâce et de science. Leurs jambes souples et lentes tracent sur le sol un poème aux étroites mesures; elles dansent, et les figures de pierre qui veillent aux temples d’Angkor sont ici venues s’animer. 

“For his coronation, The King wanted to inaugurate a new corps de ballet, for which the traditional costumes were made of the most beautiful materials. Only the two first ballerinas, sovereigns of grace and science, remain of the dancers from the previous reign. Their supple and slow legs trace on the ground a poem of strict measures; they dance, and here the stone figures that watch over the temples of Angkor have come to life.” [Alfred Meynard, ​‘Le couronnement de S. M. Monivong, Roi du Cambodge, à Phnom-Penh, 20 – 25 Juillet 1928’, Revue Indochinoise-Extrême-Asie ns 27, Sept. 1928, p. 127] What was not said in Meynard’s officious account is that the King had just accepted to sign a kram [royal ordnance] transferring the 40-strong Royal Ballet’s administration from the Royal Palace to the Paris-based Administration des Beaux-Arts [Fine Arts Department, part of the French Ministry of Public Instruction, renamed Ministry of Education in 1938], with the result that in dancing for the coronation on the evening of 23 July the dancers were in fact acting as…French civil servants [see Royal Ballet historian Paul Cravath​’s study, Earth in Flower, DatASIA, 2008, 544 pp, ISBN 9781934431283, p 139].

In his biographical essay on George Groslier, researcher Kent Davis remarked that on the morning of that exact same day, 23 July 1928, 

George did something quite odd: he boarded the ship Angers in Saigon en route to Marseille. So not only does he seem to have deliberately avoided the coronation (which was scheduled months in advance), he also arranged to be conspicuously absent from the premier performance of the dance troupe that the French now controlled. Was George expressing his disapproval for French interference in the sacred customs of Cambodia? Did he literally distance himself from these events to make a statement? There were certainly many good reasons why he would have been unhappy with the French takeover of the Royal Ballet. And as Cravath documented, many changes were taking place that were clearly at odds with George’s vision of [the Cambodian] ancient art. [Kent Davis, ​‘Le Khmérophile’, in Cambodian Dancers, Ancient and Modern, DatASIA, 2006, p 251]

On 14 February1929, George Groslier gave a conference with slides and film screening for the The Friends of Sorbonne University Association, ​‘Le théâtre et la danse au Cambodge’ [‘Theater in Dance in Cambodia’, text published in Journal Asiatique, T. CCXIV, Jan-March 1929: 125 – 143]. His communication, both informed and lyrical, did not mention the recent developments affecting the Royal Ballet. But it was the last time he expressed himself publicly on a subject that had captivated him for decades, and when he came back to Cambodia with his family in April he devoted his energy to other topics. 

“Les deux premieres danseuses” [​‘The two prima ballerinas’] at King Monivong’s coronation, July 1928. Ith can be recognized in the prince’s role on the right side, Anong Nari to the left? [source: Alfred Meynard, Revue indochinoise (Extrême-Asie), Oct. 1928, op. cit.]

The second life of Groslier’s photographic work

892 glass plate negatives of the 1927 photographic sessions organized by George Groslier, kept in oblivion at the National Museum of Cambodia, were retrieved, restored catalogued and digitized starting from 2008 by a NMC team led by conservator Bertrand Porte, with the support of EFEO and UNESCO. The work was presented to the public in the exhibition ​‘With the Cambodian Royal Dancers’ (NMC, Phnom Penh, 1 Dec. 2011 — 28 Feb. 2012), and in 2013 at the Lincoln Center, New York. One set of photographs was given to the New York Public Library- Jerome Robbins Dance Division, another exhibited in Paris (Guimet Museum, 16 Oct. 2013 — 13 Jan. 2014), and a third one in Siem Reap (EFEO Center, 8 – 31 Dec. 2013.

For more details, see

• Suppya Hélène Nut, ​‘The glass plate negatives of the Cambodian royal dancers: contested memories’, UDAYA-Journal of Khmer Studies 12, 2014, p. 41 – 59.
• Lucie Labbé and Bertrand Porte, ​‘Avec les danseuses royales du Cambodge. Photographier les postures de la danse’, Arts Asiatiques, 73 – 1, 2018, pp.155 – 170.