Another evening there would be a lighting rehearsal. I remember how thrilled I was when the curtain went up on the setting for the first scene, with its suggestion of the Palace of Versailles. Here was true grandeur and magnificence, without vulgarity or ostentation. Then began the business of lighting. Diaghilev would remain hunched in his seat with an electrician to relay his instructions to the stage, first, pink in this flood, amber in that, then the whole "washed" with white. He would spend hour after hour dimming this, "bringing up" that, until he was satisfied and the weary light-men could plot the lighting. Even then he would have the curtain lowered and, after a few minutes' interval to banish the memory of the lighting from his mind, would order the curtain to be raised again so that he might judge how the effect appealed to him, when revealed afresh.
Those who had never been present at one of Diaghilev's lighting rehearsals did not know what they were in for. The rehearsals went on half the night if need be. At such times he cared nothing for the mounting cost of overtime, the passing of the hours, or the fact that he had not eaten for a long period. If the men showed signs of revolt, he would grant a ten or fifteen minutes' rest interval. As soon as the interval was up, he would utter a curt, "Continuez, s'il vous plait". The men would glare and curse under their breath, but they did his bidding.
Diaghilev Ballet in London: a personal record by Cyril W Beaumont. 1940. Pages 195-6.
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