Fokine describes his teacher Johansson

Christina Petrovich Johansson was in his eighties when I began taking lessons from him. Tall, hunched with age, hardly able to move himself, he taught us how to dance. And how he taught! He was a living museum of choreographic art.

When Johansson arrived for lessons he was assisted up the three flights of stairs by the Legat brothers, each holding him by an arm. This was their special privilege as senior pupils. With their assistance he would reach the huge dance hall and would sit down, violin in hand, with his back to the mirror which ran the width of the wall. He would lightly strike a pizzicato on his violin, holding it in front of himself as if it were a guitar. He would hardly speak. With barely perceptible hand movements he would communicate to us the steps he wished us to do. It would seem that he was no longer able to see or understand what was going on about him. But actually he saw everything and would notice the minutest mistake. It was not an easy task to follow him. A moment of dead silence would follow every order for a combination of steps. Everyone would be thinking, trying to figure out the combination. Then one of us would attempt to dance it out. Usually it was not completely correct and Johansson would almost imperceptibly shake his white head. We would all gather in front of the maestro, bending over him, and with great concentration try to learn what detail had been omitted or incorrectly executed. This concentration added a special value to each lesson. When the combination was finally understood, we would all retire to the back of the hall to perform it. Then we would receive our corrections and the combination would be performed again in a more proper manner.

How sacred these lessons were to us!

Fokine, memoirs of a ballet master by Michel Fokine. 1961. Page 42.