The RSPCA and Pavlova's Ballet Company

Also we often had trouble when we gave the ballet "Don Quixote". The large number of additional artists and supers made it very difficult to stage the ballet on a small scale. Another difficulty was that this ballet required a horse and a donkey. When we gave it for the first time in London the donkey brought to the theatre was a beautiful little animal, but the coffee coloured horse appeared far too smart and wellfed for the part. The matter was put right by an artist-decorator, who happened to be working in the theatre. What he did was very simple; he painted such prominent ribs and gave the horse such a wretched look, that on the day after the performance an inspector of the RSPCA came to the theatre. He showed us a letter received by the Society from some tender-hearted old lady, saying that she had been indignant to see at our performance in what a terrible condition we kept our horse. But when he saw the horse without the make-up, the inspector was completely satisfied. It was only very tiresome that this make-up had to be put on anew at every performance for the horse's owner refused to ride it home in that state.

Anna Pavlova in art and life by Victor Dandre. 1932. Pages117-8.

Eddie Stierle, a Joffrey dancer

Eddie was asked about his training at the North Carolina School of the Arts.

"I heard a lot of 'You're short, you're limited, and you've got a lot of obstacles, so if you want to do this, you've got to want to do it more than just a lot,'" he replied. "'It's not going to be easy for you.' Hearing that just made me work harder.

"Because I was lim--" He stopped and corrected himself.

"Because people said I was limited, that made me say, "I'll show you.'"

Eddie was always saying "I'll show you" in one way or another.


Dance Against Time: the Brief, Brilliant Life of a Joffrey Dancer by Diane Solway. 1994. Page 76.

Diaghilev and Petrouchka

Diaghilev told me a wonderful story about Petrouchka. The ballet was supposed to finish with Petrouchka murdered by the Moor and dragged off by his legs by the magician. But during the final rehearsals, Diaghilev suggested that Petrouchka appear again above the little theatre and stick out his tongue, mocking the magician, proving that he is alive forever. Fokine, Stravinsky, and Benois were all against the idea. "No, Sergei," Benois said, "that is the end." But Diaghilev insisted and threatened to throw away the whole ballet unless the end was changed. There is in Russia this tradition of Ivanushka Durak--Ivan the Fool. Everybody takes him for an idiot, but in the end he outsmarts them all. In old Russia, there were these men who were elevated--not saints, not monks but holy men who would wander the countryside on foot and then one day suddenly turn up at the gate of some big estate. They were simple people, not at all sophisticated or educated. But they were always welcome, because it was said that they could guide people, that they were prophets. They would be taken in and given food and a place to sleep until they were ready to move on. Diaghilev understood that an ending that confirmed this tradition would make the ballet stronger. The new ending was brilliant; the ballet survived because of it.

Choura: the memoirs of Alexandra Danilova. 1987. Page 90.

Danilova on dancers and class

They must learn to measure their energy. After they are taken into the company, the demands on their bodies are even greater and it is easier for them to overwork, because they are trying to make an impression and advance. After class in the morning, they have rehearsal, which is the equivalent of another class, and then usually a performance in the evening. Many dancers when they get tired simply stop going to class. They are called for rehearsal, they must perform, they need their sleep. Or perhaps they think that because they have roles to dance, because they are a success on the stage, they no longer need to struggle with themselves in class. They are mistaken. I tell them that this is the most important time of all to take class, when they are tired. They must go and do only the exercises at the barre--not relax and sleep--and then relax the next day; this is according to Mme Vazem, who was our famous coach in Russia, and Pierina Legnani, who was a remarkable technician. Their advice was never to miss class. It is in class that you place yourself, you purify your technique; it is by performing that you become stronger. A dancer's life must consist of both, class and performance, or else it cannot go forward.

At the other extreme, there are dancers who are better in the studio than they are on the stage--they are what we call "classroom performers." There are some in every company. These dancers, no matter how proficient they may be, are not real artists. A real artist is awakened on the stage.

Choura: the memoirs of Alexandra Danilova. 1987. Page 197.

Russian audiences in the late 30s

The Russian theatre owes much to the Russian audience. I do not think there is anywhere else where there is so close and intuitive a correspondence between stage and house. As the curtain rises, utter silence settles like a lid over the assembly. There is no shuffling of feet, no whispering, no shifting in one's seat. No late comers are admitted. The spectators, all eyes, all ears, are no longer part of the daily world. They are beyond the frontier of the footlights, in whatever setting the scene is laid, living intensely lives that are not their own and their absorption in the characters in the play, so unmistakably felt by the actors who impersonate them, in turn sustains and inspires them.

The extraordinary, almost religious atmosphere atmosphere resulting from so perfect an understanding between the actors and the audience was new to me.

Inside Stalin's Russia: Memories of a Diplomat 1936-1941 by Harold Eeman. 1977. Page 61.

Giving up dancing

I remember. . . my dad -- he just had both knees replaced.

He's a ballet dancer.

And I remember him literally. . . like. . . weeping. . . and just saying:

"Oh, my God, you know. I get it."

"I get what it is not to dance any more."

Charlotte d'Amboise speaking about her father Jacques in the documentary Every Little Step. 2008.

Jacques d'Amboise speaking about dancing

Ask the gymnast. . . "Is it worth it?" That tore her shoulder but was in the Olympics.

Ask the farmer. . . who have thick calluses on their hands, the working-man hands, "Is it worth it?"

It's a price you pay.

You never know what's the next day.

So each night that you go on that stage is opening night, and it's also closing night. You don't know for sure.

It becomes everything there is. . . .

The cosmos.

The hardest thing is when you can't dance.

Jacques d'Amboise speaking in the documentary: Every Little Step. 2008.