represents a total of fifty-one ballets either produced during my
association with Ballet Theatre or else available at the time we joined
hands. From this total of fifty-one, a round dozen are performed, more
or less, today. A cursory glance will reveal that the repertoire was
always deficient in classical works. They are the backbone of ballet. It
is to be regretted that the Tudor ballets, which were the particular
glory of Ballet Theatre, have been lost to the public.
I shall not labor the point of our differences, save to cite one work as
an example. That is the production of _Firebird_. This was the first
Stravinsky ballet for Diaghileff, and was first revealed in Fokine’s
original production at the Paris Opera in the Diaghileff season of 1910,
with Tamara Karsavina in the title role, Fokine himself as the handsome
Tsarevich, Enrico Cecchetti as the fearsome Kastchei, and Vera Fokina
as the beautiful Tsarevna whom the Tsarevich marries at the end. In
later productions Adolph Bolm took Fokine’s place as the Tsarevich. The
original settings and costumes were by Golovine. For a later Diaghileff
revival the immensely effective production by Nathalie Gontcharova was
created. This was the production revealed here by the de Basil company,
a quite glorious spectacle.
_Firebird_ had always been a popular work when well done. From a musical
point of view it has been one of the most popular works in the
Stravinsky catalogue, both in orchestral programmes and over the radio.
One of the surest ways to attract the public to ballet is through
musical works of established popularity. This does not mean works that
are cheap or vulgar, for vulgarity and popularity are by no stretch of
the imagination synonymous: it means _Swan Lake_, _The Nutcracker_, _The
Sleeping Beauty_, _Schéhérazade_, _Coppélia_, _Petroushka_,
_Firebird_--I mention only a few--the music of which has become
familiar, well-known, and loved through the medium of radio and
gramophone recordings. This is the music that brings people to ballets
of which it is a part.
Miss Chase was flatly opposed to _Firebird_. Her co-director had no
choice but to follow her lead. I was insistent that _Firebird_ be given
as one of the new productions required under our contract for the season
1945-1946; and then the trouble began in earnest.
There were various dissident elements in the Ballet Theatre
organization, as there are in all ballet companies. These elements had
no very clear idea of what they wanted, or for what they stood. Their
vision was cloudy, their aims vague, their force puny. The company
lacked not only any artistic policy, but also a managing director
capable of formulating one, and able to mould these various dissident
elements into what Miss Chase liked to call her “organic whole.”
With the exception of J. Alden Talbot and German Sevastianov, there had
never been a managing director or manager worthy of the title or the
post. During the Talbot regime, my relations with the Ballet Theatre
were at their highest level. I always found Talbot helpful,
understanding towards our mutual problems, cooperative, of assistance in
many ways. Because of his belief in the organization and his genuine
love for ballet, Talbot gave his services as general manager without fee
or compensation of any sort other than the pleasure of helping the
company. It is almost entirely thanks to Talbot that _Fancy Free_
achieved production. Talbot was also instrumental in founding and
maintaining an organization known as _Ballet Associates_, later to
become _Ballet Associates in America_, since the function of the society
is to cultivate ballet in general in America in the field of
understanding, and, more specifically and particularly, to encourage,
promote and foster those creative workers whose artistic collaboration
makes ballet possible, viz., choreographers, composers, and designers.
The practical function of the society is very practical indeed, for it
means finding that most necessary fuel: money. The organization, through
the actively moving spirit of J. Alden Talbot, sponsored by substantial
contributions no less than four Ballet Theatre productions: Tudor’s
_Pillar of Fire_ and _Romeo and Juliet_, Agnes de Mille’s _Tally-Ho_,
and Dolin’s _Romantic Age_. It was entirely responsible for Michael
Kidd’s _On Stage!_
A cultured, able gentleman of charm, taste, and sensitivity, J. Alden
Talbot was the only person associated with Ballet Theatre direction able
to give it a sound direction, since he was able not only to shape a
definite policy, which is vastly important, but also to give it a sound
business management.
Following Talbot’s departure, there came frequent changes in management,
changes seemingly made largely for purely personal reasons. At the time
of the stresses and strains over the inclusion of _Firebird_ into the
repertoire, although Lucia Chase and Oliver Smith were the titular
managing directors, there was no head to the organization and no
director or direction, in fact. Actually, caprice was at the helm and
Ballet Theatre had a flapping rudder, a faulty compass, with Chase and
Smith taking turns at the wheel trying to keep the badly listing ship
into the wind. Acting as manager was a former stage-manager, without
previous experience or any knowledge whatever of the intricate problems
of business management. With the enthusiasm of an earnest Boy Scout, he
commenced a barrage of bulletins and directives, and ludicrously
introduced calisthenics classes for the dancers, complete with
dumb-bells, down to the institution of his own conception of the
“Stanislavsky” method of dramatic expression, the latter taking the form
of setting the company to acting out charades on the trains while on
tour.
Coincidental with this was increased intrigue and the outward expression
of his theme song, which he chanted to all within earshot, the burden of
which was: “How can we get rid of Hurok? How can we get rid of Hurok?
Who needs him?”
The question of the _Firebird_ production was, as I have suggested, the
most contentious and controversial of any that arose in my relationships
with Ballet Theatre.
_Firebird_ was hounded by troubles of almost every description, as each
day upturned them. Its production was marked by disputes, aggravations,
and untold difficulties from first to last. If history is to be
believed, that sort of thing has been its lot from its inception in the
Diaghileff days of 1910.
The Adolph Bolm production eventually reached the stage of the
Metropolitan Opera House, after a series of vicissitudes, on the night
of the 24th October, 1945, with Alicia Markova in the title role, and
Anton Dolin in the role of Ivan Tsarevich, originally danced in the
Diaghileff production by Michel Fokine.
The _Firebird_ is an expensive work to produce; there are numerous
scenes, each requiring its own setting and a large complement of
costumes. In order to help overcome some of the financial problems
involved, I agreed with Ballet Theatre to contribute a certain sum to
the cost of production. I shall have something more to say about this a
bit later.
As for the work itself, I can only say that the conception and the
performance were infinitely superior to that which, in these latter
days, is given by the New York City Ballet, to which organization, as a
gesture, I gave the entire production for a mere token payment so far as
the original costs to me were concerned.
Under my contractual arrangements with Ballet Theatre, the organization
was obligated to provide a new second ballet for the season. I felt
_Firebird_ had great audience-drawing possibilities. Ballet Theatre
insisted _Firebird_ was too expensive to produce and countered with the
suggestion that Antony Tudor would stage a work on the musical base of
Bartok’s _Concerto for Orchestra_. While this work would have been
acceptable to me, I could discover no evidence that it was in
preparation.
Pursuing the matter of _Firebird_, Ballet Theatre informed me they were
not in a position to expend more than $15,000 in any production. I
suggested they prepare careful estimates on the cost of _Firebird_. This
was done--at least, they showed me what purported to be estimates--and
these indicated the costs would be something between $17,000 and
$20,000. Therefore, in order to ease their financial burden, I offered
to pay the costs of the production in excess of $15,000, but not to
exceed $5,000. And so it was, at last, settled.
We had all agreed on a distinguished Russian painter, resident in
Hollywood, a designer of reputation, who not only had prepared a work
for Ballet Theatre, but whose contributions to ballet and opera with
other organizations had been considerable.
Despite these arrangements, as time went on, there were definite
indications that _Firebird_ would not be ready for the opening date at
the Metropolitan Opera House, which had been agreed upon. No activity
concerning it was apparent, and Adolph Bolm, its choreographer, was
still in Hollywood. On the 15th September, I addressed an official
letter to Ballet Theatre concerning the delay.
While no reply to this was forthcoming, I subsequently learned that,
without informing the original designer who had been engaged and
contracted to design the scenery and costumes, and who had finished his
task and had turned his designs over to the scene painters, without
informing the choreographer, without informing me, Ballet Theatre had
surreptitiously engaged another designer, who also was at work on the
same subject. We were now faced with two productions of the same work
which would, of course, require payment.
A telephone call from Ballet Theatre to one of my staff, however, added
the interesting information that _Firebird_ (in any production) would
not be presented until I paid them certain moneys. The member of my
staff who received this message, quite rightly refused to accept the
message, and insisted it should be in writing.
It was not until the 23rd October, the day before the work was scheduled
to be produced, that Oliver Smith, of the Ballet Theatre direction,
threatened officially to delay the production of _Firebird_ until I paid
them the sum they demanded. In other words, Ballet Theatre would not
present the Stravinsky work, and it would not open, unless I paid them
$11,824.87 towards its costs. These unsubstantiated costs included those
of _both_ productions, all in the face of my definite limitation of
$5,000 to be paid on _one_ production, since it was impossible to
imagine that there would be _two_ of them.
Here was an ultimatum. The Metropolitan Opera House was already sold out
to an audience expecting to see the new _Firebird_. All-out advertising
and promotion had been directed towards that event. The ultimatum was,
in effect, no money, no production.
It was, in short, a demand for money under duress, for which there is a
very ugly word. At any rate, here was a _bona fide_ dispute, a matter to
be discussed; and I suggested that Ballet Theatre submit the matter to
arbitration, both disputants agreeing, of course, to be bound by the
arbiter’s decision.
Lucia Chase, Oliver Smith, and Ballet Theatre’s new general manager
refused to submit the matter to arbitration. The ultimatum remained: no
money, no performance. The sold-out house had been promised _Firebird_.
The public was entitled to see it.
I paid them $11,824.87, the sum they demanded, under protest, noting
this money was demanded and paid under duress. _Firebird_ had its first
performance the next night, as scheduled. Meanwhile, the dress-rehearsal
that afternoon had been marked by a succession of scenes that can only
be characterized as disgraceful, the whole affair being conducted in an
atmosphere of tensity, ill-feeling, carping, with every possible
obstacle being placed in the way of a satisfactory performance and
devoid of any spirit of cooperation.
It soon became apparent to me that the troubles attendant upon the
_Firebird_ production were merely symptomatic of something much larger,
something much more sinister; something that was, in effect, a
conspiracy to break the contract between us, a contract which was to
continue for yet another season.
I learned through reliable sources that Ballet Theatre was
surreptitiously attempting to secure bookings on their own with some of
the local managers with whom I had booked them in the past, and with
whom I was endeavoring to make arrangeents for them for the ensuing
season. On the 28th February, I served official notice on the
directorate of Ballet Theatre calling upon them to cease this illegal
and unethical practice, and, at the same time, notified all managers of
my contract with the organization.
It was early in our 1946 spring engagement at the Metropolitan Opera
House, and I was working alone one evening in my office. It was late,
the staff having long since left, and I continued at my desk until it
was time for me to leave for the Metropolitan Opera House. I had not
dined, intending to have a bite in Sherry’s Bar during one of the
intervals. As I was crossing the by now deserted and partly darkened
lower lobby of my office building, a stranger lunged forward from the
shadows and thrust a sheaf of papers into my hand, then hurried into the
street. Surprised, astonished, puzzled, I returned to my office to
examine them.
The papers were a summons and complaint from Ballet Theatre. Although
my contract with the organization had another year still to run, Lucia
Chase and Oliver Smith were attempting to cancel the contract in
mid-season. The grounds on which the action was based, as were
subsequently proved, had no basis in fact.
But the company was slipping. It had no policy, no one capable of
formulating or maintaining one. It was losing valuable members of its
personnel, some of whom could no longer tolerate the whims and
capriciousness of “Dearie,” as Chase was dubbed by many in the company.
Jerome Robbins had gone his way. Dorati, who gave the organization the
only musical integrity and authority it had, had departed. Others, I
knew, were soon to be on their way. Dry rot was setting in. As matters
stood, with the direction as it was, I had no assurance of any permanent
survival for it. The company continued from day to day subject to the
whims of Lucia Chase. The result was insecurity for the dancers, with
all of them working with a weather-eye peeled for another job. One more
season of this company, I felt, and I would be responsible for dragging
a corpse about the country, unless, of course, I should myself become a
corpse.
Ballet Theatre’s lawyers and my trusted counsel of many years’ standing,
Elias Lieberman, arranged a settlement of our contract. Among its
clauses was a proviso that the properties for _Firebird_ remained my
property, together with a cash payment to me of $12,000.
When the final papers were signed, we all shook hands. The parting
between us may be described as “friendly.”
* * * * *
What the future of Ballet Theatre may be, I have no way of knowing. I am
not a prophet; I am a manager. Ballet Theatre’s subsequent career has
not been particularly eloquent; not especially fortunate. There has been
a period when there was no ballet season, with the decision to spend a
“sabbatical” coming so late that many artists were left with no
employment at a time of the year when all other possibilities for work
with other companies had been exhausted. My own feeling, while wishing
them well, is that, so long as Ballet Theatre continues to have no
categorical policy or practice, and so long as it attempts to continue
with expediency dictating its equivocal programme, its future is
circumscribed. It is an axiom that a ballet company’s character is
determined by the personality of its director.
However many collaborators Miss Chase may have on paper, Ballet Theatre
is and will remain her baby. Co-directors, advisory boards, even the
tax-exempt, non-profit organization called Ballet Theatre Foundation,
formed in 1947, as a “sponsoring” group, do not alter the fact that Miss
Chase is its sponsor. She pays the piper and the organization will dance
to his melody. Sponsoring groups of the type I have mentioned have
little value or meaning today. Ballet will not achieve health by
dripping economic security down from the top. The theory that propping
can be done by this method of dripping props from the top, does not mean
from the top of ballet, but, hopefully, from the top of the social and
financial worlds.
Healthy ballet cannot come, in my opinion, from being treated as an
outlet or excuse for parties, nor from parties as an adjunct to ballet.
The patronage of the social world in such organizations is practically
meaningless today. It was useful, in bygone days, to have a list of
fancy names out of the Blue Book as patrons. The large paying audience
which ballet must have, and which I have developed through the years,
certainly pays no attention to social patronage today. As a matter of
fact, I suspect they resent it. The only people conceivably impressed by
such a list of names would be a handful of social climbers and society
columnists. The only patrons worth the ink to print their names are
those who pay for tickets at the box-office, average citizens, even as
you and I.
Ballet cannot pay for itself, for new productions, for commissioned
works, by its box-office takings, any more than can opera or symphony
orchestras. The only future I can see is some form of Government subsidy
for ballet and the other arts. Some of our leading spirits in the fields
of art are opposed to this idea. This is difficult for me to understand.
I cannot conceive how there could be any hesitancy on that score. We
know that in Great Britain and in most countries of Europe the arts,
including ballet, are subsidized by the Government. These countries are
not Communist-dominated. Here in the United States many big businesses
are subsidized by the Government in one form or another, at one time or
another. There are the railways, the airlines, the shipping companies,
the mine subsidies, the oil subsidies--and the something like
twenty-seven-and-one-half percent deduction allowed annually on new
buildings erected is also a form of subsidy.
In the United States only the arts and the artists are taboo when it
comes to Government help. I do not suggest that any of the arts should
be dependent upon charity, either by individuals or foundations. I feel
it is the plain duty of Government and of the lawmakers to finance and
subsidize the arts: ballet, orchestras, opera, painters, sculptors,
writers, composers.
A country with the tremendous wealth we have should not have to depend
on charity or hobbyists for the advancement of culture and cultural
activities.
Since we still lack what I feel is the only proper form of cultural
subsidy, we needs must get on as best we can with the private hobbyist
support. In this respect, Lucia Chase has been an extremely generous
sponsor of Ballet Theatre. I have said that a ballet company’s character
is determined by the personality of its director. I should like to add,
by the personality of its sponsor as well. Let us look at the
personality of Lucia Chase.
With a fortune compounded in unequal parts of Yonkers Axminster and
Waterbury Brass, her largess has been tossed with what has seemed akin
to reckless abandon. A lady of “middle years,” she was born in
Waterbury, Connecticut, one of several children of a member of the Chase
Brass Company clan. A cultured lady, she went to the “right” finishing
school, did the “right” things, and, it is said, early evinced an
interest in singing and in the theatre. She married Thomas Ewing, to
whom the sobriquet, “the Axminster carpet tycoon,” has been applied. On
his death, Miss Chase was left with a fortune and two sons. Her
distraction over the loss of her husband, so it is said, drove her to an
early love as a possible means of assuaging her grief, viz., the dance.
She took ballet lessons from Mikhail Mordkin; financed the newly formed
Mordkin Ballet; in 1937, became its _prima ballerina_. So far as the
record reveals, her debut was made in the Brass City of her birth, in no
less a role than the Princess Aurora in _The Sleeping Beauty_.
As a dancer, she is an excellent comedienne; yet for years she fancied
herself as a classical _ballerina_. Her insistence on dancing in such
ballets as _The Sleeping Beauty_, _Giselle_, _Pas de Quatre_,
_Petroushka_, _Princess Aurora_, and most of all, _Les Sylphides_, was
so regrettable that it raises the question that, if she is so
unconscious of her own limitations as a dancer, what are her
qualifications for the directorship of a ballet company?
At the beginning of every venture, at the inception of every new idea,
Lucia Chase bursts with a remarkable, pulsating enthusiasm. Then, after
a time, turning a deaf ear to the voice of experience, and discovering
to her astonishment that things have not worked out as she expected, she
sulks, tosses all ideas of policy aside, and then turns impatiently and
impulsively to something that is in the way of a new adventure. Off she
goes on a new tack. Eagerly and rashly she grasps frantically at the
next idea or suggestion forthcoming from any one who is, at that moment,
in favor. So, she thinks, this time I have got it!... The pattern
repeats itself endlessly and expensively.
It started thus, with her financing of the Mordkin Ballet, before the
days of Ballet Theatre. With the Mordkin Ballet, aside from financing
it, she danced; danced the roles of only the greatest _ballerinas_. This
pleasure she had. So far as operating a ballet company is concerned, she
still leaps about without a policy, and each time the result seems
unhappily to follow the same disappointing pattern.
Above all, Lucia Chase has what amounts to sheer genius for taking the
wrong advice and for surrounding herself with, for the most part,
inexperienced, unqualified, and mediocre advisers. Her most successful
years were those when, by happy chance rather than by any design, the
organization was managed and directed by the able J. Alden Talbot,
informed gentleman of taste and business ability. It was during the
Talbot regime that Miss Chase had her smallest deficits and Ballet
Theatre attained its period of highest achievement.
When left to her own devices, Miss Chase is, so far as policy is
concerned, uncertain, undetermined, irresolute, and meandering. The
future of Ballet Theatre as a serious institution in our cultural life
is questionable, in my opinion, because Miss Chase, after all these
years, has not yet learned how to conduct or discipline a ballet
company; has not learned that important policy decisions are not made
because of whims. Because of these things, the organization as it
stands, possesses no real and firm basis for sound artistic achievement,
progress, or permanence. There is no indication of personality, or
color, or any real authority in the company’s conduct. More and more
there are indications or intimations of some sort of middle-of-the-road
policy--if it really is policy and not a temporary whim; even so there
is no indication whatsoever of the destination towards which the vehicle
is bound.