In the Shadow of the Greats

I was so impressed with his troupe that I contemplated a folk dance career. Throughout my life, I have revered folk dance and was affiliated with many ensembles. While living in Belgrade, I studied Spanish folk, including Flamenco--which, incidentally, means “Spanish gypsy style.” My teacher was Olga Grbic Torez. I continued my studies in Paris with Ramon Almede, (a genuine Spanish Flamenco dancer) and with Jose Torez, who was Olga’s partner. (I never knew if they were married, but Olga was very proud of him and may have used his last name to enhance her fame.) I frequently attended evenings of Spanish dance, as the form was abundantly performed in Paris’ theaters, nightclubs, and Spanish restaurants.

In 1963, I founded a Paris-based folk ensemble--Ballet Russe de Nicola Petrov (later Ballet Petrov)--built on Moiseyev’s repertoire with a roster of twenty-four dancers from eastern countries, plus some French virtuoso dancers. Years later, as a teacher, I revived some of Moiseyev’s ballets like Bulba, which he had edited and published in an instruction manual for younger dancers.
Fonteyn, Philippe, Beriosova, and Kreutzberg, plus Charrat’s and Moiseyev’s companies shaped my career and aesthetic. However, my artistic development was most influenced by The Red Shoes and Romeo and Juliet.

I fell under the spell of the film The Red Shoes (1948), which starred Moira Shearer, Robert Helpmann, and Léonide Massine. It was the first film that I had seen to feature ballet so prominently. Massine became my idol, as he and his character impressed and inspired me. He was my role model. This was how I wanted to dance. I was not in tune with Helpmann’s princely lyricism and was unmoved by him. Massine’s role as a shoemaker was more down-to-earth and easier to grasp. I was well-read on Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes. The film seemed to be a dramatization of real life events that surrounded that famous company. The film’s characters, their onscreen reactions, and outlooks on life connected with those of real-life dancers (such as those in Dame Alicia Markova’s Nijinsky Story), who wrote about that era.

During my student days in Novi Sad, our school had taken a field trip to see Romeo and Juliet in Belgrade. Shakespeare’s play was originally adapted into a ballet by Léonide Lavrovsky, with music by Serge Prokofiev. Dimitri Parlic choreographed a version and performed the title role with Ruth Parnel as his Juliet. Dusan Trninic was cast as Mercutio with Branko Markovic as Tybalt.

I was completely fascinated by this ballet and it confirmed by decision to become a dancer. I had previously performed in Marina Olenjina’s version, alternating in the roles of Mercutio and Benvolio, but had not experienced the work from the audience’s perspective. The opportunity to observe from the house was enlightening.

Actually, Prokofiev’s programmatic music impressed me, as it expressed the story equally through mime and dance. The actions were cinematographic, which made the story easy to understand and follow. I discovered things I could never feel while onstage and was awed by the artistry, the temperament, and the quality of the dancing. It was a credible production, very well danced by Trninic and Markovic, an especially imposing Tybalt. The sword fights were well staged. When I choreographed the American version of Romeo and Juliet, I subconsciously drew from long held ideas that shaped my creative process. A decade before undertaking my project, I took photographs of architecture in Verona and Padua, Italy.

In the summer of 1955, I vacationed on the Adriatic Sea and visited Ana Roje at her school. She was Oskar Harmos’ wife. The couple had been leading dancers of the Zagreb Opera Ballet. I had seen them perform The Fountain of Bakhchisari many years before--in 1948, I think--presented in an amphitheatre in a hilly suburb of Zagreb. The ballet was very impressive and one of the best that I had seen up to that point in my life. The Fountain of Bakhchisari influenced me as much as Parlic’s Romeo and Juliet. Harmos portrayed Khan Girei, while Ana was either Maria or Zarema. These two stars and the company (which included Frano Jelincic and Milko Sparemblek) introduced me to Croatian Ballet.

Ana’s private school--an extremely comfortable summer camp--in Spilt, Yugoslavia, was the only one in the country with both foreign students and international standards. The facility included beautiful studios, a swimming pool, and a jeep, which belonged to Harmos, who drove us to performances in Split.

Ana’s classes were similar to Madame Egorova’s--musical, lyrical, strict, yet comfortable. While there, I met several people, including a young English couple and a young American, Myles Marsden. Many years later, I invited Marsden to Pittsburgh. In 1955, he was a very serious and hard-working student, whom Ana liked very much.

In the meantime, my girlfriend Nadia Jovanovic, whose mother resided in Sarajevo, invited me to her mother’s home. While there, I approached Sarajevo’s Bosnian State Theatre Ballet, directed by Franio Horvat and asked for permission to take company classes. It was summer break. As we had just returned from a seashore vacation, I was full of energy. I worked exceptionally hard to keep myself in shape for the upcoming season and to audition for Janine Charrat in Paris (though actually I lacked both funding and a visa for the trip to France). Obtaining exit permission from Yugoslavia was difficult, unless it was for an organized, government-sanctioned tour.

Horvat was lightweight, yet medium sized, with a boxing coach’s figure and a drill sergeant’s bearing. His eyes were cool; his gaze fixed. I would have said there was some mild madness hidden behind his pupils or somewhere in his mind, but this was only my impression. He was extremely courteous with me and offered employment at the rank of first dancer, equivalent to principal. He promised me the role of Mercutio in his Romeo and Juliet. With a relatively high salary, it was difficult to refuse. I accepted his offer, but was unsure if I would complete the season or return from France. I only wanted to earn a few months salary for pocket money.

I liked the discipline of Horvat’s classes and his approach to dance, though it lacked the finesse and sophistication of the Belgrade Ballet. That season, a British couple and I were the only new members. Prima ballerina Katarina Kocka was my close friend. Otherwise, I was caught up in backstage intrigue. The other men envied me. Their conversations stopped when I approached them. I sensed that they must have been speaking about me. They directed ironic remarks at me and decided that I was Horvat’s new protégé, because he was infatuated with me. Horvat was always ready to help me. I was pleased with his attention, but the other men resented me because of it. They were imagining a more intimate relationship than what actually existed. They were fantasizing. I worked my butt off to improve and to master the role. I was technically stronger than the others, but I did not compete with anybody or showoff. I was just preparing for France.

When I requested a few weeks off, Horvat attempted to dissuade me. He promised to take me to France later in the season. He insisted that I wait. I ignored his argument. I needed to arrive in Paris as soon as possible. I did not want to miss the opportunity to tour with Charrat’s company. I had a visa--now. I was afraid that it would expire and I would not be able to obtain another. Arrangements were set for my studies with Madame Preobrajenska. Reluctantly, Horvat approved of my studies abroad for a short time. So like that, I was ready to leave Sarajevo for Paris, but before departing, I had to return to Belgrade to retrieve my visa from Dragan Martinovic, who worked in the inner government offices. Martinovic procured the visa for me, but I had to promise to bring him a raincoat from France.

My stay in Yugoslavia was rapidly expiring. The possibility of legally obtaining foreign currency was slim. I purchased American dollars from Martinovic. He received them from his father, who lived in Chicago. It was prohibited to export more than five thousand old French francs out of the country, which was just about enough for two days. All other currency had to be smuggled out.

I rolled those dollars in a circle, shoved them in a condom, and used it as a suppository, hoping that I would not need to use the bathroom while crossing the border. I even found a gypsy, who looked as if she had not bathed in two years, to tell my fortune. She was a wrinkled, shabby-looking, middle-aged mum with two children. Grabbing me by the hand, she promised that for a few coins, she would tell my future. Presenting me with a bag of lucky herbs for a successful and profitable trip, she predicted a long journey. It was a big step to leave my native land.

At home, I announced my departure for Paris to an emotional goodbye from my mom. My dad recited a Russian proverb: “The God protects those who protect themselves.” I lived by those words all my life.

After the hugs and kisses, I consoled my parents--I was just going around the “corner” to Paris. I pretended that my absence would be brief. How could I have known that thirty years would pass before I returned to Yugoslavia?

Just recently separated from my longtime girlfriend Nadia Jovanovic, I quickly fell head over heels in love with Zorica Gligovic, a light haired brunette, with a stunning figure and a sensuous walk that would attract anybody’s attention. We initially bumped into each other at the Belgrade Railroad Station. We just stared into each other’s eyes, without saying anything. The high voltage chemistry was mesmerizing and the whole relationship was unique and unforgettable. After that first encounter, she was constantly in my thoughts and I imagined her to be anywhere that I was.

We crossed paths a second time on a tight bridge en route to a pier. She had been sunbathing and I was about to do the same. That pier was only about three feet wide, so two people had to shift sideways in order to pass each other. Our meeting was as powerful as the first, but this time we were dressed in swimwear. As we passed by each other, our bodies radiated. This time, I dared to greet her and suggested that since we kept meeting accidentally, perhaps we should get together for a pleasant chat in the Café of the Terazije. To my surprise, she said “yes.”

Zorica was not very talkative, but anything she said was important and anything she did was with wit and charm. Her gorgeous, athletic body excited my imagination--it was easy to fall in love with her. I must have been somewhat selfish to leave Zorica. However, I was living in the Twilight Zone. I surrendered to destiny and allowed it to make the decisions controlling my life.

Well, my departure day arrived--a rainy one. It was time to go to the station and to ironically bid Zorica farewell in the very place where we had met. I leaned out the train’s window and waved goodbye to her. Zorica’s wet and stringy hair was as downcast as the weather. She looked puzzled and sad, but as the train pulled out of the station, she forced a smile before she disappeared into the distance.

I generally could not sleep on a train. I was too hyper to sleep anyhow. Memories of Belgrade popped into my mind; many were of trivial events of the last few years. I yearned for France because of Mme. Debeljak’s tales of famous Russian dancers who succeeded in the West. Paris was the steppingstone to a stellar career. At the time, it was the Mecca of dance. The fame of Diaghilev’s company was earned on Paris’ stages. I was ready to follow my destiny and for anything that would come. I would not accept the word “impossible.” I was ready for the future and what it would offer me.

He showed me Vienna’s most beautiful and interesting attractions, such as St. Stephen’s Cathedral, the Congress, the Spanish Riding School, Belvedere Castle, and Messegelande, plus assisted with my audition photos.

While I remained determined to head for Paris, Alberty convinced me to contact the Vienna State Opera’s director, which was a reasonable Plan B. We went to the Schönbrunn Palace, which is similar to Paris’ Versailles. On the grounds were the beautiful Royal Garden and two buildings--the Royal Palace and the Royal Quarters, which faced each other. Baroque and Greek statues intermingled with various sized fountains. Everything was separated by well-groomed and tastefully sculpted bushes, plants, and trees. Here, after changing into my ballet clothes, I posed beside the statues in various ballet positions. Luckily, few tourists were in the park that morning and I did not become a tourist attraction. I re-visit this garden whenever I am in Vienna, including on study tours with my American students.

The Vienna State Opera performed in the State Opera House, which had recently been rebuilt and cleaned after the war. Its beautiful, fresh yellow stones looked like new. The ballet master showed me the well-equipped dressing rooms (a contrast to the run-down facilities in Belgrade) and the revolving stage, a technological innovation. My audition was successful, but the season was slated to begin in October 1955. That was a considerable time to wait. I promised to return from Paris in October--I never did.

I had an unusual experience while browsing on Operring Avenue, home to Vienna’s most attractive shops. As I admired the lovely, packaged fruit baskets in the windows, a very good-looking girl suddenly appeared and asked if she could help me. I sheepishly declined. She reentered the shop and returned with a bunch of green grapes in a little bag. I was puzzled about whether I should offer to pay her, but she said it was a present from the shop. Although I was uncomfortable accepting handouts, she was so beautiful that I was afraid to refuse her. I suspected that she must have pitied me and her donation was her good deed for the day. As our conversation continued, I realized that she was just a sweet girl. And, we went on a date.

I was smitten with Vienna and its hospitable people. All the shops and buildings looked so well kept and so clean--a great contrast to my beloved Belgrade. I thought that I could live quite happily here, but my curiosity to see Paris was stronger.

Since my ticket from Belgrade to Paris permitted layovers en route, I opted to stop in Munich for another audition. Unfortunately, during the off-season, the theater was closed. I saw it only from the outside. Instead, I dropped by the office of a theatrical agent, who represented dancers. She was an older lady, who appeared to be interested in managing me. I recounted my story and expressed an interest in working in Germany. As I had no Paris address, I promised to forward it to her. But I never did. Leaving her office, I set out to explore Munich. Remnants of the war were everywhere. Many houses were still damaged, but restoration was underway and new structures were going up around town. The train station, a nice gothic building, was less damaged and easily remodeled. However, approximately one-third of the city was still in ruins. That was unappealing. I knew that I would not return. However, two or three years later, I passed through while on tour with a French troupe. The restoration had made great progress. Renovations were completed on many of the old buildings and new buildings had been erected. However, traffic was sparse. With each subsequent visit, the city became more congested--and by 1987, parking had become scarce.
Late that summer afternoon in 1955, feeling dead tired, I decided to catch the first train headed for Paris, which turned out to be a red-eye slated to arrive early in the morning at Paris’ Gare du Nord. I ate a sandwich and forced myself to stay awake, as I was afraid of falling asleep and missing my train.

I alighted from the train at the smoke tinged Gare du Nord, a medium sized limestone structure, somewhat smaller than the one in Vienna, but significantly larger than the depots in Yugoslavia. Glad to have little baggage to tote, I took a deep breath and let out a big sigh of relief--“Voila! I am in Paris!” Although I caught very little sleep the night before, I was wide awake. I was anxious to find René Bon and to see Charrat’s company again. I tried to purchase a city map to pinpoint rue Pigalle. In my broken French, I asked for help at the train station. I understood enough to realize that I needed to take a bus to place Pigalle, where the rue Pigalle begins. To my surprise, I was not able to buy a single ticket. I had to purchase a carnet--the equivalent of ten tickets. It quickly dawned on me that I would need the carnet after all, as I was not planning to leave the city any time soon.

I located the Bon family’s residence at 16, rue Pigalle. An old woman was sweeping the yard as I approached. I attempted to ask for René Bon but found she was not friendly, as she replied--Il ne pas la! Il ne pas la! (“He is not here! He is not here!”)

So I asked, -- Ou il est? (“Where is he?”)

--Il sonnes parti en tour, she replied. I understood that he was away on tour and I was alone in Paris, friendless.

My next option was to find Studio Wacker. I thanked the old woman--Bon’s mother--and headed for 69, rue de Douai, an address that she reluctantly provided.

A piano store occupied the first floor. A small sign on the door, Studio des Danses marked the entrance to four upper floors of studio space, home to a roster of stellar teachers--Mme. Rousanne, Mme. Preobrajenska, Mme. Nora Kiss, and Mme. Elvira Rone. A flight of stairs ascended to the lobby, where most of the teachers were sitting on benches, some near the entrance to the coffee shop. In the shop, Monsieur Hugo and his wife were always ready to serve up both coffee and gossip of the ballet world. The café was always filled before and after class with teachers and dancers, chatting and discussing job opportunities. Everything was new to me.

The recommendation letter from Mme. Torez, my teacher in Belgrade, was addressed to Mme. Olga Preobrajenska, a former prima ballerina of the Russian Imperial Ballet. I looked first for Madame’s studio. While searching, I encountered a funny looking old man wearing a single spectacle lens like the German high commanders wore. His name was Nikola Artimovski. He was wearing a black suit and bow tie. He cheerfully greeted me. I handed him my letter and asked to be directed to Mme. Preobrajenska’s class. He introduced himself as her secretary, clicked his heels, and stated that he handled all of her business. I explained that I had just arrived and was planning to take classes starting the next day. He asked if Papa Tito had sent money! I answered that I was not on government scholarship, but was auditioning for Janine Charrat’s troupe, which was on tour. I would have to wait a week until their return. That seemed all right with him. He agreed that I could take classes and pay for them after I was hired. I thanked him for helping me and allowing me to take classes. I still had a problem--no lodging, as my contacts, Milorad Miskovitch and Milko Sparemblek, were out of town. Mr. Artimovski offered to inquire on my behalf. He suggested that in the meantime I take a hotel room. He directed me to inexpensive hotels in the student quarter on place St. Michel. I stopped for a steak and pommes frites, as Studio Wacker was next to place Clichy, where there were many restaurants.

At the restaurant, I obtained directions to place St. Michel via the Metro. It took me awhile to figure out the way. I purchased a carnet of metro tickets. At last, I found St. Michel. Emerging at street level, I immediately saw the massive wishing well with its many ornate fountains and statues. There was a hotel beside it. I chose to take a room--a mistake, as the rate was fifteen hundred francs per night (about three and a half dollars). I had only five thousand francs to my name. At this rate, I could afford just three nights’ stay--without food. I hoped the following day would bring something new.

It was exciting to be in Paris. I worried about my survival, but I just let things happen as they may. I walked along le boulevard St. Germain and peered into the café, Deux Magots, which was full of students and other Parisians. Because of my financial plight, I did not dare enter. I returned to le boulevard St. Michel, turned toward Park Luxembourg, and passed the University of Paris, known as the Sorbonne. The street was filled with international students, tourists, a few locals, and many North Africans (which the French called Pied Noir), who were mostly of Arabic and French heritage. I was also astonished by the rich window displays--so opulent by comparison to those in Yugoslavia. And, Paris had a special aroma, not only in the spring, but also in autumn.

I fell asleep that night, thinking about this wonderful and lively city.

In the morning, I headed directly to class. Mme. Preobrajenska was most cordial. She inquired about my previous teachers and noted that she knew Kirsanova.

Madame taught Cecchetti style which was unfamiliar to me. The class was rather easy, compared to our Belgrade company classes and especially to those of Mr. Horvat in Sarajevo. However, I was impressed by the number of star performers taking it. Artimovski pointed out who was who. I remember seeing Vladimir Skouratoff, the brothers Golovine--Serge and Alexander--George Skibine, Rosella Hightower, and Irene Skorik. I was proud to share the studio with all these great ballet stars.

What distinguished Madame from my other teachers and her methodology from my previous schooling was that she repeated the barre work in center. Her class was not aggressive, but rather slow-paced and very relaxed. Sometimes she became nervous when people did not instantly understand what she wanted, so she approached the dancer, tugged on his or her attire, and said--Na, na. Ce pas sais. She would then explain again in half-Russian and half-French. Naturally, that never happened with the stars, as they knew her class and understood everything simply from her hand gestures. Besides her occasional nitpicking, she was a very nice lady, who always smiled. Her demonstrations lingered in the memory. For some reason, she regarded me equally with those stars and was of the impression that I had been her student for a longer time than I had.