I Was a Dancer - Jacques D'Amboise [135]
His true concern was that his Diana was in the hands of another choreographer, and during rehearsals, his jealousy grew. He developed a habit of sending Eddie Bigelow to interrupt us—“Balanchine needs to speak with Diana,” or some made-up excuse. Finally, Freddie confronted Balanchine.
Years later, over lunch at the Connaught Hotel in London, Freddie confided, “My dear boy, I will never forget how difficult it was to do Picnic. Every time I had you and Diana together, that person, Eddie Bigelow, would come to the door to take Diana away. There was always an excuse, ‘She’s needed onstage by Balanchine.’ Or some such ploy.” Finally, Freddie had had it. “I went and told George, ‘My dear man, for weeks, I’ve been trying to finish my ballet, but have not once had my Isolde available for more than an hour. If I invited you to do a ballet for the Royal, and I didn’t like you or your ballet, you would never know it. You would get more than everything you needed—good manners demand it. I’m canceling my ballet and returning to London!’ ” Freddie said gleefully, “You know how his face twitches! Oh! How he apologized. He gave me everything I needed after that, everything!” Picnic at Tintagel premiered February 28, 1952. It was a success.
The following spring, Balanchine started making changes in Freddie’s ballet. “You know this red beard you wear? Take it off. It makes you look like man in dirty postcard, where you see, in picture, socks, shoes, beard, and nothing else.” So I danced Picnic without the beard. Before long, “This ballet is not for Diana. Better for Melissa—she can do anything.” If we ever had a dramatic star, a ballerina with the passion and intensity of Eleonora Duse, it was Melissa Hayden. She went right into the role of Isolde; Diana never danced it again. Within a year, Balanchine had taken Picnic at Tintagel out of the repertoire. It’s forgotten now, and what a shame: it’s among the best of Freddie’s ballets.
During the period between 1956 and 1959, Balanchine was bursting with ballets, and all the juicy roles were Diana’s. Outwardly, Diana was born perfect in every way, except that her belief in herself was not equal to what her outer gifts appeared to claim. When people have been gifted beyond others, they’re expected to perform beyond others. But if the gifted person is filled with self-doubt, that expectation becomes torment.
As Tristan, enwrapped with Diana Adams as Isolde, 1952 (image credit 13.2)
As the years went on, Diana wanted out. She kept getting injured, missing performances. Like Tanny and so many others, she wanted to please Balanchine, but deep in her heart, she didn’t really love to dance. Finally, her escape would be to marry and have a child. That would dampen Balanchine’s demands. So she married our stage manager, Ronnie Bates, a sweet guy from Tennessee. But Balanchine wouldn’t let her slow down or quit; he kept creating ballets for her.
Once, while watching the pope give his Christmas blessing on TV, Michael Tolan, my actor-friend, remarked, “Now there’s a job you can’t quit! After all, you’re chosen by God; the only escape is death!” Michael continued, “You think the pope’s saying a prayer? What that old guy on the balcony is really saying is, ‘Please, I don-na wanna be pope anymore. I’m-a so tired. I-a wanna quit. I just-a wanna go home and watch TV. The Nutcracker is on-na tonight! Please let me go.’ ”
Over the next six or seven years, Balanchine devoted himself to choreographing for Diana, and some of his most important works came out of that period—the groundbreaking Agon, and later Movements for Piano and Orchestra, Episodes, and in a burst of genius in early 1960, Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux and the gorgeous Figure in the Carpet. It became a dice toss to see if Balanchine would have the pleasure of watching Diana premiere the ballets he had created for her. She was either