I Was a Dancer - Jacques D'Amboise [143]
Twenty minutes later, stuffed and semi-inebriated, I arrived at the stage door and bumped into Suzanne and Paul. “Balanchine threw us out,” Suzanne announced dramatically. Stunned, I sympathized, “Oh no, what happened?” They wanted to talk. But I had to get ready to perform. “I’ll call you later,” I cried out.
Diary excerpt from the next day:
May 9, 1969
Class with Balanchine. Theatre buzzing over Princess and Consort quitting.9 Marnee Morris to do the Brahms next week. Xenakis is put off. Neary will do Prodigal. All others covered. I called the Princess to find out what had occurred exactly. She went on that “he did not consult me on the program changes. He always has before. He isn’t talking to me. I never led him on to believe I loved him or would marry him.” She said she had danced lots for the company and done them favors, that George owed her lots, that he was ignoring her and she didn’t have to take it, that Paul was being punished because of her and that he was so talented, and why should they take it? Because he wasn’t put into the third movement of Symphony in C on the benefit night, and Symphony in C was not done, both she and he would not dance anything with the company. She went on to that effect. When I asked her what she would do now, she said, “Paul has a few irons in the fire. I’m not dancing.”
Balanchine never wanted to lose her, but he took her at her word, had the costumes taken out of her dressing room, and replaced her in all her roles. With a helpless gesture, he told me he surrendered to fate—“Chemu byt’ togo ne minovat” (“What has to be, has to be”).
On May 10, the next night, Balanchine and I headed over to the Empire Coffee Shop for a favorite post-performance snack—feta cheese, a dish of Kalamata olives, a hard roll, and a bottle of Beck’s beer. On the street at the edge of the stairs leading down to the stage door, Balanchine paused in the exact spot where I’d run into Suzanne and Paul leaving the theater a few nights before. “She’s a witch inside of me. I’ve got to get her out!” he declared. The exorcism took years.
During those years, Karin von Aroldingen and Kay Mazzo gave him the inspiration he needed to create, as did Patricia McBride. When Suzanne left, Karin (“von Ding” was her nickname) had a breakthrough in her dancing. A young explosion of a ballerina whom Balanchine had met in Germany a decade before, and, as soon as he could, brought to NYCB, Karin had always danced with energy and gusto, but now she transformed herself. Her technique improved, and she developed an added dimension to her craft, an aura of mystery. From a stein of good German beer to a flute of champagne—without losing an ounce of gusto!
Strutting with Karin von Aroldingen in the ballet Who Cares?, 1970 (image credit 13.11)
Eventually, Suzanne and Paul left the U.S. for Brussels, to dance for Maurice Béjart and his company.
Balanchine now rolled up his sleeves and threw himself into making ballets, several of them masterpieces. Duo Concertant, starring Kay, is a jewel; Violin Concerto, created for Karin and Kay in June 1972, remains one of the greatest of Balanchine’s works; and his delightful full-length ballet Coppélia, for Patty, stands out as well.
Some four years later, Balanchine showed me a letter. “I have letter. Suzanne wants to do Meditation in the Béjart company, and wants to know if you could come, stage it, and maybe dance first performance with her.” Years before, he had given Meditation to Suzanne. “Do you want me to go, Mr. B?” I deferred. He answered, “What do you want?” and, like a pair of comedians, we started a loop. “No, Mr. B, what would you like me to do?” “I don’t care …” “But, tell me, do you want me to go?” “Well, if you want.” Finally, he broke the pattern. “You know,