Balletomane: Memoirs of the Late Ballet Critic, Lyn Roewade

By Lyn Roewade

Balletomane means an ardent admirer of ballet. This book, by a true ballet historian and revered critic, covers the history and development of ballet and many ballet dancers worldwide over five decades. It relates authentic and unabridged stories about famous ballerinas and world-class ballet companies from many countries. Yet it also chronicles many unheralded but incredible dancers, choreographers, artistic directors, students, teachers and mentors.

This is not a story for everyone. It is, however, a story for everyone who is impassioned by the beauty, history, mystique, allure and artistry of ballet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Feb 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9780228859444

Lyn Roewade

From the day her father took Lyn to her first ballet at the age of six, her life was neither normal nor prosaic again. It was like taking Alice to see Wonderland. Ballet came to define who Lyn was and who she was to become.A renowned ballet critic of exceptional insight and ability in several languages, covering two continents, she was also controversial. Lyn championed creativity and artistic talent over pettiness, internal politics, and even notoriety, and never hesitated to call out those who didn't do the same. Her writings were feared by some and loved by many.

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Copyright © 2024 by Lyn Roewade

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or the editor (in lieu of the deceased author), except as permitted by copywrite law.

This publication is designed to provide as accurate and authoritative information as possible regarding the subject matter covered. While the author and publisher have used their best efforts in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales representatives or written sales materials.

Comments and opinions expressed in this book are those of the author as part of her memoirs. The publisher, editors, designers, contributors and her children take no responsibility and accept no liability for any of the statements herein. None of the above mentioned shall be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damages, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, personal or other damages.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-5943-7 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-5944-4 (eBook)

This book, and all my writings, are dedicated to my wonderful children,

Gwyneth Gibson and David Roewade

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Foreword

Introduction

Awakening, Early Years of Ballet to 1948

Learning by Observation and Thought 1948–1956

Ballet and Dance: My Passions 1957–1959

Ballet and Dance: My Passions 1957–1959

Life Changes 1961

Joy, Outrage, Complete Change 1962

Welcome to Copenhagen 1962

Revelations in Dance 1963

A Feeling for this Company’s Progress 1964

Year of Highlights 1965

Hail, Farewell—and Hail 1966

The Times They Were A-Changin’ 1967

Fade Out–Fade In 1968

The End of an Era 1969

Sweet Sorrow 1970

Return to England 1970

London, the Busy City 1971

More News from London 1972

Grandad Would Be Proud 1973

A Momentous Year! 1974

Oh Canada! 1975

The Scene from Toronto 1976

Pleasant Surprises in Canada 1977

Settling into the Canadian Style 1978

Potpourri 1979

The Learning Process 1980

Reunions and a Shock 1981

Ups, Downs and Politics 1982

Melancholy 1983

Mischief and Variety 1984

Reflections, Thoughts 1985

Change 1986

Developments in The National Ballet of Canada Part 1

Developments in The National Ballet of Canada Part 2

A Decade of The National Ballet Repertoire

Growth, Changes, Endings

The 1990s

The World Continues

From 2000 Onwards

In No Particular Order!

Conclusion

Lyn Roewade (1938–2015)

Acknowledgements

Ariane Gautier

Reference Archivist, Access and Services Branch,

Library and Archives Canada

Gwyneth Gibson

Transcriber

Laurids Hvidberg Nielsen

Academic Employee, Collection of

Maps and Pictures Royal Danish Library

Stephanie Rolt

Archivist, Royal Opera House, London

Katie Wilson

Archivist & Digital Asset Manager,

The National Ballet of Canada

Foreword

My friendship with Lyn goes back roughly thirty-eight years, yet I remember as if it were yesterday when I met Lyn and Svend at a backstage media cocktail party following a show by The National Ballet of Canada. I had only recently returned from France and, while an experienced journalist, was new at entertainment reviews.

Lyn’s knowledge of ballet was, to me, extraordinary; and her love of dance was obvious. As time went on, I realized that this is what she was born to do…write, teach, champion, advocate, lecture about, analyze and critique ballet. From the instant she attended her first performance at the age of six, ballet was to become her destiny.

Lyn had a heart as vast and as deep as the sea, always supporting the underdog and giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. Yet she feared no one, and had little tolerance for the arrogant, for those who stepped on others to get ahead and for those who sought power. Conversely, she admired talent, hard work, creativity and, above all, honesty.

It wasn’t that Lyn would break rules. It was more of Lyn changing the rules if she thought they needed changing. It wasn’t that Lyn bucked tradition. Indeed, she was very much a traditionalist. But she was not afraid to embrace change if change was for the better. Nothing ever stays the same. It moves forward or it regresses. All her life, Lyn did everything she could to ensure ballet kept moving forward.

I particularly note how Lyn befriended many dancers from many countries while still writing ballet critiques. As she mentions in this book, she did not consider this a conflict of interest, even though her contemporaries certainly did. However, Lyn’s ethics and (dare I say?) morals were so high and so entrenched in her being that she had absolutely no problem differentiating between her duties as a ballet critic and her friendships.

I also met Svend, a man of distinction, that night at the press reception. He was a Danish Canadian opera critic who also wrote for several ballet magazines. During his career he also worked in broadcasting and in public relations for the Royal Danish Ballet Company. When necessary, and to supplement family income, he sometimes worked in accounting.

After some casual small talk, we were quickly into more interesting and substantive conversation. I noticed that Lyn had a bit of a sharp tongue…and there were these playful but cryptic jabs that kept sneaking into the conversation. They might be directed towards something she didn’t like, or at Svend, or even at me. None of them were mean in any way, and I found it amusing.

Finally, I said to Svend, Why do you take this from her? You’re a distinguished gent. So maybe she needs to be put in her place…just a wee bit.

We all chuckled, and Svend replied, Yes, but I have to go home with her.

Lyn looked at me and said in a clear voice over her shoulder to Svend, I like him. I’ll probably have to kill him sometime, but I like him.

And so began a friendship that lasted nearly four decades. By the end of that first evening, I had the nerve to ask her if she would help me with my review of the performance we had just seen. She graciously consented and within a day we had spent a couple of hours on the phone. The barbs continued in both directions, and we continued to laugh ourselves silly.

Balletomane means admirer or connoisseur of ballet. Lyn Roewade epitomizes the word like few ever could. But as the name suggests, this book is not for everyone. It is partially a historical reference resource, partially a tribute to great performers in the arts both in, and peripheral to, ballet. It documents many of the highlights of ballet—particularly in Europe and in Canada, and particularly from the end of the Second World War. Finally, it is a tremendous overview of many great dancers, choreographers, conductors, directors, instructors, reviewers and influencers who have made ballet what it is today.

It took Lyn several years to write the memoirs which make up this book. It took almost as long after her death to edit this, and it has certainly been my honour. Throughout the process, I realized that I was still learning from Lyn.

When she passed away, the world of ballet lost one of its greatest aficionados and one of its greatest critics. Sadly, the world also lost an immense amount of passion, effervescence, humor, joy…and love.

Pete W. Desrochers

Introduction

A woman in Toronto once told me, quite emphatically, that So-and-So was the best dancer in the world. I mentioned a recent performance of his with a company and asked if she had noticed another man in a lesser role who had danced well.

Oh no, I never watch other men, only him.

How could he be the best—that is, better than everyone else, I enquired, if you never pay attention to others?

This puzzled her momentarily.

Could you have possibly seen anyone as good as, or better than, him? she asked.

Yes, I replied. A great many.

She was astonished. She had become so accustomed to announcing her preference in that school-age way of good, better, best that she never considered the meaning of what she was saying.

Regrettably, she was not the exception.

People tend to blurt out words first and think about them later, if at all. She and I were speaking calmly, but some have resented me. Possibly it’s for knowing more than they expected and for challenging such rash statements. Yet mostly, I think it is because I relieve them of the ghastly notion that superlatives mean something in art. A dancer’s work reflects his or her soul. While this reflection may reveal the limits of the universe, it also uncovers how human we are. So how can someone say this or that person is the best?

Dance is one of the earliest and most sublime forms of communication humanity ever achieved, and it has been a cornerstone of ceremonies for almost every civilization. Dancing before a large number of people is similar to an intimate conversation with a trusted friend. Both show the bounds of one’s depth, character and ability to love. Sometimes they expose our innermost emotions and leave us vulnerable to criticism or attack, but the enormous need in all of us to dream must be satisfied.

This book is not so much my legacy as it is the story of my lifelong connection with ballet. It is what I want to tell the world about how ballet touched me and how these people and events impacted my life. Some may say this book is nothing more than a compilation of odds and ends—tidbits of information, personal observations and mental memorabilia. They are probably right. But my experiences showed me greatness, beauty, endeavour, tragedy, unchecked ambition, loss. In short, dance showed me life.

One of the most natural parts of life is death, so I have chronicled the deaths of important composers, great choreographers, dancers and so on to show you more of the tapestry of ballet and dance. So many have illuminated the path of learning for me that it is only fitting that their deaths be recorded with care, as their lives spread so much light.

I’ve met royalty, dignitaries, politicians, business leaders, aristocracy, diplomats and multi-millionaires. Most were pleasant, to be sure. Still, I have never been thrilled by meeting someone who was merely famous. But when I met people of great achievement like Margot Fonteyn and Robert Helpmann, I had authentic admiration and respect for them. To observe their work was my great fortune, but to meet them was an honour. Meeting Prince Henrik, Prince Consort of Denmark, was a genuine pleasure, but when I met Paolo Bortoluzzi of Ballet of the 20th Century, whose dancing was in a rarified class of its own and who had made such an impact on my soul, it meant so much more to me!

That is not to say that I fawn over these dancers because they are everyone else’s favourites. In my thirty-five years of writing about this incredible art form, I’ve never allowed others’ thoughts or prejudices based upon bias, politics, gossip or preconceived ideas to afflict my work. And make no mistake, when I attended a performance as a critic, I was at work as much as the dancers were at work. Over the years, I’ve sensed that my impartiality was sometimes unfashionable. However, I have never jumped on a bandwagon in any area in my life, nor do I care to do so now. Please remember that not all critics write opinions based on their prejudices; those bigots who do often make bad names for themselves. It would no more occur to me to include a performer’s sexual orientation, for example, than it would occur to me to try to walk to the moon.

A dancer/choreographer with a world-famous company once commented that one of the principal male dancers, a pal of his, thought that I did not like him. I replied that I hardly knew his friend, who seemed a polite and pleasant man. But I believed he was better in certain ballets more than in others, not necessarily those in which he saw himself as best suited. My companion looked thoughtfully at me.

So, when you write about his performance in anything, you are really and truly concerned only with what is onstage at that performance?

I assured him that this was absolutely the case.

He smiled. I can count on the fingers of my hands, writers in the whole world who are sincerely like that.

I must admit to being surprised at his words, as I do not know any other way to be.

I mentioned to Alexandra Danilova and Vera Volkova one time that I admired style and artistry more and more. There must, of course, be technical quantity, but quality applies to all these dimensions—and not necessarily equally. There are often varying priorities depending upon the performance. I queried them as to whether I was crazy to see ballet this way, and they each urged me to continue, not change my way of thinking and to always be me.

Using Giselle as an example, it is rare for a young ballerina to make more than a promising début or perhaps show any more than potential. She simply does not have the life experience to draw upon for such a profound role. I mention this now because I’ve seen many such performances. Sadly, many think I am sometimes harsh with my reviews in cases like this.

Noting a dancer’s use of youthful athleticism to compensate for artistic savoir faire that only comes with time is a critique, but it is not at all critical. I hope this gives you some idea of my writings and how I embrace ballet.

When it comes to live performances, each person gets something different. I have always sought specific qualities in any type of artistic presentation. In truth, I found few in my profession who felt as I did. Sometimes I doubted we were watching the same performance!

There will be those who take exception to what they see as my attitude towards certain personages to whom, they think, I should offer blind worship. Sometimes, in the case of older artists and former big names, I have actually seen them in their prime and those reproaching me have not! I have always made up my own mind solely on what occurs during performances. What I should think was—and is—irrelevant, and I will disregard any performer who trades on reputation or gushing media hype. Always look with your own eyes and do not be afraid to draw your own conclusions regardless of whatever may be expected of you.

Awakening

Early Years of Ballet to 1948

W hen I saw my first ballet, I was totally mesmerised. This was like a whole new beautiful world. I had no knowledge of ballet, of any other companies or their activities, artistic directors, audiences and many of the nuances. There were the usual middle and upper-middle class people who had discovered ballet when the Diaghilev Ballet was touring Europe. Otherwise, ballet was considered rather lightweight and frivolous in Britain.

The second time I went to the ballet was to see three short works. I was equally enchanted but can only remember one of them, an abstract work—pure dance, plotless. I later discovered it was one of the earliest such ballets in Britain, choreographed by Frederick Ashton, and was apparently one of his masterpieces. The music was by Cesar Franck, décor by Sophie Fedorovitch.

Even in April 1946, I found the simple, white costumes—at first sight quite a surprise—to be exactly right for this work. The dancing flowed with the music; and even then, I noticed purity of line and how that just had to be important. Of course, I did not know I was learning.

Sometimes I told my father of such things on the way home and he just nodded, his eyes twinkling. My father, Bernard Gould, was a classical violinist for ballet and opera with the orchestra at Covent Garden in London. He played classical concerts as well.

As I grew up, there were school plays at all stages of education and older students occasionally went on field trips to live theatre dramas. Music classes consisted of learning musical instruments, and several schools had orchestras or bands. But ballet and opera were not covered. 

I believe my father saw this as his part in my education. He was able to obtain complimentary tickets, had the good sense to be selective and decided I should become familiar with these branches of the arts. As he watched me gradually grow in understanding and be able to ask intelligent and pertinent questions, I think he felt justified. 

Ballet at the time was considered a comparable lightweight in terms of the fine arts. Ballet that wasn’t Russian was belittled in newspapers, magazines and books. An exception was Dame Adeline Geneé (Danish-British dancer), who was popular in London and in the USA. She was president of The Royal Academy of Dance and had danced since the age of ten in 1888.

Despite the lack of critical acclaim, some cities in the UK did appreciate ballet thanks to determined work by British dancers and choreographers. One such was International Ballet, founded by Mona Inglesby in 1940. She was its chief director, choreographer and ballerina. She toured Scotland, England and Ireland, giving a London season annually. Many well-known dancers, like Moira Shearer, Harold Turner and Celia Franca had early experience with her. Nicholas Sergeyev, former régisseur of the Maryinsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, had left Russia with all his notations of the Petipa and Ivanov ballets. He mounted them for this company, which ceased to exist after Ms. Inglesby retired in 1953.

There were a few small touring groups, like the International Ballet Caravan, but there was another important company called Ballet Rambert. Marie Rambert (who became Dame Marie in 1962) was born in Poland in 1888. She studied and worked at ballet as well as other dance forms, such as Isadora Duncan’s style and that of Jacques Dalcroze, ultimately becoming his assistant teacher.

Diaghilev hired her to teach Nijinsky Dalcroze eurhythmics when Nijinsky was preparing his Le Sacre du Printemps in 1913. She had thorough ballet grounding and experience, and she opened her ballet school in 1920, producing dancers and choreographers from 1926 onwards. Her company was called Ballet Rambert from 1935. Unlike Ninette de Valois, she had less formal funding and worked tirelessly for the company’s existence.

Ninette de Valois is usually lauded as the great pioneering personality of British ballet, but Rambert is in that category too. Among those who worked with her were Walter Gore, Anthony Tudor, Frederick Ashton and John Cranko. Celia Franca was one of her ballerinas. In 1966, the company was completely reorganized to showcase modern ballets and techniques. Glen Tetley then gave them many of his works.

De Valois founded Vic-Wells Company in the late 1920s and Lilian Baylis invited her to use the Sadler’s Wells Theatre. The first full evening of ballet was at the Old Vic in May 1931, and they performed at the Sadler’s Wells Theatre later that month. During World War II, they toured in addition to their London appearances. The company was in Paris in 1937, and in 1940 they were almost trapped by German troops. Robert Helpmann was a tower of strength for the company’s morale, and he also began choreographing works like Comus and Hamlet. Part of the company stayed at the other theatre, known as Sadler’s Wells Theatre Ballet. Most were the resident company of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, when they opened after the war on February 20, 1946. The company received its royal charter in 1956, becoming The Royal Ballet.

One evening shortly before my tenth birthday, I was at Covent Garden. Les Patineurs was performed first, before Giselle. The principals of the latter were Margot Fonteyn, Robert Helpmann and Beryl Grey. Fonteyn’s performance was so well-conceived that something seemed obvious—even to my young mind.

I learned that the whole first act of Giselle is a drama; it has charm, pathos and tragedy. The whole reason for the second act is clearly laid out in the first. No wonder the title role is regarded as the Hamlet of ballet. As this work from 1841 is considered to be one of the greatest examples extant from the Romantic era, considerable acting talent is required as well as style.

So, any production of this, for instance where the female dancers do arabesques with the back leg pointing to the skies, is not clever—it is lacking in style and is simply incorrect. In fact, if any ballerina fails to make us care about Giselle and what happens to her—if she treats the entire first act as merely a necessary prelude to her all-important second act where she can impress onlookers by seeming light, airy and insubstantial (as the spirit of Giselle)—then I don’t care how famous she is. Fame does not equal merit. Nor does it matter how many of the media refer to her with habitual blind worship; that ballerina will have actually failed in the role.

Fonteyn drew us into the heart of Giselle, a sweet, trusting young girl. She was starry-eyed and in love with Loys, the name Albrecht the nobleman used in his disguise as a peasant. Remember, this is a story from olden times, when peasants could not marry into nobility. By the time we arrived at act 2, we were desperately sorry for Giselle and marvelled at her love, which survived beyond the grave and enabled her, now a Wili as the folklore told, to defy the orders of the Queen of the Wilis in order to save Albrecht’s life. The intensity of emotions Fonteyn showed, along with the deep remorse of Helpmann’s Albrecht, made us really care about them. Grey was one of the finest as Myrtha, Queen of the Wilis: cold, relentless and dancing brilliantly.

There is a wondrous pas de deux for Giselle and Albrecht in the second act (for details, I recommend Cyril W. Beaumont’s book The Ballet Called Giselle). It begins slowly and elegantly. The Giselles I enjoyed most were Margot Fonteyn, Yvette Chauviré, Alicia Alonso and Margarethe Schanne. They are closely followed by Carla Fracci, Kirsten Simone and Veronica Tennant. As an aside, there were many other great Giselles who didn’t receive the acclaim they deserved. I am not pointing a finger at the press or anyone in particular, having been a member of the press myself. I believed