Historical schooling: ballet style and technique

ABSTRACT

Aiming to challenge the notion that the ballet lexicon is ahistorical, this study focuses on the ballet classroom. Training plays a vital role in how ballets are performed, and past choreography needs a different approach from that of contemporary ballets. Previous studies of classroom movement, while acknowledging different Schools, have not dealt with the effect on the dancer of diverse training systems. To explore this, I filmed three students from the Royal Ballet School, who learned sections from a syllabus, constructed by Ninette de Valois in 1947, to investigate how aesthetic values, implicit in the syllabus, differed from those of today. Contemporary source material was used to examine the values of the era revealing the extent to which those principles significantly influenced the syllabus. To test this, the study compared the English values with those of George Balanchine and contemporary American writers. Balanchine’s classroom technique was also largely constructed at about the same time as de Valois’s. The findings show that embodying the past through earlier values can be an effective way of communicating with today’s dancers, highlighting how such principles change.

KEYWORDS:

• Ballet style
• technique
• training
• transhistorical
• English critics

What is ballet training and is it important? Does it vary in style or is it fixed and immutable? Do values alter through time, or should they remain untouched by cultural change? What, if anything is authentic about the danse d’école? These are some of the questions with which I am concerned in the following paper. I raise these issues because viewing World Ballet Day 2020, I was struck by similarities in: dancers’ appearances, approach to the danse d’école and in the characteristics of enchaînements. From Pacific Northwest Ballet to The Australian Ballet and from the Bolshoi to the Royal Ballet, almost all the dancers were alike, in shape and size and in the ways in which they embodied the movement. The effect of this is to eradicate not only characteristic styles of classroom training but also choreographic style. Variety in performance is vital as it distinguishes between different choreographic works and enables us to view the past. Memory gives ballet an identity and past works are routed in earlier values, even if projected through today’s lens. But it is mostly through the classroom that the values are established. By exploring an earlier syllabus, to reveal its different values, comparing them with those of today, I can highlight changes in the approach to the danse d’école and demonstrate the links with the contemporaneous choreography.

Previous studies have not dealt with or acknowledged the historical features of classroom movement, (danse d’école) though there were significant variations in the approach to it. For instance, George Balanchine’s (1904–1983) attitude was very unlike that of Ninette de Valois (1898–2001). Each prioritised certain steps and how they should be executed.¹ Balanchine required speed, split legs and a specific approach to the music, while de Valois focused on intricate, floor skimming footwork, deploring legs that were raised above the ear.

At the heart of our understanding of ballet is the lexicon of the danse d’école taught in the classroom and believed to be fixed and inflexible. Intensifying the problem is a tacit belief that an ideal way of performing this lexicon exists and thus of training the body; the title of Agrippina Vaganova’s book (1965), Basic Principles of Classical Ballet certainly suggests this to be the case. Perceiving the steps as fixed has led to homogenization of training and, consequently, uniformity in performance of choreographic style, particularly in that of earlier dances. Training plays an important role in how dancers perform and value the danse d’école and, accordingly, the ways in which they approach the choreographer’s interpretation of it. How choreographers use the danse de école fluctuates across time and place and is historically situated. What is not yet clear is how dancers would understand the danse d’école if classes were historically based, attached to the era of the choreography. But it could encourage them to understand history as a practical issue and embody past choreography in ways informed by past knowledge.

This paper is focusing on ballet and aesthetic values in England during the 1940s and 1950s. And it was during this era that one of the most important events for English ballet occurred, the opening of the Royal Opera House by the Sadler’s Wells Ballet in 1946. This established the company as a national institution, supported, in 1947, by the formation of a school, combining ballet training and ordinary lessons. For this, Ninette de Valois devised a syllabus. Initially used to instruct teachers in the training methods of the Sadler’s Wells Ballet School, it was subsequently incorporated into the teaching at the school.

Recently (2020), together with Anita Young, I researched the values inherent in that syllabus using some of today’s dancers.² Not only do we have access to it in written form but we can also draw on the embodied knowledge of those who taught it. Both Young and I were trained by de Valois in this style and while I chose the enchaînements, devised and wrote the text for the film, Young was also involved in choosing and teaching the material.

The project concerned an exploration of selections from the syllabus with three of today’s Royal Ballet students. Filmed by Hugo Glendinning and funded by the Linbury Trust, the students learnt enchaînements from the 1948 syllabus. Despite being highly talented and able, the students found the approach to the danse d’école both alien to their way of moving and difficult to perform. They found this very different attitude to training not only revealing but also useful. During the course of the project it became evident that today’s training does not fully equip dancers for past styles. Yet it proved a beneficial way of learning history and the link between theory and practice enabled the students to understand more deeply, the choreography and style values of the 1940s, as their discussion of the experience at the end of the film makes clear.

By expanding the methodology to include another style of training, I aim to develop the investigation and address more fully the following research questions: what were the primary values of this earlier training style and how do they compare with Balanchine’s training style, devised at the same time; where did the values of both come from; how different are de Valois’ not only from those of today but also from Balanchine’s approach; and to what extent are today’s dancers able to embrace those past values?

I situate the discussion within Arnold Berleant’s examination of philosophy’s approach to aesthetic values. He argues that these are culturally informed and neither fixed nor absolute. Berleant’s work was chosen because of the fluidity of his approach, with which several scholars accord. For instance, Umberto Eco writes that ‘Beauty has never been absolute and immutable but has taken on different aspects depending on the historical period and the country …³ In other words, aesthetic values are subject to history and place. The advantage of using this method is that whereas values could be perceived as subjective, if linked to culture and time, they can be assessed as part of the era. To determine these values, I explore the writing of the contemporaneous critics both in England and the United States of America.

Beginning with a discussion of Berleant’s arguments, I move on to give a brief overview of the writing of the English dance-critics of the era. An analysis of the filmed project (2020) follows, revealing the stylistic features of the syllabus and demonstrating the relationship between its aesthetic ideals and the values of the period. This includes drawing attention to the ways in which Frederick Ashton used it for his choreography.⁴ A contrasting historical approach to training the danse d’école, formed during the same era by Balanchine, is then examined in conjunction with both the choreography that it spawned and the writing of two significant Critics.

There are certain problems with the work of the critics because not only are they highly assertive, they also consider the art of ballet to comprise the steps of the danse d’école. This is particularly the case with the English critical writing of the 1940s⁵; the classroom is tacitly perceived as dominating ballet’s aesthetic values and the danse d’école as unchanging in execution and categorisation. And this has continued to be the case, evidenced by a programme made in 1989, where Natalia Makarova is still endorsing that belief.⁶ The general nature of much of this writing is problematic, particularly as, beyond my own work, there is little academic research on the topic. Earlier, I tackled the issue of the relationship between the classroom and the choreography, writing that it makes no sense to propose that the art is composed of the technique, or danse d’école, rather it is the dance works which comprise the art. Consequently, the critics perception that classroom training stands for ballet as art is to some extent misguided (Morris 2019).

In 2003, I raised the question of dancers’ habitus, indicating that they were restricted from understanding ballet as other than classroom training by its controlling nature. I still support that point but now develop it by considering how the cultural codes of an era play a significant role in establishing both the contemporaneous dance values and, consequently, the dancers’ habitus.

Berleant’s arguments

Berleant’s approach has several attractive features in that it enables me to present the danse d’école as historical and subject to contrasting aesthetics in both England and the USA. By reinforcing the fact that our aesthetic ideals and values are culturally and historically conditioned, I suggest that ballet is not transhistorical. Berleant considers that a cultural aesthetic can ‘be developed on three levels by exploring: the distinctive sensibility of a particular culture, the theoretical elaboration of that sensibility and a metaesthetic analysis of such theories’ though, in his article, he is only concerned with the second of these and I follow his approach (Berleant, 2003, 113).

Claiming that there can be no general approach to aesthetics in philosophy, by which he means that there can be no necessary and sufficient conditions for verifying an aesthetic judgment, he remarks that

The idea of a cultural aesthetic thus leads to an empirical project, oneconcerned with identifying what the aesthetic consists of in different culturesand to noting the varying sets of factors that make it distinctive in those contexts. (122)

He argues that it is not ‘possible to speak of experience as ‘pure perception untouched by our past encounters, education and training, uninfluenced by the ideas and knowledge we have acquired’ (114). In other words, both our perception and aesthetic values are formed by cultural encounters and education. Culture, is used by Berleant in the anthropological sense of the term, meaning:

the complex of social organization, institutions, belief systems, behaviour patterns and perceptual sensibility that gives to a social group its distinctive identity at a particular time and place’ (114 n).

Here, I treat culture similarly but only in so far as it pertains to ballet. So, the institution of school and company; the reverence for Russian ballet and training from dancers, teachers, choreographers and critics of the era, and the perception that the Sadler’s Wells Ballet had become the National Ballet all contribute to ballet’s cultural aesthetic in England at this time. To identify these involves pinpointing the values shared by the critics of the 1930s and 40s, including their attempt to promote the Sadler’s Wells Company as a national English ballet. These values are also evident in de Valois’ aesthetic which was, to a large extent, informed by these beliefs. In particular her nationalisation of the danse d’école to create an English ballet. To test the validity or limitations of the argument, I examine two different sets of aesthetic beliefs formed in separate countries at the same time.

The critics

I now turn to the work of the following British writers, chosen for their prominence during the 1930s and 40s: Cyril Beaumont (1891–1976), Adrian Stokes (1902–1972), Arnold Haskell (1903–1980), Fernau Hall (1915–1988), P.W. Manchester, (1907–1998) P.W. Manchester with Iris Morley (1910–1953) and Kathrine Sorley Walker (1920–2015). The discursive tools, use of video and framework for analysis that we now have were unavailable then and, consequently, the tone of their writing is assertive, often didactic, somewhat nebulous and rarely tackles the dance movement, or choreography. In harmony with the beliefs of the era, they assume that ballet is transhistorical, unaffected by culture and time. I have selected these because they were the principal writers of the era, though none were academics and, in contrast to the American writers, such as Edwin Denby (1903–1983) and Lincoln Kirstein (1907–1996), less intellectually educated about dance. I discuss these Americans in due course as their role in establishing what became known as American ballet was extensive.

The critics approach dance in different ways but the sample though small is representative of the era. Because both were highly prolific writers, the material I selected from Beaumont and Haskell focuses more on dance works. This choice is deliberate as it gives clues to the preferences of the time.

The highly significant writing of P.J.S. Richardson (1875–1973) was formative but apart from a short analysis of this, I have excluded it. This is partly because his main concern was with establishing an acceptable and measurable training for teachers and partly because most of his opinions are in his ‘Sitter Out’ columns, written monthly for the Dancing Times and are too extensive to summarise. Consequently, I use material he wrote for The Ballet Annual.

Largely responsible for setting up, what became in 1936, The Royal Academy of Dancing, he established it in 1920 as the Association of Teachers of Operatic Dancing. In the first issue of The Ballet Annual, started by Arnold Haskell in 1947 as ‘a yearbook and record of world ballet’, Richardson features prominently, beginning by providing a ‘Chronology of the Ballet in England 1910–45’. 1910, his start date, is described as ‘the commencement of the Russian Invasion’, he goes on to provide a yearly sequence of events, incorporating deaths, arrivals and brief comments (1947,115). Included under the ballet heading are performances in the Music Hall (Empire and Alhambra), the founding of the ‘English Folk Dance Society’ and appearances by Margaret Morris, Ruby Ginner, Ruth St Denis and Mary Wigman. The term ballet seems to have been used here as a broad descriptor for dance in general. Of Wigman’s 1928 performance, he remarks that it heralded the ‘commencement of serious interest in the Central European School’, although her dances were unpopular with many of the British critics, who attacked their ‘ugliness’ (123).

In the second edition, 1948, Richardson wrote on ‘Classical Technique in England’ (1948, 118–125) mainly dealing with the influx of Russian, Italian and Danish teachers into London and their influence on English ballet. He mentions the work of the Austrian Katti Lanner (1829–1908) and the Italians Malvina Cavallazzi (1862–1924) and Lucia Cormani (1854–1934) at the Empire and Alhambra. These, he believed taught the ‘correct and traditional technique to young English dancers’ (1948, 120). Discussions of the French Edouard Espinosa (1871–1950), the Russian Seraphine Astafieva (1876–1934) and Italian Enrico Cecchetti (1850–1928) follow, and he claims that of all the teachers these three did ‘more than anyone else to lay the seeds of correct technical dancing in this country’ (120). Richardson is hugely significant in the formation of de Valois’ attitude to training and she favoured his RAD over Cecchetti. This is partly because of influence from Richardson and partly because, she claimed, that the RAD had developed the ‘theory’ of classical ballet (1973, 16). Nevertheless, she accepted that Cecchetti’s method was immensely important, particularly for choreographers, but felt it to be insufficient on its own.

Despite admiring the Russians, Richardson chooses to promote English dancers and the establishment of a national English ballet company and style. Much of his writing is devoted to this project. Given that this was written just after the end of the Second World War and because of extensive touring during the War, ballet, having played to large, socially diverse audiences, was popularised, it is not surprising that he believed it the right moment to form a national ballet (Eliot 2016). This advantaged the Sadler’s Wells Ballet and in 1945, when it was sent by E.N.S.A. (Entertainments National Service Association) to tour Belgium and Paris, it was perceived to be England’s national ballet company (Eliot 2016).

The rivalry between Richardson and Beaumont has been written about elsewhere, caused mainly by their support for different training systems (The RAD and Cecchetti methods) (Morris 2003).⁷ Even though Richardson was at odds with Beaumont, he supported his books promoting them in The Dancing Times (Sorley Walker 2002). Beaumont also was keen to encourage English ballet and is generally praising of its dancers and choreography but, unusually, was severely critical of the variations danced by the Fairies in the Prologue of the 1946 production of The Sleeping Beauty. The movements he found to be ‘either spasmodic or exaggerated … lacking control or phrasing’ (1949, 49) and the qualities of the Russian dancers from the 1922 Ballets Russes production were missing. Finding the dancers over disciplined, subdued and without personality, his values remained strongly rooted in the Ballets Russes and the ideals of Diaghilev and Cecchetti (14). Yet as a peerless historian of nineteenth century ballets, he was keenly read, encouraging dancers, like Moira Shearer, to seek his advice on Giselle and Swan Lake.⁸ For both books, he trawled the archives in Paris and Moscow, writing authoritatively on each work.⁹ Yet, his aims were twofold the promotion of English ballet and its presentation as a high art.

Adrian Stokes, a critic, artist and admirer of the Ballets Russes, writing in 1934 is more concerned with the nature of ballet, arguing that ‘the classical technique underlies, and indeed defines, dancing which is ballet dancing (1934, 77). He omits a discussion of classical technique, per se, beyond commenting on the training’s ability to give muscle control, an elegant bearing and turnout. Ballet, he claims, ‘etherealizes movement: the undulations, never tortuous, are those of snow or the swan’s white neck’ (102). But then he is viciously critical of German Expressionist Dance describing it as a

‘deep monotonous surge of mood … a crude imitation of what are thought to be the deeper layers of the mind … an unashamed exhibitionism, vaunting exhibitionism’ (114).

‘Jerky, distorted and fat movements have come into fashion in the guise of “grotesque” dances. The prettiness of ballet is of course condemned’ (116). But above all, he abhors the intellectualisation of dance and the notion that dance can influence the psyche. Unrestrained in his praise of Russian dance, he states that ‘we want ballet still to be Russian ballet’ (129).

Stokes’s book gives some idea of the fervour for Russian ballet during the 1930s. Post Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, there were two companies: Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo (René Blum and Léonide Massine) and Ballets Russes de Monte Carlo, led by Colonel de Basil, rival companies, both highly revered by the British critics. And, essentially, it is these two companies to which he refers, although his initial encounter with ballet was through Diaghilev’s company. Despite his veneration of the Russian ballet, and his discussion of their works he lacks tools for analysing them and tends to describe only the narrative aspects. For Stokes, ballet is the embodiment of everything poetic, though his knowledge of training and choreography is almost entirely lacking.

Arnold Haskell, the foremost Russian balletomane, had, by the end of World War II, changed his allegiance. Despite claiming that he believed ‘the average Russian to be superior in talent and more serious in outlook than the average English dancer’ (1943, 7), he argued that the ‘company at Sadler’s Wells follows the true Russian classical tradition, neglected by the Russian travelling organisations’ (7). The work which dominates his and the literature of many of the other writers is Les Sylphides (Michel Fokine,1909). Haskell interprets it as a very Russian work, containing

the very essence of the Russian School of dancing … and is the very touchstone of romantic as opposed to classical dancing … the music dictates not merely the rhythm of the dance but the entire mood (37–8).

He adds that Les Sylphides is a ballet which involves creating a romantic atmosphere, helped by the music (Chopin) and décor (Benois). The dancers should interpret the music, augmenting the parallel emotions of, the dancing, décor and music. It is this which is the essence of the work, rather than technical display, Haskell claims. His values are thus rooted in Diaghilev’s concept of the Gesamtkunstwerk.¹⁰ Aligning ballet with music, painting and theatre, he believes it to be high art, though whether this is the steps of the danse d’école, or the works themselves or both is not always clear. Beyond accepting that technique is a requirement for a dancer, he is unwilling to see it used as an end in itself. For him, ballet is an art of the nineteenth century, and his aesthetic is informed more by a romantic belief in ‘unpremeditated art’¹¹ than by a decidedly crafted art.

Haskell’s main aim is to support English ballet. Highly praising of Frederick Ashton, he notes that he has travelled from ‘elegance and slickness to depth and subtlety, from glitter and prettiness to brilliance and beauty’ (1943, 47). Of de Valois he declares that when she chooses ‘the right material … she produces something that will live’ (50). Yet, he reserves his highest praise for the Sadler’s Wells Ballet Company, which he portrays as a collective, comprising a ‘number of individuals, who are so trained and disciplined that they have to surrender something of themselves to the common good’ even in the face of war (64). The men are commended, and he notes that despite having been called on to fight in the war, they remained loyal to the company by returning to it whenever they were granted leave.¹² Haskell has rigid views that encompass not only behaviour, but also the appearance of the female ballet dancer.

The English (Sadler’s Wells) ballet was frequently compared negatively with the Russians, though never more so than in the writing of Fernau Hall. He described the Sadler’s Wells corps de ballet as stodgy, lacking in either individuality or emotional sensitivity. (Hall 1953, 374). He is hyper-critical of Ashton’s work particularly his later work, such as Daphnis and Chlöe (1951) and frequently inaccurate in his descriptions.

Hall’s values lie strictly with narrative work and he is openly hostile to Ashton’s choreography which he asserts comprises merely ‘pseudo-classical enchaînements [arranged] to fit the music’ (187). Antony Tudor’s work he believed to be vastly superior. There are many inaccuracies throughout, which somewhat devalues his book and calls into question his idiosyncratic and frequently offensive, ad hominem, judgements. While Beaumont was praised by dancers for his informed taste and immense courtesy (quoted in Sorley Walker 2002, 281), Hall lacked those qualities. But he has attempted to give a more comprehensive overview, even if his headings are often tendentious and betray strongly held prejudices.

Lamenting the absence of glamour, P.W. Manchester claims that ‘In brilliance of personality … [and] of technique, the Vic-Wells Company stand no sort of comparison with their exotic rivals”(1946, 63). In other words, they were not colourful or acrobatic enough. This is because the company does not promote its dancers quickly enough, which, she claims, prevents their artistic development (67). Despite her negativity, Manchester admits that the Vic-Wells Ballet is ‘obviously in the process of evolving an English idiom’ (67), expressing

itself in the teamwork which is so striking a characteristic of this Company … and in a kind of spring-like freshness far removed from the hot-house exoticism of the Russian atmosphere’ (67).

And yet, in 1949, she was still equating the merits of English and Russian (now Soviet) dancers, believing the Soviets to be superior. In conversation with Iris Morley, she compares the training of both regions. Dance is indigenous to the Soviets according to Morely, though the English are not a dancing race, (1949, 14).¹³ In response, Manchester admires the Russian method of training, perceiving it to be superior to any other world-wide 1949). The English approach is very ‘haphazard’, she claims, in comparison to the strictly ordered life of the Russians. She argues that the reasons for this is that the Soviets inherited a long tradition of state funded art, allowing them to establish a lengthy and sound system of training. Whereas in England, training coupled with academic work is just beginning. But her strongest rebuke is for the ‘fetish of [dance] examinations’ (25–6).

Morley considers that the Soviet Vaganova style of training produces flexible, more expressive backs and more verve than the English training. She particularly admires the ‘passion, and vitality, extravagance and unself-consciousness’ of the Russians/Soviets (92). While agreeing with Morley, Manchester, argues that the reasons for the differences lie not so much in temperament or culture but in funding and tradition. The Soviets inherited a long tradition of state funded art, allowing them to establish a lengthy and sound system of training. Whereas, in England, training coupled with academic schoolwork, is only beginning, adding that there is no actual English School, except perhaps the Royal Academy of Dancing.¹⁴

The tone of the conversation between Manchester and Morley is restrained and informal but heavily weighted towards Russian/Soviet superiority. Although sometimes critical of the Sadler’s Wells dancers, Manchester still finds them interesting, plucky and inspiring. What is thought-provoking in this account and most of the others, is that there is no attempt to analyse the dance movement or to identify style, beyond calling a dance classical, demi-character or character. Consequently, the very entrenched conviction that the Russians/Soviets are better than the English dancers is difficult to support, since their movement is stylistically very different. Personal aesthetic taste generates much of the writing and there is little empirical evidence to support the comments, not just here but in all the writing.

Kathrine Sorley Walker’s contribution to the debate is measured, though like the other writers, somewhat over emphatic. Discussing ballet and technique, she makes the point that ‘

no performer is great solely because his (sic) technique is good, or even perfect; and it is a curious truth that many of the contemporary dancers who are most renowned for technical prowess have no other claims to consideration as important artists’ (1947,77).

Developing this, she adds that ‘greatness springs from the personality, from the soul, and is not to be gained by more classwork or different teaching’ (78). While this comment indicates that Sorley Walker’s knowledge of teaching and technique is limited, nevertheless, it is an attempt to challenge virtuoso display.

Her aim is to present ballet as high art and in endeavouring to do so, she concludes that there have been some productions whose intentions ‘have been toward the stating of human problems, the reflecting of nature and mankind, and the service of intellect and spirit, (95) which gives them artistic status.

Summarising British ballet, she believes that in England there is a prejudice against ballet and ballet as a career and the

additional prejudice of many ballet enthusiasts for foreign artists and their consequent ill-advised antagonism maintained even now, against British efforts …; [means that] not only has the path of British ballet been an unnecessarily hard one, but in spite of popularity among the general public it remains so. (133).

While the exploration of these writers is limited, there is, nonetheless, considerable agreement among them, though their approach to ballet varies. Stokes, an artist, art historian and critic who, despite being a promoter of modernism in art, is informed by romantic ideals and writes little that is objectively useful. Richardson, Beaumont and Haskell are ballet literate critics but tend also to view ballet through romantic tropes, while Manchester, Morely and Sorley Walker are writers whose approach to and understanding of ballet was almost entirely moulded by the Ballets Russes of the 1930s and subsequently the Soviet companies. Yet, there are clear values in all of this writing, namely: a desire for a national ballet and to promote ballet as high art. They are critical of virtuoso display and have a high regard for Russian training even if it comes from the later companies, Ballets Russes of de Basil and Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo.

In support of English ballet, de Valois wrote in 1937 that the ballet enthusiasts who imagine that thrusting every personal temperamental trait to be found in the émigré Russian dancer down the throat of an English contemporary is going to produce the degree of perfection manifested in the contemporary foreigner, are guilty of formulating the most amazing psychological nonsense it is possible to hear. (1937, 204)

She bats away the recurring complaint that English dancers lacked personality, and is scathing about the notion of temperament, claiming that ‘the owners of the most satisfactory type are to be found in one country as much as another’ (205).

Primarily, she aimed to forge a unique classroom style, believing that despite its youth, the English School would become the most sought-after training. It comprises both the Russian and Blasis-Cecchetti Schools, together with the academic theory established by the Royal Academy of Dancing (231). And she was very clear about how her approach to training would be Anglicised. Drawing from the dominant Schools at the time, she chose from each what she believed to be the most suitable approach to the danse d’école. Having acknowledged the work Cecil Sharp did for the revival of English folk dancing, she noted the importance of footwork, and included in her syllabus much fast and taxing footwork, evident in the film made with the RBS students. It also makes the style distinctly English and different from the Bournonville and Imperial Ballet schools.

During the 1940s and 1950s, the choreography of Ashton and MacMillan adopted this style, using extravagant upper body movement patterns and fast, precise footwork. This contrasts with today’s preference for ideal positions, flat turnout and legs raised to 180 degrees. De Valois’ dislike of legs raised above shoulder level coincides with a remark made by Marius Petipa interviewed in 1896:

Ballet is a serious art form in which plastique, and beauty must dominate, and not all sorts of jumps, senseless spinning and the raising of the legs above the head. Quoted in Scholl, 1994, 20

It was this aesthetic that de Valois still clung to, as did the founders of what became The Royal Academy of Dancing (now Dance).

The message from the critics, which shaped the cultural aesthetic, is confined to four aspects: Russianness, expressiveness, forming an English national ballet and the use of narrative in dance works. Aware of this, de Valois shaped her syllabus accordingly. Already in 1937, she had set out the main tenets governing the training and its Anglicisation. She built into the syllabus expressive qualities and shunned anything that would make it appear spectacular. Perceiving ballet as a dramatic art, she aimed to establish a syllabus that would support narrative dance, deeming non-narrative dance of no significance. Admiring of Leonide Massine’s work, she felt his greatest achievement was Les Femmes de Bonne Humeur (1917), revived for the Royal Ballet in 1962. It is a highly expressive work with non-virtuoso movement. These expressive qualities and absence of virtuosity are evident in the syllabus analysed in the film.

Dancing de valois¹⁵

Together with Royal Ballet School teacher Anita Young, I chose six enchaînements. They comprised: a ports de bras, an adage, a pirouette phrase, two beaten enchaînements and a travelling phrase. These cover the main values of the 1940s and demonstrate how different they are from those of today. While the present aesthetic prioritises performing single ‘perfectly’ formed steps of the danse d’école, the values of the 1940s were more concerned with expressive qualities, phrasing and dynamic contrast. Equally, there was much less insistence on a flat turnout of 180°. Undoubtedly turnout was required, but the hips were not forced and the degree of turnout depended on the dancer’s build. Leg extensions never went above ear height; anything higher was frowned on.¹⁶ The barre exercises (not shown in the film) involved a range of battements tendus, battements glissés, battements tendus Jetés, battements frappés and grands battements. These were sometimes combined with a flic-flac pirouette and performed in all positions: croisé, enface, effacé, écarté etc. Multiple very fast repetitions of this barre footwork resulted in supple, strong feet. It could be argued that all these exercises are performed today, but the emphasis is different, the speed slower, more comfortable, and the qualitative elements less pronounced and less variation in the combinations. In de Valois’ class, at the barre, the various battements were often combined, compelling students to absorb compound patterns. This prepared them for more intricate combinations of batterie and other footwork enchaînements in the centre. De Valois loved complicated movement patterns, and these had to be learnt as quickly as possible.

The film starts with the four students in the studio marking some of the material while a voiceover notes that aesthetic preferences and values are formed by the era in which the syllabus first emerged. Today’s students found that the emphasis on movement rather than steps led to a more animated performance. This is because perfecting individual steps is not a feature, with phrasing and dynamic variation more significant. Speed was trickier for them and as one student observed, ‘today, we have more time to be comfortable’ and adjust our balance between steps. Eye focus is also important, often changing with each step, and this helps to build artistry into the enchaînements because it encourages the performer to show the dance rather than the dancer. But one of the most interesting comments comes at the end of the film when the young woman mentions that now she could really understand the Ashton work.¹⁷ Remarking that the previous year when learning La valse (1957), despite having excellent Ashton coaches, she could only imitate the movement but now she understood it and could embody the values associated with Ashton’s choreography. The class had encouraged more flexibility in the upper body, which would have made the bending required in La valse, easier to perform.

Probably the most difficult aspect of the class were the low, floor-skimming jumps. Dancers today tend always to jump upwards; these foot-stretching jumps are rarely required. And the complexity of the enchaînements was also challenging; combined with trajectories that rarely move in one continuous floor path, the dancer is required rapidly to adjust the weight and change both direction and eye focus. These may be small details but taken together, they make the style of movement very unlike that of today and very unfamiliar to the students. These principles are evident in the choreography of Ashton, de Valois and even Kenneth MacMillan. And, as I discuss below, the values are totally unlike those favoured by Balanchine.

Stylistic differences between the 1940s and today

Before moving on to compare de Valois’s approach to the danse décole with that of Balanchine, I briefly outline the differences between past and present training. This does not reside in actual step differences but is caused by variations in emphasis, use of floor space, timing and recurring use of certain steps. For example, the Jeté battu moving forward and back with the head turned from side to side on the forward moves and inclined when moving backwards. This recurs either singly or repeated in a sequence. Linking steps are often accorded a major status. For instance, the pas de bourrée reappears in various arrangements. Different kinds are gathered into enchaînements and the en tournant version often forms part of a travelling sequence. Small, intricate chains of movement recur more frequently than in today’s classes and can be combined into a travelling series as in the film, where the students perform a pas de chat with small développes and then twist around into a small turning jump finishing in a raised attitude derrière. In this enchaînement the dancer moves in a circle around herself and also travels forward, moving both horizontally and vertically.

Today’s classes tend to have big travelling steps which bound horizontally across the stage eating space. The movement progresses in the same direction and has fewer combinations of vertical and horizontal movement. Each step is given full emphasis and turnout, vertically and ultra extensions are more important than in de Valois’s class, which uses more cambré and forward bends of the upper body.

While judgements cannot be fully made from such a small sample and the interpretations of different dancers will affect how the movement appears, nevertheless, it is possible, to discern significant differences in style and aesthetic value. Adjectives such as crisp, lively, darting and speedy all apply to the earlier class, while, for today’s classes, words like lyrical, flowing and expansive are more appropriate.

Two schools, geographically separate, formed in the 1930s

Comparing Balanchine’s approach to the danse d’école with that of de Valois, I now move to New York; both were created in the 1930s thousands of miles apart. Although coming from the same root, the Russian Imperial Ballet, their different interpretations, demonstrate how the same lexicon can be made into two quite divergent and contradictory approaches. Informed by the writing of the two critics, it is evident that the aesthetic of New York contrasted significantly with that of London.

What follows is not an overarching discussion of Balanchine’s work, rather, it is an attempt to demonstrate that ballet is neither transhistorical nor transnational. It shows the effect of a different aesthetic culture, leading to two quite separate interpretations of the danse d’école.

If de Valois was endeavouring to create an English School, it also means that her focus was other than that of Balanchine’s. He was attracted by modernism and embraced its values, she was not. While the choreographers of the Ballets Russes had changed ballet culture, encouraging expressive qualities over technical display, by the end of the 1920s, George Balanchine’s return to academism (Scholl 1994) and the danse d’école fundamentally changed performance style again. Yet, this would occur mainly in the USA where Balanchine style came to dominate the academy. Tim Scholl draws attention to the ways in which Balanchine uses the three-dimensionality of both the body and stage space. Choreography that emphasises position and covers large areas of stage space has also led to a new approach to the body; long lines and high legs are favoured as well as slimmer, more streamlined bodies. In Apollon Musagète, Scholl argues that ‘Balanchine declared a new classicism for ballet’ (1994, 97). This, he claims, was a return to the values of the Russian Imperial ballet and Russia’s ballet tradition.

This is difficult to substantiate since the only way of corroborating Scholl’s comment is by analysing Petipa’s dances and Scholl has not done this. Although his research is excellent, informed by Russian writings and reviews, he does not actually discuss the choreography or movement which make his claims less plausible. Imperial Russian ballet values are more clearly present in Bronislava Nijinska’s work, particularly in Les Biches (1924). Although even here, the choreography is infused with her own ideas. In Biches, the choreography has detailed foot work, extensive epaulement and continuous movement. She removed preparations before steps and introduced a more torso-led approach: by keeping the arms held and close to the body the impetus has to come from the torso. The floor space is used in ways that reflects the Fairy variations in The Sleeping Beauty; it is restless and shifts back and forth rather than forming long continuous threads. This is particularly so in the group work. The steps chosen, the speed and the floor patterns demonstrate Nijinska’s approach to the danse d’école, based on her classes with Enrico Cecchetti and her Imperial background, though the lack of pauses between steps, indicates her rethinking of ballet’s academism. In any event, her dancers came from multiple training systems, though mainly informed by Cecchetti who, intermittently, between 1911 and 1921 and 1923–25, was ballet-master for the Ballets Russes. He had also taught at the Imperial School.

So, when Scholl argues that Balanchine ‘reinvented the academy’, returning ‘to ballet’s basic priorities’, he seems to support the notion that ballet’s academic values are unchanging and have always been dominated by space and an approach to the ‘classical movement vocabulary’ that isolates each step (103). But various enchaînements, from both the classroom and nineteenth century works demonstrate, this not to be the case, indeed, in Petipa’s works, stage patterns were more fragmented, moving back, forth and sideways and his dances were fast, much faster than they are performed today, so giving full value to each step was not possible.

Bodies too have changed radically. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, dancers were admired for their roundness and soft arms and were chunkier than today’s dancers. The costumes, were often knee-length and concealed rather than revealed the body, limiting extensions. Balanchine changed this brutally exposing the body in his leotard ballets and demanding rotations of a hundred and eighty degrees with extensions at ear level. This has now become the dominant aesthetic and audiences, dancers and pedagogues forget that those values are not absolute and feed a very different aesthetic. It is for this reason, to show ballet’s historicity, that I made Dancing de Valois and to demonstrate that performing the past is challenging and not easily accessible to today’s highly trained dancers.

Modernism and style

Balanchine did not actually establish a training syllabus per se and his choice of several specific teachers, suggests, that in the 1930s and 40s, it was their classes that contributed to his style, particularly those of Anatole Oboukhoff and Pierre Vladimiroff. According to the dancers, Barbara Walzac and Una Kai, Oboukhoff’s classes demanded huge stamina, developed in the fast phrases for dégagé exercises and the very slow and exhausting tempi for fondu and adage (2008). His jumps and beats were similar to combinations found in the Bournonville class, repeated in all directions. Apparently, he never gave grand allegro across the room. This fast footwork found its way into Balanchine’s choreography for the first solo of Scotch Symphony (1952) and in the Pas de Trois Glinka (1955).¹⁸ Vladimiroff, whose musicality, placement and phrasing ‘were magnificent’ (10) brought out different qualities. Walzac and Kai make the point that the steps flowed into each other and can be seen in ‘Balanchine’s Waltz of the Flowers [which] are reminiscent of Vladimiroff combinations’ (10). Violette Verdy, who was neither tall nor exceptionally thin, but was one of the dancers Balanchine most admired explains his style

But you have the croisé of the steps, the total fifth position, the use of your toes for landing and rising the assemblés that really assemble, the jetés that really cross in the air before landing – things like that. Every step got a treatment of cognition and beauty that was put back to its intrinsic ability and truth. (Verdy 2008, 70).

Verdy claims that Balanchine’s choreography is all about craft and consequently will survive forever (72). Richard Alston, another devotee, suggests that Balanchine’s background in the Imperial Ballet had given him a great depth of knowledge which he merged with American athleticism (Alston in Hogan, 2008, 85). Alston adds that speed of footwork is central to Balanchine’s style, demanding a kind of fearlessness.

The writer Andrea Harris has written recently about the effect of two critics on Balanchine’s modernism, arguing that:

The history of American neoclassicism is neither a wholly ‘American’ story, nor is it one only about ‘ballet.’ Instead, it must be seen as a complex narrative involving several authors and discourses and crossing national and disciplinary borders: a history in which Balanchine was not the driving force, but rather the outcome. (2018, 193)

Harris believes that the circumstances which led to American ballet modernism were formed more by the writing of Lincoln Kirstein and Edwin Denby than by Balanchine. Certainly Denby, was a formidable critic with a profound knowledge of dance because of his background in Ausdruckstanz. Intelligent enough to understand that the ‘intrinsic energetic forces and patterns of ballet dancing were capable in themselves of activating a fresh awareness in the viewer’ (Harris, 104), he appreciated that it was the movement itself that created the meaning of dance. This set the stage for Balanchine’s plotless ballets, where he explores the danse d’école, within a complex musical relationship.

If Denby was an influence on Balanchine, then Kirstein was even more so. Instrumental in forging American Modernism, he admired and promoted what he described as ‘absolute dancing in its own terms’ (quoted in Harris 2018, 78). And, like Denby, he approved and encouraged Balanchine’s primary aim to use ‘the virtuosity of physical movement for its own sake’ (Harris 2018, 79). Artistic activity could defy the commercialisation of the 1930s and reinvigorate human values in the modern world; it was this that Kirstein hoped to achieve. To this end, he promoted Balanchine’s work as American national ballet. This persists, though as Harris argues ballet in America was already established before Balanchine’s arrival and would have developed without him. She points out that ’

when Balanchine’s neoclassicism did gain ‘American’ status that development proceeded from factors far bigger than his artistry or any aesthetic elements in his work, no matter how innovative – that is the ascendence of American neo-classicism was less a question of genius and talent than it was the consequence of a unique historical situation within which ballet’s modernists struggled to invent a role for ballet as a constructive and meaningful force, beginning in the Depression period (Harris, 193). Modernism, per se is an aesthetic which had no place in English ballet at that time and neither Ashton nor de Valois seem to have subscribed to these values.

Contrasting appearances

To combine the dance movement of the three Royal Ballet choreographers is not easy, since their work is diverse and disparate. They were less dependent on thin, long-legged flexible dancers. Indeed, many of their dancers were short and, by today’s standards, chunkier. Strength and flexibility were still required but in different ways from today and the appearance of the dancers’ bodies was of less significance.

Interestingly, both Ashton and Balanchine had dancers with whom they preferred to work, who do not quite fit the stereotypical description. Compare, for example, Margot Fonteyn with Suzanne Farrell. Fonteyn is evenly proportioned with well-formed legs that are not specifically long.¹⁹ Farrell, however, has extremely long legs, is tall in comparison with Fonteyn, slightly heavier, and because of her long legs, can execute high extensions. Neither dancer has hyper arched feet; Balanchine did not value over arched feet and, although Ashton did, he was happy with less pronounced arches, as long as the feet were articulate.²⁰ Both dancers were highly musical in ways appreciated by the two choreographers, and both were malleable. Balanchine’s chosen dancers, throughout his years with the New York City Ballet, followed a similar pattern of tall, long-legged thin dancers, yet none of the dancers of the other three choreographers were alike. De Valois, uninterested in body shape, chose dancers because they could move at speed. Her tempi were fast and she rarely modified them. Ashton’s dancers ranged from Fonteyn to Nadia Nerina, Lynn Seymour to Antoinette Sibley amongst others, while MacMillan’s dancers were chosen mainly for their expressive qualities.²¹

‘Agile spider monkeys or cats’ is how Balanchine described his favourite dancers (Walzac and Kai 2008, 5). He liked:

a small head, long neck, short torso and long arms and legs. The length of the thigh as well as the length from the knee to the ankle were very important. He demanded not a huge instep but a foot as articulate as a beautifully gloved hand. (Walzac and Kai 2008, 5)

These are very specific requirements, though the writers point out that it was in fact his teaching that shaped his dancers. While it obviously shaped the way they danced, it can only partly have shaped their bodies. Nevertheless, this myth of long-legged slender dancers persists, and his favoured dancers match this ideal.

Comparing the dances of Balanchine and Ashton

Given the disparity of approach between Balanchine and de Valois, it is instructive to compare Ashton’s dance movement with that of Balanchine. The style qualities in Ashton’s work align with those in the de Valois syllabus. For instance, in Ashton’s variation Spring from Cinderella (1948)²² there is similar fast footwork and alterations of weight, the epaulement is quite pronounced and there is much movement in the upper body. Both choreographers prioritised speed, but the rapid changes of weight and direction are more pronounced in Spring. What is interesting is that in the Balanchine dances referred to above, there is no need for the tall long-limbed dancer he preferred, and the extensions are not above shoulder height either. Perhaps this is evidence of his earlier choreography, which may have been more affected by the dancers’ training with Obukhoff and Vladimiroff. Probably the most significant difference between them lies in the way in which each choreographer used the space around the body. Ashton’s movements often start from an impulse and then scatter in the space, so the space around the body is choppy and vibrant. With Balanchine, however, the space is broad, wide and open. The qualitative elements in Balanchine tend to be stronger, more impactful and the movements often slash the space. Of course, this is not always the case and in a work like Glinka Pas de Trois, the movement is closer to that of Bournonville, with quick alterations of weight, many small beaten jumps and more fragmented, more edgy use of floor space, but the space around the upper body is still broad and the arms glide in or slash the space.²³

Signature steps for both are chosen from a small range: Ashton’s can all be seen in what is described as the ‘Fred step”,²⁴ while Balanchine’s, comprised a jeté battu volé and temps levé en arabesque often combined. Walczak describes the step with the front leg moving backwards to a beat with both legs straight which is frequently followed by the temps levé forward. It often occurs in the finales of ballets, evident in, for instance, Symphony in C (1947). It is a travelling step, flyaway and carefree; the legs are initially thrown back and make the dancer appear to be unconcerned with the speed and ongoing progression of the phrase. Other signature steps, not mentioned by Walczac and Kai are the quick abrasive, percussive and rhythmic jumped runs on pointe that occur in many finales. Ashton’s signature steps involve small quick footwork and come from Anna Pavlova’s Gavotte, the floor space is confined, and the torso drives the feet and legs. The steps in this short phrase dominate Ashton’s choreography and while he certainly used others, there are few dances that don’t reference at least one of these steps, though not always conventionally used. Balanchine’s are more to do with travelling and with complex steps.

Because Ashton was never a teacher, uninterested in technical issues or in training his dancers, he never developed a syllabus or ever gave a class. Balanchine frequently did and trained his dancers to perform in ways that suited his work. He was concerned with every aspect, Ashton less so. Balanchine preferred tall women with short torsos and long legs (Walzack and Kai). Speed and vitality were essential to his choreography as was maximum turnout, even in an arabesque where the hip was lifted, turning the leg out and providing height. Ashton’s arabesques had square hips, coming from de Valois’ training. To speed up jumps, Balanchine advised dancers not to land with the heels on the ground, something that de Valois would have condemned. Yet his approach gives the NYCB dancers greater speed and, interestingly, higher, lighter jumps. Ashton, however, often required jumps to be floor-skimming which compel the feet to point though with almost no height. This is not to suggest height and big jumps were not important but to indicate that, stylistically, smaller jumps are a feature. Balanchine’s work was expansive, concerned with filling space; it promoted dance movement for its own sake and modernist values. Ashton’s, however, was intricate, often spatially fragmentary, but essentially about communicating human emotions.²⁵

Conclusion

I have argued that ballet is historically and culturally formed and shown that its values and aesthetic ideals change, not only through time, but also according to geographical location. Using the notion of cultural aesthetic developed by Arnold Berleant (2003), I exposed the ways in which the values of a particular cultural era influenced and formed the interpretation of the danse d’école and how it was used choreographically. Basing my findings on a recent film using the de Valois syllabus of 1947, I reveal how that training drew on very different ideals from those of today and how simultaneously, in the USA, Balanchine interpreted and developed his approach to the danse d’école to form both the training and the choreography.

The research extends our knowledge of the danse d’école and of ballet training and its links to choreography. The findings make several contributions to the current literature on ballet and offer some insight into ballet’s historicity.

Nevertheless, a number of important limitations need to be considered. Firstly, for this to make a contribution to current professional practice, the institution and its principles need to change. This is difficult and may prove impossible, especially since the institution has strongly held beliefs. Those who populate the ballet world will argue that attitudes were formed more than one hundred years ago and are thus immutable. It may be futile but in making the film, I did at least alter the beliefs and ingrained values of the students and my aspiration is that it may also influence others who watch it. Secondly, implementation of these findings depends on altering not only the perceptions of performers and company directors but also those of audiences. And thirdly, while I am not suggesting we return to the earlier values, rather that they should be acknowledged and perhaps even incorporated into today’s training.

Overall, the study highlighted the complexity of classroom training. What is interesting is that despite acknowledging the existence of different Schools of training, there is almost no research on how these affect performance. Drawing attention to the ways in which dancers are affected by their classroom training also highlighted the effect of the cultural values of the era on the training. Ballet’s future depends on embracing current cultural values. And while it is adopting the eclecticism of today’s dance genres, it is not taking account of how this might affect works made earlier. Yet, these dances are still performed and without having some background in the values of the era, dancers have less understanding of the past. This can result in loss of meaning. For instance, if Les sylphides (1909) is performed according to today’s classroom, the curving art nouveau aspects are lost and the ballet seems more like Petipa choreography without the virtuoso elements. Since companies like the Royal Ballet are supporting today’s eclectic dance genres, incorporating aspects from contemporary dance and even Hip Hop, yet are still performing the past, they need to acknowledge that by giving classes which draw on earlier values, it can enable dancers to understand the past. The de Valois class for understanding Ashton, could be used wherever Ashton is performed. This happens when Balanchine or Bournonville choreography is danced by other companies, and indeed in contemporary dance too (Boos 1995). Ballet’s future lies in understanding the existence of earlier values, if the past is still to be performed.

The research has thrown up many questions and it would be interesting to explore how the film is experienced by current ballet companies and professional schools other than the Royal Ballet School. To establish whether incorporating the values of the past into the classrooms of the present is a viable project, would involve having most of the ballet world on board. But it would provide a better understanding of ballet and break the hold that the present-day ballet community has on values and ideals. It could also give dancers more choice, more agency and lead too to a better understanding of the past; an embodiment of history, demonstrated through its earlier classes and choreography.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1. Bearing in mind that the linking of steps in enchaînements alters the nature of a step and which steps are placed next to others also affects the overall shape of the phrase and the performance of a step.

2. This is available on You Tube: Dancing de Valois:

https://youtu.be/BEq8vA8RUQM

3. Umberto Eco (2004) History of Beauty, trans. Alastair McEwen, London: Rizzoli, 14

4. The method for this analysis is based on that used in the following book: Geraldine Morris (2012) Frederick Ashton’s Ballets: Style, Performance, Choreography, Alton: Dance Books

5. In his book Ballet (1937, revised 1946) Arnold Haskell maintains that we can ‘trace [ballet’s] development in an unbroken line of dancers and teachers from [the time of Louis XIV] until the present day’ (17). He considers the history of ballet to consist of intense technical development which are then codified (22). Equally, he argues, it is due to individual dancers that ballet exists. He does not indicate what he means by ballet nor its historicity and does not seem to regard the dances as the art. For Haskell it Is the danse d’école itself which comprises the art.

6. https://youtu.be/f4wiLmeRXjI

7. Morris (2003) ‘ The Making of a National Style: The Emergence of an English Dance Style in the Early 20^th Century’,, Dance History on Shannon’s Shores The Society of Dance History’s 26^th Annual Conference, 26–29 June 1986–90

8. Beaumont 1944) The Ballet Called Giselle, London: C. W. Beaumont and (1952) The Ballet Called Swan Lake, London: C. W. Beaumont

9. His Moscow research was helped by Natalie Roslavleva,

10. Total art work

11. Shelley 1972/ 1820) To a Skylark verse one line five

12. This was written during World War II, when the men in the company were called up to take part in the fighting and other wartime duties.

13. Morley was a writer and critic who had spent some time in the USSR.

14. It is interesting that during the 1930s the RAD claimed to teach the ‘correct technique of Operatic (ballet) dancing. Quoted in Sorley Walker, 269. Manchester’s view is problematic, since de Valois set out clearly in her 1937 book the principles of an English School. She is very confident as to what it should comprise, including how the danse d’école will be taught to create Englishness (225–252)

15. https://youtu.be/BEq8vA8RUQM

16. I remember working with Ninette de Valois in class when one student raised her leg to 180°. Furiously de Valois tapped it down to shoulder height, commenting, never, never do that again it’s weakening.

17. I was prevented by the Ethics of Roehampton University from naming the students.

18. https://youtu.be/96sIPLk0XhM

19. I am not suggesting Fonteyn was chunky or solid!

20. Fonteyn’s feet were not her best attribute but Ashton admired her musicality and her use of the upper body and was prepared to cope with her feet.

21. Seymour and Paul (1985) Lynn, London: Panther

22. https://youtu.be/YQTsS1S7MtQ

23. See Leonard Meyer (1989) Style and Music: Theory, History and Ideology, Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press. I use this theory of style in this paper. As an approach to dance, it is also discussed more fully in Morris (2012)Fredrick Ashton’s Ballets: Style, Performance, Choreography

24. Posé en arabesque, coupé dessous, low développé à la seconde, pas de bourrée dessous, pas de chat (Vaughan 1977, 9)

25. A really interesting comparison is between the Balanchine and Ashton choreography for Ravel’s La valse (1951) and (1957) respectively. Both are available on You Tube.