Ruth Page No. 08 [March 20, 1985]

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This is statement number 8.

It's 20 -25.

That'll be the total on page 33, number 8.

We are doing like a page.

This is the company of T .L .T.

Peterson.

I would like to.

I have to find somewhere to go with because I don't have to go out alone at night.

I'm scared to death.

I'm scared to death.

I'm scared to death.

I'm scared to death.

And I've got to find somebody to talk to.

Teachers, actually, we were talking about.

Then, when you went to...

Jumping ahead.

Well, in 1920, in London, Adolf Bohm introduced you to another teacher.

Cicchetti? Uh -huh.

Oh, yes.

He's supposed to be the greatest teacher in the world.

He was sent from Italy just to teach Pavlova, and he spent a great deal of his life in Russia teaching Pavlova because he was considered so great.

He had a system, a real system.

I appreciate the fact that Bohm sent me to him.

I got a lot of...

I had two séances with him.

I started with him in London and again in Monte Carlo.

In Monte Carlo.

Uh -huh.

And different from the teaching of today, every Monday you did the same thing, every Tuesday you did the same thing, the same adagio so that you knew them all.

Nobody teaches that way anymore, I don't think.

And when you did Barr, he was an old, old man, at least he seemed a million years old to me, but he would sit with his head down, pound it on...

And you'd think he wasn't looking, but believe me or me, if you did anything wrong, that stick was thrown at you.

He got up and really whacked you.

Why? Uh -huh.

I really did.

And how was he especially helpful, his emphasis on technique? Yes, he was so correct, his whole port de bras, nothing left to the imagination, it was just all the way it should be, real classical, you know.

And was that good discipline for you because that was different from really embarrassing Well, it was just so perfect, the way he did it was so perfect.

Yes.

Although there's a photograph of you, and it, in what Cicchetti calls, in a pose, Cicchetti is called the world's most perfect arabesque.

Well, it's a perfect arabesque, and I got into it quite by accident, I assure you, and the camera just happened to be there.

Yeah, it is a perfect arabesque, I think so myself.

It's beautiful.

Yes, as I said, it was just, the camera happened to be there when I got into it.

Luck.

It's just luck, it really was just luck.

I use that picture all the time because it's so correct, the pose, everything about it's correct.

And the pose is beautiful.

I think so too.

So you didn't study with Cicchetti for very long, it was just over the summer in London when you were touring with the Ballet on Team.

I think I studied with him when I was dancing at the London Coliseum, wasn't it? Yes, I danced, Balm took his company there, and I danced at the London Coliseum with Balm, and that's when I had the lessons with Cicchetti at night.

But then later when you went to Monte Carlo on your honeymoon and you were going to audition for Diaghilev, then Cicchetti was your teacher then again at that time.

And there's some wonderful stories connected with that audition.

Oh, with Diaghilev? Well, he was such a great man, you know, and he recognized talent right away and he wouldn't pay any attention to anybody who didn't have talent.

And I was scared to death of course to dance for him, but I did, and he asked me to be in the company, and I was so sort of taken aback.

He came to Cicchetti's class and saw me in the class, and that's when he asked me if I would be in the company.

And so I said yes, I forgot I was on my honeymoon, so my husband came home on his honeymoon all alone, and I joined the Diaghilev Company.

But I didn't stay long because I knew that I would either have to stay within seven years, something like that, to be anything really, to be really in the company, or I would have to have my career in America, and I figured I didn't want to stay in here.

I would have liked to, but I was already married, and so I had an offer to go to Buenos Aires to do the Coq d 'Or with Balm, which I'd always wanted to do, and that was a long trip in those days because you had to go by boat.

And so I came home for one day and then went right off to Buenos Aires.

Now that was a very important role for you, you said one time.

It was, yeah.

The Queen of Shemekind was a role that you would go to the ends of the earth, what an interesting role.

Yes, I did.

I said, oh, if anybody would offer me that role, I'd go to the ends of the earth to do it, so of course I had to do it.

I had to go.

You had to go.

So what was there about the role that you liked so much about it? It's very exotic, but what else? Oh, I don't know, I liked the music and I liked the idea.

I liked coming out of the tent and dancing for the old do -do, wasn't that his name? King Do -do, I think that was his name.

I don't remember much about the story.

I can't either.

It's not a ballet.

I can sing it for you if you like.

You can sing it, sing the music, really? That's what you remember more than the stories, the music, you mean? Oh, all the music, I guess, keeps running in your mind.

Yeah.

I don't want to sing it.

I can't sing it all, but I mean I...

But you would remember the music, I know it.

So that role was...why was that role, Ruth, I mean, was it the exoticism, the romanticism? I think so, yes.

I never wanted to do any, oh, Swan Lake or Sleeping Beauty or any of those classical ballets.

I wasn't interested in them at all.

I really was only interested in creating dances myself.

But that one was not mine and I just wanted to do it.

That's the only one I ever wanted to do.

I never danced any of the classic roles, any of them.

I didn't want to.

It wasn't interesting.

It seems as though in the kinds of roles that you danced before you ever started doing your own choreography so that you could create roles for yourself, but the kind of roles that you danced with foam, with just kind of in general were exotic and sort of elfin and do you know what I mean, kind of romantic roles, but not in the classical Swan Lake tradition.

They were sort of...

No, I don't remember really.

I guess what I'm saying is that the roles that seem to seek you out or that you seemed especially suited for seem to be perhaps a reflection of the kind of person that you are.

Some of them with a humor to them.

What? Humor and a kind of a gay, elfin quality or also very exotic kind of...

Oh, I did all kinds of different dances.

It was fun to do different kinds of dances.

It was.

Tell me about the dancing that you did as Natasha Stepanova.

Well, that was just in the Court of Ballet with Pavel.

And then wasn't that also the name you used when you danced at the movie theaters? Maybe I did.

I guess I still didn't use it because I didn't want to use my own name.

But you did the dances to...

Make money.

Whenever I needed money.

Explain how that worked exactly.

There was the movie and then you would perform or how did that work? Well, I remember there were two.

There was the Rialto and the Rivoli in New York and they gave regular movies, but they always did a little preface to them, a prologue to them of, somebody would sing or somebody would dance.

And so they paid very well.

And so I would go whenever I needed money.

But it was hard because you had to dance four times a day and then five times on Saturday and Sunday.

But I think that's one thing that made me very strong.

And the name, you didn't want the name to get...

You didn't want to do it as Ruth Page because it was after all.

Yes, the meaning, I guess.

I don't know what I thought.

I don't know that you thought it was demeaning and so the things that you've written, you said, well, it was a good way to make money.

I had to make money, had to live.

So it was fine to do.

That's right.

Going back again, one of your very first roles when you came to New York, you danced in a choreographic poem called Falling Leaves.

Do you remember that? Victor Herbert.

Oh, yes, that was a show that...

I remember that.

It was up at the Century Theater.

And it was a Victor Herbert thing.

And there was a ballet called Falling Leaves.

And I was in that.

I remember that.

Yeah, it was called Miss 1917 was the name of the review.

Miss 1917, was it? Yes.

And the rehearsal pianist was George Gershwin.

Oh, I'd forgotten that last name.

That's interesting.

What was that like? I don't remember him from then.

What I remember, George Gershwin, was we were in Cuba at the same time.

I was dancing and he came to Cuba and was, of course, he was so great and famous that everybody got out all the best music in Cuba for him.

So I would go around with him and listen to all this wonderful music that they had in Cuba at that time.

I don't know what it's like now, but he was a wonderful pianist, you know.

Oh, yes.

And when he played the rap scene, it was just so exciting.

I'm sure, yeah, until you had him play it himself.

Yes, it was very, very exciting.

And yet, there he was making money as your rehearsal pianist and nothing special that stands out about it, just doing your job.

I don't remember.

Yeah, just probably doing your job.

Everybody has to start somehow, you know.

Oh, yeah.

That's very words of wisdom.

Although I don't know, Ruth, you always, I think, you know, you very quickly started at the top and went right out in front.

Went right backwards.

Right.

I don't think many people would agree with you about that.

Okay, we talked a little bit about the film, the film Dance Macabre that you did with Adolf Bomm.

It was the first ballet film ever done with music.

It's a good film.

It's still a good film.

It's only, it's very short.

I forget, it's only about 20 minutes, I think.

And it's done in the Goya style.

I remember the Goya kind of a wig and the Goya kind of a costume.

And Francis Bruguier took it.

He was a very great photographer.

And Bomm and I, and I don't know what happened to it.

That film, I don't know where it is or anything about it.

Probably, maybe in the archives.

Oh, it's probably where all my stuff is in New York, the Library of the Performing Arts.

I suppose it's there.

Or maybe Bomm did something with it.

I don't know.

Maybe I never had a copy of it.

I don't know at all.

How was it? Were you very flattered when Bomm picked you as a partner? When he started his ballet on team after the school? I mean, after all, you were really quite young once you started dancing with him as your partner.

You were barely even out of your teens.

Well, I wasn't especially flattered.

No, I thought he should.

Of course.

I was the best one around.

Why shouldn't he take me? You were the best one around.

It's clear when you look at the photographs of you in all kinds of different poses and all kinds of different costumes from that period.

It looks as though you could be anybody and you could do anything.

Oh, well, that's a little exaggerated.

Well, exactly.

But a lot of different things.

In the Music Box Review, I went into that in 1922 to 1924.

You danced two numbers.

One was called Under the Chandelier.

That was just a straight, what we call, toe dance.

It was toe solo, a classical dance on point.

It had an entourage of a corda ballet, but I came out and ended this toe solo.

It was in the second act.

It was nice.

I understand they took it out of the show and then put it back in.

It wasn't supposed to.

Yes, they didn't want it.

Irving Berlin didn't want it because it wasn't his music.

He could never write dance music.

Then we did it at a benefit.

I can't remember what benefit it was, but it was such a hit at that benefit that they put it back in the show.

It was the Actors' Equity benefit.

You danced it with Chester Hale and everyone got so excited.

It had been out of the show and now it got put back in.

You also did a ballet called a dance called Porcelain Maid.

What do you remember about that one? That's the one I did with Hubert Stowatz.

It was a character dance where I was Chinese.

I wasn't even Chinese.

I was just something imaginary.

It was a cute little dance.

Stowatz did it.

I didn't choreograph it.

I think he did it.

You hadn't been to the Orient yet.

No, this was just imaginary.

When you were dancing with the Ballet Russe, were you the first and I believe only American ever to be part of the Ballet Russe? Is that right? No, that was the Diaghilev Company.

That was the only American left.

That wasn't the Ballet Russe at all.

It was Diaghilev's company called? No, the Diaghilev's company never was called the Ballet Russe, I don't think.

Ballet Russe Monte Carlo.

That was, well, in this one, it finally got to this country.

It was run by a Russian named Sergei Denim.

It was an entirely different thing from the one that Diaghilev had.

When you danced with Diaghilev, though, you were, I think, the only American in the company.

The only American ever.

George Balanchine, that's where he was very young and very true.

What did you think about him? Well, I thought he was great.

He had his wife, Tamara Teperjerova.

I don't think they were married, but anyway, he was with her at that time.

They did all these very interesting pas de deuxs.

I loved them.

Most people didn't like them, but I thought they were marvelous.

So I asked him to do a dance for me, and he did one.

It was called the Polka Melancholique.

I remember that very well.

Of course, he didn't stay there very long.

When he came to America right away, Lincoln Kirstein brought him over.

He was a great choreographer, I think.

Everybody thinks so.

It's not only just me.

What do you remember of the Polka Melancholique? Do you remember even what the music was? No, I don't remember what some ordinary music was.

It was just a very charming little...

It was very short, about five minutes.

It was a little toe dance.

I don't know if I ever did it or not.

I can't remember.

The notes on it are still around the notes in your notebook, the notations of what it was.

But it was something you just commissioned for the fun of it.

Well, I gave him $50, and it was hard for me to get up to find the $50, and he was still to death to get it.

I thought he was marvelous.

Now you love the Ballet Rose.

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