Behind the Scenes.

"Smad" at the Russian Ballet.

I suppose few of us that visited the Russian Ballet ever thought of the terrific amount of hard work and exactment that is demanded of the dancers. This morning I managed to induce the door keeper to allow me on to the scene of action—the ballet was rehearsing. The first impressive thing was the happy friendliness and camaraderie that seems such a bond among the various members. Even to me, an outsider, they were friendly and talkative, although some were limited by lack of English vocabulary. Blinova. the Prima Ballerina, is an intriguing personality.

The stage, denuded of scenery, made a grim background for the hard work. Leon Wozikowski, master of the Ballet, sat on a chair near the footlights shouting vigorously in French and Russian, gesticulating and stamping. This one was a few inches out of line; up more with that hand! A desperate "Nor! Nor!" pulled up one man doing a half-hearted turn—Wozikowski leapt from his chair—"Sor, Sor," and repeated the movement perfectly. Someone bantered him, and off went the pianist again. Off came the men with flying leaps, and flopping on to the piles of canvas lying round, rested themselves.

On the wings some girls were pirouetting on toes, holding the other leg above the head; others doing amazing back kicks; some men practised scissors and others were spinning, about three or four times in each spring, too!

Beside me, some anxious mothers were waiting for rehearsals to finish in order that their offspring might do Cossack dances before Woisikowski. (One lad was quite good.)

There was no uniform practise dress—some wore conventional tights, others just slacks and shirt. Most of the men wore bandeans to keep their hair in place.

These Russians like Wellington and the weather, but bewail the fact that there is no night life. New Zealand ham and coffee is "no good." Tea is better than coffee.

On the Continent two performances are given on Sunday. Yes, and when a new ballet is being learnt, there are three rehearsals a day, besides performances.

They enjoyed Rotorua immensely but they got so tired on the long: journey from Rotorua to Auckland—at one stage the car broke down, and it was four hours before another passed—they stayed on the road nil night. At one o'clock (p.m.) the practising finished and I was fortunate to go out to lunch with Jean Hoyer—the stage manager—and a charming person, too.