Alicia Markova, née Lilian Alicia Marks, was born in London, 1st December, 1910. Her life has been celebrated in perhaps as many volumes and articles as any other ballerina, if for no other reason than that the English seem to burst into print about ballet and to encase their words between solid covers more extensively than any other people I know, not excluding the French. It is almost a case of scratch an Englishman and you will find a ballet author. Because of this extensive bibliography, the details of Markova’s career need not concern me here, save to establish the highlights in a public life that has been extraordinarily successful.
When Markova arrived in this country to join the Massine Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, she already had behind her a high position in British ballet; yet she was, in a sense, shy and naive. Her father had died when Alicia was thirteen. There were three other sisters, and an Irish mother, who had adopted orthodox Judaism on her marriage to Alicia’s father, all in need of support. Alicia became the head of and bread-winner for the family. The mother worked hard at the business of being a mother, but kept away from the theatre’s back-stage. The story of the family life of the mother and the four daughters sounds like a Louisa M. Alcott novel, with theatre innovations and variations.
Before she became a pupil at the Chelsea studio of Seraphina Astafieva, late of the Imperial and Diaghileff Ballets, little Alicia had been a principal in a London Christmas pantomime and had already been labeled “the miniature Pavlova.” It was in this studio that her path crossed that of one Sydney Francis Patrick Chippendall Healey-Kay, soon to have his name truncated and changed to Anton Dolin by Serge Diaghileff. It was Dolin who brought Alicia Marks to Diaghileff’s attention, not, however, without some difficulty. Dolin’s conversations with Diaghileff about “the miniature Pavlova” brought only disgust from the great founder of modern ballet. The pretentiousness and presumptuousness of such a title roused only repugnance in the great man.
Eventually, Dolin succeeded in bringing Diaghileff to a party at the King’s Road studio of Astafieva, where little Miss Marks, at fourteen, danced. As a result, Diaghileff changed Marks to Markova, dropped the Lilian, and took her, with governess, into his company, detailing one of his current soloists, Ninette de Valois by name, to keep a weather-eye out for the child. Markova was on her way rapidly up the ladder, with two Balanchine creations under her pointes, The Song of the Nightingale and La Chatte, when Diaghileff died.
This meant a complete change of focus for Markova, in 1929. She earned a living for herself and her family for a time dancing in the English music halls, dancing for Marie Rambert’s Ballet Club and the Camargo Society for buttons. After two years at Marie Rambert’s Ballet Club, where Frederick Ashton took her in hand, as coach and teacher, adviser, and mentor extraordinary, she became the leading ballerina of the Vic-Wells Ballet, the predecessor of Sadler’s Wells, where, under the overall guidance of Ashton and de Valois, she danced the first English Giselle, the full-length Swan Lake, and The Nutcracker. Dolin was a guest star of the Vic-Wells in those days; their stellar paths again intertwined as they had at Astafieva’s studio, and in the Diaghileff Ballet.
In the fall of 1935, Dolin and Markova formed the Markova-Dolin Ballet, with a full repertoire of classical works, playing London and touring throughout Great Britain.
Markova, if she is honest, and I have no reason to believe she is not, should be the first to admit her profound debt to three persons in ballet: Anton Dolin, who has projected her, protected her, and occasionally pestered her; Frederick Ashton and Marie Rambert who, jointly and severally, encouraged, advised, and guided her.
In 1938, I was instrumental in having Markova join the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, where she competed with Danilova, Toumanova, and Slavenska. Her London triumph in our season at Drury Lane was not entirely unexpected. After all, she was dancing on her home stage. Her performance in Giselle, on 12th October, 1938, at the Metropolitan Opera House, made history.
There was an element in the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo direction, of which Leonide Massine was not one, that was not at all pleased with the idea of having Markova with the company. Despite her great London success, Alicia decided she would be wise not to come to America.
Alicia and her mother, I remember, came to the Savoy to see me about this. Mrs. Hurok and I urged her to reconsider her decision. She was determined to resign from the company. She did not feel “at home” in the organization. Although “Freddy” Franklin, who had been a member of the Markova-Dolin Company, had joined the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, Alicia felt alone, and she would be without Anton Dolin, and would miss her family.