It was in 1948 I returned to London further to pursue the matter of their invasion of America. It was my very dear friend, the late Ralph Hawkes of the music publishing firm of Boosey and Hawkes, the leaseholders of Covent Garden, who helped materially in arranging matters and in persuading the Sadler’s Wells direction and the British Arts Council that they were ready for America and that, since Hawkes was closely identified with America’s musical life, that this country was ready for them.
Meanwhile, Ninette de Valois grew increasingly dubious about full-length, full-evening ballets, such as The Sleeping Beauty and Swan Lake, in the States, and was convinced in her own mind that the United States and Canadian audiences not only would not accept them, much less sit still before a single work lasting three and one-half hours. Much, of course, was at stake for all concerned and it was, indeed, a serious problem about which to make a final, inevitable decision.
The conferences were long and many. Conferences are a natural concomitant of ballet. But there was a vast difference between these conferences and the hundreds I had had with the Russians, the Caucasians, the Bulgarians, and the Axminsters. Here were neither intrigues nor whims, neither suspicion nor stupidity. On the contrary, here was reasonableness, logic, frankness, fundamental British honesty. George Borodin, a Russian-born Englishman and a great ballet-lover, once pointed out that ballet is a medium that transcends words, adding “the tongue is a virtuoso that can make an almost inexhaustible series of noises of all kinds.” In my countless earlier conferences with other ballet directorates, really few of those noises, alas, really meant anything.
At last, the affirmative decision was made and we arrived at an agreement on the repertoire for the American season, to include the full-length works, along with a representative cross-section, historically speaking, of the Sadler’s Wells repertoire of their shorter works. The matter settled, I left for home.
On my return to New York, still other problems awaited me. The Metropolitan Opera House, the only possible New York stage on which Sadler’s Wells could appear, was faced with difficulties and perplexities, with other commitments for the period when the British visitors would be here.
However, thanks to the invaluable cooperation and assistance of Edward Johnson, Alfred P. Sloan, and Mrs. August Belmont, it was decided that a part of the season should be given to Sadler’s Wells. Had it not been for their friendly, intelligent, and influential offices, New York might not have had the pleasure and privilege of the Sadler’s Wells visit.
The road at last having been cleared, our promotional campaign was started and was limited to four weeks. The response is a matter of theatrical history.
Here, for the first time in the United States, was a company carrying on the great tradition in classical ballet, with timely and contemporary additions. Here was a company with a broad repertoire based on and imbedded in the full-length classics, but also bolstered with modern works that strike deep into human experience. Here were choreographers who strove to broaden the scope of their art and to bring into their works some of the richness of modern psychology and drama, always balletic in idiom, with freedom of style, who permitted their dramatic imaginations to guide them in creating movement and in the use of music.
By boat came the splendid productions, the costumes, the properties, loads and loads of them. By special chartered planes came the company, and the technical staff, the entire contingent headed by the famous directorial trio, Ninette de Valois, Frederick Ashton, and Constant Lambert, with the executive side in the capable hands of David Webster, General Administrator. The technical department was magnificently presided over by Herbert Hughes, General Manager of the Sadler’s Wells Ballet, and the late Louis Yudkin, General Stage Director.
It was an American ballerina, Nora Kaye, who hustled Margot Fonteyn from the airport to let her have her first peek at the Metropolitan Opera House. The curtain was up when they arrived, revealing the old gold and red auditorium. Margot’s perceptive eyes took it all in at a glance. She took a deep breath, clasped her hands in front of her. “Thank goodness,” she said, “it’s old and comfortable and warm and rich, as an opera house should be.” She paused for a reflective moment and added, “I was so afraid it would be slick and modern like everything else here, all steel and chromium, and spit and polish. I’m glad it’s old!”.