According to Balanchine, Petipa was blessed in that regard: he had worked with Mathilda Kchessinska, Anna Pavlova, Olga Preobrazhenskaya, Pavel Gerdt (Elizaveta’s father). Pavel, the quintessential danseur noble of Russian ballet, was one of Balanchine’s teachers. The young Georges was impressed to learn that he had created the leading parts in
Balanchine always considered the French refinement and humor of Petipa’s choreography, the brilliance and wit of its inventiveness, and, most of all, its inexhaustible variety as the highest examples of what could be achieved in the art of ballet. But all these “French” traits were significantly complemented by specifically Russian softness and fluidity, which Petipa acquired while working with Petersburg artists. The great city influenced Petipa, too—the poetry of its white nights, the ever-present threatening breath of the stormy Baltic Sea, the harmony and grandeur of the classicist architecture, and the cult of high craftsmanship.
Some ballet critics have found in the famous shadow scene of Petipa’s
This somewhat unexpected linkage with Gogol and Dostoyevsky is fair in the sense that the theme of lost purity can be found both in their works and in Petipa’s. In
Gayevsky maintained, “Petipa is the first true urbanist in the history of European ballet. The ensemble—the planning principle of the great city—is at the foundation of his choreographic plans.” From here comes the grandiosity of many of Petipa’s choreographic solutions. In the first version of the shadows scene in
But the embryo of catastrophe always lay dormant in Petipa’s vision of Petersburg’s grandness. At the end of his career he decided to stun the capital’s audience with a particularly opulent production. He began work on
Not long before the disaster with the mirror Petipa wrote in his diary:
My last wishes in regard to my funeral. Everything must be very modest. Two horses for the hearse. No invitations to the funeral, just an announcement in the newspapers. In this year of 1903 I am finishing my long artistic career—sixty-six years of work and fifty-seven years of service in Russia. I receive 9,000 rubles in annual pension, and will be listed in service until my death. That is marvelous. But I fear that I will not be able to use that marvelous pension.22
The sense of change characteristic of fin-de-siècle Petersburg and the hovering expectation of doom did not leave Petipa. This was undoubtedly one of the reasons for his love for Tchaikovsky, who worked, we could say, on the same psychological wavelength. Petipa could easily have remained with the music of Cesare Pugni, Ludwig Minkus, or Riccardo Drigo—after all, some of his biggest successes were collaborations with those minor composers: