Granny Dan

When he came to see her first major performance on the stage, when she was fourteen, she danced the role of the girl who dances the mazurka with Franz in Coppelia. She was a full member of the troupe by then, and no longer merely a student, which pleased her father greatly. It was a beautiful performance, and Danina was breathtaking in her precision, elegance of style, and the sheer power of her talent. There were tears in her father's eyes when he saw her, and in hers when she saw him backstage after the performance. It was the most exciting night of her life, and all she wanted to do was thank him for bringing her here seven years before. She had lived at the ballet for half her life now, it was the only life she knew, the only one she wanted.

She danced the role of the Lilac Fairy in Sleeping Beauty a year later, and at sixteen, she gave a miraculous performance in La Bayadere. At seventeen, she was a prima and performed so breathtakingly in Swan Lake that no one who saw her could forget it. Madame Markova knew that she lacked maturity in some ways, she had seen so little of the world, knew nothing of life, yet her technique and her style were so extraordinary that they took one's breath away, and put her far above the others.

The Czarina was well aware of her by then, as were her daughters. And at nineteen, Danina danced at a private performance for the Czar at the Winter Palace. It was April 1914. In May, she was invited to dance for them at their villa on the Peterhof estate, and dined with the family in their private quarters, with Madame Markova and several stars of the ballet in attendance. It was a treat for her, beyond any she had known, and a tribute that meant more to her than any other. To be recognized by the Czar and Czarina was the ultimate accolade, the only tribute she had truly longed for, and she put a photograph of them in a small frame next to her bed. She had particularly liked meeting Grand Duchess Olga, as she was only a few months younger than Danina. And Danina was enchanted by the Czarevitch, who was only nine then, but he thought Danina was very pretty, as did everyone who saw her.

As she matured, Danina had a rare graceful quality, a sense of gentleness and poise, a bit of mischief, and a lovely sense of humor. It was not surprising that the Czarevitch loved her. He was delicate, and had been ill throughout his childhood. But despite his fragility, she teased him and treated him normally, and he loved it. He was a particularly wise, soulful child, and spoke longingly of what she did. She seemed so strong to him, so healthy.

Danina promised to let Alexei watch her in class one day, if Madame Markova would let them, but she couldn't imagine Madame Markova saying no to such an important visitor, if his health would permit it, and his doctors. Because of his hemophilia there was always one of two physicians hovering near, making sure no accident befell him. Danina felt sorry for him, he seemed so ill, and so intolerably frail, and yet there was something warm and kind and very loving about him. And the Czarina was very touched when she saw how kind Danina was to him.

As a result, that summer, Madame Markova received an invitation from the Czarina to come to stay at Livadia for a week, their summer palace in the Crimea, and to bring Danina with her. It was an enormous honor, but even then, Danina was reluctant to do it. She couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her classes and rehearsals for seven days. She was conscientious to the point of being driven. Hers was a rigid, grueling, brutally demanding monastic life, which required everything of her. She gave it everything she had, everything she could, all she dared, and she had long since far exceeded even Madame Markova's wildest dreams for her. It took Madame Markova nearly a month to convince her to accept the Imperial invitation, and only then because the ballet mistress convinced her that it would be an affront to the Czarina if she didn't.

It was the only vacation she had ever had, the only time in her life, since the age of seven, when she hadn't been dancing, when she didn't begin each day with warm-ups at five, classes at six, and rehearsals by eleven, when she didn't push her body for fourteen hours a day to its outer limits. At Livadia, in July, it was the first time in her life that she dared to play, and in spite of herself, she loved it.

Danina seemed almost childlike to Madame Markova as she watched her. She played with the Czar's daughters in the sea, cavorted with them, laughing and splashing, and was always gentle with Alexei. She had a motherly touch with him, which touched his mother's heart deeply. And all of the children were startled to realize that Danina didn't know how to swim. With all her discipline and the agonizingly stern life she led, she had never had time to learn anything but dancing.