All his life my grandfather strove towards things natural, simple and real. It was probably for this reason that he loved horses. He understood that it's easier to transform an illness than to heal it, and his horses were always pure, fulfilling and well­groomed. He had a sharp village wit towards everything: to the qualities of people, towards his understanding of the circus and in his knowledge of horses. He taught a monkey to perform tricks. In a month and a half he taught a homeless dog found at a market to do somersaults and walk on its front and hind legs. In short, to bring out all the God-given abilities which a dog has. And many of these animals, wagging their tails, had the  opportunity to see the astonishing streets of New York or Paris.

My grandfather had one system - work. For 50 years, day after day, he appeared at the training ring at six in the morning and only at seven at night did he bid the horses good night. I at once understood how difficult it was to train animals. I slept by the training ring and also rose each morning, not without my grandfather's help, at six. His first word was always "rehearse." We had breakfast and I rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed. My grandfather taught me how to work.

At the end of August, after three months of "rest," I returned home full of memories of the circus. I was like a wrung-out lemon but I already felt that I would be a juggler.

It's ten minutes before ten. Coming up to the circus I see our Russian wolfhounds running merrily on the new-fallen snow. The circus in the morning looks quiet and half asleep. In a few windows the lights are still burning. I walk into the hall and right away start to rehearse.

In the circus school or in the studios I often hear a teacher tell a student: "Stand up straight." It's not possible to stand straight if your back is bent. It's impossible to walk evenly if you're twisted; it's impossible to correct the posture of the neck or shoulders if the vertebrae are held crookedly. All of these problems will themselves disappear if every day before rehearsing you take a ballet class and believe in "the golden mean." For the first half-year a teacher is necessary. After that it is absolutely essential to rehearse in front of a mirror. This work com­pletes the process of warming up the muscles. They prepare them-selves after stretching in the morning. There appears a "feeling of the body" and of yourself in space. The record spins on the turntable and you feel the rhythm and quality of the music; something indispensable to the juggler.