A dancer whose success in Italy had been meteoric came to make his début in Paris. He insisted that a solo which had brought him avalanches of flowers in Milan and Naples be inserted into the ballet in which he was to appear. This was done. The time of the final rehearsal arrived, but for some reason or other the music for this particular number had been copied a tone higher than in the original score.

The rehearsal began. The dancer leapt aloft, hovered for an instant, then, returning to earth, suspended his flight and asked: “What key are you playing in, gentlemen? My solo seems more tiring than usual.”

“We’re playing in E.”

“No wonder. Please transpose the allegro down a tone, I can only dance it in D.”