Meanwhile, as the days sped on, every conceivable difficulty arose over getting the de Basil company and its repertoire out of South America. There were financial troubles. As was so often the case, de Basil had no money. But he did have debts and other liabilities that had to be liquidated before the company could be permitted to move. One thing piled on another. When these matters had been straightened out, the climax came in the form of a general strike in Rio de Janeiro, with the situation out of hand and shooting in the streets. This prevented the company from embarking for New York; not only was it impossible for passengers to board the ship, but neither scenery, properties, nor luggage could be loaded. Further delay meant that they could not arrive in New York in time for the mid-October opening at the Metropolitan Opera House, which I had had engaged for months, and for which season the advertising was in full swing, the promotional work done. Once again, fast action was necessary to save the situation. In New York we had the de Cuevas repertoire, but no company. By long distance telephone I got John Taras to leave Rio de Janeiro for New York by plane. I engaged yet another group of artists here in New York, and Taras, immediately upon his arrival, commenced rehearsals with this third group on the de Cuevas repertoire, in order to have something in readiness to fulfil my obligations in the event that the de Basil company was unable to reach New York in time for the opening. It was, at best, makeshift, but at least something would be ready. The season could open on time, and faith would be kept. While these difficulties and problems were compounding, the “Colonel” was far from the South American battlefield. He was safely in New York, stirring up the already quite sufficiently troubled waters. I was more firmly convinced than ever before that to have two closely-linked members of the same family in the same field of endeavor is bad. Two singers in one family, I submit, is very bad. Two dancers in one family is very, very bad. But when a manager or director of a ballet company has a wife who is a dancer in his own company--that is the worst of all. These profound observations are prompted by the marital complications that provided the chief contentious bone of this period of stress. These marital arrangements were two in number. De Basil’s first wife, who had divorced him, had married the company’s choreographer, Vania Psota, the creator of the late and unlamented _Slavonika_, of early Ballet Theatre days, and both Psota and his wife were with the company, soon, I prayed, to arrive in New York. De Basil, already in town, had married Olga Morosova, one of the company’s artists. This was an additional complication, for, although Morosova was only a soloist, upon her marriage she had immediately been promoted to the role of the company’s _prima ballerina_. All leading roles, de Basil insisted, must now be danced by her.