There are many danced versions of Shakespeare’s great tragedy Romeo and Juliet, the most familiar to British audiences being Macmillan’s for the Royal Ballet, and Nureyev’s for what was then Festival Ballet. This Russian version is the work with which the Bolshoi, starring the great Ulanova, stunned London audiences in 1956, but it was actually made by Leonid Lavrovsky in 1940 for the Kirov (now returned to its original name, the Mariinski, after the great St Petersburg theatre in which it is based).

The Mariinsky is one of the world’s great companies, and it’s a thrill to see the stage crammed with dancers of such quality, with a superlative Juliet and an athletic and ardent Romeo. First and foremost, Evgenia Obraztsova really looks the part, young and pretty with a delightful personality. But that isn’t enough on it’s own; this woman can act – ranging easily through kittenish fun with her nurse in the opening scenes, to the tragic heroine who follows her lover to the grave. In-between she is a young woman overwhelmed by a sudden, unexpected love. Dancing in a state of euphoria with her lover, she gives a wonderful performance, lyrical, passionate, abandoned.

She is so much in command that it looks as though she is improvising the choreography according to her feelings, and in this she is well matched by Denis Matvienko’s noble Romeo. It’s clear that he is as overcome as she. On the one hand he is the romantic lover, but he’s no soppy poet – his rage at Tybalt after Mercutio’s death boils over in a surge of violence.

Notable also is a more-likeable-than-usual Tybalt, (Dmitri Pykhachev), in a costume on the verge of jester-hood; and a Paris (Sergei Popov) so vain that his page follows him around with a mirror! Alexander Sergeyev is a darting, mocking Mercutio, whose death is truly moving, while Elena Bazhenova’s agony at Tybalt’s death is palpable. Vladimir Ponomarev makes a dignified, slightly frightening Lord Capulet, exuding the authority of the head of a great family, who displays an unexpected sense of humour when tickled by Mercutio’s antics.

This production is 70 years old. It creaks a bit here and there, as does the scenery, with a wobbly statue and a cardboard banquet, but it shows us a company capable of great drama as well as great dance. There is a final Romeo tonight, but they’re here till the end of next week with a Homage to Balanchine programme, and more importantly, five nights of Swan Lake and three performances of The Sleeping Beauty – works in which they have excelled for over a century, and which enable them to show not only their greatness, but also their strength in depth.