No one would pay much attention if Sonny Liston reported that a Bach concerto failed to excite him; similarly, no one should pay much attention when I report that the Moscow Circus failed to excite me. Even as a small boy, I was too stodgy to be captured by the romance of Ringling Brothers or the neighborhood carnival. But one can be impressed without being excited. I certainly was.

In every act, a man or beast does well something that he or it has no right to be able to do at all. One man juggles eight rings while a woman balances one-handed on his head, rotating a long cylinder with her feet; another somersaults at least twenty feet in the air from a spring board--on stilts; a company of bears roars around the ring on motorcycles. Several acts feature acrobats whose precision, co-ordination and agility defy belief.

The Russian circus--at least this one--emphasizes polished, difficult performances with little of the American circus' glitter. If this means less drama, it also means much less vulgarity. The fat lady, the tatooed man and the dog-faced boy do not represent a great loss.

Davletbay Khodzhabov's Cossack riders provide the most spectacular display. Six of them in red jackets and high white hats race around the ring, swinging from side to side, picking up flags, and holding on with their feet as their arms drag on the ground, while a seventh stands in the center cracking a long leather bullwhip.

After every act, Oleg Popov, the famous clown, puts on his own show. Popov is very appealing, but I did not find him very humorous. Liston probably would not think much of Heifetz, either.