by Coryne Hall
Mathilde found the idea interesting and wanted to know more, so Barbara went to Paris. She found Mathilde ‘still in her old world, with her butler serving her loyally’. Barbara joined one of the classes, recalling that ‘the old lady, though partially crippled, [was] very lively’. Mathilde was enthusiastic about the Federation. After dinner at Villa Molitor, during which Vova announced that ‘he would like to come to London to visit the war museum’, Mathilde wrote out a formal declaration of patronage in her exquisitely neat handwriting, which she signed Mathilde Kschessinska, Princesse Romansky-Krasinsky [sic] and ‘let it be known that she liked to be called “Princesse”’.30
During the winter Barbara returned to Paris with John to discuss plans for the Federation. John found Mathilde’s classes ‘full of spirit and expressive elegance’, although perhaps a little crazy in a typically Russian way.32 Ramrod straight, dressed in a red woollen jacket and red slippers, Mathilde sat watching, occasionally rising from her chair to demonstrate. There was hardly any grey amidst her black hair, recalled a visitor. Andrei often came in to joke about London in his ‘excellent English’, his manners full of old-world courtesy.31
It was in keeping with her promise to preside over the Federation Congress that Mathilde and Andrei boarded the Golden Arrow to Calais on 21 May 1951. After ‘a great deal of persistence’ a private berth with sleepers had been secured and just after 9 o’clock the following morning they arrived at Victoria Station.32
John and Barbara Gregory, a group of teachers and pupils clutching flowers, and a posse of photographers greeted Mathilde, who ‘dispensed kisses bountifully amidst a long diatribe of greeting that fell trippingly from her tongue in rolling French’.33 Little Victoria Cubitt presented a Michael Morris statuette to Mathilde, who was then whisked off to the De Vere Hotel opposite Kensington Gardens. Almost as soon as she arrived the press were besieging the hotel, struck by the glamour of her life and eager for a story.
That evening the newspapers carried articles about the Tsar’s 78-year-old former mistress. ‘The Tzar [sic] had given her … jewels, a palace by the Neva, and a villa on the Riviera,’ rhapsodised one paper. ‘Today she wears only a string of pearls and a plain old wedding ring.’ Another paper headed its article ‘Said to be Greater than Pavlova’.34
That evening there was a reception for Federation teachers, pupils, balletomanes and socialites at the ballet school premises in St Luke’s Hall, Chelsea. Madame Cambon, wife of the late French ambassador, attended and the presence of Andrei added some aristocratic lustre to the proceedings, which were enlivened by some special punch. If the Federation wanted publicity this was the way to get it. Over the next few days all the newspapers harped on the romance and the tragedy of Mathilde’s life, from great wealth to virtual poverty.
‘Kschessinska is now in her late 70s although her appearance belies it,’ reported the Sunday Times. ‘Her eyes are bright and alert, her skin is still astonishingly smooth. At present she walks with a stick, having sprained a muscle through falling off a stepladder. She has a charming smile, a soft voice, and a manner at once friendly and gracious.’35
In the mornings Mathilde attended examinations and gave classes, her ‘vivacity, fine sense of style and affection’ shining through. Marie Rambert came to watch, visitors kept presenting flowers and a photographer arrived to record the scene. Then a reporter from Picture Post rang to ask if he could do a feature on the Kschessinska visit. He duly arrived ‘with a crew of half a dozen cameramen, technicians and two scriptwriters, together with a van load of spotlights, cables and photographic gear. They made the hall look like a film studio.’36 Andrei came in but, seeing all the fuss, quickly went off to the Imperial War Museum. Meanwhile, Mathilde sat thoughtfully fingering her walking stick, seeming almost overwhelmed.
‘Gradually the Princesse [sic] regained her composure and entered into the spirit of the class. She rose to her feet, her eyes blazing, and with tremendous élan her arms expressed all the brio and style of the Russian soul.’ When she demonstrated the Russian court dance the onlookers burst into spontaneous applause. The man from Picture Post was ecstatic – but sadly the magazine never published the feature.37
During a hectic week Mathilde lunched with Arnold Haskell and his Russian wife at their London home. They had thoughtfully invited Tamara Karsavina and her husband Henry J. Bruce. She had tea with Nina Tarakanova and her husband, a director of the British Museum, presided over examinations, attended the first meeting of the Federation’s Advisory Commission and visited the Sadler’s Wells ballet school, where she formed a favourable impression of the teaching. There was a constant stream of visits to her hotel by former pupils and other friends. With Barbara acting as interpreter, Mathilde met Michael Morris who had sculpted the statuette presented to her at the station.
Before the war Mathilde had mentioned that she would like to learn English because of her American pupils.38 Perhaps she succeeded in mastering a few words, as Lady Rose McLaren recalled Mathilde’s English and French ‘sounding very Russian’.39
Tamara Karsavina brought a bunch of lilacs, which reminded Mathilde so much of Russia. Kschessinska was having tea with a group of friends, recalled Karsavina, who always called her Malechka. ‘Her appearance had hardly altered – the same sparkling eyes, the same engaging smile. When the conversation turned to reminiscences of her favourite parts her face lit up … Her hands danced the beloved steps on the tea-table.’ Mathilde recalled the huge number of pirouettes in one of Petipa’s pas-de-deux, which he seemed to ‘spit out all over the place’ when choreographing a ballet. ‘To her always courteous manners Malechka would often add the spice of an earthy expression,’ Karsavina explained. Although Mathilde had to steady herself on the table as she stood up to say goodbye, Karsavina felt that her personality had lost none of its sparkle, which neither age nor obvious ill-health could extinguish.40
On 23 May Mathilde and Andrei went to the Stoll Theatre to see Alicia Markova and Anton Dolin (‘her two best pupils’) in Swan Lake with the Festival Ballet. Mathilde had taught them the adagio in Monte Carlo back in 1925 when they were both with Diaghilev. Afterwards she was photographed backstage with Markova and they all went to supper at the Savoy with Arnold Haskell. ‘English ballet dancers are second to the Russians,’ Mathilde told the Evening Standard. ‘They are sensitive and work hard. Americans are too athletic for ballet, and the French don’t take it seriously.’ Speaking of her own studio, she added, ‘I think I have a few stars there – but pupils don’t work as hard as they used to.’41
The week ended with a performance of the Chelsea School of Russian Ballet at the Institute Français in South Kensington. ‘During the performance in my honour students from all the studios with my patronage were dancing,’ Mathilde told Felia afterwards. ‘When the Grand Duke and I entered the auditorium everyone got up and clapped. I was deeply touched and embarrassed.’ During the interval Mathilde, ‘a frail little figure leaning on her stick’, went on to the stage to present the examination certificates. ‘Even more than the awards the lucky candidates appreciated the few graceful words with which the celebrated ballerina accompanied each presentation,’ gushed The Stage. In fact, because of her thick Russian accent, most of the pupils did not understand a word she said! Mathilde then made a short speech in French, saying that she was ‘touched to tears’ by the warm and enthusiastic reception she had been given during her visit.42 Afterwards she had supper at the Savoy with Andrei, just like in the old days.
The following evening they returned to Paris on the Golden Arrow. There were ‘no fans, no pupils, no flowers’,43 only Nina Tarakanova and John and Barbara Gregory to see them off.
Back in Paris Mathilde was still excited about the visit. ‘There were a lot of pictures in London but from the newspapers,’ she informed Felia. ‘It is so rare to get good ones … I had more success in London than I could dream of … I am sending the review from a London newspaper, the Grand Duke made a copy and has already put it in the album. All th
e papers and magazines were writing about my visit.’44
Mathilde had stopped attending the ballet in Paris, complaining that they were acrobats, not dancers, and were all the same. Andrei was still active but Mathilde had a pronounced limp, which she did not like people to see. She also found writing difficult, as her hand was hurting. ‘This is the punishment for my sins,’ she told Felia.45
Mathilde sometimes visited the exiled Russian aristocrats living in Paris. One such conclave lived in genteel poverty at 136 rue de la Tour, Passy, their rooms full of dark furniture and icons, the air heavy with incense. A young English girl recalled seeing Mathilde sitting with a very straight back, hands resting perfectly on her lap, ankles crossed, just like a ballerina. The émigrés called Mathilde ‘Madame’.46
She felt things were going well. ‘Vova is handsome and wonderful, works a lot and earns a lot too. The Grand Duke has lost some weight but it was necessary. Thank God everything is fine.’47
She spoke too soon. Early in January 1952, shortly before the Russian Christmas, Mathilde and Andrei were sorting out decorations for the tree when she tripped on the rug and broke her leg. She was taken to the American Hospital and underwent ‘a very serious operation to fix the bones together. She suffered terribly the first days but now … begins to recover,’ Andrei told Howard Rothschild.48 Even at Easter Mathilde was still confined to her chair, although the holiday was cheered by a visit from Felia.
Mathilde now faced a long period of inactivity and began working on her memoirs. ‘We are in a hurry to finish,’ she told Felia in June.
Nearly everything is in London by now. The Grand Duke translated it into English himself, they are editing it in London and they come out at the end of the year. … There is a lot about Pierre [Vladimiroff]. … When I wrote about him, about our performances, I was feeling sad because I do so not want to grow old.49
There must have been a further problem with the manuscript, because Mathilde’s memoirs were not published until the 1960s.
Despite Mathilde’s advice to keep the flat and let it, Felia had decided to sell her apartment. There was a quarrel and Felia stopped writing. Finally things were patched up and Mathilde said that they would help with the sale as much as they could. Yet when Mathilde received a visit from Felia in the spring of 1953 things did not go according to plan. There was a problem over the sale of Felia’s flat. Mathilde’s time was limited but Andrei did a lot to help, even recommending an agent. ‘[Andrei] spent a whole day at home, waiting for your telephone call to help you with the receipt and transfer of money’, Mathilde complained afterwards, barely hiding her annoyance.
At the same time you had already made a decision to do something different. You were moving from one side to another and believed people who do not take an interest in you. You spent a lot of money in vain, money that could be useful for you and Pierre. … Why did you have to ask advice and involvement from A.V. [Andrei] and then do it behind his back? It is not easy to write you this letter and A.V. knows about this.50
The quarrel was eventually made up and they continued to correspond. Then Julie broke her leg, which was another worry because after Ludmilla’s death Mathilde refused to have any other help in the house. ‘Everything she did I am doing myself,’ she told a friend.51 Mathilde and Andrei were a familiar sight around Paris, she limping on one leg, he on the other. Andrei, wearing rather worn and threadbare clothes, regularly took his shopping basket along to the food market. One lady, whose family were friendly with the Grand Duke, recalled how as a young girl she tried to avoid meeting him on these occasions because she felt embarrassed at having to make a révérence in the street.52
Andrei liked to invite people over for dinner but, conscious of his rank, only asked those ‘of appropriate background or current standing’. With Mathilde so busy at the studio he liked the companionship of well-bred ladies, not for romance, but to ease his loneliness during Mathilde’s long hours teaching. He liked to play bridge, but now only for small stakes.53 Drinking seemed to play a large part in the entertainment when Mathilde and Andrei had guests. In an undated note inviting Pierre and Felia to dinner during one of their visits, Andrei added: ‘And inform us if you are going to drink. Because we need to refresh the alcohol stock which was lost … last time.’ One visitor was surprised by the sheer number of empty bottles lying around in the conservatory at Villa Molitor.54
On 14 June 1953 Mathilde was present when Nijinsky’s body was transferred to France from London (where he had died on 8 April 1950) for re-burial. With Olga Preobrajenska, Lubov Egorova, Serge Lifar and many stars of the Paris Opéra Mathilde attended a service in the Russian Church before Nijinsky’s remains were transferred to the Montmartre Cemetery. Mathilde laid flowers on his grave and sincerely mourned the death of a great dancer and talented partner who had also been a good friend. Lifar later had a statue erected on the grave showing Nijinsky in one of his most famous roles – Petrouchka.
Mathilde may not have known that during the First World War, while interned in Budapest, Nijinsky had amused himself by impersonating the Maryinsky ballerinas. His funniest impersonation was of Kschessinska.
Vova appears to have shown little inclination to take a wife. A story in Lydia Kyasht’s memoirs in 1929 that he was about to be married proved to be no more than a rumour. However, his name does seem to have been linked with the Swedish Countess Lilian d’Ahlefeldt, although how close they were remains unclear.
In about 1954 Mathilde invited Lilian to a reception at Villa Molitor. ‘Driving up to the porch, I was surprised to see a cavalcade of taxis parking there,’ Lilian recalled. ‘Many a driver was getting out of their cars clad in general’s uniform, with combat decorations. They were the White Guard émigré officers earning a living in Paris as private taxi drivers and their French was mixed with Russian phrases.’ It was at this reception that Lilian was introduced to Serge Lifar, and they remained together for over thirty years.
Mathilde was then annoyed because Lifar, who she had always treated as one of the family, had stolen Vova’s ‘girlfriend’, of whom they were all very fond. Also, when publishing his History of Russian Ballet, Lifar had ranked Kschessinska alongside Preobrajenska, which upset Mathilde greatly, and he intimated that Pavlova and Karsavina both threatened to eclipse Kschessinska at the start of their careers. Mathilde took issue with many of Lifar’s comments and omissions (including the fact that he did not allocate her a full-page photograph!) and for a long time refused to receive him, although Lilian retained Andrei’s friendship.55
John and Barbara Gregory had experienced various ups and downs since Mathilde’s visit to London, so she promised to go over for the 1954 Congress of the Federation of Russian Ballet.
Although Mathilde’s leg had healed Andrei was not well, so she was accompanied by Vova. This time the little crowd of pupils and teachers assembled at Victoria Station had a bonus. On the same train was the Duke of Windsor, arriving alone on a visit to England. ‘He smiled broadly to the small crowd who had gathered to cheer him as he left the customs shed,’ reported the Evening News. The papers then went on to report the arrival of Kschessinska, ‘a frail little 83-year-old [sic] woman in a smart Paris hat, who was once the favourite ballet dancer of the Czar [sic] of Russia.’ Mathilde was greeted by John and Barbara’s five-year-old daughter Paula, clutching a bouquet of sweet peas and roses and executing her best curtsey.56
Once again Mathilde sailed through a hectic week with her accustomed brio and within a short time of her arrival was busy talking to reporters about her ‘glorious past’. One observer was bowled over by her blazing dark eyes and ‘enchanting personality’, but Vova proved ‘a poor substitute for the Grand Duke’. By now he had dropped the name Krasinsky and was calling himself Prince Romanoff. He ordered a bottle of wine with every meal and made lengthy telephone calls to Paris (perhaps to Lilian?) every day from the hotel, all at John Gregory’s expense. He was not at all interested in attending their functions and spent most of his time at the
Imperial War Museum.57
However, Vova did attend a midweek party at the studio, at which John Gregory ‘made an impassioned speech about the Princesse and the ideals of our Federation’. Afterwards, with a courtesy worthy of his father, Vova gave John his hand saying it had been ‘a charming moment’.58
Mathilde asked to see the Royal Ballet, so Ninette de Valois invited her to The Sleeping Beauty. ‘She was taken to the Director’s Box, there were some refreshments ready, champagne and snacks,’ Andrei told Felia. ‘After the performance she was invited on to the stage where the whole company was present to greet her. Margot Fonteyn was at the head of the company. She was so touched by such a reception at Covent Garden.’59
Mathilde went to watch some classes at the Royal Ballet School and visited Arnold Haskell. There was also a surprise telephone call from Nadine Nicolaieva, Legat’s widow, who requested a meeting. Mathilde invited her to tea at the De Vere Hotel, along with Tamara Karsavina.
The final event was a combined performance by the Federation’s Schools at which Mathilde again presented the certificates and Vova ‘excelled himself by sitting through the whole performance without a yawn’. He was delighted to have bought ‘masses of things cheaper than in Paris’.60 Then they returned home, Mathilde promising to come again for the 1955 Congress.
It was a promise she was unable to keep. Although by 1955 Andrei’s health had improved Mathilde had another fall. It was a long time before the injury healed.
More and more old friends passed away. On 28 February 1955 Gabriel died in Paris. He had been raised to the rank of ‘Grand Duke’ in 1939 by Vladimir and, after Nina’s death in 1950, he had married Princess Irina Kurakine.
