Nureyev : The Life (9780307807342)

by Kavanagh, Julie

  One year later, preparing an article to commemorate the first anniversary of Nureyev’s death, the English writer and broadcaster Francine Stock went out to the suburb of Saint-Geneviève-des-Bois. Taking more than forty-five minutes by car and up to two hours by train and infrequent local bus, this can be a demanding pilgrimage. Jeannette gave up on one attempt at trying to find the cemetery with Wallace, and returned to Paris. “It’s criminal for Rudolf to be stuck out there. He should have been at Père Lachaise.” With its ugly apartment blocks and dearth of any atmospheric cafés or restaurants, the town has little to redeem it, but the Orthodox cemetery is a world apart. Rudolf rightfully belongs to this gathering of Russia’s elite, though he would no doubt consider Lifar’s bombastic marble tomb farther down the gravel path too close for comfort. The day Francine Stock visited the grave, Frigerio’s memorial had not yet been created, and there was something poignantly unimposing about the gray stone slab marking the place, the heap of flowers, “some withered, some artificial, a few fresh,” and the plastic frame someone had left with a faded photograph of Rudolf in midair. It was early afternoon as she left the cemetery gates, when suddenly, from nowhere, she heard a clatter of hooves on the road. “A black horse without saddle or bridle cantered along the road.… The horse was part Arab and beautiful, but in this context, suddenly unpredictable and dangerous. It was an extraordinary moment in a very ordinary, ordered town. Pure coincidence, of course.”

  *For the last decade, Jeannette had owned and run Tosca, the legendary bar at 242 Columbus whose jukebox to this day plays opera arias. Rudolf was always urging her to buy it, and in 1980 when its owner retired, she persuaded him to sell it to her, promising to keep things exactly as they were. Once the favorite hang-out of Beat Generation poets and, in Jeannette’s words, “people coming in glittering from the opera,” Tosca, with its red leather banquettes and nicotine-stained walls, has retained its unique atmosphere and mix, although there is perhaps more of a movie crowd than before, with George Lucas, Francis Ford Coppola, and Sean Penn among regulars who have also become friends of Jeannette.

  *Rudolf, with his phobia of flying, could hardly have chosen a more harrowing destination than the St. Barts airstrip, which is boxed in by hills on three sides, with the sea on the fourth. Reaching the island, the twenty-seater plane dips down, down, down to the water, steadies itself, and then makes a heart-stopping Big Dipper landing, skimming cars on the hill road, and screeching to a stop only feet from the sunbathers on the white sands.

  *With Tadzio at his feet, Rudolf’s Aschenbach dies onstage—a wish fulfillment of his own, and a continuation of the pattern of recent roles—Marco Spada, Mercutio, Dr. Sloper, and Akaky Akakyevich.

  *The yogurt was to help soothe the fungal sores in his mouth caused by HIV-induced thrush infection, candidiasis.

  *As the part of Solor as created by Petipa for Gerdt consisted mostly of mimed passages and partnering, Chaboukiani had choreographed all his own variations. Given this precedent Rudolf, despite Sergeyev’s disapproval, introduced a manège of double assemblés into Solor’s variation when he performed the role in 1958. In his full-length version for Paris Opéra Ballet, still convinced that there was not enough opportunity in the ballet for male dancers, he added new variations for Solor’s friends.

  *“As the old master painted only from photographs, [Joule] thought, ‘Maybe, just maybe,’ ” but Bacon returned the snapshot a week before he died, saying, “You have it back. I know I will never paint him.” In the artist’s archive, however, there are early photographs of Rudolf that he “Baconized” with daubs and swirls of paint.

  *Sobchak cemented his reputation in August 1991 when he faced down Leningrad’s military commander and almost singlehandedly prevented Soviet troops from occupying the city in the short-lived coup. As changes reverberated in the wake of the failed coup of 1991, Leningraders voted overwhelmingly to rename their city St. Petersburg.

  *On his brief trip to Russia in 1987 Rudolf had tried, through Liuba, to engineer a rapprochement with Grigorovich, who was then director of the Bolshoi, but time had been too short. Still believing that Grigorovich might prove useful, Rudolf had invited him to the Paris premiere of La Bayadère.

  *The title derives from a song, “A million love-songs later, here I am,” which was being sung on television by a youth who, to van Dantzig, seemed to be addressing his hoarse, desperate lyrics directly to the dying star. “The sound and the words and Rudolf’s childish concentration tear me apart at that moment, so that I can hardly contain my emotion.”

  *In fact, a suit was never filed. The matter was settled after Rudolf’s death.

  *This macabre still life turns out to have been a prefiguration of the memorial Ezio Frigerio designed three years later to mark Rudolf’s grave. In homage to the Tatar nomad, it represents a traveling trunk covered with an astonishingly authentic, softly folding, fringed kilim made from bronze and glass mosaics in the Bashkiri colors of turquoise and coral.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Without Europe’s Rudolf Nureyev Foundation and America’s Rudolf Nureyev Dance Foundation this book could not have been written.* Endorsing it as the authorized biography, the two Foundations underwrote my foreign research and gave me exclusive access to their archives of documents, photographs, and films while, at the same time, entrusting me with complete editorial freedom. Few biographers can have been granted such generous and unqualified support. The respective chairmen, RNF’s Sir John Tooley and RNDF’s Barry Weinstein, have backed me every step of the way, whether funding a return trip to Ufa when I felt it neccessary, or ungrudgingly extending their patronage when I missed my overoptimistic 2003 deadline (and the tie-in to the tenth anniversary of Rudolf’s death). At the helm in RNF’s Bath office, Alexandra Kelly guided me through the Foundation’s extensive picture library and promptly replied to every query I sent her way; René Longini, handling financial affairs from Zurich, was unfailingly patient and accomodating; while the efficiency and helpfulness of RNDF’s Linda Pilkington in Chicago has never wavered over a decade. I owe both RNF and RNDF more than I can say.

  It was, however, the late Wallace Potts who set this whole project in motion. As attentive to the dancer’s legacy as he was to the man himself, Wallace made it his mission to find a suitable biographer, and in the process, urged Rudolf’s immediate coterie to reveal their stories to no one else. After consulting Knopf editor Robert Gottlieb (who got things going by tape recording interviews with the key players), Wallace read my Frederick Ashton biography Secret Muses and decided that I was the one for the job. “It’s an affectionate portrait of Fred, but it’s not a ‘whitewash.’ It’s Fred with all his eccentricities and his good and bad qualities,” he wrote to Misha Baryshnikov, and many others, urging each to be frank with me. From 1997, when I began my research, Wallace was always in the background, offering encouragement, making introductions, handing over his own deeply personal letters, and mailing dozens of videos of Rudolf’s performances. By phone and fax—and later by e-mail—we were in touch several times a week. I relied not only on his sound feedback on the chapters I sent him, but also his good sense and good humor about all manner of other things. His death in June 2006 brought the loss of my most prized source and a true friend. I am indebted to Wallace’s brother, Tommy Potts, and his executor, Jack Larson, for allowing me to draw on Wallace’s invaluable archive.

  Next to Wallace, no one has been more dedicated to Rudolf’s memory, or a fiercer champion in protecting and advancing it, than Jeannette Etheredge, also a Trustee of RNDF. My heartfelt thanks to her, and to the other members of Rudolf’s adopted family: Jeannette’s mother, Armen Bali; Tessa Kennedy; the late Douce François and the late Maude Gosling—my own aquaintance with whom has enabled me to see why it was that Rudolf so depended on these exceptionally loyal people. I never met Nigel Gosling, who died in 1982, and yet I feel I know him well—thanks to the superb archive of diaries, letters, audio tapes, and notes that Maude unhesitatingly put my way.
I owe an immeasurable amount to their son, Nicholas, for allowing me to quote from this material, and to their close friend Tristram Holland for her help and sharp insights. Special thanks, too, to Tessa, Jeannette, and Douce for all the time they gave me, and for allowing me to use their own photographs in the book. Douce’s brother, Pierre François, and her husband, the late Joe Freitas, were also immensely cooperative.

  Among Russian sources, I owe the greatest debt to Liuba Myasnikova and Tamara Zakrzhevskaya. Where to begin to thank them for their enveloping St. Petersburg hospitality, their memories and acute knowledge of the young Rudik, their letters, photographs, and for their unfailing patience in answering my questions year after year after year. Tamara’s son Alexander “Sasha” Storozhuk, a brilliant linguist, was always willing to act as translator; Liuba’s twin brother, Leonid Romankov, played a key role in helping me piece together the Russian years. In addition I acknowledge with enormous gratitude the help I received from members of the Nureyev family: Rudolf’s sister Razida Yevgrafova and his niece Alfia Rafikova gave up hours of their time, put me in contact with family members in far-flung places, and allowed me to use photographs from their albums. Rudolf’s cousin Amina Galiakbarova was wonderfully kind and led me to discover much that was new about the enigmatic Hamet Nureyev’s early years.

  Then there are the others whose contribution to this book has been incalculable: Keith Money’s instructive and eloquent e-mails about Rudolf’s Royal Ballet years, together with his classic Fonteyn/Nureyev books, were my touchstone for writing about this period. I am deeply grateful for his knowledge, long-distance friendship, and for the photographs he has allowed me to use. Katie de Haan’s English translation of Rudi van Dantzig’s memoir Remembering Nureyev: The Trail of a Comet (to be published by the University of Florida Press in 2008), provided me with a superbly immediate account of Rudolf’s initiation into the alien world of modern dance, and I thank them both for so generously putting this at my disposal. Keith Baxter, the perfect interviewee with his novelistic instinct for telling traits of character, also let me have a vivid written account of his relationship with Rudolf. Without Ute Mitreuter and Chinko Rafique, the only Western friend in whom Rudolf confided about his “first crush,” Teja Kremke, I would never have unearthed the remarkable cold war story (adapted by the BBC into a ninety-minute documentary, Nureyev: From Russia with Love). A firsthand witness, Ute was able to confirm Teja’s role as a catalyst in Rudolf’s defection, her husband, Teja’s roommate, Konstantin Russu, provided further proof of this dangerous liaison, while Chinko played a vital part in reconstructing the ambiance surrounding Xenia and Alexander Pushkin. This trail then led to Jutta Jellinek, Teja’s second wife, who showed me his invaluable 8-mm footage of Rudolf in his last year in Leningrad, and generously allowed me to include Teja’s photographs in my book. Ute Kremke, Teja’s sister, found family letters and gave me a graphic picture of her brother’s life in East Berlin. Teja’s daughter Jurico and her husband Stefan Siegmann were instrumental in helping me narrate the sinister consequences of the friendship by passing on their copy of the Stasi’s file. Jusuff Kremke, Teja’s son, and Teja’s first wife, Nuraini Niegbur, were also tremendously forthcoming.

  In St. Petersburg I acknowledge with particular gratitude the help of Faina Rokhind, who put at my disposal her extraordinary collection of photographs, cuttings and memorabilia, including the diaries of her friend, the late Galina Palshina. For passing on their memories of the Pushkins, and for their warmth and friendship, I am indebted to Alla Bor and to Slava and Irina Santto. Thanks, too, to Dimitri and Lubov Filatov for their kind help, and for allowing me to use photographs from the Pushkins’ album. In Ufa, Inna Guskova, then curator of the Theatre Museum, who knows more than anyone else about this early period of Rudolf’s life, planned my itinerary, provided me with all the background I needed, and generously lent me a number of her own photographs. The dynamic and hospitable Galina Belskaya led me to Rosa Kolesnikova, whose untold reminiscences of “the boy who was born on the train” gave me my opening to the book. My sincere thanks to them both.

  Ten years ago, when I began my research, there appeared to be very few Nureyev papers in existence. Self-conscious about his faulty written English, Rudolf was renowned for never sending more than a postcard, and most of the letters he received were just fan mail. Pierre François, who took on the task of sorting through a mass of miscellaneous papers stored in his sister Douce’s cave, found a few things of interest, but mostly contracts and bills. Tessa Kennedy, who helped to clear out the house in Fife Road, remembered Rudolf wanting all his letters, including those of Erik Bruhn, to be destroyed. There didn’t seem much hope—and then came the breakthrough: a cache of love letters from Erik discovered by Maude Gosling in Rudolf’s room in Victoria Road. More Erik letters came to light—as well as vital Russian correspondence from Teja, Xenia, and the Nureyev family—among papers found in the Dakota apartment, now held in RNDF’s Chicago office; and finally, as late as December of 2006, a large tin trunk crammed with papers from quai Voltaire, previously stored in an out-of-town storage warehouse, was made available to me at Centre National de la Danse in Pantin, outside Paris. It’s thanks to CND’s archivist, the diligent, immensely cooperative Laurent Sebillotte, that I was able to raid this with ease, coming across some real treasures for the final chapters of my book. I am indebted to the Erik Bruhn Trust for permitting me to quote extensively from the Bruhn letters, and so enable me fully to narrate this pivotal relationship in Rudolf’s life. My deepest thanks go to Valerie Wilder, and to her successors in charge of the Trust, Karen Kain and Kevin Garland, for their continuing support.

  I have also been priviledged to be able quote from Lincoln Kirstein’s correspondence, for which I owe special thanks to his executor, Nicholas Jenkins. Richard Buckle gave me access to the letters he received from Kirstein, as well as to his own his unpublished Nureyev memoir, and I am grateful to his nephew and executor, Charles Graham, for permitting me to use this splendid material. Violette Verdy, one of the world’s most eloquent ballerinas, not only gave me hours of her time, but also searched out lively letters sent to her by her ex-husband, Colin Clark, and his twin sister, Colette. My thanks go to the Clark siblings, for letting me quote from this correspondence, and, above all, to Violette herself. Thanks, too, to Phyllis Wyeth for letting me draw on her diaries; to Joan Buck for kindly allowing me to quote from her unpublished Vanity Fair article on Rudolf’s Paris Opéra appointment; to Lavinia Exham for permission to quote from Margot Fonteyn’s letters; to Alex Stannus, executor of the estate of Ninette de Valois; to Maurice Béjart, Jiˇrí Kylián, Jacob Rothschild, and to a number of others kind enough to allow me to use material of which they hold the copyright: Thor Sutowski (Sonia Arova); Zoltan Dan (Viktor Rona); and Valerie Golovitser (Silva Lon).

  One of the highpoints of working as London editor of The New Yorker in the late ’90s was the chance it gave me to get to know Richard Avedon. Always interested in how my Nureyev project was progressing, Dick promised that when the time came he would choose for me a cover and a portfolio of his Nureyev photographs. He died before the book was complete but Norma Stevens, the executive director of The Richard Avedon Foundation, made sure it happened, and, for this, I will always be in her debt. There are further instances of exceptional generosity: from Arthur Elgort, who, with my dear friend Grace Coddington acting as go-between, took my photograph for the jacket; from Robert Greskovic, who opened up his collection of rare photographs of “his nibs,” and kept sending new jpegs almost until the day the book went to press. Leo Ahonen gave me the use of his unique Vaganova dormitory photographs; Robert Gable unstintingly provided me with New York clippings and photographs; and Alexandra della Porta Rodiani allowed me to choose from the outstanding pictures she took in the last years of Rudolf’s life. My thanks to them all.

  Then there are those who went out of their way to supply me with invaluable material: the ever-generous Michael Romain; René Sirvin; Helene Ciolkovit
ch and Joelle Galliot (coeditors of the superbly informative newsletter distributed by le Cercle des Amies de Rudolf Noureev); Egon Bischoff and Richard Cragun (both key dramatis personae in the story); the late David Daniel, John Gruen, Gregory King, and Veronica Tennant. I drew extensively on transcripts of taped interviews that Elizabeth Kaye donated to the Nureyev Collection; and I am especially grateful to Gunilla Jensen for the compilation tape she sent me of Swedish television coverage of Nureyev.