by Coryne Hall
On the way home they stopped in Paris, but after a few days Mathilde had to return home to begin the new season. She did not want to leave, admitting to feelings of jealousy, and when Andrei came to say goodbye at the Gare du Nord she persuaded him to come on the train to St Quentin, two hours down the line. Then, for the moment, they had to part.
That season Mathilde finally danced La Bayadère, a story of love and betrayal set around the temple dancers in ancient India. It is famous for one of Petipa’s masterpieces of choreography – the ‘Kingdom of the Shades’ scene, in which the corps de ballet move slowly down a ramp, one by one, repeating the same graceful movement until they fill the stage. For Mathilde the role of Nikiya, the Bayadère, provided ample scope for drama and mime. In Nikiya’s dance with the basket of flowers, during which she is bitten by an asp, Mathilde used a real, although drugged, snake. Her first performance was on 3 December 1900 in a benefit for Pavel Gerdt and some time after the première an extra variation was added for Mathilde, which then became her property. When the ballet was reconstructed in 2003 by the Kirov Ballet this variation could not be included.
Legnani’s contract was not renewed and she retired from the Imperial Theatres after a farewell benefit on 28 January 1901. Her ballets now entered Mathilde’s repertoire and one of them would bring her into direct conflict with the Director of the Imperial Theatres and threaten a scandal of near-monumental proportions.
‘Nothing was more inspiring to me than to know that I had admirers in the audience,’ Mathilde wrote.6 That season Mathilde acquired another royal admirer. In the early years of the century there was a great friendship between the court of Russia and the court of Siam. In 1897 King Chulalongkorn visited Russia with two of his sons and the following year Prince Chakrabongse was enrolled in St Petersburg’s exclusive Corps des Pages. The young prince was treated as a member of the Imperial family and even had apartments in the Winter Palace. He liked to attend the theatre. Above all, he liked the Imperial Ballet and in particular he liked Mathilde Kschessinska.
By 1900 the prince, now seventeen, was sending her numerous little notes, occasionally rewarded with an answer or an invitation to visit. These invitations were not as frequent as he would have liked. ‘Nothing is heard from K,’ he noted dejectedly after sending her a New Year present. The following day Mathilde invited him to visit her and was, he thought, really sorry for upsetting him. She extracted a promise that he would come to her Sunday performance.7
On Sunday Grand Duke Sergei was also in the audience and it was obvious from Mathilde’s behaviour that she was worried about his reaction to the presence of the Siamese prince. The young prince complained that she failed to bow towards him and only looked directly at him while bowing towards the public. ‘The idea of his being jealous of me is simply ridiculous!’ Prince Chakrabongse commented, adding that he thought often about the delightful Mathilde, ‘she cheers me up wonderfully!’8
Early in January 1901 the Prince’s brother Crown Prince Vajravudh arrived in St Petersburg and Chakrabongse took him to visit Mathilde, who was in a very cheerful mood. The two princes were appearing in a play during which Chakrabongse, playing a female role, had to faint. He confessed that he did not know how to do it so Mathilde showed him. As they left she begged the Crown Prince not to leave St Petersburg so soon and asked Prince Chakrabongse not to forget her. When, after the play, he was complimented on his fainting (‘because I had a fine teacher!’) he sent the flowers he received to Mathilde, who was moved by the gesture.9
On 10 January Mathilde danced The Sleeping Beauty at the Maryinsky, where Prince Chakrabongse admired both her pretty face and her performance. Afterwards she bowed frequently to him. Unhappily for Prince Chakrabongse, the Siamese Minister in Russia had reported the friendship to the King, who felt his son had too much liberty and should be under tighter control. The messages and invitations suddenly ceased.
It may have been hinted to Mathilde that she should not encourage the prince’s attentions. There was no more contact and, now that the matter had come to his father’s attention, Chakrabongse decided it would be wise to end the friendship. ‘It’s extraordinary how people think that if one finds a woman charming and attractive, one is necessarily having an affair with her,’ he commented.10 In view of Mathilde’s somewhat scandalous reputation, it was perhaps not as extraordinary as the prince believed.
Maybe Mathilde was trying to stir Andrei’s passion by making him jealous, or maybe she just felt sorry for a young man so far from home and family, but at any rate that was the end of the matter. Prince Chakrabongse remained in St Petersburg and in 1906 he secretly married a Russian girl, Ekaterina Desnitsky.
Although Mathilde was in love with Andrei, ‘all’ St Petersburg knew that Sergei was sharing Kschessinska’s bed. So, by now, was Andrei, and the two men frequently shared her dacha at Strelna. Soon the more scurrilous publications were printing thinly disguised accounts of her affairs with the two Grand Dukes.11 The ménage à trois became the talk of St Petersburg. Herbert J. Hagerman, First Secretary at the American Embassy, commented on the queenly jewels given to the ballerina by Sergei Michaelovich.
Mathilde quickly used this aura of a kind of scandalous glory to her advantage. When told that she should be proud of having two Grand Dukes at her feet, Mathilde laughed. ‘What’s so surprising about that? I have two feet!’ A story goes that among the Grand Dukes she was known not as Ma-thilde but as Notre-tilde.12
As the ballerina Alexandra Danilova recalled:
Her entourage was the most conspicuous and the most powerful … I would say that maybe half of the dancers in the company had ‘protectors’, but they were discreet about it – those things were kept secret then. Kschessinska was the exception. She flaunted her affairs with her Grand Dukes because she thought it showed the world how attractive she was.13
Lydia Lopoukova, a pupil at the Theatre School, was walking in the snow with some friends after a performance of The Nutcracker. Suddenly a grand carriage pulled up and Mathilde leaned out, saying ‘Children, let me drive you home.’ Lydia was horrified, having been told that Kschessinska had a bad reputation. ‘Oh, no, no, no, we mustn’t go with her,’ she cried. ‘She is a wicked woman.’14
Yet what was the secret of Mathilde’s fascination, that indefinable ‘something’ that kept so many Grand Dukes in thrall? Probably what we would now call sex appeal, allied with a coquettish charm and sheer determination to get what she wanted. Mathilde now embarked on a new game, to keep all the benefits of Sergei’s protection without losing Andrei. This continued until the Revolution, with Mathilde sharing her house, the dacha and her favours with Sergei and Andrei.
If she preferred Andrei as a lover, Sergei, as President of the Imperial Theatrical Society, was invaluable to her in the theatre. Although his only artistic interest was said to be choral singing, his interference in matters of the theatre was chiefly guided by his affection for Kschessinska.
Mathilde and Sergei were now determined to bring about the downfall of the hated director, Prince Volkonsky. The director retracted his promise to put Diaghilev in charge of a new production of Delibes’ ballet Sylvia, so Diaghilev refused to continue editing The Imperial Theatres Annual. When asked for his resignation, Diaghilev refused. He was backed by Kschessinska and Grand Duke Sergei, who probably already saw himself in Volkonsky’s place as ‘August Manager of the Imperial Theatres’. Diaghilev presumed he would then be his right-hand man. ‘The Grand Duke – whom Diaghilev saw daily – encouraged him to resist Volkonsky,’ wrote Benois, saying that in this he would have the Tsar’s support. Sergei left immediately by special train for Tsarskoe Selo, where the Emperor is reported to have told him: ‘In Diaghilev’s place I would not have resigned.’15 Volkonsky was informed that Diaghilev refused to resign or to edit the Annual. Mathilde and her Grand Duke had apparentlywon. The following day the assistant to the Minister of the Imperial Court showed the Emperor letters written by Volkonsky to Diaghilev and obtained the order for D
iaghilev’s dismissal for improper conduct. Diaghilev was disgraced and could never hold an official appointment again.
Mathilde now used her influence against Volkonsky at every opportunity. Hearing him tell the stage manager that Fiametta, in which Vera Trefilova danced, was to be performed in front of the Tsar during the Friday of Carnival Week, Mathilde was furious. ‘Is that so?’ she remarked to a companion. ‘Fiametta shall not be given.’ Then, under the pretext that Fiametta needed many rehearsals and the dancers were tired after giving two performances daily all week, the Tsar was persuaded by Kschessinska’s entourage to insist that a different work be substituted.16
Volkonsky said that the Tsar had interfered with details of the repertoire, and even the distribution of the roles, before but it was always done solely at the request of Kschessinska ‘and it was always accompanied by some injustice towards another dancer’. These requests were worded so carefully that Nicholas was unaware that any injustice was being committed; he was merely giving in to Kschessinska’s whims.17 Mathilde always came out on top as Nicholas was too weak to refuse.
Things came to a head in April 1901. Volkonsky had already complained because when Lubov Roslavleva came from Moscow to dance Le Corsaire, Mathilde asserted her rights to the music of the specially inserted solo. A whole night was spent in the library looking for some other appropriate music. Now Mathilde was due to appear in another ballet from Legnani’s repertoire, La Camargo, based on the true story of the dancer Marie Camargo and her sister, who in May 1729 were abducted by the Count de Meluno and taken to his mansion. The costumes were the hooped skirts of the Louis XV period and the costume for the Russian dance (traditionally inserted into all ballets on the Imperial stage) was an accurate copy of the Russian dress worn by Catherine the Great at the ball given in honour of the Austrian Emperor Joseph II.
Mathilde thought that this style of costume would not suit her small stature and that it would impede her dancing. She therefore announced that she would wear the costume but without the cumbersome hoops. Although warned that she must wear the prescribed costume Mathilde again refused. At that period ballet was very much a talking point in society. Every incident and every trifling backstage occurrence became the subject of excited gossip in the clubs, drawing rooms, restaurants and newspaper offices of St Petersburg. Soon everyone was talking and the ‘affair of the hoops’ had been blown up to enormous proportions. Everybody waited to see what Mathilde would do.
On 15 April 1901 Mathilde danced La Camargo – without the hoops. The next morning a notice appeared in the Journal on the theatre’s noticeboard: ‘The Director of the Imperial Theatres fines the ballerina Kschessinska [so many roubles] for an unauthorised change in the costume prescribed by regulation for the ballet La Camargo.’ Mathilde considered the small amount (believed to be 50 roubles) was a provocation designed to underline the Director’s authority18 and she did not intend to allow Volkonsky to get away with it.
Mathilde went straight to Sergei, who immediately took action. ‘It is imperative for me to have a talk about a very important matter relating to Mala,’ he wrote to the Tsar. ‘Volkonsky has very much offended her and nothing remains for her to do but tender her resignation. Since you know everything about Mala, I turn to you and I ask to be allowed to come today at 6 o’clock.’ Two days later Prince Volkonsky was summoned by Baron Frederiks, who transmitted the Tsar’s order to annul the fine ‘in the same form as it was imposed’.19 Volkonsky had no choice but to post the humiliating annulment on the noticeboard.
Volkonsky was then summoned to make a report to the Emperor at Tsarskoe Selo. On his way to the palace by train, he heard that Grand Duke Sergei Michaelovich had been the Tsar’s aide-de-camp the previous day. ‘It was not his turn, but the Grand Dukes had the right to change their day.’20
Volkonsky’s position was impossible under such conditions. He resigned. His place as Director was taken by Colonel Vladimir Teliakovsky, formerly Director of the Moscow Theatres, a retired officer of the Household Cavalry. Teliakovsky had a strong interest in the arts but understood all about political intrigue. Many of his former military colleagues now held important court posts.
Volkonsky had been generally liked. ‘A man of refined intellect, great gifts and extensive knowledge of art’, his resignation was greatly regretted by society. The next time Mathilde appeared at the Maryinsky there were hostile demonstrations in the theatre. ‘She paid dearly for her short triumph,’ recalled Tamara Karsavina.21
One of the first things Teliakovsky did was to schedule a performance of La Camargo on 21 October – with Olga Preobrajenska. This did nothing to help his relationship with Mathilde, who now monopolised all the best roles. More than half of the best ballets in the Maryinsky repertoire belonged to Kschessinska, who considered them her property to be given (or not given) to other ballerinas as she saw fit. Most of the ballerinas were content to appear in a cameo part when a younger dancer performed the leading role. The exception was Mathilde, who insisted on her rank.
Mathilde’s power and influence at the Maryinsky, due solely to her relationship with the Grand Dukes, continued throughout her twenty-five years on the stage. This power soon provoked Teliakovsky’s ‘strong displeasure’.22
Grand Duke Vladimir, who had been Mathilde’s friend since her first season at Krasnoe Selo, now showed her particular attention. After a performance of The Little Hump-backed Horse, a ballet inherited from Legnani and based loosely on Russian fairytales, Vladimir invited Mathilde, Sergei, Julie, Baron Zeddeler and another dancer to supper in one of his favourite restaurants, where everything was perfectly arranged to cater for the taste of the gourmet Grand Duke. These suppers were repeated regularly. Sometimes the invitations were issued in advance, sometimes they were sent to Mathilde’s dressing room at the last minute. He bought Mathilde many presents, including a sapphire bracelet and a pair of vases from Prince Vorontzov’s collection, and sent her pieces of dance music. Every Easter Vladimir presented Mathilde with an enormous bouquet of lilies of the valley shaped like an egg, accompanied by a jewelled egg from Fabergé.
Rumours have circulated (which at least one Russian writer thinks ‘are most likely true’) that Mathilde was more than just a friend and that she and Vladimir were lovers.23 At fifty-four, Vladimir was almost old enough to be her father. Maybe it was the romantic attachment of an older man trying to recapture his youth but by the time of the Revolution Mathilde’s reputation was such that people would have believed anything of her.
In the autumn of 1901 Mathilde and Andrei visited Italy. Naturally they could not travel together, so Mathilde was accompanied by her sister-in-law Sima, while Andrei travelled separately with his ADC, Beliarev. They arranged to meet in Venice.
Mathilde and Sima went first to Paris. Mathilde ordered several dresses from the couture houses, they visited the Exposition universelle and then saw the famous actor De Max in Quo Vadis? Arriving in Venice, they booked into a hotel room overlooking the Grand Canal and fell asleep to the sounds of a romantic song sung by the gondoliers. With Andrei and Beliarev they visited all the sights of this romantic city and in the evenings dined in the restaurant Il Vapore, washing down the Italian meal with Chianti.
They moved on to Padua, bought holy images and prayed at the tomb of St Anthony, Mathilde’s favourite saint. Then they spent nearly a fortnight in Rome, where Andrei was very discreetly followed, although they were unaware of this at the time. They hired a guide, a French history teacher with a sound knowledge of Roman history, spending the mornings seeing the museums and the afternoons sightseeing outside the city. In the evenings they held impromptu masquerades dressed as Romans. Everywhere the song of the Venetian gondoliers followed them, but they were unable to find out what it was called.
At the station in Rome Andrei’s ‘shadow’ introduced himself as a policeman and wished them a pleasant journey as they left on the night train to Perugia. Unfortunately there was a misunderstanding at the Rome hotel and two carriages were waiting wh
en the train halted at Assisi, where a hotel had been booked by mistake.
It was pitch dark as their carriage set off along a deserted road, followed by the second carriage containing the luggage. There was no sign of any habitation. Suddenly they were surrounded by a group of horsemen wearing long capes, with rifles slung over their shoulders. Mathilde was convinced they were about to be robbed.
In fact Andrei’s policeman in Rome had alerted the carabineers so, accompanied by this mounted escort, Mathilde and her party entered the town. Exhausted, they reached the hotel late that night – only to find that the beds were so bug-ridden that they had to spread blankets on the floor and snatch what sleep they could fully clothed.
The following morning a Major and fifty mounted carabineers were assembled in front of the hotel to guide them round the town and then escort them to Perugia. At Perugia they found a comfortable hotel, and then moved on to Florence, Pisa and Genoa for a longer stay. In the hotel garden was a monkey tethered to a stand. He was very small and affectionate and they stroked him and fed him nuts. One day the monkey bit Mathilde’s finger. The wound was dressed and she thought no more of it.
In Genoa, by picking out the tune on the piano of a music shop, they finally learnt the name of the song which had haunted them since Venice. It was ‘O, Sole mio!’, and they bought the sheet music as a memento of the trip.
Mathilde travelled home via Paris. Here she began to feel unwell and was informed by a doctor that she was ‘in the first period of pregnancy, around the first month’. In her memoirs Mathilde gave no dates for the trip to Italy, not even in the Russian version which is filled with dates, and even times, for the most insignificant events. She merely said it was ‘in the autumn’.24 In a memoir so full of dates the omission is striking, if not downright suspicious, and was obviously designed to establish that Andrei was definitely the child’s father. The baby would have been conceived around mid-September, possibly even before she left St Petersburg and when she was still sharing the beds of both Grand Dukes.