by Coryne Hall
Another famous visitor was Sarah Bernhardt, who performed in St Petersburg during 1908. She was hoping to buy a Borzoi dog but all the prime specimens were in private hands. Mathilde managed to obtain one with the help of friends and, at the last minute, presented it to Bernhardt at the station. Although Mathilde was later told that the great actress was extremely pleased with the dog and was even photographed with it, she noted ruefully that not a word of thanks was forthcoming for her trouble.
Apart from genuine admirers, there were those who saw Mathilde’s friendship and influence as an entry to high society. Invitations to Kschessinska’s house, known to be frequented by many members of the Imperial family, were highly prized among this set.
Private theatricals and improvised concerts or satirical reviews were often part of the entertainment. Among the actors participating in these amateur performances were often members of the Imperial family. The most talented was Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich, Mathilde’s neighbour at Strelna, who under the pseudonym of ‘KR’ translated Hamlet into Russian and wrote and acted in his own play, King of the Jews. To Kschessinska’s mansion he often brought his sons Oleg and Igor, as well as Alexander Glazov and the composer P.P. Shenk. Mathilde’s sister Julie and her husband Ali were usually present, as was their brother Joseph, his second wife Celina and their half-brother Philippe Ledé (‘Fili’), of whom they were very fond.
Mathilde often held parties in her bathroom. Guests sat around the sunken bath drinking, smoking and talking in an atmosphere of goodwill and informality. ‘The Tsar never came to any,’ recalled Lydia Kyasht, ‘but all the younger Grand Dukes, including Boris, Prince Gabriel, Prince Igor and Andrei, as well as the Grand Duke Sergei Michaelovich … were to be met there.’ Lydia recalled Mathilde wearing ‘a massive diamond “dog collar” and ropes of diamonds and pearls which hung in glittering chains below her knees’.15
Suppers were held in the wine cellar after Mathilde’s performances at the Maryinsky. Guests were given a catalogue of the wines (all specially chosen by Andrei) so that they could request their preferred vintage. Cabinets contained glasses for every conceivable kind of wine, and a considerable amount was usually consumed.
Invitations to Mathilde’s Christmas parties were always sought-after. A magnificent tree decorated with gold tinsel and hung with toys stood near the entrance to the Winter Garden. ‘The dinner-table was a wonderful spectacle, spread with gold plate and antique glass,’ recalled a guest. One evening Mathilde was using a valuable lace tablecloth for the first time. ‘Now take great care not to spill any wine on my new lace cloth,’ she cautioned. ‘If you do you will spoil it … Lydia is especially to be careful!’ she added, looking at the mischievous Lydia Kyasht, who was always getting into trouble. Mathilde then insisted that everyone drink her health. Someone jogged Lydia’s elbow and the entire contents of her glass went over the precious cloth. Mathilde was ‘very angry indeed’.16
Mathilde’s tantrums did not usually last long, unless she was indulging in what the ballet company called ‘Her Imperial Indignation’. Enemies were usually quickly converted to friends once they had met Mathilde. ‘She could charm the world’, said one historian and, despite her power, was ‘surprisingly unspoilt’. She remained on friendly terms with the ballet company and did not throw her weight around unnecessarily,17 although Lubov Egorova later recalled how they quarrelled over the colour of their tutus in Paquita.
In the evenings Mathilde liked to play poker and baccarat. A frequent partner was the artist Nicholas Roubtzov, who had worked on the interior of Mathilde’s mansion as well as decorating the palace of the Tsar’s sister Grand Duchess Olga. When he died in 1910 his widow was left with no means of support. Mathilde engaged Madame Roubtzova as housekeeper, giving her and her two daughters the best apartments in the servants’ quarters. She may not have realised that Roubtzova probably resented this patronising attitude. Roubtzova continued to join the baccarat and poker parties and after each game they set aside a fixed sum of money in memory of Nicholas Roubtzov, from which Madame Roubtzova was given grants from the capital. By 1917 the original fund had reached 20,000 roubles (over £63,000 today). Roubtzova would repay her mistress cruelly for this generosity.
Roubtzova’s daughter Natasha became an especial favourite of Mathilde, acting as her maid, travelling with her in Russia and sometimes abroad. Roubtzova’s son was a playmate of Vova.
Mathilde was especially fond of Ludmilla Roumiantzeva. Ludmilla, born on 18 August 1883, was a dressmaker in the costume workshop of the Imperial Theatres. As one of the most skilful and efficient seamstresses she was appointed dresser to the First Artists, finally becoming Mathilde’s dresser in 1912, caring for the costumes and ensuring that everything was to hand. Later she carried this even further, becoming Mathilde’s devoted personal maid.
In 1909 35-year-old Ivan Kournossov joined the household as butler, a lucrative post. Nijinsky, leaving one of Mathilde’s New Year parties, remarked: ‘Thank God, there is but one Kschessinska in St Petersburg, for between providing her with a remembrance and giving her butler a tip, we should be penniless for life!’18
Yet Kschessinska’s reputation was such that Alexandra Danilova was warned by her aunt ‘that under no circumstances should I ever accept an invitation to Kschessinska’s palace, because it was considered not nice. Girls went there to pick up a protector or to be in vogue with the men.’ After the revolution these parties were described as ‘orgies … for young girls [graduates] of the Imperial Ballet School … girls raised almost as in a convent and then turned over to the Grand Dukes’.19
Mathilde needed the constant admiration of men. She was particularly fond of masked balls where, unrecognisable in a mask and domino, the well-known ballerina could fascinate those with whom she came into contact. These flirtations were supposedly very innocent and later the ‘victim’ usually received a signed photograph of Mathilde.
Sometimes they resulted in lifelong friendships. One such was with Vladimir Lazarev, who she met at a masked ball at the Maly Theatre during the winter of 1910/11. Mathilde slipped into the theatre in a Paris dress and a mask. Lazarev was attracted by her dazzling smile but only later, after she had changed and was at her champagne stall, did he discover the identity of the lady who had so attracted him (although the necklace and brooch of enormous emeralds and diamonds may have given him a clue). The resulting friendship was of benefit to them both during the Revolution.
Meanwhile, Mathilde had again fallen foul of Teliakovsky. Early in 1906 Olga Preobrajenska made her debut as Lise in La Fille mal Gardée. Mathilde was furious but had been unable to prevent Preobrajenska finally being given this role. Teliakovsky recalled that Mathilde felt personally insulted and did everything in her power to cause problems during the course of the performance. ‘It happened that the little door of the chicken cage was left open, and so during one of Preobrajenska’s dances the chickens flew out over the stage, thus causing a certain commotion.’ Preobrajenska nevertheless continued. She was, as the critic Valerian Svetlov later said, ‘remote from the banal figure familiar in this role [Mathilde], at the same time she settled her account with Kschessinska’.20
There may have been another, deeper reason for Mathilde’s annoyance. Olga had remained friendly with the Tsar (who she had met at Mathilde’s old house on the English Prospekt), often playing cards or piano duets with him at the palace. Mathilde could not be invited to the palace privately like this and it must have rankled. Then Olga was given the almost unprecedented honour (for a dancer) of being taken to the palace in one of the Imperial carriages to be formally presented. For all her power and connections with the Grand Dukes this was an honour Mathilde could never receive. It would be an ‘intolerable insult’ to the Empress.21 The rivalry continued. At a benefit for Kschessinska, Preobrajenska performed a sailor’s hornpipe dressed as a cabin boy. The audience demanded an unprecedented three encores. Mathilde cannot have been pleased.
Mathilde now ruled the theatre.
Teliakovsky said she continued to give orders, arousing fear in both the ballet master and the principal régisseur (in ballet, similar to a stage manager but with more responsibility), announcing which ballets she would dance and when she would perform them before the repertoire programme was published. ‘One can do nothing with Kschessinska,’ said the régisseur in despair, ‘it is a rule already established by our predecessors.’22
Mathilde wanted to revive Perrot’s old ballet Katarina, the Robber’s Daughter, first staged at the Maryinsky in 1847, but her request was refused. In revenge, said Teliakovsky, she threatened to play dirty tricks against the régisseur and the administration of the Imperial Theatres and to use all her influential contacts in order to get her own way.
Teliakovsky was a strongly moral man who liked neither Mathilde nor the power she wielded. He disliked her short stage costumes and her ‘fat legs, deliberately turned out and arms extended in a self-satisfied invitation to embrace’. He described her as ‘vulgar, trite and banal’, a ‘technically strong, morally brazen and cynical, impudent ballerina living simultaneously with two Grand Dukes and not only not secretly, but the opposite, intertwining even this art into her fetid, cynical garland of human offal and debauchery’.23
When Alexander Kroupensky, the all-powerful Assistant Director of the Maryinsky Theatre, knocked on her dressing room door and was told by Grand Duke Sergei to enter, he found Kschessinska sitting in just a shirt in front of the Grand Duke. ‘A pure idyll!’ wrote the outraged Teliakovsky.24
Changes were taking place within the Russian ballet. Isadora Duncan had caused a sensation and the influence of her style would have a lasting effect at the Maryinsky. Michael Fokine was especially impressed. As a dancer and budding choreographer he wanted to make the Russian ballet more expressive and natural. His ideas included banishing tutus and pointe shoes unless really necessary, scrapping elaborate hand gestures, eliminating the variation designed to show off the virtuosity of the ballerina and abolishing the taking of bows in the middle of a performance, which broke the continuity of the ballet. (This last item was especially regretted by Mathilde.) He wanted to get rid of the uninspiring old-style ballets of Petipa, ‘with their obligatory marches, waltzes, mazurkas and polonaises’, in favour of more artistic unity. As Benois said: ‘Fairies have been the ruin of ballet.’25
To do this Fokine had to fight the traditionalists in the Imperial Theatre, who included Nicolai Legat and Mathilde Kschessinska. Diaghilev now allied himself with Fokine. He dreamt of bringing the Imperial Ballet to Western Europe but this was not as easy as it sounded. Only a handful of privileged dancers were allowed to take short commercial engagements abroad. Mathilde was one of those privileged few.
On 10 February 1907 Fokine’s new ballet Eunice, based on Henryk Sienkiewicz’s novel Quo Vadis?, was staged for a charity evening at the Maryinsky. Mathilde was the slave Eunice and Pavel Gerdt was her master Petronius. The ballet was a complete break with tradition. To create the atmosphere of ancient Greece the Italian virtuoso tricks like fouettés and pirouettes were omitted and as the dancers were forbidden to perform barefoot on the Maryinsky stage the illusion was maintained by painting toenails on to their tights. Out went the rigid, corseted tutus and in came flowing tunics. The corps de ballet performed a dance with real torches and the Egyptian pas-de-trois made history when the girls danced with dark make-up on their bodies. Mathilde danced a solo in and out of a ring of eight sharp swords stuck into the stage with the sharp ends up, and Pavlova performed a Dance of the Seven Veils. ‘I am proud of having been from the beginning a supporter of Fokine’, Mathilde later wrote, publicly trying to align herself with the new influences.26
Anna Pavlova was now a ballerina with her own devoted followers, who rivalled those of Kschessinska in the fervour of their support. In January 1906 when Pavlova made her debut as Aspicia in Pharaoh’s Daughter all the seats were sold out three days beforehand. This had not happened when Mathilde last performed the role.
Mathilde could not bear Pavlova’s success – but help was at hand. A new star was about to appear on the scene.
On 29 April 1907 Vaslav Nijinsky graduated from the Imperial Theatre School. He was an outstanding dancer who when he jumped just seemed to hover in the air. Mathilde congratulated Nijinsky and asked him to partner her in the winter season, which would in effect make him a soloist. It was a smart move on Mathilde’s part, ensuring that the spotlight would remain firmly on her, not on Pavlova or one of the other younger dancers.
Mathilde returned from her summer break earlier than usual and was annoyed that Nijinsky was still rehearsing with Karsavina. Nevertheless, she gave her most dazzling smile and said with a shrug of the shoulders that it really did not matter at all, ‘she was in excellent form and could dance right now, but Nijinsky needed two weeks to learn such a large number of dances’.27 Nijinsky soon learned that Mathilde was always punctual for rehearsals.
On 28 October they danced La Fille mal Gardée and the pas-de-deux from The Gardener Prince, based on Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytale ‘The Swineherd’, now re-set in the France of Louis XIV. It was taught to Mathilde by Ludmilla Schollar, who had danced the work with Nijinsky at his graduation performance six months earlier. Although the newspaper Novoe Vremenie called it ‘rather charming’ the audience seemed unimpressed and it was not performed again. One critic singled out Nijinsky, observing that ‘ballerinas might be vexed with him – with the fact that he secures our exclusive attention through his own success’. Yet Mathilde was not annoyed. She congratulated him in his (and her) native Polish and invited him to dance with her in Moscow. After his first public performance Nijinsky presdented Mathilde with a decorated box. By a strange coincidence, Mathilde dropped this box some years later around the time Nijinsky lasped into insanity. It was left, symbolically, unrepaired.28
In November they danced Nocturne, a romantic Chopin ballet choreographed by Mathilde’s friend Claudia Kulichevskaya, teacher of the advanced girls’ class at the Theatre School. For non-repertoire performances artists had to select a suitable costume from the Maryinsky wardrobe or supply their own. Mathilde commissioned Bakst to design their costumes, hers a flowing ankle-length silk tunic inspired by Isadora Duncan. Her variation was ‘a dazzling display … she whirled like a fiery ball shooting out tongues of flames’, recalled Bronislava Nijinska. Mathilde’s interpretation ‘was quite a contrast from the ethereal … image of Pavlova’. She remained always the prima ballerina, determined to exhibit her technical brilliance.29
Legat’s cumbersome five-act ballet The Little Red Flower, based on S.T. Aksakov’s story of the same name, was also performed in December. Nijinsky fell ill the evening before the première and Legat stepped into his place. Although Kschessinska and Legat danced a special pas-de-deux, ‘Reverie’, the ballet was not well received.
Fired by her success with a new young partner, Mathilde took Nijinsky to Moscow to dance La Bayadère in January 1908. As she had hoped, his presence ensured maximum attention to her own performances. The following month she was back at the Maryinsky for The Sleeping Beauty.
Nijinsky was not a problem – but Mathilde now had to cope with the threat posed by Pavlova.
On 16 February 1908 there was to be a charity performance at the Maryinsky staged by Fokine, in which Pavlova was also to appear. Mathilde was to dance Eunice and later perform Nocturne with Nijinsky in the divertissement. The tension was now mounting between Kschessinska and Pavlova and there was a dispute over who should appear in the most advantageous spot on the programme. ‘Ballet-Storm’, ‘Incident Pavlova-Kschessinska’, screamed the press, as the ballerinas argued over who was to dance first. When Fokine cancelled the divertissement Mathilde promptly refused to dance in Eunice – but to her fury Fokine immediately gave the role to Pavlova.30
Rehearsals were also under way for a new Fokine ballet. Alexandre Benois was taken by Fokine to meet the company and watch the rehearsal. The ballerinas were wearing their charming practice dresses, d
esigned during the 1830s, which were compulsory for all the dancers in the Imperial Theatres. They answered his courtly bow with a beautiful curtsey, strictly in accordance with court protocol. ‘Kschessinska, who did not conform to rules, was the only dancer to appear in a tutu – much shorter than the regulation ones.’31
The new ballet was Le Pavillon d’Armide, based on a story by Gautier. In his dream, a vicomte falls in love with Armida, one of the figures in a Gobelin tapestry whose figures come to life. When he wakes from his sleep her scarf is in his hand. Mathilde was to dance Armida but bureaucratic obstacles and personal intrigues bedevilled the production. Just a week before the first performance Mathilde announced that she was withdrawing from the ballet. No satisfactory reason was given. As she left, Fokine called her a ‘she-devil’. Benois said she ‘acted to please the Directorate, hoping that her refusal would put a stop to the production’, while Fokine thought she was upset with him for giving Eunice to Pavlova. Guesses in the theatre included no variation for the ballerina or lack of an effective entrance, but her withdrawal from such an important role can only be attributed to a wish to sabotage the ballet.32