Imperial Dancer

by Coryne Hall

  In America Frau Tchaikovsky began using the name by which she would be known worldwide – Anna Anderson. Mathilde would be drawn back into the controversy but, for the moment, they had their own pressing money problems to solve. ‘The question of money had come up in a crucial fashion from the very first day of our life as émigrés,’ Mathilde wrote in her memoirs.39 Villa Alam had been mortgaged, the 7,000 francs spent. The market was flooded with exiled Russians trying to sell the jewels they had salvaged, the Bolsheviks were now selling to the West items ‘confiscated’ from nationalised palaces and Andrei had therefore received a lot less than he expected from the sale of his mother’s rubies. Queen Marie of Roumania was ‘constantly helping her Vladimirovichi relatives’.40 A brief glimmer of hope came from Poland, where Andrei still owned some land. Unfortunately, in the final adjustment of the frontiers this part of Poland was restored to the Soviet Union, ending their hopes.

  Mathilde had brought some of her jewels out of Russia, including ‘the Tsar’s necklace’. Although offered a fortune for it, she had always refused to sell. Some of her pieces were sold to raise much-needed funds – but Mathilde’s passion for the gaming tables proved to be her ruin.

  Mathilde loved to gamble and was superstitious. She had always sewn the ribbons on to her own ballet shoes, considered the number 13 lucky and in her relationship with the Tsar had ‘seen the supreme predestination – she became Kschessinska II, he became Nicholas II’. At the Casino she always played on her favourite number, 17. On the roulette tables she became known as ‘Madame 17’.41

  Night after night since the early 1920s Mathilde had gambled at the Casino, once lending 1,000 francs to Anna Pavlova, another keen player, to settle her losses. According to one rumour Mathilde lost and won back all her wealth (estimated at millions of francs) three times in Monte Carlo. Even when she lost Mathilde managed to rise from the table with a smile, calmly drink a glass of champagne and leave regally.42 Now it appears that Mathilde and Andrei gambled heavily at Monte Carlo – and lost. In March 1928 the New York Times reported that ‘the fortune of the Duke and his wife had been lost, a great part of it going over the gaming tables at Monte Carlo’. It was said that among the assets lost at the roulette wheel were Mathilde’s fabulous jewels.43

  Somehow they had to make money, but how? Mathilde was fifty-six, Andrei forty-nine. He, like all the Grand Dukes, was ill-equipped to survive in the real world. Brought up in the luxury of palaces with hundreds of servants, their every whim catered for, they had no conception of the value of money, much less how to earn a living, although Andrei seems to have made a few francs by allowing his name to be used by Romanoff Vodka.44 Vova, now twenty-six, had presumably finished his interrupted education but, spoilt from childhood, he was as poorly prepared for real life as Andrei. There was also the widowed Julie to support. That left Mathilde.

  Mathilde was too old to dance – but not too old to pass on her art to the younger generation. She decided to open a ballet school in Paris. Lubov Egorova (now Princess Nikita Troubetzkoy), Olga Preobrajenska and Vera Trefilova had all done the same. If Mathilde had any doubts about this course of action she knew there was no other choice.

  In the autumn of 1928 she and Andrei went to Paris to look at suitable properties. Mathilde needed a house with a garden where her fox terrier could run around, and a separate studio for the ballet classes. This proved both difficult and expensive. Eventually a studio was found in a building under construction but for their own accommodation the agent could only offer one small house.

  The taxi stopped at a wicket gate and in the middle of tall chestnut trees and flowers Mathilde saw a three-storey property which currently housed a boarding school. The house was approached by steps from the long garden and entered through a large conservatory. To the right of this was a small drawing room. On the top floor were three bathrooms and three lavatories, a rarity in Paris at that time. There was a good-sized cellar next to the kitchen and plenty of room for the servants.

  The owner was not keen to sell to foreigners and only agreed after protracted negotiations. Then there was a further delay because the owner died, but finally the formalities were settled. Mathilde hoped to settle in Paris and open her studio for the winter season, but they did not have enough money for the move and the necessary repairs to the new house.

  Villa Alam was sold and on 4 February 1929 they left Cap d’Ail. The following day they settled into their new home at 10, Villa Molitor in the 16th Arrondissement of Paris.

  It was a new beginning and Mathilde would rise to the challenge.

  Fifteen

  THE QUEEN OF RUSSIAN BALLET

  Number 10 Villa Molitor, in the Auteuil district of Paris, was set in a small tree-lined avenue of rather modest houses in long front gardens. A visitor recalled that it was

  like a tiny piece of St Petersburg … On the walls of the drawing room and dining-room was a motley collection of knick-knacks exemplifying St Petersburg life, photographs of royalty, paintings, portraits, embroideries, and even a photograph of Lenin’s soldiers lying in [Mathilde’s] drawing room with their hobnailed boots despoiling the beautiful silk-lined wallpaper.1

  Once settled into their new home Mathilde’s priority was to equip the studio, which she was only able to do with the generous financial help of friends. Lydia Kyasht reported rather over-optimistically: ‘It is to be organised on the most up-to-date lines, and will possess its own swimming bath and manicure and beauty salons on the premises…’2

  The studio at 6 avenue Vion Whitcomb was approached up a small curved staircase. It was a maisonette, with classes on the lower level and a curtained balcony area, dressing room and bathroom upstairs. A window looked out on to the back garden. Also at the back of the studio was a small rest room with a bed for Mathilde.3 As pianist she engaged Ekaterina Wasmoundt, a former professional with a large classical repertoire, whose husband General Vladimir Wasmoundt was a friend of Andrei’s. The General’s father had once been a personal adjutant to Grand Duke Vladimir. Mathilde and Andrei often socialised with the Wasmoundts.

  The ‘Studio of Princess Krasinsky’ advertised ‘courses of classical, character and rhythmical dance. Mime. Ensemble. Private lessons. Improvement.’4 It was blessed by Metropolitan Eulogius on 26 March and on 6 April 1929 Mathilde gave her first lesson. The pupil was Tatiana Lipkovska, who was soon joined by Chaliapin’s daughters Marina and Daria.

  With competition from the studios of Egorova, Trefilova and Preobrajenska, Mathilde had few pupils between April and the end of the school year in July. Alexandra Danilova recalled that ‘Kschessinska’s classes were primarily a social event, filled with people who had come to see who she was. Everyone in the Diaghilev company went to either Egorova or Trefilova.’5

  This short interlude gave Mathilde a chance to assess her strengths and weaknesses before the new school year began in September.

  On 19 August Sergei Diaghilev died suddenly in Venice. This was a blow, both personal and professional, as Mathilde hoped that her school would provide dancers for Diaghilev’s company. He had visited Mathilde that spring when the company were giving a season at the Théâtre Sarah Bernhardt in Paris. Despite their many differences, Diaghilev had described Mathilde as a worthy adversary.6 She sincerely mourned the loss of this unique man who had given so much to ballet and the world.

  A few weeks later Mathilde bumped into Prince Sergei Volkonsky. It was twenty-eight years since he had resigned over the ‘affair of the hoops’. All differences put aside, Volkonsky became a regular guest for lunch at Villa Molitor and frequently came to watch Mathilde’s classes. He even gave a lecture on ‘Movement in dancing, mime and musical mime’ to the pupils and a few selected guests.

  Classes resumed on 3 September 1929 and despite the competition there was a constant attendance of thirty pupils. Although the majority were Russian, there were soon English, French, American, Turkish and even Egyptian children. At first Mathilde took boys as well as girls because she could not afford to
turn anyone away. Arnold Haskell, who Prince Volkonsky brought along one day to watch, called her class ‘one of the finest I have ever seen; very personal, stimulating and a definite artistic experience. Kschessinska has given herself to her work with intense enthusiasm, working and dancing with her pupils, sometimes for eight hours a day.’ One great quality that Mathilde imparted to her pupils was presentation – ‘the true showmanship that is found in all the great artists of the world. It is a grace, a musicality, an instinct of when to cut a movement, a feeling of climax and dramatic impact.’7

  The girls always curtseyed to Mathilde and referred to her as ‘the princess’. In the early years Andrei swept the studio floor, kept the attendance register, sent out the bills and dealt with the financial side of the business. The pupils remembered him as ‘tall and elegant’.8

  In May 1930 Anna Pavlova came to watch the class. The girls offered her flowers and she admired their evident progress. Despite former reservations about Mathilde’s teaching capabilities Pavlova kissed and congratulated her as she left. Another visitor was Cyril’s wife Victoria, who came several times with her daughters Marie and Kyra, and also brought her sister Princess Beatrice of Orléans.

  On 31 December 1929 Mathilde visited the Paris Opéra to see Serge Lifar in Prométhée. Soon afterwards he became Mâitre de Ballet at the Opéra. His appointment was beneficial to Mathilde. Lifar sent the most promising pupils from the Opéra Ballet School to the former ballerinas teaching in Paris. Irina Baranova, Tamara Toumanova and Yvette Chauviré were just three of those who benefited from Mathilde’s coaching. Lifar was a frequent guest at Villa Molitor and became almost a member of the family. If he was in Paris, Mathilde never failed to invite him for Easter. She frequently attended performances of his new works and later helped him stage the second act of Swan Lake.

  Despite the early success of the school 1930 was not a good year for Mathilde’s family. Joseph, now sixty-two, was dismissed from his teaching post at the Leningrad Choreographic Academy for writing to Mathilde. From now on his letters were addressed to Julie. Only his interest in hunting kept him going and he was appointed President of Dog Shows.

  Thanks to the gift of 300 roubles from Mathilde and Julie, Joseph and his daughter had been able to join a touring dance company but had to give up when they caught malaria and typhoid. Joseph’s wife and son were living in a small town in the provinces, he had not seen them for four months and could not afford to bring them back to Leningrad. Joseph and young Celina’s only income now came from giving concerts but some of their costumes and clothes had been stolen. Joseph paid a lot of money for just two rooms in his old flat. The remaining valuables had been pawned and were in danger of confiscation by the State. Life was hard and Joseph sometimes considered suicide. A letter in 1929, telling Mathilde and Julie that ‘we did not celebrate Christmas Eve, we did not cook anything, there was nothing to cook, and anyway celebration would be useless’,9 was followed by worse news.

  Joseph’s wife Celina and son Romauld had moved to a village north of Moscow where the famine soon reached them. By June 1930 Celina was very ill with pneumonia, complicated by kidney and heart disease. She had been unconscious for a month but Joseph could not go to her because he now had a job. Celina’s death on 20 June, aged forty-eight, left him devastated. She was buried in the Novodevichy cemetery.10 His dogs, letters from his sisters which helped him forget his loneliness, and a small monthly payment from Mathilde and Julie helped Joseph to survive. Even after this length of time his letters make harrowing reading and it is easy to imagine the effect they had on his sisters in Paris.

  Joseph’s daughter, young Celina, abandoned the stage. In 1931 she married the engineer Constantine Sevenard (a relative of Sima) and went to live in the Altai region of Siberia. In April 1934 she gave birth to a daughter and on 29 June 1935 to a son, Yuri.

  In the autumn of 1930 Mathilde, who had always had such enviable health, began to suffer great pain in her right hip and was told to stop work immediately. Any sudden movement could be dangerous. This was a bitter blow. She and Andrei had put everything into the school, on which all their hopes rested.

  Mathilde had always been a survivor and refused to accept defeat now. She immediately sent the X-rays to Dr Kojine, her old surgeon from Russia, who was practising in Nice. His opinion was the exact opposite – resting would only do harm. Mathilde therefore gritted her teeth and began exercising at the barre. Soon afterwards she was able to resume teaching.

  Her faith was important to Mathilde. Once, while picking mushrooms in the park at Strelna, she lost a valuable brooch, a present from the Tsarevich many years earlier. She immediately promised an offering to St Anthony of Padua and returned to the park. Remembering that Vova had jumped on her back, she found the spot, bent down and discovered her missing brooch. Now Mathilde attributed her cure to a miracle. Vova was in the south of France when he heard the news about his mother’s hip. He immediately went to pray at the Sanctuary of Notre Dame de Laghet, before writing Mathilde a letter which he sprinkled with holy water. For Mathilde there was no other explanation for her sudden improvement.

  Soon afterwards Andrei was admitted to hospital with lung problems. His condition was so serious that an operation was necessary. Mathilde moved into his hospital room, staying there after work at the studio. When Vova caught measles the doctors forbade Mathilde to see him in case she passed the illness to Andrei.

  Andrei’s physician was Dr Zalewski, gynaecologist and physician to the Russian colony in Paris. On 18 January 1931 he received an urgent telephone call from Victor Dandré. Anna Pavlova was very ill in The Hague and Dandré asked if he could come at once. Mathilde was concerned, as Andrei was still seriously ill. The doctor delayed his departure for two days and by the time he left Paris Pierre Vladimiroff was already on his way from The Hague to fetch him. When Dr Zalewski arrived on 22 January there was nothing he could do. Pavlova died the following day.

  Mathilde cried all morning – as well she might. ‘It is as if a part of myself were dead,’ she told a reporter. ‘In her, genius was combined with goodness. I don’t think that there was ever an artist in need who she did not help’, she continued, bursting into tears again.11

  The news of Pavlova’s death was kept from Andrei (as was the reason for Dr Zalewski’s sudden departure), as he was still very ill. Cyril and Boris visited, as did Elena and Nicholas of Greece with their daughters. Dimitri came every day, bringing with him whatever the doctor permitted Andrei to eat and drink. Andrei remained in hospital for three months and it was Easter before he was allowed home. Even then he was still confined to bed.

  That summer they spent a month at a small family pension at Evian to enable Andrei to recover his strength. Then they moved to Marly-le-Roi, where Prince Gabriel and Nina were living at the Villa Bienaimé. A frequent visitor was Andrei’s cousin Grand Duchess Xenia.

  In 1932 Ivan Kournossov, who had worked for Mathilde for over twenty years, retired on health grounds. When he died in 1957 he left Vova his small apartment in Nice (inherited from his second wife Marfousha) and all the presents given to him by Mathilde and Andrei.

  On 4 August 1932 Georges Grammatikov, a member of the Georgian nobility and former officer in the White Army, joined the Villa Molitor household as butler. Early in October his Polish-born wife Elizabeth became Mathilde’s cook. ‘Monsieur Georges was a relic of the old regime,’ recalled a guest, ‘so gentle and thoughtful, always at hand. He served the meal with exquisite grace.’12

  Mathilde worked hard, going to the studio early in the morning by Metro, sometimes only returning home at 9 o’clock in the evening. After dinner she played poker until late at night. She loved the game and played like a madwoman, twice a week continuing until 3 o’clock in the morning.

  The success of the studio enabled Mathilde to continue sending money to Joseph, who had only a meagre pension to live on. By sending him 10 dollars through the Soviet Torgsin agency he could purchase 20 roubles’ worth of goods at one of th
e Torgsin shops.13 She and Julie sent clothes for Joseph and Celina, as well as material for him to have a suit made.

  Mathilde was now supporting the whole family. Joseph was shocked when he learnt that thirty-year-old Vova lived at his mother’s expense. Joseph was proud of his handsome son Romauld, now eighteen, who hoped to enter the Polytechnic. Celina was now quite well off and wanted her father to go and live with her in central Asia. Joseph refused. He had been working as a theatrical producer and refused help from Slava, saying he could not take money from his children. He asked Julie to send photographs of Slava and the rest of the family, lamenting that regulations forbade him to send her the old family photos he still possessed, ‘photos taken when we were young, photographs of our Mother in stage costumes, photos of Vova taken when he was a child’.14 From Joseph’s letters, it appears that Julie was also feeling lonely and isolated. Mathilde was busy all the time with the studio, her husband and son. Julie had only her little dog Tobik and seems to have taken no part in the running of the ballet school.

  Among the ever-increasing number of pupils was Diana Gould, a twenty-year-old English girl who had studied with Marie Rambert and was brought to Kschessinska by Arnold Haskell. One evening Andrei arrived at the studio. This was the beginning of a long-lasting friendship between Mathilde, the Grand Duke and ‘Dianochka’, who they more or less adopted that winter, frequently inviting her to Villa Molitor. One day Mathilde asked Diana to have tea with Andrei while she took a class. At Villa Molitor Monsieur Georges served Russian tea in tall glasses with cherry jam in the bottom, held by elegant little silver holders, and biscuits baked by his wife. As Andrei and Diana chatted in English, she quickly realised that it was Mathilde’s willpower during the Revolution that had enabled the unworldly and rather innocent Grand Duke to survive. Diana quickly nicknamed the Grand Duke ‘Lucy’, after the female saint who shared his name day, and in their correspondence Andrei often signed his letters, even years later, ‘Lucy’.15