Imperial Dancer: Mathilde Kschessinska and the Romanovs (16 page)

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 authority
¹⁸
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 when 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.

Mathilde was filled with happiness, but she was also worried how the news of her pregnancy would be received in St Petersburg. Then she remembered the monkey bite in Genoa and the superstition that strong impressions were reflected in the child’s appearance, and hoped that the monkey would not have such an effect.

She remained in Paris for several days, trying to adjust to new feelings and new circumstances. Mathilde knew she would experience much joy but there would also be many difficulties. There was also the prospect of a difficult season ahead.

While Mathilde was away, the Milanese ballerina Carlotta Zambelli was engaged as a guest artist at the Maryinsky for the autumn of 1901.
Partnered by Nicolai Legat, Zambelli was praised ‘for her lightness … elevation and elegance’ by at least one critic, but ‘she was conscious of an adverse clique among the balletomanes and the “court” of Kschessinska’. She therefore refused the offer of a large salary to return the following season. Zambelli was the last foreign guest artist to grace the stage of the Maryinsky Theatre. Mathilde omitted to mention this in her memoirs, claiming that Legnani was the last foreign ballerina. Nor did she mention Preobrajenska’s benefit on 2 December 1901, which was marred by persistent demonstrations against Mathilde by paid members of the audience (‘claques’), as she danced Aurora. Mathilde viewed this as merely ‘an amusing challenge’.
²⁵

By this time Mathilde had decided to ask the Tsar not to invite any more Italian ballerinas to dance at the Maryinsky. The absence of the Italian stars left the field clear for the Russians, and above all Mathilde. It was now vital that she conceal her pregnancy until the end of the season and take only the minimum possible leave. Olga Preobrajenska had just been given her first major role. Mathilde did not want anyone else taking over her own ballets.

During the winter Mathilde gave many small supper and dinner parties. At Christmas she erected a large tree, inviting her closest friends and the most admired artists from the theatre. The party began with a traditional Christmas dinner, after which the candles were lit on the tree and Mathilde distributed the presents, exquisite objects from Fabergé.

It was during the winter of 1901/2 that, according to Mathilde, Grand Duke Sergei Michaelovich began ‘courting a young and pretty Grand Duchess’ and rumours spread of their eventual marriage. Mathilde selfishly asked Sergei to put an end to this romance, claiming she found the gossip about it unpleasant.
²⁶
This is something of a mystery, as Sergei’s name has never been linked with anyone. After his unrequited love for Grand Duchess Xenia (who married his brother Sandro in 1894) there was only Kschessinska. Assuming Mathilde meant a Russian Grand Duchess, almost the only one of marriageable age at that time was Andrei’s sister Elena, but her name has never been linked with Sergei. In 1898 she became betrothed to Prince Max of Baden but he broke off the engagement. In 1900 her name was linked with the widowed King Ferdinand of Bulgaria and that same year Prince Nicholas of Greece proposed to her. Not until all other attempts to find a more prominent suitor had failed did Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna allow her daughter to accept Prince Nicholas’s proposal.

A more likely explanation is that Mathilde invented the story to show that Andrei was definitely the father of her child because Sergei’s affections were engaged elsewhere.

Mathilde calculated that she would be able to dance until the end of the season in mid-February. Teliakovsky had bought in Alexander Gorsky from Moscow to stage a new production of
Don Quixote
which banished many of the old-fashioned ideas of Petipa. This new production was first performed on 20 January 1902 for Johansson’s farewell benefit after more than sixty years in the Imperial Theatres. Although Mathilde claimed that she scored ‘the usual success’, the ballet received harsh reviews from Diaghilev and his friends. Mathilde declared she was ‘bored’ by the old arrangements of the ballets and was happy to go along with this new style, but others stayed loyal to Petipa and feelings backstage ran high.
²⁷
Mathilde gave a spirited performance and no one noticed her pregnancy. ‘As an artist, she was then at the best of her wonderful personality,’ recalled Karsavina. ‘Her virtuosity was not inferior to Legnani’s, while her qualities as an actress were supreme.’
²⁸

Mathilde’s last public appearance was on 10 February but she was also scheduled to appear in Petipa’s
Les Elèves de Monsieur Dupret
at the Hermitage Theatre. She was now in the fifth month of pregnancy but it was still unnoticeable except from the side, and her dancing had not suffered. The pregnancy was embarrassing for Mathilde and both Grand Dukes – Sergei, her ‘official’ protector, and Andrei, who was reputedly the child’s father. She was also worried about the Tsar’s reaction. Dancers normally lost their jobs when they were found to be pregnant, although this was hardly likely to happen in Mathilde’s case. Unfortunately, the second act of this ballet required her to wear a tutu. Mathilde knew that the Tsar, sitting in the front row, would notice her altered silhouette if she did not calculate her positions very carefully. That night Mathilde was very nervous but none of the Imperial family noticed the change in her figure.