The Fascinating Life of Mathilde Kschessinska, Last Muse of the Romanovs

The Fascinating Life of Mathilde Kschessinska

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Disaster, But Make It Ballet 

Mathilde Kschessinska’s life was incredibly dramatic, both on and off stage. Born in Russia in 1872, she lived through two world wars and two revolutions, pirouetting between a life of luxury among nobility and watching helplessly as the Bolsheviks made speeches from her house and the Nazis arrested her son.

As a prima ballerina, she worked with Marius Petipa and, after she retired from performing, went on to inspire and instruct the next generation of dancers. She watched and moved, was abusive and abused, and saw the incest and cannibalization in the dying days of the power of the House of Romanov.

A Family Profession

Kschessinska was born into a family of ballerinas. Her father, Adam-Felix Kschessinsky, was invited from Poland to Russia to dance and settled in St Petersburg. Mathilde was the youngest child, and she started attending the Imperial Theatre School when she was eight.

Here, she was inspired by Virginia Zucchi, explaining later: “I was fourteen when the famous Virginia Zucchi arrived in St Petersburg. From the day that Zucchi appeared on our stage I began to work with fire, energy and application: my one dream was to emulate her. The result was that when I left the school, I already had a complete mastery of technique.”

Kschessinska graduated in 1890, and her graduation performance was attended by the then tsar, Alexander III, and his son, the tsesarevich Nicholas, later Nicholas II, the last emperor of Russia.

 Culture, But Not As You Hoped

From a modern perspective, it makes sense that the tsars and their families would be involved in prestigious cultural events, such as patronizing the ballet. Unfortunately, this is not quite as dignified as one might hope... The tsesarevich and his brothers were allowed to visit and meet young female ballerinas with the expectation that they would have sexual relationships ahead of, or outside of, their marriages.

That is exactly what happened to Kschessinska. She became Nicholas’s mistress when she was 17 and he was 22 — not a massive age gap, but with an evident (and huge) power imbalance.

This — along with the enthusiastic complicity of everyone around Kschessinska and the fact that she had stepped into a world where this was the expected plot twist by the time she was eight — gives the whole thing the atmosphere of a very expensive trap. At the time, though, Kschessinska seems to have been delighted with her starring role. She wrote in her diary: “I love the Crown Prince madly and deeply... I never shall be able to forget him.”

It reads like a teenager’s first crush, except the crush is an heir to the throne. There's also a mixture of immaturity and infatuation with power here that shaped much of her later life.

A Possibly Secret Child

The affair lasted for three years. It has been speculated that Kschessinska had a baby in 1893 because of a diary entry from Nicholas: “Jan. 25, 1893. Monday. In the evening went to my M.K. and have spent the best evening with her so far. I am under the impression — a pen shakes in my hand...”

The child, a girl named Celina, was supposedly given to Kschessinska’s brother to be passed off as his own.

Celina’s grandson is still alive and claims to be the last living descendant of Nicholas II, but this is hard to verify because the Romanovs were so thoroughly wiped out. You will not be surprised to know that this is not the only time there is some mystery surrounding a baby’s parentage in this story. Later in 1893 the affair ended, and Kschessinska was apparently devastated and uninterested in the 100,000 roubles offered to her by Nicholas.

 Two Grand Dukes, Two Feet

The year after Kschessinska and Nicholas II broke up, Kschessinska had an affair with Nicholas’s cousin, Grand Duke Sergei Mikhailovich. Six years after that, she had a simultaneous affair with Sergei’s first cousin once removed, Grand Duke Andrei Vladimirovich. When someone said it was impressive that Kschessinska had two grand dukes at her feet, she noted that it was because she had two feet.

It feels important to note that the Russian population in 1890 was 126 million, so she could have dated outside the Romanovs… but she did not.

In 1902, Kschessinska gave birth to a son, Vladimir Sergeivich, later known as H.S.H. Prince Romanovsky-Krasinsky. He was nicknamed “Vova” (just like Putin), so we will use that, it is quicker...

Whose Child Is Vova?

Nobody actually knows who Vova’s biological father was. Kschessinska claimed it was Andrei but put Sergei on Vova’s birth certificate.

There is still some debate, and much of the speculation comes from Vova’s appearance, but given the general incest and the fact that Sergei and Andrei were related, this is not a particularly reliable method.

Sergei and Andrei did not like each other at all, but that did not stop the affairs. Sergei ended up dying in the revolution, and Kschessinska eventually married Andrei, which is one way of getting out of a love triangle.

The Duel and the Nose

There was another man, too: Pierre Vladimirov. He was another ballerino and therefore did not have the same status as the grand dukes. Andrei, seemingly frustrated by the situation, challenged Pierre to a duel and shot him in the nose. Pierre survived, surprisingly... but the affair ended.

Petipa, Swine, and 32 Fouettés

During all this drama, Kschessinska continued to dance... Just imagine the stress! She was mentored by Marius Petipa, who wrote several famous ballets that are still performed, including Don Quixote, The Sleeping Beauty, and The Nutcracker. He created parts specifically for Kschessinska in The Pharaoh’s Daughter and Esmeralda. Despite this, Petipa did not think that Kschessinska was the best dancer, and apparently claimed that the only reason she was made prima ballerina at the Saint Petersburg Imperial Theatres was because she was, ahem, well- connected.

Privately, he despised her and wrote in his diary that she was “a nasty swine” and should have been beaten by a ballet critic. Kschessinska was clearly talented, though: she was the first Russian ballerina to do 32 consecutive fouettés en tournant. That is a kind of turn, if you did not know!

Diva Energy Under Pressure

So this is what her life looked like: drama in her love life, dancing in her work life, and a generous sprinkling of chaos over everything else. But Kschessinska behaved like a small, determined storm — exactly what you might expect from someone pushed too hard for too long and left to improvise her feelings on the spot.

She once argued with Prince Wolkonsky about her costume for Camargo so fiercely that he resigned as director of the Imperial Theatre, which is quite a way to win a wardrobe disagreement, don't you think?

During her pregnancy with Vova, Kschessinska mentored another of Petipa’s protégées, a young woman named Anna Pavlova. Kschessinska thought Pavlova would fail because she was physically frail and was extremely upset when ballet audiences and critics liked Pavlova.

Kaschessinska also sabotaged a performance by Olga Preobrazhenskaya by releasing live chickens onto the stage. The show went on, and it seems Preobrazhenskaya did a pretty good job, given the circumstances...

Kschessinska had other rivalries, including Pierina Legnani and Vera Trefilova, both of whom ended up resigning from the Imperial Theatre because of her.

Petipa’s successor, Michel Fokine, also did not get on with Kschessinska and described her as his “sworn enemy”.

Petipa was petty too, and organized a performance of The Fairy Doll, in which Kschessinska’s character is “passed between” two men, in reference to her relationships with the grand dukes. 

 The Dress Rehearsal Revolution

Political tensions were quietly rehearsing in the background while everyone was still pretending this was normal life.

In 1905, Russia staged a revolution that Lenin later described as the “dress rehearsal” for 1917. The country settled into an uneasy pause, like an orchestra waiting for the conductor to admit the piece is going badly.

After the start of the First World War, Russian peasants were in crisis: their real wages fell by about 50% between 1913 and 1917, and the Bolsheviks began to look less like a fringe annoyance and more like a serious option.

The October Revolution — which, in classic Russian scheduling, actually began in November 1917 — was massively complicated and sent Russian society and politics into full-scale chaos.

Mines, Grenades, and a Balcony

The impact on Kschessinska was enormous. One of her grand dukes, Sergei, was shot and his body was thrown into a mine, along with some still-living relatives and hand grenades. The Bolsheviks covered the mine’s entrance with wood and set it alight, feeding the fire until it was clear that everyone had died.

Kschessinska and her son moved around as much as possible to stay safe and later wrote about St Petersburg: “Petrograd was a nightmare world of arrests, the assassination of officers in the streets, arson, pillage...”

The Bolsheviks took her house and used it as a base. By the way, when Lenin returned from exile, he gave a speech from her balcony. When Kschessinska tried to get everyone to leave, she was threatened with death.

She walked past the house later on and observed the mess, and apparently found Bolshevik leader Alexandra Kollontai in the garden, wearing her coat. It is a shame the two women could not get along, really... because they both had the same taste in clothing. Plus, Kollontai was also, to tell you the truth, very keen on dating two cousins.

 Exile, Titles, and Gambling

Unfortunately, the two women never got the chance to sit down, swap coat-cleaning tips and make up. Kollontai went off to be People’s Commissar and then an ambassador, while Kschessinska did the opposite of a political career and moved to Kislovodsk, then Novorossiysk, and finally to the south of France in 1920.

There she settled in with Vova and Grand Duke Andrei, like a small, displaced royal court with better footwork.

As we know, Kschessinska married Andrei soon after, which technically made her a princess and Vova a prince, although by then there was not much practical use for titles beyond making introductions more complicated.

By this point she was 48 years old and no longer performing as she once had, and the money and jewels she had taken from Russia were beginning to disappear—helped along by her enthusiasm for gambling.

So, in 1929, Kschessinska did what any sensible ex-mistress of an empire would do: she started again as a ballet teacher in Paris.

Training the Next Generation

Kschessinska’s ballet studio was popular and within a few years she had around 150 pupils, many of whom went on to be popular in their own right. Her students included Diana Gould, described by Anna Pavlova (remember her?) as “the only English dancer with a soul”; Harold Turner, who became the first British male virtuoso; and Tatiana Riabouchinska, “one of the most unusual dancers of her generation”.

Kschessinska wrote that her classes were frequently observed by Arnold Haskell, a ballet critic who later founded the Royal Ballet School in London.

Her life was much quieter once she left Russia: she remained married to Andrei until his death, and her role in ballet was reduced to mentor and teacher. She gave her final performance in London’s Covent Garden in 1936 to celebrate the royal jubilee.

The Black Years

The political unrest that had shaped Kschessinska’s life as much as ballet began to bubble up again. She remained in Paris until her death in 1971, which meant she was present during the Second World War and the Nazi occupation. In her memoirs, Dancing in St Petersburg: The Memoirs of Kschessinska, she refers to this as the “black years”. 

Kschessinska moved to a suburb about ten miles from the center of Paris, then decided that if life was going to be terrifying, it might as well have a good view, and relocated to Biarritz, close to the Spanish border. The Nazis arrived in Paris three days after she left, which is either excellent luck or terrifying timing, depending on how you look at it.

After Paris fell, Kschessinska came back anyway and reopened her dance studio, because even an occupation should not get in the way of a proper ballet class.

Vova was arrested and taken to the Royallieu-Compiègne internment camp for four months. There is a rumor that Kschessinska herself was taken by the Gestapo and later rescued, but there is no trace of this in her autobiography, as if even she decided that particular subplot was one twist too many.

She was in Paris for the Allied liberation in August 1944 and wrote that “life was entirely suspended” as the city waited. Then, suddenly, everything moved: “All the church bells rang out and a delirious crowd poured into the streets. From a nearby villa, all lit up, a gramophone at full blast sounded the triumphant sound of the Marseillaise… people threw flowers to the soldiers and offered them champagne; women climbed up on the tanks to kiss our liberators… the nightmare was over!”

Final Curtain

In many ways, Kschessinska’s life was like a ballet. It was full of overblown highs and devastating lows, melodrama and genuine horror. There was heartbreak and beauty – both on the stage and off it. Nonetheless, things seemed to calm after the Second World War. Perhaps, after all that she had endured, Kschessinska just wanted to live a quiet life.

Her husband passed away in 1956, and Kschessinska struggled financially. She died, aged 99, penniless in Paris. She was buried with her husband and Vova in the Russian Orthodox Cemetery of Sainte-Geneviève-des-Bois, near Paris. Back in St Petersburg, her house — the one occupied by Lenin — has been turned into a museum with a sizeable section dedicated to her extraordinary life.