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When an issue of Dance Magazine arrived at Rudolf
Nureyev's ballet school in Leningrad undetected by the censors,
the young student eagerly leafed through its pages. He admired
photographs of Margot Fonteyn and Erik Bruhn, and exclaimed
to his friend, "I'm going to dance in all those theaters,
too." 1
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Photograph by Robin Platzer
Rudolf Nureyev in footless white tights for Paul Taylor's
Aureole, 1974.
13 3/4 x 8 3/4"V.
*MGZEAO #39, JRDD.
NYPL-3
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| click on image to enlarge |
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Rudolf
Nureyev wanted to be a successful dancer, and he wanted
to dance in all the major theaters—in the West as well
as the East. But the government of the then-Communist Soviet
Union viewed Nureyev's desire to mingle with the West with
suspicion. If anyone had contact with Westerners, they could
be deemed a spy.
Nureyev lived in the Soviet Union under a Communist regime,
a type of government in which the state (rather than individuals)
owns all property and forces all citizens to share the common
wealth. In an effort to ensure its authority, the Soviet
Union's government tried to limit its citizens' ties to
the outside world, particularly the West. Magazines and
movies were tightly controlled. Travel to other countries
was made difficult. Art and literature, particularly, suffered
greatly since creativity and expression were discouraged.
So when Rudolf Nureyev toured with the Kirov Ballet in
Paris at the young age of 23, he fell in love with Parisian
culture. Although a little shocked by the availability of
so many different types of plays, movies, clubs, and restaurants,
Nureyev wanted to explore the city and meet other dancers.
But the KGB—the Russian secret police—strictly
prohibited such explorations. All touring companies are
given explicit instructions before they leave the country:
travelers should stay together; they should not interact
with strangers; they should only go out in pairs; and if
anyone breaks these rules, they must report them.
Nureyev paid no heed to these rules. Even in Leningrad,
Nureyev would make sure to attend performances of dance
companies that toured in his country, and would always try
to meet them backstage. Because of this, the KGB's suspicions
were aroused. They kept tabs on Nureyev so often that he
became familiar with seeing them lurking in the shadows.
A Dancer? Yes; A Politician? No.
Since he was a young man, Nureyev did not participate in
politics. He refused to join the Komsomol, a youth wing
of the Communist Party. Membership in this club was not
really voluntary. If you did not join, you would stand out
and people could assume you are against the Party.
Those suspected of engaging in traitorous activity would
be summoned to KGB headquarters for questioning. In Leningrad,
this feared building was named "The Big House."
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Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev lets his temper
flare at the UN General Assembly in September 1960.
Uncredited photograph; click on
image to visit NATO Web site for more information
on the Cold War.
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By the 1960s, Nureyev was regarded as an up-and-coming
star of the Kirov. He was even invited to perform for then-Prime
Minister of the Soviet Union Nikita
Kruschev. But his reputation as an incredible dancer
was not enough to keep Nureyev out of harm. He had already
received an official warning and several black marks in
a report kept on each employee by the KGB representative
at the Kirov.
In 1960, Nureyev was sent to participate in the Berlin
Festival, which consisted of a forty-six day bus tour of
East Germany, a period long enough to prohibit Nureyev from
seeing the American Ballet Theatre make its Soviet Union
debut. In fact, no American company had performed in the
Soviet Union until then, and Nureyev was looking forward
to seeing the famous ballet dancer Erik Bruhn perform the
first Balanchine ballet he would have been able to see.
The disappointed Nureyev had no choice but to follow orders.
When he came back from his trip, Bruhn's virtuosity was
the talk of the town. Even in video footage of the famous
American dancer's performances, Bruhn's extraordinary talent
was evident. In fact, seeing Bruhn dance inspired Nureyev
to work even harder.
Nureyev in Paris
Despite Nureyev's track record, he was still picked to
go to Paris with the Kirov. After all, he was the up-and-coming
young star of the Kirov Ballet, and everyone—including
the Kirov Ballet and the Soviet Union government—wanted
to show the Western world that Russia was the premiere country
for ballet. However, Nureyev was only allowed to go on one
condition—KGB deputies would have to watch him day
and night.
Soon after the Kirov's arrival in Paris, a reception was
held to bring together the dancers from the Paris Opera
Ballet and the Kirov. At first, the Russian and French dancers
remained on opposite sides of the room. Nureyev was the
first to bridge the gap. He approached three dancers and
earnestly inquired about what they thought of the Kirov.
Pleased by his enthusiasm, the dancers invited Nureyev to
go out with him, but for any Kirov dancer to spend time
with Westerners, they must be granted special permission
from the Kirov director, Konstantin
Mikhailovich Sergeyev.
French dancer Pierre Lacotte persuaded Sergeyev to allow
Nureyev to go out that evening, maintaining that all they
will talk about is dance and promising that Nureyev would
be back by 9:30 PM. Nureyev also asked his roommate to come
along. The dancers kept to their promises: while dining
together, they discussed repertory and technique, and works
and composers; and they dropped off Nureyev at the designated
hour.
But this was the only night Nureyev would play by the rules.
He continued to spend time with the French dancers, but
did not ask permission and did not have supervision. Meanwhile,
he would stay out later and later in the evenings, frequenting
the movies, various theatres, restaurants, and night clubs.
But Nureyev's actions did not go unnoticed.
The KGB captain of the Kirov would wait for Nureyev to
come back to the hotel and would scold him, but the determined
dancer gave no notice to these reprimands. KGB agents trailed
him closely on all of his adventures, but his desire to
explore Paris and to spend time with his new friends was
stronger than his feelings of fear.
Despite these unfavorable conditions, Nureyev's performances
were praised by the French. His performance in the Paris
premiere of La
Bayadere got rave reviews and applause that had
not been heard since the great Vaslav
Nijinsky performed in Paris. The city was buzzing with
how talented the young Nureyev was, critics praised his
abilities, and his performances brought fame and acclaim
to the Kirov. He was even awarded the prestigious Nijinsky
Prize.
But the Soviets in Moscow had had enough. On June 3, they
sent an order for Nureyev to come home immediately. Sergeyev,
knowing that the loss of Nureyev would be detrimental to
the company's prestige, decided to stall for time. He ordered
Nureyev to stop interacting with his French friends, then
informed Soviet officials that Nureyev has improved and
that he is no longer a threat.
Had Nureyev not ignored Sergeyev's warnings, his life might
have turned out differently. But instead, he refused to
alter his behavior. He even visited a private home of a
friend, an action that was strictly forbidden. Nureyev was
recalled once more on June 6, and again on June 14. Sergeyev
had no choice but to send Nureyev home while the rest of
the Kirov would continue the tour in London.
The Day that Would Change His Life
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Rudolf Nureyev, from NYPL Press release announcing
The Rudolf Nureyev Collection.
click on image to visit this NYPL Web page.
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On June 16, 1961, the Kirov Ballet traveled to the airport
in preparation for their trip to London. As everyone was
saying their goodbyes, Sergeyev pulled Nureyev aside and
told him he would not be joining the group in further travels,
and instead, he would be sent to Moscow to dance for a special
concert.
Nureyev knew what this meant. It meant not being allowed
on another foreign tour, perhaps being sent back to Ufa,
or even sent to jail. The distressed, angry, frustrated,
and panicky Nureyev did not know what to do. He pleaded
with his friend Pierre Lacotte to help him, but his friend
was also at a loss for a solution. Lacotte tried to defend
Nureyev, stating that all they every talked about was dance,
never about politics or his home country. But his efforts
fell on closed ears. Lacotte decided to send for Nureyev's
friend Clara Saint. Not a dancer whose career could be at
stake, Saint felt she had nothing to lose by attempting
to help Nureyev. She rushed to the airport and approached
Nureyev, pretending she just wanted to say goodbye to a
close friend. While embracing the dancer, Saint whispered
in his ear and asked him if he wanted to stay in Paris.
Of course Nureyev wanted to stay. He knew his career would
be over if he went back to his country.
So Saint decided to talk to the Airport Police. Knowing
that the French police was against Communism, Saint persuaded
them to help a great Russian dancer who wants to stay in
Paris, but is being forced to return to Moscow. The policeman
told Saint that if Nureyev can break free from the Soviets
and go to them on his own, they would help him remain in
Paris.
Saint approached Nureyev once more, hoping all would believe
she was a very saddened young girl that will miss the dancer
immensely. Meanwhile, she whispered in Nureyev's ear that
the two men at the bar are waiting for him to approach them.
Five minutes passed. Nureyev darted out of his seat and
ran towards the men at the bar, screaming "I want to
stay in France!" Two agents grabbed him, and all three
men struggled for a bit until the French policemen told
them to stop. Since the Russians were on French soil, they
had to obey them.
Nureyev was free!
Consequences
Although Nureyev remained in Paris and was technically
free, he did not feel safe. His defection—his abandonment
of his home country—had shaken him up emotionally,
as it did his family, friends, and colleagues. After he
defected, he remained in hiding for a few days. And for
weeks he would worry about being captured by the KGB, so
much so that when taking a taxi, he would sit on its floor.
But the passionate Nureyev was anxious to get back to work,
and luckily, he was able to dance for Grand Ballet du Marquis
de Cuevas, where he received both praise and insults: Although
his dancing ability was still celebrated, Communist sympathizers
in the audience would occasionally yell at him and throw
tomatoes at the stage.
Generally, Nureyev was happy to be free of the repressive
Communist regime, but he continued to miss his family and
friends. His father had decided never to speak to him again,
and his mother had also been very upset. Many of his relatives,
at the direction of the KGB, wrote to Nureyev to urge him
to return home. His old Kirov professor Alexander
Pushkin and his good friend Tamara were also forced
to write similar letters.
Nureyev's defection was hard on everyone that was close
to Nureyev. Many were scared to be associated with someone
deemed a traitor. Several of Nureyev's friends and family
were interrogated by the KGB, as were each Kirov dancer.
Tamara was almost not given her diploma. Nureyev's relatives
were prohibited from being issued any foreign passports
or exit visas. Nureyev's former dance partner and up-and-coming
female star Alla Osipenko lost her top billing at the Kirov
and was no longer allowed to participate in foreign tours.
And Georgi Korkin, the administrative director of the Kirov,
was blamed for not providing sufficient political instruction
to the dancers while in Paris and for not sending Nureyev
home after two warnings; he was soon fired.
Meanwhile, the Soviets had sentenced Nureyev to seven years
imprisonment and began erasing any mention of his name or
likeness from history: A book about the Kirov was reprinted
with a substantial article on the dancer missing; Nureyev's
solo was edited out of a film about Russian ballet; and
all foreign magazines would be sold only with Nureyev's
image blacked out.
Years later
Between the 1960s and 1980s, Nureyev had continued to win
acclaim in the West—not just for his talent, but for
his personality—and his popularity reached celebrity
status. However, he was still not allowed to visit the Soviet
Union. Although traitors were not allowed back into the
country for any cause, Nureyev desperately wanted to visit
his mother. He was finally granted a visa in 1987 when his
mother fell deathly ill, but he could only stay in the Soviet
Union for forty-eight hours.
Also that year, part of the exhibition of the three generations
of Wyeth
painters was to travel to Leningrad and Moscow. Even
years later, Soviet sentiment against the defector was still
strong, and Jamie Wyeth's portraits of Nureyev were not
allowed in the show.
It was only in 1989 that Nureyev was invited back to Leningrad
to dance with the Kirov Ballet, his first company.
1 Solway, Diane. Nureyev: His Life. New York:
William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1998. p. 82. |
