12

‘She leaves – she doesn’t leave.’

GARBO TURNED FIFTY in September 1955. John Bainbridge’s biography of her had been published a few months earlier, in March that year. It was not a work of genius, but it remained the only mildly serious work on her life for nearly forty years. Bainbridge pointed out that Garbo’s Hollywood career had been by no means conventional. She had refused to allow herself to be moulded into a standardised Hollywood product. Nor would she tolerate the second rate. He was the first to give a plausible account of her love for John Gilbert, her strange European tour with Leopold Stokowski, and her later attachments with Gayelord Hauser, Eric Goldschmidt-Rothschild, and Schlee. In the New York Times, the critic Gilbert Millstein assessed Garbo’s character as portrayed by Bainbridge:

She has always been what she is today, a woman with a child’s tragic innocence. She is shrewd, selfish, willful, instinctive, completely self-absorbed. From her intimates she demanded total attention and devotion; otherwise she sulks. She is secretive (‘Garbo would make a secret of whether she had an egg for breakfast’, a friend said), and she has a child-like indifference to all desires but her own.1

Mercedes reported to Cecil that Schlee had bought a villa at Cap d’Ail in the South of France near Monte Carlo, and that Eric Goldschmid-Rothschild was now Garbo’s most faithful companion. Cecil replied:

I was very bored by the book on Greta, but no doubt it is a best seller. I think Rothschild is a good companion for her. He has infinite leisure – in fact nothing to do – is quite a delightful person with knowledge of objects d’arts & cultivated tastes. She might learn from him & if she applies herself, become a connoisseur of porcelain. It’s monstrous of her not to go & see you. I fear she takes friendship for granted. I suppose having such a success wherever she goes makes her feel that it is her due to have people to do her bidding. I trust it may always be her lot to find people who are willing to do what she wants without anything from her in return. I think Schlee will find a 1900 villa built for the winter sunfn1 will be a flop in summer. I’d like to see the decorations he whips up – with signed pieces of auction room furniture & brothel lamps. What a giddy lot they are! . . .²

Garbo did not read the Bainbridge biography. Sailing to Europe with Schlee in the summer of 1955, she tossed it overboard. ‘She never even opened it,’ said Schlee.³

There was little contact between Cecil and Garbo at this time. His career changed direction once more. In February 1955 he lost his contract with Vogue once more. He undertook a lot of photographic assignments, gathering material for his book Face of the World. Much of the year was taken up helping Enid Bagnold with her play, The Chalk Garden. This proved deeply frustrating, particularly since Irene Selznick, the play’s producer, finally altered the sets without informing him. Cecil was not employed on the London production of The Chalk Garden, as a result of which he would not speak to Enid Bagnold or its London producer, John Gielgud, for many years. Later in 1955, Cecil began work on the costumes for My Fair Lady, his greatest stage triumph and perhaps the high point of his career.

In July Garbo and Schlee were spotted boarding Aristotle Onassis’s yacht, the Christina, bound for Capri. Mercedes, still out of favour with Garbo, sent Cecil one of the press photographs. He replied:

Thanks for the photograph of Greta. The papers have been full of her & this week’s Paris Match has a spread in which Schlee has been promoted to banker & a director of De Soto Motors. There is one picture of Greta which breaks my heart & is too dreadful to send to you. I’m sorry she didn’t call you. It’s difficult to understand her at times . . .⁴

Mercedes was now beginning a phase of being unwell, and relying heavily on doctors. This was a situation that would deteriorate steadily over the years that followed, involving her in the ministrations of dubious doctors, in whom she placed her ever child-like trust. The Indian dancer Ram Gopal, a long-time Garbo fan and Mercedes’s friend since the thirties, commiserated with her:

I hope [Garbo] has come to see you since we’ve last met here and since her return to New York. Is she annoyed with you that she dpes not come to see you, when MOST you need her, or what? It mystifies, puzzles me. So sensitive (on the screen) a woman surely cannot just neglect YOU of all people when you’re ill and need visits from those you love – and she’s No.1 Goddess in your life. She surely has seen you by this time. How restless she must be, and how lonely, and how utterly cut off from her mediumistic screen work where Higher Forces than she knows possessed her – ONCE. And now to CUT OFF while still so young and beautiful and able, this must cause her to erupt within herself.5

A few weeks later, Ram returned to the theme, this time giving his views on Poppy Kirk, who was now no longer Mercedes’s girlfriend. Ram wrote:

There will NOT be any need to be careful of what I say about Maria . . . I shall, if I say anything, talk about how good she’s been to you as you alone know. In the past, I was only upset and annoyed and disliked her ONLY from the first hand news of her bad treatment she meted out to YOU, which I got from YOU . . . so naturally I disliked her, and I knew instinctively she disliked me and didn’t like me – then . . .⁶

There was little more news of Garbo that year. But shortly after The Chalk Garden opened in New York, Noël Coward attended a small cocktail party given by Valentina at 450 East 52nd Street. Garbo looked in for a while, appearing to the ‘Master’ ‘lovely but grubby’.⁷ Cecil was still in New York, but his bitterness had by no means worn off. He wrote to Hal Burton: ‘I’ve seen Greta at intervals only because I’ve been so busy & too busy to put up with her continued nonsense of saying no to everything including Life . . .’⁸

My Fair Lady opened in New York to a blaze of critical glory in March 1956, and Cecil was also busy photographing Marilyn Monroe and Joan Crawford, and undertaking a considerable amount of fashion photography for Harper’s Bazaar. But when he returned to London, he heard news that caused him lasting sorrow, as he reported to Garbo:

 . . . But now I must tell you of something that has made me feel so upset, so abysmally sad that I have been crying like a hysterical child most of the day & night. My lifelong friend Peterfn2 – died yesterday. He had been ill this winter with anaemia & low blood pressure – so went to Gottfried.^fn3 After a few treatments he improved enormously, became a better colour & was in good spirits when we had lunch together on my return. Unfortunately he caught a bad cold a week ago – went to the country for some fresh air to get rid of it – motored home & very tired late at night took a bath. The water went on running – & when the Police broke open the door Peter was dead – his nose & mouth under water. We don’t know yet whether he fainted & was drowned – or slipped – but Gottfried says his heart was in good condition.

Anyhow it is a terrible accident to have happen to anyone but that it should have been Peter who is no longer with us, is very hard to bear. He had been through so many vicissitudes & at last had come through as such a fulfilled & integrated person, on terms with everyone – & his own terms. He had developed enormously as a person & had become a sort of queer saint. For me no man has ever had equal charm & for 25 years I have been equally overcome each time I’ve been with him. That he is irrevocably out of my life makes me feel terribly terribly forlorn. Everywhere I go in this house I see things that remind me of him & of times we have spent together all over the world. No-one has really made quite such an impression on me. I can’t bear to think there’s no further link. I don’t even have the consolation that other bereaved people have that there is an afterlife. The void is utter.

Of course I shall continue tomorrow morning with my active life . . .⁹

Garbo replied to Cecil without referring to Peter Watson. She began at once, as so often, with her own problems. She had been out of order, was cramming poison down her throat, and thus would not be travelling. She wished she could have come to England and wondered if he might come to the States in August. She hinted she might be in Paris that October, though, as usual, nothing was settled. Meanwhile she might accompany Schlee to the South of France. These were her uncertain plans. What a mess she had made of her life, she concluded.10

Cecil wrote back at once:

Dearest Mrs Rokeby,

Very sad to think you’re not well enough to come over here. Don’t take too much poison. It can’t be good for you in such long doses. I’m sure fresh summer zephyrs & long walks on green grass would do you much more good. Anyhow I’ll let you know my plans which seem to change all the time . . .¹¹

Later in the summer Garbo was once more in touch about her plans, proposing vaguely that they meet in Paris after her trip to the South of France and then go to England and back to the US together. Ram Gopal kept an eagle eye on Garbo’s moves, reporting to Mercedes:

I see from the papers that the Divine One, your Greta, is in the South of France hobnobbing with Onassus [sic]. She has bought a sprawling villa on the sea not far from Somerset Maugham’s place. London has had a Garbo revival month of her best pictures. My god, there will never be her like on the Screen again. She was and is Divinity.¹²

Garbo travelled with Schlee to Villa Le Roc at Cap d’Ail. At the end of August the paparazzi caught her attending a party at the Sporting Club of Monte Carlo, seated next to Aristotle Onassis, a key figure in her South of France life during the mid-fifties. Cecil was also in Europe. He went to Capri, then to Venice, dashed to New York on 9 September, and then returned to London. He had received a letter heralding a visit from Garbo. As ever, on such occasions, it provided specific information. Garbo would be at the Crillon on September 20, by which time Schlee would be heading back to the States. The Gunthers would be in attendance and would accompany her to London. Maybe Cecile de Rothschild would come too. Being without a coat, joked Garbo, she might have to make a copy of Cecil’s. All this might happen sooner than he realised.¹³

From New York, Cecil wired Garbo in Paris and was told that she had a cold and he must come later. He telephoned her and she sounded ‘very groggy’. After more unhelpful exchanges, Cecil arrived in Paris and found her at the Crillon with Cecile de Rothschild, Garbo looking ‘pretty battered’, adorned with a frown plaster, her hair untidy, her face wrinkled, and the room full of half dead flowers and fruit.

After Cecile left, Cecil and Garbo sat talking. He learned nothing of her summer holiday, only that she had been ill and coughing. Later Cecile, Garbo and Cecil went to the theatre to see Julien Green’s L’Ombre, which bored them and they left after the second act, then dined at Cecile’s apartment.

Garbo told Cecil the next day that his arrival had cheered her up and that she was feeling better. They set off on a round of exhibitions, lunch at the Méditerranée and a long afternoon antiquing. Cecil noted wryly: ‘For an invalid she has the most tireless energy.’14 Wherever Garbo went she created a trail of interest in her wake:

In the Rue Bonaparte a Greek student came up to her after dogging her for half an hour to declare his passion & ask her to sign a cross – a line – anything in his notebook – & I have never seen anyone quake with emotion as he did – his voice came out in quivers. I must say that I have known Greta for 25 years now, & although time has touched her in many of its usual unkind ways the magic is still there – the incredible mystery of beauty, the alive sparkle – the laugh – the sensitivity – the receptivity, the utter fragrance of beauty – There is something innately theatrical about her effects but they are just the natural ones of life – the natural streak of drama cannot but come out in her, so that whenever she comes into a room it can be remarkable.¹⁵

At the end of Cecil’s Paris day, Garbo was put out that no taxi came and began to complain, threatening that she would be too tired to travel to England the next day. As the hapless Cecil continued to try to hail a taxi, Garbo commented: ‘You see I’m too tired for this any more – that’s why it’s so necessary to have Mademoiselle Cecile – she always has her car & chauffeur.’¹⁶

Cecil was left to worry about the next day’s trip, and his worst fears were almost realised. Garbo was tired and irritable, she announced that she had to wash her hair, she struggled with the packing. Getting her out of the hotel was an elaborate nightmare, and a crowd of onlookers gathered on the pavement as he waited endlessly for his suitcases. They headed for the airport and, rather than risk photographers, went for an autumnal stroll in some nearby tulip and gladioli bulb fields. The sun and fresh air worked wonders on Garbo and Cecil observed her as ‘young and lithe’ as when he first knew her. At the airport all was well:

She was not spotted by strangers even – & there was no photographer. My feelings throughout the journey were mixed – hopeful that all would go well & smoothly for her – & that she would not be made unhappy & yet enjoying secretly the excitement of the press onslaught – I felt very clever at arranging the whole thing so discreetly. At this hour of the Saturday evening there were few Press people about – we ducked out of sight when there were spectators. The whole experience of smuggling Garbo into London without being noticed was just as exciting as a mystery play. I arrived at my house with her for a cup of tea without a word to say. I looked at myself in the glass & my deep set eyes told of my exhaustion.

She is like a man in many ways. She telephoned to say ‘I thought we might try a little experiment this evening at 6.30’ – But she spoke in French & it was difficult to understand at first what she meant – but soon I discovered although I pretended not to – she was embarrassed – & a certain prudence on my part made me resent her frankness & straight forwardness – something I should have respected.17

The story did not change. Even after so many years, Cecil was still dancing attendance on Garbo, while she treated him partly as an escort, to be criticised if the tiniest detail of their plans was at fault, and partly as the lover he had once been.

The press may have been absent at the airport, but they were soon on Garbo’s trail. She was sighted at 10 Downing Street on 17 October, her presence at Claridge’s recorded on 18 October. She went to the ballet of Romeo and Juliet, and dined at Cecil’s London house. According to the News Chronicle, the ballerina Ulanova^fn4 went to be photographed at Cecil’s house and met her heroine, Garbo, unexpectedly. That evening there were two rival dinner parties, Oliver Messel entertaining Ulanova on one side of Pelham Street, and Cecil entertaining Garbo, Cecile de Rothschild and Hal Burton on the other side.

Cecil reported the visit in detail to Mercedes in a letter which he urged her to tear up, but which she faithfully kept:

 . . . I’ve been busy keeping horrid newspaper stories about Greta out of her ken. Not that she’s interested in newspapers. Newspapers criticise her for not being co-operative – & pretend that she’s not news any more. But she will always be a remarkable fascinating person who will have people in trances of exstasy [sic] any time she wishes to beguile them. This weekend she has been like a child – very happy & funny, full of tricks & wit. Of course she is a genius at making things difficult for herself & everyone around her but the difficulties this weekend have been of the most superficial character & more in the nature of a tease.

She has gone off to Oxford today in the company of Cecile de Rothschild whom I think is a very good companion for her – a person of complete integrity & lack of vulgarity – a person who has quality & knows values. Certainly an improvement on all that cheap Russian baby talk & 2nd Avenue junkshop level – and she has nothing to do but make things easier for Greta – who needs more & more someone to protect her.

What an enchanting person she is. Really the great enchantress of our time & it’s wonderful to have known her – but again how sad it is that her very nature makes it impossible for her to lead an easy life like less remarkable human beings. I don’t know at all, how long she plans to stay here – or if she intends to go back to France . . .18

In his diary, Cecil described Garbo’s every word and move. He found her as indecisive as ever, wishing to stay in alone, urging Cecil to see his own friends and forget about her, musing on the deliciousness of the food and then complaining that Cecil made her eat too much. One day she looked sadly in the mirror and was displeased with the sight that greeted her:

‘Poor little Garbo – I look so awful. These wrinkles (wrrinckels) are worse than they’ve ever been – & the neck sags – too late – too late – It’s lucky I’m out of the business – Can you imagine the horror of having to face the cameras looking like that? It was so awful when Barrymore he had to have his chins strapped up & he could be photographed only from one side – But it’s so cruel that we have to go on getting worse each year. It’s so dreadful for a woman – a man doesn’t matter – women like a man to be a bit battered. It makes him rugged – & virile – But I look so awful – That’s why I don’t want the photographers to see me. And there’s nothing to be done – can’t put on powder, that would only show up these wrrinckells worse – they’re so sad these lines – & they come from being so tense’.¹⁹

Like Gayelord Hauser before him, Cecil resented the boredom of life with Garbo, retiring to bed at ten o’clock every night. Nor would she let him draw her or photograph her. And she was not a sympathetic companion. She would take an intense interest in the fate of strangers, a man having his suitcase opened at the customs, yet make no enquiries about Cecil’s well-being. When they drove in the car together, she first complained that it was too hot and airless, then minutes later that she was about to catch a cold. Then she found the contradiction amusing. Every autumn she caught a cold, every winter further exhausted her and undermined her health. But she liked her drink, telling Cecil: ‘I’d just love to have a schlug of whisky – I just think of the time when I can indulge in my first drink. It’s bad for me I know – but I love it – it makes you feel so goody.’20

Cecil liked to record her curious use of English:

She is modest in her phraseology: ‘Excuse me but may I remind you that I’m not deaf’ – ‘Cleverer people than me would know’. But she has great sense of her own importance. She puts herself high among the Goddesses. She is critical of other people’s manners & crudeness – although of humble origin: ‘One does not do that’. She smiles widely: ‘I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Once that is gone nothing remains’.²¹

On this visit, Cecil took Garbo to visit Sir Anthony and Lady Eden at 10 Downing Street. Garbo had remained interested in Clarissa’s life since she met her in the Broadchalke autumn of 1951, and when Cecil telephoned to suggest a call, the idea was greeted with enthusiasm. Clarissa said: ‘I hate not to be more hospitable, but come for a drink on Wednesday.’ She rang back to ask if Garbo would prefer to come in by the garden entrance. On their way to Number Ten, Cecil showed Garbo the guards at Buckingham Palace, in those days in sentry boxes outside the gates. Garbo was fascinated by them and imitated their walk with childlike elation.

Garbo was excited and nervous at the prospect of seeing Clarissa in her new role as wife of the Prime Minister. Dressed in her grey Dior outfit, with a fringe, Cecil thought she looked like Trilby. They entered, unobserved, by the front door, walked along the long corridors adorned with images of former Prime Ministers, saw secretaries tidying up papers in the Cabinet Room, and the reception rooms filled with flowers by Constance Spry for the dinner for the President of Costa Rica that night. Cecil reported in full:

Clarissa very thin – in tweed with untidy hair – full of vitality – Greta appeared – Kisses – ‘Well well well. Fancy being at No. 10’. Greta was éblouiée. ‘How strange life is – well hay ho’. Clarissa hiccupped with laughter. ‘But it’s charming (by the drink table) & a bucket of ice on the floor. Why a bucket on the floor it’s like home!’ We sat drinking vodka & ice. Clarissa beguiled & delighted by Greta’s fantasy & imagination – For Greta was suddenly making merry of her many complaints. She elaborated upon the noises at Claridge’s during the night: ‘Have you ever listened to garbage grinding? They grind garbage all night’. Clarissa being a light sleeper was sympathetic & talked about ear pads: ‘Anthony is suffering from insomnia & he is kept awake here by the Vespas – one Vespa & his night’s rest is ruined’ . . .

Greta saw Anthony coming towards her at the end of a long emplade – ‘Oh Heavens’! she cried. Clarissa murmured ‘He can’t keep away’. The Prime Minister looking utterly boyish & young, gangled in like a colt – eyelashes flickering, eyes flashing, teeth discreetly hidden: ‘This is a wonderful moment. I’ve always wanted to meet you. I’ve admired you ever since I first saw you in a silent movie of Anna Karenina – I think it was called Love’. Greta with cigarette holder between her teeth smiled broadly, nervously. ‘Does that take you back into another world? Does it make you think how strange it was that you should have been that person?’ Greta grinned silently. ‘You do remember it don’t you? Did you enjoy being a great movie star?’ Greta said ‘I’m afraid I don’t think about those days of moving pictures any more – they don’t mean anything to me any more & I don’t generally talk about it’. ‘Then I’m afraid I haven’t been very diplomatic in talking on that subject’. The P.M. went on to talk about Sweden which is another topic that Greta doesn’t enjoy talking about. However, the little gathering was a great success. Anthony lying back with legs stretched out told the people who needed him that they must wait . . .22

Garbo was shown around the Prime Minister’s private rooms, and later introduced to some Cabinet Ministers, including Lord Kilmuir, the Lord Chancellor, and Harold Macmillan, the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Unfortunately, on their way out a photographer snapped them, and Garbo became upset. The press in London was very persistent, constantly hounding Garbo and making her life difficult. The night she was rumoured to be dining with Ulanova, a crowd of photographers gathered in the street, and Garbo’s companions speculated about her escaping over the garden wall at the back of the house. Hal Burton called a taxi, in the hope that the reporters would give up, but no ruses worked. Finally Garbo and Cecile de Rothschild rushed out. Cecil wrote:

The effect was like a storm of atomic explosions. About twenty flashes went off again and again. It seems strange, now, that I should have been so upset. But my stomach was completely upside down – I was unable to sleep – Greta was very firm – & if not suspicious that I had in some way been directly responsible for such a scene said ‘The boys do too much talking – maybe it’s normal – they do talk – I don’t. Probably I’m not normal, but I shouldn’t probably see so much of Mr Beaton for a few days’. This horrified me – & I wondered whether or not the visit to the country would be ruined by the presence of a loitering photographer. I rang her & said that I couldn’t guarantee that there wouldn’t be inquisitive press around, and if she didn’t feel like taking the risk I would understand though be very unhappy. She was willing to take the risk & I was relieved beyond belief to find that whenever I looked out of the window fearing to see a flash bulb reflector I only saw a bundled up old yokel trundling off to get a can of milk.23

The weekend in the country was idyllic, Garbo in black slacks and sweater with a pink scarf, in good health and good spirits. She imitated everyone, and made ribald jokes as they watched the Bolshoi Ballet on television: ‘Much of the time the jokes were of a sexual nature & directed against me,’ wrote Cecil. ‘But they were innocuous and done with great charm.’²⁴ They explored the countryside, Ashcombe, and Salisbury Cathedral.

Cecile de Rothschild was with them, and Cecil examined his feelings about Garbo’s new companion: ‘The three of us got along well together – though I find Cecile – like myself, like everyone, wants to purloin Greta & make her give up her independence to them.’²⁵

They dined with Juliet Duff, who announced: ‘It doesn’t seem possible that 4 years has passed since Miss Garbo was last here!’ Nevertheless Garbo restricted her socialising and turned down an invitation from the Edens to visit Chequers. One day Garbo and Cecile went to visit Victor Rothschild at Cambridge. That evening Garbo had a headache, but was talkative. Cecil, on the other hand, had a gnawing worry to face. At the beginning of the evening Garbo had planted the idea that she might ‘rush away’. She confirmed her plan later that night: She would go back to Paris with Cecile & then on to America. She didn’t feel well – she was ‘topsy turvey’ – she didn’t feel able to cope with anything but a quiet life – of going to bed at 7 o’clock – I was terribly dejected. I had hoped she would come & stay in the country for quite a long time – that perhaps, even, we might get married. I told her that she had recently blamed me for not taking her by the scruff of her neck & marrying her – How could I now prevent her from making another mistake? ‘Oh I always make mistakes’. She took the matches out of a box & went through them as a lover pulls at the petals of a daisy. ‘She leaves – she doesn’t leave’ – I was convinced that they would come out that she wouldn’t leave – but with a gay laugh of triumph she said they came out that she should leave – & leave tomorrow. I felt sick – I’d had very little time with her alone – first the Gunthers – then Cecile – Now she is being delivered into the hands of the Rothschild set – Back to the rut of her ridiculous life in N.Y. – a life so unsuited to someone so near to the earth as she is.

We were both tired & somewhat fractious so argument would only become petulant – I took her back to Claridge’s then sank depressed into my bed. The next day we met for last minute shopping & packing – & then a lull before departure. She explained that she’d thought this out carefully – if she stayed on Cecile wouldn’t be here to take her into a shop – I was too busy to go with her – she couldn’t go alone – ‘But I’ve nothing to do for a month – I’ve kept this month clear for you – you should come to the country – & go for long walks – you’d feel better there & give yourself a chance to feel well – There’s always Doctor Gottfried in case of need’ . . . No she had panicked – had taken fright & rushed back to her habits – & now at the 13th hour she was uncertain. ‘Perhaps I’ve made a mistake – what if I unpack – Oh God I always make such mistakes’, & full of regrets we parted outside the hotel – I was very near to tears & she looked very forlorn, a white pinched face with dark eyes peering out of the windows & waving as the car with all its luggage on the roof drove out of sight.

There went my chances of marriage for another 4 years perhaps – but perhaps it was ridiculous to think ever of marriage – of her binding herself to anyone – and it was very sad for although she is difficult she is the person I most feel at ease with & attracted to – I feel completely natural with her – & everything we do together is simple, inevitable and delightful.26

Garbo was back in New York by the end of November, and Cecil was attending to practical matters. He wrote: ‘The only pale blue woollen underpants at Lillywhite’s are ankle-length. The knee length ones are in Royal blue, bright scarlet or canary yellow. What to do? Let me know.’27

To which Garbo responded promptly. She had given him the wrong address for the woollies. He must go to Harrod’s. He would find she was the same size as Lady Elizabeth von Hofmannsthal (she made a gallant stab at getting her name right). Her waist, alas, was now 29 inches.

Meanwhile she had no Manhattan news.²⁸

---

^fn1Georges Schlee and Garbo would now spend part of each summer at Villa Le Roc, while Valentina spent her summers in Venice as she had done for many years.

^fn2Peter Watson died suddenly on 3 May. There has been much subsequent speculation as to whether his death was from natural causes or whether he might have been murdered by his sinister friend, Norman Fowler. He almost certainly died of a heart attack in too hot a bath.

^fn3Dr Gottfried, Cecil’s doctor.

^fn4Galina Ulanova (b. 1910), Russian prima ballerina assoluta. This was the Bolshoi’s first tour of the West.