Garbo: ‘I must be home before seven.’
VALENTINA AND GARBO lived in the same building, a few floors apart, for twenty-five years after Georges Schlee died. An understanding was established amongst the porters that if one madam buzzed to come down, then the other madam must wait. Garbo liked to go out by day, Madame Schlee by night. Indeed Garbo used to say: ‘I must be home before seven, before Madame Schlee goes out . . .1
The theory was that they would never meet, but of course from time to time they did. Sam Green recalled walking home with Garbo one evening, a little after seven, and seeing Valentina walking towards them. The Russian looked defiant and stared at the Swede. Garbo was bashful and looked away. It was an uncomfortable encounter.
Valentina retained certain friends, such as Gloria Vanderbilt, but her old age was rather lonely. She lived in New York all winter, and, maintaining the habit of a lifetime, spent her summers in Venice in a large suite at the Cipriani. The line there was that people ‘scattered when they saw her coming’. Her intensity, her eccentricity, her exaggerated Russian manner, and way of talking of religion and spooky, superstitious things held little general appeal. At times she was bad-tempered and quite unfriendly.
Cecil was one of those who made the pilgrimage to see Valentina. He took the elevator to the fourteenth floor and entered the apartment. Almost unique in New York, Valentina had a whole floor and more, with views uptown and downtown and across the East River to Queen’s. Her drawing room was grand and spacious with about eight large windows, below which, in the distance the traffic raced down the East River Drive. Leather bound books lined one wall, some of which were turned face on to display the motif on the front. Nothing in the apartment had changed since Schlee’s death. His pens still lay next to the blotter in his study, a profusion of photographs gave testament to a happy life together, none of the known dramas so much as hinted at. There were snaps of Valentina with Noël Coward and the Duchess of Windsor, and with Rex Harrison, who lived on the floor immediately above.
Cecil left an account of his visit to East 52nd Street in 1970:
Went to Valentina’s apartment in order to get from her one of her theatrical dresses for my museum collection [at the Victoria & Albert]. I have not been to the apartment for 20 years, partly because of the Schlee situation & Garbo – & only because Valentina is one of the worst cracking egocentric maniacs. Nowadays in retirement few people put up with her – so she was ready to give me all.
At first I was staggered to see how like Garbo’s apartment this is. Maybe it’s the same shape (it’s in the same building) but the flush of overdecoration is the same – the bad ormolu mixed with grand Louis XV. The eczema of flower paintings (bad on walls) & its really kitsch. However the shock was Valentina herself. Her teeth have been replaced by others, her nose looks fatter – her eyes smaller – she is colourless now – whereas she had once created a great effect of beauty. ‘Darrlink, do you like my hair?’ (She can’t speak English yet). ‘I wash it myself. I cut it – You feel it’ . . . She . . . talks with over emphasis of the hands – about the Windsors – & all the least interesting subjects. She eulogised an English-French style chair – she put the lights on for her Monticellis – then she showed me a huge hibiscus tree. It had been given to her when small by Maggie Teyte in exchange for a dress for Pelleas & Melisande. She had nurtured it with vitamins – new earth – washing – every sort of care – & she said that each time she returned from abroad it put out flowers to welcome her. It had put one out for me today.
It is remarkable how she manages to preserve her Russian way of life in this very difficult period. Somehow she still has a couple of maids to look after her – but otherwise she is very much alone – & she treats every small event as a great milestone. I liked very much the fuss that she made in supplying me with a drink of tonic water. The amount of ice to be carefully judged – & to the maid ‘Now please go & cut a nice slice of lemon’. Nothing offhand – great service taken over everything. In her own way there is no denying she is an artist.
Then she brought out a grey chiffon wisp of a dress she had made for Tammy Grimes in High Spirits.fn1 It was a masterpiece of cut & of mathematics. ‘It’s Chinese’, she said as she fingered the seams. I realised that she believes completely in her talent being god given & that it must be kept sacrosanct – & not abused – some manager had recently rung her for 5 costumes to be made in 4 days. She gave him the most appalling rebuke. When, having denuded herself of all but a pair of black knickers & a bra – she displayed the beauty of the dress in its manifold excellencies, she then proceeded to pack it up for me. She was at once a marvel – the old but delicate hands treated the silk folds with such exquisite care & gestures. It was a work of art to see her wrapping the wisp in some rather crumpled pieces of silk paper. ‘They are not new but they are clean’. This folded that way, that folded this way – up & over – she was leaning forward for a considerable time in an agonisingly painful position (she has lumbago) but she noticed nothing except what she was doing – preparing a work of art for posterity. As she manoeuvred the final gesture with the babylike sleeves folded into a little roll, she leant down & kissed it. ‘Goodbye’, she said. It was really very touching – because absolutely genuine.2
Ten years later, Valentina met Diana Vreeland at Gloria Vanderbilt’s, and invited her to dinner. Mrs Vreeland duly went, and recalled that it was all very formal. There were lots of toasts and grinnings, raising of glasses at each other, but not much conversation. Mrs Vreeland’s conclusion was harsh: ‘It was kind of hard to see how the twenty-four hours went round,’ she said.3 But by this time Valentina was well into her eighties and was declining into illness and confusion. In the summer of 1984 she was found wandering in Venice and only just escaped being taken into hospital. Her Venice days over, she remained in New York thereafter, enduring various spells in hospitals but always coming home to East 52nd Street. A victim of Parkinson’s disease, she was attended by a series of nurses. In extreme old age she used to go down and sit in the lobby, observing the few comings and goings in the building. She died on 14 September 1989, said to be aged ninety. Her funeral was held on the morning of 18 September, by some strange irony Garbo’s 84th birthday.
Valentina was a largely forgotten figure, but she was given a good send-off. Bill Blass was one who paid tribute to her: ‘She made wonderful clothes but nobody looked as well in them as she did.’4
A few days after Valentina’s death, the elevator attendant at 450 East 52nd Street saw Garbo leaving her apartment. He broke the news to her that Madame Schlee had died. Garbo burst into tears.
Garbo was already a lame, if defiant old lady. In the weeks that followed, the contents of Valentina’s apartment were sold at Christie’s East, and increasingly grim photographs were taken of Garbo on her occasional excursions for medical treatment. Seven months after Valentina’s death, on 15 April 1990, Garbo died in New York Hospital.
fn1Tammy Grimes starred in High Spirits, a musical version of Blithe Spirit in New York in 1964.