A FEW WEEKS AGO, I came across a 1924 photo of a dancer named "Natacha Nattova." I'd never heard of her. It was a shot of her performance at a show in London.
You know what an old photograph can do. Often, you know nothing of its context, permitting the free rein of imagination. The person or event depicted seem lost in the past, in an irretrievably dark corner of history. Who was this striking woman? Commence quest. Soon, I beheld a YouTube video of a generally passé 1929 talkie that included a remarkably danger-defying dance sequence featuring three men manipulating a lovely baton and jump rope: Nattova.
I was intrigued anew. I soon got the (false) notion that our girl Nattova was one of the Ballet Russe, Monte Carlo, dancers c. 1930. One of that group's dancers was named Nina Natova—our Nattova sometimes spelled her surname "Natova"—and Nina's sister, Nathalie, was a soloist (though she did not sport the surname "Natova"). "Natacha," as it turns out, is a nickname for "Nathalie." The two women shared the same birth years and birth places. And so there you go.
But that's all just coincidence, as it turns out. At this point, discovery that our show-biz Nattova and ballet-biz Nathalie Hoyer/Branitzka are the same person would be astounding, if not impossible. (It was nice, however, learning about these Ballet Russe people and their adventures in Australia and beyond.)
I found an assortment of factoids, mostly from newspaper articles and ads, about Nattova's American vaudeville career, which seemed to extend from the late 20s into the 30s (possibly the mid-30s). I took some wrong turns, went down some blind alleys. I couldn't find much about our girl Natacha, which struck me as odd. Celebrities do not simply disappear! Or do they? Did she end up in a dilapidated mansion? Had she died in obscurity?
I learned that Nattova was born in Russia, fled with her family during the Revolution, settled in France, and trained there as a dancer. At some point, she was featured in the Folies Bergère.
I learned that Nattova was born in Russia, fled with her family during the Revolution, settled in France, and trained there as a dancer. At some point, she was featured in the Folies Bergère.
I kept poking and prodding the internet to learn more. Eventually, I learned that, already in 1923, she was well-known in Britain as a dancer (at fancy clubs) and, it seems, as an artists' model. She was part of the celebrated dance duo, "Myrio and Nattova," based apparently in Britain. She partnered, too, with a Mr. Rodion (See photo above).
Sparked perhaps by ambition or just American openness to new, highly-physical dance forms, in 1925, she moved to the U.S.—she seemed to drag Jan Myrio with her, at least for a while—and commenced an even more celebrated career as dancer, eventually developing a distinctive adagio act, immortalized on that early "talkie" in 1929. In some ways, she was a creature of the time, but one suspects that she marched to a drumbeat of her own. Her now-meager public trail includes nude artsy pics, and references to brawls, lawsuits, and poems. At one point, she was voted as having the best figure among foreigners (What a category!), or some such nonsense. One report notes that her beloved Great Dane died. So striking was her pose that she was immediately proposed to by a Prussian Prince. There's a photograph of Nattova with Jack London's widow. She patented her new act, complete with mechanical contraption, promising prosecution of potential plagiarists. Etc.
What a gal!
Recently, I learned that, in 1928, Nattova married a Russian-American dancer by the name of Nicholas Daks, who himself grew to some (minor) prominence, as, perhaps, Nattova's star faded. (Not sure about that.) I soon realized that articles about Mrs. "Natalie Daks" were in fact about our girl Nattova. And that led to discovery that Nattova, or, at any rate, Natalie/Nathalie Daks, moved to California, where she seemed to continue her low profile until her death, in Pasadena, in 1988.
Puzzles remain. Why did a woman so apparently hungry for celebrity (or was it something else?) turn her back on it? Why did she abandon her "Nattova" moniker in the 30s? Just what became of her after 1934? Why do records indicate that she was living with Daks in 1940 despite having divorced him in 1934? Why do records suggest that Daks, who married Nattova in 1928 and faced divorce proceedings with her in 1934, married yet another woman, also named Natalie, in 1932?
Got any answers? We'd love to hear from you.
You can follow my wacky path of discovery in these posts, starting with the post of September 20, 2014. If you want to. If you don't, that's fine too. Good luck.
—Roy Bauer, Trabuco Canyon, California (10/22/14)
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