On this day, February 1, 2024, Natalia Mikhailovna Grigor passed away. A very brief notice on the theatre’s website, where she worked for almost sixty years, did not even mention her years of birth and death—although, if I am not mistaken, she was already over ninety.
First Encounters and Lasting Impressions
When I first began collaborating with the theatre in 1993, I vividly remember the impression Natalia Grigor made with her extraordinary versatility. A performance of Carmen was underway; Grigor was the stage director, guiding the performance. During the first intermission, she stepped in as répétiteur at the conductor’s request and accompanied the famous quintet—often prone to falling apart and requiring additional rehearsal. She did this brilliantly.
A Familiar Presence Since Odessa
Long before I came to the theatre—having been invited to revive Tchaikovsky’s The Maid of Orleans, conducted by Boris Ignatyevich Afanasyev—I had known Natalia Grigor since childhood. In Odessa, everyone with even a passing interest in opera knew her. She was the opera’s répétiteur, led countless concerts both in the theatre itself and at other venues where its artists performed.
The Voice of the Theatre
Yet the most memorable aspect of her work was her role as stage director guiding performances. Natalia had an exceptional command of vocal scores; in this, she was unrivalled. I recall a fine horn player once saying: “I cannot imagine the day when I will no longer hear Natasha’s voice: ‘Attention, fifteen minutes until the start of the performance.’” A little later: “Five minutes until the start of the performance. I invite the choir, orchestra, and soloists.” And finally: “I invite the conductor.”
Her voice over the internal radio became an inseparable part of each performance. It feels as though it still resonates in the wings, the curtain, the dressing rooms, and on the stage itself.
Integrity and Courage
Her director’s desk was often the focal point of many urgent and painful discussions, because she truly loved the theatre and cared deeply for it. During the difficult years of the 1990s, she was not afraid to call things by their proper names. This earned her great respect—truth spoken openly is rare in an institution like an opera house.
By then I was no longer working at the theatre, but I remember the immense sadness I felt when I learned that her request to extend her contract by a few months—so she could celebrate her sixtieth anniversary with the theatre—had been denied. I also recall feeling a quiet sense of relief that she did not have to switch to Ukrainian when this was demanded of leading directors; shortly before that order, she had already retired.
Tours, Loss, and Later Years
When we toured Italy in 1994 with Irina Molostova’s new production of The Maid of Orleans, I was happy to introduce her to that magical country. Yet the trip also brought deep sorrow: during that time, her father—Mikhail Grigor, a renowned sea captain—passed away in Odessa. She suffered greatly from not being there to close his eyes.
In her final years at the theatre, she increasingly preferred to guide ballet performances, which she also knew well. Many opera productions no longer gave her the satisfaction they once had; she found it difficult to accept the loss of quality, taste, and artistic standards that became particularly evident in the 1990s.
An Enduring Voice
As long as I live, Natasha’s voice will continue to sound within me—inviting soloists, the choir, and the orchestra onto the stage. And most solemnly: “The conductor to the orchestra.”
And then the miracle begins.
