Translated material
Kostroma, Youth Theater
excerpt from memories
Print Natalia EtingofNatalia Borisovna Etingof was born in 1913 in St. Petersburg. Her parents are professional revolutionary B. E. Etingof, a lawyer and artist by training, and A. A. Mukharinskaya, a lawyer. N. B. Etingof spent his childhood and early youth in Tiflis in the large family of his maternal grandfather, military doctor A. A. Mukharinsky, professor of medicine and bacteriology. This enlightened family, already estranged from the patriarchal Jewish world, was distinguished by a deep interest in Russian and European culture; all children were educated in Europe; Natalia Borisovna’s mother graduated from the Sorbonne.
N. B. Etingof's parents separated in the early 1920s; the father worked in Moscow, but kept in touch with the children and took care of their upbringing. In 1929, N.B. Etingof and his mother and brother also moved to Moscow. In 1934, she graduated from the directing department of the newly created theater institute, GITIS. She completed her diploma internship at the Arkhangelsk City Theater, and after graduating from GITIS she worked at the Maly Theater as an assistant director. In 1937, her father was expelled from the party and deprived of his job, she also lost her job and was expelled from the Komsomol. At this moment, N.B. Etingof came in handy with her drawing abilities. To survive, she and her father spent some time making portraits of leaders. Then she managed to find a place in the provincial theater - the Kostroma Youth Theater, where she was artistic director in 1938-1940; For some time she also worked at the Yaroslavl Youth Theater as a stage director.
Along with the classical repertoire, N. B. Etingof also staged new plays by Soviet playwrights, including “The Snow Queen” by Schwartz (1938) and “The Fairy Tale” by Svetlov (1939) (she was among the first directors of both plays).
Probably the most interesting thing during this period was her work on Bulgakov’s dramatization of Cervantes’s novel Don Quixote. At the same time, Bulgakov’s play was staged at the Moscow Theater. Evg. Vakhtangov, but the premiere took place there only on April 8, 1941, a year after Bulgakov’s death. Information about the production of “Don Quixote” by N.B. Etingof in the Kostroma Youth Theater has never been published and is unknown to Bulgakov scholars, possibly because the theater was closed immediately after the war. K If you believe N.B. Etingof, chronologically the Kostroma production was either the first or the second, almost simultaneously with the one that was carried out in the spring of 1940 at the theater. A. N. Ostrovsky in Kineshma . Unfortunately, N.B. Etingof herself, who prepared the play in the last months of her pregnancy, was no longer present at the premiere, which apparently took place at the end of April 1940, and does not remember its exact date. Thanks to her work on Don Quixote, she also learned about her father’s acquaintance with Bulgakov, dating back to the times of the Civil War, when the future writer was in Vladikavkaz [1] .
During the war, N.B. Etingof and her family were evacuated to Sverdlovsk. Upon returning to Moscow, she entered the graduate school of GITIS, where, among the first graduate students of the institute, she studied with V. G. Sakhnovsky and at the same time taught directing to students until she was left without work during the campaign against cosmopolitanism. In 1948, N.B. Etingof moved to Riga with her husband and two daughters. She worked for several years at the Riga Youth Theater and at the Daugavpils Theater, then directed youth theater studios in Riga. In 1993, she immigrated to Israel and has lived in Jerusalem ever since.
Since 1981, she began writing memoirs about her long and interesting life, as well as about the people she met. Her “Tales of Ancestors” were published in two issues of the magazine “Zerkalo” for 1995 and 1996 in Tel Aviv; small fragments of an essay about the Maly Theater were published in 2000 in the newspaper Posrednik (Philadelphia, USA) and in 2001 in the New Journal (New York, USA). Her most voluminous publication: Etingof N. Portraits with a dry brush. Jerusalem: Alphabet, 2000.
I
The station from Kostroma was three or four kilometers away, there were no trams or buses. Drudge along a boring road, with a suitcase in your hand and a bag on your shoulder. And as you enter the city, the street rises up and leads to a square with a square and a covered market at the far end. Two steps from the market, on the clay bank of the Volga, vast and bright, it nestled - a small theater, so miserable that you could neither notice nor notice it...
I was destined to serve there for two years, and now... what do you say? I don’t remember, for the life of me, what its façade looked like [2] . But I remember very well that closet at the entrance, with a telephone, which was importantly called “office”, and next to it was an equally cramped room where there were several chairs and a mini-billiards with metal balls - the actors’ foyer, also known as the smoking room. The actors played this billiards between their appearances on stage.
Oh, what a scene that was! At most 8 meters deep and a little more wide, along the proscenium. There are two dressing rooms behind the stage: one for women, the other for men. That's all the amenities. Five or six steps down are the prop and costume rooms. Everything is so meager, poor... However, on the stage there are two rows of strong cloth and two backdrops - black and blue. Grate bars, well-equipped soffit, and several remote spotlights. It was said that six or seven years before me, Alexey Dmitrievich Popov, my short-lived mentor at GITIS, began his directorial career here. It was he who laid the foundation of the theater industry.
And the hall is very small - there are 400 seats, and there is also a balcony in two rows. From the corridor that went around the hall, a staircase ascended to the balcony in one long flight with a platform on which a buffet was located during performances, and table rehearsals often took place during the day.
The troupe of our theater for young spectators consists of 20 actors, including five or six quite gifted people. In addition to the actors, there were also technical staff: a prop man, two dressmakers, also known as dressmakers, a hairdresser, a lighting technician, attendants on duty at performances, a stage manager and two workers. And there are two of us directors: I am in charge and the not very young director Evgeniya JI. - a plump, tired woman. Yes, there was also a dead woman - businesslike, smart. The director of the theater was at first a confused, inexperienced man, who was quickly replaced by another - more energetic and intelligent. He was a short, round Jew named Vladimir Davidovich. He was quite dexterous and led our theater crew for the two years that I was there. An intelligent director is a great success for the theater, but we were unlucky with an artist.
The play I started with is “The Snow Queen” based on the play by Schwartz.
At the very first rehearsals, I realized that two drag queens would carry the play. One of them, Verochka Morgunova, charming, talented and pretty, did not study at theater school. The daughter of provincial actors, she grew up in the theater, where she was involved “from a young age.” The second, Lida Pinegina, angular, boyish, came to the theater from amateur performances, but had an undoubted stage talent. The remaining main roles in the play went to two young couples who graduated from the Leningrad Theater Institute. By a funny twist of fate, they were almost namesakes - Semanovichi and Simanovichi. Semanovich's wife Nina Kobzina was our Snow Queen. She and her husband were a Russian couple, and Simanovich and his wife Bokon were a Jewish couple. Both couples were capable and interesting - both husbands and wives. There were also: the gentle, pleasant actor Kalinovsky, our storyteller; an elderly quite decent actor who played a deer; two older supporting actresses.
There was just a problem with the artist; it’s sad that we couldn’t find a replacement for him. And my performance turned out to be without design, fortunately there was good lighting equipment and dark cloth - so we played on them, inserting between them - the king’s throne, then the window in Gerda’s room, then ice figures in the Snow Queen’s palace, etc. Many the stages were drowned in darkness, and only the rays of searchlights pulled out the figures of actors and details from the darkness. It’s unlikely that I would have been able to create the right atmosphere if I hadn’t been lucky with the lighting designer - a smart, cheerful guy - and with the prop maker with the strange surname Ventsenostsev. He was a gloomy, unsociable man, but at the same time talented and inventive - oh, how cleverly he made the roses in Gerda’s box bloom and wither with the help of rubber tubes! And how beautiful and expressive the masks of the ravens and deer were, how decorated the throne was, and what a fire he built in the robbers’ scene!
Thanks to the efforts of the director, musicians were soon added to the small composition of our theater: a pianist, a violinist and a drummer, who is also a trumpeter - an orchestra of all things! The pianist turned out to be a real treasure - she herself offered to select and partially compose the music for the performance, and such lovely music, with such taste! In the scene with the ghosts, she especially charmed us, and in Gerda's journey on the deer, music played a major role. We were lucky with the storyteller - Kalinovsky quickly sensed the style of the performance and was gentle and slightly ironic. I introduced him along with the characters - he appeared on stage, talking about the ups and downs happening to Gerda throughout the entire action. I borrowed this technique from the Moscow Art Theater play “Sunday,” in which Kachalov was the host. It was easy and pleasant to work with the young Sema- and Simanovichs, including Kobzina - the Snow Queen; however, it was rumored that she copied my shows. When working with actors, I used not only the story and explanations, but also quite a lot of demonstration.
And only with Sonechka Bokon - the little robber - did nothing work out for me. Hot, temperamental, she poked around confusedly, was nervous, and said: “I don’t know what to do.” And no matter how much I explained to her and showed her, nothing helped! But here Jl came to the rescue. She gave the actress a movement under almost every word, dictating and saying: “Come to me, turn your head and extend your hand, saying: “Oh, what are you!”, lean back and stamp your foot.” Jl. worked with her like a puppet. I admit, I never knew such a method. And only many years later, when staging Moretto’s “Portrait” at the Daugavpils Theater, I encountered the same actor. He demanded that I break down all his actions into the smallest pieces and dictate every movement in them. We have to give JI credit. — her puppet played its role charmingly. While working on the play, I often departed from the preliminary plan, improvising on the fly, and I realized that this had a beneficial effect on the actors: my freedom evoked a response in them.
But now it comes to costumes. In the absence of sketches, we discussed with the actors what they should wear, and then they ordered their costumes from dressmakers. With our meager resources we had to somehow get out. But when it came to fur coats for Gerda and the little robber, we couldn’t think of anything better than to sew a coat from a brown flannel with appliqués like reindeer fur coats, like Eskimo ones. Eh, poverty is not a vice...
After a simple editing rehearsal, it took a long time to carefully set up the light. But finally, we came to dress rehearsals: there were two of them, and, thank God, they went well. This time, for some reason, I was very worried and on the day of the premiere, unable to withstand the painful anticipation, I refused to meet with the invited guests: school teachers who came to this screening, representatives of the city Komsomol committee, drama theater actors and others. Having left this function to the director, I ran to the volleyball court behind the theater.
It was the end of October, but the unusually warm “Indian summer” continued. Having joined the players, I soon became so carried away that I completely forgot all my fears and all my responsibility. I woke up when the indignant director loudly called me and grabbed me by the hand: “It’s already the first call, I’ve been looking for you everywhere, and here you are! Like a girl, you forgot everything in the world! hurry to the hall!"
Under repeated calls, I managed to run up to the balcony and, huddled in a corner, watched my performance. There is nothing more painful: all the mistakes in the construction of the action, all the false parts in the performances of the actors, everything that I had not noticed before - all this now fell upon me. And the audience - schoolchildren in grades 6-7 - reacted so vigorously, so wonderfully to everything we presented to them, that they were doubly ashamed of their mistakes and lies.
Two weeks passed, every day except Mondays we played “The Snow Queen” from 4 to 6.30 pm, and the hall was regularly filled. As we found out, many of the guys watched the performance two or three times. True, our young spectators did not always behave impeccably: it happened that “fabzaytsy” (students of the factory director) brought bottles of beer with them and threw them at the actors they didn’t like. They made noise, jumped up from their seats, and our attendants, two middle-aged women, had to throw them out of the hall with a scandal. And it was even worse when punks, street children, running away from orphanages, where life was far from sweet, entered the theater. In those pre-war years there were quite a few of them in Kostroma; they gathered in gangs near the market and at the station. When they climbed into the theater, there was a solid mat in the hall.
One day, without warning, a commission came to us, visiting Youth Theaters in the cities of the RSFSR, headed by the famous Bryantsev, the founder of the first Youth Theater in Leningrad. It was a handsome, sweet old man and two teacher-type women. And it just so happened that that day my teeth hurt, and by the time the commission arrived, the pain had reached its climax. I was unable to utter a word. The conversation was conducted by the director and L., and I just mumbled. I liked the performance, the commission members did not notice the lack of scenery, praised the actors, and found in it a purely studio atmosphere “in the best sense,” as the benevolent Bryantsev explained to me. A month and a half later, a review article about Tyuzov’s performances appeared in the newspaper “Iskusstvo”, where my “Snow Queen” was highlighted.
And this “Snow Queen” played a special joke on me. I stood in line at the checkout counter of a store on the square. The cashier worked slowly, the line sleepily froze... and suddenly I saw a boy of about eleven carefully taking a wallet out of his pocket in front of the woman. I called out to her loudly: “Citizen in a white shawl, be careful!” The woman shuddered, grabbed her pocket, the boy dropped his wallet and immediately disappeared. “Having finished shopping,” I left the store and took a few steps. And before she had time to blink, she found herself surrounded by a crowd of street children. One of them, an older one, said: “Oh, you bitch, spy, take it! I’ll paint your whole face!” Something flashed in his hand, raised above me, but at the same moment another boy shouted: “Stop! Don’t touch her - she’s the “snow queen”!” And the hand with the razor, as I saw here, stopped. The guy looked at me carefully and said: “Well, your luck is that you are the snow queen...” He whistled, and all the punks scattered at that moment. My dear Kobzina, how can I thank you for playing me so well! But we are not very similar - she is taller and more beautiful than me, but her gestures, her manner... Obviously, they misled the boys.
2
Every two weeks I went to Moscow to visit my “ancestors” and Semyon-Simka, we were already together then. Arriving in Moscow, the first thing I did was go to the Sandunovskie baths: in my Kostroma “hotel” there were no such amenities as a bath or shower. I returned on Tuesday by night train, in a reserved seat carriage (there were no compartment cars on that road then). Only in the second year of my stay in Kostroma did a “bus” finally appear from the station, but what a bus it was! A truck whose body was covered with plywood and several benches were placed inside.
I started working on Goldoni's "A Woman's Gossip" [3] . This time we had a good artist from the drama theater. And I ordered the music from a real composer - it seems Kabaldinov, who directed the musical part of the drama theater.
I appointed Vera Morgunova to play the role of the heroine of the play Kikina. As always, she rehearsed with great dedication and was very good in the performance - that’s who the makeup completely transformed. After pale, in a gray dress, outwardly completely inconspicuous Gerda, a bright, lively, hot, brave and slightly funny Italian girl suddenly appeared here. I have rarely met artists who achieved real transformation. Verochka was such an artist - from God! And where did she get the material to create her images? After all, she wasn’t very educated and didn’t read many books, but come on! And another drag queen, Pinegina, simply shone in this work. Her role was invented by me: it was something like a character from the commedia dell'arte, a zani servant. She appeared on the proscenium during a change of scenery - in the image of a street urchin, a bully, carefree, impudent, and sang poems set to music, which I partly selected, partly composed. I did not hesitate, although it was contrary to time and style, to insert Burns’s poem “A log will remain a log in both orders and ribbons” - a tease to the important lords who left the stage. Pinegina sang, danced, dashingly did handstands - and the young audience liked her extremely. Mikhail Simanovich played the role of Truffaldino cheerfully, deftly and funny. In general, the performance turned out to be lively and touching. I almost didn’t suffer when I watched it in front of an audience, and I watched some parts, like Lida Pinegina’s songs or Kikina’s squabbles with the gossips, with real pleasure. The performance was received very well not only by children, but also by adults. The selection committee praised him and announced to us that in the spring there would be a show in Yaroslavl, in which all the theaters of the Yaroslavl region would take part.
But before the play was released to the public, I experienced some pretty dark moments. The night before the dress rehearsal, an assembly room was scheduled: on our cramped stage, it was necessary to build an entire street with houses from which the gossips appeared on both sides. Moreover, this street had to be almost instantly blocked by a wall with cut-out windows, the so-called gallery, forming an interior that still had to be furnished. And all this in a matter of minutes. The change had to happen twice - not an easy task. Therefore, the editing room was scheduled with time to spare for 8 pm immediately after the previous performance was supposed to be removed from the stage.
I arrived exactly at 8 o'clock. The performance was not cleaned up and there were no workers. It wasn’t even behind the scenes, he came an hour later, and the workers showed up only at the eleventh hour with the words: “Come on, what’s the hurry, we’re here at once.” The artist was away, and I had to manage it myself. The workers actually cleared the stage “at once” and sat down to have a smoke. The smoke break lasted until 12 at night. The stage manager tried to lift them several times; he personally brought two stakes (walls). But they just laughed, and when he tried to raise his voice, they sent him away, not at all embarrassed by me. Then I got angry: “Well, how much can you sing?” They replied: “What? Is yours on fire, or what?” And they moved from the front of the stage, where they were sitting, into the depths - into the shadows. I turned to the stage manager, but he just shrugged: “What can I do?” I walked around the hall in irritation. Time was passing with some malicious speed. It was already three o’clock in the morning... And then I couldn’t stand it and exploded - I didn’t even suspect that I could swear like that. I swore at them - yes, yes, out of nowhere, the rudest obscene words appeared! And as I accelerated, the workers perked up, they came out of the shadows and when I fell silent, choked, one of them said: “Wow! Now it’s clear that you are a director, and not a girl, you should have been like that a long time ago!” And the other one gently began to reassure: “Well, don’t worry! You better cheer us up, give us half a liter, and everything will go well. You need to understand the working man!” - “Where can I get vodka now, at night?” “And that’s our concern,” they answered cheerfully. - "How old are you?" - “Yes, a little, ten for two half a liter and a snack.” - “Here, to hell with you!” - “That’s how it would be right away!” Half an hour later they showed up with vodka, pickles and bread. - “Will you have a drink with us?” - asked the workers, sitting down on the side of the stage. - “Go to hell! Give me a piece of bread and a cucumber, I even want to eat out of anger.”
When they got down to business at five o'clock in the morning, the objects were still flying in their hands, and by 9 o'clock in the morning the mounting was completed. “Forgive them,” said the stage manager. “They’re always used to it this way.” - “Why didn’t you say it right away?” - “Yes, I was embarrassed, after all, you are a girl... But still, you are great!” - and off stage he patted me on the shoulder.
So, at the spring show we had to show two performances. In order not to offend JI., we decided that the second performance would be her production - “Blue and Pink” by Brushtein [4] . But when she passed the first run-through in the spring, it became obvious that the play could not go on in this form. We sat down with her and, looking through piece by piece, corrected them, the action was sluggish. JI. it was hard and offensive, there was little left of the old drawing. She went through two rehearsals and, calling in sick, left for Moscow.
And Slava Semanovich sat down at the director’s table with me and began to quietly tell me his suggestions regarding his wife Nina Kobzina. She played the role of a high school student rebelling against the official atmosphere in the gymnasium. Semanovich did not hide the fact that in practice they participated in the crowd at the Leningrad Theater in the production of this play, from where he drew his sensible tips. And I got carried away by the work - it was interesting to direct someone else’s performance: unexpectedly successful finds would appear. The actors also came to life. Two and a half weeks later, at the start of the show, “Blue and Pink” took on a completely different look. But L. did most of the rough work, and I insisted that she come to the show and present her performance.
I vaguely remember how the review took place. I only remember “Peter I” of the Yaroslavsky - the old Volkovsky - theater. But I cannot forget the result of this competition, because, I will not hide, I experienced great joy when our small, pitiful Youth Theater received second prize, after the reputable Yaroslavl Theater. For the play "Woman's Gossip" I was awarded the most valuable gift for me, a certificate-booklet that gave me the right to free admission to all theaters in Moscow for a whole year. There haven’t been many victories in my life, so I’m writing about this one without false modesty.
This is how my first year in Kostroma ended in a big way, I didn’t go on tour, having received a vacation to watch theaters, and that summer I saw enough of both the performances of Moscow theaters and guest performers.
3
While looking for a play for the second season, I went through a lot of manuscripts and settled on “The Fairy Tale” by M. Svetlov. I was impressed by Alexei Dikiy’s play “Deep Province,” staged at the All-Union Central Council of Trade Unions theater (there was one at Chistye Prudy, but, unfortunately, lasted no more than four years). Dikiy's production, like all his works, was unusual and interesting; and in this play by Svetlov, as in “The Fairy Tale,” there was an atmosphere of lightness and naturalness. And most of all, I was captivated by Svetlov’s poems generously scattered throughout the text, which combined elation and irony at the same time. This play is from the life of students, there are many comedic scenes and jokes in it, but few conflict situations, few events - the action, as they said then, “sagged.” I felt it, but I could not saturate it with content.
And the fact that I entrusted one of the central roles - the boy Shurik - to Verochka, was a mistake: I believed so much in her acting attractiveness that I hoped for success this time too, but it turned out that she was very stereotyped in the roles of boys. Age also had an effect: at 26 years old there was no longer any lightness or mobility. The actors who played the students learned to read poetry decently, but the lack of real dramatic material and clear characters did not contribute to the creation of full-fledged images. And only the actor who played the deer so well in “The Snow Queen” created a very convincing image of the old forest man in this performance.
I was upset by the not very successful work, but the commission from Yaroslavl, which accepted the performance, reacted to it quite positively. The representative of the regional arts administration showed neither knowledge of the theater nor taste in his assessments. Regarding the performance as a whole, he spun some kind of nonsense, but it was very laudatory. With him came an impressive-looking man, introduced to us as a director named Matvey Vladimirovich. During the speech of the representative of the art department, he sat with his lips pursed skeptically, and in his speech he noted only a few successful moments and delicately pointed out the weak ones.
After discussing the performance, a representative of the management said that Matvey Vladimirovich, whom we had already met, would replace JI., who was leaving of her own free will. This was a complete surprise, both for her and for Matvey Vladimirovich. “But we haven’t agreed on anything yet!” - he said confusedly. “Nothing, nothing, we’ll sort it out,” the official replied, grinning. And poor Evgeniya JI., turning purple as if from a blow, could hardly wait until the end of the meeting. The fact that they did this to L., without warning her, without explaining the reason, amazed us: this rude, wild manifestation of tyranny was like a shot from around the corner.
We began to be loudly indignant, which did not stop this “artist”; he left without looking back. I felt very sorry for Zhenya JI. and it’s terrible that she might suspect me or any of the actors in this vile dismissal. And we, several people, caught up with Evgenia, who was leaving hastily, and expressed our indignation at this decision. She thanked us, but asked us not to do this. Yes, everything was insulting, but it coincided with her desire to submit a letter of resignation for personal reasons, only she intended to do this after the release of Ostrovsky’s “The Kindergarten,” which she had been working on for almost a month. During a conversation taking place on the street, Matvey Vladimirovich came up and, for his part, asked Zhenya not to think that he knew about this official’s intentions; he came to receive the performance and get acquainted with the theater, intending to stage one performance with us in the future. He strongly disagrees with the fact that it is being disposed of so arbitrarily.
Subsequently, I became convinced of his integrity, and Zhenya began to trust him. So when he returned a few days later, she, who had already submitted her resignation letter and a request to entrust Matvey Vladimirovich with finishing her performance, greeted him kindly and began to introduce him to her work.
Soon the department representative was transferred to another area of party work. He was replaced to head the theater department of the Yaroslavl administration by a certain Deysmore, an unpleasant man, clearly a career man, but relatively erudite and sharp.
4
During the rehearsal of “The Kindergarten,” I went to Moscow to look for a play “to my liking.” I really wanted to stage Don Quixote: it seemed to me that our youth needed a play about nobility, selflessness and the fight against injustice. Since childhood, I have loved this funny and sad book with Doré's drawings [5] . I re-read almost all the dramatizations and... lost heart: they distorted Cervantes so mediocrely. Even though you could take on the dramatization yourself, it would take time, and there wasn’t much of it left before the release of The Kindergarten. And then they told me that the Vakhtangov students were rehearsing “Don Quixote” staged by Bulgakov [6] . Oh Bulgakova! - that's what I need. But it turned out that the text is available only at the Vakhtangov Theater.
I was young and determined then, and without thinking twice, I showed up at the theater. There I found out that B. Zahav was directing Don Quixote. I knew him from the directing department at GITIS. I also learned that Zakhava was also the director of the theater at that time. He greeted me friendly and let me read the play on the spot in his office, while he went off to rehearsal. I greedily devoured this entire big play - it was Cervantes, not distorted, genuine! When Zahava returned to his office, I asked to give me a copy, but no such luck! — “The Vakhtangov students have the right to first stage!” And no matter how much I begged, citing the insignificance of my theater, which could not compete with their magnificent theater, he was inexorable. Finally he said: “Try to go to Bulgakov, ask him if he agrees... but it’s unlikely, he’s sick and no one is allowed to see him.” Zakhava gave me the address, and without hesitation, I immediately flew to Nashchokinsky, to the House of Writers.
Elena Sergeevna opened the door for me and dryly asked why I came. I babbled something not very intelligently to her. Obviously, I was very worried, because she softened, offered to sit down - right there at a table in the hall - and began to ask questions. I said why I think that young people need Don Quixote, and how all the stupid alterations upset me, and that today I finally read Mikhail Afanasyevich’s play and... well, etc. Apparently, Elena Sergeevna liked my answers, and she asked what my last name was. Then suddenly the door from the room opened, and a thin man in a jacket thrown over a shirt with an open collar walked in - it was HIM! I recognized him from his portraits. “What did you say your last name was?” I repeated. “What do you have to do with Boris Etingof?” [7] I replied that this was my father. “Are you Etingof’s daughter?!” Lucy, this is Etingof's daughter! I heard that you want to stage my Don Quixote? Here Elena Sergeevna became alarmed: “Misha, get out of here right now, you can’t jump up!” She began to slowly push him towards the door. “Wait, you understand, this is his daughter! Give her a better copy, please! Your father is a very good man...” He said these words already at the door. Elena Sergeevna did not give him finish: “Go away, go away! I’ll give, don’t worry, I’ll definitely give.” She apologized to me: “He can’t get up, he’s sick.” And I only now noticed how exhausted and tired her face was. This was at the end of November 1939. For more than half a century I have kept this conversation in my memory, maybe not verbatim, but very close to what actually happened. There are unforgettable things! That's all my acquaintance with this wonderful man.
Shocked by the meeting, happy that I had so successfully acquired the precious play, I pressed it to my heart, jumped out onto the slushy, twilight street and... suddenly stopped. Only then did I realize that all this happened thanks to my dad. How did Bulgakov know him and why did he treat him so well? What connected them? It was a mystery that I could not solve for many years. It’s sad that I didn’t immediately tell my dad about this meeting, I didn’t have time - the next day I left for Yaroslavl, they called me, and there everything started to turn...
And only many years later, after reading “The Biography of Mich. Bulgakov" by M. Chudakova, I thought about this riddle again. She described Bulgakov’s meeting with his father at the Nikitin subbotnik, very strange, silent, but passionate: they hugged and stood silently for two minutes and just as silently dispersed [8] . I can judge how dad treated Bulgakov from one small episode. When “Fatal Eggs” came out, my father was delighted and said to me: “Have you read it? Read, read this thing! It's brilliant, simply superbly written, and such wild imagination! I laughed so hard! I thought he was damn talented. Hey son of a bitch! I was not mistaken." Going through my childhood memories, I came to the conclusion that when in 1920 my father was the head of the department of public education in Vladikavkaz, he could not help but meet with Bulgakov. Sick of typhus, Bulgakov was stuck in Vladikavkaz, lagging behind the retreating White army, in which he was a military doctor. He hid his past and joined Leto. There he began to work actively: giving lectures, reports, running a drama studio, writing plays and articles. His father noticed him, appreciated the talented man and protected him from informers who identified the “white officer.” Hating informers, his father could not help but protect him. There are few people who retain throughout their lives the memory of those who did a good deed for them; such a person was Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov.
And then, in the fall of 1939, I didn’t even understand what tragedy touched me in the Bulgakovs’ apartment, I didn’t understand how seriously, irreversibly ill this wonderful writer was and why Elena Sergeevna’s face was so exhausted. I realized this on March 10, 1940, when Bulgakov passed away.
5
The next morning, Daysmore’s secretary called from Yaroslavl and conveyed his request to come tomorrow for negotiations on the production of the Georgian folk tale “About the Brave Kikil” at the Yaroslavl Youth Theater. Apparently, the director of this Youth Theater suddenly left, and there was an urgent need to replace him. It was a great pity to postpone work on Don Quixote, but we couldn’t refuse: we had to help out the theater. It was not without pleasure that I took on the production of this Georgian play with its funny situations and funny characters. Georgia is my first homeland, the national nature of all the jokes and tricks of the fairy tale heroes is dear and familiar to me. Taking with me a suitcase with underwear, I was in Yaroslavl the next morning.
For some reason, we rehearsed not in the premises of the Youth Theater, but in the empty hall of some club with a large stage. In the hall there was only a table for me and a few chairs for the actors. I met them after watching two performances, also not in their theater, but in a hall that they rented in another club. I liked one of the performances - “There Was Not a Penny” by Ostrovsky, especially one young actor who played the idiotic hero of this play and charmed me with his lightness and true comedy. I really wanted to cast him in my play, but, unfortunately, the roles had already been assigned. A new middle-aged actor was assigned to the main role of K and Kila, this typical kinto, and this talented young man was given a small cameo role. The wife of Kikila, a loud, hectic woman, was also a middle-aged actress, Daysmore's wife.
Soon, while rehearsing with both of them, I became convinced that this couple was quite a heavy burden. The new actor, who was recommended to me as a valuable asset to the theater, turned out to be little receptive and not very gifted. He began work with great aplomb, objected to me, resisted my instructions, swaggered around, but, convinced of his inadequacy, he suddenly collapsed, became timid and lost all independence. I, in turn, lost all respect for him, shouted at him, got angry - I was annoyed that the funny image of a cunning coward went to such an unsuitable actor. One day I got so angry that in a rage I threw an inkwell that came to hand at him; fortunately, she did not hit him and crashed against the side of the stage. To my surprise, my action caused not indignation, but admiration among the actors. People obviously need a "steady hand." I rehearsed in an extravagant position - sitting on a table on which I placed my chair, because the stage was very high and it was impossible to see anything from below.
At first it was difficult for me with Daysmore’s wife Regina, an actress who did not have a certain personality, but was very obedient and accurately followed all instructions. Here L.’s lesson helped me to a certain extent - I broke Regina’s actions into small pieces, under which I put all her movements, and also suggested intonations, which was a complete “fall” on my part. At the same time, she did not feel humiliated; on the contrary, she was full of gratitude.
Soon she invited me to move into their hotel, into the office of Daysmore, who had gone to Moscow for some courses. She made this proposal after she went into the house where I lived and saw that there were no amenities there, that the wall separating me from the kitchen did not reach the ceiling and that the room was cold. And, most importantly, what she saw with her keen woman’s eyes: I was six months pregnant, although it was not yet noticeable to others. This energetic woman quickly and efficiently packed my suitcase, made an agreement with the hostess, and that same evening I reigned in Daysmore’s “office.” Regina herself occupied the room opposite. At first I ate lunch in the dining room, where the food gradually became worse and worse; One day, bear meat appeared on the menu - sweetish and disgusting. The outbreak of the Finnish War affected the supply of food to the city. Regina, who was cooking for Daysmore and herself, decided to invite me to eat with her during his absence. I happily agreed. To avoid awkwardness, she calculated the cost of lunches and breakfasts with German accuracy, and from now on I “didn’t know grief.” She cooked deliciously and nutritiously, and soon I felt surrounded by the care and attention of this outwardly dry, businesslike, but essentially sweet, sympathetic woman.
It must be admitted that the atmosphere of goodwill - both at rehearsals and at home - greatly contributed to the success of the work; the performance gradually began to take shape, and even the role of Kikila began to take shape: the poor actor tried very hard, and at times a certain charm appeared in him. We were lucky with the artist - he felt the specificity of the Georgian spirit, the charm of a unique village way of life. He and I discussed in detail the details of the structure of the saklya and the surrounding nature, fenced with a palisade with jugs drying on it. I didn’t know Pirosmani then - that’s who I could borrow some colorful traits from.
Towards the end of my life in Yaroslavl, Verochka and two other actors came from Kostroma for two days, one of them was new, whose name was Sasha. They were called to Yaroslavl to receive an award for the play “The Pupil”. Matvey Vladimirovich came with them. The guys spoke of him with praise, but he received a new offer and the other day he was going to leave Kostroma.
By this time Daysmore had returned. He received “Kikila” favorably and praised me. The department awarded me, the artist, my tormentor Kikila and Regina a sum of money. To my surprise, Kikila warmly thanked me for working with him, and Regina, parting with me, was sincerely upset.
6
I went to Moscow for a few days, where during my stay in Yaroslavl I went only once, on New Year’s Eve, 1940. Things were alarming in Moscow; the previously carefree attitude towards the “small war” was replaced by concern. My Semyon, a student at the Air Force Academy, told me about the increased mobilization of military personnel, and this alarmed me very much: “Yes, soon it may be the turn of us, the students.” The atmosphere thickened every day. Moscow was still supplied with food, but the surrounding cities were experiencing difficulties - in other words, they were starving. Yes, and bag makers have appeared in Moscow. When I arrived in Kostroma, there were long lines for bread, and the stores were empty. My actors, especially family actors, were tightening their belts.
For several days in Moscow, I did not have time to prepare for the rehearsals of Don Quixote [9] . I was especially concerned about the choice of actors and, first of all, about Don Quixote himself. Actually, there was no one to choose from: either Kalinovsky or the new actor Sasha, he played the role of her patron quite decently in “The Kindergarten,” but would he pull off such an eccentric role? It became clear to me that Kalinovsky was not Don Quixote as soon as I began to mentally try him on for this role; he was too soft and lethargic. Sasha was tall and thin, he looked the part, but what was his temperament? After some hesitation, I finally decided to appoint him to this role. But for Sancho, I without hesitation appointed Mikhail Simanovich, an intelligent, flexible actor and a pronounced comedian; True, the character of Sancho’s image did not coincide with his nature. Will he be able to embody the slow, naively roguish nature of Sancho? I distributed the remaining roles with a stretch.
But with the artist, as with the production of “The Snow Queen,” problems arose. This time, neither the artist from the drama theater, who successfully designed “Women’s Gossip,” nor the artist from the Yaroslavl Youth Theater could come to our aid. The artist from the Rybinsk Theater that we managed to attract turned out to be rather weak.
I must admit that now, rehearsing the play that I was so eager to work on, for some reason I didn’t feel any real uplift. There were, of course, successful moments, joy in connection with the successes of individual actors. Sasha - Don Quixote - slowly entered the character, but little by little he got used to this gloomy-enthusiastic character, completely devoid of humor, and acquired convulsive swiftness of movements. He became funny and at the same time touching and noble. And Simanovich’s Sancho turned out to be charmingly clumsy and innocently cunning. The scene of his governorship was simply charming. Slava Semanovich revealed himself very much while working on this performance in his two contrasting roles - the rude, hot-tempered innkeeper and the sophisticated, refined duke. I felt sorry for my talented drag queens, who in this play got two small roles in the masquerade scene. By the way, Vera again pleased me: in the role of a simple, spontaneous girl, she found new colors. I didn’t suspect that she had a small but pleasant voice: she sang folk songs very soulfully. “Mother Dove” especially touched me. We gradually fell in love with the play.
I'll tell you about one dramatic moment. The action of the second picture took place in a tavern. On the eve of the rehearsal, already in the scenery, we - the artist, the stage manager and I - supervised the construction of the structure; it was a group of buildings connected into one whole: a tavern building, almost the entire width of the stage, and two sheds on the sides, forming the letter “P”. All three buildings are low, about two meters high. I will add that the inn was moved close to the back of the stage, and the barns on both sides protruded forward, almost to the proscenium; thus, a free space was created in the middle of the stage, which was a courtyard with a well in the center.
According to the plan, when Don Quixote enrages the innkeeper and he rushes at him, our hero will be forced to flee, run away along the roofs of all these buildings and, jumping to the floor, will disappear behind the scenes. In pursuit of him, all the characters - the innkeeper, his servant and Sancho, trembling with fear - will follow the same path. Having conceived this “brilliant” mise-en-scène, I asked the workers to strengthen the structure as reliably as possible, which was to become uniform for the entire performance, with the introduction of various transformations into it. To check the strength and stability of the structure, workers ran through these machines several times. The structure swayed slightly, but held firmly. And so at the rehearsal I proposed a plan to the actors: they had to run up the ladder to the roof of the right barn, then, jumping onto the roof of the inn, run along it, climb onto the left barn and, having reached its edge, go down along two ledges to the floor of the stage , and then run across it from left to right behind the scenes.
But my proposal was categorically refused. Sasha said thoughtfully: “Natalia Borisovna, you can kill yourself.” The others supported him energetically. No matter how much I said that before the start of the rehearsal, two hefty workers walked this way twice, this did not convince them. And then, boiling, I, with my almost eight-month pregnancy, climbed up the stairs. The actors on stage and in the audience shouted: “You are crazy, get off now!” But I bit the bit, climbed onto the roof and rushed across the entire building - it was swaying, but I safely reached the end, climbed down the ledges, and only, jumping to the floor, twisted my foot in the shoe and broke the heel. By inertia, I rolled on it diagonally across the stage, to its edge. There was a scream in the hall. A little more and I would have fallen off the stage into the audience. God saved! The heel finally broke, and I stopped at the very edge of the stage.
As always, when something “terrible” happened to me, I wasn’t very scared, I just didn’t realize the full danger. Having caught my breath, I asked the numb actors: “Well, are you convinced that the structure will support you?” And the actors ran without sound once, and the second time, already emboldened, “in tasks” and “in character.” In the future, this was one of their favorite scenes - dynamic scenes are always loved by actors. Perhaps my story will seem boastful. But I didn’t want to show off, I just sometimes did unbridled things, which is far from commendable. However, it cannot be said that I neglected my pregnancy - I wanted a child and dreamed about it.
Then, in the February and March days of 1940, when the war was making itself known more and more brutally, when it became seriously hungry and it was becoming increasingly difficult to go hungry, I was lucky: the owner of my apartment, feeling sorry for me, shared what she managed to get. Our old market was completely empty, but she managed to buy potatoes somewhere. And my poor actors immediately after rehearsals scattered in all directions in search of food.
Once during a rehearsal there was a commotion: a worker from the technical staff rushed into the hall and shouted: “Everyone, hurry to the buffet, they brought sour cream!” It was strange: the buffet was not open during the day. Hearing this call, the actors trembled and looked at me pleadingly, and I realized that nothing could be done about it. But you need to pour sour cream into something! People rushed around the theater. And suddenly a jubilant cry was heard: “There are a lot of lampshades in the hold, grab them!” And everyone rushed into the hold, bringing out dusty lamps covered in cobwebs, but solid, without holes. And besides, they are very roomy, two liters or even more. Someone gave me one of these lampshades. Having somehow washed them, we lined up up the stairs to the buffet. And happy, with overflowing lampshades, not breathing, so as not to spill the precious liquid; went home.
7
And in these difficult times, like a heavenly angel, Semen-Simka flew to me from Moscow. Over the course of two years, he had already come to Kostroma several times to visit me, for a day or two. And this time he got out for four whole days. In his blue flight uniform of a lieutenant - the rank assigned to him as a graduate of the Academy - on the day of my arrival, he solemnly led me to the military canteen. It was so great! I attacked lunch with shameful greed. And Sima, at the buffet, filled a jar with delicious vinaigrette, which he took with him, and grabbed a few more sandwiches. We invited my benefactress-hostess to dinner and feasted with her. “And I thought why did you ask me for the jar, but here’s what it’s for! what a manager he is!” - she chuckled.
The next day, Monday, a day off from the theater, Simka told me: “Now let’s go to the registry office. Don’t be surprised, mobilization into the army continues on an even greater scale, and if this disastrous war does not end soon, I may well be killed. And I want the child to have my last name. So enough fooling around, let’s sign and that’s it. Besides, as a military wife, you will have a pass to the canteen, which is not uninteresting, right?” All this was said so firmly that it was difficult to object. The hostess explained how to get to the registry office, and without further ado we went there. At that time, no preliminary appointments were required, and we could count on the quick registration of our marriage. We entered a completely empty room, where a sad, middle-aged woman sat alone at a table. No Mendelssohn marches, flowers, paintings on the walls, just a faded poster depicting a happy Soviet family - husband, wife and pink child. Sima greeted the servant of Hymen and asked if she could marry us. She replied, “Of course,” and glanced over my stomach. Simka, catching her gaze, flashed his eyes, as always when he was preparing to make a joke, and said with feeling: “Here, I am covering up sin.” I almost burst into tears, he put on a hypocritically well-behaved face, and the naive woman, deeply moved, looked affectionately at Simka. In no time she signed us up and, standing up, solemnly presented us with a marriage certificate. A little more and she would have blessed us! Having finished playing out the touching scene, “happily excited,” we walked out and, as soon as we closed the door behind us, burst out laughing.
And in the evening, Simka unexpectedly organized a small feast for me (“we need to celebrate the wedding!”), to which the director and artist he invited came. The table was rich for those times: two cans of sprat, vinaigrette and sandwiches with cheese and egg - all this from the same canteen, brought to him the day before and hidden by our hostess. She took out the treasured ham from her bins and cut off a generous piece, plus pickles. And finally, half a liter of vodka and semi-sweet natural wine brought from Moscow for me. But, alas, in my situation I only allowed myself a small glass. And the men and the hostess sipped some vodka, had a lot of fun and even sang in chorus: the hostess turned out to be a singer.
In the two days remaining before departure, Simka looked at the finished paintings. He liked many of the scenes and actors, especially Don Quixote and Sancho; he laughed merrily, which greatly inspired the actors - the approval of this first viewer is so important. Sima also pointed out several areas that were not covered. I forgot to write that on his previous visits he watched both “The Snow Queen” and “Women’s Gossip ” - a condescending connoisseur of my “creativity”; he was proud that his wife was a director. Oh my dear Simochka! He was not at all alien to art, knew poetry well and loved theater, but such as the Chamber Theater and Meyerhold Theater, and did not like the Moscow Art Theater and the Maly Theater. He valued “theater theatre,” a playful, conventional one, and therefore, perhaps, he loved Vakhtangov’s theater more than anyone else. I, too, although I was brought up in the Moscow Art Theater system, always strived for the aggravation of stage circumstances, for ease and improvisation in acting, and this to some extent brought me closer to the Vakhtangov actors. And that’s why Sima’s praise made me very happy. During his visit to our theater, someone informed him about my feat when I “tested” the strength of the structure. Hearing this, he turned pale, became terribly angry with me and called me a “crazy hussar.” And behind my back, I agreed with the director that he would send me to Moscow in advance, despite my protests.
After Simka left, I “didn’t know grief,” using the military canteen: the food there was plentiful and tasty. With the help of the buffet it was possible to provide dinners, which I shared with my glorious hostess. And, what was most important, there was the opportunity to take my starving actors with me, though only one by one. I announced that from now on the one who would rehearse best that day would go to the dining room with me. This was said as a joke, but to a certain extent stimulated attention and seriousness during rehearsals. I tried to “reward” actors burdened with families and children. These poor fellows never left their faces with an exhausted and worried expression, and by the way, they always had a container with them into which they slowly poured the entire lunch, allowing themselves to eat only part of the soup. And I tried to use the buffet goods as widely as possible to gift my guests. Very touching: when the canteen workers found out that it was the actors who were coming with me, they tried to pour more for them and turned a blind eye to my “raids” on the buffet. Whatever you say, our audience loves actors.
About three weeks after Semyon left, I scheduled the first run-through of the play - still a rough draft and not in full scenery. The lion's share of the scenery, as in his time in The Snow Queen, was again made by our talented craftsman, prop maker Ventsenostsev: the knightly vestments of Don Quixote, the silhouettes of Rocinante and the donkey Sancho, windmills (these scenes were solved using shadow theater), decoration and the attributes of the ducal castle and its inhabitants. When I showed up for the rehearsal, I found out that four people, including the innkeeper, also known as the Duke, did not show up for the rehearsal. It was an emergency, but there was nothing to do... We drove away what we managed. It turned out that they all fell ill with a severe flu. Even worse: the next day 5 more people didn’t show up. This was already a real disaster, which continued on the third day, when Sancho and several other actors fell ill. We had to cancel rehearsal after rehearsal. The flu was killing more and more people. I realized that I didn’t have time to finish the performance - God willing, there were three weeks left before the birth, it was already the beginning of April. And then on the fifth day I myself fell ill. In the evening she came down with a high fever. The hostess looked after me, gave me tea with raspberries, and gave me some pills. She informed the theater about my illness.
The next day Vladimir Davidovich came, saw my poor state and said that tomorrow he would send me to Moscow, as he promised Semyon. I tried to object, but he didn’t listen: “God forbid, you give birth here again, what will I tell your husband then?” The next afternoon two young actors arrived, still standing; he and the hostess packed my things into suitcases. I was in a semi-conscious state and did not understand what was happening well. Later the director came and sent the guys for a cab driver. How did they put me on it? How did I get to the station? How did they drag me into the carriage? I don't remember anything. I didn’t even say goodbye to my assistants and director Vladimir Davidovich, a kind, warm-hearted man. I only remember that on the road I felt bad, terribly hot and difficult to lie down. So I left my dear city of Kostroma - as it turned out, forever.
Sima met me in Moscow, but how did he get me out of the carriage and how did we get home? Forgotten, like the whole journey to Moscow. A week later, having come to my senses, I learned about the death of Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. And after some time, a letter arrived from Kostroma, where it was reported that when the sick rebelled, they managed to carry out all the run-throughs, but the performance turned out to be too long, and they had to sacrifice two films in which my drag queens were involved. Bo- in general, these pictures were inserted, but I felt sorry for my talented actors. It seemed to me that I could preserve these festive, playful pictures due to the general tempo of the performance. However, thank you for somehow completing it. And under whose leadership, I never found out. I had no time for it anymore - childbirth was not easy, the first weeks of a child’s life were even more difficult, and only three months later I returned to life again.
1999
Publication, introductory note and notes by Olga Etingof
[1] See Below is a note to the text of the memoirs.
[2] The Theater for Young Spectators in Kostroma ceased to exist in 1946, when its premises on the street. Ostrovsky regional puppet theater moved in. Built in 1896, the building of the library-reading room named after. A. N. Ostrovsky, where the theater was located, was not intended for theatrical performances. In the mid-1930s, V. S. Rozov and his wife N. V. Kozlova worked at the Kostroma Youth Theater, contributing to the creation of the theater.
[3] The comedy “Woman's Gossip” was written by C. Goldoni in the season of 1750-1751.
[4] A. Ya. Brushtein’s play about the Tsar’s gymnasium.
[5] A series of illustrations for Cervantes’ “Don Quixote,” which included more than three hundred episodes, was created by G. Doré in 1862-1863 and published in Russian editions of the novel.
[6] M. A. Bulgakov began work on a dramatization of Cervantes’s novel at the end of 1937 on the initiative of the Vakhtangov Theater, but the play was not approved by the General Repertoire Committee for a long time. M. A. Bulgakov wrote four editions of Don Quixote. According to the agreement with the Vakhtangovites, the play was supposed to be released no later than January 1, 1940, but this did not happen.
[7] Boris Evgenievich Etingof (1887-1958) - professional revolutionary, party member since September 1903. In March 1918, as a member of the first Central Committee of Proletkult, he was sent from St. Petersburg to the Caucasus to organize the Caucasian Committee.
In 1918-1920 he worked in Vladikavkaz, Tiflis and Baku as chairman of the Proletkult of the Terek Republic, head of the public education department of the Revolutionary Committee of the Terek Region, newspaper editor, and also acted in the party underground under the Denikinites and Mensheviks.
[8] Chudakova M. O. Biography of Mikhail Bulgakov. M., 1988. 2nd ed. P. 279. The researcher had oral information on this matter from N.B. Etingof, although she did not mention it. The episode cited by M. O. Chudakova was also used by Yu. G. Vilensky, who wrote about M. A. Bulgakov’s fidelity to his medical duty. See: Vilensky Yu. G. Doctor Bulgakov. Kyiv, 1991. P. 116.
[9] According to the publications of O. D. Esipova (see note I), the first production of M. A. Bulgakov’s play took place at the Theater. A. N. Ostrovsky in Kineshma, premiere - April 27, 1940. The researcher considers the second production to be a performance by the Russian Drama Theater in Petrozavodsk, shown at the end of January 1941, and the third to be a performance by the Theater named after. A. S. Pushkin in Leningrad, shown on March 15, 1941. O. D. Esipova was not aware of the production of the Kostroma Youth Theater.
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