A TRANSLATION AND CRITICAL ANALYSIS OF THE LETTERS

OF MIKHAIL SEMYONOVICH SHCHEPKIN

by

ROLAND WOODROW MYERS, B.A., M.A., M.F.A.

A DISSERTATION

IN

FINE ARTS

Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of Texas Tech University in

Partial Fulfillment of the Requirement for

the Degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Approved

December, 1985

00/

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am deeply indebted to Professor W. T. Zyla for his invaluable

assistance with this translation and to Professor George W. Sorensen

for his direction and guidance of this dissertation. I particularly

wish to acknowledge and thank my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bud W. Myers,

for their financial and moral support of this degree. I also wish

to give special heartfelt gratitude to my wife and children, whose

continued sacrifice made it all possible.

n

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ii

TABLE OF CONTENTS iii

PREFACE V

Chapter

I. A HISTORY OF MIKHAIL SHCHEPKIN'S DEBUT AND THEORY ... 1

II. MIKHAIL SHCHEPKIN, THE MAN 7

III. NINETEENTH CENTURY RUSSIAN THEATRE AND THEATRE

PRACTICES 12

IV. DEVELOPMENT OF THE POWER OF THEATRE IN RUSSIAN SOCIETY 22

V. SHCHEPKIN'S PHILOSOPHY OF DRAMATIC ART AND THE ART OF

ACTING 31

VI. CONCLUSION 46

LIST OF REFERENCES 51

APPENDIX A: THE LETTERS OF MIKHAIL SHCHEPKIN 53

I. Letters to I. I. Sosnitsky 54

II. Letters to N. V. Gogol 90

III. Letters to T. G. Shevchenko 98

IV. Letters to P. V. Annenkov 106

V. Letters to A. I. Shubert 112

VI. Letters to S. V. Shumsky 120

VII. Letters to M. V. Lentovsky 122

VIII. Letters to A. I. Baryatinsky 124

IX. Letters to Shchepkin's Children and Family 126

APPENDIX B: THE MEMOIRS OF MIKHAIL SHCHEPKIN 142

I. First Years of Childhood 143

II. The District School in Sudzha and the Comedy, The Shrew 175

III. School Years 189

IV. First Success on the Imperial Stage 202

m

V. The Rescue of a Drowning Man 211

V I . Prince P. V. Meshchersky 214

V I I . The Performance of Don Juan in Kharkov 220

V I I I . Bygone Ways 227

IX. The Good Old Times 234

X. The Actress Sorokina 238

X I . The Christmas Vis i t of the Moscow Governor-General

Prince D. V. Golitsyn, to M. S. Shchepkin 247

X I I . M. S. Shchepkin's Story of His Ransom 250

BIBLIOGRAPHY ". . 254

IV

PREFACE

When Mikhail Semyonovich Shchepkin, the great Russian actor,

was born in 1788, the theatre in Europe was highly conventionalized.

The star system prevailed, and actors used stereotyped vocal and

gestural patterns which denoted generalized emotions. An obsession

with declamation and traditional movements characterized French and

English theatres of this period. Realism, as it is known today, did

not exist. As Shchepkin grew, his interest in acting grew; in 1805,

he made his first professional appearance as an actor before a small

provincial audience. This performance marked the beginning of the

career of the man who revolutionized the art of acting in Russia—the

man who later was to be regarded as the father of theatrical realism

in acting in Russia.

Shchepkin has been seriously neglected by many historians of

the theatre. Because yery little has been written about him, he is

little known outside his own country. It was upon Shchepkin's

theories of acting that Constantin Stanislavsky based many of the

features of his system of acting. Stanislavsky, whose system has been

one of the most powerful influences on the art of acting, praised

Shchepkin as the "pride of our national art, the man who recreated in

himself all that the West could give and created the foundations of

true Russian dramatic art, our great law-giver and artist." Yet

Shchepkin's major writings have never been translated into English

in their entirety. This writer has translated his letters, which,

added to the translation of his memoirs into English also by this

translator, should help to fill the unconscionable void of research

of this great theatrical figure of the past.

Constantin Stanislavsky, My Life in Art, trans. J. Robbins (Meridian Books, New York; The World Puolishing Co., 1968), p. 65.

The search for and selection of a suitable edition of his print­

ed works was of primary importance. Mikhail Shchepkin's son, Nikolai

Mikhailovich, became a well-known publisher during the middle of the

nineteenth century in Russia and issued the first posthumous edi­

tion of his father's collected writings. Upon Shchepkin's death in

1863, Nikolai gathered all the notes and articles of his famous father

and published them the following year in a single volume under the

title, Zapiski aktera Shchepkina. In 1950, A. P. Klinchin compiled

a comprehensive collection of his memoirs and letters, along with

remembrances about him by friends and contemporaries. This book, edit­

ed by Professor S. N. Durylin, was published in Moscow in 1950 as

Mikhail Semyonovich Shchepkin, zapiski, pis'ma, sovremenniki o M. S.

Shchepkine.

Some complex difficulties occurred in the course of translating

these letters. After the revolution, the Russian language was revised.

This revision included not only the change of meanings of words, but

also the elimination of certain letters from the alphabet. Therefore,

an updated publication of his works was consulted. Also, Shchepkin

was Ukrainian, and his letters are peppered with Ukrainian vocabulary

and the use of idiomatic nineteenth century Ukrainian. Certain pas­

sages were impossible to translate solely with the use of a dictionary;

therefore, a person was consulted whose native tongue is Ukrainian.

A major effort was made to retain the flavor of Old Russia throughout

the translation through choice of words, selection of comparable idiom­

atic expressions, and syntax, while rendering the translation as literal

as possible. This writer would like to acknowledge the invaluable

assistance of Dr. W. T. Zyla, who devoted many hours to this project.

The publication used for this translation included footnotes by

the editor to explain certain personalities, situations, or other

aspects of life to which Shchepkin referred in his letters. For the

sake of clarity, these footnotes were also translated and included as

part of the body of each letter. Footnotes within letters included

by this translator will be indicated by the use of asterisks. Letters

vi

are grouped chronologically according to the recipient.

This translation should provide a better understanding of Rus­

sian theatre, its beginnings and' development through the works of

Mikhail Shchepkin and his philosophy of dramatic art. From these

letters that reveal the accomplishments of this astonishing figure,

one will be further aware of the power of theatre in Russian society.

The translation of the letters of Mikhail Shchepkin can be

found in appendix A. Appendix B contains a translation of his memoirs.

Both may provide the base for further knowledge about this major

figure in theatrical development and history.

It is hoped that through the critical analysis of his letters,

Mikhail Shchepkin will emerge not only as a dedicated artisan and warm,

caring human being, but that he will also appear as Russia's theatri­

cal man of the century, one to whom history has not been kind. It is

also hoped that the information contained herein will prompt further

curiosity about his endeavors and achievements and that finally he

will stand in the limelight he so richly deserves.

vn

CHAPTER I

A HISTORY OF MIKHAIL SHCHEPKIN'S DEBUT AND THEORY

During the reign of the great Russian Empress Catherine, which

spanned thirty-four years from 1762 to 1796, the French influence fixed

the style of acting in Russia. It enjoyed great popularity until the

middle of the nineteenth century. The "star system" prevailed as a di­

rect influence of the French theatre. Few rehearsals were held before

a performance. The star would deliver his mostly-improvised speeches

in a grandiloquent declamatory manner directly to his audience. There

was no attempt at creating an illusion of reality.

The social condition was filled with horror during the reign of

Nicholas I (1825-1855), who censored the Imperial Theatres. The con­

ditions under which actors lived and worked were dreadful, especially

if they were serfs. They were scarcely paid, fed, or clothed by their

owners; further, they worked many long, hard hours. The "Serf Thea­

tres," owned and operated by wealthy landowners as a symbol of success,

were the major theatres in the provinces. It was in one of these pro­

vincial serf theatres that Mikhail Semyonovich Shchepkin, himself in

bondage, began his acting career.

Count S. G. Volkenstein was a rich nobleman in the province of

Kursk. He owned many slaves, or "serfs," as they were referred to in

Russia. One of these serfs was Mikhail Shchepkin's father, a valet.

The Count, like many other nobles, had a court theatre on his estate,

and Mikhail would watch the presentations there with undivided atten­

tion.

At last, his master gave him the opportunity to act in the serf

An account of one of these experiences is recalled by Shchepkin in his memoirs in appendix B, pp. 171-174.

theatre, much to the delight of all who observed him. The Count was so

pleased with Mikhail that he sent him away to Sudzha for an education.

In the school years that followed, he made his first serious effort to

appear in plays, his first opportunity being that of the servant in

A. P. Sumarokov's comedy. The Shrew. "When I heard that I would play

the servant of Rozmarin, I fainted from happiness, and it seems, I even 2

cried." With the help of his classmates, Shchepkin was able to visit

backstage frequently at the provincial professional theatre owned by

the Barsov brothers. Soon he began serving as prompter, copied music,

helped the actors learn their lines, and generally did anything he was

permitted to do. At the age of fifteen, being a serf and, under law,

not able to further his education, he finished school and began to de­

vote his life to the theatre. In 1805, at the Barsov's theatre, he

made his professional debut in the provincial theatre, replacing an in­

ebriated actor in the role of Andre, the postman, in Mersa's drama,

Zoya. "How I played, whether the public received me well or not--I com­

pletely do not remember. I only know that at the end of the role I 3

went under the stage and cried for joy like a baby." The career that

was to span more than half a century was formally begun.

Very soon, Shchepkin became the leading actor in the Barsov troupe,

receiving the top salary of 350 rubles in 1810. In that year, one of

the most important events in Russian theatrical history took place.

Prince Meshchersky, a well-established elderly actor, was appearing as

Solidar in Sumarokov's comedy. Dowry by Fraud, and Shchepkin was in the

audience. The Prince's unusual simplicity and naturalness of speech

immediately impressed him and at the same time troubled him greatly.

And strangely enough, despite the simplicity of his acting (which I considered to be inability to act) throughout the role, whenever money was involved, it was apparent that it touched him to his soul, and at such moments you forget all the other actors. The fear of death and the reluctance to part with money were strikingly real and horrible in the Prince's acting, and the simplicity with which he spoke in

^Ibid., p. 175.

-^Ibid., p. 203.

no way hindered his acting. The further the play progressed, the more I was carried away; and finally I began to doubt whether it would have been as good if he had acted in our fashion.

Shchepkin began experimenting with this simple style of acting

while with the Barsov troupe. When the company disbanded in 1816,

Shchepkin travelled to Kharkov and joined the local company of Stein

and Kalinovsky, which toured the southern provincial cities of Kremen-

chug, Poltava, and Romny. The latter two cities were to be the sites

of still other important events in his life.

When Shchepkin began his acting career, the Russian stage was

dominated by the classical style of formal declamation and broad stereo­

typed gestures popularized by European stars touring Russia during

Catherine's regime. Shchepkin's experimentation, prompted by the "be­

havior" of Prince Meshchersky, established him as a rebel artist, and

his fame spread. In 1818, through the initiative of spectators and

the Ukrainian Governor-General Repnin "as a reward of the talent of the 5

actor Shchepkin, assurance of his fate," a benefit performance was held

in Poltava to provide him with the required ransom of 8,000 rubles in

order to purchase his freedom, along with that of his wife and two child­

ren. At the benefit, local nobility paid from 200 to 700 rubles a seat.

The sum collected from this benefit and various other sources came to a

total of 5,500 rubles. Prince Repnin supplied Shchepkin with the bal­

ance, which resulted only in a change of masters. After three years,

Shchepkin was able to repay the balance, and he and his family finally

became free in 1821. He had spent almost half of his life in serfdom.

Still with the company of Stein and Kalinovsky, he travelled to Romny,

where he had still another rendezvous with destiny.

In an obituary of F. F. Kokoshkin, one-time director of the Mos­

cow Imperial Theatres, V. Golovin told how he had been instructed by

^Ibid., p. 209.

S. V. Varneke, History of the Russian Theatre, Seventeenth Through J^ineteenth Century, trans. Boris Brasol, ed. Belle Martin (New York; The Macmi11 an Company, 1951), p. 281.

Kokoshkin to look for new talent in the provinces, that is, suitable

actors who could be summoned to Moscow to join his theatre.

Upon my arrival at the Kursk country estate, I proceeded to the Ilyinsk fair, and because I had nothing to do I went to the theatre; there, among the idle talkers of Entrepreneur Stein's company, whom should I behold on the stage? . . . Mikhail Semyonovich Shchepkin. I could not believe my eyes. And in what setting? An ugly cart shed, a curtain all in tatters, carelessly painted sets, a dirty, uneven floor, an orchestra, not always paying attention to the trifling de­tails of naturals and flats, ladies and gentlemen—to use Griboyedov's verse, "indeed, some monsters of the world be-yond"--and M. S. Shchepkin among them. Alpha and Omega to­gether! Mikhail Semyonovich in Experiment in Art played a difficult role—now a male, now a female—In thousands of aspects this Proteus began to sparkle before me, as a pre­cious diamond displaying all its facets! Upon returning to my apartment—to my little whitewashed peasant cottage—I was unable to fall asleep the whole night, and early at dawn I sent word to Shchepkin asking him to call on me. Mikhail Semyonovich came; we got acquainted, I began talking about his remarkable talent; on behalf of Kokoshkin I invited him to join the Moscow company . o . and the devoted artist, out of mere love of art and the honor of belonging to the per­sonnel of the Imperial actors, agreed to proceed with my letter to Kokoshkin, despite the fact that he had certainly been receiving from Stein, including benefits, more than 6,000 rubles.°

Shchepkin accepted Golovin's offer. On 23 November 1822, Mikhail

Semyonovich Shchepkin made his brilliant debut in the title role of 8 Zagoskin's comedy, Mister Bogatonov, or Provincial in the Capital,

an ironic twist of fate, since he himself was in fact a provincial in

the capital.

A little less than two years later, on 14 October 1824, the Maly

Theatre opened on the site of a merchant's house with a company that

had been the Moscow Imperial Theatre since 1806. It soon became known

^Ibid., pp. 281-282.

Joseph Macleod, Actors Across the Volga (London: George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1946), p. 'IbJ.

S. S. Danilov, Russkii dramaticheskii teatr XIX veka (Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe Izdatel'stvo "Iskusstvo," lyb/j, p. zo.z.

9 as "The House of Shchepkin," since this great reformer became the most

important figure in its history until his death thirty-nine years latere

This theatre also was called "The Second Moscow University," chiefly

because of Shchepkin's close personal ties with the Moscow academic

world. It was said that "in Moscow, one went to college, but studied

at the Maly."^^

A frequent visitor in the home of S. T. Aksakov, a prominent lit­

erary figure, Shchepkin soon emerged as a fully accepted member of a

circle which included most of Moscow's intelligentsia. In Aksakov's

home he met and became close friends with N. V. Gogol, A list of friends

and acquaintances of Shchepkin at this time reads like the Russian "Who's

Who" of the nineteenth century: M. Y. Lermontov, A. S. Griboyedov, A. S.

Pushkin, I. S. Turgenev, A. N. Ostrovsky, V. G. Belinsky, and A. I.

Herzen, the last two being representatives of the democratic revolution­

ary movement, along with Taras Shevchenko. Finally, by 1840, he was a

member of the famous circle of university professors headed by T. N.

Granovsky.

In 1857, he wrote to his son, Alexander, that he had been selected

for membership in the English Club, "the stronghold of the noble aristoc­

racy of Moscow. Only representatives of the distinguished society of

12 Moscow were members." It was largely due to the acceptance of Shchep­kin into these prestigious circles, along with the accomplishments of the students in the school of acting that he established at the Maly Theatre, that raised the status of the actor to that of artist in the eyes of the Russian people.

Shchepkin did not stop with merely postulating precepts for

^Phillis Hartnoll (ed.), Oxford Companion to the Theatre, "Maly Theatre" (New York: Oxford University Press, 1951), p, 511.

Anatolii Vasilevich Lunacharsky, Dorevolyutsionnii teatr Sovet-skii teatr (Sobranie Sochinenii, Moscow: Khudozhestvennaya Literatura, 1964), p. 84.

^^Hartnoll, p. 511.

^^See appendix A, letter to A. M. Shchepkin dated 23 March 1857.

theatre. He set forth a practical philosophy of theatre, as well,

through his career of playing more than 400 roles ranging from Pisarev's

vaudevilles to William Shakespeare's Shylock and Polonius, Shchepkin,

along with Gogol, wholeheartedly believed in the tremendous influence

that the theatre, as well as all art, had upon the masses. Indeed, it

was Gogol who gave him the means with which to penetrate society with

democratic, humanistic ideals in an age of complete totalitarianism in

Russia. In so doing, he raised fiery protests against serf oppression

and the general plight of the lower class. Shchepkin confirmed the

instructive, social educational importance of the theatre. Like Gogol,

he saw it as "the seat from which one can read the lesson of life to 13 the whole crowd."

Through all his writings, Mikhail Shchepkin never lost sight of

his own shortcomings and limitations, about which he constantly lamented,

sometimes humorously, sometimes seriously. He also never lost sight of

the potential of others, and he dedicated himself to helping them real­

ize that potential. In return, this great pioneer and innovator of

the art of acting in Russia became the most popular actor of his time.

^^P. A. Markov (ed.), et al., Teatral'naya entsiklopedia. Vol. Ill, 'Maly Teatr" (Moscow: Ketchem-Nezhdanova, 1964), p. 648.

CHAPTER II

MIKHAIL SHCHEPKIN, THE MAN

Mikhail Shchepkin was sensitive, dedicated, and an extremely

fair man. He was an actor, a husband and father, and a man who was

aware of his calling. Honesty ruled his actions, and tact rendered

that honesty effective. His open-mindedness and compassion permeate

practically all of his writings, and he fervently cared about the

well-being of those whose lives he touched. Whenever a friend was in

need, Shchepkin was there to help out. One can readily discern that

the profound moral convictions which dominated his life stemmed from 2

his deep religious beliefs. Throughout his letters, Shchepkin refers

to morality as the governing factor in all things, from politics to

art and from dealing with others to professional integrity. Humility

was one of his strongest personality traits, and he was constantly

aware that his life was blessed.

Shchepkin believed in justice for all and reserved judgement of

others. His fairness and tolerance for others is apparent in his let­

ters, especially in one to A. I. Shubert in which he refuses to pass 3

judgement on the questionable activities of her private life. Love

for his fellow man is inherent in the letters, and Shchepkin recog­

nizes this admirable trait in his personality, even though, in so doing,

he expresses his humility. "I do everything out of love . . . I know

how to love, but not how to express my love . . . I do not know how to

See appendix A, letters to Sosnitsky dated 5 June 1831, 31 Aug­ust 1831, and 29 October 1832; and letter to Shevchenko dated 1 January 1858.

^See appendix A, letter No. 10 to Shevchenko.

^See appendix A, letter to Shubert dated 22 November 1854.

8

4 stop loving."

There were two things important in life to Shchepkin: the stage 5

and his family; there is no question that the former was his first

priority. His whole life centered around dramatic art, to which he

dedicated his entire being. Nothing filled his waking moments more,

and anything that affected theatre affected him. As he perceived the

state of theatre declining, he protested that it was worse than cholera

to him. This decline prompted him into action, and he opened his

school of acting to alleviate the cause. The rest of his life was fill­

ed with efforts to raise dramatic art to a new level of achievement,

much to the detriment of his family life.

Shchepkin's early memoirs were filled with anecdotes about his

childhood in serfdom, but from his first encounter with the theatre,

his attention is drawn toward recording his experiences in relation to

his profession. The only reference to his immediate family in his

memoirs concerns his trepidation when his freedom was purchased, and

he found himself with twelve people to support. Here is the first and

only mention of his wife and children, and there is no mention of the

marriage that ultimately yielded four sons, two daughters, and eleven

grandchildren. The omission of familial concerns in his memoirs bears

testimony to his total preoccupation with dramatic art.

Only in his letters does Shchepkin express a concern for the

well-being of his family and the effect that his art had on his family

relationships. He opened his home to students and peers in need. At

one time, the number of occupants that he supported in his household o

consisted of seventeen people, not including domestic help. In a

^See appendix A, letters to Shubert dated 11 May 1858, Sosnitsky dated March 1828, and Shumsky dated 13 April 1860.

^See appendix A, letter to Sosnitsky dated 26 July 1831,

^See appendix A, letter to Gogol dated 22 May 1847,

See appendix B, p. 247.

^See appendix A, letter to Gogol dated 5 May 1847.

letter to a prospective student, Shchepkin outlines the conditions un­

der which he will join the master's household, giving him room and

board in return for the boy's dedication to the study of dramatic art.

When Shchepkin fell short of funds for the student's support, he took

a note so that he could benefit. He introduced him into his circle of

friends and paved the way for a successful career.

Shchepkin served by example. Throughout the letters, Shchepkin

speaks of the demands that he placed on himself so that he could place

strong criteria on others. "If I am strict, it is with myself," he

said; and, recognizing his shortcomings, he was never satisfied with

himself. His constant drive on behalf of theatre dearly cost him

close family affiliations, and this flaw in his life caused him much

anguish. Theatre took precedence over family to the end of his life.

He regreted the slight.

A strong sense of humor provided Shchepkin with the strength he

needed to survive the rigors of serfdom and a career in the theatre.

His letters are punctuated throughout with humorous anecdotes and gibes,

usually directed at himself. His silhouette was diminutive in height,

albeit somewhat stocky. He was practically bald with a wide face, and

his hands were small and stubby. His voice was described as being weak

and shallow. Not one to turn a blind eye to his own faults, however,

Shchepkin turned these shortcomings into assets to promote his basically

comedic talents early in his career. These fallacies were always a

source of humor to him, and he frequently used them to make fun of him­

self. In several letters, he facetiously refers to his kisses as

being rude or unwanted, and once, when his wife lay seriously ill for

more than a week, he was able to look back upon it positively. After

her complete recovery, he admitted to "already dreaming of a young wife"

when the doctor advised him to send for a priest during a critical

Q

See appendix A, letter to Lentovsky dated 14 November. 10< See appendix A, letters to Sosnitsky dated 8 January 1830,

17 June 1831, and 21 June 1832.

10

moment of her illness. Tn later years, he poked fun at himself for

his foibles, referring to them as tKe affliction of the aged and re­

quested tolerance from those who fell victim to those foibles.

He accomplished a great deal during his lifetime. His rise out

of serfdom to become the patriarch of Russian dramatic art was phenome­

nal. At the end of his life, his humility still dominated his thinking.

Although the father of Russian realistic acting must have been pleased

at the great honor of being elected a member of the English Club,

Shchepkin thought mainly of the significance of the honor.

The English Club selected me for membership. And it was a double thrill for this old man. First of all, I see a little respect for my age and creativity. Secondly, and more importantly, I see Mother Russia growing.

Another example of his humility can be seen when, in April of

1853, upon the occasion of his departure to Paris, the literary and

artistic intelligentsia centered around Aksakov paid tribute to him with

an affair in the home of one of its members. This was the first occa­

sion of this kind to be organized on such a grand scale. Everyone was

there, and, as a tribute, one described Shchepkin's acting as "simpli­

city of nature . . . Simplicity, this is your motto, and under its 13 banner, you have contributed to the general progress of our thought."

In reply, Shchepkin stated:

Everything in me that you consider worthy of any kind of approbation belongs not to me but to Moscow, to that highly educated society capable of profoundly understanding art in which Moscow has always been so rich. From my very first ap­pearance on the Moscow stage . . . that society took me into its circle. In it I found everything, writers, poets, teach­ers of Moscow University . . . It is true that I never sat on the student's bench, but it is with pride that I say that I am much indebted to the teachers of Moscow University, some taught me to think, others to understand art. Discussions

^^See appendix A, letter to Sosnitsky dated 3 March 1829.

^^See appendix A, letter to A. M. Shchepkin dated 23 March 1857.

^'^Varneke, History of the Russian Theatre, p. 283.

about art have never ceased for me. I have listened to them with the deepest attention . . . More than to anyone I am indebted to our two great comic writers Griboyedov and Gogol . . . Living for so long in such a family I shou]^ have been less than nothing if some use had not come of me

When Mikhail Shchepkin died on 11 August 1863, he was the em­

bodiment of brotherhood in nineteenth century Russian dramatic art

and literature.

11

14 Ibid.

CHAPTER III

NINETEENTH CENTURY RUSSIAN THEATRE AND THEATRE PRACTICES

In order to appreciate fully and understand more about nineteenth

century Russian theatre, one must appreciate and understand the major

events that led up to that period. Even to this day, the Russian thea­

tre is unique unto itself, and it owes this uniqueness to its past form

of government and to its people. Nowhere else does one see the role of

the theatre play such an important role in the history of a country.

The emergence of drama out of the Middle Ages in Russia roughly

parallels that of the rest of Europe. Traveling minstrels, jugglers,

and "buffoons" were the major lifelines of drama; and these performers

traveled around the country, working fairs, festivals, celebrations of

the coming of spring or the harvesting of crops, and especially wed­

dings. Weddings were "performed" (the verb in Russian is "to perform

a wedding," not "to marry"), and these performances played a prominent

role in dramatic evolution in Russia. They kept an outlet for "playing,"

albeit ritualistic. These gay spectacles became so rowdy, however, and

the performers gained such bad reputations as rogues, that in 1648, Tsar

Aleksei Mikhailovich forbade them, severely punishing the performers

and depriving them of the tools of their trade. With his marriage to

the Frenchwoman, Naryshkina, however, he fell under Western influences.

On 15 May 1672, he ordered that " . . . competent mining artisans,

thoroughly familiar with all ores and skilled in the smelting, as well

as experienced and learned hornblowers able to stage all sorts of come­

dies" be hired for Court performances.

Immigrants into Moscow settled mainly in the "German Village" sec­

tion of the city. They maintained the culture of their homeland, a

-^Varneke, History of the Russian Theatre, p. 22.

12

13

great part of which included staging amateur productions. These shows

gained a successful reputation in Moscow, and it was from this communi­

ty that the Tsar drafted his artisans. On 4 June 1672, when Peter the

Great was only six days old, Johann Gottfried Gregory, a teacher in the

German church school, was ordered to go to Preobrazhenskoye for the

purpose of erecting a building for the staging of a comedy based on the

book of Esther. This performance took place on 2 November 1672 to such

delight of the Tsar that he ordered the "voluntary" services of child­

ren of twenty-six families to be specially trained in the art of the

theatre. Thus, the first dramatic school in Russia was founded. It p

survived until the Tsar's death in 1676.

Peter I came to full power in 1682. Western influences were firm­

ly implanted in Russian culture by this ruler, mainly in the form of

European dramatic traditions. For example, in 1702, he brought a com­

pany of players led by Johann Kunst from Gdansk (Danzig) and housed

them in a specially built "House of Comedy," located on what is now Red

Square in Moscow. Schools concentrated upon drama, mostly imported from

the West. Major influences can be seen in the importation and transla­

tion of Moliere's works and the Italian Commedia dell' Arte, which per­

formed in Russia even during the reign of Anna loannova (1730-1741),

Peter's niece. When Peter died in 1725, the political upheaval threw

the country into turmoil for years, and the House of Comedy was closed.

Theatre, however, survived. The school theatres merged with

coAjrt theatres, providing a training ground for dramatic art. The sub­

ject of the presentations began to take on the features of interludes,

which became extremely popular and quite fashionable after Peter II

(1727-1730) took power. These interludes were characterized by contemp­

orary simplicity and grace and became an integral style of the popular

court theatres. Foreign imports remained the major source of theatre,

with all of the major Western theatre troupes performing in the court:

Italian, French, and German. The Italian opera company of the Neopoli-

tan composer, Francesco Araia, arrived in 1735 and remained until 1759,

^Ibid., p. 25.

14

sowing the seeds from which Russian opera grew.

When Peter I's daughter, Elizabeth, ascended the throne (1741-

1762), she brought with her an awareness for the need of a Russian na­

tional theatre, since there was neither a native Russian public theatre

nor a native Russian repertory. Through her efforts, Russian profes­

sionals were often substituted in foreign troupes. She invited Fyodor

Gregoryevich Volkov to perform his "leather storehouse shows" for her.

He pleased her so greatly that he remained and began performing them

publicly in 1752, His success prompted Elizabeth to lay the foundation

for the Imperial Theatres as permanent establishments in an act dated

30 August 1756.

For the performance of tragedies and comedies, we have now ordered the inauguration of a Russian theatre for which the Golovin stone house, on the Vasilyevsky Island, near the Cadets building, shall be assigned. For the said theatre we have issued an order to engage actors and actresses: actors from among choir boys and the Yaroslav residents studying at the Corps of Cadets, such as may be required, and, in addi­tion to these, actors from among other private people, as well as an appropriate number of actresses. For the main­tenance of the said theatre, as specified in our present de­cree, reckoning from this date, an annual sum of 5,000 rubles shall be allocated, and it shall be paid by the state chan­cery, always at the beginning of the year from the time of the signing of this decree. Aleksei Dyakonov, one of the copyists of the Life Guards Company (a highly selected mili­tary unit serving at the Imperial Court), shall be appointed superintendent of the house . . .

We entrust the directorship of the said Russian theatre to Brigadier Alexander Sumarokov, who shall receive out of the same sum, and in addition to the Brigadier's salary, 1,000 rubles for subsistence and the maintenance of an or­derly, besides the salary earned by him as a colonel, and henceforth shall be paid a full annual brigadier's salary. And he. Brigadier Sumarokov, shall not be removed from the army list, while for salaries to be paid to the actors and actresses, as well as to other persons employed in the thea­tre, he, Brigadier Sumarokov, has received a register from the Court. This shall be put into effect by our Senate pur­suant to this, our decree; August 30, of the year 1756.

Volkov was sent to Moscow in 1757 to establish a Russian theatre

•^Ibid., p. 71.

15

there, and from that time performances were successfully given in both

capitals. For this reason, Fyodor Volkov is considered to be the found­

er of the Russian professional theatre.

Catherine II (1762-1796), who seized the throne from Elizabeth by

bloody means, brought French bourgeois drama to Russian theatre. She

became the benefactor of theatre and education. A dramatic group, "The

University," was formed by a nucleus of University of Moscow students

of gymnastics receiving training in a special class. This group was

dedicated to the preservation of Russian dramatic theatre to counter­

balance foreign dramatic imports. In 1776, the group evolved into a

permanent company and received the name "Petrovsky" two years later.

Their repertory included works by D. I. Fonvizin, I. A. Krilov, and

Sumarokov's son-in-law, Y. B. Knyazhnin, as well as imports by Moliere,

Shakespeare, Richard Sheridan, Friedrich Schiller, F. M. Voltaire, Carlo

Goldoni, and others. At the end of the eighteenth century, the only

theatrical company in Moscow had fifteen actors, eight actresses, and

a repertory composed of forty-four percent comedy, thirty-two percent

opera, and twenty-four percent other genres, such as satire and vaude-5

ville. At this time, the dramatic troupe worked together with ballet-opera; the same actors often found themselves in performances of the various genres.

In 1805, the Petrovsky Theatre burned, leaving the company home­

less; but Alexander I (1801-1825) rescued it by incorporating it into

the Court theatre. One year before Alexander I died, the Imperial

Dramatic Theatre of Moscow moved into its new guarters and assumed the

name of the Maly (Small) Theatre, in contrast to the Bolshoi (Big)

Theatre, which was to be housed two months later in an adjoining build­

ing. The Maly Theatre remained there until 1841, when a beautiful new

building, designed by 0. I. Bove, was erected for the purpose of housing

the company. It is still the home of the Maly Theatre, being small in

name only. At the time of its construction, it was a milestone in

^Ibid,, p, 70.

^Ibid., p, 83,

16

theatre architecture, seating over 1,000 spectators and housing a stage

larger than the auditorium.

During the eighteenth century, two types of theatres emerged from

the activities of the Court. The lavish practices of the Court were

soon emulated by the nobility, who achieved recognition of its position

as a privileged class during the Golden Age of the Nobility. Most of

this landed gentry owned serfs, sometimes as many as 44,000. As their

wealth and power rose, their thirst to be "tsarlike" also rose, and

they began to establish their own "court theatres," participants of

which were their serfs. Thus arose a unique cultural phenomenon known

as the "Serf Theatres," with many of them centered in Moscow.

In 1783, Catherine gave these theatres a boost with her Ukaze to

the Direction of the Theatres, which granted permission for anyone

"to organize entertainments convenient for the public on the condition

that they shall conform to the laws and to the police regulations."

By the end of the century, there were fifteen such serf theatres in

Moscow, even though they found themselves in serious competition with

the private theatres that had sprung up as a result of this order.

Movement toward the outskirts of the city became commonplace, and soon

entrepreneurs began to establish theatres in the provinces. Economic­

ally depressed conditions of the early nineteenth century aided these

provincial theatres as the landowners began to lose their wealth and

power.

As the theatres grew in number, it became apparent that some sort

of governmental control and organization was necessary. Nicholas I

(1825-1855) founded a complicated system, the Directory of the Imperial

Theatres, to tend to the management of the theatre. Furthermore, a

broad network of provincial theatres was also established. The Tsar

implanted a director to oversee each system. These in turn selected

district directors, and the district directors chose individual theatre

directors and charged them with the task of making sure the performances

^Herbert Marshall, The Pictorial History of the Russian Theatre (New York; Crown Publishers, Inc., 19/7), p. 16.

17

adhered to the Tsar's censorship orders, enforced by the Third Order—

the Secret Police. All theatres in Russia, therefore, fell under the

supervision of the Imperial Theatre System, and in 1827, the Tsar issued

a proclamation that all future productions must have the approval of

the Imperial Theatre Director through the various offices. It was this

theatrical climate that Mikhail Shchepkin practiced his art.

Theatres in the major cities were put under the control of the

directorate within that city. A director conducted the business of

each municipal directorate. Shchepkin refers to the Office of Moscow

Theatres in a letter to Gogol. Within the provinces, local directors,

usually the theatre owners, supervised the activities within his juris­

diction. All offices, however, remained under the most severe censor­

ship and governmental control that Europe has ever known. Throughout

the letters of Shchepkin, one can see his preoccupation with the cen­

sors and the caution with which he proceeded in planning new productions

or benefits containing previously produced scripts. Anyone wishing to

present a new script had to submit it to the directorate for perusal

and approval before it could be staged. Even the titles sometimes were

offensive to them, and they had to be changed.

Most actors during this period depended greatly upon benefit per­

formances to supplement their incomes. The directorate of a particular

theatre would issue contracts to actors, who then became members of its

company. These contracts, issued at the pleasure of the Tsar, contained

provisions for salary, length of service, and leave privileges, among

other things. It was even possible for an actor to be required to per-g

form without a contract or any provision of recompense. Leaves were,

usually deducted from an actor's length of service, which determined

his eventual pension upon retirement that was meager at best. One

could join a company by one of two methods. Actors could petition the

directorate of a theatre to which they wished to transfer, or they

^See appendix A, letter to Gogol dated 24 October 1842.

^See appendix A, letters to Elena Shchepkina dated 30 September 1849 and to P. V. Annenkov dated 19 November 1856.

18

could be invited by the directorate to join its troupe, as Shchepkin

related to Sosnitsky about the transfer of the actor Stepanov from

Moscow to St. Petersburg: "He is called to come to you by the director Q

of the theatre according to the will of the tzar . . . "

The Imperial Theatre troupes replenished themselves by sending

agents into the provincial theatres and scrutinizing those actors ap­

pearing in productions there. Very seldom would the directorate issue

an invitation to an actor solely upon the reputation of that actor or

upon the recommendation of anyone other than its own agent. At times,

auditions were held for the purpose of engaging new talent. These

auditions were conducted either at the home theatre of the troupe or

in the provincial theatre. Most of the time, however, agents did the

selection. Indeed, it was precisely through this method that Shchepkin

himself was brought to the attention of the Director of Moscow Theatres

and invited to join the troupe of the Maly Theatre,

The repertoire of a troupe depended a great deal upon the talent

of its actors. The director could buy the rights to produce a script

from a playwright, or the playwright could give or rent a script to an

individual performer. Benefit performances were usually the vehicle

in which new scripts were debuted. These performances could be given

for either the benefit of the actor, the proceeds of which would go to

the performer, or the benefit of the theatre itself. The provincial

theatre relied a great deal upon public support as well as patronage

for its productions. Sometimes the nobles of the district served as

patrons for the theatre troupe. These theatres also relied upon tours

of the major Imperial Theatres for many of their performances. The

financial condition of theatre in Russia was constantly struggling for

solvency. The directorate tried many new approaches to attract audi­

ences, which attended either through a system of subscription or through

^See appendix A, letter to Sosnitsky dated 16 November 1834.

See appendix A, letters to Elena Shchepkina dated 30 September 1849 and to A. M. Shchepkin dated 23 March 1857.

19

an open box office policy.

Shchepkin described a novel approach to such an enticement in a

letter to Sosnitsky in which he relates his experience of appearing at

the new outdoor theatre in Neskuchnoye Gardens.

The whole theatre is open above the spectators as well as the stage. The rear of the stage has no curtain and is joined directly to the wood. Instead of wings, trees dig into the side stages. Whenever there is the smallest breeze you can't hear a single word. In addition, the caw of crows and jackdaws serve as an accompaniment to the orchestra. There is not a dry refuge anywhere, because the dressing rooms are covered only with canvas. They bring the whole school and the actors there at the same time to rehearse in spite of the rainy weather. It rained when we conducted the first rehearsal, and we were forced to stop the rehear­sal for an hour or two and take shelter in damp dressing rooms. Then we resumed on the damp stage. Add to that, the rehearsal was at 7:00 p.m. and continued until almost 11:00 p.m. . . . Then yesterday they took us to rehearse in the same damp, cold weather, I don't know how this will turn out,

to which was added this footnote:

In the summer of 1830, the Moscow directorate, with in­tentions to improve its staggering financial situation, de­vised a scheme to do open air performances in the Neskuchnoye Garden with actors from the Maly troupe. The performance took place in spite of bad weather. The following description of this theatre was given in the Moscow Telegraph (1830, No. 11):

" . . . having left the Bolshoi and Maly Theatres, the directorate has introduced a new theatre in Neskuchnoye Garr den. A kind of amphitheatre has been built, with armchairs, boxes, a gallery, and a stage. All this without a roof. Trees establish the decor, and the curtain is replaced by a moveable partition. Spectators sit with their hats on. The music resounds, and the actors and actresses maliciously play 'Melnik,' 'The Jewish Inn,' and so on. Then the dancing be­gins. A chorus of regimental music comes alive onstage, and finally fireworks are presented^2 The banging rockets and bouquets finish the spectacle."

^^See appendix A, letter to Sosnitsky dated 26 May 1836.

^^See appendix A, letter to Sosnitsky dated 18 June 1830.

20

The benefit system promoted camaraderie among Russian actors of

this period. Shchepkin's letters reveal innumerable references to act­

ors aiding one another in the search for new scripts, appropriate

scripts, cuttings, translations, or scheduling dates for benefits.

Repertoires of the various actors contained a wide variety of offerings,

from vaudevilles and divertisements through the classics of Shakespeare

and Moliere to new original scripts by the prominent playwrights of the

period. Cuttings and new translations of Western scripts commonly made

up the benefits of major performers. If the rights to a script were

held by the directorate and an actor wanted to include it in a benefit, 13

he could purchase these rights for a fee. In any event, benefits

provided much needed extra money to both the actor and the theatre.

In several letters, Shchepkin describes the plight of the actor

during this period. Actors were forced to perform under the most dire 14 conditions. They were treated as "day laborers" or worse, with wery

little control over their own lives. He speaks of backstage filth 15 which the performers could barely tolerate, and of the corruption to

be found within the directorate of the theatres. The repertoires of

theatres deteriorated to the point that some directors resorted to im­

porting second-rate productions from the West.

Each major theatre troupe established its own school of acting

in order to train performers. In a letter to Baryatinsky, Shchepkin 18

reveals how a troupe could use these students to its benefit.

Shchepkin himself opened such a school at the Maly Theatre. His strong

• See appendix A, letter to Sosnitsky dated 19 December 1836.

- See appendix A, letter to N. M. Shchepkin dated 26 August 1848.

- See appendix A, letter to A. I. Shubert dated 10 December 1859.

- See appendix A, letter No. 7 to T. V. Shevchenko, no date.

- - See appendix A, letter to Gogol dated 24 October 1842.

^^See appendix A, letter to A. I. Baryatinsky dated April 1857.

21

belief that actors should constantly study is evident in many of his

letters.

Despite efforts by Shchepkin and others to elevate the dramatic

arts in Russia during this period, it continued to disappoint him that

the new generation looked upon the discipline with lazy attitudes. He

lamented this attitude and the resultant plight of dramatic art through­

out his later life.

Shchepkin's efforts on behalf of his profession in Russian drama­

tic art are filled with his awareness of the struggle and historical

developments that had set the stage for his own work. The fear that

the theatre would newer reach its potential and, therefore, fail to

carry through what its predecessors had begun is apparent in his let­

ters. The efforts of the Court theatres to establish culture and the

serf theatres' significant contributions to the development of the pre­

sent stage of dramatic art in which Shchepkin found himself indicated

to him that the potential was there--the potential to use theatre as a

means of elevating the quality of life. Shchepkin had seen the power

that theatre could exert on the masses, and he was sad that the new

generation, in his mind, would not continue using this mighty weapon

of social change.

CHAPTER IV

DEVELOPMENT OF THE POWER OF THEATRE IN RUSSIAN SOCIETY

In no other country have drama and theatre been so closely related

to society and political events than in Russia. From the beginning,

nobility attempted to emulate the Court in every activity. Uniquely

Russian, the serf theatres established by this landed stratum of society

provided the most emphatic influences. This insurgence of public serf

theatre was both good and bad. Since social status was somewhat deter­

mined by the success of the performances of their serfs, owners began

educating them in literature so that they would be more sensitive to

their art. This education in turn made the serfs more aware of the in­

equities in society and the tsarist form of government. Thus the cru­

sade against the arbitrariness of serfdom, the rule of the beaurocracy,

and the despotism of the tsarist regime found its niche in the theatre.

The very seeds of revolt were planted by this nobility and nourished by

their cravings for still higher status. Eventually this theatre system

grew to be a powerful weapon of the serving class. As early as the mid-

eighteenth century, drama began to recognize the political events of

the times with a production of the allegory, Stephanotocus, which dealt

with uprisings over the denial of monarchy to young Peter II (1721-

1730). It was against Catherine II's regime that new dramatic genres,

in contrast to the Western imports, subsequently rose in revolt to

speak of democracy, complicated political intrigues, and social change.

The Napoleonic War of 1812 caused a great resurgence of Russian

patriotism, reflected in the theatre's repertoire; ideas of devotion to

the motherland, as well as defense of human dignity, were found in the

mostly-satirical plays. The seat of the new nationalism was in Moscow,

not in the capital of St. Petersburg, and the entire country was stunned

by the uprising in that city of the Decembrists on 14 December 1825.

22

23

Tsar Nicholas I submerged the people under a wave of the severest night­

marish terror ever known in Europe up to that time. It was during this

period that some of the greatest stars in Russia's literary sky were at

their brightest: A. S. Griboyedov, A. S. Pushkin, N. V. Gogol, and T. G,

Shevchenko. Time was to dim their light, however, for all of them were

either exiled or went into self exile, along with Belinsky, Herzen, and

Turgenev. Shchepkin visited them while abroad and brought back to Rus­

sia Turgenev's now-famous obituary of Gogol.

Alexander Sergevich Griboyedov found his forte in Russian vaude­

ville and became the most influential writer of the early nineteenth

century in Russia. His most famous work was Woe From Wit (sometimes

translated as Wit Works Woe, The Trouble with Reason, Sorrow from Wis­

dom, or The Sadness of the Spirit), in which he expounded his opposi­

tion to the autocratic regime. In this scathing indictment against

Tsar Nicholas I, Griboyedov presented a young man, Chatsky, a friend of

the aforementioned Decembrists, and Famusov, a serf owner and the em­

bodiment of the ruling class. Chatsky attacks all the enemies of free­

dom and advocates of slavery, denouncing the "quagmire state" where

"merit is measured in direct proportion to the number of slaves and

decorations." This play, considered to be the first play of social

significance in Russian drama, mirrored the moral decadence of the aris­

tocracy and reflected the rise of the bourgeoisie along with its insur­

gence against the decaying feudalism. Shchepkin's own theatre troupe,

housed in the Maly Theatre in Moscow, mounted an all-out effort to pro­

duce this play, providing Shchepkin with one of his most successful

characterizations, that of Famusov.

Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), generally considered to be the

father of the new Russian literature and founder of the Russian literary

language, broke away from the traditional path of writing plays in the

classical form and made the laws of Shakespeare the basis for reform in

Boris Godunov. His knowledge of Russian history enabled him to take

the legendary tsar and treat his story dramatically. His knowledge of

^Varneke, History of the Russian Theatre, p. 89.

24

Shakespearean style and form enabled him to ignore the major classical

elements of playwriting, i.e., the five-act structure, the three unities,

and the integrity of the genre. He divided the play into twenty-eight

scenes in four acts, varied time and place, and injected comic elements

into the tragic piece. The ideological struggle for power became the

focus of objection by the censors, and even though it remained unpro-

duced and totally censored until 1870, its impact was felt throughout

the Russian literary world. Its outstanding good quality, strong na­

tionalism, and realistic treatment of events and people dictated the

form for future plays.

By far, the most influential playwright of lasting impact from

this period was Nikolai Gogol (1809-1852). He was also the most contro­

versial in his belief that the theatre was a powerful weapon for social

reform. At the Maly Theatre in 1836, Gogol "lumped together all that

was bad in Russia and put it up for public ridicule with a performance

2

of The Inspector General, with Shchepkin as the Town Mayor." A seeth­

ing protest against the tsar, it clearly indicated the political in­

volvement of the dramatic literature of the period. This play broke

ground for Shchepkin's belief in the influence that theatre had upon

the masses. From this-point forward, both Gogol and Shchepkin gave the

theatre the social task to educate and raise the spiritual needs of the

crowd, believing that the moral ethics of society could be elevated

through dramatic language and action on the stage. Shchepkin agreed

with Gogol's belief that theatre was a weapon of propaganda, postulated

by Gogol himself in his statement;

The theatre is in no sense a trifle, and by no means a vain thing, if one considers that a crowd of 5 or 6,000 men at once fill it, and that the people composing this crowd, having nothing in common with one another, may, if broken up into units, suddenly be shaken, may burst into tears, and break into spontaneous laughter. This is a chair from which much good may be imparted to the world . . . The theatre is a great school, and its significance is momentous; in one

^Vera Komissarzhevskaya, Moscow Theatres (Moscow: Foreign Lang­uage Publishing House, 1959), p. 89.

25

breath it preaches a vital and useful lesson to the whole crowd, to thousands of men.

Shchepkin demanded that live, human, breathing people be drawn

and characterized onstage. He wanted to put life as he knew it onstage,

the life of the decadent tsarist bourgeois society of Russia and the

horrid plight of the lives of his brethren still in the shackles of

bondage that he had been able to overthrow. Gogol gave him the means

with which to penetrate that society with democratic, humanistic ideals,

and, in so doing, raised fiery protests against serf oppression.

During a time when he was severely depressed about the state of

affairs of the theatre, Shchepkin rejoiced with new-found vitality when

he received The Inspector General. It brought him new life, and the

controversy it ignited upon its debut in St. Petersburg delighted him

even more. Gogol was deeply hurt, as expressed in the letter to Shchep­

kin dated 29 April 1836: "Now I see what it means to be a comic writer.

The smallest vision of truth--and they rebel against you; not one man,

but all society." Shchepkin replied, "The more it (the public) rages

at you, the more I will rejoice."

The outcry prompted by the St. Petersburg production reinforced

his belief that theatre was powerful, and this event gave it new life

during a time when it was in the doldrums. The subsequent reaction of

the public to the Moscow production is described by Shchepkin in a let­

ter to Sosnitsky dated 3 June 1836.

The public was astonished by the novelty of the play and laughed a great deal, but I expected a somewhat better recep­tion. It surprised me very much, but one acquaintance ex­plained the reason for it. "For pity sake," he said, "how could it be better received when half the public are takers and the other half givers?" Subsequent performances justified it. The comedy was received extraordinarily well, with loud shouts, and now it is the subject of general public conversa­tion. Those whom it touched; all were captivated; some

\arneke. History of the Russian Theatre, p. 299.

See appendix A, letter No. 1 to Gogol dated 1836.

26

grimaced . . . each time the public receives it warmer and warmer. The theatre is always full.

In concordance with Shchepkin, Gogol fought so that one could

experience high public ideals and deep sincere emotions in the Russian

theatre. With The Inspector General and The Marriage, which were in­

cluded in Shchepkin's repertoire throughout his career, along with Woe

From Wit, Gogol created the best examples of Russian social comedy.

The revelry of political reactionaries after the defeat of the

Decembrist uprising was not shared by the Maly Theatre troupe, which

fell under the black tyranny of the Third Order censorship. The lines

of battle were drawn, and the Maly Theatre became the bastion for the

movement toward revolution. Most of the outstanding literary figures

of the time rallied around Shchepkin to support the troupe's endeavors.

Shchepkin, in turn, supported the activities of others in the struggle

for reform, as evidenced by his letters to Taras Shevchenko.

There are several similarities in comparing the lives of Mikhail

Shchepkin and the great writer-poet-artist Taras Shevchenko. Both

shared a common heritage of having the Ukraine as their place of birth.

They both inherited the fiery nationalistic love for their province,

unique only to the Ukraine. By birth, both were serfs who were freed

by virtue of their extraordinary artistic talent. Shchepkin's freedom

was ransomed with the proceeds from a benefit in which he starred, a

benefit arranged by the Prince and Princess Repnin, whose daughter was

to play a significant role in securing Shevchenko's return from exile.

Shevchenko had been a promising artist, working and studying in

St. Petersburg. He had been decorating the ceiling of the Bolshoi

Theatre there when his abundant young talent was noticed by K. Briullov,

the artist who painted "The Last Day of Pompeii." Through an agreement

with V. Zhukovsky, Tsarevich Alexander's tutor, Briullov painted the

teacher's portrait to be auctioned off at the Imperial Court. Empress

Aleksandra Fedorovna purchased it, and the money was used to emancipate

See appendix A, letter to Sosnitsky dated 3 June 1836

6 See appendix A, letter to Shevchenko dated 11 December 1857.

27

Shevchenko.

Both worked through their art all their lives to fight what they

perceived to be the ills of society—Shchepkin through dramatic art,

Shevchenko basically through his poetry, for which he later became more

famous than his painting. Both had untiring dedication to their respec­

tive arts, speaking through them to the masses. They were kinsmen in

artistic spirit, bondage, and love of homeland; thus, it was no wonder

that Shchepkin came to Shevchenko's aid when he was allowed to return

from exile to Nizhny-Novgorod. These letters taken collectively help

to verify the magnanimous charity that dwelled within the breast of

Mikhail Shchepkin during a time when political tyranny was being threat­

ened by social unrest.

Shchepkin invited Shevchenko to spend some time with him at the

home of his son in Nikolskoye. He arranged for theatre to be performed

in his honor upon his arrival on Christmas Eve, himself playing the

leading role in Kotlyarevsky's Moskal the Wizard. He was also instru­

mental in securing sketches of Shevchenko and arranging for a lottery

to raise funds for him to return to St. Petersburg if the authorities

permitted the journey. His politically revolutionary fervor and humani-

tarianism toward his brothers shine through all his letters to Shevchenko,

As mid-century approached, the worthy successor to Gogol emerged

in the person of Alexander N. Ostrovsky (1823-1886), whose success was

insured by Shchepkin's earlier struggles. With Ostrovsky, French class­

icism ultimately ended and simple Russian Realism came to maturity.

In 1853, a Maly Theatre production of Don't Sit in Another's Sledge

marked the first time that a heroine appeared in a simple cotton dress

and normal hairdo instead of the traditional silk and French coiffure.

Its "simple, photographically exact presentation" took place on a stage

set for the first time with a box set consisting of walls, doors, win­

dows, and "things of everyday use, entering into the action of the

^C. H. Andrusyshen and Watson Kirkconnel (trans.). The Poetic Works of Taras Shevchenko, The Kobzar (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1964), p. xxxvii.

28

o

play and intended for use by the actors." Like Pushkin, Ostrovsky's

knowledge of Russian history provided the vehicle for outstanding truth­

fulness of the vivid simple language of the Russian people. His world

was that of the merchant district of Moscow, called Zamoskvorechye, on

the "other" bank of the Moscow River,

... a world where the ruble crippled and oppressed the soul, the affections of people, their talent and integrity. Although he wrote "comedies," he was a tragic poet who de­picted the indomitable moral courage, the greatness and hero­ism of the Russian national character.

Ostrovsky's long and fruitful association with the Maly Theatre

established it as the seat of the revolutionary dramatic movement in

Russia so prevalent during the reign of Tsar Alexander II (1855-1881).

He clarified onstage the public democratic view of the Russian revolu­

tionary democrats. This "playwright-laureate of the Russian middle

class" owed his success to Mikhail Shchepkin. Indeed, it can be seen

that the major playwrights of this period championed democracy and free­

dom of the individual, and Shchepkin was their great motivator. Their

cause was the cause of the masses, and their extreme success and popu­

larity lay in the sharp delineation of the "common man" pitted against

the tyrannical authority of the aristocracy. These writers put real

characters on the stage, and it was up to the actor to make them come

alive. Shchepkin readily accepted the challenge by carefully selecting

significant pieces to include as part of his repertoire.

Of prime consideration in Shchepkin's criteria for playing a role

was the effect that it would have on the audience. A typical example

is found in an examination of audience reactions to his creation of the

o

Marshall, The Pictorial History, p. 32.

Komissarzhevskaya, Moscow Theatres, p. 86.

Hartnoll, Oxford Companion, p. 511. ^^Mark Slonim, Russian Theatre (Collier Books, New York: The

Cromwell-Collier Publishing Company, 1962), p. 64.

29

12 title role in Zhakar's Bench. His philosophy of the purpose of

dramatic art was put forth in a letter in response to General Baryatin­

sky, who invited Shchepkin to Tiflis to revive theatrical endeavors in

that provincial city:

I hope that your eminence looks after the theatre, if not only for play, but also that . . . art would be developing, art which is so useful for the people. Down through the cen­turies art has always been first with the masses, and therefore, honestly dealing with it, the masses will move forward. Be­lieve me. Prince; it is so.

To this end, Shchepkin dedicated his life. "Regardless of age, I have

kept the fire burning so far, but this fire is beginning to wane even

though the flame is in full swing. Believe me, it will be burning its 14 whole life for the common good."

Mikhail Shchepkin was a product of his time and a wery capable leader. His high intelligence provided him with the insight needed to

realize his leadership capabilities, and his sensitivity provided him

with the courage to face the failings of society and to strive for im­

provement of the social condition. When almost all of his friends left

the country, including Belinsky, Herzen, Griboyedov, Gogol, Turgenev,

and Shevchenko, either by government or self-imposed exile, Shchepkin

remained to carry on the battle. He provided the link from these

friends to the home front by visiting them in Western Europe. He was

the rock, the center, and the strength of their revolutionary philoso­

phies.

Shchepkin never forgot his first encounter with the power of

dramatic art as a powerful influence upon all people. This remembrance,

as recorded in Chapter XI of his memoirs, illustrated to Shchepkin that

the best way to achieve his goals for himself and society was to stay

and work within the system for change. Shchepkin remembers a Christmas

visit to the home of the Moscow Governor-General, Prince D. V. Golitsyn:

" See appendix A, footnote to letter to Sosnitsky dated 26 January 1846.

• " See appendix A, letter to Baryatinsky dated April 1857.

14 See appendix A, letter to A. I. Shubert dated 2 March 1857.

30

After the presentation we were all invited into the guest room. Having expressed his thanks earlier to the one in charge, turning to Pisarev and taking his hand, the Prince said, "Old man, you have given me a time I will never forget, and I bold­ly say that for the rest of my life I will remember nothing but this joyous day," Then turning to us, he expressed his thanks and invited us to be his guests and above all to be com­pletely at home. During the course of the evening, he would abandon his guests and return, without paying us the slightest attention.

Yesl This was the first time in my life that we were re­garded not only as actors, but also as people. It must have been apparent what kind of influence this had, not on us, but on Pisarev . . . the Prince left everyone after supper and came over to us, talked to me about our art, what popularity it enjoys in Europe, and offered a toast that the dramatic art develop into an artistic form. Then he presented another toast to actors who had given him such an evening, with a spirited wish for our great successes in this art.

Through raising the quality of dramatic art, he believed, one

can raise the quality of life effectively.

^^See appendix B, p. 243

CHAPTER V

SHCHEPKIN'S PHILOSOPHY OF DRAMATIC ART AND THE ART OF ACTING

In the late eighteenth century, a comment about tragedians

appeared in an article in the Satirical Journal;

In the opinion of the actors, the legs and arms are more expressive than the face. With this premise in mind, they stretch one arm up, pressing the otner one so closely to their body that during the entire performance they seem to represent a statue of the ancient type, or an ancient wrestler about to face his rival. They likewise consider it very beautiful to protrude their eyes, stretching forth the fingers of the acting hand so tightly that no power can bend them down again. They are also quite versed in vocal matters. Certain actors shout at the top of their voices, while others pronounce words in a singsong manner, so that a comedy nearly always sounds like an opera.

Lomonosov postulated the correct behavior of the proper "gentle­

man" of the eighteenth century through his catalogue of gestures in

Manual of Rhetoric:

During a speech which is ordinary and depicts no unusual passion, one must stand erect and not move . . . When one stretches out both hands together toward Heaven, one addresses a prayer to God or else one takes an oath; when one stretches forward one's open hands, one entreats or one rejects . . , By turning one's head and face upward, one expresses a magni­ficent thing or pride; by lowering one's head, treachery and humiliation; by shaking it, refusal. Hunched shoulders are a sign of fear, or of doubt, or of refusal.

At the end of the eighteenth century and the first decade or so

^Varneke, History of the Russian Theatre, p. 120,

^F. D. Reeve, An Anthology of Russian Plays, 1790-1890, Vol. 1, trans, and ed. by F. D. Reeve (Vintage Books, New York: Random House, 1961), p. 8.

31

32

of the nineteenth century, an actor felt that adherence to these in­

structions was necessary for success onstage, especially in Western

Europe.

Fortunately, Russian dramatic art had not felt the Western in­

fluence to the point that these traditions were ingrained in the actor's

art. Mikhail Shchepkin stated in a letter, "... fate has allowed the

Russian people to carry art as far as possible. We don't have any ruts 3

in which to bog down." However, no "tradition" had really been

established, and Western influences were being felt through that

style's formal declamation and broad stereotyped gestures. Shchepkin

further elaborated in his recollection of the style of acting at the

beginning of his career:

They said it when no one spoke in his natural voice, when acting consisted of extremely distorted declamation, words being pronounced as loudly as possible and nearly every one of them being accompanied by gestures. Especially in lover's parts, they used to declaim so passionately that even the mem­ory of it is funny. The words "love," "passion," and "betrayal" were screamed with as much strength as the actor possessed; but facial expressions were not used. The face remained in the same tense and unnatural position it had been in when the actor had come on stage. Or again, when the actor approached the end of any powerful monologue after which he had to leave the stage, the rule was that he had to raise his right hand and withdraw in that fashion. By the way, in this connection, I recall one of my colleagues. On a certain occasion, having finished a tirade, he forgot to raise his hand as he was leaving the stage. And what happened? Halfway off, he decided to correct the mistake and solemnly raised that sacred hand.

Shchepkin's experimentation, prompted by the "behavior" of Prince

Meshchersky in a performance of Dowry by Fraud, established him as a

rebel artisan. He was able to establish his new style, for himself in

any event, quite by accident.

We were rehearsing Moliere's comedy, A School for Husbands, in which I was playing Sganarelle. Since we had rehearsed it so much, I got bored with it, and my head was full of some

" See appendix A, letter to Annenkov dated 29 February 1854.

4 See appendix B, pp.

33

nonsense or other so that my part in the rehearsal was what they called "neglige." I was not acting but simply speaking what followed in the script (I always learned my roles thor­oughly), and I spoke them in my usual voice. And what do you suppose happened? I felt that I had said those few words simp­ly, so simply that if I had to say them in real life and not in the play I should have said them exactly the same way. Every time I succeeded in speaking in this fashion, I felt so much pleasure and contentment that by the end ofnthe play, I was trying to preserve this conversational tone.

Thus, through recognition of simplicity and honesty of delivery as a

basis for realism onstage, the principal innovation in the technique

of Russian dramatic art had been discovered by a tired man who did not

have the energy to pay attention to what he was doing.

After Shchepkin's success in provincial theatres and subsequent

triumphs of his talent in the Moscow Imperial Theatres, he became the

first great Russian actor to open a school of acting. In cooperation

with the Maly Theatre, he was able to teach and to make known his

theories of drama which ultimately were not only to revolutionize the

entire scope of dramatic art in Russia, but also to serve as a loose

foundation for the system of Constantin Stanislavsky.

Shchepkin took the theatre practices of the times and refined

them by refusing to adhere to the false, artificial style which had

been imported from abroad. In this rejection, he substituted a prac­

tice of meticulous preparation based upon several precepts, one of

which was clearly stated to a young man just beginning his training

with the master: "It is a pity you have quit high school. Remember

that kno'/leoge is the basis of all art." To Shubert he wrote, "High

school and the university don't take away the road to dramatic art,

but conversely; they only clear it."

He considered it mandatory for a young aspiring actor to have a

broad general education before entering a theatre school. To friend and

^Ibid., p. 211.

See appendix A, letter to Lentovsky dated 14 November.

^See appendix A, letter to Shubert dated 22 November 1854.

34

student alike, Shchepkin admonished all to "study, study, study," and

to "work, work." He believed that one could have all the talent neces­

sary for acting but not succeed without a general education. He main­

tained that one without talent could receive all the training necessary

for an actor, but would fail. "Everything will depend upon what kind

of talent God has given you for your passion for our art, for without

it you. will not go far. Therefore, study, study . . . I will demand

from you only that you study, study, study."^

As another facet of knowledge, Shchepkin insisted that an actor

must conscientiously and continually study his art. Time and time

again he admonished his students:

. . . studv it (acting) as an exact science and not just as a job . . .

. . . but most of all, honestly learn your art . . . Just study^jt deeply, and you will find such bliss in your soul • • •

Work and develop your God-given talents to the utmost . . . by applying yourself industriously, you will approach per­fection as much as nature will allow.

Complacency had no place in the theatre for Shchepkin. He constantly

sought out laziness on the part of an actor and worked to show its

evil. In one instance, Shchepkin disagreed with his student, Prov

Sadovsky, with regard to his characterization of Lyubim Tortsov in

The Doctor in Spite of Himself:

It was awkward considering our friendship. Out of envy for Sadovsky, I decided to show his weak side in this role . . . my career is almost over, but he still has not reached his height. It was necessary for me to play this role . . . when it became apparent that I was not mistaken and that my old head had truly understood the matter, my heated imagination

o

See appendix A, letter No. 2 to Lentovsky.

^See appendix A, letter to Shubert dated 28 March 1848.

^^See appendix A, letter to Shubert dated 2 March 1857.

^^See appendix A, letter to Shumsky dated 27 March 1848.

35

struck several strings hitherto untouched . . . Annenkov wanted to write an article about this, which would have shaken up Sadovsky and moved him forward. The poor guy rests on his laurels thinking that art can't go any fur­ther. That is sad, terribly sad,. Praise God that he ex­amined his thought and developed his talent in the art.p This trip didn't bring money but brought much benefit.

In another instance, when he sensed lack of commitment in his

own work, he lamented:

. . . intellect grows dull, imagination grows cold, sounds are lacking, language doesn't change. All this combined destroys me, wipes me out . . . The body goes out which carries the name of Shchepkin . . . it would have been easy for me if they had hissed me off the stage; even that would have made me happy for the future of the Russian theatre . . . I grow more evil with each passing day . . . nothing comes from all this . . . there is no trace of (art) here.

Meticulous preparation included, first and foremost, an indepth

preliminary study of the script in order to be faithful to the play­

wright's intent. He felt that a play was never to be looked upon as

a vehicle for an artist's talents, but rather that one's talents must

be used to illuminate the purpose of the piece. Therefore, an actor

must subordinate his ego to the success of the overall production. He

wrote:

Real life and stirring passions in all their truth should be brightly revealed in art, and real feelings should be per­mitted to the extent that the author's idea demands. No mat­ter how true the feeling, if it steps beyond the bounds of the general idea, there will be no harmony which is the general law of all art . . . Naturalness and true feelings are neces­sary in art, but only to the extent that the idea permits. That is whaLart consists of, to grasp this feature and to be true to it.

^^See appendix A, letter to A. M. Shchepkin dated 22 August 1855.

^^See appendix A, letter to N. M. Shchepkin dated 26 August 1848.

^^See appendix A, letter to Annenkov dated 12 November 1853,

36

Shchepkin considered this idea to be so important that he taught his

students: "An actor must become the character the playwright intended

him to be. He must walk, talk, think, feel, cry, laugh, whatever the 15 playwright wants."

It was especially to Shchepkin's credit that this subordination

of individual performance to the general effectiveness of a production

became so popular. He always tried to present the play as a whole, as

a unit in which all parts bound together, defining each other, not

individual, disconnected characterizations. No part was small, since

everyone must harmoniously convey his character's contribution to the

whole play, and no role was so large that it should dominate everything

else. Shchepkin tells of a mistake he made in a performance when he

did not refrain from an effective piece of business in his own role in

order to promote the general pleasing effect of the play as a whole:

Not long ago I learned something in my old age. Several days before I received your letter, we gave Woe From Wit, In the last scene where Chatsky gives out those bitter words of contemporary prejudice and the pettiness of society, Samarin performed it well enough that I, as Famusov, became excited and got into the role so much that each of his (Chatsky's) ex­pressions convinced me of his madness. I lost myself in the strangeness of this idea and frequently smiled, gazing at Chatsky like that until I finally had to restrain myself from laughing. All this was so natural that the audience enthusi­astically broke out in laughter, and the scene suffered from then on. Then I realized that this was my fault and that I must give myself up to feeling with care, especially in the scene where Famusov is not the focal point. My daughter and I should have been just scenery, because the whole scene was Chatsky's.'°

In subordinating his own performance, Shchepkin put into practice

his postulate that the entire production should result in the creation

of a unified single impression and the concept that each character had

a contribution to make to the author's intent. This concept, by ex­

tension, led Shchepkin to his thoughts concerning the creation and

^^See appendix A, letter to Shubert dated 28 March 1848.

^^See appendix A, letter to Annenkov dated 12 November 1853.

37

importance of ensemble throughout rehearsals, a practice unique to the

Maly Theatre at this time. His theory of rehearsal proved faithful

to the concept of ensemble creation. Before the plays were even cast,

he would insist upon preliminary readings. He looked to the playwright

for guidance and insisted that he attend first rehearsals to read the

play, discuss its meaning, and offer notes on settings, costumes, char­

acterizations, etc. In a letter to Gogol, Shchepkin begs that the play­

wright come to Moscow to read his new play to the troupe.

You know better than anyone that this play, more than any other, needs to be read by you to the director and actors . . . Even if it bores you, you still need to do it for the comedy, for your conscience, for Moscow, and for the people who love you and take an active interest in The Inspector General, In a word, you know full well that we need you . . . this business concerns the comedy, so therefore I can't be coldblooded toward it , , . Please, don't just give it to us; read through it twice , . .

A footnote to the letter adds further evidence to the emphasis he placed

upon this action.

Addressing Gogol with a request to come to Moscow to parti­cipate in the production of The Inspector General, Shchepkin wasn't at all satisfied with this letter. He even appealed to the author and helper A, S. Pushkin. In a letter of 5 May 1836 to his wife, Pushkin wrote, "Go to Gogol and read the following to him, 'I saw the actor Shchepkin, who, for Christ's sake, asks you to come to Moscow to be present for The Inspector Gene-ral. Without you, the actors can't perform. From my point of vTew, I also advise this because it is not necessary for The Inspector General to fail,in Moscow, where you are more loved than in St. Petersburg.'"^

In still another letter, Shchepkin asks Gogol to "explain what you want

in the way of costumes for the actors in the comedies The Marriage and 20 The Gamblers."

^^Alexander Bakshy, The Path of the Modern Russian Stage (Boston: John W. Luce & Company, 1918), p. 20.

^^See appendix A, letter to Gogol dated 1836.

^^Ibid.

^°See appendix A, letter to Gogol dated 24 October 1842.

38

These early conferences with the playwright immediately gave the

production a sense of unity and purpose, as well as laying a common

ground upon which every member of the company could meet during the

rehearsals. During a time when, in other companies, one or two re­

hearsals were the common practice, constant rehearsals were a must to

Shchepkin, even when those rehearsals had to be conducted in his own

home. He insisted that everyone attend ewery rehearsal, no matter how

minor the character, thus giving an equal importance to every member of

the troupe and instilling in them a spirit of harmony, unity, and a

commonality of effort. He lengthened the rehearsal period to as much

as a month, complaining that this length of time was inadequate for

learning a role: "I had one month during rehearsals of the old reper­

toire to learn twenty pages of script . . . and that is too difficult 21

for my age." This meticulous preparation did not insure a good per­formance, but Shchepkin thought that it would serve to enhance and develop the less talented members of the company who could learn from the experience.

Shchepkin stresses an actor's control in rehearsal, and, in order

to have control, one must have both physical and vocal training. He 22 must go to school "to learn to dance, to fence, and to study music."

He must master the art of movement, as Shchepkin himself demonstrated

in his acting. Despite his small stature (five feet five inches) with

a square, stout frame, he refused to consider it a liability. Quite

aware of the physical manifestations required of a character, Shchepkin

proceeded to transform his bald head, broad face, and entire physical

demeanor to the requirements of the role. As K. Kyukov described, "The

extent to which aestheticism in body movement is important in dramatic

art may be understood from the living example of our own incomparable

Shchepkin."^^

See appendix A, letter to Annenkov dated 14 December 1853,

See appendix A, letter to Lentovsky dated 14 November,

Varneke, History of the Russian Theatre, p. 291.

39

An example of the meaninglessness of gesticulation is evident in

Shchepkin's criticism to Annenkov of the famous French actress Rachel's

performance:

One thing she might be criticized for is her elaborate ges­tures. Of course, they entertain the public, but she should be above that. She is not even economical with them, and each elaboration diminishes their value . . . Her great talent . . . burst forth with all the features of classicism; sounds, ges­tures, and of course, very picturesque but exaggerated move­ments . . . She told me that I am playing The Miser rather 04 well, but I added . . . that my physique hurt me in this role.

One must also possess mastery over the vocal aspects of perform­

ance. Another unidentified observer's remarks describe his extraordi­

nary vocal control; "He perfected his pronunciation to such a degree

of purity and clarity, that despite his thin three-note voice, his 25 whisper was heard throughout the theatre." Shchepkin best expressed

the importance he placed on vocal control in his criticism of Rachel.

It is strange. Throughout all Europe they are still satis­fied with this kind of declamation, with a groaning rise and fall, and we can't get accustomed to this sing-song . , , I found declamation brought to Russia by Dmetriyev . . . It was loud, with almost a pedantic stress in each rhythm, with clever­ly controlled inflection. All this grew louder and louder un­til the last line of the monologue was delivered with all the force the man had . . . And so it continued up to the emergence in Russia of Mrs. George, who carried away all Europe at this time. Her melodious manner, along with her seductive sounds, captivated all audiences . . . We sang and sang and then aban­doned it . . . We just now understand this nonsense and throw it away. If we had established an image from the sounds of our own language's richness, with its marvelous motives, it also would have penetrated into us and would have been hard to tear ourselves away from it. Truly, how many melodious words we have! But we sing them with our hearts . . .

Shchepkin believed that this study for control should be an on­

going process; one must constantly be improving, studying, and working

^^See appendix A, letter to Annenkov dated 20 February 1854.

^^Varneke, History of the Russian Theatre, p. 292.

^^See appendix A, letter to Annenkov dated 20 February 1854,

40

diligently with complete dedication to one's art through complete self-

discipline. He advised Shumsky:

Work and develop your God-given talent to the utmost. Don't reject criticism; search for its deeper meaning . . . by apply­ing yourself industriously, you will approach perfection as much as nature will allow . . . Watch yourself ceaselessly. Even if the public is satisfied with you, you must be your own severest critic.

He constantly urged actors to practice their art continually.

Shchepkin's theory of meticulous preparation included a strict

observation of life, but any discussion of this feature must also in­

clude his innovative (for the period) psychological approach to char­

acterization. S. T. Aksakov made the following observation:

Shchepkin's entire life, even outside the theatre, fur­nished a constant flow of material for his art. Everywhere he found something to observe and something to study; natural­ness, faithfulness of expression (to whatever was being done), the endless variety and special features of that expression, the exclusive attributes of each individual character, and the actions of those traits on the others. Everything was ob­served; everything was transmitted into art; everything en­riched the spiritual resources of the artist.

This "living book" theory of observation for the sake of characteriza­

tion is explained by Shchepkin in his letter to Shumsky;

Always keep nature in mind . . . Seek to be in society as much as time allows, study man "en masse," don't neglect even the smallest scene, and you will discover why things hap­pen one way and not another. This living book will serve you well until we have a body of theory, which, unfortunately, our art does not yet possess. Therefore, scrutinize all class­es of society without sharp prejudice toward one or the other, and you will see that there is good and evil everywhere. This will give you the ability in acting to give yourself to every society . . . Then, no matter what situations are taken from life, you will always play them truthfully. Sometimes you

^^See appendix A, letter to Shumsky dated 27 March 1848.

* ^^Nikolai A. Gorchakov, The Theatre in Soviet Russia, trans, by Edgar Lehrman (New York: Columbia University Press, 1957), p. 6.

41

may play poorly, sometimes only satisfacorily (this often ^Q depends on inner disposition), but you will play truthfully.

This observation of life leads to honest, realistic, and truth­

ful characterization onstage, remembering that this character is alive

intellectually and spiritually, as well as physically. "Crawl under

the skin of the character," says Shchepkin. "Study his particular ideas

completely . . . and don't even exclude from consideration the social 30

influences of his past." An actor, says Shchepkin,

. . . must begin by wiping himself out, his own person­ality, all his peculiarities, and become the character . . . It is impossible to fulfill this without obliterating one's self*. You see how the work of this actor is more meaning­ful."^^

He continues, "In the nature of the role, penetrate into the innermost

recesses of the heart of the person, and when everything is truly de-32

fined, yes! Then your small means will flash in full sparkles."

To demonstrate these precepts to his students, Shchepkin first

gives an example to Shubert and then another to Shumsky: "In the play

I sent you, don't forget that it is in Poland, and the woman is some­

what more developed there. In our customs, she would have appeared to 33

be too sharp;" and, "For instance, if you play a peasant, you can't

observe the social graces when expressing joy; and when playing a baron, 34

you can't shout and wave your hands like a peasant." Inquire into a

character's life, his home, his manner of living, his habits, his friends 35

and acquaintances, in short, "influences of his past," are all neces­sary for proper characterization. He was bitterly opposed to every

29 "^^Ibid.

^^Ibid.

^^See appendix A, letter to Shubert dated 28 March 1848.

32 '^^Ibid.

^^Ibid.

34 See appendix A, letter to Shumsky dated 27 March 1848.

35 "^^Ibid.

42

kind of artificiality on the stage, and he tried to distinguish be­

tween the two antithetical approaches to creating a role.

For example, one actor doesn't cry onstage, but only pretends to cry; yet he makes the audience cry. Another actor is bathed in bitter tears, but the audience doesn't respond to him. May one conclude, therefore, that true feel­ing is not essential in dramatic art, but only cold craft, simply "actoring?" I may be wrong, but I don't think it is true . . . For example, one person has been endowed with a spirit sensitive to everything beautiful, to everything good. All human interests are dear to him. He is no strang­er to others. No matter where he finds himself in society, he feels its grief and its joy; he hotly responds to every­thing as if he himself were touched by it. So he will laugh and cry together with it. Another person, concentrating on himself, is more of an egotist. Living in society, meeting both sorrow and happiness at every step, he will participate in one and the other only to the extent that he is bound by features of that society or that he needs to express his own participation or understands his position. For instance, he may feel sorry for one who was robbed of a hundred thousand rubles, but it won't enter his head to consider how awful it is for a pauper to lose his last ruble. He will feel sorry that some baron's wife has been taken, but won't wrinkle a brow if he is told that the baron has taken his coachman's wife. These people who reason coldly about this have the pos­sibility, living in society, to think through all this, and so not to appear selfish, they demonstrate their sympathy as though it were real. As they are always calm, they are in better control of themselves, and it follows that they can act with expertise. And so it is on the stage. It is so much easier to do everything mechanically; you need only your in­tellect for that. He will gradually approach grief and joy only to the extent that any imitation can approach nature. But an actor of feeling is something else. Indescribable la­bor awaits him . . . In the former case, one only needs to imitate; and it follows from it that the first quickly puzzles the public, while in the latter, one didn't have in mind dup­ing the public and acted honestly. He did everything, it seems. He (the first) understood the role, as was necessary, learned all its details, defined it completely in all situa­tions, but did not destroy himself; and everything came out backwards. For example, let's assume you are acting a rogue, but you begin to laugh and to cry like Alexandra Ivanovna. Nothing results. You might say this is completely impossible. No, it is only difficult! You say: why struggle for some kind of truth when there are much simpler means of pleasing an audience? Then one can only say: why art? . . . If you should ever have the opportunity to see two actors working

43

conscientiously, one cold, clever, bringing pretense to its highest level, and the other with flaming spirit, a heaven­ly spark, even if they are equally honestly devoted to the art, then you will sesgthe iinmeasurable distance between true feeling and pretense.

To give an example of Shchepkin's method of approaching a charac­

ter, it will prove beneficial to take a look at the points he criti­

cized in the performance of another, Ira Aldridge, an American Negro

actor, brought to Moscow a touring company of Shakespeare's Othello.

After the performance, Shchepkin spoke to Aldridge:

r disapprove of the entire scene of Desdemona's arrival. After her galley moors, you move calmly and majestically to meet her, offer her your arm, and lead her to the foreground. Now doesn't this seem quite impossible? You forget absolute­ly that Othello is a Moor, that hot southern blood seethes in his veins, that he not only loves, but passionately adores . . . why, he ought to rush to her, gather her up, carry her in his arms and only then remember that he is an army com-mander^and that many curious eyes are following his move­ments.*^

Further testimony to Shchepkin's belief in characters as real

people is seen in his letter to Gogol protesting that playwright's

plan to change the script of The Inspector General:

I knew all the heroes of The Inspector General as living people. I saw many familiar people as brothers ... It would have been shameful if all of them had been taken from me . . . Leave them as they are for me. I love them. I love them with all their weaknesses just like everybody else . . . These peo­ple are real living people among whom I grew up and have almost grown old. Do you see how long I have known them? You have gathered several people from the whole world in one collective place into one group. I have been totally intimate with them for tengyears . . . even Derzhimord (The Policeman) is precious to me.

^^See appendix A, letter to Shubert dated 28 March 1848.

^^Toby Cole and Helen Chinoy (eds.). Actors on Acting, "Mikhail Shchepkin" (New York: Crown Publishers, 1959), p. 416.

' See appendix A, letter to Gogol dated 22 May 1847.

44

Shchepkin particularly professed that art was beauty. Even the

"dirty" roles he played were searched thoroughly for something within

that character that was good, with which he could identify..

Staying in the country this summer, I learned the part of Lyubim Tortsov from the comedy. The Doctor in Spite of Himself, in which Sadovsky is so good. But the way he played the part was dirty. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that one could find the purely human side to it and then the dirt wouldn't be so disgusting.

Thus one could portray reality in its ugliness and it would become

beautiful. "There are no unpleasantries in the theatre," he said;

and, that despite all the artist's troubles, "We have shining moments, 41

moments of fortunate fulfillment of some difficult role."

Finally, Shchepkin was aware of the pitfalls an actor must avoid

in practicing his profession. He admonished that situations and de­

tails encountered and/or observed in life were only aids, not goals.

)n. .43

42 Understanding must follow. With understanding comes motivation. "I

know the role, and I repeat it with a reason almost ewery time. Goals must be set. "Don't forget your goals," he told Lentovsky, be-

44 cause it is impossible to live without them;" and he advised Shubert

to remember the proverb: "This is the soldier who does not hope to be 45

Field Marshall." The ultimate goal of ewery actor, however, was natur­alness and truth of the portrayal of character, and those should be ewery actor's goals.

39 See appendix A, letter to A. M. Shchepkin dated 22 August 1855.

See appendix A, letter to Gogol dated 1836.

See appendix A, letter to Sosnitsky dated 4 February 1830..

42

4bid.

See appendix A, letter to Shumsky dated 27 March 1848

43.

^^See appendix A, letter to Lentovsky dated 14 November.

^^See appendix A, letter to Shubert dated 28 March 1848.

45

Edwin Duerr summarizes Shchepkin's contributions;

Shchepkin defined the true aims of early Russian realistic acting. And in his uncomplicated, unartful way he furnished Stanislavsky with the fertile beginnings of a system. By his teachings and his performances in the theatre (which he called "the actor's temple, his sanctuary) Shchepkin demonstrated two truths: (1) that the actor's distinctive function is to repre­sent characters, regardless of their tragic or comic stamp, and to represent them honestly, believably by finding models in life; and (2) that there are no small parts, only small actors, since everyone in a play must harmoniously convey his charac­ter's contribution to the author's work as a whole.

In the letters herein translated, Shchepkin puts forth his life­

long beliefs about the art of acting and laments the lack of a formal­

ized system. In them, as demonstrated, one finds the present-day acting

principles followed by most contemporary actors: knowledge, training

and control, rehearsal, ensemble, truth in portrayal of playwright's

purpose, observation and its role not only in physical, but also psycho­

logical research of character (jtoday the term is recognizable as "vicar­

ious experience")., as well as the importance of dedication and self-

discipline, These precepts have become the foundation of the Russian

school of dramatic art, as Stanislavsky took them to mold and concretize

into the formal system that Shchepkin had so keenly desired to estab­

lish. They resound today not only in the halls of the great Moscow Art

Theatre, but also in the present Mikhail Shchepkin School of Acting at

the Maly Theatre.

^^Edwin Duerr, The Length and Depth of Acting (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 19-62)_, p. 'SS\,

CHAPTER VI

CONCLUSION

It has been said that new developments in art occur in three

stages: (.1). discontent with the present system prompts artists to

reject current practices and pursue new avenues; (.2)_ complete and

thorough exploration of those uncharted pathways; and C3)_ establish­

ment of newfound methodologies and their employment in the creation

of new works of lasting quality. It has also been said that historic­

ally important figures have emerged as significant innovators by virtue

of the fact that the unfavorable circumstances of the situation came

together in the proper combination and time frame that was conducive

to the innovations accomplished. The innovator was merely caught in

the right place and the right time with the right material to get the

job done. Such was the case with Mikhail Shchepkin.

The development of theatre in Russia parallels the development

of the politics of the country like none other in history. One must only

look at the events of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in that

country to realize that the tsardom and accompanying aristocracy pas­

sionately strove to create a native national theatre. They succeeded

by exploring two different avenues toward this goal. The Imperial

Theatre system was created by the Tsar, and the aristocracy created the

Serf Theatres. One grew down from above, while the other blossomed

from the lowest stratum of society upward. The Imperial Theatre con­

cerned itself mainly with light diversions imported from abroad; at the

same time, the serf theatres were occupied, however unconsciously, with

the production of native playwrights. Early in the nineteenth century,

these two pathways met, and there stood Mikhail Shchepkin.

As a serf actor, Shchepkin was trained in the provincial theatre,

performing works by such native Ukrainian playwrights as G. V. Kvitka-

46

47

Osnpvyanenko and l\ P. Kotlyarevsky, Such plays occupied a special

place in his repertoire throughout his career because they were unique­

ly Ukrainian, representing a reminder of his heritage with that fierce­

ly proud land. He took that heritage with him to Moscow, along

with its inherent flavoring of social and political commentary. Ukraine

had been subjected by Russia to suppression of its completely native

characteristics. It had been conquered, and its people rebelled against

all attempts to "Russianize" it. By the time Shchepkin reached Moscow,

the most apparent ingredient in the formula that was to propel him to

becoming the father of Russian Realism was the breakdown of the feudal

system, resulting in a disillusioned and financially withering aristoc­

racy, Class demarcation between the nobility and the lower class be­

came more vivid with each new edict by the Tsar, The chasm widened

with each raid by the Third Order, and social unrest grew at a steady

unbroken pace. The lower class that became better educated with each

passing year by aristocrats seeking a symbol of fluency became more and

more socially aware of the inequities of class distinction and segrega­

tion.

The pathways toward reform during the 1820s were populated with

such socially sensitive playwrights as Griboyedov, Pushkin, and Gogol,

who collectively picked up on the unrest and began to write plays that

reflected the conditiX)ns of reality. They began to provide new scripts

to Shchepkin, who had embodied the spirit of revolution through adapt­

ing and exploring new methods with which to act these new plays. As

his theory of realism in acting evolved, he demanded more realism in

playwriting, and the movement grew.

The circle of friends that rallied around Shchepkin were the

cream of the Russian artists of this period. Most of them not only

shared his vision of revolutionary democratic change, but also were

more vocally critical of the government and its policies. Their recog^

nition of the power of theatre in the fight for reform only resulted in

their more daring confrontation with the system. Their blatant bold­

ness not only instilled Shchepkin with more fervor for the cause, but

also served to demonstrate his intelligence, Where many of his friends

48

were forced out of the system, Shchepkin firmly believed that the only

way to effect change in any system was to work within it. He was suc­

cessfully able to turn the theatre into a tool for this purpose--a pur­

pose he considered to be paramount in importance.

Shchepkin recognized the challenge. In order to change society,

the theatre must present its ills so vividly that the people would

recognize the maladies and demand reform. Vividness depended upon the

realistic presentation of the problem. Therefore, plays realistically

portraying the realities of life were written and presented by Gribo­

yedov and Gogol. Their progression from the romantic satire to real

social dramaturgy required a new style of acting. As a result, "real"

acting co-developed with the movement in playwriting which became native

drama, by its reflection and depiction of the corruption and decadence

of society.

Surrounding this picture of events was Shchepkin's indomitable

love for art, for Mother Russia, and for his fellow man. Motivated

mainly by mankind's suffering at the hands of political tyranny, he set

out to try to improve conditions through his art, to which he dedicated

his total allegiance. The major difference between Shchepkin's result­

ant realism and the realistic tendencies of his predecessors was his as­

signation of lofty purpose of and his strenuous dedication to aesthetic

creativity, both characterized by his subordination of everything else

to the creative process. By elevating the art to all that it could be,

Shchepkin was convinced that society would be changed and that Mother

Russia would "recover her health from the infectious sickness" of the

times.

Shchepkin indeed stood at the crossroads. All factors came to­

gether just at the time Shchepkin debuted his brilliant talent in Rus­

sia's capital. His superior talent and intelligence equipped him to

take the reins of artistic reform and to guide it further down the

pathway, widening the avenue for later successful achievements of such

revolutionary playwrights as Ostrovsky, Leo Tolstoy, Maxim Gorky, and

Anton Chekhov. What were these artistic reforms? A recapitulation of the features

49

of Shchepkin's precepts will lead to ^, realization of the single most

influenti^al theatrical theory in history: the ultimate development of

Stanislavsky's system of acting. Stanislavsky took the building mater­

ials of Shchepkin's theory and erected the philosophy of the Moscow

Art Theatre.

The foundation of Shchepkin's reform lay in the honest and real­

istic depiction of character. Truthfulness to reality was the basis

for all other building blocks of his premise. The importance of the

author's intent provided the wood for construction of the edifice in

which all other features of his reform were housed. The subordination

of individual performances to achieve the overall aesthetic unity and

the importance of relaying the message was of primary concern to the

actor. In order for this unity to be accomplished, an ensemble must

be created to put this wood together to form housing for his other per­

suasions. Thorough rehearsals were required to realize the honesty and

truth of the play. During these prolonged periods of rehearsal, ex­

tensive research in the form of the observation of life was required

of the actor. This would result in "total" acting.

The new concept of "total" acting was composed of many principles,

without which the final realization of Shchepkin's convictions could

not have been achieved. Among these tools were: (.1), honesty and truth­

fulness of characterization through the sensitive observation of life,-

iZl extensive dedication to the art of the theatre through complete

self-discipline and constant striving for improvement through the mas­

tery of control over both body and voice; (.3) with diligent and contin­

uous practice, an ease of coordination between gesture and vocal effects;

(4)_ outward transformation via meticulous attention to details of sets,

costumes, and make-up; (5). total concentration onstage with its ramifi­

cations of the importance of listening and silence onstage, and the

actor's acknowledgement, but ignorance, of the presence of the audience

during performance; (6)^ ensemble; (7) general as well as artistic edu­

cation and training; and (.8), the psychological approach to becoming the

character onstage. Spanning more than half a century, Mikhail Shchepkin's career

50

embodied the three stages of development of Russian Realism in acting.

From recognizing inadequacies in current practices, Shchepkin began to

break new ground with others of similar thought. His efforts led to

significantly innovative reforms through continuous exploration, some­

times to his own personal peril and strong sacrifice. These reforms,

however, have reached throughout the world, resulting in the highest

elevation and advancements of the art of acting the world has ever

known. The enduring quality of today's art owes a great debt to this

little man with a square frame.

Mikhail Semyonovich Shchepkin was truly the man of the century.

His pioneering efforts paved the path toward complete reform of the

art of acting. His strong belief in the power of theatre to change so­

ciety significantly contributed to the ultimate downfall of tsardom,

thereby affecting the history and progress of the entire world. The

influence of his lifetime in the theatre has been felt around the

world. Upon the fast-approaching occasion of Mikhail Shchepkin's two-

hundredth birthday, this investigator dedicates to his memory this study

of his profound theatrical convictions and contributions.

LIST OF REFERENCES

Books

Bakshy, Alexander. The Path of the Modern Russian Stage. Boston: John W. Luce & Company, 1918.

Danilov, S. S. Russkii dramaticheskii teatr XIX veka. Moscow: Gosu-darstvennoe Izdatel'stvo "iskusstvo," 1957.

Duerr, Edwin. The Length and Depth of Acting. New York: Holt, Rine­hart and Winston, 1962.

Gorchakov, Nikolai A. The Theatre in Soviet Russia. Translated by Edgar Lehrman. New York: Columbia University Press, 1957.

Komissarzhevskaya, Vera. Moscow Theatres. Moscow: Foreign Language Publishing House, 1959.

Lunacharsky, Anatolii Vasilevich. Dorevolyutsionnii teatr sovetskii Teatr. Vol. 3. Moscow: Khudozhestvennaya Literatura, 1964.

Macleod, Joseph. Actors Across the Volga. London: George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1946.

Marshall, Herbert. The Pictorial History of the Russian Theatre. New York; Crown Publishers, Inc., 1977.

Reeve, F. D. An Anthology of Russian Plays. Vol. 1. Translated and edited by F. D. Reeve. Vintage Books. New York: Random House, 1961.

Shevchenko, Taras. The Poetic Works of Taras Shevchenko, The Kobzar. Translated by C. H. Andrusyshen and Watson Kirkconnel. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1964.

Slonim, Mark. Russian Theatre. Collier Books. New York: The Cromwell Collier Publishing Company, 1962.

Stanislavsky, Constantin. My Life in Art. Translated by J. J. Robbins. New York: The World Publishing Company, 1968.

Varneke, S. V. History of the Russian Theatre, Seventeenth Through Nineteenth Century. Translated by Boris Brasol, and edited by Belle Martin. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1951.

51

52

Articles

"Maly Teatr," Teatral'naya entsiklopedia. Vol. III. Edited by P. A. Markov, et al. Moscow: Ketchem-Nezhdanova, 1964.

"Maly Theatre," Oxford Companion to the Theatre. Edited by Phi 11 is Hartnoll. New York: Oxford University Press, 1951.

"Mikhail Semyonovich Shchepkin," Actors on Acting. Edited by Toby Cole and Helen Chinoy. New York: Crown Publishers, 1959.

APPENDIX A

APPENDIX A: THE LETTERS OF MIKHAIL SHCHEPKIN

I. Letters to I. I. Sosnitsky

Dear Friend, 1 March 1828

It has been a long time since I have heard from you. True, you

have always been busier than I. So be it. I want to come to you

in Peter the first days of May and work together with you, but I don't

know to whom to apply. True, I am not familiar with that procedure,

so please get busy and find out upon whom it depends if I am to be al­

lowed to come, under what conditions, and what I can present. I am

enclosing a small repertoire. I will send the plays that will be new

to the theatre beforehand.

Secure only those permits that you know apply to a benefit. Don't

fret about the scenes; you know that I, like you, am not lazy. I will

not argue with the arrangements you set up, but don't let the time slip

away.

As you are well aware, we have suffered a big disappointment in 2

Vase Ryazantsev. I would have done the same thing in your place,

though. I will not be angry with you. I think we will soon bid good­

bye to him and take our leave of not only an actor, but a good friend

as well. 3

My true respects to your wife. Goodbye; stay well. This is my lifelong wish from your humble friend Mikhail Shchepkin.

The old folk, wife, and children . . . from young and old . . .

send greetings.

^Shchepkin refers to St. Petersburg (now Leningrad) as "Peter."

^Ryazantsev, Vasily Ivanovich (1800-1831), a talented comic, out­standing in roles of Shchepkin and Sosnitsky. Acted at the Maly Theatre in 1824. In 1825, Sosnitsky, who was coming to stay in Moscow, made

54

55

friends with Ryazantsev. He valued his talent highly and persuaded him to transfer to the theatre in St. Petersburg. He died of cholera on 21 June 1831.

3 The term "landlady" throughout Shchepkin's letters means "wife."

Sosnitsky's wife, Elena Yakovlevna (1800-1855) was a well-known actress of the St. Petersburg stage. Pushkin dedicated four stanzas of poetry to her in 1818.

4 Shchepkin's parents; Simon Gregorevich Shchepkin and Maria Timo-

feevna Shchepkina.

*•**•***••*•*••*****

March 1828

I have not heard from you since Ryazantsev's departure, and,

honorable one, you have not informed me in detail about my trip to

Peter. Besides some small changes in my repertoire, you have not ex­

plained to me whether I need to write to one of your directors or if

your kindness has already arranged things, so that I don't need to

worry about making the trip in vain. Give Ryazantsev a kiss for me and

congratulate him on his successes, which I learned from "Northern Bees.

I don't need to assure you that I was sincerely gladdened and, at the

same time, saddened while remembering the disappointment we associated

with him. I will not hide it from you; it was distressing to me that

I learned everything from the newspapers and none of you gave me a glad

line about his happy debut. Of course, with respect to him, I blame

myself that in the course of five years of friendship, I did not suc­

ceed in earning much love from him. It convinced me of my own short-2

comings. What to do! I am a Ukrainian. I know how to love, but not

how to express my love. Of course, after all, I can say, "To hell with

love." But what to do? I am forty years old and already coarse, so to

say. To God with him! In his revenge I will love him even more, and

that, for me, will be the sweetest revenge. No thanks to you, brother

Ivan. I am very lazy to write,.but under similar circumstances I would

have informed you. I won't hide from you, brother, that I am guilty

and painfully disappointed with myself. Bad, brother; I am sure it is

not good! Well, write to me as soon as possible because I have already

suffered for two weeks. Amuse me like an old child; remove from my

nl

56

head this alienation that is destroying me. Don't be angry that I have

spoken plainly to you about everything that is troubling me. Please

don't be angry! True, I got it off my chest, and things are going

easier for me now. So I kiss you in absentia and will ask nothing more

of you except your love.

Refers to a review which appears in "Northern Bees," No. 42, which is a laudatory account of Ryazantsev's St. Petersburg debut in the play. Mistakes, or Evening Shows that Tomorrow Will be a Better Day, and Actors Among Themselves. In that account the critic rated the act­ing of Sosnitsky extraordinarily highly.

2 Ukraine was referred to as "Little Russia."

*•••**••••**•*•*•***

27 March 1828

Thank you for the letter about A Lesson for Old Men"" which I order­

ed you to copy for me. Please proceed with your superiors so that this

play can be presented for my benefit. First, however, please ask 22

actors on my behalf to participate in my benefit, namely: Yakov Bryan-

sky, so that he won't be lazy in preparing Denvil and ask him to play 2

the role he has; Alexandra Mikhailovna Karatygina, about the role of

Adele, of which they also have copies; and Mr. Sosnitsky, I do not ask

about the role of the Duke, because I know he has already played this

role, and he will bicker to get out of it. I will come immediately as

soon as the play is ready. Tell the director that I will prepare the 3

role of Dosazhaev from The School for Scandal, but I don't wish to

play it too much. I am translating Entrepreneur in Troubles to music,

and as soon as it is ready I will send it post haste. Please, just

distribute the roles better. I will bring several vaudevilles.

I think you are already well aware of our great loss; namely the

death of Alexander Ivanovich Pisarev. Yes, he left us on the 15th of

this month. It was a great loss for the theatre, but most painful for

myself because I lost a friend in him.

^A Lesson for Old Men, a comedy in five acts by Delavil, transla­ted by F. Kokoshkin. Presented at the Maly Theatre on 29 January 1825.

57

Shchepkin played Denvil and Bonar (in succession). Other roles were Adele and the Duke.

2 Alexandra Mikhailovna Karatygina (Kolosova) 1802-1880. Famous

St. Petersburg actress and wife of V. A. Karatygin. 3 The School for Scandal by Sheridan. Presented at the Maly Thea­

tre in 1823 by A. Pisarev under the name of Lukavin. 4 Entrepreneur in Troubles, a vaudeville. 5 Alexander Ivanovich Pisarev (1803-1828) dramatist, vaudevillian.

See chapter XI in Shchepkin's memoirs, "Visit to M. S. Shchepkin by Moscow Governor-General Prince D. V. Golitsin in the village of Po-zhestveno" and his notes on it.

*••••*•••***•••*••**

3 March 1829

Friend, do me a favor. As soon as possible, send me the book.

The Tragedy of Don Carlos, that you played in the theatre, because my

benefit with Mochalov is immediately after Easter. The sooner the bet­

ter so it won't be late. If you send it to us, we will produce it be­

cause the summer benefit must be stronger. Excuse me, I can't write

any more; I'm terribly confused. My wife's illness is very disturb­

ing to me. She caught cold and developed a terrible inflammation in

the chest and left side, and I have been at her bedside for eight days.

She seems a little better, but God knows what will be next. Also,

Father and Mother are ill. It is a dark time for me. Farewell. I

kiss you in absentia; and I kiss your hand, my dear Elena Yakovlevna. 2

A sincere bow to Avdota Kirillovna. Goodbye. I pray to God that you

are well. This is my perpetual wish for you. M. Shchepkin. Kisses

to Ryazantsev.

^Don Carlos, Shiller's tragedy adapted and translated by P. G. Obodovsky, given in Moscow in a benefit for Mochalov on 3 January 1830

^Ushakova Avdotya Kirillovna. She lived in Sosnitsky's home and ran the household.

********************

58

3 March 1829

I send you thanks for the quick reply concerning Don Carlos. I

explained to Bryansky and apologized to him for my indiscretion. Thank

you for your interest in my wife's illness, although now, thank God,

she is recovered. I was already dreaming of a young wife, much to my

misfortune. Ryazantsev is here. You dispatched him in worn-out ga­

loshes, and he caught a terrible cold. Even though he is healthy, he

is completely without a voice; nevertheless, he is better. We dined

yesterday at the home of Neil Andreevich Novikov, who sends you greet­

ings. Our benefit is May 10th, and they are translating Amsterdam Exe­

cutioner for me. Find out from the censors--you are surely acquainted

with them--if they will allow this title, which is rather unpleasant to

the ears, and of course, if they will allow this play. The subject

matter is very noble. Farewell. They have arrived at my house for re­

hearsals. I kiss you; I kiss your lady's hand; and my sincerest greet­

ings to Avdota Kirillovna. To be well and happy is the everlasting

wish I send you. Your friend, M. S.

P. S. I thank you from my heart for your trouble about Don Carlos.

Bow to all you consider worthy for me. So long.

Polder--Amsterdam Executioner, a new romantic drama in three acts with music and dance by Pixiercourt and Dyukanzh, translated from French by P. N. Arapov. The role of Polder was played by Mochalov; the role of Dirman by Shchepkin.

The vaudeville was first presented as a second piece in two acts, translated from French by N. F. Pavlov as Young and Old, Married and Mute. Shchepkin played Bryuksal.

••••••********•**••*

8 January 1830

Do me a favor, old chap, and don't deny my request. A vaudeville

was promised me for my benefit, but I see that none will be ready.

If something must replace it, I want to give a divertisement* in which

I can present some scenes. So, as soon as possible, order cuttings

* Mixed performance after an opera

59

1 from Woe From Wit which you played at the benefit for Ms. Valverkhova,

and as soon as they are ready, send them to your office to confirm that

they are performed on the Peter stage. . . . Yes, I am glad God has put

me at ease regarding Ryazantsev. There are such unpleasant rumors here

(especially among those who love him). Pray God it isn't true! In

any event, kiss him for me and wish him a happy new year. So long, be

healthy, and don't forget there is a small square figure in the Moscow

troupe who considers it a pleasure to be your true friend.

In the course of four years (1825-1828) Griboyedov's Woe From Wrt was under strict censorship. But in 1829, after the tragic death of Griboyedov, the government was forced by pressure of public opinion to allow the staging of a short excerpt from the comedy in the Imperial Theatre on 2 December 1829 in a benefit for the actress M. I. Valver­khova, after the five-act translation of John, Duke of Finland, in the musical and dancing divertisement, "Theatre Lobby, or the Scene Behind the Scene." A cutting from the first act (scenes 7-10) of Woe From Wit was put in one of the other numbers. In this first presentation of the cutting, the roles were filled as follows: Chatsky by Sosnitsky, Famusov by Boretsky, Sophia by Nimfodorova, Simonova and Lizzy by Mon-gotya, a graduate of the theatre school. Despite the fact that it was only a small cutting, Sosnitsky had to spend much effort to get per­mission for that mostly harmless scene from the play by Griboyedov. In Moscow, Shchepkin sought permission for Woe From Wit.

2 Shchepkin had in mind the rumor about Ryazantsev's spree.

*•******•****••***••

4 February 1830

Deep-felt thanks for the scene you sent from Woe From Wit. It

helped me very much, and the benefit was a success. Thank you for the

news about Ryazantsev. You comforted both me and all his former friends

because the worn out rumors about him are ghastly. Will you be able to

ask D. M. Perevoschikov in person about that, because it is awkward to

put it on paper?

From your letter, it is obvious that you impatiently await your

pension. I suppose the theatre has tired you. Oh, brother! Sin, Ivan.

I don't entirely believe it, though. A very memorable proverb comes

to me, "From the cradle to the grave." Theatre troubles wearied you,

but in what profession don't they exist? On the other hand, though.

60

we have shining moments, moments of fortunate fulfillment of some dif­

ficult role. These moments are not suffered in vain.

^ 31 January 1830 in Shchepkin's benefit in the divertisement after Moliere's comedy. The Miser, cuttings from the first act of Woe From Wit (as in St. Petersburg) were given instead of a vaudeville. Shchepkin played Famusov.

2 The translation of Dmitri Matveevich (1788-1880), mathematician,

author and academician.

•***•+••••**••*•***•

8 June 1830

I received your letter on the 16th with the 100 rubles (paper)

with which you wish me to send five pounds of tea at 15 rubles per

pound. I sincerely hope it will please you. We will settle up the

remaining money at our next meeting. I am glad, wery glad, old chap, that the Ukraine pleases you, because I must confess it is wery pleas­ant to hear flattering references about my birthplace. Thank God the

trip has brought you the desired benefit, but brother, mind that you

help the doctor by asking him not to let you go hunting. I know you,

my dear. You are a hunter.

I am sending you a program of the production in Neshuchnoye.

Read it attentively and sympathetically. Your friend has not parti­

cipated in this preposterous production until now because of the pains

in his feet. But as this pain passes, he must do it. I can't imagine

it otherwise. The whole theatre is open above the spectators as well

as the stage. The rear of the stage has no curtain and is joined di­

rectly to the wood. Instead of wings, trees dig into the side stages.

Whenever there is the smallest breeze you can't hear a single word. In

addition, the caw of crows and jackdaws serve as an accompaniment to

the orchestra. There is not a dry refuge anywhere, because the dress­

ing rooms are covered only with a canvas. They bring the whole school

and the actors there at the same time to rehearse in spite of the rainy

weather. It rained when we conducted the first rehearsal, and we were

forced to stop the rehearsal for an hour or two and take shelter in

damp dressing rooms. They we resumed on the damp stage. Add to that.

61

the rehearsal was at 7:00 p.m. and continued until almost 11:00 p.m.

Fever overtook poor Vinogradova.

Then yesterday they took us to rehearse in the same damp, cold

weather. I don't know how this will turn out. My heart pounds. I'm

afraid I will go mad or fly into a rage; the latter seems more probable.

No joking, it is wery sad, because it is like hunting wild animals with 2

hounds.

Goodbye, and be well. My regards to Sterlyadin. Express thanks 3

to Constantin Timofeevich for his greeting. Take pains to express my

true esteem and thanks to him that he hasn't forgotten his old friend.

Ask that he hold you strongly in his hands. I am living at home with

everyone; my family is all alive and well and send you greetings. Fare­

well, friend. Pray to God that the Garden will become boring for the

public. The first collection was a not-too-large 1,200 rubles, and ex­

penses were close to 1,000. What to do!

Today is the second performance of Melnik there. Goodbye. Var-5

lamov is still here, but only because of illness. I haven't seen him

for two weeks. Take advantage of the sea, the air . . . in a word, do

whatever you want, but get well for the one who always will be your true

friend and obedient M. Shchepkin.

On 24 May 1830 Sosnitsky, ill with severe rheumatism, left for treatment in Odessa, where he spent 4^ months.

2 In the summer of 1830, the Moscow directorate, with intentions

to improve its staggering financial situation, devised a scheme to do open-air performances in the Neskuchnoye Garden with actors from the Maly troupe. The performance took place in spite of bad weather. The following description of this theatre was given in the Moscow Telegraph (1830, No. 11):

. . . having left the Bolshoi and Maly Theatres, the di­rectorate has introduced a new theatre in Neskuchnoye Garden. A kind of amphitheatre has been built, with armchairs, boxes, a gallery, and a stage. All this is without a roof. Trees establish the decor, and the curtain is replaced by a moveable partition. Spectators sit with their hats on. The music re­sounds, and the actors and actresses maliciously play Melnik, The Jewish Inn, and so on. Then the dancing begins. A chorus of regimental music comes alive onstage, and finally fireworks are presented. The banging rockets and bouquets finish the

62

spectacle. 3 Constantin Timofeevich Spaasky, the doctor who treated I. I. Sos­

nitsky. 4 Melnik-Sorcerer, Fraud, and Matchmaker, a comic opera with li­

bretto by Abiesimov and music by Fomin. 5 Alexander Egorevich Varlamov (1801-1851), a famous Russian compo­

ser, author of countless songs and love songs. He stopped in Moscow in 1830 on his way to St. Petersburg from abroad, where he had been studying music. He was concert master for the Moscow theatres from 1832 to 1835. •****••**•*•*••*•*••

14 November 1830

You can see by this letter, love, that I am alive and well. We

are likewise courageously fighting cholera. Despite the seige, we are

decisively repelling it. The trouble is that we are eating moderate­

ly, and this is worse than cholera. The theatre has paid a high price;

up to now thirteen people have died. Among them are Sholtz-Bernadelli,

Malashev and his sister, and Andre Lobanov. Also, Gorchakov from the

chorus, musicians, and stagehands. What will be next? God knows.

Pray, brother, for us sinners, and we will pray from our souls that you

will not be stricken by cholera.

Please find out as soon as possible whether the Prince (Shakhovsky) 2

changed his mind about sending Yuri Miloslavsky to me. If not, then

try to send it as soon as possible, also the comedy "The Maltese Cava-3

lier." Use your own money for copying because prices are high right

now, and we have no income. We need money badly. . . . What a pity I

am bound to my family; otherwise I would have spent this difficult time

for Moscow with you in St. Petersburg and would have acted as much as

I could. The cholera is subsiding right now, but we still won't return

to performances soon, because we are heavy laden.

There was a terrible epidemic of cholera in Moscow in the fall of 1830. As a result, the Moscow theatres were closed from 16 September 1830 to 8 February 1831.

^Yuri Miloslavsky, dramatization by Shakovsky of a novel by M. N.

63

Zagoskin. Presented in Moscow as a benefit for V. I. Zhivokin on 11 June 1831. M. S. Shchepkin played the role of Mitya.

3 The Maltese Cavalier, a vaudeville in one act. Translated from

French by Ofrosimon. M. S. Shchepkin played the role of Sandfort.

*••••*••*•**••******

6 February 1831

Hello, dear friend! It has been a long time since I have heard

any word of you. Why don't I come to visit you in Peter for the holi­

day (because according to my contract I have the first month free after

the opening of the theatre), in order to spend several weeks together

with you to talk about everything? Together with this, I would like

to act with you in the theatre. Since I don't have the honor of know­

ing Prince S. S. Gagarin personally, I hesitate to request his per­

mission in writing. If possible, take this as your responsibility and

settle it. Propose to him that my coming will be satisfactory, of

course, for a rewarding benefit. As far as that goes, (find out) how

many performances will be possible, because neither of us are truly

lazy at acting. From the attached repertoire one can see what I can 2

play. Please, brother, go to this trouble so that I can come to you

and act. There are many reasons why I need to spend some time in Peter.

Everything here in this disorderly administration is terribly boring 3

for me. You know me, and therefore you can trust me that it is not

acting in the theatre that bores me. We will talk about all this if

God grants that I come to you . . .

Prince S. S. Gagarin was director of the St. Petersburg Imperial Theatres from 1829 to 1833.

^The attached list of the repertoire was not preserved.

' From 1826 to 1831 the manager of the Moscow Theatres was F. F. Kokoshkin (1773-1838). The last years of his management of the Maly Theatre were characterized by large financial deficits and feverish attempts to raise collections with the help of all possible adventures such as the opening of a theatre in Neskuchnoye Garden, the discharge of actors, and the reduction of rewards from benefits of the troupe.

•***•**•****••*•***•

64

23 May 1831

Thank you from my soul, friend, for the letter and the answer.

I will be able to come either on the third or the seventh of July and

stay through Lent. During my stay, I promise I will play as many

times as possible. Now, find out and let me know if it is possible to

come at this time without having written to His Grace Prince Gagarin,

director of your theatres. It is my understanding that you are arrang­

ing everything yourself. In any case, I am sending you the script for

The Miser and the vaudeville, "Phillip."^ Please try to distribute

them in such a way that it will be a pleasure to act. 3

As for your benefit, Lensky is doing a comedy in verse for you

in three acts from Three Tens. There are beautiful vaudevilles by

Lensky, such as The Old Hussar in three acts,^ "Husband and Wife" in

one act, and "Theobald" in one act. Besides these, there is almost

nothing left. I don't know if The Barber of Seville, translated by 8

Ushakov, has been done there, or the comedy. The Prompt Testator, trans-g

lated by Mr. Tito. If your directorate will not stand in the way of

my coming to you, get a copy of the role of Famusov and send it to me

as soon as possible because, even though I have the comedy, I don't

know what has been cut from it. My copy is not very correct.

Scribe's opera. Fiancee, was played for the first time yesterday,

music by Ober. I have not seen such a beautiful production in a long

time. Lensky celebrated. As a matter of fact, even the translation

was beautiful.

The Miser, Moliere's comedy, translated by S. T. Aksakov. From 1830, Shchepkin played Harpagon.

"Phillip, or Family Pride," a comedy-vaudeville in one act by Scribe, Malisvilya Bayard, translated by D. T. Lensky. Presented in Moscow in 1831. Shchepkin played the role of Phillip.

"^Dmitri Timofeevich Lensky (1805-1850), an actor at the Maly Thea­tre and a talented vaudevillian.

*A lent associated with the St. Peter and St. Paul holiday, cele­brated on 12 July.

65

4 Three Tens, or New Two-day Adventure, an opera-vaudeville in

three acts. Translated from French by A. Pisarev, music by A. Verstov-sky and A. Alyabyev. The premiere in Moscow was presented in the Big Peter Theatre on 18 June 1831. M. S. Shchepkin played the banker Valbel.

5 The Old Hussar, or the Page of Frederick II, an opera-vaudeville

in three acts. Translated from French by D. T. Lensky. The first pre­sentation occurred in the Big Peter Theatre on 5 June 1831. M. S. Shchepkin played Brandt, the old hussar.

"Husband and Wife," a comedy-vaudeville in one act by D. T. Len­sky, music by A. N. Verstovsky and Maurer. Shchepkin played Dyura, the inn-keeper.

"Theobald, or the Return to Russia," a comedy-vaudeville in one act. Translated by D. T. Lensky.

o The Barber of Seville, or Useless Precaution, a comedy in four

acts by Beaumarchais. It played the Maly Theatre in 1829. g The Prompt Testator, a comedy in five acts. It played the Maly

Theatre in 1829. •**•**••**•*••**•**•

24 April 1831

Christ is risen! I greet you and your wife, love, with the past

holiday and ask God for fifty more years to greet you. We are all well,

except the wife, however. Her illness detained me in Moscow. My con­

science hurts me a little that I embarrassed you. That came from

Yakov^ who within limits is lazy and within limits is diligent. I

wrote him only that, "I have decided to visit you during the holiday

if I can arrange it with your authorities," thinking that I wouldn't

trouble him. I wrote to you four days later asking you to fulfill the

request, but he, dear one, surprised me. "I," he said, "have already

arranged everything." Now I have ordered him to ask pardon from the

authorities that I cannot be there any sooner than August because my

wife is not very well. Help him. If they allow me to come at that

time, I will bring "The Boor" and something else. Thank you for send­

ing the play, and when we meet, I will reciprocate. The letter was de­

livered to the address, and he promised to answer. Here's what happen­

ed: P. I. Rebrustov stepped on his toes many times and only heard the

66

result. Another time, he didn't know where to go, whether to return

the money to you or send it to Odessa. Evidently either there is no

money or he does not want to pay. Bow to Mr. Karatygin and Mr. Rya­

zantsev for me. I kiss you in absentia and wholeheartedly wish that

your health will be better, because your letters indicate you are suf­

fering again. That's bad, brother Ivan, very bad. Farewell, your

intimate brother and friend Mikhail Shchepkin. p

My regards to Avdota Kirillovna.

Yakov Gregorevich Bryansky, died in 1853. 2 Avdota Kirillovna Ushakova served in the corps de ballet. Very

close to E. Y. Sosnitskaya and her husband, she lived with them as their housekeeper.

*•*•••**•**••*•***•*

15 June 1831

Thank you from my soul, friend, for your efforts with regard to

my trip to you. As far as the benefit is concerned, I just don't know

myself whether to present The Miser with "Phillip" or something else.

Is Bot done at your theatre? If not, I could probably bring that with

me, as you know it. If The Miser has not been done there for a long

time, then that; if not, then we'll select something from the repertoire.

I have cut The Old Hussar. "Theobald" has been edited with notes. I

will bring them with me. As far as Lensky is concerned, he is working

in the middle of the first act, and maybe I can bring the first act with

me. I am constantly demanding of him, but he, poor one, is saddened

with domestic problems. His wife, it seems, is near death, because her

consumption is far advanced according to the doctor. But against my

conscience, I am trying to persuade him to work on the comedy to relieve

his grief. I can leave on the 28th or 29th, but that will depend en­

tirely upon you, dear friend. True, you will see (our old Moscow gos­

sips . . . God grant it was all a lie). The incessant rumors have it

that cholera is already raging in Kronshtadt, and several chatterboxes

have already gone mad in Peter itself. I don't want to meet with the

damned thing, and moreso I don't wish such a bad visitor for the city

67

of Peter. Pray to God that this is not true! Pray to God that we don't

have the need to care continually about the misfortune of friends, the

inhabitants of Peter. So, please assure me that all this is a lie. I

don't believe any of it, but my family is afraid.

Bot, or the English Merchant, a comedy in three acts. Translated from French. Shchepkin performed the role of Bot.

••••*•*•*********•**

17 June 1831

I am hurrying to answer your last letter, received on the sixteenth.

This letter abolished all the rumors of verbose Moscow. I depart for

Peter on the nineteenth of this month and will arrive no sooner than

the sixth or seventh of July, because I will surely be in quarantine

for fourteen days, maybe less. Quarantine was established in Bronnit-

sky. So what? It will be a nice rest and a nice chance for studying

roles. So that it won't be painfully boring for me, please write at

least something to me in Bronnitsky. As far as the benefit play is con­

cerned, I wrote to you: Boit or The Miser and the vaudeville, "Phil­

lip." The distribution of roles is entirely up to you, because you,

lover, are knowledgable. It is good for the play if the best actors

participate in it, especially for the beneficiary. Therefore, beat your

brains out for your obedient servant if you need to ask someone. I

think I'll stick with The Miser and "Phillip;" only how can we bring it

about? "Phillip" is quite serious.

The quarantine would have delayed anyone else, but I am stubborn.

Many reasons could have stopped me from taking this trip, but I decided

in spite of all obstacles to hug as much of you as my short hands could

reach. I will not ask you to act anything for my benefit, because you

could be offended. However, I know that you, friend, are very obliging

—not because of the fact that we're old? So long. Be with God, and

pray to Him that with patience I will deserve the precious pleasure of

hugging you, my friend. Health and good fortune. I kiss you, Anna

Yakovlevna^ and Avdotya Kirillovna. This is rude for the latter, but

they will forgive me because of the circumstances. Kisses are rare here.

68

and if they refuse me this in absentia, then the Devil take them! I

will start kissing my old women, and they are over sixty. Goodbye.

Greetings to Bryansky.

Anna Yakovlevna Golovacheva (Panaeva), nee Bryanskaya, daughter of the artist J. G. Bryansky.

•*•*•***•**•*•***•••

8 July 1831

Do me a favor, friend! Not a word about my trip, about the

quarantine in Bronnitsky, from where I returned to Moscow on the third

of this month. Tell me about yourself and Bryansky. General adversity

passed you by and the Heavenly Creator saved you. With faith and hope

you endured the losses with which God wished to punish the troupe.

Don't give up to sorrow; don't worry. Don't help it by getting colds

and stomach aches. Stroll about less in the evening. Most of all,

pray to God. If it won't be too much trouble now, write more frequent­

ly. With all my laziness, I'll answer every week. . . . There is al­

most no illness here, thank God! There was a little, but it is almost

completely gone now. But even with its small rage, it dealt the thea­

tre a severe loss. We lost a family member, a father, a friend, a

great man whom you loved. If you still don't know, then reconcile your­

self to the news as calmly as possible: we lost Alexander Matveich

Saburov, and poor Agrafena Timofeevna and the children are in tears and

despair. It is horrible to see! Please, love, write soon. It will

cheer you up, and it will comfort us to see you are alive and well.

Let me know about all friends. I send kisses to Bryansky. Let it be

written on a small piece of paper simply, "We are alive and healthy,"

and having sealed it, send it to me in Moscow. I will be happy with

that . . .

This occurred because cholera had broken out at that time in St. Petersburg.

••*****•••*•**•***•*

69

26 July 1831

Thank you, friend, from my soul for your letter. It reassured

me and all my family. Thank God that you recovered, and God grant

that this letter will find you all well and happy. But ... I am

terribly angry at Anna Matveevna for her indiscretion. Good for Yakov

with his damned hunting. I sincerely wish that my letter will not find

you with cholera. Through the office I am sending you Lensky without

notes, and at first chance, I will forward Lensky's vaudeville "Theo­

bald." It will be of use either to you or to whomever you decide to

give it. It plays wery well. Don't put your hopes in Lensky's comedy,

because after the death of his wife, he functioned badly. Despite all 2

this, I am continually driving him on. Mr. Rotchev wrote that Tar-

tuffe, translated by Mr. Norov, will be given in Peter. If this play

is to be presented for someone's benefit, then ask the benefactor (or

if the income goes to the Treasury, then ask the office) to copy it and

mail it to me. In all probability, it will be presented at your thea­

tre beforehand, for my benefit is before Strovetide. I would like to 3

receive it beforehand. Thank God we don't have cholera here, but many

had diarrhea and other symptoms. Still no deaths. . . . Farewell. I

kiss the hand of Elena Yakovlevna, and I kiss you. The whole family

greets you. Be well. This is the foremost wish of all the Shchepkins.

Please write.

A secret . . . Our theatre's situation is being reconed [sic]

with up to this point, but little is being achieved. For me, at least,

this is good. You know that I am no egotist when it comes to the thea­

tre, and therefore I suffer, because I have had nine years of service

which will end next March, I confess that unless I can receive a good

salary which would be sufficient reward for good local benefits, I will

transfer to your place. You know yourself that you have greater bene­

fits. Brother] I am terribly sad. Last night I cried like a child.

For all this I repeat to you that I am perfectly fine, and because of

this, please investigate the possibility of my spending the rest of my •

life with you. Hurry, because I must give up my papers in September.

Please, act in utter secrecy, because if this gets out, it will lead

to an explanation I would like to avoid. Goodbye, brother. It is a

70

pity that the Russian theatre cannot be improved by wishes, my own ef­

forts, and heartfelt love. I confess that with me the theatre takes

precedence over family affairs, and in view of this, to see it deterior-4

ate from day to day is worse than cholera to me.

Goodbye. I await an early reply. Tear up this letter. I kiss

you countlessly and remain forever your friend and brother.

M. Shchepkin

Shchepkin recommended to Sosnitsky for a benefit the opera-vaude­ville The Old Hussar, or the Page of Frederick II and the comedy-vaude­ville "Theobald, or the Return to Russia," translated from the French by D. T. Lensky.

p Alexander Gavrilovich Rotchev (1806-1873), translator of Schiller,

Shakespeare and Hugo.

Fariseev (Tartuffe), a comedy in five acts by Moliere, translated by Alexander Norov. It was presented on the St. Petersburg stage in 1831.

Shchepkin's revolt with regard to the situation at the Maly Theatre almost led to the artist's transfer to the Alexandrinsky Theatre. This was recounted in an order of the Ministers Court and the Manage­ment of the Moscow Theatres in which sixteen actors and theatre workers during the season were unlawfully dismissed from the staff of the Mos­cow Theatre troupe without warning. According to this order, signed by F. F. Kokoshkin, the scale of beneficial compensation was cut in half.

******•••••*****••**

31 August 1831

Are you well, my honored friend? I haven't received any news

from you in a long time. Please be kind to the bearer of this letter,

Dmitri Ivanovich Stavrovsky, who has protected the whole Shchepkin

clan from all bodily infirmities. Besides that, he is a fine doctor

and a good man. Please let me know if the comedy, Tartuffe, of Mr.

Norov will be given, and if it is possible for me to obtain it, for

God's sake send it as soon as possible.

You didn't answer my wery important guestion. In September I

must submit my papers, because the term of my contract ends next March.

So let me know. It is going very poorly for us in the theatre, and

71

very tedious.

I bow to your lady and kiss her hand. I kiss you and remain

eternally (wishing good health above all) your friend and obedient ser­

vant,

M. Shchepkin 2

P. S. Please greet Mr. Grigorev and ask him to excuse me for not an­swering his letter. He wrote that he is publishing a portrait of the

deceased V. I. Ryazantsev, and so he has asked me to offer this to his

friends who wish to have one. According to the information, there were

demands for 22 portraits. When it is convenient for him, he can send

it to me, along with its value, and the money will be sent immediately.

Dmitri Ivanovich Stavrovsky, Shchepkin's family doctor. 2 Pyotr Ivanovich Grigorev I (1806-1871), author of popular vaude­

villes and comic actor of the Alexandrinsky Theatre.

11 September 1831

Thank you, friend, for the letter. I really regret that your

career isn't going well, but there is a greater fate for all people.

Only rejoice that your theatrical pathway is coming to an end.

Concerning the comedy, Khanzheev, even though, by your letter,

it is not to your standards, I have decided to present it at the bene-

fit. What's to do? Through Kozlovsky I asked Mr. Rotchev to send

it and the rights to produce it onstage. Therefore I will have the

papers from the translator whether it will be produced or not. So

please, my dear, hurry Alexander Gavrilovich to send it.

I am sending the porgram of The Old Hussar as evidence that this

play was censored and produced. As "Theobald" was done superfluously,

mail it back, and I will forward it to Ukraine.

Goodbye; be well. I kiss you and your wife's hand. Give a bow

to Bryansky for me.

God willing, I think that (unless something again stands in the

way), we will meet in the spring and talk until we are sufficiently

72

satisfied. Goodbye. Eternally your friend and humble servant

M. Shchepkin

My address: in Moscow, in the great coach train, in the parish

of Spas, which is located in Pesky, and then in my own home. Write;

don't be lazy.

Sosnitsky was concerned at this time about his retirement with a pension.

2 Khanzheev is the same as Fariseev (Tartuffe), translator A. Norov

Shchepkin's difficulty stemmed from the translator who, according to the custom of that time, not only translated classics, but also rewrote them. Such was the case with Moliere's Tartuffe. Shchepkin prepared this play for his benefit in January 1833, but because of censorship, he was able to give it for the first time at his benefit on 3 January 1836. Shchepkin played Chyotkin (Orgon), and Mochalov played Kariseev (Tartuffe).

3 Kozlovsky, an unidentified person. It is possible that he is

speaking of Dmitri Fyodorovich Kozlovsky, an actor and director at the Maly Theatre from 1834 to 1842.

•••**•**••••••**••***

12 February 1832

Hello, my friend. It has been a long time since we have "chewed

the fat" with one another, but now we must arrange for correspondence.

You mentioned in one of your letters that you intend to visit Moscow

in the spring. I also intended to visit Peter this spring, so in order

for us not to miss each other, let me know. If you cannot come imme­

diately after the holiday, I will postpone my own departure. If it is

not possible for you to be here during the aforementioned time, then

see if it would be possible for you to make arrangements with the

authorities as before. When it is decided, let me know as soon as pos­

sible. It is very important that I know, because my contract terminates

1 March.

Do me a favor. Since Fariseev has been done at your theatre,

make an excerpt of this comedy role (I don't know what it is called

in the translation, but in Moliere's version of Tartuffe, it is called

Orgon) and send it to me so I can prepare it during Lent for Peter.

73

My benefit ended happily. I presented The Maltese Cavalier, Wife and

Duty_, Tenyor, and "Morning of the One-Hundred-Year-Old Man."^

Goodbye. Kisses to your wife's hand and to you. Until our happy

meeting either in Moscow or Peter; decide guickly. Your eternal friend

and once more happy servant.

Mikhail Shchepkin

A deep bow to Bryansky, and my best regard to Avdota Kirillovna.

Fariseev (Tartuffe) was presented on the St. Petersburg stage in 1831. Orgon was named Chyotkin in this revival. Shchepkin did not participate in this production.

2 The play The Maltese Cavalier was presented in Shchepkin's bene­

fit on 5 February 1832. It was a verse comedy in one act, translated from French by M. A. Ofrosimov (Shchepkin played Sandfort); Wife and Duty, or Whom to Select, a comedy in five acts translated from French by V. Mundt (Shchepkin played Larosh); David Tenyor, Painter, an anec­dotal comedy-vaudeville by N. V. Sushkov and P. A. Korsakov (Shchepkin played Tenyor); "Morning of the One-Hundred-Year-Old Man, or Recol­lections of the Battle of Poltava"--a native production in one act; adapted from the German A. Schiller (Shchepkin did not act in this play.).

*****••**•*•*•*••*••

5 March 1832

Friend, three weeks ago I wrote you a letter asking you to inform

me as soon as possible whether or not you will come to Moscow in the

spring, more specifically, after Easter, but so far there is not a line

from you. Therefore, please, brother, immediately acknowledge receipt

of this so I can decide what time I can ask my superiors to go to Peter,

As I wrote you, if you are going to be with us right after Easter, then

I will ask for June or July. If you cannot come at that time, then I

will ask to go to Peter immediately after the Easter holiday. In any

case, let me know if you have written about this to your authorities

or if you will arrange everything yourself. Please answer this letter

with the first mail, Don't add to my grief with silence. It seems to

me that it would have been easier for me should I have had the oppor­

tunity to talk with you and to explain all my grievances to you.

Please, comfort me with an answer. Farewell, I hug you and

74

beseech God to go to you and see that you are well. Kisses to your

wife's hand. I remain your eternal friend and humble servant.

Mikhail Shchepkin

P. S. Mochalov asked me to find out from you if Karatygin intends to

be in Moscow, and if so, when.

Bow to Bryansky.

V. A. Karatygin was starring in Moscow in April-May 1833. At that time, Mochalov was starring in St. Petersburg. Shchepkin, who played with Karatygin during his Moscow appearances, wrote Sosnitsky in a letter of 17 April 1833:

"Vasily Andreevich Karatygin brought delight to Moscow with his great talent. In all the productions in which he played, nothing was lacking. Our old lady Moscow knows how to appreciate!"

••*•******••***•••*•

21 June 1832

I happily arrived in Moscow at 4:00 p.m. on the seventeenth of

this month and met all my family in good health. I have no words, dear

love, to thank you for all your endearments and care for my square lazy

figure. Thank God, I just had the occasion to thank you for all this.

Be well and happy. In absentia I kiss my most esteemed hostess many,

many times, and I deal only with that which will consume her troubles.

Countlessly I kiss you, my priceless grumbler. The vaudeville, Stani-

slav, for Vera Zubova, costs 25 rubles (paper); The Deserter, for Mr.

Shemaev, costs 30 rubles (paper) and five rubles for the copy, for a

total of sixty rubles. Please don't delay, get this money as soon as 3

possible. Fine Mr, Bekker doesn't permit me to live when I remember

his troubles. To Mrs. Lyustikh goes my esteem, and tell her that her 4

son is better than mine. I bow lowly to countryman Petrov. Envelope

Semyon Timofeevich Spaasky with good health and tell him I will send a

note about my boys in the first mail. If something good happens, then

I will be thankful. 5

Pass on my true esteem to Rafail Mikhailovich and thank him for

all his trouble. Greetings to Bryansky and to all who ask about me.

Goodbye. Be well. Thank God that the forthcoming discharges will not

affect you, and that I hear with pleasure that you are well. Your

75

eternal friend and humble servant Mikhail Shchepkin.

My wife is lazy to write, and therefore I make obesiance to you

for her.

Vera Zubova, a dancer and outstanding beauty during this time. She died of insanity at the beginning of the 1840s.

2 Vasily Antonovich Shemaev (died 1849), a good singer, vaudevil­

lian; a good and lovable friend to everyone. 3 Nikolai Gerasimovich Bekker (died 1849), transcribed roles and

plays; adequately played character roles; sketched beautifully; and knew how to apply make-up perfectly. In later years, he was a director of a Moscow theatre.

4 Well-known singer and actor, Osip Afanasyevich Petrov. 5 Rafail Mikhailovich Zotov (died 1870), member of the repertory

in St. Petersburg theatres, notorious romanticist, translator of many theatrical pieces, an honest friend and profound admirer of Sosnitsky, as well as his longtime next door neighbor,

*•*****•••*••**•*•••

14 July 1832

Friend! Do me a favor. Give the attached letter to Matvey

Mikhailovich Pinsky quickly, and put in a word (from our familial uncle

Pyotr Stepanovich Shchepkin) if possible, so that Matvey Mikhailovich

will not refuse to fulfill the request presented in the letter. Do me

a favor, brother, and don't stop being concerned about this matter.

Use your influence to have the request fulfilled. Kiss Barina's hand

and tell her that work has become hairy at home. I kiss Barishna's

hand in absentia, but only if she can stomach them. I have been suffer­

ing with a toothache for two days. My own business here is very funny.

It seems I was extraordinarily flattered, but they are looking for a

chance to sting me more painfully. I don't think I'll give them the

chance. Greetings; be well. Inform me as soon as possible what M.

Mikhailovich says in the letter about fulfilling the request. It is

possible to duplicate my strong love for your kindness and respect,

with which I remain your friend and brother Mikhail Shchepkin.

I beg you to express my honest respect to Matvey Mikhailovich,

76

to whom I add a most humble request to act in favor of our uncle,

especially because his work and way of thought is known to M. Mikhail­

ovich. Further, I hope more than anything that everything is okay and

that M. Mikhailovich will be concerned and act with truth.

Farewell; my teeth exhaust me . . .

••••••*****•••*•*•**

29 October 1832

I have no words, friend. Forgive me in my inaccuracies because,

according to your letter, it ended in a mess. I immediately ordered

notes from The Old Hussar and sent them to you in the mail at the end

of September, but, to my chagrin, I didn't write you anything about it.

Our office manager argued that either the soldier dressed in linen

destroyed the note I had written to you or by mistake, they simply gave

the note to your office manager, who, having received it, asked, "Where

did this note come from?" So it wouldn't be possible for you

to try to get them with the help of Rafail Mikhailovich, because our

office does not want to answer that question. The paper might show

that this is not state business, but the office handled it. Therefore,

please try to get the office to return them to you. If they won't,

write a couple of lines to let me know so that I can inform my office.

I didn't answer another request of your letter quickly because I could

not fulfill it. At the expense of a promise from Lensky, had he given

the word, I would have let you know immediately. Under these circum­

stances, therefore, I think you may understand my silence. As for cu­

cumbers, upon the advice of many friends, I decided to proceed with

your wishes, though it was most vexing for me. If you had written

earlier, it might have been possible to order a special cask of cucum­

bers to cure. It would have been a little cheaper for you, and they

might have been good. We would have had to pay seventeen or eighteen

rubles per thousand with the cask. Together with the liquid, each thou­

sand would have been around four poods: for transport with coverings

of thick felt and bindings would have been no less than two rubles per

pood. Therefore, each thousand would have cost nearly thirty rubles.

77

And now, since the time was not taken into consideration, it would be

necessary to buy and transfer cucumbers from large barrels, and as

everyone knows, repacked cucumbers spoil. Therefore I decided not to

throw good money after bad. Although it is more expensive for you

to buy there, you will get better ones for sure. It is probably late,

but it's an honest answer to your request. Excuse me for my inaccurate

inactivity. Despite all that, things are all right for me with the

authorities. Also, I have not been very well these last three weeks.

Farewell; be well. I kiss your priceless wife in absentia and thank

God, my friends, that you are prosperous. It will be medicine for me

to learn that you are well. My bows to Bryansky. If you see Mr. Mundt,

bow to him and find out if he has forgotten about Fariseev. If you

have something interesting for a benefit, send it on immediately. Good­

bye, my friend! Why can't I hug you personally? Oh, it would be so

easy for me again there! Goodbye, friend and brother. Don't ever for­

get your fat man M. Shchepkin.

Please, let me know immediately whether or not you got the notes.

I kiss Avdota Kirillovna.

Bow deeply to Semyon Timofeevich and tell him all about the boys.

I will send the paper soon.

My wife greets everyone.

Mikolai Petrovich Mundt (died 1866) was the secretary to the di rector of theatres, translator of many plays.

**••**••*•*•••**•••*

No date given

Hello, friend! Are you all well, love; is your wife well? It's

been a long time since I have known anything about you. We have a cough

epidemic here, with pain in the throat and attacks of fever. At your

servant's place (Shchepkin's place), 21 people fell ill altogether, in­

cluding the domestic help. We were treated with some kind of herb, and

therefore they prescribed a whole sack of them. The benefit I did was

well done. Please, send immediately the comedy The Lawyer's Ball and

the vaudeville Two Georgettes, one book without notes, and the cost.

78

Advise me, because it is not for me. Goodbye, and be well. I kiss

your wife's hand, and I kiss you on the spot. I remain your eternal

friend and humble servant Mikhail Shchepkin.

To Avdota Kirillovna, my bow.

My wife and family send greetings to all.

A bow to Bryansky.

•••••*•••••••••••*••••

17 April 1833

Christ is risen! I greet you with the past holiday, friend, to­

gether with your dear wife and pray to God you have fifty or sixty more

years of Easters and health and good fortune. Please give the enclosed

letter to Pavel Stepanovich Mochalov as soon as possible. Tell Banty-

shev that everyone is well at his house and that I bow to him. Also

tell the Ivanovs that everyone is very well at their house and give

them my greetings. If you receive the money sent by Zudov and Shemaev

for my vaudeville, please send a half pound of smoking tobacco, which

you smoke, by someone from your group. You remember they bought them

at eight rubles a box. The cigarettes here are expensive and not good.

Bow to Bryansky; I kiss your wife's hand. Tell Baryshna that I

am her absent admirer. Goodbye. I kiss you, my friend, wishing all

blessings for you from God. I remain your eternal friend and obedient

servant Mikhail Shchepkin.

P. S. Vasily Andreevich Karatygin delightfully arrived in Moscow with

his supreme talent. Nothing was lacking in any performance he gave.

Our old lady Moscow knows how to appreciate. Farewell.

•••••••••*•*••****•*•**•*•*

11 May 1833

Thank you, friend, for the tobacco and cigarettes. Now my spirit

is revived, especially by the cigarettes. Bantyshev said that you are

lamenting that I didn't send you Peter. Well, friend, that means that

Mikhail Petrovich Pogodin has not made up his mind on it. But as soon

as he is convinced, rest assured that you will be the first to receive

it. Evgenia Ivanovna Kolosova sent me a letter to transfer to Vasily

79

Advise me, because it is not for me. Goodbye, and be well. I kiss

your wife's hand, and I kiss you on the spot. I remain your eternal

friend and humble servant Mikhail Shchepkin.

To Avdota Kirillovna, my bow.

My wife and family send greetings to all.

A bow to Bryansky.

**•***•*•*••••••*•••

17 April 1833

Christ is risen! I greet you with the past holiday, friend, to­

gether with your dear wife and pray to God you have fifty or sixty more

years of Easters and health and good fortune. Please give the enclosed

letter to Pavel Stepanovich Mochalov as soon as possible. Tell Banty­

shev that everyone is well at his house and that I bow to him. Also

tell the Ivanovs that everyone is very well at their house and give

them my greetings. If you receive the money sent by Zudov and Shemaev

for my vaudeville, please send a half pound of smoking tobacco, which

you smoke, by someone from your group. You remember they bought them

at eight rubles a box. The cigarettes here are expensive and not good.

Bow to Bryansky; I kiss your wife's hand. Tell Baryshna that I

am her absent admirer. Goodbye. I kiss you, my friend, wishing all

blessings for you from God. I remain your eternal friend and obedient

servant Mikhail Shchepkin.

P. S. Vasily Andreevich Karatygin delightfully arrived in Moscow with

his supreme talent. Nothing was lacking in any performance he gave.

Our old lady Moscow knows how to appreciate. Farewell.

*•••****••••*•*••*•*

11 May 1833

Thank you, friend, for the tobacco and cigarettes. Now my spirit

is revived, especially by the cigarettes. Bantyshev said that you are

lamenting that I didn't send you Peter. Well, friend, that means that

Mikhail Petrovich Pogodin has not made up his mind on it. But as soon

as he is convinced, rest assured that you will be the first to receive

it. Evgenia Ivanovna Kolosova sent me a letter to transfer to Vasily

80

Andreevich (Karatygin). If you can't locate him, please return the

letter to her with a declaration of my profoundest respect. Give my

honest esteem to Vasily Andreevich and Alexandra Mikhailovna and ex­

plain to them that I, like my father, am sincerely sympathetic upon the

loss of their son. I know that I was not polite in not addressing them

or writing directly to Evgenia Ivanovna; but you, brother, put it right.

You know my dexterity in correspondence. I kiss your wife's hand; a

bow to Baryshna; greetings to Bryansky. Farewell, friend. I kiss you

and remain eternally your friend and humble servant.

Mikhail Shchepkin

A tragedy by M. P. Pogodin, printed in 1875.

***•••*•***••***•***

16 November 1834

I think you scold me, friend, for not answering your letter in

which you were anxious about Mr. Orlov and placing him in our troupe. 2

Whereas at this same time Vladimir Ivanovich Panaev asked Mikhail Niko-3

laevich about him, who answered him that he will carry out his request

with pleasure and that he can come, I consequently considered the mat­

ter and allowed myself to be lazy. So Mr. Orlov is not coming to us.

It is beyond me. It isn't necessary for me to ask you about the bearer 4

of the letter, because I know you well enough, my dear friend, to know

that you will express your customary kindheartedness to him. He is

called to come to you by the director of the theatre according to the

will of the tsar, and in consideration of the two parties concerned,

he should in all justice have everything needed for an artist as well

as pay from our directorate. But how easily this can slip the memory

of the authorities, so skillfully remind them in any case. Think about

it and, by your good planning, act so that the trip will have great ad­

vantages for him. He truly deserves it.

Goodbye, my dear. I kiss your lazy wife's hand in absentia. My

whole family greets you. I hug you and remain your eternal friend and

humble servant.

Mikhail Shchepkin

81

P. S. At last I am sending Peter to you. Send me cigars. It is wery bad here without them. They are not good here, and they're expensive.

Bow to the young lady.

It is not possible to identify this Orlov about whom Sosnitsky was concerned. On the roll of actors of the Maly Theatre troupe there is noted a Pavel Orlov from 1834 to 1835 ("Moscow Maly Theatre" 1824-1924, p. 706), but it is not known if this is the Orlov mentioned in the letter.

2 Vladimir Ivanovich Panaev (1792-1854), poet. From 1832 on, he

was director of the chancery of the ministry court. 3 M. N. Zagoskin. 4 The letter doesn't mention the last name of the artist about

whom Shchepkin asks Sosnitsky. This was Pyotr Gavrilovich Stepanov (1807-1869), an actor in comedic and character roles at the Maly Thea­tre. There is an unpublished letter from Shchepkin addressed to Stepa­nov in St. Petersburg dated 28 November 1834 (State Theatre Museum called Bakhrushin, No. 7057).

*••*****+****•*••**•

28 April 1836

Thank you, friend, for the letter. It revived me. Thanks to the

theatre, I have lapsed into a sleepy, dreamy condition; inactivity com­

pletely kills me. Here on the stage I have become some kind of walking

machine or the eternal uncle. I have long since forgotten what a comic

part really is, and suddenly your letter has brought new hopes, and I

live a new life. Once more I thank you from my soul. Your doubts as

to my silence are in vain. It simply resulted from nothing to write

about. If there had been some other reason, well, you know my charac­

ter; I would have talked over everything with you long ago. I don't

like to shut up discontent in my soul, especially against those I love

and who, unfortunately, are wery few. In spite of my silence, in spite

of my varied opinions, there are only a few people who would truly love

you more than I. The curses of my circumstances prevent me from visit­

ing you, heartily embracing you, and resting from all squabbles. I

regret that some time ago I made a promise not to act in your theatres.

Despite the fact of how badly I was received by the authorities and

82

how poorly I was rewarded by the public, I would have resolved every­

thing only to see you and to relieve my soul from all that burdens it,

that which I couldn't share with anyone here. Will you, dear pal, con­

tinue to pave the way for this case? You would cheer me up.

I feel that my theatrical strength is already changing. The body

is growing weak, and I confess to my weakness. You know, I want to

take my leave from Peter's public before I stepped down from my beloved

career, and if my sources hold out, I must do it. I don't want just to

be tolerated on the stage. There is no feeling, no passion in torment

when one has no means or power to express it. Not even the Devil can

help you. But I have tired you with my anguish; let it alone. Send me

the comedy. The Inspector General, by the first mail. So far it is not

in the bookstores here.

Shchepkin's letter was an answer to a letter from Sosnitsky which never reached him in which Sosnitsky informed his friend of the upcoming performance of The Inspector General on the St. Petersburg stage. The premier of The Inspector General was presented in St. Petersburg on 19 April 1836. There was not even a text of this comedy in Moscow at this time. Shchepkin himself could have heard about The Inspector Gen­eral from Gogol in 1835.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

26 May 1836

I don't remember much, brother. I remember only that you loved

me, and this was preserved not in my head but in my heart. Therefore,

I shared with you my depression in a letter and asked your advice con­

cerning the trip. You promised to chat with me about it at leisure,

but in vain. I am waiting, but I will not wait indefinitely for it.

Are you thinking it will be sadder for me if your advice will not be

in agreement with my wishes? There is a limit to sadness where it can

no longer be tolerated. What's to do? Maybe I extended my love for

the art farther than was needed, but that is not my fault. Now, The

Inspector General gave me several pleasant moments along with bitter­

ness because there appeared a lack in force and language in its achieve­

ment. Maybe those can be found who were satisfied, but one must search

my soul! Oh, take me away. If N. V. Gogol has not gone abroad, tell

83

him that The Inspector General was presented yesterday. I can't say

it was very good, but I would never say it was dull. The production

was by subscription; therefore the public was of the high echelon. As

one may say, it (the comedy) was not to the taste of many. Despite

this, the laughter was continuous. Overall, the play was enjoyably re­

ceived. For tomorrow as well as Friday, the tickets for the main

floor (orchestra) and boxes have been sold out. If you have received

the play. The Marriage, from Gogol, please copy it and send it on re­

gardless of the difficulty. I will go for it myself. Goodbye; I kiss 2 you.

On 30 May 1836 Sosnitsky answered Shchepkin's letters of 28 April and 26 May that he had solicited an invitation from the directorate for Shchepkin to star in St. Petersburg. However, Shchepkin's performances in St. Petersburg were in April and May of 1838. In 1836 Shchepkin was refused permission to appear in St. Petersburg (see letter of 4 Septem­ber 1836).

p Shchepkin addressed Sosnitsky with a request to send The Marriage

after he received Gogol's letter (of 29 April 1836), in which he wrote,

I have now revised and corrected my comedy which I read to you in Moscow under the title of The Marriage, and now it some­what resembles something presentable. I am fixing it so that you and Sosnitsky can do it as a benefit here in Moscow, which will occur sometime this year, it seems. You can address your­self to Sosnitsky, to whom I will hand it.

On 30 May Sosnitsky informed Shchepkin in an answer to a letter that it was not possible to receive The Marriage before fall because the author took it to revise. "He promised to revise everything. I gave him some funny ideas about customs of brides. He will take the comedy with him (abroad) and will return it in four months."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

3 June 1836

I just now received a letter from you, friend, and am answering

it immediately.-^ You scold that I didn't write in detail about the

success of the play,^ but I wrote everything I could. The public was

astonished by the novelty of the play and laughed a great deal, but I

expected a somewhat better reception. It surprised me very much, but

one acquaintance explained the reason for it. "For pity sake," he said.

84

"how could it be better received when half the public are takers and

the other half givers?" Subsequent performances justified it. The

comedy was received extraordinarily well, with loud shouts, and now it

is the subject of general public conversation. Those whom it touched;

all were captivated; some grimaced. Lensky is no fool as Khlestakov.

Orlov is good as the servant. Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky are good, par­

ticularly in the scene where they appear with the petition, one plead­

ing about the son and the other to make known about his place of stay.

I was not happy with the first scene. I was not satisfied with myself

for the most part, especially in the first act. Pyotr Stepanov is in­

imitable as the judge. I am totally dissatisfied with the women, par­

ticularly the wife and daughter. They are absolutely lifeless! I

acted yesterday for the fourth time, and each time the public receives

it warmer and warmer. The theatre is always full. Now are you satis-3

fied with my answer?

Thank you for the advice about my trip to see you, but I must

warn you that under no circumstances can I be released from my obliga­

tion until the middle of August. Under no circumstances will the di­

rectorate release me any sooner because Zhivotkin left for four months,

Mochalov is vacationing in Nizhny, Bantishev (it seems) is spending the 4

summer with you in Peter, Sinetskaya will begin her stay at a health

resort in half a month, and I remain the working bull. Because of that,

I informed you of everything so you would know when it would be the

right time to talk with the director. As for N. V. Gogol's play, if he

took it to revise, there is nothing to do but wait. I hope from my

soul that the letter finds him. If it does, kiss him on the run for

me. Goodbye, Vanya! You restore me with hope that I will possibly be

able joyfully to embrace you personally. But now in hope of the future

I kiss you in absentia.

^Keep in mind Sosnitsky's letter of 30 May 1836. p The Inspector General by N. V. Gogol.

^25 May 1836 was the first production of The Inspector General in Moscow. It was presented with the following performers: Shchepkin played the Mayor, with Lvova-Sinetskaya as Anna Andreevna, Panova as

85

Marya Antonovna, Lensky as Khlestakov, Nikiforov as Bobchinsky, Shum­sky as Dobchinsky, Orlov as Osip, Stepanov as the Judge, Potanchikov as the Postmaster, Baranov as the Countryman, Volkov as Khlopov, and Shubert as Mishka.

4 Maria Dmitrevna Lvova-Sinetskaya (1795-1875), an actress at the

Maly Theatre, partner of P. S. Mochalov.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

4 September 1836

I regret wery much that I cannot be with you in Peter and hug you all. With chagrin I leave immediately for Kazan. Maybe the Tartars

will accept willingly what your directorate refused ... me. But that

is not important. In fulfillment of the promise Mr. Lensky gave you

whenever to translate the comedy for a benefit, he asked me to offer

it to you with all his compliments (which exist only in the Russian

language, such as: with esteem, respectfully, with amazement, and on

and on). I am dispatching it, having copied it, along with Moliere's

comedy of which he changed the title for some reason or other from The

Forced Marriage to For the Life of You, Get Married! Although the com­

edy is a farce, it is probably exceptional. Now about Gogol; where

is he? Do you have any news of him? Vanya, you were slightly careless

when you gave him the comedy The Marriage for revision. He will for­

get about this comedy completely, occupying himself with another. If

you receive it, please God, copy it immediately and send it to me as 2

soon as possible.

For the Life of You, Get Married! (The Forced Marriage), Moliere's comedy, translated by D. T. Lensky. It was performed at the Maly Thea­tre in 1837.

P Shchepkin's fear (in this and the next letter) that Gogol would

keep the comedy The Marriage was justified. The revision was not com­pleted by the promised date. It was not until 1842 that Gogol agreed to give the play to the theatre censor. The first presentation was given in St. Petersburg at a benefit for Sosnitsky on 9 December 1842, then in Moscow at Shchepkin's benefit on 5 February 1843.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

86

22 November 1836

Things were very well for me in Kazan . . . besides money, which

I collected 5,000 rubles (paper), I know nothing. Did you receive the

play from Gogol which your kindness committed a large indiscretion in

giving him for revision? If you receive it, please send it on to me

immediately; but if not, and you know nothing about it, then I will

tell you that he is in Lausanne. I wrote through Pogodin"^ for him to

send the play to me even if it hasn't been corrected, because I have

nothing so far for a benefit. In view of that, please send me immediate­

ly the vaudeville The Miser's Daughter.^ And if you have the original

play. The Haunted House, by Obodovsky that was given for someone's bene­

fit, please try to get someone to translate it immediately and send it

on. Unless it will be bought by the directorate, there is no need to

do it. If you find anything suitable for me, send it immediately.

Even though my benefit is in February, it would be better if I can have

it at the earliest because my memory is getting poor.

Mikhail Petrovich Pogodin (1800-1875), historian, reactionary, proponent of the ideology of the nobility and the monarchy, publicist, and writer. From 1833 he was a professor at the Moscow University. He was a Slavophile.

2 The Miser's Daughter, French dramatization of Eugene Grand by

Balzac, translated by P. I. Valberkhov. It was presented in Moscow in 1835 with Shchepkin in the role of Grand. During Sosnitsky's perform­ances in Moscow that same year, he took that same play for his own debut on 11 April 1838, but it was not successful.

3 The Haunted House, a tragedy by Atzfenberg in five acts, trans­

lated from German by P. Obodovsky. It was presented at the Maly Thea­tre in 1855. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

19 December 1836

Thank you, friend, for the letter and the play, Kuzim Roshchin,

and "The Female Hussar." It's true, brother; I don't have anything

yet for my benefit. I am wholeheartedly thrilled that you had a good

benefit; that doesn't do any harm. Yesterday I was told that you will

present a play by Gogol called The Matchmaker. Even though it is

87

another name, I think it is the same one he gave us. If this is true,

then how will it be staged, for the Treasury or for someone's benefit?

If it is for the Treasury, please let me know what the directorate will

take for it; if it is for someone's benefit, ask the beneficiary to

copy it and send it on. There can be no obstacles in this, I think,

because my own benefit is 8 February.

Kuzim Roshchin, the Robber of Ryazan, a verse drama in five acts, composed by K. A. Vakhturin, adapted from the novel by M. N. Zagoskin. It was given in Shchepkin's benefit of 19 February 1837. Mochalov play­ed the role of Ilmenev; Shchepkin played Zarubkin.

2 "The Female Hussar," a vaudeville in one act, translated from

French by F. Kony.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

15 January 1837

Happy New Year, friend, to you and your wife. I ask God to bring

you lasting joy, good health, and good fortune.

The bearer of my letter is Irina Semyonovna Yureva, a relative 2

of the deceased Elizaveta Semyonovna Sandunova. She was in a theatre

here, but now it seems she is transferring to yours. So, ask Elena

Yakovlevna if she would adopt this orphan in a strange place, who needs

to be where a good word can be said for her. She is really an intelli­

gent and pretty young girl. In spite of her rich relatives, it was

hard for her to get even a crust of bread for herself. Goodbye. I kiss

you and your wife and hope we meet soon. Your friend and obedient ser­

vant.

Mikhail Shchepkin

Irina Semyonovna Yureva (1811-1891), an actress in the Maly Theatre troupe from 1829 to 1834. She married the playwright-vaudevil-lian F. A. Kony, the publisher of "Panteon." She was well-known later on as the most talented actress in realistic roles.

^Elizaveta Semyonovna Sandunova (1772-1832), famous opera singer of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; wife of the well-known dramatic actor, S. N. Sandunov.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

88

4 March 1837

Thank you, friend, repeatedly for sending me the play The Over­

seer for my benefit which brought me a huge collection, even though I

did not perform it because there was nothing for my daughters to play

in it. With regard to the counterfeit letter, I couldn't find anything,

and I confess it seemed so naughty to me that I was concerned a little 2

about it.

M. N. Zagoskin is coming to you in Peter. If you haven't changed

your mind about coming to Moscow, and if you decide to come back with

him, then arrive before the holiday, because you won't find me here

after the holiday. I am going to Crimea or Odessa. What for, you ask?

Listen. My voice has become so weak from continuous exertion, which

is necessary in our theatre, that there are no roles in which my voice

would not tire and grow hoarse. Aggravated from day to day, it has

gotten so that I even begin to feel it speaking normally in a room.

Consequently, so that I don't completely lose the resources for support­

ing my family, I decided upon the advice of the doctors to take a leave

of six months to rest and bathe in the sea . . . but for three months.

3

This, they say, is the remedy for strengthening the organ. So, bro­

ther Vanya, you see how I end up! It is terrible, ghastly, with my

love for the theatre, to think that I could lose the possibility of

working at my favorite vocation. Mikhail Nikolaevich (Zagoskin) readi­

ly became concerned about the leave of absence and deliberated with

important people about my situation; but, brother, it is a small thing

to me. If he doesn't obtain any assistance for me, God preserve me!

Still, if they don't pay me my salary ahead of time, I am scared that,

instead of this illness, I will suffer another one. But he somewhat

unwillingly consented to ask about assistance and says that I should

write a petition to the minister myself. However, I know that he (the

minister) can't tolerate it when people trouble their superiors. There­

fore, advise me what to do.

The Overseer, K. A. Vakhturin. A dramatization of the first chapters of the novel by M. N. Zagoskin, Kuzim Roshchin, the Robber of Ryazan.

89 2 Nothing could be discovered about this reference to a counterfeit

letter. 3 Organ—widely used as a synonym for voice in the eighteenth and

beginning nineteenth centuries.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

21 March 1837

This year, lovely friend, you resolved all to scold me, and fair­

ly soon you will blame me for not giving you The Overseer and Kuzim

Roshchin. It is endless. So, my friend! You are completely right,

but there had to have been some motive on my part. Here they are:

First, there was nothing for my daughter to play in it (in the drama.

The Overseer); Second, Varlamov gave up doing the music; Third, I de­

cided that even though it was sometimes possible to put one act from

some plays into a benefit (like, for example, once some scenes from

Woe From Wit were given), it is possible for me to isolate one play

from another even more. The play doesn't suffer because we know the

story, but uncertainty remains about the characters. So in the first

two cases, my mistakes are sufficiently excusable. But, listen, I still

had a reason. What do I have to hide from you? To whom then could I

speak my mind? Because with you, my friend, it is possible to disagree

and still be friends. In The Overseer the author, wishing to escape a

riot, which in the novel was needed for Kuzim Roshchin's fate, invented

another offense. According to this one, by law, Kuzim Roshchin was

brought to the same end. I am not saying we don't have such a law, but

to conclude, he (the author) even took the text from Nakaz, who breathes

humanity into it, such as: "It is better to forgive the guilty than

to punish one innocent," and immediately within two or three lines the

innocence of ten is exposed because of one suspicion according to the

same law. It is your decision. But in order to give the proper end­

ing to Kuzim Roshchin, restore the original law in the play. In my

opinion, this is unpardonable. Maybe I don't see eye to eye with you

on that? That could wery well be, but I acted according to my inner conviction, and what's more, the motives I mentioned earlier helped me.

There you have everything in my soul. Scold me if you must, but just

90

love me and I will be satisfied with everything. I gave the request

for the trip and assurance to Mikhail Nikolaevich. What is God to do!

My throat gets worse little by little, and because of this I am in a

constant depression. Goodbye; be well!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

22 January 1846

Hello, old friend! Get me out of trouble however you want! Be­

cause of my illness I was unable to prepare anything for my benefit

except one comedy in which, otherwise, there would have been a good

role for me. But, unfortunately, the censor did not let this comedy

pass. So I am now in such a position that I can easily be without a

benefit. To avoid this, brother, send me by return mail the vaudeville,

Zhakar's Bench, which, as I remember, I sent to you. Only please, send

it censored, if you have it. Please try to carry out my request imme­

diately because it is only a short time until the benefit. I kiss your

wife's hand and hug you from my soul. I remain yours eternally,

Mikhail Shchepkin

Zhakar's Bench (Zhakar, or Zhakar's Bench). A play in two acts by Furna, translated from French by N. Chernishev and V. Rodislavsky. It was presented twelve years later at the Maly Theatre in 1858.

With great success, Shchepkin played the central role of the book­binder, Zhakar, who tried to improve the status of his friends, the poor laborers.

As performed by Shchepkin, Zhakar's words invariably were met with heated ovations:

"Honor to he who the depths of the earth The oppressed digs with a spade Who with difficulties earns bread For his family."

II. Letters to N. V. Gogol

1836

Kind Sir Nikolai Vasilevich!

I received the letter^ and several copies of The Inspector General

and distributed all of them as designated, except for the one to Kireev-

sky,^ who is in the country. I gave his copy to S. P. Shevirev to

^iik^.

91

deliver. Thank you from my heart for The Inspector General, not so

much for the book as for the comedy, which fulfilled my hopes and real­

ly inspired me. I haven't felt such joy in a long time. Unfortunately,

all my joys are concentrated in one scene. I know it's almost insane,

but what's to do? I am probably not to blame. Decent people laugh at

me and respect the foolishness, but I would like to give the rest of

my life to perfect it. Let us put all of this aside now and go direct­

ly to The Inspector General. Won't there be harm in leaving it to

chance? And where? In the Moscow that so happily awaits you and laughs

at Woe From Wit with all its heart? And you will leave it because of

some unpleasantries presented by The Inspector General? In the first

place, there can be no unpleasantries in the theatre. M. N. Zagoskin,

thanking you for the script, said that he will be writing to you. He

further entrusted me to inform you that it would have been wery nice

had you come so that he could have done everything needed for the pro­

duction according to your wishes. As far as the public is concerned,

the more it rages at you, the more I will rejoice, because that means

it shares my opinion of the comedy and you have achieved your goal.

You know better than anyone that this play, more than any other, needs

to be read by you to the director and actors. You know this, and you

don't want to come. God be with you! Even if it bores you, you still

need to do it for the comedy; for your conscience, for Moscow, and for

the people who love you and take an active interest in The Inspector

General. In a word, you know full well that we need you and you don't

want to come. Do as you please, but it is egotism. Forgive me for be­

ing so bold, but this business concerns the comedy, so therefore I

can't be coldblooded toward it. You see, I'm not lazy anymore. Please, 4

don't just give it to us; read through it twice, and then . . . Well,

enough; I have bored you. Thank you for the gift of the play for my

benefit.^ Have faith that such faith will never escape my old mind,

in which there is only one wish to see you and to kiss you. In order

to fulfill this, I would set all Moscow in motion. Farewell. Forgive

me that I conclude without ceremony. Your M. Shchepkin

92

This is in reference to the letter from N. V. Gogol to M. S. Shchepkin of 29 April 1836. Answering it, Shchepkin still hadn't re­ceived Gogol's second letter of 10 May 1836.

2 Ivan Vasilevich Kireevsky (1806-1856), critic and journalist;

one of the founders of the revolutionary Slavophile movement. 3 Stepan Petrovich Shevirev (1806-1864), poet, literary historian,

and critic. From 1834, he was a professor at the Moscow University. Slavophile.

4 Addressing Gogol with a request to come to Moscow to participate

in the production of The Inspector General, Shchepkin was not at all satisfied with this letter. He even appealed to the author and helper A. S. Pushkin. In a letter of 5 May 1836 to his wife, Pushkin wrote.

Go to Gogol and read the following to him, "I saw the actor Shchepkin who, for Christ's sake, asks you to come to Moscow to be present for The Inspector General. Without you, the actors can't perform. From my point of view, I also ad­vise this because it is not necessary for The Inspector Gene­ral to fail in Moscow, where you are more loved than in St. Petersburg."

Neither Shchepkin's letter nor Pushkin's intercession helped one bit to overcome Gogol's feelings of revolt and injustice caused by hos­tile reports of his play from theatrical authorities and the failure of the production on the St. Petersburg stage.

Gogol paid no heed to Shchepkin's request. In June, 1836, he did not go to Moscow, but went abroad.

5 Gift for the benefit--the comedy. The Marriage.

Regardless of Zagoskin's promise to do everything for the pro­duction of The Inspector General and notwithstanding the new sets actually built for it, he arranged everything extremely carelessly in Moscow. The famous investigator of Gogol's creativity, Tikhonravov, wrote, "With stupid indifference, if not with secret dislike, the spokes­men of the Moscow directorate were concerned with the production of The Inspector General on the stage."

Nonetheless, Gogol's apprehensions about seeing The Inspector General in Moscow were unfounded. The production became the cultural and social event of Russia. The remarkable success of this production was due largely to the gifted protrayal of the character of the mayor by M. S. Shchepkin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

93

24 October 1842

Kind Sir Nikolai Vasilevich.

According to Sergei Timofeevich you are already in Rome, to where

I am addressing this letter, and God grant that it should find you well

and alert. I myself am losing courage. My world remains stagnant even 2

under the new direction, but my spirit demands activity because the

repertoire has not changed in the least. It is just the same disgust­

ing rubbish and more rubbish, and that is with what I have to quench

my dramatic thirst in my old age. You know, it is the sort of suffer­

ing for which there are no words. They have given us, Russian artists

I mean, everything; money, rights, pensions. Except they have not

given us the freedom to act; instead of artists, we have become order­

lies. No. Worse. An orderly is free to choose his own work, but an

actor does everything ordered by sage superiors. Now I have bored you

with chattering about myself. But what's to do? Someone needs to ex­

press an opinion, and to whom can I better express my opinion than to

you? Who can comprehend my suffering like you can, my good Nikolai

Vasilevich? Furthermore, I think you know that no one can be as atten­

tive to these concerns as you can. You have always loved me, always

3

kept me in your mind, and I . . . But enough! By your leave, I an­

nounced your comedy. The Marriage, for my benefit because as is common

knowledge, your publication will come out in December and my benefit

will take place on 5 February. I asked Belinsky to give it to the thea­

tre censor as soon as possible so that there will be more time to get

acquainted with the action and character. I also ask your permission

to return several other scenes to the censor. In like manner, I would

also ask of you the comedy. The Gamblers, for my benefit. This would strengthen it. Benefits for Russian actors have suffered greatly from

^ 4

the German opera that Gedeonov brought from St. Petersburg. But with­

out your permission, I can't do it. Although you talked about other

scenes, I can't remember what was said about them. So I only ask that

it be given to the censor as soon as possible. Don't wait with your

answer; give permission. It wouldn't hurt if you would explain what

you want in the way of costumes for the actors in the comedies, Th£

94

Marriage and The Gamblers. There is still more than three months in

which to answer. If I don't receive an answer from you during this

time, then of course I will not do The Gamblers, only The Marriage and

some scenes. There are people whose only request in their letters is 5

Sbitenshchik, who honestly says, "All people are Stepans." What else is there to say to you? Yes, talk and controversy continue to circu-

* late around Dead Souls. The book has awakened Rus' as if she were now

alive. Rumors about it are innumerable. One could fill whole volumes

if they were all put down on paper, and this pleases me. This means,

give us a good push and we will start moving and prove by doing so that

we are human beings. In this awakening, the idea begins to stir that

we, together with all other peoples, are not devoid of human dignity.

It is sad that it should be so absolutely necessary to push and that

without it, we ourselves are all dead souls. Goodbye. I embrace you

and await your prompt reply. I remain your great admirer and obedient

servant,

Mikhail Shchepkin

P. S. From young to old, my entire family greets you. Aksakov's family

is well, thank God, except for Sergei Timofeevich himself, who (between

us) is aging. Of course, he hides it. His former illness has returned.

Everything is fine with him now, because his brothers are now in Moscow **

with their families, and they play Preference together often. Oh yes,

an anecdote: There was an earthquake in Kursk three years ago. The

other day the Police Chief reported to the Governor that there was a

strong earthquake sometime the day before. However, the measures adopt­

ed by the police in advance were not followed at all, unfortunately for

the town. I can't give the exact phrase, but it was very cleverly ex­

pressed. The Governor read it and said, "I am partly satisfied with

you regarding the organization of the town, its cleanliness, the fire

brigade, etc., but it isn't good that you sign papers without having

read them." To that the Chief of Police maintained with an oath that

this was slander and that the scoundrels went over his head to his

* Russia.

** A card game.

95

superiors. "However," said the Governor, "you apparently did not read

this report." "For pity sake, your Excellency, I wrote the rough draft

myself." The Governor shrugged his shoulders and everything proceeded

as before.

S. T. Aksakov.

2 In 1842, the position of Director of Moscow Theatres was abolish­

ed and the former Director of Moscow Theatres, M. N. Zagoskin, retired. 3 After the receipt of Shchepkin's letter, Gogol noted in his

memoirs.

About Shchepkin. They have spattered him with mud; they force him to act trivial and insignificant parts with which nothing can be done. They make the master do what the pupils do. It's the same as making an architect, who brilliantly raises up a significant building, hew stone and make bricks.

4 Alexander Mikhailovich Gedeonov, from 1847 to 1858 the Director

of all the Imperial Theatres in both capitals. He was noted for profound indifference toward the fate of the Russian theatre and for his slavish admiration for everything foreign. At the beginning of his leadership of Moscow Theatres, he celebrated by inviting a mediocre German opera to Moscow, which was accompanied with all kinds of privileges, tours, and much publicity.

5 Sbitenshchik, hero of the same name as the comic opera. The

author of the text was J. B. Knyazhnin, a dramatist of the eighteenth century.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

22 May 1847

Dear Sir Nikolai Vasilevich

I did not answer your first three letters, and of course, there

is no excuse. Therefore I do not apologize, for this won't help me.

But I will explain several reasons which brought me to such a situation.

I received your first two letters during my illness and I couldn't

think about them under those conditions. All action regarding The In-p

spector General was stopping with your third letter, but the reason

for this was my illness. My brain was dulled from all three letters

to the exclusion of that which concerned the scenes and dramatic art.

Everything in general was brought to me for consideration. But pardon

96

me, I didn't understand the rest, or understood incorrectly. Therefore

I decided it would be better to remain silent and to await an oral ex­

planation, provided there would be an appropriate occasion for it.

Upon recovery, reading the ending of your Inspector General, I became

angry with myself, at my Georgian prince, because up to now, I knew all

the heroes of The Inspector General as living people. I saw many famil­

iar people as brothers. I became accustomed to the Mayor, Dobchinsky,

and Bobchinsky in the span of ten years of our association. It would

have been shameful if all of them had been taken from me. With what

will you substitute them for me? Leave them as they are for me. I love

them. I love them with all their weaknesses just like everybody else.

Don't give me any suggestion that it is our passion and not the Mayor.

No; I don't want this change. These people are real living people among

whom I grew up and have almost grown old. Do you see how long I have

known them? You have gathered several people from the whole world in

one collective place into one group. I have been totally intimate with

them for ten years, and you want to take them away from me. No; I won't

return them to you. I will not give them up as long as I live. After

my death you may even transform them into goats if you like, but not I

won't even let you have Derzhimord (the Policeman) because even he is

precious to me. This is the major reason for my silence. Now I honest­

ly don't know what is left to say. Maybe all this is rubbish and non­

sense, but it has already been said. So be it! On one side it is

passed; on the other it is present. Your last letter completely en­

twined me, and I was in such a poetic moment that I wanted to climb

aboard and depart. . . . S. P. Shevyrev has prepared the rough draft

of a letter to the director about the trip abroad. Yes, I am still

well. Although I only lack a year being sixty, I am still strongly en­

thusiastic, strongly carried away, even to excess. After haying con­

sidered all this, I discovered it to be almost impracticable, at least

for the present time. ... The remedies thought through by you are

good but untrue. Despite the fact that there are many fish in the sea,

all that one can get is a thousand or one and a half thousand for all

the performances. Maybe this money would be enough for the trip to

Paris and London, but I doubt it. But to go as far as Ostenda? That

97

demands money and more money. Therefore, I can never budge without

about 5,000 rubles. That will surprise you, but I will explain it to

you. There are seventeen people besides the servants living with me

at home. They need 1,000 rubles a month to live. Such a trip would

take at least three months. Consequently, they need 3,000, and I need

2,000 for the trip. It is not available so I must deprive myself of my

lifelong dream. I need to see foreign theatres wery much. Ignorance

of language doesn't frighten me; I understand it in general. And it is

necessary for my "Memoirs" in which I want to take a good look at dra­

matic art in general and which will contain the features of every thea­

tre in Europe at the present time. This will be the finishing touch

to my career. So you see yourself how important it is to the future

for me. It is wery real to me, besides pleasure, to bring some good.

After forty years of work, I can't change myself. I don't have the

power. All scenic deficiencies have struck me dumb, but you can't tear

them out yet without damaging the whole thing. So, such as it is, we

will leave this to be used that way. Of course, my mind would have

played much, and for me and my goals, this would be very useful. But

5,500 rubles is the obstacle. I sold the house, settled my debts, and

have begun paying 1,500 annually for an apartment. Thus is my fortune,

and even if there had been enough left for the trip, I still could not

sacrifice it. With regard to my family, that would have been an un­

scrupulous act for me. There have been two things important to me in

life, the stage and my family. To the first I gave everything con­

scientiously, irreproachably. Consequently art cannot complain about

me. I acted untiringly, to my complete understanding, and I stand right­

ly before it. With regard to the latter, I, laying my hand on my heart,

cannot say anything. So I must somehow try to recover that which has

escaped for so long. Therefore, for all my dreams, I must hold onto

my dreams, and maybe for some time in the distant future I will deprive

myself of your embraces, into which I am plunged in absentia, whether

you like it or not. I embrace you from my soul. All is yours—every­

thing you want, friend, servant, etc.

Mikhail Shchepkin

98

Gogol's letters of 24 October, 2 November, and 16 December 1846. 2 Keep in mind Gogol's offer to give a production of The Inspector

General at the Maly Theatre for Shchepkin's next benefit. 3 The outcome of The Inspector General.

III. Letters to T. G. Shevchenko

27 November 1857

I don't know if you received my letter, my friend, which was in

reply to your correspondence, though not quite satisfactorily. I now

inform you that if you want to see my old figure wery much, you might come. My son has a cottage near Moscow, forty versts, in Nikolskoye,

about two stations from Moscow in the Bogorodsky district, about three

versts from the Vladimir highway. If you have not changed your mind,

let me know exactly when you will leave because firstly we need to pre­

pare a room for your stay. A day or two before your arrival we will

need to heat it since you probably will be traveling by mail coach, and

secondly we will know the day I should send the old nag for you! Then

there is still the question, maybe immodest, but do you have the means

for this trip? If not, then make yourself at home; but notify us in

one or two days. I confess, sadly, that I will be away at this time

for unhappily I am still serving the art. Further, you need to know

that I really know nothing about your affairs. I think that Mr. Zhurav-

lev will direct you to the thoroughfare toward this Bogorodsky district

to the village of Nikolskoye for a meeting with old acquaintances. If

all this will be wery difficult, then will you come to me in Nizhny? That would not only be to see you, but also to talk over many things.

Maybe my old head will inspire the young one. But the expenditure for

this would be too much just to see each other. The rich find pleasure

in the fulfillment of all their desires, but on the other hand, I find

great delight in denying myself the pleasures not within my means.

Above all, think well and let me know precisely how and what you have

decided. Goodbye; I await your answer. Yes! Barbara Nikolaevna Rep-

nina,^ to whom I read your letter, asked me to convey to you her deep­

est bow. Well, again goodbye! I forgot myself, but what's to do?

99

That is the illness of the aged.

"Shkapa," a dialectical Ukrainian word for "worn-out" or "tired" horse.

2 Barbara Nikolaevna Repnina (1808-1891), daughter of Prince Niko­

lai Gregorevich Repnin-Volkonsky, who freed Shchepkin from Count Volken­stein. She was on friendly terms with T. G. Shevchenko and N. V. Gogol. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

11 December 1857

I hurry to answer your letter. If nothing happens, I will go to

Nizhny for Christmas and we will sing carols together. What will be

playing in the theatre will depend upon the local officials, but I am

an old man and can't do much. If they wish, I can play in two or three,

no more. I must be in Moscow on 1 January because of my friend's bene­

fit, and my own is in January as well. What to present? Well, perhaps

The Sailor by Moskal, Woe From Wit, The Inspector General, The Wedding

by Krechinsky, and the little comedy, "The Betrothed, or Graybeard and 2

the Demon on the Verge." If you please, let them choose from these

themselves so that it will be well organized. If this will not work,

we won't bother with theatre. Give a bow from me to Dal and thank Gene­

ral Ulibishev for his optimistic suggestion. For my part, I don't know

if I can take advantage of its delicacy. We will consider it upon your

arrival. I plan to leave either the 20th or 21st, whichever will be

better. I will let you know when I will leave. I will visit Repnina

tomorrow with Maksimovich and fulfill the mission. Goodbye! There is

still much work. All things considered, memory doesn't work so well

at age seventy. I embrace you from my soul.

Your Mikhail Shchepkin

^The Sailor, a dramatic vaudeville of Sovazh and Delure. Shchep­kin played the central role of the sailor in it.

^"The Betrothed, or Graybeard and the Demon on the Verge," a vaudeville in one act by Shchepkin and Klushin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

100

17 December 1857

There is no time to write much, so therefore I will say only a

few words. I am going to Nizhny-Novgorod on Saturday, the 21st. If I

arrive by day, I will drop in on you; if by night, I will stop at a

hotel somewhere and we will figure out what to do. Goodbye! With the

help of Almighty God, we will carol together. I embrace you with my

soul.

Cordially to you, friend, Mikhail Shchepkin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No date

I hurry to say a few words. The body is tired, as is the spirit.

I am sending you four roles which you can distribute to someone to do.

Give everyone my compliments, especially to Varentsev, and add that he

should thank the postmaster and the postman. He nursed me like a child.

And please, so that he doesn't forget me, give a good word in favor of

the small man without fail. I forwarded his letter to St. Petersburg.

So far I haven't seen or heard anything. Give my spirit a rest because

it has been so emotional all the time. It is beyond me. But everything

in my soul revived upon arriving home. A day before my arrival I re­

ceived news from Malaga that my son Dmitri died. Farewell.

Your Mikhail Shchepkin

Shchepkin's oldest son, Dmitri Mikhailovich Shchepkin (1817-1857) held a Master's Degree in astronomy and he was an archeologist, philo­logist, and art historian. He was a very gifted and versatile man. He had been ill with tuberculosis. Since 1848, most of his time was spent abroad, undergoing treatment for his ailment. He died in Manchua in December of 1857. He left works and articles on art history and litera­ture.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

15 January 1858.

I received your letter from Pavel Abramovich and with it the

letters to Aksakov and Maksimovich. They were delivered today, the

last to Maksimovich. I still haven't seen him since my return. I wrote

to you of my grief, but I am coming around somewhat now. Your sketches

101

will be drawn in a lottery soon. Regarding your arrival in Nikolskoye

for Strovetide, if you have already received permission for your trip

to Peter, then come directly to me in Moscow. Even if you don't re­

ceive it, if it is decreed that you can't live in the capital, you can

come directly to me to settle your affairs. If you are told not to go

to the capital, then don't come to Nikolskoye for Strovetide, but spend

it in Nizhny in the circle of your loved ones, because I can't leave

for Strovetide for even one day. Such is the obligation of my profes­

sion. It would be better for you to come during the first week of Lent.

I can meet you then and spend several days with you. This will be

wiser. But what will you do there all by yourself? If you come during

Lent and you have enough money to reach Nikolskoye, then you can get

the money after you arrive. Why pay to transfer the money? Tell Varen­

tsev that I did not send the program because they were not printed; it

was prohibited the day before. I am afraid that I wrote poorly; I have

never been a master. I am still tired after performances, and besides,

I am performing tomorrow and the day after. Give a bow to Brylkin and

his family. I kiss you on the beard.

Your Mikhail Shchepkin

Pavel Abramovich Annenkov, the brother of Anna Abramovna Volken­stein. M. S. Shchepkin was her serf.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No date *

I received your letter from Mr. 0 yesterday to which I hurry to

reply. Through close friendship, I will simply say that all your graces

have such a poetic, fiery nature. Out of the goodness of your heart,

you wish Piunova a fuller life. You say there is a need to pull her

out of the morass of life. But remember that there are people in that

bog who consented to take part in it and help the development of her

talent. That is no trifle. Her little means strengthen with practice,

and much better comes from her with the aid of these good people. In

Kharkov her role is not the wife of the comic actor Vasilev, who is

*Mr. 0 is never identified

102

needed by the directorate. In spite of all this, her pay is 850 rubles

and a benefit, and you say that someone should give her 1,500 rubles?

And to whom? To this creature who is absolutely unknown to the direct­

orate? You dare to say that she is committed to my recommendations.

You must know that no directorate will offer a contract in absentia un­

less it first personally sends an agent to select the troupe. To be

selected by written invitation is not good. Imagine that after her ar­

rival in Kharkov she makes her debut and, either through calculation

or shortsightedness, the directorate discovers what we have discovered.

Then they simply will say that she can't be given such pay. It would

be impossible for her to remain at the salary proposed by them. What

kind of position would she be in then? Of course, this did not enter

your head, filled with enthusiastic poetry. But in reality it could

very well be. For God's sake, tell me at once what I have to do. I

can only write that I know Piunova and that she has talent and grace.

I will give her the repertoire and ask if they wish to have it and what

they can offer her. It is ridiculous for me to demand the aforesaid

sum myself. Maybe they will say they don't need it. Consider it well.

Your Shchepkin

P. S. If you only knew how hard it is for an old man to write! But

still a few words more. I don't think that I just refuse to help my

lovely Tatyana.

No, it is prudence from unwarranted love for her. Instead of

good, I will do her no harm. That would be difficult to correct.

But in our profession she is closer to me than to you. She would

find thousands of annoyances in Kharkov in competition and not one be­

ing who would support her.

You write that she may go with her father, but her father would

need to abandon his duty and live in two families. What use can her

father or mother be to her on the stage? No, it is much better to

proportion one's life to one's means and to learn and learn! . . .

Time does everything. I know all this through experience. In Poltava

I received 2,000 rubles without a benefit, and there were sixteen people

in my family! Of course, I ate only borsch and gruel. We drank un­

sweetened tea (and sucked small bits of sugar). True, it was good for

103

me. I cannot bear it, I tell you! Do people say that you apparently

suffered much?

It would be a slap in my face to insult me so. God be the judge

of you! You have no regard neither for yourself nor for your friends.

Your soul is defiled, polluted. Don't throw this upon your nature and

character. I will not assume it. Man distinguishes himself from ani-2

mals in that he has free will. Pantelei Ivanovich caroused for almost

sixty years, and then his will vanished. But he did not yield to this

cuisine his whole life. Don't judge me by my harsh words. Friendship

is strict, and you yourself took me in friendship. So you alone are

to blame. For all that, I kiss your beard countlessly. Well, farewell,

my hand is tired of writing. You see how much I wrote.

All in all, God is your judge!

Give my kisses to my Tatyana.

But no, there is no need! I fear she will get hot from your

kisses.

Pavel Vasilevich Vasilev (1832-1879), an imminent provincial actor. But from 1860 to 1875 he was an actor in St. Petersburg. His wife was the provincial actress Maria Grigorevna Vasilevna, the second actress in Sobolov.

2 Pantelei Ivanovich, an old theatrical barber, an alcoholic.

Shchepkin took him into his family and cured him of alcoholism.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No date

My friend.

The first week, I wrote to you and to Mr. Brylkin, whom I thanked

for the coat, but I grumbled a little in your letter. What's to do?

Age doesn't exist without grumbling.

I recently received your letter and the enclosed letter from

Shcherbina."^ I punctually wrote to him and enclosed Piunova's reper­

toire. I said everything that was needed, but mainly that it would be

difficult for her to go with an indefinite salary. I ask for an imme­

diate answer to my letter because I wrote that you and she should wait

in Moscow. For God's sake, take care in your decision. I heard that

104

Shcherbina's word is not law and that his own profit doesn't stop him

from betraying his word. With regard to advice, what kind can I give

whether Piunova can go alone or with her family. So I attribute that

question to the poetic nature of your enthusiastic personality. What

advice can I give when I don't even know her family relationships; no

one could decide about that except her own family. If she makes a mis­

take, she can complain to no one. My sole advice is this: without

real guarantees don't decide. But remember, that is only advice.

As a man, I can be wrong.

I don't know if my letter will find you, because I don't know

the exact day you leave for Moscow. I wrote in my last letter for you

to let me know about three days in advance when you are leaving so that

all will be ready in Nikolskoye.

I kiss you and remain your M. Shchepkin.

Ivan Alexandrovich Shcherbina, director of the theatre in Kharkov in the 1850s and 60s.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

23 May 1858 Friend Taras,

During my stay in Peter some officer from Nizhny brought to my

house a parcel for you which I am forwarding. The whole family has

forgotten the officer's name.

And now two words from the old man: work, work! Let's not dawdle,

Give the Count and Countess my sincere regards and assure them that

the old man will do them the courtesy of keeping them eternally in his

heart and that they will remain in my memory to the end of my days.

What is more, I am not vigorous enough to express everything I feel in

my heart.

Farewell! My son, Alexander, has arrived from Samara. Give my

regards to all my friends that you know. And once more: work, work! Your old friend Mikhail Shchepkin

^Frydor Petrovich Tolstoy (1783-1873), a painter, metal sculptor, architect, and vice president of the Academy of Art. During the time

105

of the poet F. P. Tolstoy and his wife, Anastasia Ivanovna, no one was better acquainted with T. G. Shevchenko. They did wery much for his emancipation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No date

As per your letter, I have been to V. A. Kokorev's house several

times, but he was not at home. I finally found him. There were so

many people there that it was awkward for me to speak to him. I gave

everything to his manager and asked that he remind him. Bidding good­

bye to Kokorev, I said that I had a favor to ask and that I gave it to

his manager. Several days passed, and I waited for some kind of news.

I finally learned that he left for Peter, but I don't know if he granted

my favor. It's a pity I couldn't carry out your instructions success­

fully. I would have sent them to you, but I am without money right now.

So be informed that my benefit is around the first of February, and I

can return the money to you then. I will receive it later. At the

present time my family affairs are not good. My wife is ill constantly,

and I myself have a low morale because I went into retirement. Every­

thing troubles this old man. However, I received a letter from the

director, full of delicate phrases in hopes of my remaining in the thea­

tre. But all that will be resolved when he arrives. Until then I will

let everything slide. Goodbye; I embrace you with my soul, old friend.

Sh.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No date

I am sending a letter to V. A. Kokorev. Read it. If you find

him decent, seal it up and act like you know. Excuse me for not ans­

wering immediately. Firstly, the translation is work for me, and I

became lazy. Secondly, all is not completely well at home. My wife

became seriously ill; right now, thank God, she is somewhat better.

She was so ill it almost became necessary to summon the priest. All

this has made a great impact on an old man like me. I can't wait any­

more for Saburov's^ arrival, so I don't know anything about my future.

There is no need to write too much. Work and your future will be

106

in the hands of Almighty God. As the proverb says, "Accept God and you

will not fail."

I embrace you many times.

Your M. Sh.

Andre Ivanovich Saburov, the director of the Imperial Theatres from 1858 to 1869.

IV. Letters to P. V. Annenkov

12 November 1853

Dear Sir Pavel Vasilevich!

Your letter about Rachel gave me ineffable pleasure and, together

with it, flattered my old self-esteem. You are passing this letter a-

long for critical review and that is much too much. Don't spoil an old

man. But that aside. I can't be a true critic because I can be biased

toward art. In this letter much is said about art that was laid to

rest long ago. My old head is so filled with all kinds of rubbish that

I sometimes talk gibberish to some. Concerning Rachel, i.e. her acting,

I still would celebrate more if I had guessed your analysis of her much

earlier. That means I'm not completely mistaken about art. Experiences,

thought, and (I am not ashamed to say) some kind of instinct steered me

down the right road. Yes, real life and stirring passions in all their

truth should be brightly revealed in art, and real feelings should be

permitted to the extent that the author's idea demands. No matter how

true the feeling, if it steps beyond the bounds of the general idea,

there will be no harmony which is the general law of all art. Here is

an example. Not long ago I learned something in my old age. Several

days before I received your letter, we gave Woe From Wit. In the last

scene where Chatsky gives out those bitter words of contemporary preju­

dice and the pettiness of society, Samarin performed it well enough

that I, as Famusov, became excited and got into the role so much that

each of his (Chatsky's) expressions convinced me of his madness. I lost

myself in the strangeness of this idea and frequently smiled, gazing at

Chatsky like that until I finally had to restrain myself from laughing.

107

All this was so natural that the audience enthusiastically broke out

in laughter, and the scene suffered from then on. Then I realized that

this was my fault and that I must give myself up to feeling with care,

especially in the scene where Famusov is not the focal point. My daugh­

ter and I should have been just scenery, because the whole scene was

Chatsky's. Your letter persuaded me that I justifiably blamed myself.

Naturalness and true feelings are necessary in art, but only to the ex­

tent that the idea permits. That is what all art consists of, to grasp

this feature and to be true to tt.

So farewell. I am not able to express what your letter provoked

in me. Sometime while meeting, we will discuss it. But, I am not a

master and have no time to write now; there is too much work. Your

letter will certainly serve its purpose when the opportunity arises.

Please find out through Fyodorev whether or not Rachel will be in Mos­

cow! There is a rumor circulating that she will not be here. If so,

then I will come to Peter to see her. She does not leave me in peace.

I have already seen her in my dreams several times in such plays that

don't exist. Farewell. Nikolai is with the family in Moscow. The

Stankevich family is still in the country. I embrace you and remain

all yours. Mikhail Shchepkin

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

14 December 1853

Dear Sir Pavel Vasilevich.

First of all, forgive me for not thanking you sooner for your

second critique of the actress Rachel. But what's to do! Age! I had

one month during rehearsals of the old repertoire to learn twenty pages

of script during this time, and that is too difficult for my age. You

said that you want to analyze all her performances. That would be a

good thing for you to do, and I would be eternally grateful. Yes,

please, a little more about art. We have such speeches about it that

it makes one sick to hear them. Your words prodded me to think, but

strictly between us, it is very useful to many. Pogodin was thankful

for these articles, so I gave him the other letter, and he promises to

108

write something to you about Pushkin. He approved your first letter,

so I distributed some thirty spare copies to the actors. That is why

I try my best to get you to reconsider your views. I impatiently wait

to continue this. Oh, how you stir up my old head! But goodbye; I must

learn a role. Write, write! Your first letter gave the troupe quite

a jolt. I am all yours in spirit and body, and with abiding esteem and

eternal readiness I am your obedient servant.

Mikhail Shchepkin

Please send me your address.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

20 February 1854

Dear Sir Pavel Vasilevich!

I thank you from my soul for the third letter which gave me in­

describable delight. Together with this one, all your letters are rich

reserves for dramatic art. In the conclusion of your last letter you

charged me to speak my mind about Rachel. But what can I say without

knowledge of the language? However, I will say something or other to

fulfill your wish.

Up to now she has appeared in Phaedra, Mary Stuart, Adrienne Le-

couvrier, Polyeucte, and Bajazet. She is good in all of them. If she

is offensive sometimes, that is not her fault, but that of the school

she inherited during the course of historical events in dramatic art.

But through her genealogy she showed the way out of the school of pat­

ter, and this was an important step in art. One thing she might be

criticized for is her elaborate gestures. Of course, they entertain

the public, but she should have been above that. She is not even eco­

nomical with them, and each elaboration diminished their value.

How sad it was for me to see her in Adrienne! There was no room

for her great talent. How she compressed it, even though it often burst

forth with all the features of classicism: sounds, gestures, and of

course, very picturesque but exaggerated movements. But why repeat it!

You have already said everything in your letters, and I can add nothing

without knowledge of the language. I only say that Rachel's appearances

are highly beneficial for art. She threw so many ideas into my old head.

109

I dont' know if I agree with them or not. Mainly I say that she must

study how to speak any speech without giving in to the event or, as they

say, to nature, because the nature of the character and my nature are

completely opposite. Giving the role my own personality is to betray

the nature of the character while acting.

Yes, one must learn that thought should always be spoken well,

because if it is not alive, everything else falls apart. They say

"coldly" but not "stupidly." Nowhere is it echoed more clearly that

study is needed than in Goratsii. She plays Camille with such terrible

force that no human strength can sufficiently fulfill this role, but

art and dedicated study makes it entirely possible for her to sustain

this role famously. In the same terrible moment when she especially

needs to speak, she very skillfully rests, so that this relaxation for

us seems to make her suffer. So she bursts forth with great strength.

Yes, that is art. She is a remarkable woman! I admire her too much

to say I love her. And with all that, I feel sad. What would the re­

sults be if, with her talent, she were to study art with its modern de­

mands, or as we Russians look at it at least! That would be a miracle!

It is strange. Throughout all Europe they are still satisfied

with this kind of declamation, with a groaning rise and fall, and we

can't get accustomed to this sing-song. Are we really more clever than

all of them? No. God saved us with our simplicity. All this really

has been accomplished in my lifetime; I have been witness to all this.

I have been on the stage since 1805. I found declamation, brought to

Russia by Dmitriev. During his journey through Europe, he acquired the

type that was being done in European theatres. It was loud, with al­

most a pedantic stress in each rhythm, with cleverly controlled inflec­

tion. All this grew louder and louder until the last line of the mono­

logue was delivered with all the force the man had. I heard this type

of reading from the great contemporary master Prince Prokopey Vasile­

vich Meshchersky. And so it continued UP to the emergence in Russia of

Mrs. George, who carried away all Europe at this time. Her melodious

manner, along with her seductive sounds, captivated all audiences as if

she were part of them. But we were saved by God. We sang and sang and

no

then abandoned it. All Europe cleverly copied her mannerisms. Having

considered it, (I think) she made up images from the popular sounds of

her own language. But we, by our own ignorance and the Russian "maybe,"

took the clear motive of the French without thinking or foreseeing and 2

applied them to our "Tvyordoert" and Kakoert." It was a miracle! I

heard such nonsense with my own ears! But then we had just begun to

grow up, to grow wiser with the years. We just now understand this non­

sense and throw it away. If we had established an image from the sounds

of our own language's richness, with its marvelous motives, it would

have penetrated into us also and would have been hard to tear ourselves

away from it. Truly, how many melodious words we have! But we sing

them with our hearts . . .

Well, I am tired. What's to do! The illness of the aged! But

all--Rachel. I told her that she had raised art to a great height and

she herself tramples it in the mud! The daily routine of playing 26

performances in a row degrades art. I was with her often, but what's

the use? My ignorance is ruining me, and not everything I said to her

was translated. Farewell! Thank God we were well and had time for all

of Pushkin's publications.

All yours M. Shchepkin

The work of Horatio. 2 Idiomatic, not translatable

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

29 February 1854

Several words more. I don't talk about all of her performances

because there's nothing to say. All total, she was good everywhere.

She was especially tight in the dramas; as soon as the action required

some kind of feeling, her face was destroyed, and the tragic Rachel was

revealed. All of this grieved me, the old one, because she could have

avoided all that if this school had not become a part of her. I know

through experience that it is almost impossible to tear it from her now.

One consolation, she showed herself how success can lead art to possible

Ill

perfection. And I will say one more time that fate has allowed the Rus­

sian people to carry art as far as possible. We don't have any old ruts

in which to sink. So long as we reach for conscientious study, only

then can we overcome our laziness. She was told that I am playing The

Miser rather well, but I added—through a translator, of course—that

my physique hurt me in this role. She said I played the role forty

times straight, that is, daily. I answered that I did not play it five

times, but not because I lacked fire. "I have no less than you, but I

don't have the skill such as you possess and abuse." She smiled and

embraced me, and that was my undoing. I went to see her many times,

sometimes I paid out of my own pocket. But I can't write. You see your­

self that I'm not the master of this business. She is gone, but I am

still under her spell. She stirred me up, and in my thoughts, I am

still learning. Drat, my imagination still boils!

Well, goodbye again. All yours

M. Shchepkin

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

19 November 1856

Dear Sir Pavel Vasilevich

Ketcher delivered to me on your behalf the new publication of Tur­

genev. I give you my heartfelt thanks for remembering an old man. Ah!

You spoil me, and because of that, I fall back on you with a most sub­

missive request. Tell Kraevsky that if he changes the title of Turge­

nev 's comedy. The Parasite, he can give the new one to the theatre cen­

sor and cut it himself. I will send a bearer with them to you. Please 2

see Mr. Fyodorov and discuss it with him, and at the same time, see if

it is possible to change the title. Call it what is best; I don't know,

maybe you can call me "The Sponger!" However, think over whatever is

best and give it to the censor through Mr. Fyodorov. Only don't be late.

Despite the fact that my benefit is 13 January, don't forget me. It is

necessary for me to have it a month before my benefit, so hurry for an

old man. I would like to play a sensible role in my old age. If you

find out that it isn't possible, then keep a copy for yourself! Give

it back sometime before our next meeting. I thrust trouble upon you

112

with this mischievousness, but of course, there is much hope for it in

your good disposition. Only please God, don't tarry or forget to inform

me with at least two lines: if there is hope or not. Then I could have

time to take my own measures. 3

All is well at Pikulin's in the evenings. There are even argu­

ments. Min added more to the question of serfdom and free trade. Yes,

in the future my superiors will keep me in service under these same con­

ditions, only without a contract. My love for this cursed art will not

die away. Regardless of the squabbles, it compels me to stay. Well,

I have forgotten myself; what's to do! It is the illness of the aged.

Farewell!

Cheer up an old man who embraces you many hundreds of times and

remains your humble servant.

Mikhail Shchepkin

Andre Alexandrovich Kraevsky (1810-1889), editor-publisher of a number of newspapers and magazines. Thanks to the efforts of V. G. Belinsky and other high literary statesmen, the era of Kraevsky's pub­lication in the forties, "memoires of the Motherland" ("Otechestvennie Zapiski"), became the most popular periodical in democratic circles.

Once Kraevsky himself was an unscrupulous, smart dealer. It was said that in his attitude toward Belinsky, he had no comprehension of his worth and that he shamelessly exploited the talent of the great critic. After Belinsky left, Kraevsky's "Memoires of the Motherland" lost its progressive value.

p

Pavel Stepanovich Fyodorov (1803-1879), a dramatist-vaudevillian. Since 1853, he was the manager of the repertory of the St. Petersburg theatres.

" Pavel Lukich Pikulin (1822-1885), a famous physician, doctor of medical science, and professor at the Moscow University. He was a great lover of the theatre and a dramatist.

V. Letters to A. I. Shubert

28 Marcy 1848

Hello my good fine sport.

Oh, I am guilty. Hello, Alexandra Ivanovna!

I didn't answer your letter until now; what's to do! Old laziness!

There were questions in your letter concerning dramatic art, questions

113

which burdened you out of ignorance in how to solve them. This has

pained you, but it pleases the old man to tears. This truly proves

that you were thinking and were satisfied with your thoughts, but there

was nothing coming out in practice. But you were thinking, and this

was a step in the right direction. For example, one actor doesn't cry

onstage, but only pretends to cry; yet he makes the audience cry. Ano­

ther actor is bathed in bitter tears, but the audience doesn't respond

to him. May one conclude, therefore, that true feeling is not essential

in dramatic art, but only cold craft, simply "actoring?" I may be

wrong, but I don't think this is true. How can I express my ideas more

clearly to you? For example, one person has been endowed with a spirit

sensitive to everything beautiful, to everything good. All human in­

terests are dear to him. He is no stranger to others. No matter where

he finds himself in society, he feels its grief and its joy; he hotly

responds to everything as if he himself were touched by it. So he will

laugh and cry together with it. Another person, concentrating on him­

self, is more of an egotist. Living in society, meeting both sorrow

and happiness at every step, he will participate in one and the other

only to the extent that he is bound by features of that society or that

he needs to express his own participation or understands his position.

For instance, he may feel sorry for one who was robbed of a hundred

thousand rubles, but it won't enter his head to consider how awful it

is for a pauper to lose his last ruble. He will feel sorry that some

baron's wife has been taken, but won't wrinkle a brow if he is told

that the baron has taken his coachman's wife. These people who reason

coldly about this have the possibility, living in society, to think

through all this, and so not to appear selfish, they demonstrate their

sympathy as though it were real. As they are always calm, they are in

better control of themselves, and it follows that they can act with ex­

pertise. And so it is on the stage. It is so much easier to do every­

thing mechanically; you need only your intellect for that. He will

gradually approach grief and joy only to the extent that any imitation

can approach nature. But an actor of feeling is something else. In­

describable labor awaits him. He must begin by wiping himself out.

114

his own personality, all his peculiarities, and become the character

the playwright intended him to be. He must walk, talk, think, feel,

cry, laugh, whatever the playwright wants. It is impossible to ful­

fill this without obliterating one's self. You see how the work of

this actor is more meaningful. In the former case, one only needs to

imitate; and it follows from it that the first quickly puzzles the pub­

lic, while in the latter, one didn't have in mind duping the public and

acted honestly. He did everything, it seems. He (the first) understoood

the role, as was necessary, learned all its details, defined it com­

pletely in all situations, but did not destroy himself; and everything

came out backwards. For example, let's assume you are acting a rogue,

but you begin to laugh and to cry like Alexandra Ivanovna. Nothing re­

sults. You might say this is completely impossible. No, it is only

difficult! You say: why struggle for some kind of truth when there

are much simpler means of pleasing an audience? Then one can only say:

why art? And so, my dear, study it as an exact science and not just as

a job. If you should ever have the opportunity to see two actors work­

ing conscientiously, one cold, clever, bringing pretense to its highest

level, and the other with flaming spirit, a heavenly spark, even if

they are equally honestly devoted to the art, then you will see the im­

measurable distance between true feelings and pretense. I saw Plessis 2

and Volnis, and I say I have seen both types. The first, almost in

the prime of life, with fresh voice, has great art; fine, wery fine!

The second is almost forty years old, with a suffering voice, but she

feels, passionately feels; and how pale Plessis appears with all her

art! I only heard a few sounds of distress from Volnis, but such sounds

will stay with me my entire life. No, don't lose heart, my dear! Work.

Without work, nothing is accomplished. Meditate more and remember the

proverb: Thin is the soldier who does not hope to be Field Marshall.

Read through my letter to Shumsky or let him read it to you himself.

Goodbye. I embrace you with my soul. Bows from me to those who

remember me. Yours always Mikhail Shchepkin

115

Sylvania Plessis-Arnu (1819-1897), a French actress. In 1829, at the age of ten, she entered the Paris Conservatory, where she learn­ed the art of acting. She made her debut in the theatre in 1835 in a French comedy, and in 1836 she was accepted into the troupe of that theatre where she quickly occupied the place of the famous deceased star. Mars. In 1845, she was sent to the French theatre in St. Peters­burg. Russian audiences noted that "her acting was unhappily marked by affectation, mincing manners, and melodious diction."

\eontina Volnis (1811-1876), a French actress. In 1845, Volnis arrived in Russia, and in 1847, she became a member of the Mikhailovsky Theatre in St. Petersburg. She did not make use of her particular success from the start, but subsequently passing into roles of more mature women, she began to capture the recognition of Russian audiences. Contemporaries especially valued her passion and sincerity and the ab­sence of mannerisms.

Volnis once again went abroad in 1868.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

22 November 1854

Alexandra Ivanovna, who never forgets the old man.

Your letter brought heartfelt pleasure. Of course, it grieved me

a little because, I confess, I wouldn't have wanted to see you follow­

ing such a way of life. But what's to do. That is because society is

against such a way of life. In my soul, I don't blame you. I don't

strictly judge people; even if I am strict, it is more with myself.

Your confession is invaluable. In it you are a good, pleasant, sincere

creature. But here I wouldn't like to express my judgement. It is

difficult to be a judge in family matters. Of course, I know your re­

lationship well, but maybe it was a mistake on your part. But all

that aside, my one wish is that you were not mistaken in the man; ask

him to lead you along the path of life. Mainly, be a mother. I con­

fess I would not have wished them a formal education. If they are good,

if they have talent, then of course it would open up an amiable path

of life; but otherwise they would be totally sad creatures. High school

and the university don't take away the road to dramatic art, but con­

versely, they only clear it. Besides, that depends upon the means.

Remember that only you must account for this in your own conscience.

Besides, your new friend thinks about you and teaches you how to act

better. Well, that aside. Mainly, be honest to your profession. God

116

has given you more than brilliant means, this scenic naive coquetry,

this femininity; those are the terrible means for art. Don't be con­

tent with only one external finishing touch; if you don't trim skill­

fully, a cold wind will blow from it. You have an example before

your eyes. No! In the nature of the role, penetrate into the inner­

most recesses of the heart of the person, and when everything is all

truly defined, yes! Then your small means will flash in full sparkles.

In the play I sent you, don't forget that it is in Poland, and the wo­

man is somewhat more developed there. In our customs, she would have

appeared to be too sharp. Remember only that this is the noblest

means. Well, I grow weary. What's to do; the illness of the aged.

Goodbye. I kiss you and your children, and perhaps your friend, if

he would like kisses from an old man.

Your true friend Mikhail Shchepkin

This letter is attributed to the period in Shubert's life when, upon leaving Odessa and marrying the actor M. Shubert, she moved to St. Petersburg with her children. In St. Petersburg, Shubert met her future second husband, the military doctor S. D. Yanovsky.

2 Shchepkin's words relating to "formal education" answer Shubert's

question about the advisability of enrolling her children in the thea­tre school. Shchepkin considered it necessary for young people to have a broad general education upon entering the theatre school.

He meant by "with means" the talent and appearance of the actor.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

2 March 1857

Dear Lady Alexandra Ivanovna,

This old man has been slightly pushed for a long time to write

you several words. Your husband is in Moscow; we have already seen

each other many times. I fear he has spoiled this old man with his

attention. I respect him more and more each day for his fiery nature

with which he hotly occupies himself in the saintly business laid upon

him." You know that, regardless of age, I have kept the.fire burning

so far, but this fire is beginning to wane even though the flame is

stiTl in full swing. Believe me, it will be burning its whole life

for the common good. You don't know how happy I am that fate has

117

united you two. What a truthful guide for life and what a joyful fu­

ture for you and the children. As his helpmate in life, you must help

him to travel the pathway of life, but most of all, honestly learn

your art. True, it costs, and what lies in the chapters of intimate

relations will not overshadow you with thanks. But really, strict

study makes sinful people more moral. I learned all about that from

the trials of life. Just study it deeply, and you will find such bliss

in your soul that they will envy your relationship with your relatives.^

Well, I'm too verbose; what's to do. The illness of the aged! Goodbye.

With the right of age I kiss you with pure love, which I nourish for

everything beautiful. Give your chidlren a kiss from me! Farewell.

If you find it pleasant, give your righteous relatives my sinful,

especially sinful, bow. I kiss you again, and may God bless you with

beauty. That is the eternal wish of your sincere and zealous servant.

Mikhail Shchepkin

My wife bows and kisses you in absentia. I have been forgetful

of her and just now received a reproof from her.

S. D. Yanovsky arrived in Moscow for the fiscal revision of the medical warehouses.

2 A. I. Shubert was from a family of actors. Her brother, N. I.

Kulikov, a dramatist and translator, was then an actor and director of the Alexandrovsky Theatre. Her sister, P. I. Orlova, was a popular actress at the Maly Theatre and the partner of P. S. Mochalov. She and her husband, the actor Orlov, were noted for religious bigotry, and they regularly held religious readings in their home. The Orlov couple laughed at themselves over that peculiarity in their letter to Shchepkin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

11 May 1858

Dear Lady Alexandra Ivanovna,

I have finally returned and rested and have calmed down somewhat.

So I have decided to write you a few words. To begin with, thank you

from my soul for bringing this problem directly to me. That means I

have not lived in the spotlight for nothing. It is very wise of you

to relay it to sister Liza. If I had been at home, I would have

118

departed, but I wasn't. Although it would have been an ill wind for

my old woman, it is comfortable and even cheerful for sister Liza,

a kind of lifetime goal. I am already acquainted with your children.

I have been with them almost every day, and it seems they love this

old man. I showed them your letter in which you asked me to love them

as I had loved you when you were little. The request is unnecessary.

I do everything out of love. Nevertheless, all of this is sad to me;

only God can judge family matters. Give your general a bow from me

if rank will permit such a bow. I would have wanted to be in St.

Petersburg and, I speak directly to you, to say goodbye to the St.

Petersburg public. It seems that I will retire at the end of this

year. I see no way to fulfill that wish, but I must retire. I am

somewhat of an anacronism in the theatre now. There is not a word

about art; everyone rushes to the buffoonery. It is sad, so sad. It

is joyous to hear of your successes. Love the art, and not only that,

respect it and practice it honestly. Remember that in art, "maybe"

doesn't exist. Study and study . . .

Farewell. I kiss you on the lips if the rank doesn't take offense.

Your children, mine, and my grandchildren are well.

All yours, Mikhail Shchepkin

The circumstances mentioned in this letter are as follows: A. I. Shubert reports herself in her "Memoirs": " . . . with a decisive man­ner and without explanation to my husband, I somehow suddenly took the children and left for Moscow because it was necessary for them to have the 'clean air' that prevailed in the Shchepkin family." According to the letter, the children were not taken to be placed in the Shchepkin famiTy, but they were put in the home of his sister, Elizaveta Semyon­ovna Bogdanova (wife of the director of the Maly Theatre)..

In the recollections of A. I. Shubert, it is stated that her hus­band received the title of active counselor of state in 1861. Under the circumstances, her memory probably failed her several times.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

10 December 1859

Dear Lady Alexandra Ivanovna,

Having received your letter and laying a hand on my heart, I

119

cannot give you any advice because of my love for art and service and

family. This can only be solved domestically. Act as sound reason

and family advice dictate to you.

But when this sound reason and family advice soak in, act through

Verstovsky, of course. Appeal to his self esteem, allude to his heart­

felt good will. But think through all this carefully. There are 45

actresses here and, as usual, all of them stab each other in the back;

filth backstage does not smell like roses. The letter was delivered

to the children, and they are well. It is still too early to say any­

thing about your lodging. Your transfer is still not confirmed, and

my position is not solid. There will be enough time for that; we will

talk. Goodbye. Thank you for your trouble with my benefit. I received

the comedy. Who is Father,^ but the vaudeville, "Golden Wedding,""^ still

hasn't arrived. Yablochkin asked me to give him the rights for a 5

benefit with Linskaya, and as usual, I didn't cross him. I still

haven't received the vaudeville. Again goodbye. I kiss you innumer­

ably. Kiss your lover for me.

All yours Mikhail Shchepkin

Look how an old man writes.

This is about the proposed transfer of A. I. Shubert from St. Petersburg to the Moscow stage. Shubert writes in her "Memoirs" that she was summoned to Moscow so that there " . . . they will take my acting seriously; with suffering we will learn to perform plays, and we won't have to rely on more than three rehearsals."

At the end of December, 1859, upon the order of Saburov, the new director of theatres, Shubert was transferred to the Maly Theatre.

p Who is Father, a comedy in three acts, translated by Barsov from

the French play.

"Golden Wedding," a verse comedy in one act, translated by S. Solovyov from the French.

^Alexander Alexandrovich Yablochkin (.1824-1895), an actor and di­rector of the Alexandrinsky Theatre. Later on, he was director of the Tiflis Theatre.

^Julia Nikolaevna Linskaya (1820-1871)., an actress at the Alexand­rinsky Theatre.

120 VI. Letters to S. V. Shumsky

27 March 1848 Hello, my dear Sergei Valentinovich!

I have owed you a letter for a long time, but as you well know,

it is hard work for me to write. But one must settle accounts sooner

or later. What's to do? With what to fill the letter? I begin with

your successes according to popular opinion which you deserve from the

public. They make me wery happy, and my old heart shines with pure joy. I know it was wery difficult, but what good is being blessed with the gift of the meaning of art if one can succeed without difficulty?

Take full advantage of all opportunities. Work and develop your God-

given talents to the utmost. Don't reject criticism; search for its

deeper meaning, and in order to test yourself and the criticism, always

keep nature in mind. Crawl under the skin of the character, so to

speak. Study his particular ideas completely, if there are any, and

don't even exclude from consideration the social influences of his past.

Then, no matter what situations are taken from life, you will always

play them truthfully. Sometimes you may play poorly, sometimes only

satisfactorily (this often depends on inner disposition), but you will

play truthfully. Remember that man is not perfect, but by applying

yourself industriously, you will approach perfection as much as nature

will allow. For God's sake, don't think about amusing the public wery often, for both the ridiculous and the serious derive from a true con­

ception of existence. Believe me, in two or three years you will notice

a difference in your roles, and with each separate role, you will be­

come more versatile and natural. Watch yourself ceaselessly. Even if

the public is satisfied with you, you must be your own severest critic.

Really, inner satisfaction is worth more than applause. Seek to be in

society as much as time allows, study man en masse, don't neglect even

the smallest scene, and you will always discover why things happen one

way and not another. This living book will serve you well until we

have a body of theory, which, unfortunately, our art does not yet

possess. Therefore, scrutinize all classes of society without sharp

prejudice toward one or another, and you will see that there is good

121

and evil everywhere. This will give you the ability in acting to give

yourself to every society. For instance, if you play a peasant, you

can't observe the social graces when expressing joy; and when playing

a baron, you can't shout and wave your hands like a peasant. Don't

place yourself above hard work on situations in a scene and on various

encounters in life, but remember that they are only an aid and not the

main goal. It is good only when you have learned everything first and

understood everything second. Well, I think I have already completely

bored you with my advice, especially those parts you already know.

What does it matter? It doesn't hurt to repeat it. I know you like

myself. I know the role, and I repeat it with a reason almost every

time. Something you will notice slipped away before, and sometimes

you will notice that I philosophized before, but the business is some­

what simpler. So I consider this to be complete chatter with which an

old man is not stingy, especially when he gives necessary advice. I

had to put something in the letter, to impart something to you from my

standpoint. There is nothing interesting; nothing is new and all of

us stray just as we stupidly philosophize. Just as youth looks upon

me as one obsolete, I look upon them as ignoramuses who rant and rave

for lack of natural abilities. With this difference only, I deeply

want them to reach their natural capacities, and they would like for

me in my antiquity to go to Hell! Who is right or wrong? Time will

tell.

You probably already know from the newspaper of the death of Moch­

alov. Yes, Russia has been deprived of a huge talent! What's to do.

To our minds, he quite satisfied us; but we already miss such soul-

shaking words, such rapturous moments which often burst open the air

from his unflattering form. Are we right or not in our claims in

attitude toward his talent? I will discuss this with you sometime.

And now may he rest in peace. Farewell; I embrace you with my soul

and reamin truly yours.

Mikhail Shchepkin

P. S. A proverb was realized in this letter; I started happily and end­

ed sadly.

122

Pavel Stepanovich Mochalov (1800-1848), a great tragedian and actor at the Maly Theatre. See articles about him by Belinsky entitled, "Hamlet—Drama by Shakespeare. Mochalov in the Role of Hamlet." "P. S. Mochalov," and others. Shchepkin, like Belinsky, placed extraordinarily high value on the genius of Mochalov, his absolute fire and passionate acting. A persuasive example of the strength of Mochalov's influence upon Shchepkin can be found in the memoirs of A. I. Shubert.

However, like Belinsky, Shchepkin blamed Mochalov for falseness in his acting, explaining its inefficiency in serious contemplations of an artist toward an acting technique.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

13 April 1860

Dear Sergei Valentinovich,

With pleasure I give you the rights for your benefit to a cutting

from the works of N. V. Gogol. I was granted the rights by the deceased

author and a confidential agent of a deceased relative, Mr. Kulish,

in whose witness they were given in a letter which I will ask you to

keep and return to me upon your return. I sincerely wish you success.

It is a wish from one who does not know how to stop loving.

All yours, Mikhail Shchepkin

Apparently this refers to the role of Sobachkin performed by S. V. Shumsky during guest appearances in St. Petersburg at the Alexandrinsky Theatre in 1860.

VII. Letters to M. V. Lentovsky

14 November

Dear Sir: Mikhail Valentinovich

I received your letter of 16 October on 20 October, and it gave

me great pleasure. I suddenly shed sixty years and became a fifteen-

year-old boy like you. I remember that I had been possessed by the

same fever you are suffering from at the present time, and I hope your

suffering will end as happily as mine. I will send you eighty rubles

for the trip; that will be enough. With this letter I just wanted to

reassure you that I understand how difficult your agonies must be while

waiting for a reply. I will send you the money in a week, but you use

123

this time to prepare. The first order of business is your father's

consent. I am purposely attaching to this letter a description of my

anniversary. Spend some time reading it to him. From it he can see

that an actor can be human, and instead of being sad, he can therefore

bless you in this endeavor and will help you with your experience. It

will be better for you to go by train to Nizhny. You must come direct­

ly to me, and I will place you with my family. That means I will give

you room and board, and you will be going to school to learn to dance,

to fence, and to study music. I am convinced that if God didn't de­

prive you of talent, you will be famous. But remember that this may

be through diligence, but mainly through moral attitudes. You will

be living with my family, and that attitude is necessary. Besides

room and board, I will introduce you to my circle of friends, among

whom are many writers and professors who will be useful to you. It's

a pity that you quit high school. Remember that knowledge is the basis

of all art. More importantly, how will you get to Moscow? I am afraid

for you; you say that you are not completely well. Dress warmly.

Don't be ashamed of a sheepskin coat; it is warm, and poverty is not

a vice. On top of this, see that you wear warm shoes. Well, goodbye.

Prepare yourself, and chiefly, don't forget your goals, because it is

impossible to live without them. I repeat, I will send the money in

a week, but I don't have it right this minute. I will be waiting for

your arrival with open arms to take you to this old, but still hot,

heart. Goodbye.

All yours, Mikhail Shchepkin

Don't be angry that I write poorly. After 75 years my hands don't

serve me.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No date

Dear Sir; Mikhail Valentinovich

I am sending herewith the eighty rubles in silver for your trip

to Moscow. It is not my money. I have taken a note. Good people

did not refuse the aid, and even Governor Igor Baranovsky took part

of this note. He offered to write to your official that he helped in

124

your departure. He says that they are doing that because they love

him. Now, mainly, ask your father's permission for your subsistence

in Moscow, and assure him that I have never deceived anyone in my life.

Everything will depend upon what kind of talent God has given you for

your passion for our art, for without it you will not go far. There­

fore, study, study. My address is No. 3 Meshchanokaya in the Metro­

politan Filip parish in the house of Osorgin. I repeat again, you will

be part of my family. I will give you everything you need to live,

but not for a luxurious life, and for all this I will demand from you

only that you study, study, study. It would be good if you hasten to

come; at the present time the theatre director and all the tsar's

court are in Moscow. I forgot to say that the school does not have a

director, but rather an inspector, Mr. Ober. But everything that con­

cerns the school is under the general supervision of Leonid Fyodoro­

vich Lvov, the manager of the bureau. Come quickly. I failed to send

this letter and the money on Wednesday; I was busy that day. Farewell.

I kiss you and wait with open arms.

Your Mikhail Shchepkin

P. S. I have already spoken with many professors about you and, in gene­

ral, with many writers with whom I visit.

Both Shchepkin's letters are kept in the Archives in the Bakhrush­in State Central Theatre Museum (G. Ts. T. M.)

VIII. Letter to A. I. Baryatinksy

April 1857

Your Eminence

Dear Prince Alexander Ivanovich!

I was honored to receive the flattering letter from your eminence,

and I have no words to express my thanks for the attention paid to an

old man. The assignment offered to me by your eminence is so close to

my heart that I am ready to assist wholeheartedly with whatever means

and strength I can find. Forgive me for being slow in answering; I

was waiting on Mr. Zolotorev, who has just now returned from St. Pe­

tersburg. I relayed to him everything I knew. I almost didn't find

125

the women in the provinces for the major roles. If there are those

with talents, they are already getting old, and besides that, provin­

cialism has strongly diminished their talents. It will be necessary

to borrow from the senior class of the theatre school. Although they

have had little practice, they are not spoiled, and with a good director

and good training, they will quickly progress. Your eminence will

need to get in contact with your superiors for that, so that they

will not prevent them from gaining expertise in your theatre. There

is no way they can gain it if there is a great number of them, and good

talent might remain undeveloped. What a bureauocratic theatre it will

be. It would be good if you would petition them not to deduct leaves

from years of service. There would be various advantages to this.

Within two or three years your theatre will have a new appearance, and

the directorate of the Imperial Theatres will have acquired actors who

have already developed through experience, actors who will be more

than glad to join the theatre. I hope that your eminence looks after

the theatre, if not only for play but also that the play would be fun,

and art would be developing, art which is so useful for the people.

Down through the centuries art has always been first with the masses;

and therefore, honestly dealing with it, the masses will unknowingly

move forward. Believe, Prince, it is so. I have seen this all through

my experience. Unfortunately, with all our strong nature, we are still

far away from honest work, so it is necessary to supervise us. Once

we eat of that Russian "maybe" in art, besides being harmful, nothing

will come of it. So therefore, order someone to issue the needed regu­

lations in violation of which there will be a fine, and so that there

will be absolutely no leniency for anyone. Everything progresses, but

dramatic art regresses. Of course, we have become more courageous,

more presumptuous, but our egotism will soon equate us with farcical 2 jugglers. We are already like them. Forgive me your eminence, for

the possibly unnecessary indiscretion, but this is an illness of the

aged, You surely touched my weak point. As for me, notwithstanding

my wishes to be in Tiflis, the circumstances present so many obstacles

that I don't see the means to overcome them. It isn't possible to

126

travel great distances for three months, from the first days of August

to spend September in Tiflis and to return in October. But my superiors

are graciously offering such a leave. There is no need for me to resort

to such requests at my age or to avoid shame by being refused. A three

month leave will be given without pay and the loss of three month per­

formance pay would be no less that 800 rubles in silver and added to

the travel cost of the carriage, no less than 1,000 rubles. It will

be ill-advised for me to go for my own pleasure without a guarantee of

2,000 rubles. I have pointed this out so that your eminence will not

think that I stubbornly did not want to fulfill your wishes.

With deep respect and complete devotion to you, honor abides . . .

Zolotorev, an official in the Chancellery of the Caucasian region­al government. He often conducted conversations with Shchepkin con­cerning the Tiflis Theatre.

2 Speaking about "Dramatic Art regressing," Shchepkin in his opinion

has in mind the death of the great companions of his theatrical youth; Griboyedov, Pushkin, Lermontov, Gogol, Mochalov, Belinsky. The new generation of people in art and theatre had just emerged in the public arena, and at this time, Shchepkin still could not evaluate their tal­ents and potential.

IX. Letters to Shchepkin's Children and Family

26 August 1848

Nikolai Mikhailovich Shchepkin,

About myself I say I am well, but grief overwhelms me. My occu­

pational duty has become unclear to me. It is detestable that actors

are made day-laborers. The repertoire is most foul; there is nothing

one can enjoy spiritually, and because of this, intellect grows dull,

imagination grows cold, sounds are lacking, language doesn't change.

All this combined destroys me, wipes me out. I don't see even one con­

solation, not even one role one could enjoy spiritually, which would

rouse my old age. Yes, I can still rouse myself, but it should be a

good inspiring role. Without that I grow callous toward filth, and I

am ashamed of myself, ashamed to go out in public. But the public, in

its kindness toward me, does not see that the actor appearing onstage

127

before it is already gifted with inspiration and has dedicated his

entire being to his art. But he is a day-laborer, a steady performer,

and a worker for his daily bread. No, it is all the same to the pub­

lic! The body goes out which carries the name of Shchepkin, and it is

in ecstasy. That is sad, terribly sad! You know it would have been

easy for me if they had hissed me off the stage; even that would have

made me happy for the future Russian theatre. I would have seen that

the public is growing wiser, that one name is not enough for it. What

kind of public now attends the Russian theatre! No, your will is all

that eases my anger. I grow more evil with each passing day, more stu­

pid. The Devil knows! And nothing comes from all this. This is my

present, but it is hardly my future on behalf of art. Damn, how stu­

pid I am! I am discussing everything about art when there is no trace

of it here. Charlatanism, charlatanism! But enough; it is so foul

that I can't stand another word . . .

This is an excerpt from a letter.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

St. Petersburg, 30 September 1849

Elena Dmitrievna Shchepkina

Dear Alyosha, thank you for the letter; it calmed me concerning

you. This suffocating depression of uncertainty about you is even

heavier. You write that I notified you about my condition, but you

forgot that I am in no condition to do anything. I have a contractual

obligation to act in both capitals, but the right to pay me or not re­

mains with the directorate. I don't know how long I will stay here.

I don't know how they will "reward" me. This uncertainty, the inces­

sant rains, the daily performances, and a toothache--all this combined

shatters me. I have appeared eight times in the last eleven days; 2

all this is rather difficult for an old man. I am sending you 250

rubles in silver in this letter. It is rumored that I will be given

a benefit, and in anticipation of this, I have ordered three raccoon

fur coats at a cost of 150 rubles silver each for Mitya, Kolya, and 3

Pasha. I don't know how to thank Tyutchev and his family for their

128

attention. When I get sick, I hurry to them and just rest. Please

write more often. I kiss you many times. Kiss the children and our

grandson for me. I remain your friend and husband.

Mikhail Shchepkin

Mikhail Semyonovich Shchepkin often called his wife by this name. 2 On the tour to St. Petersburg in 1849, Shchepkin appeared in 28

performances. He played 14 roles in the following plays: (1) Woe From Wit, (2) The Inspector General, (3) The Sailor, (4) Moskal the Wizard, (5) The Marriage, (6) The Lawfuit, (7) The Doc"tor in Spite of Himself, (8) Two Fathers, (9) The Counterfeit Treasure, (10) The Miser, (11) The Bachelor, (12) The New Samson, (13) The Rich Old Woman, (14) Aristofan.

^Nikolai Nikolaevich Tyutchev (1815-1878), Shchepkin's friend along with Belinsky and Turgenev. He finished Derpt University. In the 1840s, he served in the department of taxes and collections, trans­lated foreign stories for "Memoirs of the Motherland."

We are omitting a postscript at the end of M. S. Shchepkin's let­ter about fulfilling an obligation to his son Dmitri Mikhailovich regarding the sending of books he needed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Moscow, October 1853

To Alexander Mikhailovich Shchepkin

Dear Son,

I am in Moscow. I returned 10 October. My son, Dmitri, is some­

what better from all his journeys, and he now sets off by land for

Rome with great hopes for life. As for me, this trip has brought me

much satisfaction, and of course, much happiness; but it has quickly 2

bored me. For my part, I haven't seen anyone except Rosa-Sheri and

Arnol.'^ They are wery good, but they don't satisfy me. In general I

found one style in all theatres, effect and more effect. Of course,

one needs to give them the benefit of the doubt that everything has

been taken from daily life, with little intrigue, without strong sug­

gestions. Then it would be excellent in every theatre; such simplicity,

such naturalness and joviality would hardly be possible to reach us.

Honesty of labor is wonderful; everything is alive there from first

to last. Just imagine what sadness. These very same people are

129

stagnating from some kind of human feeling. God preserve us; everyone

is growing old in a well-trodden rut, full of dramatic sounds not to

be found in real life, but which are concocted by dramatists. The

fascination vanishes here, and there is all the difference in effect

in one from another. But all of this can be put to music. It is sad. 4

It isn't what I expected to see. To me, Rachel did not act, but our

Russians flocked to her and paid compliments. And all this without

even going to St. Petersburg. I remember seeing the production of her

tragedy, Esther, written splendidly by an eloquent writer. Each capi­

tal letter in the verse was painted to inscribe something, if you

please. I kissed her on both cheeks for that. There has been much

chatter about art, but it is boring to write about it because it is

prattle. Farewell. Be well . . . I hug you many times, your father

and friend

Mikhail Shchepkin

The letter is not dated. By its contents, it was written in October 1853. At that time, Shchepkin returned to Moscow from a trip to Paris where he went with his tubercular son, Dmitri.

^Rosa-Sheri (1824-1861), an actress in the French Theatre by the name of Zhimnaz.

" Arnol (1796-1872), an actor in the Variete Theatre, the Vaude­ville Theatre, and the Zhimnaz Theatre.

Shchepkin's wife wrote to their son, Alexander, about this trip, "Father is bemoaning his trip abroad because he has gone through much money with little results. Moreover, he says he has had a tedious time." (From a letter of 19 October 1853). And in a letter of 23 Sep­tember 1853, she writes her son.

But I understand that the actors do no satisfy him. They all act without spirit, by rote. "Act," he says, "so that I don't see that it is by rote." He was in London, where he saw a play by Moliere. He writes that they act it respectably, but totally by rote. And he expresses more dissatisfaction and left with sadness, "I didn't find what I wanted to."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

N

130

Nizhny-Novgorod, 22 August 1855^

To Alexander Mikhailovich Shchepkin

Dear son and friend.

Thank you for the letter. It's too bad that it isn't possible

for you to have a holiday at this time; but together with that, I am

glad that the office manager is away. That gives you more freedom

and more means to try to understand more fully the organization of

jurisprudence which is so complicated in Mother Russia. Believe me,

that is a step forward, especially in the eyes of such an official as

Mr. Grot.

And now about myself. I have done nineteen performances in Nizhny,

and fourteen of those were in a row every day. But that is nothing;

age hasn't completely overcome me. All that for paltry pay, and in

the eyes of many, your mother among them, it was depressing, but I

thought otherwise. Staying in the country this summer, I learned the

part of Lyubim Tortsov from the comedy. The Doctor in Spite of Himself, 2

in which Sadovsky is so good. But the way he played the part was

dirty. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that one

could find the purely human side of it and then the dirt wouldn't be

so disgusting. Since I didn't completely trust my old head, I had to

act it somewhere to convince myself. It was awkward to do it in Mos­

cow. First, I received a large performance fee to act the role. It

doesn't matter, but I asked forty rubles. And it was awkward consider­

ing our friendship. Out of envy for Sadovsky, I decided to show his

weak side in this role. All this is not in my nature; my career is

almost over, but he still has not reached his height. It was necessary

for me to play this role. It was for want of spirit and the reason

for my trip. And then they didn't know I would have taken less if I

could have done the role. It is a sacrifice for art, for which I have

given my whole life. And now I don't regret it, notwithstanding the

general consensus. I have already lived through those years when this

talk could have made an impact. In fact, when it became apparent that

I was not mistaken and that my old head truly understood the matter,

my heated imagination struck several strings hitherto untouched, and

131

they sounded strongly, striking into the souls of the spectators. An­

nenkov, Pushkin's publisher, wanted to write an article about this,

which would have shaken up Sadovsky and moved him forward. The poor

guy rests on his laurels thinking that art can't go any further. That

is sad, terribly sad. Praise God that he examined his thought and de­

veloped his talent in the art. This trip didn't bring money but brought

much benefit. Nevertheless, I received 700 rubles silver, and the trip

was not a waste, regardless of the fact that you know I don't know how

to manage money. I will bring all but 150 rubles and will send you 50

rubles. I'm sad it couldn't be more, but I bought four sets of Russian

Dutch linen, one of which I will divide between you and Petya,'^ then

one for my daughter-in-law Vera, and the rest for Mother and myself.

There are still my debts to pay off, the tea chest, to Varentsov for

the broadcloth, and about 300 rubles for the trip squandered on smoking

cigars at twelve rubles per hundred. What's to do. Sometimes I love

to spoil myself. Well, goodbye. Yes, the actresses Glazunova of the

local troupe have agreed to go to you in Samara for their own good in

order to pass the time conscientiously. And the prompter here has

agreed to go. He is a sensible chap, and he asked me for a letter to

you. So if he comes to you, show him some kindness. He is the only

one in the troupe who fulfills his obligations, but this shows his hu­

man side. I don't know his name, simply the prompter. I kiss you many

times. Your friend and father

M. Shchepkin

This letter is dated only with the date without the year, which was substituted with periods. On the first page is an inscription of the grandson of M. S. Shchepkin, M. N. Shchepkin, an actor at the Alex­andrinsky Theatre, "Written 22 August 1854 from Nizhny-Novgorod to my father serving in Samara." But this is incorrect. The letter was written 22 August 1855 when Shchepkin, as guest artist, first played the role of Lyubim Tortsov in the play. The Doctor in Spite of Himself, by Ostrovsky in Nizhny-Novgorod. Based on notes in Shevchenko's diary, biographers and investigators thought for many years that Shchepkin first played the role of Lyubim Tortsov in Nizhny-Novgorod in 1858. As a matter of fact, Lyubim Tortsov was played by Shchepkin three years earlier in his guest appearance in Nizhny-Novgorod in the fall of 1855. They say unpublished letters about this of Elena Dmitrievna Shchepkina to her son Alexander Mikhailovich on 26 August 1855 and the last to

132

M. S. Shchepkin on 12 September 1855 are kept in the State Central Theatre Museum (G. Ts. T. M . ) . For details, refer to the article of V. A. Filippov, "Shchepkin and Ostrovsky," in the book, A. N. Ostrov­sky, Dramatist, Soviet Writer, Moscow, 1946.

2 Prov Mikhailovich Sadovsky (1818-1872), a well-known actor at

the Maly Theatre. He was the ancestor of the artistic family of Sadovsky, all of whom were prominent in the production of the plays of Ostrovsky.

^Pyotr Mikhailovich Shchepkin (1824-1877), a son of Mikhail Sem­yonovich Shchepkin.

4 This letter was published in a collection dedicated to Shchepkin

(published by Suvorin in St. Petersburg in 1914), abridged with dis­tortions, essentially changing its content and meaning. The original letter, kept in the Bakhrushin State Central Theatre Museum (G. Ts. T. M.), permits us to restore the original text of the letter and specifi­cally to eliminate a series of errors in Suvorin's text, which misin­terpreted Shchepkin's evaluation of Ostrovsky's comedy. The Doctor in Spite of Himself. So if in the earlier publication the wording read that the role of Lyubim Tortsov was "dirty," the original allowed that Shchepkin referred only to P. M. Sadovsky's treatment of the role. During the first production of Ostrovsky's comedy at the Maly Theatre on 25 January 1854, Shchepkin played the role of Korshunov. The second day after the premiere, Elena Dmitrievna Shchepkina wrote Alexander Mikhailovich in Samara,

Father is acting in Ostrovsky's play for the second day in a row. Full houses. Within two performances the run was sold out. The play is called The Doctor in Spite of Himself. They say it's going wery well. Kositskaya plays the role of the Russian girl wery well.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

19 February 1857

To Alexander Mikhailovich Shchepkin

Thank you for your letter in which you described the amateur per­

formance. Work, young generation. Thank you for the caviar that you

bought. I hope it wasn't too expensive. There was no need to spend

so much. If you get the chance, send it to me. Concerning my trip to

you, you know I don't have the necessary funds. Therefore I must work

for the trip, my upkeep, and my remaining family. It's impossible to

go that distance for only a month and to have more than a month without

an income. So, find out from the manager of the troupe what he can

133

offer me if I come the first days of May and stay until August first.

I would lose three months salary. Performance fees of about 400 rubles

in Silver. I would be an industrious aide to him and would go with

him to Saratov if needed. Please notify me immediately, but between

us, I cannot settle for less than 2,000 rubles. That would just make

ends meet, and it would really do no harm to earn at least a little.

Please, find out from him immediately and let me know. Bow to Aksakov

and the family. Farewell. I embrace you many times. Your father and

friend,

Mikhail Shchepkin

Alexander Mikhailovich wrote his father about the amateur perform­ance in Samara in which he participated.

2 Keep in mind the manager' reply to Shchepkin's terms.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

4 March 1857

To Alexander Mikhailovich Shchepkin

Dear Son and Friend

I received your letter from which we learned of your activities

on the stage, and they are good. Besides being fun it is useful. The

shock, so to say, is to the thought. We will rest during Lent. As

far as Samara is concerned, I don't know what is happening. Ailing

Dmitri will return to Russia in the fall and will ask that I meet him

in Peter, and I know that it will be very necessary. In Peter I can

be useful to him and forbid him from being unfair. If he returns in

June, I will come to Samara in July. However, the future is in the

hands of God. Mainly, be well and occupy yourself with your duties

honestly. Honest work is a step toward morality which will always ac­

company you down all roads of life.

Give my heartfelt bow to Konstantin Karlovich: bow to Aksakov's

family. Regardless of the fasting period, Moscow is not boring. Every­

one lives delightfully, somehow, and spaciously. Thought follows

thought, and word follows word. Yes, it is interesting to live during

this time. Goodbye, many hugs. I remain your father and friend

Mikhail Shchepkin

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The last line of M. S. Shchepkin's letter is omitted. Its mean­ing is obscured by the illegibility of the words.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

12 March 1857

To Alexander Mikhailovich Shchepkin

Dear Son and Friend

The caviar was received and many thanks. It is wery good, and it was not damaged in transit. Give thanks to Mr. Zhukov^ for the letter

and forgive me for not answering you. That is really hard for an old

man. Concerning Samara, although I wrote that it could not be, having

weighed everything thoroughly, I still do not despair. Dmitri will be

no closer in Peter at the end of June and it is possible that I will

have time to spend with you and to meet him in Peter. Talk with the

manager about the possibility of my appearing there. You know my re­

pertoire, but if he doesn't, I could send it. I will decide in a couple

of days whether or not I will go and will let you know. You know that

means for the trip as well as the upkeep for the family are needed.

If I can arrange everything, then I will certainly be there in May,

and possibly the first part of June. I have had an entire set of teeth

made but still have not gotten accustomed to them, so I have been pro­

nouncing words poorly of late. Well, goodbye, I embrace you many times.

Your father and friend

Mikhail Shchepkin

Ivan Filippovich Zhukov, a Moscow official, passionate theatre patron, friend of P. S. Mochalov, and acquaintance of M. S. Shchepkin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

23 March 1857

To Alexander Mikhailovich Shchepkin

Dear Son and Friend

I don't know what to do about the arrangement in Samara. The dis­

tance forbids me to think about spending 28 days there, unless I can

135

perform there. As I must go to Peter in June to meet my ailing son,

your brother, I must take a three-month leave, during which time I will

lose salary and bonus. Mainly, I just don't have the money. 600 rubles

are needed for the three-month upkeep for the family's apartment, fire­

wood, and sustinence. Therefore, it would be impossible to budge with­

out 1,200 rubles. In this case, I don't think the theatre manager can

meet these terms; they would not be to his advantage unless he can get

help from the public. Most importantly, he must be certain that, by

agreement, I must receive the stated salary. I can do twelve perform­

ances, the thirteenth being a benefit for the manager. I can be there

the first of June. Let me know what happens. In any event, I am send­

ing the repertoire. Here is some news: the English Club"^ selected me

for membership. And it was a double thrill for this old man. First

of all, I see a little respect for my age and creativity. Secondly,

and more importantly, I see Mother Russia growing. Goodbye. Many hugs.

Your father and friend

Mikhail Shchepkin

P. S. If you don't expect that the arrangements can be made for me to

come, write at once. I can leave within a week of receipt of your

letter, but I will still need time for correspondence to arrange for

the trip. The sooner I arrive, the more I can be useful to the director.

My repertoire: Woe From Wit, The Inspector General, The Marriage,

Mirandolina, The Doctor in Spite of Himself (Tortsov), The Wedding by

Krechinsky, The Battle of Life, The Betrothed, or Greybeard and the

Demon on the Verge, Love by Command, Moskal the Wizard, The Echo Res­

ponds to the Call, Filip or Familial Pride, The School for Wives, 2

Molieres' The Miser, and Buried Treasure.

I will either mail it or bring it, whatever suits the manager;

just write.

Moscow's English Club was the stronghold of the noble aristocracy of Moscow. Only representatives of the distinguished society of Mos­cow were members, and to find oneself in the midst of their existing stronghold was truly a "great event" for the actor to whom the theatre director had expressed the friendly "thee". Doubtlessly, Shchepkin was well aware of the significance of this.

136

2 In Woe From Wit, Shchepkin played Famusov

The Inspector General - Mayor The Marriage - Kochkarev Mirandolina - the traveling banker Valdorev The Wedding by Krechinsky - Muromsky The Battle of Life, a verse comedy - Old Doctor Dzhedler The Bachelor - landowner Vasily Vasilevich Klushchin Love by Command, or First Trials of Couquetry in translation

from the French - landowner Vol sky Moskal the Wizard - Kotlyarevsky's comedy - Cossack Mikhail

Chuprun Echo . . . , in translation of the French comedy - old joiner Mishel

Filip . . . , in the comedy-vaudeville by Scribe, Malesville, and Baird - Filip

School for Wives, Moliere's comedy - Arnolph The Miser, Molieres' comedy - Harpagon Buried Treasure, a comedy by Hoffman translated by Ilyinin -

old man Podslukhin

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

8 May 1857

To Alexander Mikhailovich Shchepkin

My dear son and friend

I am herewith sending you the book you wrote about and Mother will

also enclose something. With regards to my trip to you in Samara, I

lose all hope. I can't budge during the beginning of spring because

many people are taking their holidays; Zhivokin and Vasilyev, who are

now in Kazan; Sadovsky has gone to Peter for several productions; Shum­

sky got married and has gone on holiday for several months, wishing to

rest up from the winter's toil. So it would be unreasonable for me to

ask for the time off. Then in June I must go to Peter to meet ailing

Dmitri and bring him home for several weeks. After that I won't have

the strength to travel. So until his arrival, I must put aside my

hopes; then God knows what. Please ask pardon for me from his excel­

lency. More than ever, my friend, be well and fulfill your duties to

your profession, and may God grant that we see each other. Farewell.

I have much work, cramming roles, the larger parts in plays which are

not wery sincere. It is not my custom to deny myself the benefit.

Many hugs. I remain your father and friend

Mikhail Shchepkin

137

Sergei Vasilevich Vasilev (1827-1862), an actor at the Maly Theatre. He began with the role of vaudevillian simpletons, then developed himself into a prominent actor in comedic and dramatic roles. He remarkably acted the works of Khlestakov and was the first performer of the role of Tikhon in The Storm by Ostrovsky.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yaroslav, 11 April 1858

To Elena Dmitrevna Shchepkina

My friend Alyosha

I do half of my benefit today; I don't know what will happen.

After the performance and rest, I will leave for Kostroma at early

dawn. Volga has still not arrived, so I am traveling by coach all to­

tal about a hundred versts. It would be good if the troupe had time

to go and do a performance on Sunday. I will be there on 21 April and

in Moscow on the 24th. May it please God that I find you all well.

Goodbye. Kiss all the children and grandchildren for me, and I kiss

you with abandon in absentia. I remain your husband and friend

Mikhail Shchepkin

P. S. I am sure that you have relayed my kisses to Nikolai and his

family and my admiration to the Bogdanovs. Farewell.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nizhny-Novgorod, 12 June 1863

To the Family

Hello.

Today I leave for Kazan. I earned 320 rubles here and bided my

time for a while because I was staying with Nikolai Alexandrovich Bryl­

kin. I participated in a christening some time ago when I was visit­

ing Shevchenko. My godchild is a life. They look after me as if I

were a child, and his wife even ties my napkin for dinner. I can't

find the words to thank them for their attention. I am making myself

melancholy. I know nothing about you, my darlings, the children, Bar-

sova.^ Write to me in Samara; I am attaching the address. The troupe

is not in Kazan; they left for Vyatka, and I fear that Strelkova

138

didn't take the letters if they wrote. Write what son Alexander is

doing at his home in Simbirsk.^ While in transit I will find out what

is going on with Nikolaev's family. Tell me about everyone, especially

the grandchildren and my little nuisance, Petya. There are four child­

ren here, and they amuse me. I confess, acting has become so hard for

me that I am taking four days rest in Kazan. Goodbye. I kiss all of

you including Tatyana Mikhailovna.^ My regards to Mishel Lentovsky;

may he study well. I also kiss my grandchildren more strongly.

Well, goodbye again to all. Your friend, father, and grandfather

M. Shchepkin

My address in Saratov; Parokhodnaya Pier, Commander Lappa, for trans­

fer to M. S. Shchepkin.

^N. A. Brylkin

2 Barsova, a widow of a friend and coworker of Shchepkin's in Kursk,

Kharkov, and Poltava, P. E. Barsov. After her husband's death, Bar­sova and her children lived with the Shchepkins.

3 Strelkova, an actress in provincial troupes. In a letter dated

1855 to his father, Alexander Mikhailovich Shchepkin writes of Prokof-yev-Taganova (Strelkova's contemporary), "All the actresses have only some talent, except for Taganova, who plays old women excellently."

4 Shchepkin's son, Alexander Mikhailovich, was transferred from

Samara to Simbirsk as manager of the fiscal chamber. 5 Tatyana Mikhailovna Aralova was raised in Shchepkin's family.

During her life, she helped Elena Dmitrevna with the housekeeping. After Elena's death, she became the mistress of the house.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kazan, 14 June 1863

To the Family

Today I'm in Kazan; I arrived well and quietly. The troupe is

not in Kazan; it has left for Vyatka. Konstyantsev is not in the

village but will be here on Saturday. I did not find Grabovsky at

home, so the evening was ruined. I took a pill today because the hu­

midity was stifling. I sent to the post office to see if there was a

letter with Strelkova's name on it to be delivered to me- If

139

something would only revive me. If only I could hear something about

my grandchildren; maybe my spirit would be revived; it is weary, so

weary. This loneliness is killing me. The Brylkin children revived

me in Nizhny-Novgorod. What will happen now, God knows.

Now I have come to life. Alexander brought a letter from you

which was almost sent on to Strelkova in Vyatka. Thank you for the 2

news even though it was about the death of Nadezhda Andreevna, but

what's to do. I already knew it. God grant that Kostya did not be­

come depressed and remembered he is needed for the children. I am happy

for the grandchildren. As soon as you receive my pension, you will

have enough money until my return. Thank you again from my soul for

the letter, in spite of the news of the death of Nadezhda Andreevna.

It revived me, and I customarily wept; you know how I express my happi­

ness with tears.

If I don't stick in Saratov, I will soon be in Rostov; it may be

a little warmer there. I will write if even just a little from each

city on the Volga where we stop. I kiss you and the grandchildren on

the spot, especially Petrukhan, and remind him about his grandfather

so he won't forget the old man. I am leaving here on Sunday evening

on a ship to go to see Brylkin; he is traveling with his family to

Astrakhan. If I don't stick in Saratov, they Brylkin will take me to

Tsaritsin and send me by train to his friend. Goodbye; again I kiss

you with abandon. Your common old man,

M. Shchepkin

Kiss Maria Stepanovna'^ and tell her that I didn't see her aunt and

that I sent her back ten rubles from Chistyakov. I kiss Tatyana Mi­

khailovna many many times.

^Alexander, Shchepkin's servant who went with him on this trip

^Nadezhda Andreevna, K. P. Barsov's wife.

"^Maria Stepanovna Trantsievna, an actress, Mochalov's sister. She lived with the Shchepkins in her old age.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

140

Saratov, 21 June 1863 To the Family

Hello, my friends

From this letter you see that I am alive and well. Just now I

sent someone to look for Stepan Shchepkin."^ I myself am lazy because

it is raining. With God's help I will be in Rostov in three days,

where I will spend two weeks. Please write, because it is tiresome,

so tiresome, in Saratov, and I have received nothing from you. I did

not write to you on the road because we were traveling at night, and

I slept through Simbirsk. We stayed in Samara a little while, and I

toured the city. Goodbye; my hand won't write. I kiss all of you,

especially the grandchildren, both large and small. Goodbye again,

all yours

M. Shchepkin

Stepan Pavlovich Shchepkin, the third nephew of Shchepkin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Taganrog, 10 July 1863 To the Family

Hello, my friends

Grant an orphan favor. I have not received a single letter from

you since Kazan. I was in Rostov for ten days to rest and recover

from indigestion. I bought a box of cigars in Rostov. Tell everyone

that they must write a lot; all this is very difficult for me. I have

enough money; I arrived in Taganrog with 808 rubles. From here I will

leave on the twelfth straight for Yalta, where I hope to receive some­

thing from you. Weariness smothers me; there is little here to revive

my spirit. I received an extremely cordial welcome here from Kukolnik,

and even moreso from Lyubova Kusminishma Alferaka. Really, it is more

or less impossible to trouble the Father with small things. I spent

all day yesterday with her. She sat the old man down, made me rest,

and undressed me so it wouldn't be so hot for me. What a pity she's

leaving today on business, but she hopes to have time to return to see

me off. I will spend the day today in Kukolnik's cottage. Farewell,

1

141

I'm tired of writing. I kiss all of you, and it goes without saying,

all the grandchildren. In spite of her aversion to my kisses, I never­

theless kiss Tatyana Mikhailovna. I kiss Maria Stepanovna on her

tragic lips, as well as Kukharenny and Mishel. I don't know anything;

grief and more grief.

Nestor Vasilevich Kukolnik (1809-1868), a writer and dramatist. He was the author of the pompous, monarchistic play. The Hand of the Most High Motherland is Saved and narratives. The later years of his life he lived in Taganrog.

In Rostov by Kukolnik's account, Shchepkin's performance in The Inspector General was wery poor, and the production of Woe From Wit had to be cancelled for lack of an audience.

^"Mishel" is Mikhail Valentinovich Lentovsky. The last letter from Shchepkin to his family on 10 July 1863, was written to them a month before his death on 11 August 1863. Shchepkin passed away in Yalta.

APPENDIX B

APPENDIX B; THE MEMOIRS OF MIKHAIL SHCHEPKIN

Chapter I; First Years of Childhood

I was born in the province of Kursk, in the Oboyansk District,

in the city of Krasny, on the river Renk, on 6 November 1788. My fa­

ther, Simon Grigorevich, was a serf of Count Volkenstein, but my grand­

father was the son of the priest, Ian, who preached in the city of Spas,

Mosalsky District, Province of Kaluzhky on the river Pereksha, where

his great-grandson now preaches. He died in Moscow, however, in the

Andronov Monastery where his ashes are esteemed. This was not strange,

because in that century, such things often happened; my grandfather

was not too surprised when he fell asleep a free man, and woke up a

serf, but only a little sad—and, of course, not without reason. 2

Finally, he completely became accustomed to his new rank. My mother,

Maria Timofeevna, was also a serf, arriving as part of the dowry of a

countess. It was the custom then, as it is today, that the servant of

a young man always married the servant of a young lady. They were both

lovable people and both perfectly deserved such love; we don't meet

people like them anymore. The Count and Countess were extraordinarily

The introductory phrase was written by A. S. Pushkin.

^The history of the enslavement of M. S. Shchepkin's grandfather serves as a clear illustration of the scandalous lawlessness of that epoch. Peter I ordered the subscription of peasants for payment of taxes. An exception was made for the eldest son of the priest, who according to the law must remain with his father, Mikhail Semyono­vich 's grandfather was the oldest son. Unfortunately, he had a beau­tiful voice. One day his singing was heard in church by the owner of a huge estate. Count Semyon Egerovich Volkenstein, who was greatly pleased by the youth's voice. He returned to his office and issued a statement of his wish to enslave the youth and take him for himself. This was quite enough, and the resolution was passed, "To give up the son of the priest Grigorii to him. Count Volkenstein, for eternal pos­session."

143

144

kind, and although they had their shortcomings, these were such

trifles that their subjects ignored them.^ My father enjoyed the un­

limited confidence of the Count, and Mother, the Countess,

The first years of my parents' marriage were not completely

happy—but there were no family disagreements! Although there was no

strong, passionate love for one another, they were compatable and

lived in harmony, peacefully, and therefore, happily. The first two

children, a son and a daughter, born in the first two years of

marriage, died one after the other and did not give them, as they say,

an opportunity to become lost in admiration of them. They became

melancholy and sometimes lost in their own thoughts about things,

people, and their own love for each other; but more often than not,

they shared their grief with spiritual participation. Finally, my

mother became pregnant with me. Following the advice of old people

who believed in their old wives' tales, my parents made it a rule to

ask God to grant a favorable birth and to take as godparents whomever

they met, despite the fact that the first two children were

christened by some of the nobility. And that is why, when I favorably

appeared in the spotlight, my serf Godfather was a drunken lacky and

my serf Godmother, a cook.

It seems that my parents were quite happy; however, despite the

promise about the godparents, the midwife (who, of course, was a simple

peasant woman) nearly spoiled everything. She, exercising her duties,

somehow poorly bandaged me and I almost bled to death. But apparently

there was destined to be an event which would put even greater faith

in the folklore mentioned earlier. Someone noticed the trouble in

time and with new strong doubled thread, tied me to life, as they

say. Thank God—at no time have I had reason to complain about its

stability.

Of course, I remember nothing about the first days of my

Memoirs was written during the fiery reign of Nicholas I, but the Volkensteins were characterized by the author as good people. Shchepkin's younger brother, Abram Semyonovich, also wrote memoirs, but they were never published.

145

childhood, but, according to stories, it is well known that I was the

quietest and best child. The next event can serve as proof of this.

One day (when I was no more than eight weeks old) my mother, having

recovered from childbirth and having resumed her duties with the

Countess, came running into my room to bathe me. She had only begun

when in came a messenger from the Countess saying that she should

come immediately to her highness. Always the obedient servant, she

left me in the warm water, and, asking her sister-in-law to finish,

immediately went to the Countess. The sister-in-law either didn't

hear my mother's request, or, maybe in scurrying about her business,

she forgot. At any rate, my mother, returning home three hours later,

found me in the exact same position, asleep in the cold water.

Naturally, at first she became frightened, but at once realized that

the danger was past, and involuntarily recalled the promise. Then

there remained no doubt in the reality of this sign.

After about six months, my mother, with the Master's permission,

took me with her to work. I had the full right to lie about on the

Master's divan and to act like a child. If I was not polite some­

times, the Count, as a rule, grumbled, but the Countess laughed

heartily. This favor, it goes without saying, aroused envy in many

mothers whose children did not enjoy such an honor.

Thus I grew, a comfort to my parents and masters, and I

arrived at my fourth year. During this time, my father was promoted

from valet to manager, which was a new sign of the Master's favor.

He was entrusted with the management of the Master's entire estate

consisting of 3,200 serfs scattered over seventy miles in circum­

ference. This often separated him from the family, because the

Countess could not manage without my mother's services.

One day on business my father had to go across the estate about

sixty miles. Since the trip was rather long, and because my father,

in his words, did not want to be bored, he decided to take me with

him. My mother, being obliged to obey her husband, could not oppose

his will, although she thought of many inconveniences for my father

146

and for me. So, clenching her heart, she gave consent for the trip

and did not show even one sign that she was not pleased, especially

since she knew that whatever retort she made would go without

notice. My father had a strong position in the family, and unless he

decided something, it was not changed. But on the other hand, with

all due respect to Mother, the objection to my trip with Father did

occur to her. The Countess, finding out that they wanted to take her

little loved one (as I was called out of kindness by the Master not

only toward my father and mother, but even toward all those who were

tortured by envy), declared resolutely to my father that she would

not let me go because it was not possible; first, that she would be

bored without me; second, that to let a child go on such a long trip

without the mother is inhuman; and third, that there would be no one

there to look after me, or to feed me, or to give me drink. She knew

that my father had to be absent ewery day from home on business, and

that I would remain without any care and unfortunately could get hurt

very easily or drowned, etc., and she certainly did not want that.

This was her will. The Countess, with all her kindness, was hot-

tempered and did not like to be challenged. My father hardly ever

complained when the Master interfered in family affairs, but to his

way of thinking, I was at such an age that the Master's power still

did not stretch to cover me. They could order him to do anything,

except when and how he must treat his own family. Having decided to

defend his rights as a father, but wishing to avoid the Countess'

temper, he resorted to requests. Mother knew her husband's

character better and saw that these requests were made in such a way

that certainly would have infuriated the Countess (because she was

sure that my father would in no way disobey the Count, and God knows

what the outcome would have been). In order to avoid a storm, she

suppressed in herself a mother's feelings and gave herself up

completely to a wife's feelings. Seeing no other way out, she added

her own requests and proved that all the misfortunes the Countess had

mentioned could happen to me here just as well, because she herself

was not able to look after me without absenting herself from her.

147

And so, the Countess, out of the kindness of her heart, no longer

ignored their requests. Completely forgetting her maternal

instincts. Mother tearfully rushed to kiss the hand of the Countess,

whose wrath she feared would be poured out upon her husband.

Father's readiness to resist everything was apparent in his face.

But my mother's good heart had already made its influence felt, and

the Countess, finding a way to express her kindness without humilia­

ting the power of nobility, was inwardly glad, for she loved both

Mother and Father for their merits. Thus, turning to my mother, she

said, "Now, Masha! I am doing this only for you. As for you, Simon,

you don't deserve this. You don't love me; you always contradict me;

and you always demand things in a tone that irritates me." —"But

Your Highness," said my mother, "you yourself know wery well that my

husband can listen without speaking." —"But, my God, Simon! Take

Misha with you—only don't be sulky. You know how I love you!" re­

plied the Countess, stretching out her hand to my father. Through

his tears, he kissed it, seeing that everything had turned out well.

My destiny was decided at that time, when passions caught fire

between three actors--from one side disobedience of authority was

evident, and from the other, oppression. But all were happy that the

business was finished so peacefully (even more so, when each one knew

the other had been lying!). I, meanwhile, was wery quietly eating my

breakfast as if the conversation had not been about me.

This scene was to be an unpleasant prophecy for my future. It

ended happily, but only after a rather strange incident. My father

set off on the road with his sister's husband, his brother, two

other people, and me. He travelled in two vehicles with three har­

nessed horses (troika). It was summer, wery pleasant, and near

Peter's day. About half-way there, it became necessary to feed the

horses and so, at the first convenient place, my father- and his co-

travellers came to a halt where it was possible to give our horses

drink and where there was a pasture for food. We stopped on the

fields owned by Count Yusupov, whose proximity was of great

148

importance and whose fields stretched over a vast area. Then they un­

harnessed the horses, set them free on the grass, even though it was

prohibited for travellers to feed horses on another's field; and,

having drunk vodka and eaten the ham, goose, etc., they fed me and

lay down to rest in the shade of our carriages. I was given strict

orders not to go off anywhere and not to chase the horses, which I

had already begun to lash with a whip. The whip was taken away, and

they sat me down in the cart. Everyone promptly fell sound asleep.

Upon awakening. Father ordered the horses to be watered again and

harnessed so we could arrive at our destination earlier than

expected. All this was done with haste and when they were comfor­

tably settled. Father said, "Let's go!" The horses, after four hours

of good rest, began again with refreshed vigor, but they had not gone 4

100 sazhens when Father shouted, "Stop! Where is Misha?" The

horses stopped, but there was no answer; everyone was befogged. They

had completely forgotten that I had come with them on the trip; but,

recovering from the shock, they remembered, I can't describe the

condition of my father and his colleagues. Everyone was asking

questions, such as; "You, brother, saw him walking near the horses?"

—"But remember, I gave him something to drink?" --and "Ah,

brothers, but this was earlier. After that, I sat him down in the

cart, and remember, Simon Gregorevich ordered him not to chase the

horses!" And so the travellers talked to my father who, not having

received an answer to his question, took in both vehicles at a

glance. Not seeing me, he tried to remember if he really brought me

with him, and if so, where I was. But after some time, he remembered

everything and returned to the place where the horses had eaten.

He began to shout, going from side to side to call me, assuming

that probably I had gotten bored in the carriage and had left to

stroll in the field, or to pick blossoms scattered over a large area,

or to hunt butterflies which led me to a place where the grass was

wery high. Returning to the carriage and not finding it, I had

^Sazhen = 2.134 meters.

149

probably gone all the way to the other side, notwithstanding the

fact that such a small boy could not wander far. So they shouted and

called me for a long time. It was all in vain and each traveller, re­

turning to my father, gave his opinion. One said that maybe gypsies

stole me when everyone was asleep. That was unlikely, however,

because the gypsies would have taken the horses. Others stated that

probably, going out into the large area, and the day being

sufficiently warm, I got tired, sat down to rest, and then dropped

off to sleep in the shade. Consequently, they could only wait an

hour or two until I woke up and cried to let them know where I was.

It would be impossible to find me in the shade in such an area. This

opinion seemed to be sufficiently sound to everyone, and so my father

decided to wait right there; but, in order to speed up the dragging

moments, he prevailed upon all of them to mount horses, to go to

various sides of the steppes, to ask each passerby, and to return in

two hours. He himself remained by one of the carriages, leaning on

it with his elbows, and waited for their return. Whatever his was

feeling at this time, only a father who has only one son in the same

situation can imagine. How he reproached himself, that he insisted

on taking me with him! Then the thought came to him: what will he

say to poor Mother who, having clenched her heart, parted with her

son? Then—what would he say to the Countess, who reluctantly let me

go? All this was so entangled and flashed so swiftly in his head

that nothing could be made of it. Thus he stayed until the others

returned. Then he did not know what to do, because they had returned

without any success.

Finally, the assumption that I was asleep in the fields some­

where was destroyed, because they had already stayed almost four

hours. Once again rumors and conjectures flew, and no one knew what

to do. Everyone asked Father what to do, but he of all people did

not know how the day would end. Father mechanically said, "Harness

the horses!" He didn't know what else to do or where to go. The

drivers began to harness the horses. Then an old herdsman with a

150

rather large herd went by, and when his greeting of "good afternoon"

received no answer, he was surprised. He stopped to glance at those

who had so dryly received his greeting—and immediately saw in their

eyes that something had happened. So out of kindness and maybe

curiosity, he said, "Good afternoon, gentlemen! What are you talking

about? What has happened?" No one answered him for a long time, but

Father, (who was now bound to the others by some kind of hope) think­

ing that the herdsman could give him some kind of news, told him

quickly the cause of their distress. "That is not good!" the herds­

man uttered and, a little later, said, "Perhaps it will seem funny to

you, but listen to an old man. Since this has happened, remain here

for three days. Then send to the neighboring villages and farms to

inquire; and, God willing, perhaps you will find your little child.

He cannot go too far, and whichever direction he goes, he would come

across a certain village or farm, or he would meet a kind man. You

will be informed anyway, and I will also ask around. If you stay

here the whole time without getting some bread, then take a piece

from me, and I will bring you some more tomorrow. If in three days

you do not find him, then he won't be nearby. Maybe a scoundrel kid­

napped him; perhaps he drowned somewhere; or maybe—God forbid—an

animal ate him." Knowing nothing else to do. Father agreed with the

old man, thanked him for his kind greeting and sympathy, asked him to

investigate, and if he found out anything, to send someone immediate­

ly with word and Father would give him some money. The shepherd

didn't understand but assured him that as soon as he found out, he

would send word immediately. He wished them good fortune and went on

his way.

Meanwhile, Father requested that the horses be released. They

were hobbled and allowed to graze in the fresh grass. Then the

travellers made an inspection of their food supply and, seeing that

the evening was nice, splashed about in the cool water, which they

scooped up from the close-lying spring. Thus, having prepared every­

thing for the next meal and drowning their grief with a good cup of

151

wine, they ate well, and lay down to sleep; some in the cart, some

simply on the grass—except my father, who did neither, but stayed to

look after the horses under the pretext that the people were wery tired, having gone around all day to various sides for a considerable

distance, and that they needed a rest very much. As soon as he be­

came sleepy he would wake up someone to look after the horses. This

was completely agreeable to everyone, and after several minutes, a

concert of miscellaneous snores resounded in the air. Father re­

mained alone with his depression and his heavy thought, not knowing

whether tomorrow would bring joy or a loss of all hope.

Thus he spent the whole night among his colleagues, and he woke

them only when the sun came up. Of course, they immediately got up,

dressed, washed up, said their prayers, and watered the horses. To

the question: what to do now? Father begged his relatives and

ordered the others to mount up and ride to the various sides pointing

out to each the road and place that he must go to inquire. Then when

all have returned and rested, they would possibly set off again in

other directions so not a single village or farm would be missed. He

ordered them first to go in a half circle, and if, unfortunately, no

word was heard, then they could stop for lunch and rest a little.

Then they must set off in another direction and not let a single

traveller pass without questioning him thoroughly. Having heard the

instructions, everyone raced to their respective sides. The more

they moved away, the more extensive the circular area grew. My

father was in the center. Finally they all seemed to be moving dots,

and then they disappeared completely. Left alone. Father felt some

hope after giving the orders. In his opinion, it was impossible for

the search to be unsuccessful. He consoled himself the whole time,

until the others began to return—and not one brought any joy, or

news, or even hope. Thus, everything took its old shape in my

father's soul. There was no end to his sadness and torment.

Relatives ate with the servants; that is, they ate what they were

able to buy in the nearby villages. They invited my father to join

152

them, but he resolutely refused. Afterward, having rested, they all

raced to opposite sides, but Father now did not have any of the old

hope and suffered terribly. Again they returned; again brought

nothing—not even a hint—and deeper and deeper became my father's

sadness! Even the shepherd driving his herd at that particular time

past the place where they were standing did not bring any news. The

second night passed in the same way; that is, all slept except

Father.

Finally the fateful day came; the day in which some hope still

flickered, without which all would have collapsed, because Father,

in his undoubtedly painful position, now believed all the super­

stitions, even though wery often he loved to make fun of others on

this account. Clutching for a straw like a drowning man, he again

dispatched some on horseback to investigate, Andre, one of the

drivers, after long reflection, was sent back to the people to

announce the unfortunate circumstances to them and ask them to send

thirty men on horseback to make the rounds of the outlying villages,

towns, farms, and forests. Through these extremes, "if he is not

alive, at least we could find his bones!" (so he expressed himself).

Maybe through them he could find me. Then he returned unwillingly, 5

because to go thirty versts on horseback seemed wery distasteful to

him, especially after the two-day race. He mounted the horse, and

then he left with a wery sour face.

After going not over six or seven versts, he noticed that he

had taken the wrong road. It was all the more surprising to him,

because the road was extremely familiar. Probably he either became

lost in thought or dropped off to sleep (although he didn't feel like

the latter at all), and that is why he did not notice that the horse

took the wrong road at the fork. He was highly annoyed at himself

for such negligence. "If I had tried it at night, it would have been

okay, but in broad daylight, the devil take it, I lost the road!"

^One verst = 3,500 feet.

15 o

Wishing to wreak his disappointment upon somebody, he hit the horse

with his lash and decided to rush along at full speed. But the horse

lunged to the side from the blow, snorted, pricked up his ears, and

stopped. Andre began to look around from side to side to see why the

horse was so shy and saw that from the nearby forest, a wolf was

running straight for him, already at a relatively short distance.

Not having anything on him for protection and not being a courageous

man, he turned the horse to the right, whooped, and started like a

shot, continually looking around. However, he noticed that he was

not outdistancing the wolf. After galloping about two versts, he

was convinced that he would not be able to escape the animal, and his

spirits fell. Then suddenly from the opposite side of the ravine he

was approaching, he heard a human voice crying, "Halloo! Halloo!"

and the barking of a dog which he ran right into. He took heart,

glanced back, and saw that the wolf was no longer chasing him. On

the contrary, it was running from the dog. For some reason, turning

the horse, he shouted, "Halloo! Halloo!" and so chased off the wolf

with someone else's dogs. Then he withdrew into the forest. After­

ward, the coachman stopped and immediately noticed that the dogs

which had rescued him were watchdogs for a herdsman's flock. Coming

closer, he recognized the old man, who was giving them kind words

and bread; but the old man also, in his turn, recognized the coach­

man and immediately asked, "Well, have you found the boy yet?" "No,"

answered Andre. "Well, he bows and greets you, wishing you good

health. He is in Rakitny, Return quickly to his father. I myself

wanted to come to see you, but I was lucky that you happened to be

here. Look, take the left from that point to the field. The fox

won't come close; or perhaps it was a she-wolf which was chasing

you. She runs around with wolf cubs and makes her rounds, until she

catches sight of my dogs; the devil looks for them from afar and

immediately turns back . . . Well, be with God! Tell the child's

father that his child is in Rakitny at the home of Simon Gospodin,

who found him near his farm. He lives near the new church here near

154

the marketplace; it's a pretty tall house with new gates, and nearby

is a verba tree, perhaps the only one on the whole street. You'll

find him right there! Well, so long, go with God."

Merrily Andre galloped back to my father, who was with Uncle

Dmitri and Uncle Abram (as we always called them) and the other

companions—almost all of them were together. Noticing that the

coachman was returning and was galloping with all his might, they did

not know why he was in such haste, especially Father, who was

trembling like he had yellow fever. He did not know whether to be

afraid of him or if things went well. But going no further, Andre

screamed, "Fine, Simon Gregorivich! Misha lives! Misha is found!

He is in Rakitny . . . " and a flood of tears gushed from my father

at the news. For a long time he was not able to compose himself

because he was so happy. He incessantly asked Andre; Who found him?

How was he found? When? Where? . . , and similar questions, which

could not be satisfactorily answered. When he calmed down a little,

he took a breath and said, "Oh, thank God! Thank God!" —and then

added that he would hold a thanksgiving service to Nikolai--the

Wonder Worker—as soon as he goes to Rakitny and sees me; and, of

course, he carried it out in due time. Meanwhile the horses were

harnessed and everyone seated himself sedately in the carriages, re­

peating in unison, "Oh, thanks to the herdsman that he remembered we

were here; bravo, thanks! It goes without saying, but the signs over

which apostates sometimes laugh are always just!" So everyone re­

joiced privately, except Father, who was thinking about something else

entirely. He was thinking, how more proper it would be to punish me

for such a fault, in his words, and was mentally prepared to give me

a good thrashing as soon as he arrived in Rakitny. But this did not

happen.

When they arrived at the place and found the house which had

been so clearly described, they found no one at home besides the

Similar to a pussy willow tree.

155

worker; and to the question, "Where are the master and mistress?"

was answered, "They carried a boy to the fair. The gentleman found

him the day before yesterday, but the child still feels sad! He was

offered honey and food and tarts, and they gave him everything; but

he just wanted to go to his father or mother. Perhaps they will

soon return, because they have been gone a long time. The old man

and woman will not let go of his hand, for they never had any

children. So they were so glad, even though God sent them someone

else's child. They decided that if his father and mother are not

found, then they will adopt him as a son and give him all the com­

forts." All this was related by the worker outside. My father sat

on the zavalinka exactly opposite the gate, from which they hoped to

see me. The worker still had not finished his minute details, when

I came from behind the gate between the rather elderly man and woman.

As soon as I saw Father, I went up to him, drunk with happiness,

stretched out my hands, and poured bitter tears, not really knowing

why: from happiness or from fear or being cut down? He was not able

to get up, but, it seems, he wanted to meet me severely, with the

strength of his conviction; but tears involuntarily broke through and

flowed like a river from his eyes. Everyone was around, gazing at

me and Father, who was holding me on his knees and tenderly kissing

me; all were quietly weeping, and even at times were there audible

sobs from one and then the other. Thus, instead of my supposed

execution by Father, everything ended with a concert of tears. The

master and mistress, at whose place I appeared, performed solo, but

especially her, because they were so wery disappointed, having con­vinced themselves in a short time that I was their son. They never

thought of sending me away. In spite of that, they had to part with

me now, and they gave me up, showering me with hot kisses, shedding

a stream of tears, and repeating farewells many times. Thus ended my

flight or loss; truly I do not know how to call it.

^A small mound of earth along outer walls of peasant's houses.

156

Now the minute details continue of how I was found in Rakitny,

almost fifteen versts away from the place where we had rested. From

what I could gather from the answers to my questions (answers con­

sidered to be satisfactory), from stories of the peasant who found me,

and from other proven witnesses who were there at the time, this is

what happened. When all had fallen asleep, I got down from the

carriage, took the whip and went to beat it near the horses. Then,

tiring, I began to pick flowers and catch grasshoppers. Step by

step, farther and farther, I had finally gone so far that when I

wanted to return to the carriages, I could see neither them nor the

horses. Wishing to find the carriages, I probably chose some path I

thought would bring me to the place I had abandoned; in all

probability, however, I did not think at all. I told everyone that

I ran into the forest, where I saw and became frightened of a large

silver dog with pups. I began to cry, and a little boy appeared who

was even younger than I. He was such a good boy. He persuaded me

not to be afraid, that the dog would not bite. In proof he came up

to her and patted her on the back; the dog liked to be caressed. He

forced me to pat her, so I did. Then he led me through the forest,

and when I began to ask for a drink, he answered that as soon as we

emerged from the forest—then we would find water. Coming out of the

forest, I turned to the little boy to ask; where is the water? —he

was gone. I called for him a long time and not receiving an answer,

I began to cry. At the same time, I went down a rather steep hill.

There I found water. Of course, I was wery thirsty, so I descended and lay down on the ground, wishing to satisfy my thirst from the

steep shore. But suddenly, I heard a voice. "Boy, watch out—You

will drown] There is a deep place here!" To that I answered with

tears: "But I am thirsty!" Then two people came up to me. While

both were not young, one was a little older. The. older of the two

lifted me from the ground, took my cap from me, and after folding its

brim in three corners, he lay down by the pond, drew water, and gave

me a drink. Then speaking between themselves, they asked me; Whose

157

child are you? and who is your father? and where are you going?-- to

which I answered them in such a muddle that they understood only

that my father was Simon Gregorivich, my mother was Maria Timofeevna, o

that I had an excellent barin, Gavrilo Semyonovich and barina,

Elizavota Ivanovich, that the barin feeds me candy and the barina

drinks tea, that I have an Uncle Dmitri and an Uncle Abam (at that

time I still could not pronounce the letter "R"), that we were going

somewhere far away, that we ate in the field, that all were drinking

vodka and all lay down to sleep and that that was when I left. They

were not able to determine anything properly from all that and did

not know what to do. One of them, the younger, thought it good

advice to lead me to the nearest road and to see that I meet someone;

thus they could not be blamed themselves and therefore would not get

into possible trouble. God knows, what was so wonderful about a boy

being lost? "If perhaps his father and mother are killed, then you

will get into such trouble that you will not be able to escape the

court!" But, in spite of everything, the old man apparently did not

decide to follow the advice, saying, "Is it not impossible for such

a little boy to the left alone? If something happens to him, then

God would punish us. If it happens, then it happens, but I will take

him for mine." Thus, I was brought to the herdsman, fed honeycomb,

and laid down to sleep.

On the following day, I was taken to Rakitny and presented to

the district office, where the old man declared that he found me

near his farm. The manager wanted me to stay with him, but I did not

agree with that at all, saying that I would live with those who found

me. The manager, not wishing to make me cry, released me to the old

one after ordering the office to send a notice to the court. Thus,

the old man took me home with him, and together with his wife we

assumed that if God grants that my parents were not found, they

would take me as their son. That is everything my father learned.

^In pre-revolutionary Russia, a man belonging to the upper state of society.

158

Having listened to our tale, the peasant's and mine. Father

immediately thought of the great kindness of the people, and that the

child who had led me through the forest past wolves and wolf-cubs

was obviously none other than a guardian angel. He mentally offered

a prayer of thanksgiving to Almighty God.

And so ends this small drama. It seems that I remember nothing

about it, but it is such an anecdote of my childhood that it remains

well known in my family, being often repeated exactly in the same way

without the smallest change not only by Father and Mother, but even

by his comrades. With all that, I do not consider this as the

complete truth, and you can take it or leave it at that. My business

is only to relate what I know.

Shortly after that, the Count convinced the Countess to release

Mother and let her go to her husband (who was already assigned to

live on the farm of Prokhod in the center of the estate governed by

them), offering the excuse that it is a sin to separate a young

husband from his wife. Who will look after Misha? The Countess

completely agreed. Thus, I suddenly moved from the district of

Obeyansk to Sudzhensky, where my parents lived nearly thirty years g

until our sale to Prince Repnin.

Thus, my childhood flew by, highly uninteresting, like the

childhood of every youngster, especially of one in such a rank. It

is known only that I was the sharpest and smartest child, that I was

twice injured in the worst way, once with the wood-cutter. The other

time it was so strange that I must tell it. I was simply being

transferred through the gate, that is, across the highest horizontal

bar; but what's so bad about that? Here is the trouble. At the

break of day on Christ's Sunday—I simply flew from the drozhky

through the gate. How did it happen and from what? Mother could not

explain, even though she was alone and a witness; but she was so

^Prince Nikolai Grigorevich Repnin-Volkonsky.

A surrey.

159

frightened that she could remember nothing in detail. So here is

what transpired. On a bright holiday. Father and Mother went to

Turya for Mass at the parish. Of course they took me with them.

When they came out to get in the drozhky, which was somewhat long and

had no sides. Mother sat down and placed me by her side for the trip

to town. Father said; "You ride down the hill and I will walk on

foot." (The house where we lived was on a hill.) At this point, the

coachman who was holding the horse by the bridle asked Father, "Do

you want me to drive?" Now Father often drove himself, and after

arriving in Turya, the horse usually stopped outside the priest's

place in the courtyard. Father seemed uncomfortable in the holiday

crowd, so he answered the coachman's question affirmatively and left

by the rickety gate. Turning to my mother, who was already sitting

with me in the drozhky, the coachman said, "Permit me, Maria Timofee­

vna, to put on a new coat!" --and not receiving an answer, he passed

us. The horse, feeling free, began to swing from side to side. The

reins had been shaken up near the coupling bolt about two and one

half inches higher than the drozhky. Mother had just decided to grab

them when the horse shied at that instant and hurled his legs against

the gate. Quick as a wink. Mother fell off the drozhky. She did not

have time to grab me and saw only that the drozhky caught on the arc

of the first axle. From the jolt, I fell on the underlying wheel,

which threw me swiftly through the gate. She could not explain how

it happened, because she instantly fell to distraction. Father,

having heard the noise behind him, turned and saw me flying through

the gate; at that instant, the infuriated horse shot past with the

drozhky which naturally was smashed to smithereens. Father ran back,

ran up to me, and raised me with one movement. I could not hear for

a very long time . . . was I deaf? Everything happened so fast that

no one saw it. At my father's cry, the coachman, the cook, and

Grandmother ran out. Father demanded water and when it was brought,

sprinkled some of it on me. Meanwhile Mother regained control of

herself and tore me from Father; he ordered a knife, with which he

separated my clenched teeth and poured in several drops of water.

160

Then I immediately took a deep breath with a long, drawnout wail.

During this, the goose-egg, having risen almost an inch from the

injury, apparently began to go down to normal, turning blue, almost

black—the sign of a strong injury. Of course, no one went to Mass.

For a long time, they doubted if I would live. They bathed me twice

a day with some kind of herb (it seems they call it "Zavyaz"), and in

three weeks they began to hope for my recovery; in six weeks I

completely recovered. But the miraculous somersault remained un­

explained.

Then one time I almost drowned, but I was again saved. All

these miraculous rescues were attributed by my mother to nothing

else than the assigned godparents. Father simply saw God's

benevolence and concluded that he and his family lived with divine

providence.

When I was nearly six years old, they sent me to learn to read

and write from Nikita Mikhailovich. I don't know his last name, but

he had another. I cannot say it, because such names are so hard to

pronounce. I begin to remember a little of my childhood from that

time, although it is not entirely clear. I remember that I went to

school every day; that I had two friends, Gavrilo and Nikita,

children of Nikita's housekeeper; that the teacher had a daughter,

Nagyozhka; and that I learned rather easily and quickly. I was

barely six years old when I had learned everything, that is, the

alphabet, the prayerbook, and psalter. At that time, studies usually

ended with these. Of course we did not understand a word, and we

only gained the ability to read church books fluently. I remember

that with the change of the book; that is, when I finished the alpha­

bet and carried the prayerbook to school for the first time, I

carried a pot of milk porridge, wrapped up in a paper wrapper, and

fifty kopecks as a tribute due for lessons. Along with a shawl, I

delivered all this to the teacher. We usually placed the porridge

on the table and after repeating the assignment (on such a festive

day there was no school), we gave all the students spoons to eat the

porridge. Having brought the porridge and performed a great deed;

161

that is, having learned the entire alphabet, it was tradition that I

beat the students on the hands, which I executed zealously in the

general noise and laughter of the teacher and his family. Then,

when we finished the porridge, we carried the pot to the clean

courtyard, set it in the middle, and each threw a stick at it. Who­

ever managed to break it threw himself headlong into a run, and the

others, having caught him, in turn pulled his ears. What kind of a

game is that? Why was it done? When did it start? I just don't

know. I just remember that at the end of the prayerbook, when I

brought a new psalter, the process was repeated, and that, besides

myself, Nikishka also brought porridge when he finished his prayer-

book. I found that he, together with his brother Gavrilo, had

studied it very stupidly. I remember that they flogged them un­

mercifully, although there was absolutely no sense to it. I, on the

other hand, was surprisingly adroit, so that the teacher did not have

time to give me a lesson.

When I finished the psalter, my father, knowing that my teacher

was no longer able to teach me anything, wrote to a friend in

Belgrade, a wery learned priest (who some time ago taught the Count's

older son, who was still a student) and asked him to take me for

lessons. Meanwhile, during the long correspondence, I had to go to

school each day to reinforce my learning. I remember that it was a

terrible bore to me; I finally began to repeat the lesson with such

rapidity that all that was audible was, "Happy is the man who does

not take bad advice" —and even Satan could not sort out one word

more. Thus, within four hours I would finish everything that was

assigned to read and would go out for a stroll in the forest with

the little chicks, leaving the teacher highly satisfied with his

pupil. The teacher often used me as an example to the other

students, saying: "If you would study like Misha, then you could go

strolling too." I usually strolled around in the forest until

dinner, because I knew very well that if I were to go home from

school, they would not allow me to run around in the forest.

Finally, somehow my father became aware of my short recitations.

162

and therefore he firmly forbade me to leave the school until I

finished the general studies. It seems that one day I forgot his

order. Father, who could see the school from our house, purposely

kept an eye on me, and as soon as he saw that I took to my legs for

the grove, he went there himself. Having broken off a good strong

wisp of birch and finding me, he fair-thee-well thrashed me. At the

end of the execution, during which I screamed with all my voice, he

dragged me to school, pointed out to the teacher that he was to look

after me, that the child was completely spoiled, that my reading had

become much worse. Instead of reading, I mumbled so that it was

impossible to understand me. As proof of this, he made me read. I,

having already formed the habit, flew like lightning, and they

could only pick out (as I said) "Happy is the man . . . " not one

word more. Father stopped me, told me to begin over, and so the

story goes; then on the third time--the same thing happened. Father

became angry, spit, stamped his foot, and left, having firmly

ordered the teacher to correct the child. My father's anger had its

effect, for the teacher had a private school. His main business was

with the distillery, where he was a janitor in the wheat shop.

Therefore, fearing to lose his job, which completely depended on my

father's will, he turned full attention to the fulfillment of his

wishes. In order to repair the damages, he ordered me, with a

promise of strong punishment, to stop at the periods while reading.

But as I became oblivious, and more so because I halfway jabbered

from memory, I often received needed rewards like blows on the hand

with a ruler. However, this helped very little. Once the teacher

gave me two very sharp blows (at which I yelped, of course) and

uttered, "I have already told you, you son-of-a-bitch, to read

according to the punctuation marks!" That meant to stop at them.

That Ukrainian phrase was already old: it had been spoken like that

for years on end, and that is why it came to me out of the teacher's

mouth without the slightest change- My teacher was Ukrainian. The

whole district population was more Ukrainian than Russian. To answer

the teacher, I unexpectedly asked him, spilling hot tears and

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reeling from the pain in my hand, "Why stop at periods?" My

teacher was dumbfounded by this question. It was the first time he

had heard such a question in forty years of teaching young students,

and he became so confused at this and angry at such an impudent and

free-thinking question that he did not answer for a long time. But

taking into consideration that I was young and smart and that only an

unclean spirit could have prompted me to say such things, he made the

sign of the cross and said to me, "Tut, tut, bad boy! Do you not

know what you have said?" I did not understand and repeated through

my tears, "I say, why stop at periods?" Here, seeing my ignorance

and being convinced that I asked such a question without the slight­

est evil intent, he relaxed his voice and said, "Bad, bad boy! Maybe

you do not know that sacred writings are thus written so that in

reading them one must stop at periods. All righteous men read this

way." Understanding nothing, I again asked, "But why?" Not being

able to give a better explanation, he began to interpret for me, "I

already told you that you cannot read all the psalms in one breath.

You must stop and rest; that is why the holy and righteous men who

wrote them purposely put them there. And you, bad boy, think that

they put them there for no reason?" And he was very pleased that he

explained it to me so clearly that there was apparently nothing more

to say. But to his extreme amazement, I found it incomprehensible

and, still grumbling through tears, said, "Pardon me, but that is

not possible! Look here, how the periods are placed: here (showing

in the book) from period to period—three words, and here--a full ten

lines, impossible to say with one breath. So it is impossible that

they were put there for rest." The teacher, seeing that the evil

spirit had completely gained control of me (without this explanation

it was not possible that such a smart child could not understand

what, in his opinion, he had explained so clearly), and in his words,

not wishing to enter into competition with the Devil, gave me a

considerable blow to the head, saying, "If you don't believe in

those punctuation marks, then the period should come from you. Per­

haps you will believe this; and if you are still going to ask

164

questions, then for an explanation, I will give you such a blow that

for the next week you will keep a look out!" After such a strong

order, I forever renounced similar questions.

Upon Mother's request, who was so sorry that the teacher, him­

self not knowing anything, had punished the poor student so cruelly,

they soon took me to Kondratovska to the Count's estate, and from

there under my father's direction to the local inhabitant. Father

Dimitry, to repeat everything I learned while studying in Belgrade.

Without insulting the memory of the deceased, I must say that my new

tutor. Father Dimitry, was also of little education, and only in

those days could he have been my teacher. Since the service was not

repeated every day, he made out very poorly. Thus, for example, when

I was fifteen years old, one Whitsun day the Count, knowing that the

teacher read poorly, sent me to him in his name to ask that the

prayers, which are read on bended knee, be read first at home, in

order that they might be heard clearly. But he did better than that;

he only read two prayers during the service; the third was not read

at all. And when he came to the Count after dinner to greet him with

communion bread as it is done on ewery twelfth holiday and on the

Count's name-day, the Count asked why he only read two prayers. The

priest respectfully answered, "Your Highness sent word for me to

read through the prayers at home, so I read one at home. Excuse me

that I did not have time to read more, but the remaining two I read

in church during the ceremony." The Count, hearing this, smiled and

did not say a word.

Another example will serve as an even better demonstration not

only of ignorance, but also of the coarseness of those times. One

Saturday during the summer harvest, the sexton and the sacristan,

having been busy with field work (for the church received thirty-

three dessiatinas"^^ in land for support), entreated our manor serf to

send in their place with the priest to Vespers and Matins a fellow by

the nickname of Kozel. He was a hopeless drunk, who only knew to

•'"One dessiatina = 2.7 acres.

165

sing and drink in the choir loft. They sobered him up with promises

that he could get drunk again after Vespers and Matins. Knowing all

the church laws well and keeping in mind the promise of another

drinking bout, he readily agreed. Since the priest was accustomed to

him sometimes fulfilling the duties of sexton, he began the service

with him without the slightest objection. Because of field work,

there were only three old people, a young boy sent in the place of 12

the ktitor, and I worshipping in church. Michael Kozel had the

most ridiculous appearance, with a bloated face from continually hard

drinking; his voice was the coarsest and most unpleasant bass, and by

that time his hangover was growing more repulsive. After the first

prayer's amen, he began reading in a squeaky voice. Thus, every-13 thing went as it should until the reading of the kathiama, for, as

I have already said, Kozel was very firm in the progression of the

service. At the end of the reading of one kathiama, the priest at

the altar either kept reading some kind of prayer or his thoughts

were on the day's business, for he did not hear that the reading had

already ended. Kozel knew that the priest was supposed to pronounce

"More and More" after the kathiamas. Having been silent for a while

and not hearing anything, he decided to remind him. In full, hoarse

voice, he said, "Father Dimitri! 'More and More . . .'" —whereupon

the priest, calling a halt to his own reading and not understanding

what was happening, remembering only that he was interrupted by

Kozel's voice, quickly answered him, "Well, read!" Kozel, having

trouble with his own business, took great offence. In witness of

his knowledge, he repeated the previous reminder with a voice not so

respectful, but much more coarse, "More and More!" The priest, still

not properly coming to himself, or being annoyed that Kozel started

to teach him, again repeated, "Read, read!" Here Kozel, still

1 7 ^ A church official.

^^One of the twenty divisions of the Psalter in the Greek Orthodox rite.

166

without the slightest esteem for the place and the Cloth, reminded

with a persistent voice, "More and More!" Vexed by such obstinacy

by Kozel, the priest raised a cry very angrily, "Read, I say!" Our

Kozel lost his senses; his eyes goggled; he clenched his fist in a

frenzy and gnashed his teeth horribly. He left the church straight­

away, abandoning the poor priest, who was completely lost from

malice and ignorance as to what to do. He did not remember how far

the service had progressed. Then perforce, I went to him on the

altar, explained the situation to him, and offered my services in

Kozel's place. Living in Belgrade for almost a year with the priest

(as will be stated later), I also knew the order of the service well;

and thus the Vespers and Matins were completed.

When I told the Count everything, he was horrified; but then,

pondering a moment, he uttered, "I would have asked the bishop long

ago to change our priest, but he is a family man. He has a lot of

children; they are able to remain together in spite of everything,

and I will not take that sin upon my soul!" But at that moment, he

took another, more horrible, sin.

And there, for what it's worth, is my childhood quickly un­

folded. Fortunately for me, I lived with the priest only about

three months. From this entire period, I only remember that on the

day I arrived, he mercilessly lashed me with birch rods, because it

seems that I, from superlative knowledge of church readings, tore up

the first list of psalters. Because I wanted to make a brilliant

display of my intelligence, in front of the priest's children, I

began to repeat the assignment from "Happy is the man . . . ".

Finishing the page, I turned over the list so quickly and deftly

that I tore it almost in half. That is why I received the afore­

mentioned reward. Such a debut frightened me very much, and I

thought that I had gone from the frying pan to the fire. Thank God,

everything went well and, having explained my problem, I had the

full right to run where I pleased; and since my father did not live

here, there was no one to notify that I was too freely enjoying all

rights of childhood. One Sunday when my father came to dine with us

167

and to hear me singing in the choir loft with the sextons (for I had

an exceptional ear during childhood: it was enough for me to hear a

tune once, and I could sing it perfectly), he was highly satisfied,

although it didn't mean anything to me.

He had his own way of thinking; he supposed that only with

austerity could children be made to love and respect parents; that

is, in his opinion, to fear and to love was one in the same. There­

fore I, and probably all the children who were over fourteen years of

age, knew only strictness and never affection from Father. On the

other hand. Mother showered us in excess and, because of that, the

opposite occurred to what our parents expected. Up to the time

when we had begun to understand, we feared Father, but did not love

him; and we loved Mother, but did not fear her. Therefore we did

not know that things were not going well for her. Mother punished

us sometimes, wishing to instill us with love and fear, but she

punished so that it helped very little.

With all due respect to my parents, I must express their

opinions, especially since it was the general opinion of the times

about the education of children, not only in my parent's rank, but

also in the upper classes. To my father's credit, I will say that

he was always higher than his rank, proven by the fact that he was

not satisfied with the contemporary general notions of his circle

about the education of children. He wished to teach me something

more, even though he continually heard from his comrades around him,

"The devil knows what the steward wants to teach his son, a boy

already knowing the alphabet, prayerbook, and psalter, sending him

to Belgrade. He would now teach him to write, and finally, send him

to law court, there to copy business and to grow up a man!"

According to them, there was no higher education than that; that is,

it did not occur to them that a peasant might know foreign

languages. But my father visited the Count time and again during his

service in the guard in Moscow and Petersburg. He saw and heard much

about the university. He recognized the fact that some landowners

have valets who were formerly with gentlemen abroad, and who talked

168

with them in French. Listening to their chatter, he would smile and

take heed without the slightest notice.

Three months of my childhood in Kondratovka at the home of the

priest Dimitry passed wery quickly. I cannot remember anything of

that period, except what has been said. As is apparent, nothing was

interesting.

When it came time to take me to Belgrade, they brought me home

for two weeks to make clothes needed for a long time, so that I would

not have a shortage there. It was not possible to send anything

there because of its remoteness, for it was a hundred odd versts from

us to Belgrade. Meanwhile, Mother was thinking to herself: the

child still wanders!--and at that time I did not even busy myself

with repetition of the assignment. Father looked upon it with a

grain of salt. Sometimes only for a joke and in order to scare poor

Mother a little, he would say, "Ah, so, Masha, will you sit Misha

down so he will drill?" Masha, being frightened, would offer some 14

excuse; either my boots were not ready, or the sharovary had to be

fitted, and so on. He would be satisfied with the expressed reasons,

and I would run for dear life. In a word, I did as I pleased. Many

times. Mother was astonished that Father was so indifferent toward

my pranks, and furthermore, seemed a staunch supporter of her

expressed reasons, which she felt were absurd after considering

them. But she kept quiet and was satisfied that the child with

whom she would soon part for a long time would have enough fun and

would not forget his home. She could not solve the riddle that even

though Father confessed that he was separating from his son with

heartfelt sorrow and did not know what the future held, he somehow

unwittingly gave in to a father's feelings and with no voice of

reason, thoughtfully decided to allow the child to romp around in the

house. Later, only God knows what is in store for the boy—maybe

starvation. He felt that he gave me up for the continuation of

studies too soon, for I was not yet seven years old, and that was

14 Wide trousers.

169

the main reason for his indulgence.

Thus two horrible weeks, passed for Mother. During the entire

preparation, she did not dry her eyes, in Father's absence, of

course, for she did not dare cry in front of him. She mourned over

every shirt, everything she packed in the red trunk. As I remember

now, a picture of work in Suzdal with some terrible monsters, which

interested me wery much, was stuck under its lid. Not understanding

Mother's tears, I remember wery well asking her why she was crying.

Would I really be flogged every day in Belgrade? Evidently, nothing

was more horrible for me. To that. Mother, embracing me and pressing

me to her heart, said through her tears, "Oh, child, it may be!"

With that news, my tears burst forth; but a fine apple and a good

piece of homemade cake immediately consoled me.

It seemed that everything I needed for my sojourn in Belgrade

was already packed. It came time for the trip and everything was

prepared, that is, the pies, hot and dainty, so that I would not be

bored on the way (Father even considered these unnecessary, but how­

ever, did not prevent Mother from preparing). Thus came the

appointed day of my leavetaking for confinement with the parson.

They invited my father's sister from Miropole with her husband and

his brother, those whom I called Uncle Dmitri and Uncle Abram (as I

have called them all my life), and Grandmother, my father's mother,

who had recently moved to our house to live. When all were present,

they held a service. Then as usual, they drank vodka and ate until

they were full. After that they ordered the teapot heated, because

it was such a festive day, and drank tea and two or three cups of 15

punch. Meanwhile, the horses were made ready, and the kibitka

brought; but before the departure, everyone took his place, stood up,

became silent, and the farewell began. I remember clearly that

everyone cried and told me not to be bored, not to be naughty, and

to study very hard. Then my parents sat me between them in the

carriage. Mother still had my sister Alexandra in her arms, there

15 A hooded cart.

170

being two of us now. With general wishes for a good journey and the

blessings of the priest, we set off that night.

The next day we arrived safely in the village of Krasny, my

birthplace, as was said, at the residence of people whom I did not

remember at all. They were all new to me. A lot of people wandered

around for no reason at all. Most of the children played in the vast

yard. Even though they were all clothed completely different from

rural children, I thought they were just great! They wore blue

jackets and such sharovaries! It was exciting for me, and I envied

them, particularly after considering their freedom, thinking that all

they ever do is play while I am taken somewhere to study something.

Even my suit was a completely different style: I wore a blue

Chinese coat and sharovaries. They laughed at it for a long time and

in general looked upon me as a country boy. All this made me

extremely shy and uncomfortable, and I felt very stupid, even though

all of them were sufficiently behind me in book-learning. They still

did not know the alphabet and I had already finished the psalter. I

learned all about that the next day when Father took me to look over

the choir school. Then I learned that they were boys selected for

the choir. Father did not let the chance go by to speak in passing

of my successes, and the children looked at me with astonishment that

I was only seven years old. Each of them was older than I by at

least two years; and because I had finished the studies, they began

to treat me more fondly. When we sat down to dine at the buffet,

they brought us food from the head table which was known as a special

privilege. Father said during the conversation that tomorrow we

would eat in Belgrade, but tonight we would go to the opera (The New

Family^^) which will be played by musicians and sung. I hastened to

ask what an opera was. But in place of an explanation, he simply

said, "You'll see!" —and that is why I took it indifferently; I did

not know that all my future work would be decided on that evening.

^^The New Family, an opera by S. K. Vyazmitinov (1749-1819); first published in Moscow in 1781.

171

Now I somehow must explain the change that occurred in the

Master's house. During my life in Prokhod, the Countess died, and

the Count became a widower with two daughters. Not being too happy

with family life, he rested and took pleasure in country life, as

they say. Therefore, he had a good orchestra of musicians and a

sizable choir of singers; and just for a change of pleasure, he built

a home theatre with which to amuse the ten- and twelve-year-old

children. In like manner, all the serfs were comforted by the fun,

and together with them the Count was doubly pleased with his dis­

covery. He reasoned that he gave these children fun, musicians

work, and the serfs, of whom there seemed were many, the chance to

spend time more usefully than playing cards or drinking in a saloon.

And, I confess, subsequently they proved his theory. Nowhere in

that century or even later did I meet serfs less depraved or harsh.

I don't remember how I spent that day; I think that I sported

with the children. In the evening. Father and Mother took me to

the theatre, as they called it. But what was a theatre? I did not

receive an answer to my question, but a simple statement, "Wait,

you'll see!" And then we appeared in a rather large room. I

learned that for some reason they called it a hall, just as other

rooms had their own names: the guest room, the sitting room; the

bedroom; the buffet; the service room; the girl's room; and so on.

All this greatly astonished me, for I did not think that there were

other names like the light room and the kitchen. How much informa­

tion I gained in the course of the two days I spent in my master's

residence! I found several people of both sexes in the hall. Some

sat on chairs, others conversed, standing by the window. The hall,

as it appeared, was divided into two halves by multicolored linen

the whole width of the room, from the ceiling to the floor. The

linen was of variously colored stripes; yellow, blue, green, red.

All this, as it was later explained to me, was home dyed. At the

ceiling, a little way in front of the striped linen, a blue linen

stretched the entire width of the room. Then more linen was hung

from both sides of the wall from the ceiling to the floor, forming

172

a blue frame around the multicolored linen. What was happening? For

me, it remained a secret. Between the curtain (as they called the

multicolored linen, it was soon explained to me) and the first row

of seats--you should know that there were three rows--stood a rather

long table on high legs. God knows why, but it was made from a desk,

and the legs were not at all like table legs. A table usually has

four legs, one per corner under the upper board, but this was

strange!" Since this strange table was very long and narrow, and

even though there were four legs under it, it was so broad that a

leg was made from an unbroken plank and placed not under each corner,

but under the highest board across the table, twenty-eight inches or

so from each other. These legs were more similar to sawhorses which

are used for scenery construction; but there again, each sawhorse has

four legs. In a word, I could not in any way understand what this

was, except that instead of smooth high boards, there was something

wonderfully tricky. Several narrow boards the entire length of the

table were somehow fastened between each other much higher than the

highest plank--with enough slant so that if it is covered with some­

thing, it would look like a long church podium in which a child reads

in church, only sloping on all sides--on the long and the narrow. In

some places on these slopes there were very strangely lined copy

books, and what is stranger, they were lined with ink. When I looked

closer, I noticed that they weren't just simply lined. At first

there were five lines, one lying so closely to another as if they

were drawn with one five-sided ruler. Then there were five more

lines on down, and so on in the same manner to the end of the page.

It was not at all lined across as usual, but along the pages. I

wanted very much to find out why this was. And then I noticed some­

thing. Some kind of dots were put on the fifth line with ink, very

similar to small knots which are embroidered on collars of shirts.

Several dots had little twists added to them; sometimes several knots

instead were crossed out with ink, in one place once, and in another

twice or three times. In several places the dot was crossed out, if

it was placed higher or lower than the fifth line; and other dots.

173

though also placed higher or lower, were not crossed out. All this

lead me into a blind alley.

Meanwhile, each musician was looking at these copy books;

others were tuning violins. I had already suspected this, for I had

seen a violinist before who sometimes came to us in Prokhod from

Govtarevka. Only I did not know how such violins as these were

played. They were bass and double-bass. There were also instruments

I had never heard anything about, and they impressed me. The shapes

of "Voltornas" and bassoons especially struck me. The flutes and

clarinets did not make any impression on me; they were just pipes

like I had already seen the peasants with, only these were made of

excellent wood. All this; that is, the extraordinarily partitioned

room, the framed curtain, the astonishing table, the music book with

dots, small and large violins, pipes of various manner, and the

terrible "voltorna," sent my barely-seven-year-old head whirling so

that I looked with both eyes and, of course, saw nothing. Suddenly

there was a small bustle in which all that was heard was: The Count!

The Count! I immediately became aware of some involuntary feeling of

fear. A man of medium height, somewhat plump and handsome, about

forty years old came in from the side door. His two daughters

followed; one was ten years old, the other younger [sic]. Then

Father took me by the hand and presented me to the Count, who patted

me on the head and gave me his hand to kiss as a token of his

special grace for he generally did not like that. Then they made me

kiss the hands of the small countesses and ordered me to sit between

them. Father and Mother stood behind us and continually whispered to

me, "Never fear, Misha, never fear!" I can imagine with what kind of

face I sat between the baronesses—exactly like a bear cub, dropping

my head. If help had not arrived in the form of a good piece of cake

given to me by one of the small countesses, I think that in spite of

everything, I would have begun to scream at the top of my voice. I

had never heard from Father that one could sit with nobility, and

there I was sitting very confusedly between the baronesses. The

cake brought me courage, however, and I sullenly began to look to

174

both sides like a wolf pup.

175

Chapter II; The District School in Sudzha and the Comedy, "The Shrew"

About fifty years ago in Sudzha, a district city in Kursk, one

of the students brought to class a book named. The Comedy, "The

Shrew." This bewildered my friends, who vied with each other to

ask, "What is a comedy?" I, having once seen an opera, explained to

them that it was none other than a presentation; that is, when

several people, each having learned some character in the comedy and

then uniting together, are able to play as if everything written in

the comedy was occurring for the first time before the eyes of the

spectators.

Of course, nobody believed this and, well, they began to make

fun of me. This so insulted me that I decided to show them that I

did not fib and that their mockery would show their ignorance.

Gentlemen! What an uproar came out of that comedy! Everyone

resolutely rose against me; one called me a braggart; another, a

boaster; a third . . . . In a word, they did not stint with their

names. Since there were those who were somewhat better educated

than I among the number of students who rose against me, I, not

having been completely sure that I could play the comedy like the

opera I had seen, began to be afraid and to have doubts. I argued

with them as hard as I could. My side was the weaker, so I

fortified myself with screams which finally aroused the teacher, who

was sleeping in the adjacent room (the school was located in his

home). The door opened at the height of the screaming, and everyone

was petrified after seeing the teacher's sleepy face, very clearly

expressing anger. As soon as each had read his eyes, it was almost

certain that his first words would be, "Give me a birch!" But I did

not allow him to utter this fatal word, and with a kind of 2

outrageous pride, with tears, I complained, "Forgive me, I. I., settle our dispute. The whole class has fallen upon me and laughs at

^Written by A. P. Sumarokov and discovered in 1800,

^The teacher was Ilya Ivanovich Fegyushkin.

176

me because I said that this book. The Comedy, 'The Shrew,' (I do not

know why it was still in my hand) can be played so that everything

written would seem to be happening for the first time." Of course,

all this was said with heat, which completely died away when the

teacher, after hearing out the complaint and the evidence of my case,

loudly burst out laughing. Out of shame and disappointment, I was

neither alive nor dead, but the stares of my colleagues destroyed me

even more. Then the teacher, after having had a good laugh and

having turned to my detractors, said to them, "You are fools, fools!

Why do you sport about something you know nothing of? Shchepkin is

right. This is precisely a comedy, and it can be played so that

others consider it real." And then he added that there were other

dramas, tragedies, and operas which can be played exactly the same

way, and for that matter, in Moscow there were very fine actors, such 3

as Ozhogin, Shusherin, and many others. You should have seen me

then! I stood with such pride and my poor comrades were so crest­

fallen . . . . Do you know that I was even ashamed of them! To

sport about something of which you know nothing! It is true that I

fought recklessly, defending my opinion. The comedy made a big

change in our forthcoming lessons; for the remainder of the class the

teacher continually returned to the same idea, and whatever he dis­

cussed, he finished with either comedy or tragedy. For once the

class was not boring; I don't know why. Maybe because he was teach­

ing a completely new idea which interested us; or maybe it was

because he broke the usual form of his lesson for the first time and

instead of dead words acquainted us with ideas. In short, we were

not bored in class; we enjoyed it, as if we had suddenly grown

wiser, and we were even disappointed when the bell brought the class

to an end. At least it was that way with me. But imagine our

extreme joy when the teacher, leaving the rostrum, turned to us with

"^Alexander Ozhogin (born circa 1750, date of death unknown) and Yakov Emelyanovich Shusherin (1749-1813).

177

the following sentence; "Well, fools! Instead of running about the

streets to fight with fists among yourselves or spending your time in

other similar activities, it would be better if you would learn this

comedy before the year's dismissal and play it through for me at the

carnival; and time is short, it seems. On Wednesdays and Saturdays

there will be no classes after dinner for want of an art teacher. So

you could meet and manage nicely. Only on condition that you are

not noisy!"

It was impossible to describe our delight; and we all screamed

in one voice, "If you allow it, we will learn the comedy right now."

As if everyone would be able to play in it! There were eight 4

characters in all in the comedy, and there were not quite sixty people in the class. However, be that as it may, each, leaving the

class, carried his own idea that he would be playing in the comedy

and, jumping up and down, announced it to the children they met on

the way out. It did not occur to anyone that it was impossible for

everyone to play; the happiness staggered us, and we left amicable

and merry. Even those who argued that the comedy was not what I said

good-naturedly confessed that they unfairly argued with me, that they

really did not know what a comedy was and only wanted to tease me be­

cause I wanted to show myself smarter than the others. In a word,

the idea that we play in a comedy seized all of us and made us so

happy, and, you know, for some reason, I was ashamed that they

apologized. So The Comedy, "The Shrew" did such wonders! The same

foolish, wild children were made, for several minutes, gentle, sweet,

and good. Each of us, some returning to our parents' house, some to

our master's apartment, reported the news with happiness that he

would be playing in a comedy; one to his father and mother, another

to his master and mistress and even to the cook. In short, everyone

in each home knew that he would act in a comedy, but what and how?

This question still did not occur to anyone.

Shchepkin's mistake; there are only seven characters.

178

When the first moments of rapture had passed, it occurred to me

that it could very easily happen that I would not play. This idea

cooled me down very much and I immediately became melancholy. I

thought to myself, "How is this possible? It is impossible for all

to act. How can this be? Who will indicate who exactly is to play?

Probably the older pupils will be appointed, and it could very

easily happen that they will not give me a role. There are many

children of nobility, officials, merchants, middle class, all of

whom for a long time have been higher than my rank, and these

children, in all likelihood, will be preferred." Discussing this

with Sister, I bitterly complained and said that this would be un­

fair. In a short time everything changed; instead of happiness,

depression and a feeling of abasement flashed in my head that maybe

I would play. As a matter of fact, I was one of the best students,

except for two others, whose advantage over me was, it seems, due to

the fact that they had stayed in the last class for three years, and

I had been there only six months in all. They did not surpass me

very far in knowledge, because v/e did not know anything anyway.

Thus, I lived hopefully and imagined how well I would act.

Then I began to remember the opera. The New Family, which I've

already said I saw in childhood, and remembered it all. It was

revived so vividly in my memory in every detail that it kept me pre­

occupied; all the characters of that opera were presented so vividly

before me that I almost wept for joy. And I was beside myself with

happiness. It was just as well, even though now and then my heart

ached with the idea: Well, I will not play in the comedy!

The next day everything was explained, very advantageously for

me. Setting out at the usual time in the morning for school, my

sister and I noticed two students at the first crossroads who were

quite orderly disagreeing with each other, "It's true, you will not

play and I will . . . !" —"No, you won't and I will! In three

days the teacher will be a guest in our house, and it will cost the

person only the word to say I will play . . ." —"All the same, you

179

won't. Yesterday my mother took him a present of half a pood^ of

honey; she only uttered a word, and I will certainly play!" When we

arrived at school, there was a simple uproar; one could only hear,

"I will play and you won't! No, you won't and I will!" Occasionally

these protestations were amplified by terms not entirely appropriate

for the place or the age of the children.

Everyone stopped when the teacher entered, and on his strict

and severe question of why we were not in our places, the majority

fell silent. Several, including myself, answered that we were talk­

ing about who was to play in the comedy. We all wished to, but.there

were only eight characters in the comedy, and that included three

females. The teacher thought for a minute, rubbed his forehead, and

said, "Give me the book! I will appoint who is to play myself!"

—and having written in the book, added, "I have assigned those who

study best; this is a reward for them, and it shall be a punishment

to the lazy ones." When the meaning of-the teacher sunk in, and I

heard that I would play the servant of Rozmarin, I fainted from

happiness, and it seems, I even cried. Female roles were assigned to

the girl students, but the respectability of parents and dignitaries

and their wives rose against this. "Now," they said, "is it possible

for our daughter to be a comedienne?" The teacher had a rough time.

Finally everything was settled without difficuluty. The old woman

and the servant were played by boys, and the paramour by my sister;

it was possible to get permission for her to play. The business

proceeded harmoniously. In the first half, we met to talk about how

each character was to be copied and when each was to speak. There

was much talk; finally, it was settled and even copied almost like

roles are copied now, only with a little over-indulgence in speeches.

This device was strictly mine, and they approved it. Within a week

5 Thirty-six pounds.

c Rozaliya, daughter of the "shrew", Burd.

180

each learned his role. When we met on Saturday and began to try,

somehow it did not go well, and we decided when the teacher woke up

to ask him to show each of us how we would know when to speak. The

teacher explained to us that it would be necessary for someone to

prompt from the book, and everything would go as it was written.

Everything went smoother and smoother with each rehearsal. I read

my role with such speed that everyone was amazed, and the teacher

kept saying with a smile, "You, Shchepkin, speak too quickly, but

very well, very well nonetheless."

After a long time, the desired day finally came. Benches were

carried out of the class and the room was divided in half. Chairs

were placed in one half, and the other served as the stage. Behind

it was hung a curtain from a bed, sort of rear curtains, through

which we exited. The teacher invited all the city authorities, the

Mayor, judges. District Police Officer, and others, besides the

families of all the participants in the comedy. I must say that for

several it was completely unexpected, especially for the authorities;

and how well I remember, that when the teacher invited the Mayor, he

was a little dumbfounded and even asked if there was anything in­

decent in the presentation. But when the teacher assured him that

with the exception of the lady of the manor who beats her girl with

a shoe, there was nothing of the sort, the Mayor said, "Well, there

is nothing reprehensible in this."

The spectators gathered at five o'clock in tl:e afternoon. The

actors dressed as neatly as they could, washed, and combed their

hair; those playing female roles, it seems, were dressed in keeping

with their role. Sister was wearing a white dress, a ribbon in her

hair, and shoes with high heels. I wore a long frock coat and a

rose kerchief at the neck.

The visitors sat down and the presentation began. At first, I

was somewhat frightened, but then I was in such a fever that I did

not remember my name and felt some kind of smugness, seeing that no

one could speak faster than I. The visitors were very satisfied.

181

clapped recklessly, and the Mayor verbally approved from time to time

with, "Good, excellent!" and similar exclamations. At the end of the

play, they called us all up and began applauding, and the parents of

the players showered their children with kisses. Then they began to

express their thanks to the teacher for placing their children in the

cast. The Mayor and District Police Officer were greatly pleased and

stated that they had never expected everything to be so good. And so

the day ended, for me a highly memorable one, but there was in store

for me still another, somewhat more celebrated day than this.

Returning to the apartment drunk with happiness, we told all

the inhabitants of the house how the audience had clapped for us.

Even more, to our delight, we found out that my father had sent the

horses to bring us home, because students had been dismissed for the

carnival. I slept very nicely through the night, it seems. How­

ever, I continuously dreamed of the performance, that I was acting;

that I did not know the role at all; that I was dressed God knows

how indecently; and so on. The next day I went to the teacher to

request leave. On the way, I just happened to drop in on two or

three friends to talk with them in passing about how everyone had

clapped for me. When I arrived at the teacher's place and explained

my request to him, he answered that I could not leave with my sister

any earlier than Thursday, because the Mayor requested that the

comedy be played for him at home on Wednesday. On that day, at his

daughter's wedding to the tax farmer D., he would give a dinner for

the couple. There would be many guests, and he wanted to entertain

the whole town with the comedy. I was beside myself with happiness;

but this put us in a difficult position altogether, for the horses

had been sent for us, and there was no possibility of our keeping

them until Thursday, because there was nothing to feed them. The

teacher thought for a moment and to my pleasure solved this diffi­

culty. "You," he said, "send the horses back and write to your

father the reason for your delay. I will tell the Mayor to send in­

structions to the District Police Officer, and you will ride home as

usual later. But meanwhile, meet to rehearse the comedy tomorrow.

182

in order for it to be smoother. Otherwise, K. will stop during the

performance; it is good that he played a fool like it was nothing,

otherwise it would simply be a shame!"

Having the teacher's solution to such a difficult problem of

the trip and having heard the directions concerning the rehearsal, I

left him with terrific pride. I saw that I was indispensible, that

without me, the show would not go on, and the Mayor and the town

would be deprived of pleasure, and that all this depended on me, as

if I alone acted the entire play. Of course, my first order of

business was to run around to everyone who took part in the play to

inform them that tomorrow they were to assemble at the teacher's

place for a rehearsal; that we would play the comedy at the Mayor's

urgent request in his home on Wednesday; that horses had been sent

for my sister and me, but the teacher begged me to stay until Wednes­

day and so I let the horses go, because they ordered me to; and that

I must go to change; and so on. Besides that, I ran by several

friends' houses who had not participated in the performance, and the

same things were properly related to them in passing, only with

selected variations.

The teacher ordered the horses to be sent back, and I wrote

Father the reason why we were remaining until Thursday. On Thursday,

we would be home for dinner without fail, because we will go by

horse as directed, but now there is no way to go—without us the

show could not be played.

We rehearsed two days, during which the teacher assisted us

and continually repeated, "Excellent, children, excellent! There's

nothing to be ashamed of!" He ordered us to gather on Wednesday

at the home of the district secretary, whose son played in the

comedy, more neatly and properly dressed than the rest. At four

o'clock, we were to go to the Mayor's house not far from the

secretary's house.

The festive occasion which the Mayor gave for the couple

excited the whole town. The people in the marketplace and especially

in the shops gossipped that the holiday was distinguished; that, as

183

they had heard, even lampions had been ordered; that musicians would

come from the suburban landowner; that gypsies would dance; and even

that there would be some kind of a comedy. Gossip went around the

marketplace: What is a comedy? Who will play it? Some explained

that the visiting magicians would play tricks on your eyes. For

example, it will seem that you are suddenly up to your knees in

water and you, out of caution, will lift up your dress in order not

to get it wet, but when you take a quick glance, there's nothing; and

various others will pull somebody's leg. Others said that all this

is nonsense, that they heard exactly from the teacher's cook that the

teacher taught the children all year to play a comedy, and that it

had already been played last Sunday. Many others speculated. This

news was carried from the marketplace to the homes that still did not

know about it, so that on Wednesday, the entire town was on its feet.

They ran; they bustled; they gave each other their reports; in

short, the chatter was without end. By noon, the crowds of people

had already begun to throng at the Mayor's house, and by four

o'clock there was absolutely no more room. The secretary's wife was

forced to send to the police to request a policeman to bring the

children who were to act in the comedy. The officer appeared shortly

with two other policemen, and we, under the protection of these

guards, set off for the Mayor's home. They led us, with great

trouble, through the crowds of people. When we arrived, the guests

were already in full swing, because glasses of punch had gone fast;

noise, talk, and laughter deafened us to the point where we, or at

least I, became quite scared. How were we to play in front of such

a great number of people and before such kinds of people (this time

there were the leaders of nobility, all the assessors, and even the

courier from the Mayor's office)? When the teacher found out we had

arrived, he whispered to the Mayor. The Mayor grunted somewhat in­

tricately and, turning to everyone, said, "Well, dear guests, now I

will entertain you with something that has never been here before,

and we have my friend to thank for it all," indicating the teacher.

"The children make such fun here that you will simply split your

184

sides! And so, we welcome you to sit down." They arranged the

chairs and sat down, and those who did not get a place watched from

the guest room through the door. We had to enter from the servants'

room, which was packed full with musicians and lackeys, and there was

such a small place for us to act in the hall that we had to play

right under the very noses of the guests. In the first row, of

course, sat the aristocracy of the town, made up of the highest

officials and their ladies.

From the beginning to the end of the play the laughter was not

interrupted; they continually clapped. In short, the noise was so

great that I don't think they heard half the play. When it ended,

all the guests vied with each other in showering praises upon us;

the ladies kissed all of us, and the Mayor himself, stamping his

foot, screamed, "Glorious, children, glorious! Thank you, I. I.

What a favor you gave us! Well, children, here is a ruble for the

holiday . . . give them the big cake that was brought to me

yesterday!"

The copper ruble was immediately presented to one of the

comedy players. When the cake was brought, we were amazed by its

magnitude (it was at least forty-two inches long and twenty-eight

inches wide). The Mayor demanded a knife, and on a round table, he

cut the cake into eight equal pieces and presented each player a

piece. Besides kissing each of us, he said, "Good, little rogue!"

He patted me on the head; and so as to be different from the others

because of my rank, he pulled my cheek and allowed me to kiss his

hand, which was the greatest favor he could bestow. He even added,

"Ah, yes, Shchepkin! Good boy! More fluently spoken than all the

others; good, brother, very good! You will be a good servant to

your barin!" Then we were told to leave. After searching with

difficulty for our overcoats, and being already without our guides,

we set out to clear a road ourselves through the crowd of curious

people and found ourselves in extreme difficulty. Luckily, the

Mayor's coachman yelled, "Make way, damned pushers! These are the

children who played the comedy." There was something magic in those

185

words; the crowd parted and even helped us to pass, gossiping with

each other. Some of the very curious even took us to the secretary's

home, where we were left to divide up the bestowed capital. From

there everyone dispersed and went home.

I was so dazed that everything seemed like a dream to me. If

it had not been for the enormous piece of cake and for the twenty-

five kopecks given to me and my sister to divide, jingling very

loudly with my every move in my back coat pocket, I would have

doubted that it really happened. Then I had an idea that excited me

so much that I could not move; only things had been so good for me,

so gay, that I could not speak. They said that they wanted us to

learn another comedy. However, that did not happen because another

comedy was not found, or in all probability, the entire town had

been upset by the comedy presented, and the teacher was not very

adroit. The parents of the children who had not participated in the

play were greatly insulted that their children were passed by. They

were screaming loudly everywhere that they themselves had not allow­

ed their children to play, although the teacher wanted to accommodate

them. They said, how could anyone occupy the children of the

nobility with such abominations, and how could those foolish fathers

allow their children to be turned into actors. Shchepkin's children

were another matter; this family is in such a position that an

exception can be made! Do whatever you wish with them, but they

must be taken before the highest authorities, so that the children

would be better taught, and not be made actors. Because of this or

other circumstances or for lack of a comedy, another performance

was not held.

Having received two orders to bring the horses, one from the

Mayor to the country, and the other from the Police Commissioner to

the provincial town of Micropole which was on our way, I sent to the

country for them with great pride. Giving the order, I shouted that

the horses be brought as soon as possible. When they arrived, I went

to the apartment, packed my belongings, and with considerable care,

wrapped up the cake. We decided to keep it intact as a trophy of our

186

work to present to Father and Mother and, as a sign of economy, to

bring the cash salary—twenty-five kopecks.

Thus, they sat us, or rather it is better to say, placed us in

dignity, and wrapped sheepskin coats over our shabby fur coats, which

usually were sent from home in winter so we would not freeze. (Giv­

ing the horses which had been sent by Father their heads, I expected

to keep control of them). My sister and I finally set off in the

troika with the horses. Going through the town past familiar houses,

I shouted, "We're off!" After passing through the gates, I shouted

again several times. The thought came to us on our way to drop by

Alexandrovka at the home of Shepovalka, to tell her everything, and

to show the piece of cake. She would be very glad about this and

feed us food and honey. You should know that in Alexandrovka there

is a farm, among the other estates under my father's supervision,

where we would often go in our spare time with Mother to our bee-

garden, which was located there; and during our trips, we always

stopped at Shepovalka's (that's how we became adquainted with her

food which she became famous for).

It was unfortunate that we got on the wrong road; was that a

man travelling on the side? Meanwhile, during these reflections, the

frosty wind strongly began to get to us, as if we had not been care­

fully wrapped in sheepskins. On the way, the pits and bumps had

opened our clothing, and the poor actors, having forgotten every­

thing, began to cry bitterly. The man turned to us, looked at us,

shook his head, and coolly said, "You children are frozen!" We

asked him to deliver us to Alexandrovka to get warm and promised that

he would be given a meal there and the horses given hay; that we live

in Alexandrovka; and that I would order all this. I don't know

whether this convinced the Ukrainian or whether he just took pity on

us, but the man decided to fulfill the request, saying, "Okay, boys,

only wait just a moment; I will wrap you up well with jackets. Then

lie down, don't toss and turn, and in faith, we will not freeze.

God, what a freezing wind!" Having done what he said, he gave a

whistle to the horses, and we were there in half an hour.

187

Shepovalka ran out, dragged us, numbed from the cold and sobbing, one

by one into the warm light. We explained to her that we were com­

pletely frozen; that we had played a comedy; that we were travelling

the usual way; and that we were given two pieces of cake and twenty-

five kopecks. All this was told with tears and trembling all over.

"Hold your tongues, children. Better go warm yourselves, and then

you can tell me." After taking off our coats and boots, she put on

the hottest part of the stove some corn which had been spread for

drying; it took us in its warm embrace, as they say. We soon warmed

up, especially when she gave us some hot milk and a snack of bread

and honey. When the sweat began to pour thick and fast from us, we

leaned our heads away from the stove and finally told the hostess all

our exploits, with embellishments, of course. It was difficult for

her to make out what a comedy was; and for that matter, I think it

was difficult for her to understand us because both my sister and I

talked at the same time, so that it was impossible to get anything

from us. She concluded from the whole story that we were wery smart

children. The traveller was fed, as were his horses. Shepovalka

added still another sheepskin coat for us on the road, and we set off

for Miropole, where we had to change horses at our aunt's house, who

had married a man of the lower middle class in Miropole. I am not

going to describe with what importance we told Aunt about our

adventures, and with what pride Uncle both followed our activities

and summoned the horses, because all this was in such a tone, that we

talked right up to our arrival at home. Mother and a servant ran out

and took us into the room; Mother cried for joy. Father with utmost

seriousness permitted himself to kiss us, saying, "What? Frozen!

You have nobody to blame but yourselves, why didn't you come then?

The carriage would have been warm. And what lies you told in the

letter! What kind of comedy did you play there?" I wanted to tell

him, but he stopped me with, "Well, well! You will tell me later,

but now get yourselves warm; pour them some tea, Masha! See how

they shiver." This greatly astonished me; it wasn't the first time

for us to shiver, but tea had never been given us. What did this

188

mean? I could not decide this; but my impatience to astonish

Father and Mother with our exploits forced me to talk while I drank

the tea. We explained everything—how we played; how they clapped

for us; and that we were given twenty-five kopecks and two pieces of

cake. Then Father jokingly smiled, pinched me on the cheek and said,

"Well, drink your tea, then tell us about it again. I see. Brother,

that you are a good boy." I confess I was glad that he offered to

listen to me; I thought: I will show him myself! If the Mayor and

the simple servants were satisfied, a man of his rank would be even

more satisfied, and I ecstatically waited for minutes for the test.

I must say that my father, to my misfortune, went to the

theatre more than once while living in Moscow and St. Petersburg for

several years, and saw the best actors of the time, and according to

him, even saw a performance in The Hermitage. All this was re­

vealed to me later. When the time came and I began to jabber my

role with terrible speed. Father burst out laughing, and Mother

cried with joy, seeing such pertness in her son. I noticed that

while I was doing the business, I started to act faster and louder,

and with self-satisfaction, I winked at Sister, which was a sign of

ours, as they say. I showed Father how I acted; he began to grumble

incessantly! All this crowded into my head during Father's laughter;

but think of my astonishment, when he stopped me. "Well, well!" he

said, "Enough; and you all played thusly?" —"All," I answered, "and

I better than all the others." —"And they clapped for you?" —"They

did." —"And the teacher was satisfied?" —"Very satisfied." Then

Father sarcastically grinned and said, "You are fools, fools! The

teacher should have torn off birches for you all for such play!"

189

Chapter III: School Years

In 1801, they took me to Kursk and put me in the four-year

provincial school and, by examination, they put me in the third

year. This was on the first of March, and although a little time

remained before the annual transition examination, which was

usually given on the first of June, I had time to catch up with all

my colleagues, which, by the way, was very easy, because all the

lessons at that time were the same. All knowledge, except mathe­

matics, religion, and church history, was dictated by the teachers

by questions and answers; for example; Question: "What was the

cause of the Trojan War?" Answer: "The cause was as follows: the

descendants of Peloponnesians, having gained strength in various

countries of Peloponnesia, could not forget the offenses which were

committed against their Trojan ancestors in depriving the

Peloponnesian of his possessions in Phrygia and in banishing them

from it. Besides that, the Greeks observed that they would have

obstacles in sailing the Black Sea. For the time being, the

Trojans were in their power, and so they only waited for the chance

to declare war." Such were the questions and answers the pupil had

to learn word for word, and God preserve any pupil who had dared to

alter a sentence and recited with his own words, since this showed

negligence and lack of attentive observation. Thus, my memory made

it easy for me not only to become equal with my colleagues, but even

better, for on the examination I was proven to be the number one

student and received as a reward the book. About the Responsibili­

ties of a Man and Citizen, with the inscription, "For diligence."

I usually borrowed notes on some subject on Saturday and returned

them on Monday, having learned them word for word. In return for

the favor, I helped friends in art class to paint and learn to use

a paintbrush skillfully. Thus, on the following school year, they

promoted me to the fourth year, where the German and Latin

languages were added. I had begun studying the latter at the

priest's home in Belgrade. German was taught us from the book

called Spectacle of the Universe, with German and Latin texts and

190

Russian translation. But this lesson did not continue long. In

1802, the people's provincial school prepared to rename the

provincial high school, in which the French class was conducted. To

my misfortune, serfs were not permitted in that class, and this in­

furiated me so, that I did not start going either to the German or

the Latin class.

Literature was taught in the contemporary form. In the fourth

class, for example; general and Russian history, geography, natural

history and mathematics--the second part of arithmetic, geometry, and

also part of mechanics, architecture and physics. In the last three,

of course, they familiarized us only with the fundamentals. We

learned, for example, about an astrolabe, compass, lever, block and

tackle, a pillar, column, cornice and module, but no more. Philology

and historical sciences other than religious history and the laws of

God were taught by P. G. K., and mathematics by S. A. Zubkov. The

former had a favorite word in addressing some of the pupils, namely

"rokaliya," with emphasis on "o," which served him in expressions of

endearment and in the case of reprimands. How well I remember how he

used to distinguish himself with various enlightening admonitions to

students; for example: "Rokaliya, when a question is offered to you

on an examination, and you do not know it, then instead, answer it

from what you do know; then we will think that you did not listen

attentively to the question, and not that you did not know it." And

he had many similar paternal directions. This same teacher of

literature also supervised the art class, because there wasn't an art

teacher, and he did not spare us from his several moral instructions

in this class either. For example, before the beginning of the

lesson, he usually sent all the students to the third class, the

windows of which did not exit onto the street, but onto the school

courtyard. Therefore, it was not degrading to trace through glass.

In his words, copying on glass was done for speed, and the moving of

puoils to the third class was so " . . . that the passers-by would

not think," as he said, "that I teach you this way." But everyone

knew very well that he did not know how to hold a pencil properly

191

and that he conducted the class only for additional salary. If he

happened to notice that some student, hurrying through the glass

sketching, was making a mistake and he made up his mind to correct it

with a pencil from his hand, then that correction was preserved like

a rarity. One time a student made a drawing on glass, and the

correction remained a document of the ineptitude of the teacher.

We were taught arithmetic very well, but unfortunately, the teacher

was often in a pleasant disposition, and the students took advantage

of this. For example, when he would appear in class and we would

notice his merriment, before he had time to go up to the teacher's

desk, a pupil would run up to him with the following complaint, "How

is it, S. 0., that Shchepkin says that cannons in the battle of

Poltava were not placed like you said?" or something similar, only

the speech always would be about the battle of Poltava. He was an

avid reader of Peter the Great and the Poltava battle was the

greatest event in the world for him. His first words were, "Why does

he say that? Because he is a fool, and I will prove this to him, the

fool!" Then he took the chalk, went up to the blackboard, and began

to draw the plan of Charles XII's army, complete with all the details.

"Now, look here, fools! It was all just like this," and changing

heart, he began to talk about the beginning of the battle with

limitless animation. He related all this in the greatest detail and

several times resorted to phrases: "Charles, seeing that the action was

not going in his favor, suddenly concocted a trick and carried out

such a devilish maneuver that it was very bad for us; but Father,

great sovereign Peter, who, being here," --and pointing out the exact

spot on the blackboard-- "saw all of this and gave out the order for

his maneuver and presented him (Charles) with such a trick that all

his cunning left him in ruin." And he explained all this with the

greatest warm-heartedness, not forgettinq one movement or one

individual who distinguished himself on this memorable day for

Russia. Then he went up to the blackboard where the terrible battle

had been, where it was either death or victory for both sides, and

192

wept hot tears saying with great enthusiasm that, "Father Peter

showed here that he was such a man that has never been equalled, and

Mother Russia sympathized with him in this great affair; Charles was

beaten; this modern soldier, upon whom Europe looked as a great

general, prostrated himself in the Poltava conflict and lost all his

glory acquired through the years. And in this same nlace where the

terrible battle had occurred, the grave rises, under which are buried

the bodies of the slain. On this enormous hill, now diminished by

time, stands a huge monument of the great day; this monument is none

other than a large holy cross which will indicate in future centuries

what the God-given Great Peter meant to Russia!" Since this story

continued for rather a long time, the class usually finished with it.

"Well, children, I have talked with you a long time; we will begin

the rule of three next time . . . " --and this was repeated rather

often.

I barely remember Father Z., the teacher of God's laws and

religious history, who was an archpriest from the parish of the Holy

Mother of Smolensk. I rarely went to his class, because, having

lived in the very erudite priest's house in Belgrade, I knew all

those subjects in the form that was being taught then; I knew all

the Bible stories, the names of all the prophets, all the famous

epochs; I knew David well, with all the episodes of his reign, and I

knew his psalter by heart. In short, I was very strong in Old Testa­

ment history, and from the New, I knew the names of all the evan­

gelists, apostles, and the other preachers of Christianity, and in

study periods before an examination. Father Z. always held me up as

an example to the pupils. "You should be busy like Shchepkin, and

you would not be so ashamed," He did not notice that I was rarely

in class, but only would ask colleagues who were there what the

lecture was about yesterday and would immediately run over every­

thing in my head. If I remembered something poorly, I immediately

consulted the book. One Hundred and Four Religious Stories, and

193

remember everything that was needed. Therefore in spite of the kind

of lesson, I was the number one pupil, and the whole village knew it.

Governor P. I. Protasov himself paid particular attention to me, was

very fond of me, and sent me fifty red eggs and five rubles every

Easter. Everyone envied me for that. Even the salesman in the

bookstore loved me. He permitted me to come to the store and gave

me books to take home to read. Besides, I made use of the books

from the Ippolit Fedorovich Bogdanovich library.-^ This happened by

chance. One Sunday Bogdanovich came to see Count Volkenstein. When

he entered the hall, he noticed me with a book in my hands and

immediately turned to me with the question, "Do you like to read,

child?" I answered, "Yes." He took the book from my hand and read

the title. The Boy by the Stream. "Yes, that is rather nice, but a

boy of your years must read books which would develop your mind; or

maybe, they are boring?" I answered the question with, "I read those

which the bookseller gives me." --"Well, when you come to me, I

will give you books; only be punctual. Do not keep them long; do not

tear them; and do not soil them." I went to see him that very day

and he gave me--as I remember now--General Russian History and in­

structed me to sign for it. When I finished reading it, I returned

the book. Having looked it over, he said, "Clever child! You take

care of books." Then he questioned what I remembered, and I told him

about so much of it that he kissed me on the head and said, "Ex­

cellent, child, you learn, you learn! This will come in handy in

serfdom." Thus he constantly provided me with books, always asking

me exact questions about the contents. "If you don't remember any­

thing, child," he said to me, "don't be ashamed to ask me, and maybe

I can help you." But all this did not last long; Bogdanovich became

Ippolit Fyodorovich Boldanovich (1743-1803) the author of Sweetheart, etc.

194

ill and died either on the last day of December, 1802 or on the first

of January, 1803. I cannot remember exactly, I only know that it

was around this time. It might be determined from the fact that he

published a magazine in 1803, "The European Herald," which was ren­

dered useless upon his death. His brother, being the mayor of

Sumakh at that time, knowing my father, and remembering that the

deceased held me in affection, sent a copy to my father; and thus,

we had this magazine as an inheritance from the famous poet. One

thing has long astonished me: during the life of Bogdanovich I asked

him several times to read his "Sweetheart," but he always refused,

saying, "Later, later, dear! There is time enough." My reading did

not stop with his end; I lost only a source. But I grieved over his

death for a long time.

The previous bookseller loaned me books of his preference.

Meanwhile, the reading went well, with very little improvement. The

mathematics teacher, fearing that with the opening of the high school

they would replace him, began to be more reluctant to discuss stories

about the Poltava battle and rather seriously began to go into

geometry. In a short time, he had taken us up to the point where we

began practicing the subject. We went with him on field trips and

measured the sea with the help of an astrolabe and all other

necessary instruments. Then he taught us how to draw corners and

compass points so that, returning home, at the next class everyone

would put down their executed measuring plan, though not all were

accurate. In general, he was satisfied with me, and after several

voyages, I worked perfectly with the astrolabe.

I have always had a weakness for the theatre, and luckily for

me, among the pupils of the third class was the student Gorodensky,

2 January 6, 1803.

195

the younger brother to the landlords of the theatre, the Barsovs."^

As soon as all the students in the third class were combined in the

art lesson, for the aforementioned reason, I became acquainted with

Gorodensky and took him, as they say, under my protection. In re­

turn for this, if for some reason I were late arriving at the

theatre, he would accompany me to the gallery, where I was able to

watch somewhat better than from the orchestra. The musicians came

from our house, and I always helped to drag the kettle-drums and

double basses to the theatre. It happened that Gorodensky invited

me to dine at his house; there I met his family: Father, Bakkh

Andreyevich, and the older sons, M. A. and Peter, who were the landr

lords of the theatre. The eldest of these sons was already free,

but the younger ones were still serfs; and one thing surprised me:

even though they were in bondage, the whole town, as well as their

masters, did not treat them as serfs. They conducted themselves

somewhat differently, so that I even envied them. I ascribed all

this to none other than the fact that they were actors. Therefore,

to be an actor became my major goal. During July vacation in the

country on the Count's name day, some kind of opera was always

played; and I remember that one day I entreated the regent P. G. 4

Smirnov to give me any kind of role in An Accident with a Carriage.

He gave me the role of Firyulin, although I was only fourteen years

old. Thus I played Firyulin, and my late sister Alexandra played

Madame Firyulin. Well, I felt so much happiness that I could not

speak; the reason is clear, especially when the contented Count

patted my head after the show and said, "Good, Misha, good!" and then

gave me his hand to kiss.

^Here the text in Russian is grammatically incorrect.

^A play by Y. B. Knyazhnin. The performance was in Krasny,

196

Now I consider it necessary to acquaint the readers with my

home life. You see, my future was formed from all these details.

When they sent me to school, it was ordered that I eat with P. B.,

who was the Countess' favorite; and after the examination, when I

became the number one student, it was ordered that I be treated to

some tea. When the Master moved to the country, I was ordered to eat

with the butler. The next year a small change occurred. They

relieved the butler in Kursk and got a new one, who formerly had been

a steward in the city of Krasny. My father was the head manager over

the entire estate and a strictly honest man. Having noticed the

somewhat corrupt management of the steward in Krasny, Father dis­

missed him and in his place assigned the butler from Kursk. About

this time, the Krasny steward married one of the girls who had been

given with the Countess' dowry. With her intercession, he received

the aforementioned butler's position in Kursk. When the Master left

for the country, he did not give the new butler special orders about

me. Being angry at my father, who had deprived him of a profitable

place, the new butler took it into his head to wreak his anger on me.

He gave me the honor of taking his meal to him, but ordered that I be

fed in the servant's room together with a steward and the cook. It

insulted me to the point of absurdity! The son of the manager, the

main--the number one pupil in the people's school to be sent to eat

together with commoners seemed terrible to me, and I lived on bread

and water for several days. Finally I began to look for a remedy. I

copied some notes for my colleagues as I had done before out of kind-5

ness, only now I did it for money, so that I always had a grosh in

my pocket. With it I would buy my next meal: a one-half kopeck of

salad, a one-half kopeck of brewer's vinegar, and one kopeck of hemp-

5 Grosh - one*ha If kopeck coin.

197

seed oil, and I ate a large plate of this dainty concoction with the

gusto of the revolutionary Peter. Then one fine day the same meal

over and over again became tiresome, but it was impossible for me to

alter the menu. Such a situation irked me very much. Finally one

day Gorodensky announced to me that his brothers, the landlords of

the theatre, wanted me to copy the roles from the comedy. The Honest

Word, and that they would pay me well for it. I agreed, and

although the comedy was in five acts, I copied the roles very

quickly by shirking my lessons. When I brought my work, they paid me

twenty-five copper kopecks. I ran home full of happiness and

thought, "What kind of dinner will I make myself," and then I said,

"fanciful" in order to reward myself for the skimpy meals. On the

very next sunny day, I set out for the marketplace. Since this was

Peter's Fast, I bought myself two dozen magnificent ruff^ for fish

soup for ten kopecks. Of the remaining money, ten kopecks were paid 7 8

to the sbitenshchik who almost stopped giving me sbitens on credit,

and I kept five kopecks for the next salad. I asked the cook to

prepare some soup, to clean the fish well, and, above all, to keep

the bladder whole. I also asked if she would not add too much water

so that the soup would be tastier and richer. The cook did not re­

fuse but laid down her condition to me: that I bring her three pails

of water from Tuskar, because it was hard for her to drag herself up

the hill, and, of course, it would not be hard for me. I did this

immediately and added to my request that she, with the grace of God,

not salt it too much and that the fish not be overdone. Then I went

to class where I was in pleasant anticipation the whole time. I

^Fish.

One who prepares sbitens. Q

A hot drink made of water, honey, and spices

198

heard nothing that happened in class that day, because I saw before

my eyes only ruff swimming in the soup. All my peers noticed this,

and I confessed the cause of my inattentiveness. Then one of them,

Bulgakov, said, "Take me with you so I can buy some kalatch."^ There

was no argument, of course, and we waited with difficulty for the

class to end. Finally it ended, and we flew home; Bulgakov had eaten

kalatch before. We arrived. "Is the soup ready, Akainya?" "For a

long time! . . . But you must eat it here; there's a free room by the

side of the kitchen, where the dressmakers work; it is empty now. It

is awkward to carry the pot into the house now. Please, before it

cools any more, take some . . . hurry, it is getting cold." And we

were convinced by her arguments. She spread some kind of tablecloth,

or something like a rather soiled bedsheet, and put down the pot of

soup. The steam from the soup brought us indescribable joy; the soup

swam with fat; I tasted it—it was a miracle how good it was! I

stirred it with the spoon: "Where are the ruff?" --"I put them out

on a plate so they would not be boiled soft; they are in the drawer

in the table. But eat faster; it is getting cold. You will find the

fish yourself there in your own table." We sat down to work. Having

eaten the kalatch and the fish soup from the bowl, I said, "Now let's

eat another bowl full, but first let's put the ruff in the bowl; they

probably have cooled off now, and we can pour the soup over them."

I opened the drawer and--horrors!--a cat sat quietly eating the last

fish. There are no words to describe my condition at that moment.

I stood stock still but did not cry. I felt a strange numbness; my

friend broke out laughing like a madman, but I did not take my eyes

off the cat, which, having finished the last fish, licked herself all

over and sweetly looked at me, as if thanking me for the refreshments.

9 A kind of fancy bread,

199

But I, having come to my senses, without respect to her sweet

glances, took her by the scruff of the neck, raised her, and struck

her on the stone floor so hard that I killed her. At the same time,

I cried bitterly. Then I was sorry. I remember that I was angry

with myself for a long time for doing such a deed, because I had

never before noticed in myself the inclination for violence. But on

the other hand, the circumstances surrounding the affair consoled me,

and my frame of mind soon changed for the better. When I arrived in

the country, K. G. met me and asked, "How is the cat?" (the cat I

killed was her favorite). I answered that she had departed this life

and told her the circumstances, and she did not become angry with me.

The next day, she told Father everything, and the butler was given

specific orders about me—to maintain me properly. From that time

on, everything was just like old times.

That summer, the Count issued a request to Governor Pereverzev

that a land surveyor lay out the land into fields and dessiatinas.

They made me an assistant, and I found myself quite able. Upon my

return to the city, my business went as usual up to the examination.

I again distinguished myself on the examination and again received

the gift of a book with the inscription, "For excellence;" but I

wanted to ask the Count to take me out of school, because there was

nothing left for me to learn. However, the director of the school,

I. C. Kologrichov, persuaded the Count to leave me in the city on

vacation, because instructions were received from the board of

directors of the university to look for someone to copy the plan of

the Kursk region, with the disposition of highways, and no one

could do this better than I. I was obliged to renain. Besides, in

the last days of August, the first trustee of the university in

Kharkov, S. 0. Pototsky, would come for the opening of the high

school in Kursk, and without me, there was no one to greet him with

200

a speech. All these valid reasons influenced the Count and, to my

sorrow, after allowing me some free time, he put me in charge of the

survey. Depression, boredom! Alone in the class! They gave me an

assistant towards the end, comrade Popov (the son of a city notary),

to write down the names of the villages and towns. All this was

doubly painful after the next incident occurred.

A few days after I had started the survey, the teacher came in

and declared to me then and there that tomorrow I would not come to

class. At nine o'clock, I would go to Prince Meshchersky."^^ "The

Prince asked the director to send you to copy something for him, and

he will give you some kalatch for it." The next day I was sent to

the Prince. When they notified him of my arrival, he came out and

led me to his office. The designs which I had drawn on the examina­

tion lay on the table. Pointing to them, the Prince said, "This,

little one, is very good; and now you will copy a group of figures

for me from this vase, only smaller," —and he sat in front of me an

alabaster vase with figures around it. "I need these figures to be

carved out of wood on a sliding drawer for a small table." I blushed

profusely, and stuttering, answered that I was not able to do that.

The Prince, pointing to my drawings, continued, "They .are very

accurate with the originals, which I know very well, and the re­

semblance is extraordinary." --"But in our lessons, resemblance is

not difficult because we copy on glass." My God, how infuriated the

Prince became. "Why is the director allowing this? I am going to

him right now and tell him everything. You, little one, trod home.

It is a great pity that you cannot do this; I would have paid you

well," and he gave me fifteen copper kopecks anyway. I went home,

and he went immediately to the director. After dinner the watchman,

Ustinov, came to me. "Please," he said, "go to P. G." When I went

Prince Prokopy Vasilevich Meshchersky

201

to him, he flew at me angrily. "You told the Prince that I teach you

to draw on glass!" —"No, P. G.," I said, "I told him that my draw­

ings lying on his table, which he pointed out a big resemblance with

the originals, were copied on glass by me." —"But why did you say

that, rokaliya?" —"Pardon me, but how was I to know when the Prince

ordered me to copy the figures from the alabaster vase, only smaller,

and when I told him that I was not able to do that and simply did not

know how, that he, pointing to my drawings, would raise an objection

to me: it is a shame that one who knows how to copy from originals

so accurately cannot do these figures. Then I confessed to the

Prince that I traced them on glass." —"You should have said,

rokaliya, that you had a headache, and not slandered the teacher."

—"Forgive me, you yourself always sent us to the third class for

that." --"I do that, rokaliya, for your convenience; I did not teach

you thus; and now because of you I have received a reprimand from the

director; so I will teach you, rokaliya, how to be subjected to

similar reprimands of the teacher." Then P. G. directed me to bring

a birch, and he whipped me most industriously. I was so embittered

by all this that I was not able to wait until the end of my work or

the arrival of the watchman. For vengeance, I added at the end of

the survey the village of Kharkhabaevo on the river Seim in the

Olgovsky district.' Finally the watchman came. The pupils who were

present at that time were assembled in the city; among them, I, the

guilty one. When I was given the signal to begin the speech, I

walked up to the trustee, made a bow and quite loudly pronounced the

following words: "Your Highness! When an all-encompassing industry

gives some State the right to its graces, it usually sends a wise

commander," and so on and so forth. The entire speech consisted of

similar compliments. The next day I went to the country and took a

letter of thanks to the Count from the director for my deed. With

that, my studies ended.

202

Chapter IV: First Success on the Imperial Stage

Late in 1805, we moved with the Master to Kursk. During my

sojourn there, a friend arranged for me to be a prompter for a per­

formance at the fair in Korennaya that winter. It distressed me

when I found out. There remained only one means of going to the

theatre, as formerly; that is, to go with the orchestra musicians and

to carry drums. Nevertheless, if I were fortunate enough to see

Gorodensky before the performance, the younger brother of the land­

lords Barsov, he always led me to the stall, or to the orchestra, or

behind the wings. But it was especially distressing when I lost the

right to freely go to the theatre and be a participant in the

business myself.

Fortunately, an event occurred which determined the course of

my entire life, as it will be plain to see from my Memoirs, and has

helped me even up to the present time. On November 15, the actress

Pelageya Gavrilovna Likova came to see the Master with a placard for

a benefit performance. The Count took a ticket in the stall, paid

ten rubles currency (at that time this was a considerable fee,

because for regular performances the price for a stall was one and a

half rubles currency), and then, turning to me, said, "Misha, go to

Madame Likova in the tea-room and tell Parasha to give her some

coffee." At that time it was not customary in the province to seat

and to entertain an actress in the guest room. During the conversa­

tion, Madame Likova complained that the tickets were distributed, but

she did not kno>f if there would be a benefit, because the actor

Arepyev sent a note from the tavern that he had lost all his clothes

and had only one shirt. They must send him some money to buy

clothes. If not, then he could not play in the benefit, because it

would be impossible for him to leave the tavern; the proprietors

would not let him go. Since he had taken almost all his salary in

advance, the manager refused him money "And I," spoke the benefac­

tress, "do not know, dear, what I will do." With these words every­

thing began to boil inside me! I asked her with a trembling voice,

"And what does he play?" -"Andre the mailman in the drama, Zo^,"

she answered. Since I had prompted that drama the previous summer

203

and knew it very well, I proposed to Madame Likova right there,

choking with excitement: "Allow me to play the role." —"But have

you ever played in the theatre?" —"Pardon, several times, in the

village—in a serf theatre." —"What did you play?" —"Pardon, I

played Firyulin in An Accident with a Carriage and even an infant in

Rare Things, and next summer I will play Fona in The New Family."

—"But how, my dear?" continued Likova, "The benefit is tomorrow.

Will you have time to learn the role; it seems it is two pages?"

— "Pardon, that is a trifle." —"Well, dear, thank you!" and she

patted me on the head. "I," she said, "will go from here to M. E.

Barsov (he was the oldest brother of the landlords) and tell him of

your preparation to help us, and if he is agreeable, and I do not

doubt it in the least, I will ask him to send you the book fast,

because you will not receive the script from Arepyev soon. It

really makes no difference to you what script or what book? And I

will say to you that it is somewhat better and faster to learn from

the book. Do not be lazy, read through the entire drama, if you have

enough time, more than once. That is very helpful. Well, good-bye!

You will receive the book within the hour."

I cannot say what was the matter with me after that. I was

ready to cry, and laugh, and to throw my arms around the neck of the

first person I met, and I did just that upon meeting Vasya whom I

loved. He said to me, "What's with you, have you gone crazy? Hang

on your own neck!" —"Vasya, Vasya! Do you know that tomorrow in the

theatre I am going to play the role of Andre the mailman in the

drama, Zoya!" —"No!? Really, look—you aren't joking! This isn't

the village, you know." —"Well, Vasya, what will be, will be!" --and

there was not one person in the house I did not tell about it.

Of course, there were some small sneers on my account, but

nothing insulted me, especially as several people wished me success.

I was the general favorite in the house. I did not leave by the

porch, because the house of P. I. Annenkov, where the- Barsovs lived,

could be seen from it. I saw Likova go there, and in half an hour

she left for her apartment. The torturous hours passed and nothing

204

came either from her or from Barsov. Sadness began to overcome me.

In order to escape the situation, I resorted to cunning and, after

putting on my cap, went to Likova's apartment. When I arrived, she

asked me, "What is the matter, my dear?" I said, "I came to find out

if you need me tomorrow or not. And if that is now the case, I want

to get leave to go to the village to see my parents." —"Ah, sweet­

heart, please, do not go because things will go badly for me without

you. Hasn't M. E. sent you the book?" —"No," I answered. "Well,

he will very soon; please, rescue me from misfortune!" —"Pardon,

with all my soul I am happy to be of help to you." —"Now when you

have learned it, come to me; I will listen to you and observe what is

needed." — " I will come tonight, and you will listen to me." --"Watch

out, isn't that too soon?" —"No, I will learn." —"Well, come. I

will seat you in the tea room." Returning home, I asked my friend,

"Did you bring me the book from Barsov?" and the answer was—no!

Everyone again began to joke and laugh at my expense, but I was not

up to them; the same cap on my head—straight to Barsov. I went to

him and said that Pelageya Gavrilovna Likova asked me to come to her

and to ask that if you have not changed your mind about her benefit,

then grant me the book, the drama Zoya, from which she asked me to

learn a role." --"No, dear!" he answered, "I have not changed my mind

and I am very glad that you came; but my brothers are not at home,

I sent the servant away, and I had no one to send to you." Having

said this, he immediately handed me the book and said, "You, I am

confident, will learn it. I know about you from my brother Nikolai,

and you always speak clearly; that is known to me. Several times

last year you were our famous prompter. It is a pity that you

arrived late this year; we were forced to hire a prompter: such a

scoundrel, I can't stand it! . . . Good-bye. Come tomorrow morning,

and I will listen to you." All this was said, as I understood, for

encouragement, but for me it was so unnecessary. One thought, that

I would play tomorrow, spurred me on so much that I needed a strong

bridle to keep in check. Going through the gate, I forgot everything

except that tomorrow I would play. In spite of the fact that I was

205

walking along the street, I began to study the role on the way and

stopped several times not noticing that passers-by were laughing at

me. I did not notice anything besides the book, and when I arrived

at home, the role was almost learned. With what pride I showed the

book to my friends! I said, "You laughed; you didn't believe me, but

I will certainly play tomorrow!" and then I went into the room. In

three hours the role was learned by heart, like "Our Father."

Following the directions of Likova, the book was read through twice,

and there was not a person left in the house, from the butler to the

cook, to whom I did not recite the role by heart. That evening I

went to Likova, who met me with the words, "What? You've learned it

already?" --"I have." —"Thank you, my dear. Did you bring the book

with you?" — " I did." —"Well, sit down, then! But we will have tea

first, and then I will listen to you." I really wasn't up to tea,

but there was nothing to do. It was as if everything was arranged

against me: the samovar poured slowly, and the tea she made was

sluggish, and she filled the cups too slowly, and although everything

went well, my impatience was such that to me the time appeared very

long. But then everything was finished. We drank up the tea, the

samovar and cups were taken away, and the hostess turned to me.

"Well, speak, read, little soul! I will listen to you. Give me the

book." I handed her the book, and some kind of fire ran through my

entire body; but this was not fear—No! Fear isn't like that. --It

was simply an inner fire, a strange fire, on which I would not

strangle, but notwithstanding all this, I was very good and I just

cried from pleasure. I recited the role so firmly, so loudly, so

fast that she did not have time to make even one observation, and at

the end she got up and kissed me with such kindness that I forgot my­

self and tears poured from me like a river. This surprised her very

much. "What's the matter with you?" she said. "Pardon, Pelageya

Gavrilovna, it is from joy, from pleasure. I hardly ever know any

other tears." —"What, my dear? Were you really happy that an old

woman kissed you? Is an old woman's kiss so dear to you?" —"Yes,

dear, because it is my first reward for a little work, which you in

206

your kindness valued, and I will never forget it." —"Oh, you, child,

child!" she added, "That is your opinion. Thank you, thanks, but for

all that, listen to me. You speak too swiftly. Of course, every one

of your words were heard, but you are hurting yourself with this

speed. You are suffocating yourself with this outpouring, so that

when several words must be given more emphasis, you waste them in

vain." And then and there she showed me several sentences, explained

why they must be emphasized, advised me to remember her observations,

and if I was not tired, I should go home and read through the role

again, trying to give more emphasis to the sentences pointed out.

"Now, good-bye! And since you value the kisses of an old woman, here

is still another kiss for you." But the last for some reason did not

have an effect on me, but my head was busy only with the words I had

heard.

Returning home, I read through the role several times more, not

noticing that I was reading everything so fast that I gave more

emphasis only to the sentences pointed out, which I slaughtered. The

next morning at seven o'clock I went to M. E. Barsov. I arrived, but

they said they were asleep. I left through the gate, I think--there

was no reason to go home, so I simply began to pace back and forth

along the street, dropping in every few minutes to find out if they

had awakened. "No," was the constant answer. Finally at nine

o'clock, they awakened. I entered. M. E. asked me, "Did you learn

it?" "Yes," I answered. "Well, give me the book, and I will listen

to you." He told me the exact same thing that Likova had, and I

worked with all my soul with language, arms, and legs. Having

heard me out, he smiled and said, "Very well, only you are too fast,

move your hands less. Now, go home and we will go to the rehearsal

with you." Returning home, of course, I again diligently read the

role—I did not know why, because I knew it by heart very well; it

was simply pleasant for me to read it through. At home my friends

surrounded me with questions: am I going to play? "Of course I am,"

I answered with certainty, "and as soon as the Barsovs go to the

theatre, they will send for me to rehearse." But, as luck would

207

have it, everything dragged on slowly. The Barsovs arrived rather

late to the rehearsal and, having arrived, did not send for me

straightaway. The delay was torture for me, especially when the

appointed time came and went and no one from the theatre came to

call for me. Then my comrades began to banter; "What, brother, did

you boast? They arrived long ago, but they do not send for you."

There was no limit to my torture. I continually ran to the back

porch to see if they were coming for me, even though it was also

possible to see from the front porch, but in that case they would

have tormented me with jokes. Finally the watchman Ustinov appeared,

and I came to life. Seeing that he was coming straight to us, I went

into the hall where we did much of our entertaining then—entered

serenely; and they just had begun to make jokes again when Ustinov's

voice suddenly spoke from in front of the house, "And where are you,

Shchepkin?" I answered from the hall, "Here!" and went to the door.

"Come, they are waiting for you at the rehearsal!" "Very well, right

away!" and all my friends, having stopped joking, were pleased with

this event. Vasya even kissed me. We had a patriarchal system in

our house, so that no one ever had to ask to leave the yard, and I

did not, but now it seemed somehow uncomfortable to leave without

asking, so I immediately went into the living room where the Count

sat with the Countess. He, as usual, was smoking and the Countess

was busy putting some patterns in order. "Permit me, your Highness,

I must leave for the theatre." —"Why?" --"For a rehearsal." --"For

what kind of rehearsal?" —"For the drama, Zoya; I play Andre the

mailman in it." The Count laughed and shouted, "Bravo, bravo,

Misha! But look—do not shame yourself! I will be at the theatre,

so act well . . . but you already know that." And the Countess

added, "Well, I think you will act so that you will neglect painting

designs." --"No, your Highness. I will paint even better."

Everything went just as before in rehearsal; that is, swiftness

of speeches, racing, swinging arms: the Barsovs and Likova reminded

me about all this. It was a terrible time for me between the

rehearsal and the performance. What could I do! I even went

208

inconspicuously to the outhouse, which of course, was cold, but it

was hot everywhere to me. There I thought: Is it possible not to

speak so fast, not to swing my arms, and not to run around the stage?

But though it seemed to me that I had succeeded well enough, the

damned mistrust of myself tormented me, and I decided to make Vasya

a witness to my difficulty. I asked him to go with me secretly to

the outhouse, to listen to me play and to tell me the truth, only not

to tell anyone, lest they laugh at me. And what do you know! When I

began to show my art, everything was said again—the arms, the legs.

Vasya, loving me, was very pleased, but for all that, added, "It

seems to me that you talk very fast!" And I was thinking specifi­

cally about that, in order to talk more slowly. "Well, thanks, Vasya!

Go on back yourself. Suppose the Count should ask for you. I will

stay here and learn how to speak more slowly." So this strange

interval passed in anxiety and incessant studying.

When I began to make my way to the theatre, then and there the

jokes came again: "Where are you hurrying to? You still have time

to shame yourself!" Another added, "Wait, it is early; incidentally,

get the kettle drums and take them to the orchestra." This was, as

I have said, one of the ways for me to go to the theatre. But I was

not offended by these jokes. I was so happy that I even laughed

myself. Finally I arrived at the theatre dressing room, which served

two roles--as a dressing room and as the entrance onto the stage from

the actor's antechamber. I do not recollect the entire costume they

gave me. I only know that I wore strange jack boots on my feet,

which were only for the theatre and therefore fit all sizes and were

old. The closer the beginning of the performance came, the hotter I

became (although everyone complained of the cold), so that before my

entrance onto the stage I was totally saturated with sweat. How I

played, whether the public received me well or not--I completely do

not remember. I only know that at the end of the role I went under

the stage and cried for joy like a baby.

At the end of the play, Likova thanked me with approval, "Good,

dear, very good!" Barsov also said, "Good," and added, "But

209

nevertheless you hurried to speak!" Ivan Vasilevich Kolosov, the

teacher from the people's school and Barsov's brother-in-law (who on

that day by request, prompted because the real prompter became ill),

patted me on the cheek, kissed my forehead and said, "Thanks, Misha,

thanks--good! And how clever you were when Mikhail Egorich crossed

over from the first to the third act! I confess, I got lost, I

screamed from the prompt box: Brother, not that, not that!--but he

went through the entire monologue and when he finished, I did not

know what to do. But you very cleverly handled it, and got him off

the stage. True, the play went that way, but you, of course,

noticed that he did not speak correctly; and thanks to you, you

directed the scene and did not get confused yourself. Clever! You,

apparently, know the play very well?" —"It is not for me to lie,

Ivan Vasilevich," I answered, "whatever happened in that scene, I

truly remember nothing. Please tell me, did I play very badly?"

—"Enough, dear! Good, very good, and the public was very pleased.

You heard how they applauded?" —"I don't remember anything." --"Well,

thank you;" and I replied to that, "Ivan Vasilevich thanked me; he

said that he became frightened when you went from the first act to

the third. 'But thanks,' he said, 'you corrected the whole

business.'" --"No," he answered very coldly, "it just seemed that way

to him." It was impossible for me to understand how the man could

not confess the truth.

When I arrived at home, all the people and musicians were wait­

ing for me and they embraced me; it seems that only two did not take

me in their arms: Sal matin and Alexander (the first violinist), who

also played in the theatre and enjoyed the kindness of the public.

"Go to the Count quickly," Vasya told me. "He has asked for you

three times." When I entered, the Count laughed and shouted, "Bravo,

Misha, bravo! Come, kiss me!" And, having kissed him, he ordered,

"Vasya! Give me the new, plain, tricot waistcoat!" Vasya brought

it; the Count took it and put it on my shoulders, "Here you are in

memory of today." I, according to established custom, wanted to kiss

his hand, but he did not give it to me, and having kissed my

210

forehead, said, "Go to Parasha. I ordered her to prepare a samovar

and to pour you some tea; drink some and lie down to rest, for you

are tired, I think." After tea, of which I drank a considerable

quantity, I lay down to sleep, and it seems I was infatuated with the

play all night. The next day everything that had happened seemed like

a dream. However, the waistcoat given to me convinced me that it was

really true. I will never forget that day. I am indebted to it for

everything, everything!

211

Chapter V; The Rescue of a Drowning Man - 1808

The time came to move from the city to the country. Count

Volkenstein lived in Kursk only in the winter, and he spent every

summer in the country. On this occasion, they brought to Kursk forty

carts loaded with 100 chetverts^ of wheat which had been sold to

merchants in Orlov. After the wheat was unloaded, these same carts

returned to the country with the orchestra musicians, the choir

singers, several officials, and myself. My official duty was to be,

how should I say, the Count's secretary, or letter writer, or some­

thing like that. On the way, it was necessary for us to traverse the

Psyol River on a ferry. It was a country road, therefore the ferry

was not the best and was so small that no more than four carriages

could be placed on it. It was necessary to make ten trips in order

to transport everything to the other bank. Having ferried across

with the first carts, we got it into our heads to take a bath. It

was warm even though it was only the beginning of May. Meanwhile the

string of carts continued to ferry across. We did not want to get

out of the water, but it was necessary, because many carts had

already ferried across.

When we got on the beach and began dressing, there was an old

man on the ferry, firing up a pipe in his mouth, who calmly said,

"Boys, do you know? A man is sinking." —"Why won't you help him?"

I asked. "I cannot!" he answered me. I threw myself in the direction

which he pointed. The Psyol made a sharp turn at that point, so at

first we were not able to see anything around the corner of the turn.

After running up to the designated place, I saw that instead of one,

two were sinking, grappling with each other. I swim very well, and

that is why I rushed to them. While I was swimming to them, they

went under several times, but, fortunately, the river was not too

deep at that point. Having gone down, they put their feet firmly on

^Chetvert = a unit of measure in tsarist Russia.

212

the bottom and leaped to the top of the water, and, taking a breath

and floundering a little, sank again. When I swam up to them, they

came up in the water and, seeing me, rushed to me so swiftly that

with all my strength, I dived away from them to the side. I felt

that one would not be able to manage them; moreover, one of them was

huge, twelve vershoks,^ and the other, six vershoks. It would have

been difficult to manage in the water with them. Men were waiting

on the bank with curiosity to see how it would end. After diving, I

yelled to them to throw me the end of the reins, because the activity

was not far from the shore. The slope was very steep to the edge of

the water. When they threw me the end of the reins, I wound it

around my left hand and ordered them to pull the reins as soon as I

caught up with the drowning men. After giving orders for this

maneuver, I swam to the place where they had last shown themselves

and thought that it was all over. But, luckily, they came up once

again very near me. I seized one by the hair with my right hand, and

the other grabbed me at the throat. All three of us went to the

bottom. Then the men pulled the reins according to my directions,

and we began little by little to swim underwater to the bank. When

we ran out of breath, I got a strong footing on the bottom. Muster­

ing up strength, I catapulted us to the top and inhaled, but, in

spite of all my skill in swimming, I again sunk to the bottom. Both

drowning men began to lose consciousness. Meanwhile, the men were

working, pulling and pulling. Finally we reached the steep shore

without sinking to the bottom of the river again. Several hands

appeared to help us and dragged us out with difficulty. My drowning

men were almost crazy, especially the larger one. Meanwhile,

questions came as to what happened. Not hiding my heroic deed of

saving the two men, I mentally put on a few airs. Meanwhile, one of

the men regained consciousness. Someone turned to him with the

^One vershok = one and three-quarter inches.

213

question, "You, fool, which devil threw you into the water?" This

was his answer: "Eh! A man was sinking." —"Ah, fool, fool, you do

not know how to swim." —"Eh! It never entered my head!" With those

words, he completely destroyed me: I was a strong swimmer--it would

have been mean on my part not to go to their rescue. But he threw

himself into the water to save a human being, forgetting that he did

not know how to swim. I confess that I became ashamed. This in­

cident ended very stupidly for me. When the other man came to, he

turned suddenly without rhyme or reason straight toward the river and

went deep down. I grabbed him by the hand and asked, "Where are you

going?" --"To bathe!" was his answer. That made me so angry that I

hit him so hard he fell. Then the first man turned to me with an

ironic smile and said, "Stop it, Semyonovich, did you pull out the

man in order to kill him?" Out of respect for his noble actions, I

noted his name: they called him Aleksei Khoremer.

214

Chapter VI: Prince P. V. Meshchersky

Now I ought to relate an incident which had a strong influence

on my stage education. It was such a shock, so to say, that it put

everything in a completely new light for me.

Prince Prokopy Vasilevich Meshchersky, a highly educated man

for his day, lived in Kursk during the great reign of Catherine. He

knew many languages and was even an artist; painting, sculpture,

carving, lathing, and even metal working. Subsequently, the Prince

opened a joiner's shop; and furniture made by his skill was disting­

uished by its elegant design. The rumor spread that he was the first

to use birch wood instead of redwood and nut wood for furniture.

They said about him that he was an amazing actor, but I had never

seen him play, although I had known him for a very long time. When

I was still in school, he always praised me at examinations on being

the number one student.

It must be said that the Prince was already past seventy years

old, but I do not remember another as beautiful as this old man.

Such a noble face can never be imagined, and he was considered to be

great in the full sense of the word not only in his speech, but in

all his activities.

At last in 1810, I saw him play the role of Salidar in

Sumarokov's comedy. Dowry by Fraud. It was in the home of Prince

Golitsyn in Yunokovka at a serf performance in which other theatre

lovers took part. It must be stated that at this time I was already

an actor; for five years I had enjoyed the attention of the public

and was receiving the highest pay in salary--350 rubles in currency

(forty years ago that sum was very noteworthy). I cannot say with

what diligence I sought a chance to see a performance by Prince

Meshchersky. Finally fate presented me the opportunity, which was so

very important for me. This is how it was. Since there were no per­

formances in the summer, I had free time and began to study painting

for which I have always had an- inclination. My teacher was the

academician Nikolai Antonovich Ushakov. At that time his portraits

215

were famous for their unusual likenesses. This same Ushakov was

invited to come to Prince Golitsyn, in the village of Yunokovka to

paint portraits. He very willingly agreed. A carriage was sent.

Ushakov invited me to go, and we set off together. Upon arriving

in Yunokovka, we found Prince Meshchersky there, and to my greatest

pleasure, found out that there was to be a serf performance that

evening, and Prince Meshchersky was to participate. I cannot tell

you now what I went through before the performance. I had already

conjured up an idea of his acting, and it seemed colossal. "No," I

thought, "his acting won't be at our level; he has lived not only in

Moscow and Petersburg, but he's been to Vienna, Paris, and London.

But that isn't all, he has acted at the court of the Empress

Catherine! Just imagine what his acting must be like!" All this

excited me terribly before the performance. But now I am at the

theatre, now the orchestra plays a symphony, up goes the curtain, and

the Prince is before me . . . but it isn't the Prince, but the miser

Salidar! What a terrible change had come over the Prince's figure:

the noble expression of his face had disappeared and the avarice of

the miser was sharply engrained on it. But what was this! Despite

this terrible transformation, it seemed to me that the Prince did not

know how to act at all. And how I rejoiced at that moment, thinking,

"So! It is because he is a great nobleman that he is thought to be

so good! What sort of acting is that. He doesn't know how to use

his hands, and he speaks . . . it is ridiculous to say . . . he just

speaks simply, like everyone. Now what sort of acting is that? No!

Your Highness has far to go to catch up with us." In a word, every­

one acting with him seemed to me better than he, because they really

acted, especially Paskvin. He spoke with such rapidity and waved his

arms as energetically as the best of the real actors do. But the

Prince continued in his own fashion; and strangely enough, despite

the simplicity of his acting (which I considered to be inability to

act) throughout the role, wherever money was involved, it was

apparent that it touched him to his soul, and at such moments you

forgot all the other actors. The fear of death and the reluctance

216

to part with money were strikingly real and horrible in the Prince's

acting, and the simplicity with which he spoke in no way hindered his

acting. The further the play progressed, the more I was carried away;

and finally I began to doubt whether it would have been as good if he

had acted in our fashion. In short, reality seized me and did not

let me go until the end of the performance. Apart from the Prince,

I saw no one; my eyes seemed to have become glued to him. His

sufferings, his sounds struck a living chord in my soul; his every

word delighted me by its naturalness and, at the same time, tormen­

ted me. In the scene where the deception had been discovered and

Salidar found out that they falsely had lured from him his last will

and testament, I was frightened for the Prince; I thought he was

dying, because with such a strong love for money that the Prince in­

stilled in Salidar, it was impossible to live another minute without

it.

The play ended. There was general enthusiasm, everyone was

laughing; but I poured tears, which always happens when I am deeply

moved. All this seemed a dream to me, and everything was confused

in my head. "The Prince speaks poorly," I thought, "because he

speaks simply." Then it seemed to me that it was really good that he

spoke simply; he does not act, he lives. Several sentences and

words, simply delivered, though with great horror, remained with me.

I just considered him to be as myself, because I thought that I could

say them just like he did. How furious I was with myself; why hadn't

I realized before that what is natural and simple is good. And I

thought to myself, "Now I'll show them in Kursk ... on the stage!

You see, it never occurs to them, my friends, to act simply, and I

will distinguish myself in doing so." In order to become better

acquainted with the natural acting of the Prince in Sumarokov's

comedy and not to lose interest or to lose what I had heard, I

immediately asked to copy this comedy. I did, not moving from the

spot. I went from Yunokovka to the country and did not put down the

play during the entire trip; within twenty-four hours, by the time I

arrived, I had already learned the entire comedy by heart. But

217

imagine my surprise when I tried to speak simply, I could not say a

single word naturally and without constraint. I began to remember

the Prince, began to pronounce sentences as he had, and felt that

although I spoke exactly like him, I was not able to notice any

naturalness in my speech; I could not understand why nothing was

coming out of it. Several days straight I would go to the grove and

play the whole comedy with the trees, but I understand only that I

acted as I always did. I could not capture the simplicity and

naturalness that the Prince had. All this drove me to despair. It

never entered my head that in order to be natural I must first of all

speak with my own voice and feelings and not imitate the Prince.

After a long work, I fell into despondency, and it occurred to me

that I would never achieve simplicity in acting. I renounced my vain

efforts; but the idea of natural acting had already been sparked in

my head, and up to the time when I went to Kursk that winter and the

plays began, that idea had not left me for one instant. In spite of

all the failures, I again sought naturalness. It did not come easy

for me for a long, long time; but fate helped me and I travelled that

road with firm legs, although for a long time old habits of acting

hurt me a great deal.

Here was my fortune. We were rehearsing Moliere's comedy, A

School for Husbands, in which I was playing Sganarelle. Since we had

rehearsed it so much, I got bored with it, and my head was full of

some nonsense or other so that my part in the rehearsal was what they

called "neglige." I was not acting but simply speaking what followed

in the script (I always learned my roles thoroughly), and I spoke

them in my usual voice. And what do you suppose happenec;!? I felt

that I had said those few words simply, CQ s-'mnly that if I had to

say them in real life and not in the play I should have said them

exactly the same way. Every time I succeeded in speaking in this

fashion, I felt so much pleasure and contentment that by the end of

the play, I was trying to preserve this conversational tone. Then

everything went in the opposite direction; the more I tried, the

worse it was. I had returned to my usual manner of acting which no

218

longer satisfied me, because secretly I was already looking at art

with different eyes. Yes, secretly! If I had revealed to anyone the

idea that had been born in me then, they would have laughed at me.

This idea was so contrary to the popular conception that my friends

fell on me with praises at the end of the play, because I had tried

to get into the general rut and had acted like all other actors and,

in several opinions, even better than the others. I remember, as

much as I can, what this superior acting consisted of, according to

the concepts of my friends. They saw it when no one spoke in his

natural voice, when acting consisted of extremely distorted

declamation, words being pronounced as loudly as possible and nearly

every one of them being accompanied by gestures. Especially in

lover's parts, they used to declaim so passionately that even the

memory of it is funny. The words "love," "passion," and "betrayal"

were screamed with as much strength as the actor possessed; but

facial expressions were not used. The face remained in the same

tense and unnatural position it had been in when the actor had come

on stage. Or again, when the actor approached the end of any power­

ful monologue after which he had to leave the stage, the rule was

that he had to raise his right hand and withdraw in that fashion. By

the way, in this connection, I recall one of my colleagues. On a

certain occasion, having finished a tirade, he forgot to raise his

hand as he was leaving the stage. And what happened? Halfway off,

he decided to correct the mistake and solemnly raised that sacred

hand. And all this afforded pleasure to the spectators! I cannot

relate all the absurdities which were found on the stage at that

time—it is boring and unpleasant. Besides, the wish to raise the

art can always be seen in all the absurdities. For example, an actor

onstage, speaking with someone and feeling that he is going to speak

a brilliant sentence to him, would leave the person with whom he was

speaking, come forward to the apron, and address not the actor, but

would give the sentence to the public; and the public, for their

part, would applaud furiously for such a surprise. That was what the

theatre was like in the provinces forty years ago, and that was what

219

pleased the public. At that time Prince Meshchersky, without wishing

it, showed me another path. All that I have acquired later, all that

has come from me, I owe everything to him, because he was the first

to sow in me the true understanding of art and to show me that art is

as high as and as close as nature. It remains for me to add to this

story only that after fifteen years, I have just learned from the

kind Prince A. A. Shakhovsky in Moscow that I am not alone in my

debt to Prince Meshchersky; the whole Russian theatre is indebted to

him. Prince Meshchersky was the first in Russia to speak simply on

the stage when the earlier school, the Dmitrevsky school, consisted

of elocutionists and declaimers. I have also learned from Prince

Shakhovsky that Dmitrevsky was not pleased with Prince Meshchersky

for this introduction of simplicity and naturalness, especially when

they began to embrace the public and to gain many followers.

Vrince Alexander Alexandrovich Shakhovsky (1777-1846).

^Ivan Afanasevich Dmitrevsky (1734-1821), a famous Russian actor and director in his time.

220

Chapter VII: The Performance of Don Juan in Kharkov

The beginning of 1816 was the saddest for me in various aspects;

but my grief became even stronger for me when I found out that the

theatre in Kursk had been torn down. They began to renovate this

meeting place of nobility, in which a stage was located, and it was

rumored that the alteration would not be finished for at least two

years; consequently, there would be no performances because the land­

lords were in no position to build a theatre. I was completely des­

troyed. I moved to the country where I lost my grief in reading

Tredyakovsky's translation of Roll en's history from cover to cover.

At the end of July, I suddenly received a letter from one of the

landlords, namely P. E. Barsov. He informed me that he had received

p

an invitation from Stein in Kharkov which asked him to invite some­

one for roles in comedies, so he was addressing this invitation to

me. If I was in agreement, I should ask leave and come to Kursk,

then on to Kharkov; "There, they say, you can work a little." I

haven't the power to describe my happiness. The thought that I would

be acting in Kharkov delighted me. I knew that the theatre in

Kharkov was old and that everyone acts there; furthermore, there was

a university there. Therefore, the public must be more educated and,

consequently, somewhat more was demanded from actors. This last

circumstance, to my complete delight, brought home to me some feel­

ings of fear—in a word, I began to quail. Then I remembered that

once we had an actor visit us from the Kharkov troupe. His name was

Murashkin, and he was no genius. Besides that, I saw a better

Kharkovian dramatic actor, Mr. Getsa, who, in transit, acted in

^Sharl Rollen (1661-1741), a French historian and pedagogue.

^Ivan Fyodorovich Stein, together with Osip Ivanovich Kalinovsky, were famous enterpreneurs at that time. Shchepkin's sojourn with this troupe lasted five years, from 1816 to 1821, for the most part in Poltava.

221 3

Son of Love in Kursk. He did many good things in it, but generally

he was below our M. E. Barsov. Having considered all this, I felt

more cheerful and, losing no time, requested leave of Countess

Volkenstein. With a little pride, I explained to her that I had been

invited to appear on the stage in Kharkov. She released me and

jokingly added: "Look, don't bring shame upon yourself!" The harvest

was not large. Father and Mother were flattered that out of everyone

in the troupe, Barsov invited me and no one else. It followed that

there was something behind this. Such an invitation was not un­

pleasant even to my wife, in spite of the separation. And so, after

kissing my parents' hands and receiving parting blessings from them,

in addition to two rubles, I kissed my wife and children, and on the

first day of August, I set off for Kursk, and, together with Barsov,

from there to Kharkov.

I am not going to describe my arrival in Kursk, for shortly

thereafter we set off on the long road to Kharkov. Everything was

very commonplace, without a single unusual incident. We arrived in

Kharkov on the fifteenth of August at about ten o'clock in the morn­

ing. We stopped at the apartment of the actor Ugarov, with whom

Barsov was already acquainted and had already exchanged letters. We

did not find Ugarov at home; he had left for a rehearsal of the

comedy Don Juan by Moliere. We found out about this from Ugarov's

wife, a very dear and extraordinarily beautiful woman, who received

us in the most cordial way possible. She showed us our rooms, poured

us some tea and coffee, persuaded us to rest from our journey.

Barsov was almost ready for that, but I was teased by Don Juan. I

had read almost all of Moliere, although no more than three of his

plays were acted in our theatre. We could not play Don Juan because

there were neither traps nor flies in our stage, and in this play

furies appear and carry off Don Juan. All this interested and

excited me, and I persistently pestered Barsov to go to the theatre--

' Son of Love by A. I. Pisarev.

222

to find the rehearsal. Barsov half-heartedly agreed. After dressing

properly (I wore my only black frock, and my colleague, who was a

show-off, painted on a little rouge), we proceeded to the theatre.

Arriving at the theatre, I was completely disappointed. I

imagined that in such a city as Kharkov the theatre would be a

beautiful building, but instead I saw some kind of timbered booth.

When we mounted the stage via tumble-down stairs, at first nothing

was visible in the dark. Then after we looked it over a little,

Barsov, who was already acquainted with the landlords of the theatre

(there were two: Stein, a German, and the Polish Kalinovsky), pre­

sented me to them as his best friend. At this point, he introduced

us to the proprietor of our apartment, the actor Ugarov, the first

comedian of the Kharkovian stage. Ugarov was a remarkable creature

with enormous talent. I can honestly say that I have never seen

anyone with more talent. The naturalness, gaiety, and liveliness in

his amazing methods staggered us. Unfortunately, all this was

directed God knows how; everything was played by chance. If, how­

ever, he was successful in getting truth into some character, then,

it seems to me, no one could create a greater character. Unfortun­

ately, this was very rare, because thinking was a strange business

for him; but for all that, he captivated the public with his liveli­

ness and gaiety. As in all human beings, everything was intermingled

in him; in some strange disarray, good nature and mischief stood

side by side; theatre, cards, and sports were all wrapped up in one.

Everything was compounded in him to such a degree that I don't know

which he preferred. He was a good family man, but for the last two

sessions, he was ready to leave his family without a piece of bread.

But we will leave him; I cannot tell you half of what was in this

remarkable personality. I will just add that in spite of all his

shortcomings, I always loved him as a man and respected him as a

talent. In my Memoirs, I will often return to Ugarov and relate

everything I know about him.

When we met, he immediately took me by the hand and introduced

me to Kalinovsky's wife with these words, "Anna Ivanovna

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Kalinovskaya, our first actress—a fiery woman!" Meanwhile, the

artists recommenced the rehearsal our arrival had interrupted.

Kalinovsky was playing Don Juan and Ugarov, Loporello. When I began

to listen attentively to the conversation of the dramatis personae,

I became extremely troubled: I knew Moliere's Don Juan; and this was

not it, but another, completely another. This Don Juan was trans­

lated from Polish by Mr. Petrovsky, who apparently did not know the

Russian language very well. This translation was such nonsense that

I could not understand how it was possible to present such a play in

a university city like Kharkov. To cap it all, Kalinovsky spoke with

a Polish accent. Out of modesty, I didn't say a word about all this.

However, I could not keep from asking Kalinovsky how the last scene

was executed, where the figures came from. He answered me, "This

scene is not as effective now as before. Before we made a 'clean

break,' the scenery represented Hell: wagons ran, flew, and leaped

out of the ground and carried Don Juan away. It is not like that now

because the scenery we brought from Kremenchug representing Hell was

washed away by the rain. Now only one fury flies in overhead, grabs

Don Juan and leaves." —"Ah," I thought, "so they have machines," and

went to look at the scenery; but to my astonishment, I did not notice

anything except some beam girders, which had been openly laid across

the scenery. I was ashamed to ask and thus reveal my ignorance,

especially as, having been taught in the people's school, I was some­

what familiar with mechanics. At least I knew the power of a lever,

the use of a pulley, and the operation of a collar; but there was

absolutely nothing in view that was useful. I waited for the end of

the rehearsal, impatiently thinking that they would test the flies--

but no! The rehearsal ended, and when I asked, "Aren't you going to

test the flies?" Kalinovsky replied, "No! That machine was well

built, and there is no need to test it." I became embarrassed that

I could not find it.

We were invited to Kalinovsky's house for dinner. I will not

describe all the courtesies of the hostess and all the witticisms of

Ugarov. At the end of the meal a very tall man entered in a long

224

blue frock-coat, a belted sash, his hair in a queue, and clean shaven.

Turning to Kalinovsky, he said, "May I have some money for the

machine, Osip Ivanovich?" I was suddenly excited. "Which machine?"

I asked. "The one that lifts Don Juan," they answered.

I asked permission to inspect the machine. "Bring it here,"

said Kalinovsky to the long frock-coat, who, I found out later, was

the head mechanic. He left and soon returned, carrying two thick

straps slightly thinner than those used for springs on a droshky.

Each strap had a thick iron buckle. An iron hook of considerable

thickness was sewn in the middle of one of them, and on the other

was sewn some kind of durable iron ring. I did not understand the

mechanism, and I asked, "What does it do?" Then Kalinovsky took the

strap with the hook, tightened it on himself with the buckle which

was behind him; the hook then came around to the front. "So," he

said. "The fury can girdle himself with this belt with the hook in

front of him, and Don Juan can girdle himself with the other belt

with the hook in back of him. Thus the fury, being lowered from

above, will grab Don Juan with one hand, and with the other,

manacle the hooks and carry him out." "Yes," I thought. "I didn't

think. Surely there is a block and tackle somewhere." I was even

more convinced that there was when the mechanic said, "Please, Osip

Ivanovich, more money for rope; the old is completely rotten." When

Kalinovsky gave the money, he added, "But don't forget to dye the new

rope black so it will not be so noticeable."

With terrible impatience, I awaited evening so we could go to

the theatre; the mechanism had driven me out of my mind. At last,

around seven o'clock we arrived at the theatre. I immediately threw

myself onto the stage to inspect all the wonderful things and to

search out the machine. Upon careful observation, I found something,

namely: from the second to the third wings, in the middle of the

stage, a round log was lying from one beam to another, and two huge

nails jutted out from this log about one and one-half vershoks apart.

Besides that, a log precisely like the one on the beams with exactly

the same nails was placed behind the wings. None of this had been

225

there before. I searched out the long frock-coat and asked him why

these logs were placed so. He answered me, "This machine raises Don

Juan." —"How? Tell me, please," I said. —"If you please, do you

see these two nails on this log behind the wings? A rope will run

between them, stretching to the middle of the stage where the other

log lies. It will then run between those two nails. Do you see?

The fury will sit on the beam there; the rope will be fastened to his

back. When the fury is lowered, the nails will not let the rope

slip, and the fury can be lowered straight down." --"But how? Do you

lift him by the collar?" I asked. "No," the long frock-coat

answered, "simply by hand." —"This must be very difficult," I said.

"Yes," he added, "but there will be many people backstage and we'll

rub the rope with fat beforehand; it will make it easier." I shook

my head and went to sit down. The performance began. Ugarov de­

lighted everyone, but the public was apparently accustomed to

Kalinovsky because in spite of his pronunciation, they approved many

times. Before the fifth act, I could not restrain myself and went

backstage to see if the fury was sitting on the beam. About ten men

were standing behind the wings, holding the rope. "Who is that

dressing the fury?" I asked. "That is my assistant, Minyev," the

mechanic answered. I returned to my seat and waited for the end of

the play. At last it came. Don Juan in desperation summons the

fury! And there, in the middle of the theatre, a pair of red boots

appear from the grid, then a white skirt with spangles, and finally

the whole figure of the fury. I am not in the position to pass on

the minute details of the fury's costume: what kind of scarf was

draped over the shoulder; what kind of horned crown was on his head.

But it was all nothing, and this is what was amazing. As soon as the

fury got completely off the beam and hung on the rope, the new rope

began to stretch and unwind from the weight, and since the fury was

lowered slowly, he turned about twenty times before reaching the

floor. Of course, this made his head whirl (he had drunk a fair

amount for courage). Upon reaching the floor, the fury could not see

anything; he held the hook with one hand and with the other.

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gesticulating, he looked for Don Juan, but looked for him on the

opposite side of the stage, Kalinovsky, in a rage, forgot that he

was on stage and screamed loudly, "Scoundrel! Over here! Over here!"

At last, the fury felt his way to Don Juan, grabbed him by one hand,

and with the other tried to connect the two hooks . . . but they

would not hook. Kalinovsky, in complete despair, wishing to help

out, stretched his hand back, and took his own ring, in the meantime

spouting oaths to the fury. But nothing would help, and the fury

could in no way get coupled with Don Juan, Noise in the audience

accompanied all this: there were catcalls and laughter and loud

shouts of "Bravo." For me everything was unprecedented and I was

shaken to my foundations. I ran from my seat, threw myself onstage,

tore the rope away from the mechanic, and lowered the curtain. It

had to be seen, how the frenzied Don Juan began to tear the fury to

pieces by the hair , . . . With that the presentation of Don Juan

ended.

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Chapter VIII: Bygone Ways

In 1801, as I have said, they moved me from Sudzha to Kursk and

put me in the people's school. At that time, I started becoming

acquainted with all strata of society, and when I became an actor,

the success I achieved in this walk of life made it possible for me

to become familiar with all strata, because despite the fact that I

was still a serf, the merchants and businessmen in various offices

often invited me into their homes. I knew fairly well the nobility

life through our visits, and because I was such a deft and clever

chap, noblemen often tried to get me for their service. In other

homes where huge dinners and balls were held, they paid me twice the

wage of the best waiter; that is, they paid everyone five rubles, but

I received ten. Thanks to my power of observation, I understood the

spirit of that century very well. They lived the gay life, as the

saying goes. For example, in winter, evenings were not nice enough

for balls, so they were often given in the daytime; there were so

many open houses! In addition to the theatre, there were five

orchestras in the city for gatherings. It seems that some were

better than others.

Notwithstanding all this, the spirit of the society was as

follows. There was one woman in the city who was very beautiful in

my opinion. I will not name her, but the old timers surely will

recognize her. The whole town was sorry about her illness from

which she suffered so miserably.

Her illness was terribly agonizing, and all the known medicines

could not relieve her; but something happened which revealed a

remedy. One day while she was suffering terribly, one of her maid

serfs finished her work very poorly. Being ill, she slapped the

maid twice instead of giving her a reprimand, and—strange!--within a

few minutes she felt that she had improved somewhat. She noticed

this, attributing it at first to chance. But the next day the agony

seized her even more, and, being in a desperately helpless situation,

the poor woman recalled yesterday's incident. Not having another

remedy, she decided to try yesterday's medicine. She immediately

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went to the maids' room, found fault with the first maid she laid

eyes on, and gave her a reward of slap—and what do you think!--her

suffering vanished as if by magic. Then every day after that she

began to improve so that everyone noticed that she was recovering.

One day our Countess expressed her joy to her, seeing her in much

better condition, and in thanks for this friendly concern, the woman

revealed the recipe that had helped so much. Since the Countess had

consumption and often suffered, this woman advised her to try this

medicine, saying that it would help a great deal, but our Countess

replied, "Milaya, I have never slapped anyone in my entire life, and

if, God preserve, such a misfortune should ever happen to me, it

seems to me that I would die from shame the next day." These were

not mere words, because she was the best creature, even though she

did have a few human weaknesses.

I cannot determine the exact time, but one day when I was copy­

ing designs from an embroidered dress in the Countess' room, the

ailing woman suddenly came in very downcast. The Countess noticed

this inmiediately and asked her, "Marya Alexandrovna! What's the

matter; why are you so sad?" And the poor woman, pouring tears,

started complaining that the maid Mashka wished she were dead. "Why?"

asked the Countess. "I cannot find an occasion to slap her. I pur­

posely assigned her difficult tasks and gave her various missions.

The mean woman did everything and fulfilled everything so that I can

find fault with nothing . . . I tell you, she is a marvelous maid in

work and in morals, but unfortunately, I suffer for it. Surely she

would not die from a slap!" After staying a little while and ex­

pressing her grief, she left; and the Countess, with all her good­

ness, pitied her. But two days later Marya Alexandrovna came again,

happy, and embraced the Countess as though there were some kind of

celebration. She kissed her, laughed and wept for joy; and not wait­

ing for a question from the Countess, she explained her happiness.

"Grafinyuzhka, I slapped Mashka twice today." The Countess asked,

"What for? Was she so naughty?" --"No, she's never bad. But you

know that I have some lace fabric and that she is a lace-maker. I

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gave her a task that was not humanly possible to fulfill." Our

Countess, in all sympathy to the ailing woman, could not help from

answering her, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" —"Ah, your

Highness! Am I supposed to die from delicacy to my serf? It is

nothing to her; she is just as lively as if nothing had happened to

her." This conversation took place on Sunday, and on Tuesday, some­

what earlier than the prescribed time for visits, Marya Alexandrovna

arrived downcast at the Countess'. Almost in desperation, she

entered. Without even greeting the hostess, she screamed that the

maid Mashka certainly wanted her to die. The Countess asked what

happened. "Guess what kind of task I gave her yesterday. Well, the

mean woman did not eat or sleep but she completed everything just to

annoy me! This made me so mad that I couldn't bear it, so from

vexation, I slapped her three times, I made up a reason! 'Villain!'

I said to her, 'For the third day you have been able to carry out

everything, but for laziness and out of the desire to make trouble

you have not done what you were supposed to do. ' And instead of two,

I gave her three blows. Nevertheless, I cannot gain composure even

now . . . and it is strange. I applied the usual medication, but my

condition did not improve."

Upon this woman's departure, the Countess became sympathetic

with her. I was copying a design in her room that time, and I could

not help from saying, "Pardon me, your Highness, for my boldness that

I call upon myself to speak to you. I cannot understand, in view of

your kindness, how you can also sympathize with such a woman," --"Oh,

sweetheart! For what can you blame the poor woman when she has such

an illness?" --"Excuse me, your Highness, if I do not agree with you.

What kind of illness is it? It is stupidity, caprice, and lack of

self-control!" To that the Countess said in a noble tone, "You are

still young! Do not condemn without knowing that there are different

kinds of illnesses in the world in which the doctors' art is use­

less." — " I will not date to argue with your Highness about this, but

if doctors are not helping her, then advise her to take the simple

folk medicine, based on proverbs: like drives out like. Thus, let

230

her say to her own girls, 'Darlings! When I forget myself again and

slap one of you, then you turn the tables and slap me twice.' Trust,

your Highness, that she will keep her hands to herself! Really, your

Highness, advise her." --"Oh, sweetheart!" said the Countess, after

laughing. "How can I give such advice?" —"Why not, your Highness?

It is in the proverbs: you play my game and I'll play yours. She

would advise you of a medicine for a sickness, although you, in your

obstinancy, would not heed her advice. This would only cost you

advice for advice."

That was the century! There was not one person in the entire

town who would have looked upon this incident from the human side.

Of course, all this belonged to the times.

And now, let's look on the other side of life in that society.

We lived in Kursk, happily, as I have already said. This con­

tinued up to the time when Mayor A, I. N. took over the management of

the government (I cannot determine the exact time when this happened,

either in 1808 or 1809), With his entrance, society began to fall

apart and to divide into cliques, so that by the end of the year,

happiness had vanished; and if there was some kind of general meeting

of the noblemen, it was only on the occasion of either their name-day

or a wedding. Listening to all classes of society, I heard one

grumble about the Mayor: first that he did not live within a mayor's

means, and furthermore, to the shame of the nobility and its rank, he

would drive around the city on Thursdays with no less than six

horses. Servants were scarce. On the tsar's days he gave dinners,

to which no one was invited except officials, and for such a small

number of guests people were hired from other houses. Also, only one

girl named Sara Ivanovna looked after five and almost six children,

and the poor children were trained to dress themselves by the time

they were four years old, so that she had only to prepare what they

wore. "If you please," everyone said, "this is not noble!" But the

main thing that filled everyone with indignation was that he did not

take bribes. "What is it to me that he will not take bribes?" every-

231

one said, "In return, I will not do any business with him." In that

century there were no complaints about bribes, but there was the

following reproach from society. "Here," they said, "was a fool.

The dead so and so. For twenty-five years, he was the secretary of

the civic chamber, but died--buried for nothing!" There were two

people in Kursk whose names were written down on calendars in every

citizen's house who had dealings. These were P. M. Torzhevsky and

L. S. Bekanov. However, in the district of Sudzha, the famous

personality, Kotelnikov, was included. This was the same man Gogol

spoke several words about in Dead Souls, including the sentence, "Take

us as you find us." All three personalities mentioned were con­

sidered rare people because they took bribes and worked while others

took everything and did nothing. The last was an astonishing man for

that century, although I am afraid his service was rough. He was a

clerk all his life for district police officers. I knew him when he

revealed that he was working for his thirtieth district police

officer. "What will result," he said, "from the election of the new

district police officer, especially one who formerly served in the

military. It is impossible to get near him; he is like a wild

stallion that kicks forward and backward and bites, but when you

stroke him, he becomes a good mount!" This man was noted for his

exceptional memory, so that very often people would come from other

municipalities to ask if he knew of a law that would be applicable in

a certain case. And even upon the issuance of a new edict they would

come to ask, "Well, Ivan Vasilevich, what do you say about the new

edict?" "Nothing at all! It has two loopholes." When a case

occurred somewhere which fell under the jurisdiction of this edict,

then of course, they would immediately run to Ivan Vasilevich and he

would point out the loophole, for which he took a fixed price. And

The description of the arrival of Chichikov at General Betrishchev's, Dead Souls, Part II, Chapter 2. Here Gogol took advantage of Shchepkin's tales.

232

he was always considered to be a noble gentleman.

From the looks of things, of course, the Mayor could not

please society, and even the police bitterly complained to him about

the following. At that time, Sudovshchikov's comedy, Unheard of p

Wonder or the Honest Secretary, was being played in the theatre. In

it a non-commissioned police officer was found out to be of bad

character, and every time the play was given, the landlord was

committed to send several tickets to the Chief of Police for which

money was paid. But the Mayor gave the order to the Police Chief

that these tickets in turn were to be distributed among the policemen

and that they were to be at the theatre without fail. Each time the

Mayor went to the theatre, he could see whether or not his instruc­

tions were being carried out. This comedy contains the following

scene: a policeman from the nobility, at the home of the chairman

(who was complaining that he was not well) said, "Your honor, why

don't you ask the doctors?" —"Oh, I am afraid of Frenchmen and

Germans!"

Policeman: Since you are afraid to engage a Frenchman, We have a policeman—who is really sharp in

treating the ill. Chairman; Did your policeman really study medicine? Policeman: He was formerly a stable boy for the court

physician; And there was a German horse doctor Who knew palmistry and medicine. So the policeman almost always milled around

him And observed more than enough to learn

medicine. Whether to cook poultice, or whether to

give an enema--He knows everything. He tried to help me . , .

Chairman; What happened to you?

Nikolai Rodionovich Sudovshchikov - dramatist at the end of the eighteenth century. Unheard of Wonder or the Honest Secretary, a satirical play, directed against the administration, was a novelty (published in Moscow in 1802),

233

Policeman; (Laughing) They gave me a star for bravery. Wednesday I was on duty in the parking area

of the theatre— A coachman accidentally hit me On the face with his fist.

Chairman: And you did not file a claim against him? Policeman: But how can I get involved in a suit with

him? They will blame you: Well, they will say,

how shameful it is To press charges against a coachman. But

it was a trifle! It sometimes happens that they beat us

even worse. Chairman; Yes, that's duty. Here there is nothing to

marvel at. In another case, the damage will be rewarded. (Pointing to his purse)

Both laugh, and the Policeman bows to the Chairman with apparent esteem.

The whole city pitied the poor policemen who were being

exhibited by the authorities for public ridicule.

Such was the spirit of society from 1801 to 1816! Unfortunate­

ly, It was not so just in Kursk. In 1816, I had already left Korsk

for good, and my first debut was in Kharkov, where I soon saw that

everything was the same. This is proven by the tale of Count 3

Sollogub, Lap-dog. It is written from one of my tales, and every­thing described was real, but much was softened by the author.

Those were the days! Thank God, we were brought up so that now

we are ashamed of those old ideas. Anyway, at the present time

there is no reason for Kursk to be insulted by the truth expressed

here. My memoirs will have one distinction—the truth. I will not

lie about anything. 1 will write down only that which actually

happened.

^Count Vladimir Alexandrovich Sollogub (1814-1882), author of "Tarantas," about which Belinsky sooke very sympathetically.

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Chapter IX; The Good Old Times

There is much I have seen in life that I have not written down;

but time, that great teacher, has shown me the necessity to pass on

to people much that I have been witness to. This story will fill in

the details of that century and the way of thinking of the people of

that time.

I remembered the next story for an incidental reason. About

three years ago, I was in a house together with General A. D. C. who

has known me for a long time and has always given me his attention.

A conversation was started up about the present times and about the

movement which had begun to stir in all strata of society. He

approved of much and rose in rebellion against much; but I, for my

part, told him that transitional periods were always like this: from

the past seven thousand years before us, it is plain to see that the

people do not mature with years, but with centuries. Thank God we

have grown to the idea that there is still much about us that is bad;

and we are not ashamed to realize it. Our youth takes advantage of

past mistakes and finds remedy, I said, "Be sure that everything

will improve. Oh, yes! Have you read, A. D., the poetry of the p

youth Shcherbin?" He answered, "No," —"Would you like for me to

read them to you?" When I had read through them, he said, "Yes,

they are good; it's just a pity that these sentences are not becoming

to today's younger generation, because the younger generation is

nothing more than trash. It was not like this in our time; our

generation was not for today's youth." Such speeches positively

stunned me and upset me so, that I, trying to extinguish the inner

agitation, said wery quietly, "Your Excellency has put me in a

"''Probably Alexander Dmitrievich Chertkov, archeologist and historian, founder of the famous Chertkov library,

^Nikolai Fyodorovich Shcherbin (1821-1869), a poet. His main income was from pictures of ancient life. Shcherbin also wrote several poems with civil themes, one of which Shcherbin loved very much; "The Acquittal."

235

difficult position. To dispute your opinion of your rank is awkward,

but to agree with your words at my age would be unscrupulous. Look

at me. General. I am not younger than you, but I hardly know the

Russian life better than you. You know it from the palace to your

guest rooms, but I know it from the palace to the lackey rooms. You

did not have the kind of vital motivation which would have forced you

to look a little deeper into today's life; but my road of life was

not so smoothed over by circumstances, like yours. However, my kind

of art has forced me to dig somewhat deeper into all strata of

society. I cannot draw out these pleasant reminiscences from life

which are presented to you so vividly. No, General, there was much

trash in our time, a hundred times worse, but we were not old enough

then to understand it." At this point, I felt that I had expressed

myself a little harshly and added, "Excuse me. General, for my pain­

ful truth. What can I do? I have barely lived in your circle and

therefore have not accustomed myself to gild the truth. I express it

in all its nakedness. But to convince you that this is not merely an

arrogant point of view, but the truth, I ask you, if you won't be

bored, to listen to a tale about an incident I was witness to. Every­

one that is contemporary with our generation. General, laughed at it

then. My story will make your every hair stand on end."

"Please, tell me of this incident," he answered.

"In 1802, as seen from my earlier stories, I went to the

people's school, and since I, a serf, had the impertinence to be the

best student, the whole city knew me. I was the one they called

'dear Misha, smart Misha,' They even patted me on the back and ten­

derly pinched my pudgy cheeks. Although I wasn't very old, I was

already a waiter. At that time a regiment was stationed in Kursk;

the regimental commander. Prince I. G. V. was on friendly terms with

our master. On his birthday that summer, the Prince took it into his

head for the city to give a dinner and a ball in camp, so he asked

the Count to send people to serve. This was on Sunday, and I became

not a student, but a waiter. All the trouble was laid on us. We set

out very early and took whatever was needed with us. We prepared

236

everything by the designated time, and I, instead of resting, went to

the tents of familiar officers, who knew me and were fond of me.

Along the way, I entered the tent of I. F. B. where there were

several officers and heard an argument. I. B. bet 500 rubles with

another officer that a soldier in his company, Stepanov, could with­

stand a thousand lashes and not fall. This astonished me, especially

as we knew I. B. as an extraordinary man. Now how do you like our

much-praised time? I realize that I tried to conceal my agitation,

fearful of exposing such a weakness. Meanwhile, they sent for the

soldier. The man appeared to be about eight versts tall, broad

shouldered, and fairly bony. B., in a soft, friendly voice, proposed

the following to him: 'StepanovJ I have wagered a sinenkaya and a

damask of vodka—can you endure a thousand lashes?' —'I'll be glad

to try, your Excellence!' It seemed to me that I lost my senses; I

unwittingly left the tent. Stepanov also left soon, and when he

walked past me, I could not help but say, 'Why did you agree to that.

Brother?' In answer to that he simply explained the problem, 'Eh,

lad, they would have given them to me for nothing anyway!' He waved

his hand and went along as though nothing had happened. I got my

dander up, and I went to the Prince's tent where there were many

people. Like a spoiled boy, I walked around the tent and smiled to

myself, but it was a bilious smile . . . The Prince, after patting me

on the head, asked, 'Why do you smile, dear Misha?' --'Your officers

make me laugh, your Highness.' Then I told him the amusing joke

about their wager. The following will verify that all this was taken

facetiously by society; several repeated, 'Ah, you little imp!'

Others echoed, 'Ah! What a Russian soldier this is? Well donei' It

seems, only one person looked on this event humanely. This was

Alexandra Abramovna Annenkova, who said, 'Prince, if you please.

3 One sinenkaya = one five-ruble note.

Countess Anna Abramovna, Volkenstein's sister.

237

although you can do as you wish on your birthday, you are a wretched

man after all!' Then the Prince, turning to me, said, 'Misha, I

dare say, call the imps here.' I did, and when they entered, the

Prince said to them, 'What kind of bet did you mischief makers

venture? Well, there is a woman who asks that it be stopped; I hope

that the woman's request is respected.' That, General, is our much

praised time!"

"But, one particular case does not depict an entire society," he answered.

"Well, here is another one that happened somewhat later. When

the 'Twelve Year Campaign'^ was ended, the militia returned home and

the serfs came back to their masters. For those who did not return,

the government gave out reimbursement receipts. One woman, very

learned of the times and society (even serfs spoke of her as a good

woman), who was a frequent dinner guest of the Countess' on name

days, without blushing, allowed herself to say in a conversation

about the past campaign, 'Imagine, how fortunate for Ivan Vasilevich.

He gave ten men to the militia, but only one returned, so he received

eight replacement receipts and there were only three thousand given

out. I gave twenty-six men and, to my misfortune, all returned—

What bad luck!' To these words, not one individual showed even the

slightest sign of unpleasantness toward the speaker. All agreed to

it, and several even added, 'Yes, God gives Ivan Vasilevich such

good fortune, but not to many!"

Here one of the guests entered and our conversation ended.

There was not a single false word in that conversation, only the

sacred truth, and I considered it a responsibility to enter it in my

memoirs.

^The War of 1812 between France and Russia.

Reimbursement receipts were given to what were called "hunters," who "voluntarily" served on wartime military duty, per­manent at that time.

238

Chapter X; The Actress Sorokina

In 1831, the director M. N. Zagoskin"^ took it into his head to

entrust me with the dramatics class in school.^ Not feeling com­

pletely capable, I thanked him for this offer and immediately con­

fessed that, in my opinion, I did not feel qualified for such a highly

important job; moreover, I was a bad declaimer. To this, Zagoskin

answered, "Take away your modesty! Tell me, who right now is more

experienced than you? Besides, all that your responsibility will

amount to is come to school and put on performances there with the

children so that the pupils will have been introduced to the art of

the stage, and it will be possible for me to add 2,000 rubles in

currency to your present salary so your large family can have more."

Really, my family then consisted of twenty-four people. After such

cogent arguments, I, of course, agreed. I said, "Tell me what time

I must appear at school." --"No, dear, I cannot fix the time, but

you drop by school sometime and, when the children are not busy, take

up with them." After assuming responsibilities of this kind and being

accustomed to fulfilling all my duties conscientiously, I was in school almost ewery day. Even on the days when I acted, I would drop

by there either before or after the rehearsal. Soon I became closely

acquainted with all the children. When there were some changes or

someone got sick, the regisseur often sent roles to school for a boy

or girl pupil to do. I asked him to send the roles straight to me,

and I would select who should get them. I distributed the roles to

whomever was next, considering, of course, ability. The children

noticed that I did not pass up anybody and that I distributed the

^Mikhail Nikolaevich Zagoskin (1789-1852), author of Yuri Miloclavsky and other novels and plays, in many of which Shchepkin appeared. In 1831, Zagoskin was appointed director of the Moscow Imperial Theatres.

^The theatre school of the Moscow Maly Theatre. The appoint­ment of Shchepkin as "teacher of declamation" in this school was on August 9, 1832.

239

roles completely fairly; this gained their love for me, and we liyed

in harmony, learned only a little, but sensibly.

Once 1 played in some play, I don't remember, in which one role

was given to the girl Sorokina, who had graduated from school about

six months earlier. Her role was small, but she struck me with her

harmonious voice; besides, each of her words were from the heart.

She was not a beauty, but she had the beauty of youth, a perfect

form, and an extraordinarily expressive face. That is why I could

not restrain myself. After the performance 1 asked her why, having

been in school, she did not try out to act in plays. "Oh, Mikhail

Semyonovich, who would have intervened in my behalf?" she answered.

"I myself am so shy and so distrustful of myself that I did not

consider it, and so I did not dare ask for a role. Thanks to our

teacher, N. I, Nadezhdin, I looked upon dramatic art as being so

great and unattainable for me." --"Nevertheless, I will speak with

the regisseur so that he will pay attention to you." Then it seemed

strange to me that she had been out of school for six months, and

she dressed poorly, though cleanly. Of course, they paid her a

salary of 250 rubles in currency. Even though many friends of hers

receiving the same salary paraded in silks and velvets, she did not

get out of linen dresses. Of course, I talked to the regisseur

about her and thought that for my part everything was done; but then

activities on the stage and in school diverted my attention, and sub­

sequently I forgot about her. About six months later they sent a

role to school and when I laid my eyes on it, I at once remembered

Sorokina. Then I set off to the theatre and said, "Why didn't you

take the role for Sorokina?" The regisseur answered me that the role

was passed on because of her illness. "That's another story, how­

ever; but maybe she will recover soon." The regisseur told me,

smiling, "Of course, she will recover, but not so soon; to put it

bluntly, she is pregnant." This was so usual on our stage that I

'^Nikolai Ivanovich Nadezhdin (.1804-1856)., distinguished critic and professor.

240

waved my hand and said, "Well, God be with her; but it's a pity, the

girl is nice." I did not dare ask whom she loved. Then after a

little while she appeared, again somewhat sad, very thin, and clothed

in a linen dress. I cannot estimate the time—a year later, maybe

more—she came to a rehearsal at the theatre as an employee of the

superintendent, D. V. He was among the casual acquaintances of the

director of the theatre who admitted him. This handsome individual

was with the director wery often during intermissions. All of us

know him very well. At the end of the rehearsal, he walked up to

me and said, "If you are free today, give me some time. I have a

serious request for you, but I must tell you the entire story from

the beginning before I ask it. Then you will fully realize the

entire significance of my request. Let's go right now to the hotel;

we will take a special room, eat there, and I will have time to tell

you everything." Not finding a reason to refuse, I agreed. "Only

allow me to send word home, so they will not wait on me for dinner;

a family man always does that."

We set out for the Troitsky Tavern where we took a free room

upstairs and ordered dinner. After dinner, D. V. asked me if I knew

that he was close to Sorokina and that this bond had continued for a

year and a half. As far as Sorokina's illness was concerned, I

noticed that he knew of her relationship with someone. If that some­

one were he, then he was not angry. Then I reproached him for

niggardliness, because the girl still wore linen dresses. "Thank you,

M. S., for your reproach; she forgives me, although I am completely

guilty without an excuse, I will now tell you everything in detail,

and then you can give me your advice as to how I can achieve my

goals. Here it is. Through friendly relations with the director, I

was backstage ewery day and more than a year after her graduation

something turned my attention to her. To my surprise, I found some­

thing in her that none of her friends had noticed--a lucid mind and

a warm heart. And so, wishing to find diversion in the future, I

conversed with practically no one except her. This made a strong

impression on her, and she became more and more attached to me with

241

all her soul. It was very nice for me, I admit. Although I myself

did not pay her, she was blinded by passion, and she thought that all

my simple, amiable speeches came from the heart. Finally they gave

her, as you know, a salary of 250 rubles currency. Being a man of

means, I was able to provide her in time with an excellent dowry with

which to marry; therefore I decided to continue the attack. Soon after

graduation, she acted in some play and I asked her during intermission

if she was on throughout the play. 'No,' she answered, 'I am through,

but I do not drive alone; I must wait until the end of the perform­

ance. ' --'If you wish, I will drive you and at the same time find out

your apartment. I hope you will allow me to take you.' She blushed

and said, 'But surely they will notice, and the rumors will fly. How

many rumors there will be about your tender treatment of me!' --'If you

do not wish them to see us, walk around the corner of the theatre, and

I will be there with the rig.' And then I took her hand, which was

all afire and trembling. She squeezed my hand, and almost choking,

said, 'Very well!' and left immediately. I, of course, wasted no time

in ordering a rig. She appeared. I sat her in the rig and, not asking

about her apartment, gave the order to go; the coachman already knew

where. She was in such a dither that when we arrived . . . she did

not pay attention to where she had been taken. When we entered the

room, she was in a frenzy. Her eyes burned strangely when they turned

to me . . . then, I confess, I became ashamed for her. With much ten­

derness, I wanted to bring her to realize what she was doing, but noth­

ing helped. I finally decided to take her home and asked about her

apartment. She remained in this condition all the way home; every min­

ute she convulsively squeezed my hand, kissed it, and, when we parted,

she embraced me and kissed me so, that I confess there are no words to

express my feelings. At that very moment she was inundated with bitter

tears, and through her ache, she could hardly say, 'Drop by tomorrow

at least for a minute or I will surely die.' Of course, I gaveTny word,

let her pass through the wicket gate, and went home, exceptionally dis­

pleased with myself and my bad actions. I had really done something

underhanded. But, I thought, in order to make amends, I will take her

242

presents she does not expect; and I hoped, God grant, that she would

forget about her loss. The next day, being free of official duties,

I immediately drove to the Kuznetsky bridge and bought everything I

thought she would need. I did not begrudge the money; there was every­

thing here; velvets, materials for dresses, and diamonds. I com­

forted myself thinking how pleased she would be. She met me in the

doorway and with an indescribably joyful expression threw herself on

my neck. In several minutes my man brought baskets and various pack­

ages with the purchases into the room. When he left, she asked, 'What

is this?' I said that they were presents for her and that there was

still more, I took a diamond brooch and a package with 200 rubles out

of my pocket. 'The latter, of course, is for your expenses,' I said.

'I do not want you to be in need of anything.' Suddenly a frightening,

deathlike pallor covered her rosy cheeks, and she said with difficulty,

'All this is for me? Me?' --'Yes, my darling! Why are you so dis­

tressed? I wanted to give you pleasure with these trifles.' But with

these words, a frightening moan tore from her breast; she staggered,

and if I had not caught her, she would have fallen to the floor. After

setting her down, I said nothing to her. Her sobs were the answer to

all this. Finally coming to herself, she stood up and pointed to the

door, saying, 'If you please, leave me and take all your treasures with

you; I did not sell myself! If I have endowed you with myself, it was

not mercenary; I thought that for this sacrifice, you would return my

love for you with all your might. You did not understand me; I was

disappointed in you. Leave me forever!' And with those words, she

ran out and slammed the door. I am not afraid to state my position to

you. But how was I to know that I would find such a creature in this

theatrical sphere when in the best straits of society we were not

meeting such phenomena as she. Of course, I did not love her, but

this action forced me to respect her; and where there is respect, there

is also love. I will not tire you with details. I will only say

that it was terribly difficult for me until we reconciled and she

^The name of a Moscow street where the best shops were located.

243

forgave me out of consideration for my sufferings, which were sincere

that time. Every time I visited her, things improved, I did not of­

fer her anything, and she was happy in her linen dresses. I loved her

more and more with each day, and every time I was free, I would go to

her and we would go out to dine. Once I said to her, "I would dine

at your place, but you would have nothing to eat yourself. If you

would permit, I would give you money for my food.' She smiled, 'Don't

worry about me,' she said. 'I am satisfied! If you want to eat here,

then the guest room is right next to me; you may designate the specific

time and day you will come to dinner, but not often. Do not forget

that you have a father and mother, and they seldom see you. This is

not good.'

Finally an idea flashed across my mind: why don't I marry her.

It is true, I thought, I will never find a better wife. However, I

recognize now that the inequality of positions--this timely prejudice--

suppressed my bright idea. To my amazement. Mother dropped by in the

middle of the morning to see me, which was not usual, and she delicate­

ly began to complain that I had completely forgotten her, that we al­

most never see each other. "In the mornings you go to work without

seeing us,' she said, 'and at night you return after we have gone to

bed.' I wanted to be excused, but she stopped me. 'Do not make up

anything. I know everything; I know where you spend your time. I con­

fess that I have trespassed; through several of my close friends I have

found out everything about her. I know that she is a fine, modest

girl, and if you yourself find everything in her and think that she is

necessary for your happiness, then you had better marry her. I have

already talked it over with Father, and he agrees.' I did not know

how to thank her and told her all about our past. This had such an

impact on Mama that she sobbed like a baby. In a rush of maternal feel­

ings, she embraced me, kissed me, and praised me, saing, 'No, my lad,

get married; without fail, get married. God has given you not a wife,

but a treasure. And if you do not do it, there will be a great sin

on your soul! But this marriage would bring eternal joy to us old

folks. Besides that, you will stay at home in our sight. You will

244

be so happy possessing such a treasure.' That wery day after work I went to her with the good news, and when I arrived, she saw in my face

that something pleasant had happened. 'What's wrong with you?' she

asked. 'I have not seen you with such a happy face in a long time.'

—'Yes, I bring you news, joyous for us both. My parents somehow

found out about you and are permitting me to marry; and so, my darl­

ing, I am asking for your hand in marriage.' It is impossible to des­

cribe her happiness. She flooded with tears, threw both her arms

around my neck, and through tears, said, 'Now, my darling, I am com­

pletely happy; it is clear by your action that you love me as strongly

as I love you. To show you my gratitude for your love, I will not

marry you. Why should I? I am happy. I know that this is my sacri­

fice, but it is necessary for my total happiness. You reason to your­

self that you ask for my hand with your parents' consent, satisfying

your desire. And after taking me as your wife, how would I repay you

for your love and for the kindness of your parents?--with ingratitude.

With me I would bring shame to your family. It is true. People will

not forget what I was, will not forgive my impudence, and with various

hints, they will lard over me. You will be embarrassed in front of

them because of me. Think well about my refusal; consider what would

follow, and you will see that I do what an honest girl must do. I have

evaluated your offer deep in my heart; it completely proved to me your

love. What more should there be for me? I am happy. Do not denounce

my refusal; it comes straight from my loving heart.'"

D. V. found himself in a most difficult position and hurried tc r?,e

with a request to speak with her, to explain that this is an unneces­

sary sacrifice for her. "I know that she respects you wery much," he added, "and your words will be more effective for her than others."

I promised to carry out his request and then added that her actions

were noble; that he must not condemn one who lacks spirit; that I sin­

cerely wished that my troubles would bring benefit, although after all

was said, I doubted that I would be successful. The very next day, I

went to her house and had no success. "I did not tell him the main

reason for my refusal," she remarked, "but I will tell you in the hope

245

that it will remain between us. After marrying him, ewery minute I

would be frightened for him and for myself. There are so many wicked

tongues in the world! Someone would caustically laugh at me; and be­

cause of his love for me and his passionate disposition, he would take

it into his head to protect me. A quarrel might result which would

very likely end in a duel and even his death, and I would be the reason

for it. Put yourself in my place and judge how you would act. To my

shame, I must also add that I fear something else. Now when he is with

me and complains of a headache, I believe him, because if he no longer

loves me, he can leave. But when I am his wife and he has a headache,

I will unfortunately think that it is because of me. What kind of

life would that be! No, my decision is unchangeable. Thank you, Mi­

khail Semyonovich, for your help; I regret that I could not satisfy

your wish. Moreover, I respect you very much. Do not forget me, and

keep silent what I have told you." When I passed on to him our con­

versation and her firm will, he began to ask my advice as to what to

do, I advised him to return to his mother. "Since your parents have

already given their consent, then ask your mother to go to her and talk

things over with her herself," I said. "A woman's mind is more famil­

iar with what touches the heartstrings, especially when everything will

be expressed in a mother's voice."

He did that very thing, but a little later I found out that she

agreed to only one compromise. So, upon the request of the old mother,

who prevailed upon her with tears in her eyes, "Do not rob us of our

son; come to live with us; you will have a special room, and our son

will be with us." She agreed. When she moved in with them, they

treated her like a daughter-in-law; but she constantly kept away from

society. For example, she would sit with the old folks and read some­

thing to them (she read very well and therefore gave much pleasure);

suddenly a rig would roll up to the entrance—she would jump up imme­

diately and leave for her room, with the book still in her hand. The

old ones came to life because of her; they admired her. They mentioned

marriage sometimes, but all was useless. This continued for no less

than two years.

246

Somehow on guard duty, D. V. caught a chill, and because he was

young, he decided to do without medication. He came down with a fright­

ful quivering fever. It was impossible to look upon her without com­

passion. She did not leave him day or night and could no longer hide

whenever someone came to visit the sick man. At last the doctors said

that he was in great danger. Tomorrow there would be a sudden change,

and God willing, maybe youthful stamina would bring him through. In­

deed the next day he regained consciousness and began to recognize

everyone; only he was still very weak. The doctors said, "Well, thank

God, he's a little better; but what will tomorrow bring? Don't say

much to him; it is bad for his weakness. It would be better to say

something funny to him, so he will smile sometimes; that would be good

for him," According to the mother, the poor emaciated girl made up

amusing stories for him. It is really a pity that there was no one to

write them down! Where did she get them all! When the sick man smiled

at the stories, there was no limit to her happiness. Thus she enter­

tained him up to the last minute of his life. The illness prevailed;

the ailing man died; and a frightening hysterical laugh was heard in

his room. The mother ran in and found him already dead, and the girl

was saying something with a frightening laugh, incoherent and quiet.

The doctor came in and said that she had gone mad.

Twenty-five years have passed, and she still laughs all the time

and knits stockings for the dead man. I intend to visit her in the

insane asylum and see how she is getting along.

It would have been a sin not to write down this tale.

They have two children who were placed in a foundling home. The

mother of the deceased, upon her husband's death, was left with no near

relatives, so she turned her entire fortune into money and put it in

trust in the names of her son's children. Where are they now? What

has happened to them? I have no idea.

247

Chapter XI: The Christmas Visit of the Moscow Governor-General, Prince D. V. Golitsyn, to M. S. Shchepkin

S, T. Aksakov in his literary reminiscences talks a great deal 2

about the theatre in Moscow and, by the way, about A. I. Pisarev,

who served in the theatre as an aide to the repertory manager.

Pisarev was a remarkable personality. Much said of him is very in­

teresting, but much still has not been revealed. Aksakov mentioned

some things, and some things he did not know. I consider it a sacred

duty to supplement everything that has been simply reported. This

will elucidate this gifted man even more. For example, Aksakov

refers to two incidents. The first is about a surprise given by the

company and many of his Highness' readers on Christmas, the name day 3 4

of D. v., for which Pisarev wrote some verses. The second is how

one of Pisarev's vaudevilles was publicly hissed off the stage. Each

incident had its own beginning and end, and everything together com­

pletes the picture of this great, morbid, and bitter man, as well as

explains our positions in society. It also shows the change which

occurred in society's attitude toward actors, which was the main

reason for the surprise given on Christmas for the patronage of

Sergei Timofeevich Aksakov (1791-1859), famous writer, author of memoirs. Family Chronicle. He was one of Shchepkin's closest friends, and often wrote of Shchepkin in his own theatrical reminiscences.

^Alexander Ivanovich Pisarev (1803-1828), author of many vaudevilles and fiery couplets, in his own time achieved huge success. He was a brilliant writer of what is known today as the "Living Newspaper" literary form.

^Prince Dmitri Valdimirovich Golitsyn (1771-1844), from 1820 until his death, was Governor-General of Moscow.

^This was not Prince Golitsyn's name day, but his birthday. The actors Saburov, Ryazantsev, and Kubishta came to the party with Shchepkin. They, along with the amateurs Arapov, Verstovsky, Zagoskin, and Pisarev acted out a comic improvisation. Rehearsal at the Station, or To Serve with Pleasure—My Heart Lies."

248

D. V. Golitsyn.

About eighteen months, or maybe a little less, before the

holiday mentioned, Pisarev considered it his duty to make a small

observation to the actress Vetrinskaya about her carelessness and

absentmindedness. He did this in a rather delicate manner. But she

did not understand this delicacy and became very insulted. At the

first chance, she complained to the Prince, and in her complaint

changed the entire essence of the affair. Also, she added that he

had insulted her in front of the whole company and that he slandered

her in rough language. The Prince, in his straightforwardness, could

not think of anything to smooth things over. He believed her and,

looking upon art with respect, ordered Kokoshkin, the director of

the theatre, to tell Pisarev that he knew how to manage women and

that he should not take an indecent tone or he would be relieved of

his duties.

You can imagine the frightening effect these words had on this

sickly man. And what's more, Zagoskin badgered him with suggestions

to write Dmitry Vladimirovich some couplets for the interludes.

"Yes," Pisarev answered bitterly, "I will write him some couplets,

only because he wants to drive me out of the theatre, which is my

whole life." He completely forgot his own insult to Pisarev. Since

there were so many excellent humane sides to the Prince, Pisarev

took them into consideration, but did not rush to flatter—in his

couplets only one truth was expressed and poured out so warmly, so

sympathetically, that everyone was delighted. The day of the holiday

is described in detail by Mr. Arapov in a special brochure.

^Fyodor Fyodorovich Kokoshkin (1773-1838), author of many unsuccessful plays, managed the Moscow theatres from 1826 to 1831.

^Pimen Nikolaevich Arapov (1797-1861), dramatist and historian of the Russian theatre. "Annals of the Russian Stage" was published in 1861 This-was about the Russian theatre, arranged in chronological order dating back to November 26, 1825,

249

Therefore I will not say a word about it, but will only tell about

the impression made on the Prince by the couplets during the reading

onstage. When they were given to the Prince, he read them and sobbed

like a child.

Yes! To see the old man adorned with grey hair and pouring out

sweet tears, regardless of his great dignity—all this strongly

stirred the soul.

And just what was in these couplets? Nothing more than his

past, nothing reproaching his life, and that's all.

After the presentation we were all invited into the guest room.

Having expressed his thanks earlier to the one in charge, turning to

Pisarev and taking his hand, the Prince said, "Old man, you have

given me a time I will never forget, and I boldly say that for the

rest of my life I will remember nothing but this joyous day." Then

turning to us, he expressed his thanks and invited us to be his

guests and above all to be completely at home. During the course of

the evening, he would abandon his guests and return, without paying

us the slightest attention.

Yes! This was the first time in my life that we were regarded

not only as actors, but also as people. It must have been apparent

what kind of influence this had, not on us, but on Pisarev—pressing

my hand, "I did not know this other side of him," he said. But he

was affected when the Prince left everyone after supper and came over

to us, talked to me about our art, what popularity it enjoys in

Europe, and offered a toast that the dramatic art develop into an

artistic form. Then he presented another toast to actors who had

given him such an evening, with a spirited wish for our great

successes in this art.

250

Chapter XII; M. S. Shchepkin's Story of His Ransom

Returning to Poltava, my subscription continued. S. M. 2

Kochubeya subscribed 500 rubles; Colonel Taptakov played cards for 3

my happiness and added half his winnings--l,100 rubles. The entire 4

subscription was entrusted to someone from the office of the Prince,

and since this was not carried out too well, when the time came to

finish the business, the total sum collected was 5,500 rubles. The

difference was paid by the Prince himself, Novikov summoned me to

his home and told me that the Prince had commissioned him to ask me if

there was a friend in Kursk to whom the Prince could give the power of

attorney and send the money by trustee for the formal act of

Shchepkin's ransom from serfdom is a whole story in itself; involved, confused, and deeply dramatic. Lasting almost four years, it is an exceptionally vivid illustration of the absence of civil rights ir> those times.

On one side, Shchepkin's swift success in the province drew him to the attention of the extraordinarily influential personage, "the Ukrainian Governor-General Prince Repnin," who decided to help the actor buy his freedom.

On the other hand, however, this same success converted Shchepkin into a profitable "commodity" for his owners for which it was possible to receive a high price. This resulted in Shchepkin finding himself a celebrity within a hair's breadth of freedom—An excellent account of M. S. Shchepkin's ransom can be found in a book by A. Dorman, The Moscow Maly Theatre Actor Shchepkin (The Moscow Worker, Moscow, 1951). ~

^In this connection, S. M. Kochubeya noted that his first name did not appear on the subscription list and he subscribed not 500 rubles, but 250.

^This is also inaccurate. Colonel Taptakov subscribed not 1 100 rubles, but 1,992 rubles of his card winnings. This, however, did not change anything. Shchepkin counted upon these winnings in vain, because Politemeister Kitsenkov did not pay his debt for a long time.

^This official, unnamed by Shchepkin, was Aleksei Osipovich Imberkh the acting Councillor of State, author of "Notes" printed in "Russian Old Days." At the time Shchepkin was writing his memoirs, Imberkh was still living, so naturally the actor did not name him.

251

dismissal. I said that there was a man in Kursk who had always been

fond of me and had known me for a long time, the director of the high

school, I. S. Kologrivov. He had also been the director of the

theatre. I was sure that he, in his goodness, would not refuse to

solicit for my freedom.

He said, "Write to him and ask him if he will represent the

Prince and take these troubles upon himself in your behalf. If he is

willing, then ask him to notify you of his readiness. At the same

time, he will give the Prince great pleasure."

Of course, I wrote to Kologrivov and after a week and a half,

I received an answer. He said that he would be sincerely glad to

help me and that he would be indebted to the Prince if he would en­

trust such a noble deed to him, "... and thank you for entrusting

this to me and not another. It means that you remember how I 5

always you, even when I taught you in the people's school,

I gave the letter to Novikov; the Prince in his letter to

Kologrivov, sent the power of attorney and 8,500 rubles--500 rubles

for concluding the transaction. At the end of 1818, in December it

seems, Kotlyarevsky informed me that everything had been completed

and the deed of purchase had been sent to the Prince.

This news so puzzled me that I was not immediately encouraged

to ask, "What kind of receipt? —Didn't the Prince ransom me and not

purchase me?" At last I decided to ask, and this was the answer:

He said, "This was done out of necessity. The trustee asked

for a permit for the sale, consequently the deed had to be transacted

in this manner. The Prince added 3,000 rubles himself, which

^Here something is deleted from the original publication.

^Ivan Petrovich Kotlyarevsky (1769-1838), famous Ukrainian writer, author of the plays Natalka-Poltavka and Moskal, the Wizard, the first of which is still in the repertory of the Ukrainian theatre Natalka-Poltavka was first presented in 1819 on the stage of the Poltava theatre, with Shchepkin in the cast.

252

obligates you to him, of course."

"But," I said, "I must bring my father and my family to

Poltava; so request the Prince to write the trustee at least to loan

rtie carts to move then, because I do not have the means in my present

position. It will be difficult to live separated, because when the

purchase is completed, my father will probably forfeit those benefits

which he, like all manor serfs in general, is receiving from the

estate."

"I said I would tell the Prince about this,"

"But ask, please, that they do not deprive him until spring,

because it is impossible for him to leave right now. He has a farm,

cattle, horses, bees—all this has to be sold, even if for next to

nothing,"

"Very well, the Prince will write all this."

And so, instead of being free, I was a serf again. The only

difference was that formerly my father was receiving wheat and other

grain, firewood, and hay for managing the affairs of the Master, as

well as the house in which he lived. Now all this was in my hands;

Father, Mother, Brother, four sisters, a niece; then my wife and I

with three children. This came to the unlucky number--thirteen. How

this would come out, only God could tell. I thought that with a

salary of two thousand, which I was receiving, with thirteen souls in

the family, I could never repay the Prince the 3,000 he paid.

Although life in Poltava was not expensive, all this money was not

enough to maintain the family. One apartment with firewood was about

500 rubles; then a housemaid; then tea, sugar, food, footwear, and

clothes for thirteen people. But I thought: my wife is a marvelous

manager, and my sisters could help—God willing, we could somehow

continue to live. And I began still more conscientiously to engage

in my business. More and more I thought about acting.

Finally, spring arrived. My father's family was moved to

^Here something is deleted from the original publication.

253

Poltava, but not in carts; my father hired movers and sold his entire

farm quickly, though very cheaply—and he had enough money to buy a

tiny farm where we settled. o

Brother, who was taken from the district school, was placed in

a high school as soon as possible, through the solicitation of the

director, Kotlyarevsky, and our life started to drag on in a most

inadequate way.

^Abram Semyonovich Shchepkin (according to one historian born in 1805; according to another in 1802; died in 1895), youngest hrnther of M S. Shchepkin. He authored unpublished notes on the m e and work of his older brother, Mikhail, whom he outlived by thirty-two years.

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