"Pain's quieter — your hand,
Whitebodied color of magnolia — your hand.
Love knocked on my door at wintery midday,
And holding a sable fur — your hand".
- Parnok.
The fish should first rot in its head and in imperial Russia, the head was Petrograd, a giant state apparatus sparked, it had begun to disintegrate slowly. The streets echoed with mock poems depicting the supposed situations within the Ermitage painfully coincidentally. At times, it seemed as if Petrograd had become a city of women, it was flooded with refugees from the western provinces, and prostitutes walked through Nevsky in the middle of the night without being obstructed. The light glimmering on the canals and Neva, and pastel palaces of Petrograd were as breathtaking as before, but now there was strong dissatisfaction in the air, the war went badly, rumors and newspapers said Nicholas II had traveled to the front to support the troops and raise morale, but the gesture was too late, the cold and indifferent attitude of the tsar towards the events of 1905 and the suffering of the masses, the people, and the numerous imprisonments, arrests, and executions were remembered still, and the socialists and different political agitators pointed that out, often, but the middle class and various officals of Duma supported the war.
Zinaida Nikolaevna had stated wryly to me in one evening " Why is it that in general war is evil, yet this war alone is somehow good?" It came to pass that most of the countrys leading writers supported the war and volunteered, as Gumiljov had done, to the front. It was clear in the intelligentsia that there was idea that search a sense of belonging, a more common purpose like war would bring about Russias spiritual reneval by forcing individual to sacrifice himself for the good of nation.
I often thought, Walter, when I observed such fierce speeches, in different salongs, and there was a cold spot in my soul. He still wrote to me fiercely, but now the mail from Canada took longer, and longer, and the envelopes were dirty, and stained.
We didn't write about the current situation, we wrote about everything else, but everything on some level was related to the war, it was everywhere. Walter once asked if there were still swans in the Summer Garden pond, or if they had been hunted by hungry crowds, I replied that they had disappeared as early as the end of September, I really hoped they were flying somewhere free, but such a wish was not realistic, there was no time or energy for dreams, not anymore.
There was also varying opinions that the war was finally the Last Judgment, the press wrote, a lyrical strong ethos of the rediscovered unity of the Russian people, and one culmination was that the Duma disbanded in patriotic enthusiasm, so as not to cause "too much policy" to the government in a state of war, as the Dumas president informed the ministers in the Tauride Palace. The broad truth was that the greatest mass had not yet touched the brutal reality of the war, the millions of peasants, they knew only their own villages deep in the Russian provinces, and their faith and knowledge of the causes of the war, of the assassination of the Archduke, of Serbia and Germany, were non-existent, but they went when they had to, and the workers sent to the front, they knew no middle class at all, the of war enchantment, were nil. In those train stations had no orchestras, no flowers, and the appearance of most soldiers was submissive, and the step heavy.
In terms of the scale of its military forces, Russia was relatively equal with Germany, but very soon as the war turned into a two-front war, and the weaknesses of the Russian army were exposed, and the losses began, in the fields of Europe. The army, it was too rigid, large, to withstand frontline changes, and other central powers, had been able to modernize, and plan beyond six months on, Russia had not, I pondered as I read the daily changing reports of mass casulaities.
The European opera world had sparkled as Maria Kuznetsova had funded one season of Ballet Russes, and had performed the german composer Strauss ballet, called La Légende de Joseph it was a great success, especially the staging and costumes had been praised, but the production had also provoked scandals, some thought why Kuznetsova did not sing, but dance and at ballet too. I was amused by that, especially when we in Mariinsky knew she had gained her stripes first as a dancer the opera had come a little later.
Since Kuznetsova was in Europe, there was a power vacuum in Mariinsky, for a leading soprano, and I was tried hard to be pushed into that role, but my popularity was not yet to the point that that place was worth it, and I did not want to step Kuznetsovas toes. Mariinsky's internal bloody politics was sometimes really exhausting, constant competition, the varied struggles, but the music and the audience were worth it.
I had been immersed in the last month's La Boheme. I simply loved to perfom that opera, partly because of maestro Puccinis music is absolutely wonderful in it, all the sweeping and shimmering shades of life. It is sincere account of the collective of artists and poets in the attics of Paris, the poverty that prevailed there was a very realistic interpretation of late 19th-century society.
While walking in Momartre in Paris, I had often looked at the facades of houses and especially the attic floors and wondered how many intermittent artist souls and generations had lived in the area. How many poets, musicans, seamstresses, shopkeepers, painters, and sculptors and their muses I had accidentally encountered on the streets. Puccini's popularity in La Boheme was based not only on the romance of the music, or the love story at the center, the endless and lovely loveduets, of both pairs of lovers, but in fact its main theme was living outside society, as all the central figures Rodolfo, poet, Mimi, seamstress,Marcello, painter, Musetta, coquettish singer, Schaunard, musican, and Colline, philosopher, form a close unit during the opera, their own family. That's why Mimi's last aria is so effective in part, as it breaks the magic circle the audience is lulled into. My performance as Mimi was a tour de force, for the first moment, or so the critics had written. Mimi is the poor seamstress, sweet as a nightingale in the meadow, at sunset, delicate and modest, and then the love comes and sweeps her off her feet.
At the operas third act, my voice glowed with despair and deep sorrow as the Donde lieta uschi came. That aria is, in its simplicity, both partly farewell and a petition to stay together until the advent of spring. I noticed the audience listening intently, and my Rodolfo cried openly as he listened to my appeal. The Mariinskys stage was full of artificial snow, and the electric lights created pale arches on our faces.
For the fourth and final act, is effective in its silent submission, and the final duet of Mimi and Rodolfo Sono andanti? is heartbreaking. As I had observed in despair withering of Virginie, for the rest of my life, I gained a unique weapon for roles like this, an advantage I shamelessly took it. The emotion of that aria was such that the audience cried profusely, as my voice glimmered and bled like a blood, in Mimi´s resignation, and sorrow as she gently slipped towards death and remembered earlier happier times with her beloved.
Applause had shaken the stage, and we were asked to take the stage at least more than ten times, we might still be standing there, if it weren't for Rodolfo, who signaled to the stage master to close the curtains. It was over eleven in the evening and I walked the fastest way from Mariinsky home quickly, as the curfew was in place.
At home I noticed that there was envelope at the mat, with written in a unkown hand, the handwriting was small, graceful, and hooked, with traditional Cyrillic orthography. I opened the envelope, and smiled, for the letter had been written by Tsvetaeva. The most strange feeling overwhelmed me as I read those pages, it felt like I had gotten a glimpse of her soul, all that uncertainty that exuded from her in person ecounters, was gone. I sat down in the chair and read on, eagerly, the pages turned, then suddenly, I rubbed my eyes:
" For the last few months I have lived with and traveled around with Sonja, sneaking our way, like thieves, towards Crimea and Koktebel, glowing and beautiful pale cliffs and the blue sea, and all around Russia. Everyone is indignant, they don't understand what has happened, but I've encountered something wonderful, unique and sweet in her, we complement each other, but sometimes we argue too much. Sonja has not been well received by acquaintances and friends at all, although her criticism and talent is impressive, when we were in Moscow, recently Mandelstam was very hostile.
Alja loves, Sonja, and especially the little monkey, they play with each other for hours as Sonja and I delve into each other. I have started writing a series of poems for Sonja, it is powerful, like a tidal wave, I attach a few verses to this letter that you will get an idea. I approach you because I know you do not judge, because you also have a girlfriend, that sweet dark-haired woman dressed in purple silk, where is she now? Serzoja enlisted on the front. Please write back and tell me what you think of the verses."
I took a deep breath and read the verses attached to the letter, they were impressive, inspired and painful. Tsvetaeva had captured with a few lines, the whole atmosphere of that evening in the salong of Gertsyk:
With a gratuitous motion
I stood up, they surrounded us.
And someone in a joking tone:
"Get acquainted, gentlemen."
With some man, looking askance,
Already anticipating the confrontation, —
I reclined in the chair,
Spinning a ring on my finger.
You took out a cigarette
And I brought a match up to it,
Not knowing what I would do, if
You were to look me in the face.
At the end my eyes were filled with tears. I lifted my teaglass in homage to them to Marina and Sonja. Gently humming Mimi´s theme I went to play Virginies composition. The music was glowing and living, and with it endless wonderful memories.
A/N:
Puccini's opera La Boheme is known for its deep and romantic musicality, its touching love duets, of which there are many in the work. The most famous of the first act is a love duet, as well as from the second act Musetta's waltz. The arias referred by Elizabeth deal with Mimi's development during the opera, they are all really moving.
The Tsvetaeva-Parnok relationship lasted for a time, but it left a strong mark on the production of both poets. Tsvetaeva's Podruga(girlfriend) cycle consists of 14 poems, it is a wonderful, moving and challenging work As Tsvetaeva is almost impossible to translate, something always is lacking, here in original are those three verses of podruga-cycle that are enclosed in the fictive letter to Elizabeth.
Движением беспричинным
Я встала, нас окружили.
И кто-то в шутливом тоне:
«Знакомьтесь же, господа».
С каким-то, глядевшим косо,
Уже предвкушая стычку, —
Я полулежала в кресле,
Вертя на руке кольцо.
Вы вынули папиросу,
И я поднесла Вам спичку,
Не зная, что делать, если
Вы взглянете мне в лицо.