I was walking along Nevsky Prospekt recently past Katka’s Kindergarten, and two respectable ladies came towards me and asked, pointing to a building with columns:
– Tell me, please, what kind of theater is this?
– Alexandrinsky! – I readily answer.
– Is Alexandrinsky the same as Mariinsky?
I’m stunned.:
– What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? One theater is a drama theater, the other is an opera and ballet theater. Alexandrinsky – in honor of Empress Alexandra, Mariinsky – in honor of Empress Maria.
“How difficult everything is here in St. Petersburg…” the ladies muttered and left.
The Mariinsky is, of course, a complex organism. But getting there is not a problem and not a ruin. The main thing is not to rush into super–hyped and arch-fashioned performers and conductors. For my husband and me, the work generally comes first, and only then we look at who exactly “rattles the lyre” and “waves the wand.” Of course, there are beloved and unloved characters – and how can there not be if you go to the theater often. Fortunately, there is a choice: a historical stage, a New stage and a Concert hall, the most favorite. Because you won’t listen to the same opera, even in different compositions, several times in a row, and a variety of music is played in a concert hall. There are performances there too, and some more! For example, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream–” an opera by Britten with shaky, mesmerizing melodies, is simply magically staged: children from the circus school in white tunics descend on long legs from hatches in the ceiling and spin in the air like Shakespeare’s elves. They’re supposed to sing, so the student choir sings in their young, clear voices instead. The performances of the young choreographers at this venue were also pleasing, one more interesting than the other. Millau’s “Bull on the Roof” was actually played and danced so that the Brazilian carnival is resting!
The new stage opened about fifteen years ago, and then only lazy did not practice criticism and wit. However, everything is clearly visible and audible from anywhere, there is a place to wander during the intermissions: spacious and beautiful foyers with panoramic windows and theatrical costumes in the windows, comfortable armchairs and there are no humiliating queues for toilets. But there are friendly female ushers who allow you to transfer to more expensive vacant seats.
Such a number will not work in the old Marinka! There, even in order to enter your box, you need to show your ticket an additional time – or what if we have insidiously penetrated from the plebeian third tier to the noble second? By the way, our “family” box is located on the second tier – it’s on the side, on the right side. More than a hundred years ago, my great-grandmother Maria Georgievna, a graduate of the Smolny Institute, who married “Mr. engineer”, my great-grandfather, bought permanent seats in it. The second tier, of course, is not a dress circle, but it is also suitable. As Baba Manya used to say: “Inexpensive, but decent.”
During my barefoot childhood, no one rented boxes in the Mariinsky anymore, and in general it was the Kirov Theater. However, my first memories of ballet are from there, from above and a little from the side. At the age of five, I was brought to the Nutcracker, and while listening to music and admiring the snowflake waltz, I suddenly saw a piano in the orchestra pit – what would you think? – Chorus! A dozen and a half women in dark dresses stood and “sang gently a snowy melody.” This fact shocked me so much that I exclaimed to the whole theater: “It turns out that ballerinas don’t sing!” Laughter swept through the hall, my great-grandmother sternly said: “Shhh!” But I could see that she was smiling. And then, six or seven years later, I went on this stage myself, including in The Nutcracker. Dolls, mice, children on the Christmas tree – all this was called “stage practice of pupils of the A.Ya. Vaganova Choreographic College.” They took me there somehow not terribly, from figure skating. Of course, they asked to depict the Polka in a circle – this is an obligatory Vaganov ritual. And for some reason they asked: “Can you sit on one leg?” “How many times and on which one?” – I inquired matter-of-factly and, without waiting for instructions, began to squat as usual. That’s how the endless tondu-plie-releves, worn-out legs and “adagio from the word “hell” began.
There was an old bakery on the corner of Rossi Street and Lomonosov Square. My friend and I, having counted the coppers, ran there after class and squeaked: “Give us 27 grams of dried fruits!” The saleswoman, almost crying, threw a generous handful into the bag and, without weighing, gave it back. By the way, 27 grams is six whole pieces!
The highlight of my ballet career was the pas de trois of the shepherds from The Nutcracker. At the exit, we were supposed to have a small fake sheep on wheels, which had to be rolled onto the stage by long ribbons. To be honest, the sheep was terribly annoying. She clung, fell, got tangled, and was generally ugly. Then it was canceled. Apart from the stupid sheep and the infinitely worn feet, I liked dancing, even if it was hard and boring to repeat the same thing. There were no silicone inserts for pointe shoes back then. Our glorious Nadezhda Pavlovna, Vaganova’s student, was joking: “Be patient, that’s when my toes become as hard as a goat’s hooves, it will become easier!” But then I injured my Achilles tendon and forever moved into the category of spectators. However, there are viewers who know a little more than they need to.
For example, since school age, I have developed a reverent attitude towards conductors. The orchestra, like a giant whale, breathes and lives its mighty life, but obeys only one person. A dancer can do anything, fly and hover over the stage, but only the conductor is able to give him an accurate, in-time landing or, if necessary, slightly slow down the tempo for reasons of humanity.
That’s why I love applauding the orchestra and the conductor before the start of the last act: they do a great job: “Tutti I bravi!” (in general, well done).
For the same reason, I quietly hate audiences who start clapping at the wrong time: either in between parts of a symphonic piece, or–much worse– during the performance of some spectacular ballet step, such as the notorious fouette. Do not interfere with the performers, do not shoot them down! However, there are rare cases when the audience behaves with understanding, and this is just a gift from fate.
But if you have to choose between two evils – inappropriate applause and mobile phones turned on, then of course I choose applause. When someone’s monitor glows in front of your eyes or some lady who is pleasant in all respects starts shooting the crown aria of the hero in black clothes on a darkened stage with a flash from the third tier, then the noble rage boils up like a wave. And it’s no longer up to the suffering of Cavaradossi or Lensky, they pale against the background of their own annoyance at not being able to listen to what they came for.
The “wild” audience is easiest to recognize in relation to the overtures: the orchestra sparkles with a divine introduction to the Barber of Seville or the Magic Flute, and the neighbors are loudly discussing taxi prices: “What’s the big deal, because nothing has started yet!” It’s clear: they went to see the interior and take pictures at the barrier of the orchestra pit. By the way, those who rarely go to the theater can be seen even before the third bell: they are usually too pretentiously dressed. Don’t be snobbish, but if you come to visit Melpomene (who was, as you know, a muse) a couple of times a week, then you limit yourself to the great-grandmother’s principle of “inexpensive but decent” in terms of wardrobe. A visit to the theater is a pleasant thing, but sequins, tuxedos and tiaras are somehow not in the theme for the regulars.
I brought my husband to the Mariinsky back in the pre–wedding period – it was almost his first visit to this theater. And immediately – to the “Scheherazade” with young Farukh Ruzimatov. When the Golden Slave flew onto the stage like a young leopard in an incredible, endless, almost bestial leap, the effect exceeded all expectations. And the theater has another fan. And now, many years later, a grandson has been added. At the age of seven, he is having a lot of fun in figure skating, and between workouts he puts on his own ballets like Peacock and Squirrel. Recently, he sternly told my husband: “You have to compose the best music in the world for the New Year’s ballet, and I’ll figure out how to dance.”
Saint-Petersburg
