And I feel that it's the height of cynicism to besmirch yourself with ugly behavior and then speak beautiful words. I think that it would be better to speak ugly words and not commit any illegal acts. The guilt of a potential murderer of millions is so great that it can't be mitigated in any way. And there's certainly no reason to praise the man.
There are too many people around us who, as Mussorgsky used to say, are oonstantly raising questions of life and death with the solemnity of an Indian rooster. They are all conscientious citizens, who seriously think about life, fate, money, and art. Perhaps their seriousness and conscientiousness make them feel better. But not me.
Unpleasant factors are constantly taking place in the human body, and medical science is at a loss. Therefore the cessation of the organism is inevitable. There is no afterlife. Mussorgsky, who is seen by our official neo-Slavophiles as a deeply religious man, wasn't one at all, I think. That's the impression you get if you believe his letters, and what else is there to believe? In Mussorgsky's day, apparently, the reading of private correspondence by the secret police wasn't the art form it is now, nor was it as widespread. In a letter to Vladimir Stasov, Mussorgsky wrote about the death of Gartman,+ quoting a ditty,
"Dead man, sleep peacefully in your grave; take advantage of life, live man." And he added characteristically, "Foul, but sincere."
He grieved deeply over Gartman's death, but he didn't give in to the temptation of comforting thoughts; in fact, he may have gone overboard here. "There isn't and can't be any peace, there isn't and can't be solace-that's weakness." I _sense his rightness with all my heart, but my mind keeps searching for loopholes, my mind keeps spinning various thoughts and dreams. My reason persists dully: What a man
•Sakharov.
tVictor Alexandrovich Gartman (1 834-1 873), architect and painter, whose drawings were the inspiration for Mussorgsky's piano cycle Pictures at an Exhibition.
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has done lives on after him. And that unbearable Mussorgsky contradicts me again: "Another meatball (with horseradish to bring on a tear) made out of human pride."
Mussorgsky seems to be facing that sad process-dying-without any sugar coating, fancy dress, or drapery. Yet even he cuts himself off, as if to say enough of that. ''Some things are better left unsaid."
I'll leave them unsaid too.
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I BECAME fascinated by Mayakovsky's poetry at an early age.
There's a book called Everything Written by Vladimir Mayakovsky, printed on bad paper in 1 9 1 9. That was my introduction to the poet. I was very young then, barely thirteen, but I had friends, young literary men, who were great fans of Mayakovsky, and they were happy to explain the more difficult parts of the book that I liked so much. In the years that followed, I tried never to miss a single one of his appearances in Leningrad. I went to his readings with my writer friends and we listened with great interest and enthusiasm.
My favorite poem of his was "Kindness to Horses," and I still like it and consider it one of his best works. In my youth, I was impressed by "A Cloud in Trousers" and I liked "Spine Flute" and many other poems. I tried to set some of his poems to music, but I couldn't do it. I must say that setting his poetry to music is very difficult, particularly for me, since even now I can hear his readings and I would want the music to reflect his intonations as he read his own work.
In early 1 929, V sevolod Emilyevich Meyer hold, who was producing 245
The Bedbug, asked me to write the music for the play. I took on the project with pleasure. I na"ively thought that Mayakovsky in real life would be just as he was in his poems. Naturally, I didn't expect him to be wearing his Futuristic yellow shirt and I didn't think that he would have a flower drawn on his cheek. That kind of foolishness in the new political climate could have done him only harm. But seeing a man who wore a new tie at every rehearsal of The Bedbug was also a shock, because in those days a tie was considered one of the most blatant attributes of a bourgeois.
Mayakovsky, as I understood it, really loved the good life, he dressed in the best imported clothing-a German suit, American ties, French shirts and shoes-and he bragged about it all. He publicized Soviet products in his poetry and his constant advertising was tiresome by then. But Mayakovsky despised the very products he hailed. I saw that for myself at the rehearsals. When Igor Ilyinsky, the actor who was playing Prisypkin, had to have an ugly suit, Mayakovsky said,
"Go to the state store and buy the first suit you see. It'll be perfect."
These were the suits that Mayakovsky praised in his inspired poems.
Well, it's just another example of the tragic discrepancy between romantic dreams and reality. The poetic ideal-in this case, a suit-is one thing and reality-in this case, the products of the state factoriesis another. The difference between the two is the poet's honorarium.
As they say, a tie doesn't bring happiness, and it doesn't prove a man's nobility either. When we were introduced to Mayakovsky at the rehearsal of The Bedbug, he offered me two fingers. I'm no fool and I responded with one, and our fingers collided. Mayakovsky was stunned. He was always impolite but here was a nobody, as low as the ground, asserting himself.
I remember that episode very well, and that's why I don't react when people try to convince me that it never happened, according to the old principle of "it can't be because it couldn't ever be," as the major once said upon seeing a giraffe. How could "the best, the most talented" be a boor?
Once I was asked to appear on a television program about "the best, the most talented." Apparently they felt that I would share my reminiscences about how sensitive, kind, and polite Mayakovsky was. I told the producers about my meeting with him. They seemed put out and 246
said, "That's not typical." I replied, "Why not? It's very typical.'' So I didn't appear on the show.
If it hadn't been for Meyerhold, I wouldn't have written the music for The Bedbug, because Mayakovsky and I disagreed about it. Mayakovsky asked me what I had written, and I told him symphonies, an opera, and a ballet. Then he asked me whether I liked firemen's bands. I said that sometimes I did and sometimes I didn't. Then Mayakovsky said, "I like firemen's bands the best and I want the music for The Bedbug to be just like the kind they play. I don't need any symphonies." Naturally, I suggested that he get a band and fire me.
Meyerhold broke up the argument.
Another time I almost quit when I heard what Mayakovksy was demanding from an actress. The point is, The Bedbug is a fairly lousy play, and Mayakovsky, naturally, was worried about its reception. He was afraid that the audience wouldn't laugh and he decided to guarantee laughs with a rather shabby trick. He demanded that the actress who played a speculator read all her lines with a pronounced Jewish accent. He thought that it would get a laugh. It was an unworthy trick and Meyerhold tried to explain that to Mayakovsky, but he wouldn't listen. Meyerhold resorted to trickery; he told the actress to do what Mayakovsky wanted at rehearsals and to drop the accent during the performance, since Mayakovsky would be too nervous to notice. And Mayakovsky didn't say anything.