User:PritamJaiswal.3071

WE WERE EXCITED as we waited for our first lesson with the Director,

Tortsov, today. But he came into our class only to make the unexpected announcement that in order to become better acquainted with us, he wished us to give a performance in which we should act bits from plays chosen by us. His purpose is to see us on the stage against the background of scenery, in make-up, in costume, behind footlights, with all the accessories. Only then, said he, will it be possible to judge our dramatic quality.

At first only a few favoured the proposed test. Among these were a stocky young fellow, Grisha Govorkov, who had already played in some small theatre; a tall, beautiful blonde, called Sonya Veliaminova; and a lively, noisy chap named Vanya Vyuntsov.

Gradually we all became accustomed to the idea of the coming tryout. The shining footlights grew more tempting and the performance soon seemed interesting, useful, even necessary.

In making our choices I, and two friends, Paul Shustov and Leo Pushchin, were at first modest. We thought of vaudeville or light comedy. But all around us we heard great names pronounced—Gogol, Ostrovski, Chekhov, and others. Imperceptibly we found that we had stepped ahead in our ambitions and would play something romantic, in costume, in verse.

I was tempted by the figure of Mozart; Leo by that of Salieri;

Paul thought of Don Carlos. Then we began to discuss Shakespeare,

and my own choice fell on Othello. When Paul agreed to play Iago,

everything was decided. As we were leaving the theatre we were told that the first rehearsal was fixed for the next day.

When I reached home, late, I took down my copy of Othello,

settled myself comfortably on the sofa, opened my book and began to read. Hardly had I read two pages when I was seized with a desire to act. In spite of myself, my hands, arms, legs, face, facial muscles and something inside me all began to move. I declaimed the text.

Suddenly I discovered a large ivory paper-cutter. I stuck it into my belt like a dagger. My fuzzy bath towel served as a white headcloth.

Out of my sheets and blankets I made a kind of shirt and gown.

My umbrella was pressed into service as a scimitar, but I had no shield. Here it occurred to me that in the dining-room which adjoined my room there was a big tray. With the shield in my hand I felt myself to be a genuine warrior. Yet my general aspect was modern and civilized, whereas Othello was African in origin and must have something suggestive of primitive life, perhaps a tiger, in him. In order to recall, suggest, and fix the walk of an animal, I began a whole new set of exercises.

Many of these movements I felt to be in a high degree successful.

I had worked almost five hours without noticing the passage of time.

To me this seemed to show that my inspiration was real.

2

I awoke much later than usual, rushed into my clothes and dashed to the theatre. As I went into the rehearsal room, where they were waiting for me, I was so embarrassed that instead of apology I made the careless remark, “I seem to be a little late.” Rakhmanov, the Assistant Director, looked at me a long time reproachfully, and finally said:

“We have been sitting here waiting, our nerves on edge, angry,

and ‘it seems I am a little late’. We all came here full of enthusiasm for the work waiting to be done, and now, thanks to you, that mood has been destroyed. To arouse a desire to create is difficult; to kill that desire is extremely easy. If I interfere with my own work, it is my own affair, but what right have I to hold up the work of a whole group? The actor, no less than the soldier, must be subject to iron discipline.” For this first offence Rakhmanov said he would limit himself to a reprimand, and not enter it on the written record kept of students,

but that I must apologize immediately to all, and make it a rule in the future to appear at rehearsals a quarter of an hour before they begin. Even after my apology Rakhmanov was unwilling to go on,

because he said the first rehearsal is an event in an artist’s life, and he should retain the best possible impression of it. Today’s rehearsal was spoiled by my carelessness; let us hope that tomorrow’s will be memorable.