Ranevskaya orientation. Faina Ranevskaya was a lesbian? How many sharp and witty phrases remained after her roles

This year marks the 27th anniversary of the death of the great actress, whose incredible stories are still being retold. Faina Ranevskaya was never married, but in Soviet times no one dared to rank her among people with a non-traditional orientation. Now there is more and more evidence that Ranevskaya loved the ladies and could go to great lengths for the sake of her chosen ones.

Recently, a woman died in Moscow who could tell a lot about the life of Faina Georgievna, since she herself was part of her circle.

Galina Grinevetskaya was an economist by profession, but in theatrical circles she was known as an interesting, creative person, in whose house many actors, poets and directors found refuge.

She was a true theatergoer and once met Faina Ranevskaya at one of the premieres. It should be noted that in the 50s, acquaintances simply called Ranevskaya - Fanny, she was not considered either "legendary" or "great" - fate did not indulge her in roles. Ranevskaya was very worried about her appearance, so beautiful girls aroused her sincere admiration. She called them fifas and patronized them.

By the way, Ranevskaya herself also became an actress thanks to female patronage. When Faina was not accepted into any theater, she charmed the actress Ekaterina Geltser, who got her a job as an extra in the theater in Malakhovka.
About how the relationship between Ranevskaya and Grinevetskaya developed, or rather, did not develop, we were told by her friend Elena Lipova:

- Grinevetskaya had an amazing appearance. She was courted by many famous people, and she herself loved to flirt. She was a straight woman and never gave Ranevskaya a reason to think that she liked women.

Most likely, Grinevetskaya was fascinated by Ranevskaya as an actress, as a person, and because of this she became close to her. But one day their meeting ended in scandal. Faina Georgievna, left alone with Grinevetskaya, allowed herself too much and was so persistent that she barely managed to get away. After that, Grinevetskaya broke with both Ranevskaya and other celebrities of a similar orientation - Rina Zelena and Tatyana Peltzer.

History has preserved many female names associated with Ranevskaya. Her fleeting hobbies were Lyudmila Tselikovskaya and Vera Maretskaya. And Faina was friends with her patroness Ekaterina Geltser until her death.

A funny story came out with the mother of the late Vitaly Wolf, Pavel. Faina practically lived in their family and did not hide her relationship with Pavel Leontyevna, despite the fact that she was married. Wulf himself recalled the moment when, as a small child, he entered the room and saw that between Ranevskaya and his mother there was close communication, which could only be called friendly with a stretch. But even from this, frankly, very awkward situation, Ranevskaya came out with honor.

- Vitaly, your mom and I are doing exercises! she said confidently and escorted the child out the door.

Another person who decided to show Faina Ranevskaya what she really was was the journalist Gleb Skorokhodov. In the sixties, he became friends with a great actress, although he was still a very young man. She loved him like a son. And she did not suspect that the guy neatly puts all their conversations into a notebook every evening. Skorokhodov became aware of several Ranevskaya's loves for women. As an honest man, he did not immediately take the manuscript to the publishing house, but first showed it to Faina Georgievna. The actress was horrified and immediately broke off relations with Skorokhodov. The journalist published the book only after the death of the actress, however, he made significant corrections to the text.

"Damaged" the reputation of Ranevskaya and Dmitry Shcheglov - a man who was also close to the actress in the last years of her life. She even called him "adoptive grandson." Shcheglov in his memoirs cited Ranevskaya's words about love and sex, from which it was clear what her orientation was. The only man who was interested in Ranevskaya as a person was Pushkin. She loved to talk about him and collected interesting information about his life. But even this innocent affection ended in an incident. Ranevskaya told her friends how once Alexander Sergeevich appeared to her in a dream and said with feeling:
- How tired of you, old b ...!

They say that Faina Georgievna was an ardent defender of homosexuals, who at that time, unlike now, had a hard time. In the USSR, sodomy could be imprisoned. When a show trial took place over one of the actors, Ranevskaya uttered the following phrase: "Every person has the right to independently manage his ass."

Kirill Peskov

crystal woman

Once Roma Viktyuk, who was distinguished by sparkling antics, various tricks, told me: “My little one, today we are moving to the library. There is one book on the third shelf from the edge. You will see her right away, you don’t even need to look for anything!” I got cold.

Trips like a hare on a trolleybus, breakthroughs to the theater were flowers, and I didn’t see anything particularly reprehensible in this, but the idea of ​​stealing a book plunged me into horror. And Viktyuk has already developed a plan and made preparations. He managed to arrange the necessary books so that they were easy to take.

In addition to the book on the third shelf, Roma prepared a couple of volumes on the second and fourth. Actually stealing the books wasn't that hard. At the end of the narrow aisle between the shelves sat the librarian. If one person was blocking her view, the other could easily poke around.

"Roma!" – I was indignant. “Little one, no one here needs such books. Nobody reads them. And hardly anyone will notice the loss! There's nothing wrong with that, trust me!" - "Roma!" And then Viktyuk gave the last argument: “Well, what did you do: Roma, Roma! Drobysheva took, and Terekhova too. Is there anything you like here?"

There was a book that I so wanted to have! Memoirs of Pavla Leontievna Vulf. “So what do you think? Roman was surprised. “Go ahead and take it!”

And I gave up. I took three books for Viktyuk and one for myself, that one. Years later, when Faina Georgievna and I were rehearsing The Last Victim, she told me that she used to have this book, but someone took it to read and did not give it away. “But I don’t have this book now ...” I thought that I should give her mine. But I kept silent. Pavel Leontyevna's book was too dear to me. Expensive in every way.

When in 1958 I came to the Theater. Moscow City Council, Pavel Leontyevna no longer worked in it. But I kept hearing about it. After all, her daughter Irina Sergeevna Anisimova-Wulf worked there as a director.

I often asked the artists the question: “What was she like?” They answered me: "A small, thin, very graceful woman." This is how she always appears to me. I could judge her inner qualities by Irina Sergeevna, who possessed intelligence, dignity, and respect for a person. Where could she acquire these qualities? Of course, in my house, with my mother ...

In the book of memoirs, Pavel Wolf spoke about her development as an actress. Or rather, about the comprehension of our acting skills. She was not afraid to speak frankly and honestly about her mistakes, about how she “broke her nose”, that she was stilted, weak, that she didn’t succeed in many things, but she worked and worked ... In general, she described those things that are so familiar to everyone to a novice and not even a novice actor, showed that it is very difficult to achieve real penetration into the image. It is much easier to set up a lot of scenery, introduce any special effects, make the artists sing, dance, march, do anything, but just do not try to enter the soul of their hero. Because the artist often does not know how to achieve this entry. She, analyzing in detail the roles of Vera Komissarzhevskaya, their stage embodiment, and then her own, developed her own system, one can say “her own system of K. S. Stanislavsky”, only from a female person. True, she refused to play twice at the Moscow Art Theater, and when she realized what mistake she had made, it was already too late. Then I had to go through that “school” myself. Stanislavsky addressed his system, his experience to both men and women. And Pavel Leontyevna is only for a woman. A woman is natural, her psyche is deeper and more complex than the psyche of a man. The burden of motherhood, raising a child is imposed on her ... Therefore, she is more enduring, more adaptable, more sophisticated. Today she is unjust, tomorrow she is a saint. And being good, she can do dubious things, etc. For example, since I play women, I already have a special approach to these roles. The embodiment of the female image on stage is my profession, where I depend on the very image of the heroine and try to express it, and not myself, unlike in real life.

And what is important: Pavel Vulf was able to give not only the most interesting, deepest analysis of the roles of the adored teacher - Vera Komissarzhevskaya, but also convey her delight from the game of the great actress. It's amazing, because if you don't know how to admire other people's talent and other people's skill, you will never reach the level that you admire. Young Pavel was so captivated by Komissarzhevskaya and so sincerely wanted to learn acting that she decided to write to her. And the prima of the Alexandrinsky Theater felt from the letter of the provincial girl, from some elusive commas and breaths, turns of speech, that she really wants to be an actress, and answered her: come to me when you are in St. Petersburg. But the letter of her mother, in which she asked to dissuade her daughter from the stage, was left without attention, she was not interested in it.

Speaking about the formation of Pavla Leontievna, it is necessary to take into account the environment in which she grew up. And it all started with my grandmother, with her sister, from the very house in Porkhov, from the atmosphere of love. It is very important that a small person, a child, was given love from childhood. In her first home performances, the girl performed in front of her relatives and servants, the housekeeper, the janitor, who listened with genuine interest, watched and rejoiced; there was no envy, no hatred. And the fact that the grandmother necessarily, although they did not live well, arranged holidays for the children - Christmas, Easter, name days - this, of course, is wonderful ...

There were many books in their house, and Pavla constantly read. This is very important for our profession. Any reading on paper (I'm not talking about the Internet, because I don't own it) helps a person's imagination, images are born in him. And this is the bridge to our acting skills. There can be no artist without imagination. It then becomes flat, uninteresting.

And then there were years of study, and Pavel Leontyevna got into the course of director V.N. Davydov, who rarely came to class. When he arrived, he fell asleep. Then he suddenly woke up and showed how Juliet loves Romeo, or took the guitar and sang. It was this living example that taught the young creatures the skill, and not boring lectures with a story about how to play. Pavel Wolf and Komissarzhevskaya spoke about the same thing when they met: I don’t know how to teach, come to my performances. Basically, teaching is hard. The future artist must have an intuition, a deep inner feeling and a readiness for self-denial in the name of art.

After graduating from drama courses, Pavel Leontyevna played a lot on provincial stages. I must say that I myself have always envied provincial actors who often have the opportunity to go on stage, to the audience. After all, only the viewer makes the actor feel whether he is fake in his game or not, whether he is in the top ten or not. And the artist always feels whether the audience is listening to him or not. And if the artist does not get enough, then he needs to continue to work on the role, on the image. He must again open the author's text and look for something new in it, not noticed before. Basically, it's a never ending job...

That is why Pavel Vulf presents the roles of her heroines and those of Komissarzhevskaya in such detail – after all, they have years and years of work behind them. Even a role that has been done is constantly being polished, somehow changing all the time. And on stage, the actress then lives it, does not play.

Of course, such a detailed description of the transfer of feelings and experiences is surprising. Pavla Wolf mentions that she kept diary entries. But in fact, they will not help if you yourself do not force your being to believe and immerse yourself in what you want to show, or in what the author’s text requires of you.

By the way, the story of Pavla Wulf's entry into the theatrical environment was somewhat repeated. As she once came to Komissarzhevskaya, admiring her role in the play "Butterfly Fight", so a girl later entered the life of Wolf herself, conquered by her role as Ranevskaya in "The Cherry Orchard". (By the way, Wulf was the best Ranevskaya of those years, she played better than the Moscow Art Theater actresses, her reading of the role was amazing.) That girl was Faina Feldman, the daughter of a banker from Taganrog. When the revolution began, her father went abroad with his whole family. She refused (“Run when there is a revolution in Russia!” she exclaimed pathetically) and stayed in her homeland for the sake of the theater, her career in it was just beginning. And this girl Pavel Wolf began to teach and made her a real actress, with whom she did not part until the end of her days. Faina Georgievna took a pseudonym for herself - the name of the stage heroine of her adored teacher. F. Ranevskaya looked at P. Wolf both on stage and in life. In her head, she "recorded" any of her gestures, turn of the head, any intonation. She literally stuck to Pavel Leontievna. Together with her she traveled to all the provincial theaters and then settled near her house in Moscow ...

In general, when I think about Pavel Leontievna, I associate her with the image of a crystal woman. Of course, she, like any person, had her pros and cons, pluses and minuses, but she is crystal, and that’s all. She was very kind, from her came an extraordinary light, inner bestowal, complete openness to the world and people, which is felt in her book. This was passed on to Irina Sergeevna. It was only in the second half of my life that I came to the conclusion that it is better to give than to take, only then you truly become richer.

Woolf's book itself is not a biography of a person in the form in which we are accustomed to seeing such publications. The reader will find practically nothing personal here: the author does not even name his parents, does not write about his spouses, mentions his daughter in passing. But she deliberately leads this private side of her life into the shadows. The main thing for her in her declining years, when the book was written, was to remember and go through her path as an actress again, to relive victories and defeats, to sincerely tell how she was born in her profession. This is what captivates her story. Irina Sergeevna Anisimova-Vulf said that the director spends tons of words, and only one suddenly “breaks through” the artist, and he begins to sparkle. So the book of Pavla Wulf is able to “break through” even people who are far from this profession. There is nothing to say about the artists - they just need to read it.

Valentina Talyzina, People's Artist of the RSFSR

Foreword

These memoirs were written by a wonderful Russian actress, a wonderful Soviet actress Pavla Leontievna Vulf.

The first impression of her, of her performance, of her stage presence, fragile and poetic, is preserved in my memory.

It was a long time ago. I was very young then, but the image of a pure, feminine, slightly sly Psyche (in the play "Eros and Psyche" staged by Nezlobin in Moscow) still lives in my memory.

Those who remember Pavel Leontievna as young speak of her as an actress of tremendous stage charm, a kind of subtle lyrics, some amazing transparency and purity, and clever skill.

Many years have passed since my first impressions, and I met Pavel Leontyevna Vulf at the time when she became a character actress, when she had already made the "transition," which is usually so difficult for a good actress, but fatal for others.

This "transition" for Pavel Leontievna turned out to be an exam for real acting skills, which she passed with flying colors.

In her mature years, Pavel Leontievna Vulf became an actress whose work, with amazing diversity, depth and talent, was able to solve the most complex stage tasks. She created a whole series of stage images that are amazing in terms of skill, fullness, and artistic decoration.

And, of course, I would like to tell you more about the roles she played during the period when the small Moscow Theater under the direction of Zavadsky moved to Rostov, to the gigantic stage of the largest theater in our country. Then the small troupe of the young theater was replenished with many excellent actors from the Rostov theater and a number of Muscovite actors; among this talented replenishment, one of the brightest, striking in her clever skill, was undoubtedly Pavla Leontievna Vulf.

Pavla Leontievna was not only a wonderful actress, that is, a person with a great stage gift, she was a real artist, that is, an artist who knew how to subdue her acting talent to herself.

Here are some of her roles.

Khlestov - "Woe from Wit". How did Pavel Leontievna manage to reveal this Moscow aristocracy of the old woman Khlestova, her categoricalness. With what genuine aristocratic nobility and deliberately rude grace she moved and uttered Griboedov's chased text.

In each role, Pavel Leontievna was individual, in each role it was her, but new qualities always appeared in her, which sometimes we could not foresee.

Let's say: where did Khlestova's authority come from in her, in her - so fragile, modest, always unsure of herself?

Professor Polezhaev's wife - "Restless Old Age". This image was, perhaps, closer to Pavel Leontievna in terms of individual qualities of character. She managed to find in this image that unparalleled devotion to a loved one, a friend of life, a great scientist, which was not perceived as a feat, there was so much simplicity and genuine unaccountable modesty in her.

And next to Polezhaeva is Polina Bardina from Gorky's Enemies. This is one of the best images of the performance, on which we worked with great enthusiasm in Rostov - a real hereditary Gorky lady, with her arrogance, absurd stupidity, with the whims of a spoiled, narrow-minded lady who considers workers to be creatures of a lower order. And all this without any emphasis, without pressure, naturally, simply, easily.

In the play by Leonid Andreev “Days of Our Life”, Pavel Leontievna created the image of a vile old woman shamelessly trading in her daughter that struck everyone with her revealing power. Where did she find these colors, where did she spot these characteristic gestures, how did she find the habits of this creature, a cunning, rat-like procurer? Shifty eyes, disgusting cloying speech, the petty antics of a thief; and through this shell - a vile little soul, a dirty little creature.

And as the crown of her achievements - the image of the mother, as if in contrast to the above images - in Gusev's "Glory", the role of Motylkova.

Pavel Leontyevna in this role revealed herself with such amazing strength, with such fullness of spiritual purity! .. She created the image of a beautiful Russian woman, a truly folk image of a mother. How beautifully she recited poetry! It was real Russian speech.

Here is a review by the critic Y. Yuzovsky in the article “A Trip to Rostov” (“Soviet Art”, 1936) about P. L. Wolf in the role of Motylkova.

“I would especially like to note P. L. Wolf in the role of Motylkova. She is the heroine of this performance - one could even call the play - "Mother", with more reason than "Glory". Motylkova has a monologue in which she says that in the event of war, she will be the first to send her sons into battle, to defend the Motherland. On stage, this monologue often sounds rather false, like rhetoric, like a recitation, because the actress herself delivers them out of character, not knowing how to justify this monologue with a feeling of motherhood, which in its primitive expression, perhaps, resists the desire to send her son to war . In P. L. Wolfe, this passage is strikingly truthful, and here is why. She loves in her sons not only the children born by her, her own flesh and blood, she loves their deeds to which they have dedicated themselves. But these deeds are the deeds of the Motherland, the success of their deeds is the success of the Motherland, and vice versa. An attack on the Motherland is an attack on her children. Through her sons, she extends her maternal feeling to the whole country, to the fatherland of socialism.

This high feeling of motherhood is dictated by her wonderful monologue, met with a storm of applause from the whole hall, to which she addresses.

A small fragile woman of great spiritual charm, an old woman who wanted to be taken in her arms and protected, she carried in her heart will, heroism, firmness, pride and faith in the people, in the cause they serve, great pride in their country.

Each role played by Pavel Leontyevna Wulf can be called a masterpiece without exaggeration.

For the younger generation of artists, and, perhaps, their peers, or rather, all those for whom the art of an actor is not only a subjective joyful experience, but a responsible, difficult and - in this difficult - wonderful life, the work of Pavla Leontyevna Wulf is a great example , figurative lesson.

Of course, it is a pity that no description can restore the lively appearance of the actress, her filigree art.

But here we are looking at her expressive photo. Perhaps it will be possible to collect much more detailed and accurate materials about the performance of individual roles by her. And most importantly - there is this book of memoirs, thoughts of the artist. Yes, Pavla Leontyevna told more about others than about herself, but her mind shines through in these stories, her talent as an artist is guessed in them.

I won’t exaggerate if I say that Pavla Leontievna’s book is a most interesting document that has received the power of a work of art that can tell us about the affairs and people of the Russian provincial and Moscow pre-revolutionary theater and about the most interesting events and people of the first years of the new Soviet theatrical reality.

Yuri Zavadsky

Chapter I

Childhood. My father and aunt Sasha. First performance on stage. Playing concert performances. Grandmother. Moving to Pskov. Summer trips to Porkhov. Children's performances

My father was a student of Yuryev when he married my mother, a landowner in the Pskov province, and settled in her estate, received as a dowry from her grandmother. Even before I was born, the estate was sold and my parents moved to the city of Porkhov, Pskov province, where my mother had a house. They lived on the capital received from the sale of the estate, and gradually went bankrupt. In Pskov, where his parents soon moved from Porkhov, his father tried to serve, but illness doomed him to inactivity. He suffered from an incurable disease and could only move around in a wheelchair. With inhuman patience he endured his sufferings, his bleak life. He never complained, and in those few hours when he felt better, he joked. Father never punished us, never raised his voice, he only got upset, and it was worse than punishment.

Due to his illness, his father rarely and rarely communicated with people and led a lonely life. He kept in touch with the world by reading - I don't remember him without a book or a newspaper. He knew several languages, subscribed to Russian and foreign magazines. I remember that a few days before his death he read Tartarin of Tarascon in French and complained:

- Think about it, I began to forget some French words, I must use a dixioner, so I started a notebook, I write down and learn the forgotten words.

My father could not stand it when we played the piano, but he loved real, serious music and understood it. In his youth, he played the violin, but when he fell ill, he stopped playing.

Once in the winter, at twilight, my sister and I, already schoolgirls, were sitting in our room and whispering about something. Suddenly we hear the sounds of a violin - it was so strange, unexpected. "Dad is playing! Be quiet! said the sister. Suddenly the sounds broke off, the violin fell silent. I ran to my father's room. He sat in his chair, lowering his violin, and quietly wept. This was shortly before his death.

Remembering the past, I cannot pass over in silence the person dearest to me, my mother's sister, my beloved Aunt Sasha, who had a great influence on me.

My mother and aunt Sasha were educated "purely at home". The governess taught them everything their grandmother thought they needed to know: chatting in French and playing the piano. When Aunt Sasha turned 17, her grandmother found a suitable match and married her off. Three months after the wedding, she separated from her husband, gave the land received as a dowry from her mother to the peasants, went to St. Petersburg to study and brilliantly passed the exams as an external student. Passionately in love with music and possessing remarkable abilities, she entered the conservatory, but after staying there for about three years, she quit classes because she began to take an active part in the revolutionary movement.

From early childhood, we adored Aunt Sasha. Her presence in our house always brought revival, she knew how to stir everyone up. In the days of our youth, my aunt was an indisputable authority for us. Her passionate attitude towards people, towards life, her indestructible desire for freedom had an ennobling effect on our young souls. People aroused great interest in her: wherever fate threw her, in whatever wilderness the royal gendarmerie sent her, she everywhere found interesting and good people.

Running through penny lessons, she found time for three hours a day to sit at the piano, play scales, exercises and her favorite Liszt and Beethoven. Leading a half-starved existence, she prepared talented young musicians for free at the conservatory and was happy when her students brilliantly passed the entrance exams.

As for her revolutionary activities, I heard that she organized secret workers' meetings, made speeches, for which she was often imprisoned and more than once subjected to exile. My mother and especially my grandmother regarded her activities as a whim. Grandmother used to say about Aunt Sasha: “A woman is having fun - she is blessed, but for us, and for the whole nobility, shame.”

As we grew older, our friendship with my aunt grew stronger. Aunt aroused in us a passionate interest in books and guided our reading, explained to us what we did not understand, drew our attention to the artistic side of the work, revealed its ideological essence. We re-read almost all Russian classics with her. Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Turgenev, Saltykov-Shchedrin have become our favorite writers.

Some episodes of my early childhood life in Porkhov come to mind. Large wooden house with a huge garden. There are many cherry trees and apple trees in the garden. Our favorite corner of the garden is the arbor of lindens, where we played away from the grown-ups. In winter, our life proceeded with the nanny in two children's rooms. We children were not forbidden to walk and run around all the rooms, but we only felt free in the nursery. The large hall, where there was a piano and chairs lined the walls, seemed alien. And it was even a little creepy to enter the living room from the hall: it was always cold and uncomfortable there. In the nursery, there is light, a lot of sun, and we lived our separate life in it.

Adults rarely looked into our nursery, only in those cases when the nanny could not cope with the stubbornness and whims of the children. Then my mother came to clean up. The noise and screams, the brawl stopped instantly. Nanny finally invented a very interesting trick of "taming the shrew": in the midst of my whims, she began to sing one of my favorite songs, I immediately fell silent, sat down on a bench at her feet and began to sing along to her. My hearing was exceptional, and I knew all her songs.

When guests came to my parents, I was forced to sing. Not at all embarrassed, folded my hands on my stomach, I, like a real singer, sang at the top of my voice nurse's songs: “Katya was a beauty throughout the village”, “Do not scold me, dear” and others.

My first “performance” on the stage, when I was about five years old, remains unusually vivid in my memory. In Porkhov there was a circle of lovers of dramatic art. In the play "Woman's Business", my sister Nina portrayed a boy of about seven, and I - a capricious, stubborn little girl. My role was without words and consisted of a frantic, capricious cry. So that I would not be frightened when the capricious girl was dragged to her father across the whole stage for reprisal, my nanny portrayed the nanny in the play.

I remember all my feelings on the stage - a joyful delight, as from the most entertaining game. I stubbornly resisted when the nanny dragged me, roaring and screaming at the top of my lungs. With my free hand, I rubbed my narrowed eyes with my fist and saw the gleam of the ramp. My cry was covered with the laughter of the audience, but I still heard it and felt that it applied to me, and it was pleasant for me. I am sure that this moment determined my fate. After this performance, when adults asked me what you would be when you grew up, I always answered “at rat”.

Once, my mother came to the nursery with her friend, a talented lover of the drama club. After saying hello to me, she sat down next to me and began to ask me about the life and health of my dolls. I answered gladly. But then she started talking about the theater, that she would soon play a role and she needed a doll, and she had to break this doll according to her role. I listened eagerly, with interest, but when she began to ask me for a doll, in a fright I grabbed my beloved Dolly and, pressing her to me, would not agree to give her away for anything. For me, my Dolly was a living being. “This is necessary for the theater,” my mother’s friend assured me. “I won’t give it, I won’t give it,” I repeated crying. But when I heard the phrase: “What kind of actress are you? You will never be an actress, since you regret the doll for the theater, ”I stopped crying and after some hesitation handed her the doll.

I shed many tears over this first sacrifice to the theatre. At that time it was difficult to find a good doll in Porkhov, and it was a long way to go to Pskov on horseback. I loved to play with dolls, but my most cherished game was playing theater, or rather, concert performances. Even in the afternoon, when I found out that mom and dad were going to a club or to friends in the evening, I began to worry and prepare for the upcoming performance. Everything was done in secret from the parents. I was looking forward to their departure. “What if something gets in the way, and they will stay at home, and they will chase us to sleep,” I thought with excitement.

Finally evening. Horses on the porch. They'll leave now. In the nursery, I hastily arrange chairs for the audience, move the table, the auditorium and the stage are ready. I'm flying down to the kitchen, into the people's rooms, gathering the audience. The cook, the laundress, the maid, the coachman willingly sit down on the prepared chairs. I climb on the table, sing nanny's songs, recite poems, dance the Cossack. Grateful spectators laugh, applaud, and I bow with full consciousness of well-deserved success. Finally, the nanny pulls the “atrat” tired of success off the table and puts her to bed, despite resistance and tears.

I remember my grandmother Tatyana Vasilievna with love. Soon after my birth, my grandmother sold the Belkovo estate and moved to Porkhov, to her small cozy house on the embankment of the Shelon River. Every Sunday, the three of us - my sister, brother and me - were taken to my grandmother. Despite the fact that my grandmother lived very close to our house, in the summer a carriage was harnessed, and in the winter a sleigh, and we, wrapped with our heads in a blanket and scarves, were solemnly delivered to our grandmother. The sleigh stops at the porch. Someone's strong hands pull us out of the sleigh one by one, lift us high and carry us - this is Andrey Pavlovich, Andreyushka, the most trusted person of my grandmother, he is a cook, and a coachman, and a gardener. In the hallway, we cannot move until Avdotya Vasilievna (Dunyasha - grandmother's housekeeper) undresses us. We joyfully run to grandmother in the living room, where she sits in a large Voltaire chair by the window and embroiders with a garus. “Hurry, feed the children,” Grandma orders.

I remember Dunyasha and Andrei with great tenderness. These were the people most devoted to my grandmother, who loved her infinitely. Once they were her serfs. Among others, they were given to my grandmother as a dowry. When the grandmother gave them "free", they were offended and refused to accept it. Both were already old.

Dunyasha is quiet, calm, a little stern, rarely smiled, never caressed us, but we felt her love. She idolized my older sister Nina: the first blossoming narcissus in the garden, she brought the first berry to her favorite, meek, gentle Ninusha. Andrei was a handsome old man of enormous stature. Dunyasha and Andrey managed the grandmother's house, and she did not interfere in anything, trusting them completely. Dunyasha was in charge of everything in the rooms, Andreyushka in the kitchen, skillfully preparing various dishes, and in the garden, growing wonderful varieties of apples, and in the stable, where two old, fat, fat horses Orel and Dove stood. They quietly lived out their lives. In winter, they were never disturbed, they were not required to work, and they could calmly indulge in memories of their youth, of that distant past, when “they were trotters” ... In the summer, two or three times, my grandmother ordered horses to be harnessed to ride into the forest with children .

We adored our Sunday visits to Grandma. She knew how to entertain us, invented various interesting games for us, created a cozy atmosphere. Sometimes she read to us or told fables, and we listened to them, dying. She told not fairy tales, namely fables, supposedly an incident from her own life. We knew this, but the interest from this only increased. Our greedy attention inspired her, and she spoke with such persuasiveness that she herself believed in her own inventions. Most of her stories were of a moral nature.

When we got older, she decided to protect us from the influence of Aunt Sasha. So that revolutionary ideas would not affect us, grandmother told us the horrors suffered by Aunt Sasha in prison, in exile, and most importantly, about the shame that she herself experienced when she, as the mother of a revolutionary, was summoned to the III department and whipped there. In telling this, she sincerely believed that this was indeed the case. It seems to me that, in potential, my grandmother was an actress. An unfulfilled vocation to the stage was looking for an outlet, and she played out entire scenes at home.

Mom, recalling her childhood, told us that a year after grandmother was widowed, she, having gathered her relatives, read them letters from her never-existing fiancé and asked her relatives for advice on whether she should marry or not. These letters, written with great passion, she composed herself. The thirst for effect, theatricality in her was extraordinary. I remember how on Forgiveness Sunday (the last day of Shrovetide) she put a modest black handkerchief on her head, tied it under her chin and in a black monastic dress walked around the house, went into the kitchen, into the janitor's room, bowed low and said humbly: “Forgive me a sinner ". She loved to pathetically pronounce whole monologues, skillfully fainted, pretended to be sick, being in perfect health.

The whole day at my grandmother was strictly distributed. After dinner, she would sit down in her armchair and begin to doze, and we would run to Dunyasha, to her cozy room with a couch, or to Andreyushka in the kitchen. When dusk came, fun began in the kitchen - a ball. Leshka appeared. He was something like a janitor to my grandmother. He was a bitter drunkard, but his grandmother put up with him, since it was the secret fruit of Dunyasha and Andrei's love and their great misfortune. Leshka's drunkenness was the only thing that darkened the serene days of Andrei and Dunyasha. Summer and winter Leshka lived somewhere in a shed in the yard.

My dear Pavla Loentyevna Wulf

Even if I didn’t write a word about everyone else, I need to write about Pavel Leontievna.

Without her, there would be no me, not just the actress Faina Ranevskaya, but me, Fani Feldman, would not exist either.

Having left my parental home, where I was alone, at the most difficult time - the beginning of the Civil War - I ended up in Rostov-on-Don without a livelihood, but do not consider earning an extras in a circus that will not be closed today tomorrow.

What I saw in the local theater Pavel Leontyevna in the role of Lisa Kalitina was fate. I already saw her in this role, but then I was still a stupid girl, and now I tried to play it myself ...

You see, in the midst of devastation, devastation not yet physical, but already moral, when no one knew what would happen tomorrow, how to live on, I suddenly saw real art, the real Lisa Kalitina. It's not that she reminded me of a pre-war well-fed and calm life, no, she reminded me that not everything in this world is lost, that there is something that will stand. There is the truth of feelings, the truth of art.

Without this meeting, I would simply be on the street. Nobody was going to take me to the theater; in the south of Russia, even without me, there were enough restless actors with experience and well-established roles.

But the main thing is that I would not have met a woman who replaced my mother for life!

I understand that Irina was always jealous of me, there was something, but Pavel Leontyevna and I spent too much time together on stage and backstage, then we rehearsed too much at home so that I would not become her named daughter.

Pavla Leontievna was a noblewoman by birth and to the marrow of her bones. It is enough to look at her amazing face to understand that she absorbed the nobility with her mother's milk, but, most importantly, she did not lose it. And the bumps on her life path were not just enough, they were in abundance.

At the age of eighteen, Pavel Leontievna saw Vera Komissarzhevskaya on the stage of the Alexandrinsky Theater. This decided everything in her fate.

Returning to her Pskov, she could no longer think about anything. She wrote a letter to Komissarzhevskaya, begging her to help her become an actress.

How similar and unlike me!

I, too, was ready to do anything for the sake of the theater, but if Pavla Leontyevna's parents did not object to her aspirations, then mine ...

Komissarzhevskaya invited the enthusiastic girl to study and advised her to enter a drama school, and then go to drama courses with Davydov.

Vera Fedorovna Komissarzhevskaya was ready to help Pavel Wolf, and she helped me. But I’m not like that, I would never have the strength and patience to mess with someone, if they write to me: “Help me become an actress”, I answer: “God will help.”

They say that talents need help, mediocrity will break through on its own. Perhaps, but why shouldn't talent break through?

Davydov saw in Wulf a repetition of Komissarzhevskaya, and therefore advised her to go to Moscow to Stanislavsky in order to enter the Art Theater. They didn’t accept why, Pavel Leontievna never told, something didn’t grow together there.

She went to Nizhny Novgorod to work in provincial theaters.

Sometimes I thought what would happen if Pavel Leontievna had been in Kazan with her rare gift, how would Kachalov turn out to be? How much depends on the first directors and entrepreneurs! She did not meet on the way the second Mikhail Matveyevich Borodai, who noticed and raised Kachalov high. So high that they saw in Moscow.

Pavel Leontyevna was not lucky, but I was lucky.

Fate threw her into various cities of the Russian Empire, Wulff became famous as the “Komissarzhevskaya province”, which is worth a lot.

Pavel Leontyevna herself spoke about the work of provincial theaters with horror, recalling almost daily premieres, the absence of rehearsals, playing at the prompter's prompting and, in general, hack-work that bloomed with double color on many provincial stages.

Of course, there were also very worthy troupes, actors and directors, but all of them, at the slightest opportunity, strove to get out to Moscow or St. Petersburg.

Why the most talented Pavel Leontievna did not find a place in the capital is not clear. But in 1918 she ended up in the same Rostov-on-Don, where the red-haired tall girl Faina Feldman also worked in the circus extras. In fact, rootless, restless, homeless and penniless, but passionately wanting to become a real actress.

Only now there is no grace, although there was flexibility, in the circus even extras cannot be without it. Long-armed, clumsy, stammering with excitement. A complete set of all sorts of "no".

What did Woolf see in me besides a passionate desire to act? I don't know, but I offered to make an excerpt from Shelton's "Roman" and show it.

I came out of my skin to complete the task. It was not difficult, because the only Italian in the whole of Rostov, to whom I went to study Italian manners, tore off all the money that I had. If there were more, I would take more. He showed gestures, taught some words.

Pavel Leontievna liked it. I'm afraid not so much what happened, but the passion in my eyes, not so much because of the Italian raid, but from hunger.

She took me in not just as a student - she took me into her family. And this family consisted of her, Irina and Tata, our guardian angel in everyday life and a good genius concurrently.

A great remedy for toothache is a big button, first on the chair, and then in the ass. If you get drunk, you will forget about the tooth, at least for a while. If that doesn't help, you should go to the doctor.

This is also called "knock out with a wedge." Why am I doing this? To the fact that life has come when all other problems, except for ordinary survival, should have been forgotten for a while. Hunger, devastation, typhus, an endless transfer of power from one to another, when in the morning they did not know what power would be at dinner, but when going to bed, at what time we would wake up.

The button in the chair turned out to be of such size that one could forget not only about the toothache, but also about the fact that there are teeth at all.

There is no point in returning to Moscow, the trains were not just robbed, they were destroyed. It was decided to go to the Crimea, where it would be easier for Irina, who is in poor health, it would be warmer there and it would be easier for everyone to feed themselves.

In Crimea, it didn’t just get easier, although work in the Simferopol theater was found even for me, the same devastation and change of power reigned there. Swallowed grief in full. I wouldn't be able to survive on my own.

But the surprising thing is not that Pavla Leontievna helped the new girl, but that even at such a time and in such a situation she managed to maintain the level of the game and the demands on herself and me. Wulf played on the stage of hungry Simferopol in front of any audience as if it were the stage of the imperial theater, as if Komissarzhevskaya herself was looking at her.

How she managed not to lose anything either during her forced wanderings through the cities and villages of pre-revolutionary Russia, or later, during the revolution and the Civil War, is amazing. I managed it myself and instilled it in me. Instilled for life!

A lot of years have passed, Pavel Leontyevna has long been dead, but I still equate every role, every cue, every gesture according to her very requirements, as she was equal to Komissarzhevskaya all her life.

We managed to survive in the devastated hungry Crimea, not to get sick with typhus, not to die of hunger, not to become ugly, not to become rabid. And I managed to become an actress.

And to this day it is very difficult for me to observe how casually they use gestures, how carelessly they pronounce words, how, without thinking, young actors, taught by masters, play their roles. Of course, after Wulf, I had Alisa Koonen and Tairov, but it was Pavel Leontievna who laid the foundations. I consider her my teacher and mentor for life.

We traveled a lot around the already famine-ridden Land of the Soviets, changing city after city, theater after theater, simply because we had to live on something, which means we had to play somewhere.

Then the clever Irina entered Stanislavsky in his studio, Pavel Leontievna and I became envious, and we followed. Of course, Tata is with us.

I think Tata didn’t love me too much all the years that she knew, Ira was her favorite, and I seemed like a load, and a heavy one. Perhaps she was, but where can I go alone?

We live incorrectly: either we regret what has already happened, or we are horrified by what will be. And the present at this time rushes past like a courier train.

Not in too much of a hurry to jump on the bandwagon of this same courier train, Pavel Leontievna managed to maintain dignity and decency in their highest manifestations.

Later in Moscow, having quarreled with the leadership of the Red Army Theater, I was left alone and again on the street (I had to move out of the hostel), Wulf again sheltered me in her house. I was old enough, if not aged, but without them and Ira I felt restless and terribly lonely.

It is important not so much to receive help as to know that you will certainly receive it. I always knew that I would receive, if not help, then at least the support of this amazing woman.

Pavla Leontyevna stopped playing in the 38th, the disease no longer allowed her to do it at full strength, and she didn’t know how to do it at half strength. The teaching activity remained. Zavadsky helped, he himself taught at GITIS since the 40th year.

At the end of her life, Pavel Leontievna complained about everything, was capricious, picky. It seemed that all her life patiently enduring any hardship, she saved her complaints for the last days.

No one but me understood Pavel Leontievna, the fact is that she wanted ... back to the nineteenth century! Wulf herself lived in that century for twenty-two years, enough to feel the taste and difference, she adored the Silver Age ...

Pavla Leontievna died in June 1961. It was a real loss for me, I was left an orphan.

Her last words to me were:

“I'm sorry I raised you to be a decent person.

Horrible! An exceptionally decent person asked for forgiveness for instilling decency!

She could not correct my very difficult character, teach me to restrain myself, not to say anything, not to shout, to be tolerant and intelligent. Pavel Leontievna was killed by my swearing, my inability to keep my mouth shut, to dress, to look elegant ...

But she forgave everything, because she was infinitely kind and patient. Of course, Irochka could complain about her whims in recent years, but if she remembered how much Pavel Leontievna had to go through in life, she would treat these whims more indulgently.

Then Tata died ... And suddenly we almost became friends with Irina, really feeling like sisters.

And when Irina died, I was completely orphaned. Only the son of Irina Leshka remained, my ersatz grandson, but he is far away, he has his own life. And I'm an old and useless witch.

It is a pity that I did not have time to ask Irina for forgiveness. For what? For taking away a bit of maternal love from her, for making her jealous of Pavel Leontievna.

I was able to meet my own family in Romania in the fifties. My father was no longer alive, my mother was very old, it’s even hard to find out, brother Yakov, of course, has changed. Bella could not come from Paris, everyone did not give her a visa, despite all my petitions.

Then Bella moved to me in Moscow, deciding that such a famous actress as I have become, who has so many awards and prizes, national recognition, should just bathe in luxury. The skyscraper on Kotelnicheskaya Embankment, where I then lived, delighted her:

– Fanya, is this your house?!

I had to explain that not all, only one small apartment.

Bella could not fit into our Soviet reality in any way, when her turn in the store approached, she, instead of quickly telling how much to weigh, started talking with the seller about the health of her parents, about the weather ... The queue gradually grew wilder.

The behavior of a completely impractical sister, who was unable to arrange her life either in Paris after the death of her husband, or in Turkey, where she later moved, suggested to me the idea that my own everyday restlessness was not at all the result of my stupidity, but some kind of hereditary acquisition.

Bella did not live long in Moscow, although she met with her old love and everything was leaning towards a new wedding. But inoperable cancer crossed out all happy plans ...

I have survived so many people dear to me! The current young people do not need me, for them I am an ancient, harmful old woman, they do not want to spend their spiritual strength not only on talking with me, but also on following my advice.

Only Ninochka Sukhotskaya, Alisa Koonen's niece, remained with me. We met, it seems, in 1911 in Evpatoria. My God, how long ago! Nina is a wonderful friend and adviser, but she has her own life, she cannot patronize me. In addition, patronizing Ranevskaya is such a crazy job that not everyone can shoulder and not everyone likes.

No, I am not capricious, now I am no longer capricious, I am lonely in soul. To be with me, you need to penetrate this soul, accept it with your own soul, and this is very difficult.

Perhaps it has healed, everything around is so different that I seem to myself an ancient lizard, clumsy and stupid.

Overcome by sores, sad thoughts, first of all about their uselessness, about a mediocre life lived, that what has not been done is a thousand times more than what has been done, that so many years and efforts have been wasted in vain.

When I find someone who will process my stupid notes, I will definitely ask them to leave less whining and more experience, especially spiritual, spiritual, theatrical.

When the ninth decade of your life ends, many things are seen differently, much better. Surprisingly, with age, a person loses the ability to see with his eyes, but acquires spiritual vision. It is more important.