Sofia Pilyavskaya

Picture of Sofia Pilyavskaya

Date of Birth: 05/17/1911

Age: 88

Place of birth: Krasnoyarsk

Citizenship: Russia

who needed anti-Soviet BEAUTY?

A few stories of "sad book" Sophia Pilyavskaya publishing "Vagrius".

Aristocrat theater

She died on the 89th year of life, in the Kremlin hospital, where came to visit her colleagues from the Moscow Art Theatre and other actors of Moscow theaters, prestigious neighbors in the "Stalinist" house in the center of the capital and the wife of the president of Russia. Sophia Stanislavovna funeral itself Metropolitan Pitirim. Obituary printed newspapers voiced TV and radio programs. Before the coffin was carried pads with orders and medals. It would seem that a long and happy life ... But she recalled before the death of his father, perished in the Gulag, Moscow Art actor YE Koltsov, who spent 17 years in the camps, and constantly returns to the theme of fear, haunted her life.

She was born in Krasnoyarsk, where he had been exiled to the permanent exile of her father. Siberian childhood memories bright and cheerful. At the beginning of 1917 SS Pilyavskii left "make a revolution", and then by the family moved to the capital - first in Petrograd, then in Moscow. (But only after many years of memories Lunacharsky children learned that their dad, "starbol" Leninist cohort was a big party official.)

After studying with the sister "of the" Stanislavsky Zosia he was admitted to the troupe of the Moscow Art Theater. There she married actor Nicolas Dorokhin. After seeing the museum Venus, a young husband seriously said: "My Zosia something will be better!" (He died on the doorstep OL Olga Knipper, where they were going to celebrate the New 1954. Since then, Zosia 46 times dressed up a Christmas tree in my apartment and sat alone with her in the night from December 31 to January 1.)

Alas, the great beauty Pilyavskaya unclaimed its time. It was, if I may say so, quite anti-Soviet beauty. Beauty subtlety and nobility, aristocracy and breed. It`s hard, but it was impossible to imagine her in the roles of Komsomol and weavers, tractor drivers and dashing machine gunner. For some brilliant roles - many years of personal theatrical stagnation. More than anything Pilyavskaya not stand plebeian and plebeian around it became more and more. Probably so she firmly refused to continue his memoirs, focusing on the 1970 year. She hated and despised the current theatrical backstage, did not like and did not understand the new theater of manners (and did not try to understand!). Although it was then lived up to its demand - in 70 the Moscow Art Theatre Oleg Efremov came and making out in a noble lady of a great actress, held her in roles constantly. Considerable satisfaction gave her teaching at the Studio School. And yet she did not feel the new time of spiritual ties. "I do not want to live up to a century Theater, But I lived so lonely.." - She said one day ...

She was buried in the Novodevichy cemetery in the grave of her husband. In the same row are Chekhov, Olga Knipper, Tarhanov, Moskvin, Nemirovich-Danchenko. She returned to her ...

a little after

In the Kremlin, I knew every nook and cranny. It was then another - and with non-strict order, with a combination of incompatible signs of the times - like the palace of the old footman, old women praying in churches and Latvian Riflemen or Kremlin cadets. On the ground floor of the officer corps was located Sovnarkomovskaya dining room - a kind of club, where otvetrabotniki coming when anyone could communicate outside of work. We dined they did eat soup, and "second" laid in a flat container in bag - take home. Dinner given dry rations: polbatona from gray flour, a piece of sausage or cheese. The Kremlin lived Stalin, Voroshilov, Chicherin, Kamenev, Bonch-Trotsky. The phones were not, urgent calls were given a receipt by courier, and we, the children often had to run into the dining room to the fathers. One day, sent a note to his father, I jumped out of the "pinwheel" hit someone in the head and stomach had a playful podshlepnik. Something was said with a laugh in response to my "oh!" - And I flew into the open door of the dining room. I write in such detail because the man was Vladimir Lenin. When he was buried, it seemed to me not close, not like in the early my childhood. In 1924, I was the 13th year, I understand the grief and anxiety of his father and his comrades. Houses were not finding: taking turns day and night they carried the honor guard at the tomb. And from all sides of the country, and from abroad went to the funeral people. When roared plants and locomotives, ringing church bells, my brother and I were standing on the wall of the Kremlin, which allowed a pass. It was creepy. It has been more than sixty years, and I remember everything like it was yesterday.

"Leech Zyza"

In the early winter of 1919 a family council it was decided to define me in so-called "forest school". It was the first in a new country an attempt somehow to teach children who were unsupervised at home or do not have this at home. I am not without the roar obeyed, and my mother took me to the station mamontovskoye. The one-story wooden school had several rooms, close to a number of standing iron beds with skinny mattresses, blankets liquid and flat pillows. Two stern educator, caretaker and cook, and most importantly - a lot of short-haired shaved girls who dressed in what came to look at the newcomer. Zakamenelaot I fear, when my mother fell address word "mistress", "stove!" (She was in a shabby, even coat of the Siberian foal with sealskin collar and a hat). I was given a bed near the window, my mother whispered in Polish to me about what I am good and patient, it is necessary to listen to and that she will come on Sunday. After seeing it, I returned to the room and saw that in my Baule hosted big girls. Throwing my belongings, they shouted with a laugh: "Pick up, stove!" I did not dare to pick up and sitting on the edge of the bed in fear stared at her companions. One of them asked: "How`s your name?" I replied: "Zosia Pilyavskaya". Whispering, they began to shout: "Leech, Leech, Zyza!" Well, I do not roared ...

In the dining room they put me to the edge, too. Gave mush-mush in tin bowls and a cup of carrot tea. I am sitting next to the girl hissed: "Leave polkashi". I left. I am very afraid of them. Immediately after eating drove sleep. Duvet cover was not on the blanket was a strange smell. I pulled at his coat, put a bag over his head that mom sewed pillowcases from pillows from the couch, and lurking. On this night, the bag was wet with tears, but even a sniff, I did not dare. In the morning the teacher bellowed, "Get up!" I saw my empty trunk. All disappeared, and most importantly - a piece of soap. I wiped do not remember anything, not just a towel. "Why swollen Why red?" - Asked one of the boss, and sent me a sick lie. No I was not interested in girls screaming ran around the garden. Perhaps they were not evil, perhaps, in his short biographies of them had a lot of difficult, and I was a stranger to them. Here, no one taught nothing. All classes without dangling from meal to meal, educators should only be to ensure that there was no escape and serious fights. I called and leeches and Zyzoy, but most are not particularly bullied. Probably felt very stupid, and stupidity - quiet.

To my mother`s arrival, I have matured a plan of escape. Money for a ticket was not, and in what direction to go, I did not know, and therefore decided, when my mother would go back, I quietly follow behind her and found himself alone at the station. And here we sit on the wood for the terrace, I brought the cake and eats lying smoothly: the girl took a well, the lessons are interesting, the food is delicious ... When, after the wires I came to my mother with her bag, her face was scared, because I once roared with all his might, and, choking back tears, he began to tell the truth. She, too, began to cry. Houses, washed and happy, in a clean bed, I fell blissfully asleep. But it`s not just mom or brother woke me when I cried at night.

Under the wing of a seagull

It is not clear how I moved from class to class! I almost did not prepare lessons - was bewitched theater. Reviewed all the performances in the Large and Small, the Moscow Art Theatre and the theater of Meyerhold, Vakhtangov in, put the school "The Marriage" by Gogol, playing ... Podkolesin. In the finals it was as penalty, but gave all to the amazement of friends, and even four. And on the entrance exam to the Studio Stanislavsky Zinaida S. Sokolov she said gently: "Dear lady, you have a strong emphasis on the Russian stage and you are unlikely to be." Narevevshis enough, I said a home, so that when I do not dare to speak Polish. I ruled out for yourself the language of their parents! At a difficult time in my wardrobe was one skirt and two blouses - flannel and linen, which I washed in turn. Ironed evening skirt hung on hangers, and I wore it to the last minute before going to the studio. Once I was in a hurry (about being late was out of the question!), And came, and opening his coat, he was stunned: I wore only blue flannelette pants. Raised partner waited, when it will be to accept and hang up coats, and I ... Fortunately for me, one of the girls came before. They kicked the guy and, choking with laughter, went with a story to Zinaida Sergeyevna. In the end, I dressed in her skirt, removing the excess amount of pins. Before the examination of the father`s black trousers and gray jacket old I built a dress - pretty decent "midi" with white collar and cuffs. And now I`m in the support of the Moscow Art Theater, and salary - as much as 40 rubles per month !!! Very simple and

kindly took me into his circle of beautiful young actress Nina Ol`shevskaya Irina Wolf and beautiful Veronica Polonskaya (a year before my arrival in theater, she has experienced the death of Mayakovsky, and now printing of turmoil was lying still on it). In my new friends had husbands, and Nina and unusually charming funny baby two or three years - the future star Alexei Batalov. I often helped bathe him. When Nina was married to Victor Ardov in their house I met Olesha, Svetlov, Ilf and Petrov, Erdman, met with disgraced Akhmatova and her son ... At the rehearsal of "Dead Souls" (I had a phrase: "Oh, my God Pavel Ivanovich! ") I first saw Bulgakov. Elegant, cool, even a little stand-offish with strangers, on the general run "for the" he was excited, delighted, grateful. Once Mr Mikhail and Elena invited us to a hearing "Memoirs of a dead man" ( "Theatrical Novel"). It was so interesting to learn hidden under pseudonyms mhatovtsev ridiculous! We literally fell off their chairs, so it was hot, and sometimes mercilessly. But it was not just angry derision, it is - its close, expensive (although someone still took the novel as a pamphlet in the MAT).


Our artistic feast took place under the millet porridge and baked potato, and a modest guest-male booze "thrown off". Sometimes, lack of money, and in the rain, when it was impossible to sit "in the wood" (the so-called MAT yard, where he kept a wooden decoration and stood woodpile), Vadim Shverubovich calling all to yourself. Son Kachalova lived comparatively us magnificently - he had a private room! We drank tea, arguing, fantasized, as will patronize the first time the actor formed the brigade of the army of Blucher ...

Journey to the Far East then lasted 10 days, the trains were heated with coal, all were black with soot, but noisy and fun. The stark beauty of Siberia hit and fascinated. So Khabarovsk, flowers, greetings, an honor guard ... The only clouded our trip Head imparted by the NKVD. He was eager to make speeches everywhere: "Comrades, soldiers and commanders What was the artist before the revolution it was Bedding And now it came to belong to your army!?!" ... (During performances he slept somewhere in the hay or grass, but in the final ovation, at the presentation of diplomas, where funny distorted almost all of our names, was certainly) on the way back in Vladivostok he joined us Fadeev -. as he was, without any belongings. (At the entrance to Moscow, my husband lent him his shirt front.) When he used to come to our gatherings, singing "Rowan" and taught me bawdy songs with "Millionka".

In 1958, we flew on tour in Japan. We stopped in Khabarovsk, arrived at the hotel, and then Alexei Gribov shouted: "Sonia, Sonia, come quickly here It`s our men`s bedroom, it`s 35th year!" Excited, they all showed Gregory Equine some items of the past, and I hardly recognize, but also very worried. And to think that for three years now, there is no Fadeev. Until the end of days I will be thankful for the joy and honor of friendship with him.

Echo of the Gulag

Arrested Misha Nazvanova and Valya Tsishevskogo - both were absolutely still boys. The fate of Mikhail Mikhailovich - the popular actor later (who does not remember Claudius in "Hamlet"!) - Well known and Valea lost trace. When in 1937 the Art Theatre was sent to Paris for the World`s Fair, I was not in the part of "Anna Karenina" (I played Princess Betsy). Who turned me down - the theater or from the outside? I was worried not only for himself but also for his father - he was then chairman of the board of the Supreme Court of the USSR. It turned out, all the same theater (my role girlfriend gave Moscow Art Party organizer). "Compensated" quarters in my nepoezdku Glinischevskom Lane (now the street Nemirovich-Danchenko). Walked we Kolya on empty, but in such a beautiful room, and I followed him to the station. Upon returning husband from head to toe dressed me all Paris and we went to the House on the Embankment (his father was there 4-room apartment). Right out the front door, I saw a sealed cabinet and understood. We were told that my brother lost his job, his father`s daughter from his second marriage, excluded from the Komsomol. (In 1955, I was given a certificate: "In the absence of crimes considered Pilyavskaya SS and Smitten EG innocent" Natasha`s mother died in the camp in 1941, his father was shot at once..) He was accused of collaboration with three intelligence (on knowledge of languages ??among ?!), the newspaper does not mince words: "wolf eyes hardened predator", "vile traitor," etc. Theatre director told me in a whisper: "All that I can do for you - write" on their own "attitude of others were different:. Most escaped, someone sympathized openly (these were few), while others - only . look, nodded hastily Fadeev, coming to us, pressed me to him and said: "Well, I`m sorry, well, forgive me!" With the dismissal in no hurry (it turned out, Stanislavsky not endorsed my application), but when the play arrived government for backstage was crowded with strangers, and "civilian" before I go on stage performed her hands on the sides (if no weapons?).

And how much had to endure her husband due to the fact that I was the daughter of an "enemy of the people"! The first had a heart attack in his 33 years old, the last - in 48. But somewhere in between - the agenda of the NKVD. His forced to "cooperate". First, politely, then more insistently, with hints - "not released". Physically it was not touched, but the end of "conversations" - when they realized that he did not agree - not choosing expressions, jumping up to scream, swear words mixing with threats, banging his fist on the table and kicked.

The War. Rear

Moscow bombed, and we have become accustomed to a new life: rehearsal, patronage concerts, on duty on the roof, phone chime after curfew air raid (alive?). In October, the Moscow Art Theatre was evacuated to Saratov. I remember that on arrival our camp is located in the theater buffet. I fell asleep and suddenly woke up. Right above me I sat sniffing big rat. Froze in horror, I looked at her. What he saw seemed to me a symbol of all sad, painful, that was waiting for us ahead. Once in the city learned of our arrival, the market prices soared. For some reason, we did not like (and this is an understatement), residents of neighboring villages and some of Saratov. I once, frozen, in short rubber boots, dostoyano turn for the potatoes and the cart vendor snapped: "Come, Come, curly coat!" (I was wearing a fur coat from lambskin). I`m almost in tears asked why, but no one stood up: they were all afraid, as if they were not denied.

Our commune is fed, eating the leftovers brought from Moscow, cereals, pancakes frying of God knows what, and on what. NZ flour, a jar of canned cherished and secret "cellar" we kept to the New Year holiday. For table then we sat down with us playwright Nikolai Erdman and poet Mikhail Volpin, which had recently quietly taken away our men, who were at the station for unloading prisoners from teplushek. The hotel washed them, burned rags, treated her ... And on New Year`s night knock on the door, and entered the military, "Erdman and Volpin here?" There was a dead silence. Seeing our faces, entered smiled: "Do not worry, they are invited to the NKVD Ensemble as the authors." Oh, what we were relieved! All rushed to embrace envoys, something to give to drink, feed, play guitar carcasses ... These are the surprises were presented by then the fate.

After the holidays, we decided to "do commerce." Leading actress kept on hand in a pink dress frills concert: "But who, the evening!" Mossy grandfather kolupaya Colin overshoe, asked me how much. "Three hundred rubles," - said a studied me. "And on this mug you galosh not give?" There was a chick with oil in two jugs: "Change in the splitter." Some of our run for the ax. Aunt spat: "Cleaver, who on his neck - my daughter get married." Once she bought my dress, "Do not hurt and fashionable - a few buttons, but mine five mares, daughters, some nito come down." Our story on my laughing, and at night I quietly cried resentment ... Once at the wall sink in the hotel there was an announcement: "Yesterday I forgot here a bar of soap with a piece of soap - it is necessary to return. Ivan Moskvin" (I do not know whether the back but note this is now in the museum of the theater).

In November 42 th there was a belief that the worst is over. Theater returned to Moscow, Moscow Art Theater School received its first students.

The War. Front

Each brigade trips we had to excel, not to drink to the bottom (otherwise we were good - in fact we were treated to the heart). One day at dinner the young pilot said that he had a daughter, and that he is given a 10-day vacation (he modestly kept silent, for what services). I wished him a happy and safe return of the meeting in a part of all of this drink - and suddenly he tore off his Zeiss binoculars, put on my neck, and pale, he said: "Save - I live with Fritz shot - captured. ! "

... Many years later, in a holiday village Pestovo Alexei Gribov asked me the binoculars - for some reason he needed it, and an hour later ran with trembling lips: "Sonia, I lost it!" Angry was impossible - a confused and distressed was kind of my older friend. They began to ask where he could forget such an expensive thing, and everyone except me (I`m not a walker was from a broken leg) have rushed to look for ... and found! It turns out that mushrooms hid optics burdock (from kids) and, carried away fishing, everything forgotten. "Alive, alive your pilot!" - I shouted in unison running adult men.

Touch the shrine

In winter 1951, Olga Knipper gave me a key and asked to withdraw from the cabinet suitcase. "Only carefully, he is no longer a ..." When I threw back the lid, my hands trembled: it was Chekhov`s suitcase. Two cambric shirts, pince-nez with a lace, letters, bubbles with attached recipes ... "I need to distribute all the museums Here in this shirt Chekhov died I do not want to give her such a -.. Take to wash and starch?" From the confusion and excitement I had imagined bad, how to do it - it took three years without a half-century! But I said, "Take". When I told my husband about the request, he said. "You`re an adventurer, and hussy What if the lawn from your washes creep ?!" But I could not back down. Wrapping shirt gauze dipped in warm water diluted soap flakes (the chemistry was not there) and began gently pressing. Time after time, changing the water calmed down: no crawling, then you can starch and iron.

"Thank you!" - Said Olga Leonardovna, running a hand over my face. Soon she was invited by a notary and submitted all the material in the Chekhov museum in Yalta, Moscow, and the Moscow Art Theater Melikhova.

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