Fall is rapidly approaching. The days are getting shorter and shorter, and the temperature is dropping. The golden season of our trips through the beautiful Slobozhanshchyna region is coming to a merciless end. In its place, the column beloved by many, “Kharkiv Through the Eyes of…,” is returning once again.
Throughout the long history of our wonderful city, it has been visited by a great many famous people. Each of these memories of Kharkiv is priceless to us—especially when we read more than just glowing reviews. Sometimes an outsider’s perspective reveals things you might otherwise miss.
In 1990, the book *Old Masters of the Operetta* was published. It consists of the memoirs of Olga Pavlovna Grekova-Dashkovskaya, a ballerina and operetta actress. Her memoirs cover the period from the beginning of the last century through the 1950s. In them, the author recounts certain phenomena and events in pre-revolutionary theater life, discusses famous operetta artists (V. Potopchina, N. Tamara, N. Monakhov, M. Dmitriev), and about those who were at the forefront of Soviet operetta.
The book is illustrated with numerous rare photographs.
In 1917–1918, fate would have it that the actress lived and performed in our most beloved city. That is precisely why, thanks to the book *Old Masters of Operetta*, we can find extremely fascinating descriptions of life in Kharkiv during that distant, difficult, and extremely challenging time.
It all began when the well-known operetta actor and director Konstantin Dmitrievich Grekov signed a contract in 1917 for the winter season in Kharkiv with Fyodor Vasilyevich Valentetti, a renowned conductor at the time. Olga Pavlovna herself recalls it this way:
Valentetti was acting on behalf of a certain businessman who had leased the Kharkiv Opera House (formerly the Rymarsky Club). The venue was excellent. The man financing the Kharkiv venture was not a professional theater impresario. He had completed conducting courses and dreamed of working in the theater. With a bit of “filthy lucre” at his disposal, he conceived the idea of creating a large-scale operetta theater. To this end, a very large operetta troupe was assembled. The famous operetta prima donna Victoria Viktorovna Kavetskaya, who had previously performed in operettas only as a guest artist, was invited to play the lead role for the entire season (it was said that her vocal cords, just like those of the famous Italian opera singer Adelina Patti, were purchased by American scientists after her death).
It should be noted, by the way, that it was only on the condition that Kavetskaya work regularly at the theater—rather than go on tour—that Grekov took the helm of the operetta troupe in Kharkiv. He needed an ensemble so that the theater he headed would have a genuine artistic identity.
An actor to play the lead role was invited from Moscow. He turned out to be I.S. Zona, who had recently joined the operetta company from a Ukrainian theater but was already highly “in demand on the operetta scene” (to use the terminology of the time)—a young singer named Nikolai Antonovich Dashkovsky, who possessed a remarkable mezzo-character tenor voice, a rare stage presence, and great acting talent.
I, too, received an offer from Valentetti to work in Kharkiv, and after the necessary correspondence, I signed a contract with the administrator who brought us the contracts and advance payments. Grekov was very angry with me the whole time I was negotiating with Valentetti on my own. He assumed that I, like his other regular employees, was automatically included in his contract for the Kharkiv season. “Just like a piece of equipment!” I thought to myself, feeling resentful. Grekov was right, because my sister would never have let me go alone to a strange city. The opening of the winter season at the Kharkiv Operetta was scheduled, it seems, for the end of September 1917. The production was being put together from scratch, so there was a lot of work to be done, and it was urgent.
And so, young Olga Pavlovna finally arrived in our city. What difficulties did she face? What did she see? What was her life like?
From the train station, Nastya took me to her mother’s apartment. Her mother, a former supporting actress—now very unhappy and unemployed in her old age—was barely scraping by. Her small apartment, consisting of a single room and a kitchen, was located almost on the outskirts of the city. The money I’d received as an advance began to dwindle at an alarming rate, as I spent it on what was then an expensive mode of transportation—horse-drawn carriages.”
So, as we can see, even 100 years ago, the residents of our city who lived on the outskirts faced the same problems they do today.
Actors arrived in Kharkiv from all over the country to take up their new posts. Rehearsals began, followed by the first performances. “The play *The Priestess of Fire* made a favorable impression on the Kharkiv audience with its cast and the seriousness of the production. The productions that followed *The Priestess of Fire*—F. Lehar’s *The Count of Luxembourg* and Leo Falla’s *The Dollar Princess*—made a similar impression.”
Then they began preparing Johann Strauss’s *The Gypsy Baron*, with E. Ivanova and N. Dashkovsky in the lead roles. The entire troupe worked very hard. The ballet company had it especially rough… Up until then, operetta had not been popular in Kharkiv, despite the fact that great talents of the genre—starting with N. M. Monakhov—had toured there. Therefore, the entire troupe remained on high alert, like troops before a battle. The atmosphere was friendly and warm. If there were any minor “tensions,” they were limited to two or three actresses, which didn’t spoil the overall positive mood…
My work at the theater turned out to be interesting, but life was very difficult. By the start of the season, N. Piletskaya and I were forced to move to a hotel closer to the theater. The room turned out to be more than modest, but at least it was warm, which was also important. No amount of talent as a ballet soloist could keep up with the “leaps” in the value of money back then. And given the insane workload at the theater, my appetite was voracious. My salary was barely enough for some thin soup and potato cutlets with a disgusting gravy in the cafeteria. For the first time, I began to feel down. I realized that no matter how much my salary increased, I would probably never be full… Not to mention that I also had to buy clothes. I did have a new coat, mind you—made in Moscow with my summer advance—but it was still just one coat. For both winter and summer. All of this led to some heavy thinking, but I had to work…
However, despite the difficulties, there were also bright moments in Olga Pavlovna’s life in Kharkiv. And no wonder: after all, I. Kalman’s new operetta, *Silva*, was a stunning success in our city!
“Silva” remained on the bill for an entire week, something that had never happened before in the history of operetta theaters. The entire week saw a 100 percent sell-out. It was impossible to get into this performance without a connection. Later on, I saw many fine actresses who played Silva flawlessly. Theatergoers who had seen Elna Histedt said she was the very best Silva. But in my opinion, no one in that role could compare to Victoria Viktorovna Kavetskaya. Her voice was extraordinary in its beauty, clarity, the tenderness of its timbre, and the power of its sound. She also possessed a special musical expressiveness and great vocal artistry…
The famous duet from the second act—“Do You Remember…?”—made a big impression on the audience (and we all really liked it, too). Kavetskaya and Dashkovsky sang it as a concert number. The theater management didn’t spend much money on costumes for the chorus and ballet. Or rather, they spent nothing at all. That’s why the eight young women who, according to the author’s concept, “make their debut” on the day of Silva’s farewell performance wore very simple costumes: a white, mid-length tulle dress with an orange taffeta sash and a wreath on their heads…
The friendly relationships at the theater helped keep our spirits high in our personal and professional lives, despite our financial difficulties. We often had dinner together as a large group of actors. Alas! Without those dinners, I would have kicked the bucket.
The theater is the theater, but life isn’t just about performances and benefit shows. Behind the walls of the commercial club, entirely different events were unfolding—events that changed not only people’s lives but also the country itself. Elena Pavlovna wrote very little about the civil war in her memoirs. And what she did write was, of course, subsequently censored by the Soviet authorities. However, even these tiny fragments are valuable to us, and they allow us to see that era through the eyes of an eyewitness.
Absorbed in our daily work, we paid little attention to the events unfolding beyond the theater’s walls. The buzz of life reached us only belatedly. The oppressive atmosphere of the endless war was finally broken by the establishment of Soviet power in Ukraine as well. That night, sailors surrounded and disarmed the armored detachment representing the authorities in the city. In the morning, Yuri Sablin—a handsome young man who had been one of the first Red Army soldiers to enter Kharkiv—appeared on a white horse in the square in front of the Sinelnikov Drama Theater. Danya Danilsky later introduced me to him backstage.
With the establishment of Soviet power, the theater threw its doors wide open to the democratic audience. The theaters never stopped operating, not even for a single day. Instead of wealthy regulars, the auditorium was filled with soldiers from the front, workers, and Soviet civil servants. Kharkiv students had long been attending our theater, coming to love it just as much as the Drama Theater… Our operetta theater began to enjoy enormous popularity and the affection of this new audience…
This was the first time a full-length ballet had been staged at an operetta theater, and we understood the full weight of the responsibility involved. Working on “Chopiniana” was difficult. Without exception, we all danced on pointe. We had to practice a lot, in addition to our regular daily rehearsals and performances. And the situation with the ballet shoes was a disaster. There was no way to get them in Kharkiv. After a great deal of trouble, we were sent some very low-quality ballet shoes from Moscow. Dancing in them was pure torture.
At last, our benefit performance—which had been such a struggle to bring to fruition—finally took place. The ballet performance was a success. We danced “Chopiniana” beautifully, with Gavrilova in the lead role. The divertissement was excellent and varied, with each number receiving an encore. Until then, full-length ballets had never been staged in Kharkiv, and this undertaking made quite an impression on the theater-going public. But at that time, ominous news began to intrude on our relatively peaceful lives. The city was in turmoil, and all sorts of rumors were spreading…
In Olga Pavlovna Grekova-Dashkovskaya’s rather extensive memoirs, there is one emotional recollection of Kharkiv that is of great value to me. It contains no sensationalism, unique facts, or scandalous revelations. It is extremely important to me because of the deeply personal perspective of a contemporary witness to a historical event. It is precisely this recollection that I would like to quote at the end of this article.
…The invasion began, and there was talk that the Germans would occupy Kharkiv. No one at our theater wanted to believe it; everyone froze in anxious anticipation of something terrible. And then, on one clear spring day, something happened that has remained etched in my mind for the rest of my life, like a terrible nightmare. After the performance, my friend Sonya and I were invited to a family celebration hosted by one of our ballerinas, a native of Kharkiv. The celebration ended late at night, and no one dared to let us go home alone.
That morning, enchanted by the beauty of the spring day, we decided to take a walk through the park—especially since rehearsals at the theater had been canceled that day. We were surprised by how deserted the streets were. Not a single cab driver, not a single pedestrian. Sonya and I kept walking up Sumskaya Street toward the highway. It was completely silent all around…
Suddenly, the ringing clatter of hooves broke through the silence from the direction of the highway. Finally, a lone rider came into view, leading a second saddled horse with no rider. Riding up to the first house on Sumskaya Street, the rider dismounted and began adjusting something on the girth. The houses with their gates closed stood as if deserted. A sense of unease came over us, as if on this sunny and lovely day some foreign, alien presence had entered, instantly altering the entire landscape. Not yet understanding what was happening, we began to stare at the rider, who was about ten to twelve paces away from us. He continued to fiddle with his horse, oblivious to our presence.
And then it suddenly hit me like a blow to the head! I saw a gray German uniform right in front of me—the kind that had always filled me with dread whenever I saw war photo reports. Without a word, Sonya and I, holding hands, spun around in a flash and dashed down Sumskaya Street like an arrow. When we reached the first side street, we turned into it and continued our frantic run all the way to the theater. Barging into the office, we told Grekov and Director Khatranov about the terror we’d just experienced… By evening, the entire city had been occupied by the Kaiser’s troops…
Anyone who is interested can read for themselves in the book about both the White Guard troops and the Red Army’s return to our city. After all, Kharkiv, as seen through the eyes of Olga Pavlovna Grekova-Dashkovskaya, is truly fascinating and described so vividly that it’s as if you’re seeing it for yourself.
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