….[Glazunov] offered to get me into the opera Boris Godunov at the Imperial Maryinsky Theatre. The legendary bass Feodor Chaliapin was singing Tsar Boris, and Glazunov was conducting. To hear Chaliapin as Boris! What an incredibly generous offer, especially since it was to be a command performance. Emperor Nicholas II and the diplomatic corps were going to attend. No tickets were available, but Glazunov promised to get me into the orchestra pit. It turned out to be one of the most memorable events of my life. I couldn't find the administration door at first, it was to the side of the main entrance. I was afraid of being late, but when I was finally led into the orchestra pit and was seated, and it was time to start, it turned out everyone was waiting for the tsar. Nicholas, who was coming from his military headquarters in the city of Mogilev- this was at the height of World War One-was forty-five minutes late. So the performance began an hour and a half late, at half past ten, and I had lots of time to look around. Brilliant officers and beautifully dressed ladies - oh, those hats, jewels, and long gloves! - sat in the boxes. The diplomats of the tiniest country looked like kings! I thought that when our emperor came out, he would be dressed even more fabulously and would look even more impressive. But when Nicholas appeared (I was sitting right opposite the royal box, on the left) I saw a small, modestly dressed man, without pomp or galloons or medals. Only the St. George Cross gleamed on his chest. They started playing anthems – first the Russian, then those of our wartime allies. Everyone stood up. The tsar stood, twirling his reddish moustache with a melancholy air. I devoured him with my eyes. Then came the opera, the first time I’d seen Boris Godunov. Chaliapin’s singing astonished me. But even more astonishing…he suddenly fell to his knees! He hadn’t stumbled; no, it was a flamboyant theatrical touch: Chaliapin, tsar on the stage, on his knees before the real tsar. The audience gasped and buzzed. Everyone had been electrified to begin with, and Chaliapin’s unexpected gesture added to the tension. But Chaliapin continued as if nothing had happened. Then it became increasingly clear that he was dissatisfied with Glazunov’s conducting, that the phlegmatic composer was holding back the temperamental singer. At last Chaliapin couldn’t stand it anymore, come stage front, bend over, and in his marvellously deep voice roared at Glazunov, “Sasha, hurry it up!”. After seeing Boris with Chaliapin, I had chills for ten days. They thought I had caught a bad cold and kept taking my temperature- but I had no fever. I was quivering with excitement. I had overdosed on high art. << less