sic by by in, and ssional Three Days Three – – Drillalians by Alexandra by Alexandra – Irina Tokareva – The Marriage of The Wedding

– Anna Isakova – Anna Isakova

and other productions). The The and other productions). and Mozart's Станиславский

), Theater of Nations ( ), Theater – Tatyana Khvorostyanaya Khvorostyanaya – Tatyana Электротеатра

by Henry Purcell, by Henry Purcell,

by Johannes Brahms. With Theodore With by Johannes Brahms. Theodore радиопартнер – Iraida Levandovskaya Levandovskaya – Iraida Генеральный by Dmitri Kourliandski, – Vladimir Povarnitsyn – Vladimir Povarnitsyn – Andrei Kuznetsov-Vecheslov – Andrei – Yevgeny Fyodorets Fyodorets – Yevgeny The Golden Ass Cosi fan tutte , – Olga Chaplygina – Nina Firsova – Nina Firsova – Oleg Kochukov Kochukov – Oleg – Stepan Lukyanov – Stepan Lukyanov – Irina Zolina – Irina Zolina – John Freedman – Dmitri Kourliandski – Boris Yukhananov – Andrei Bezukladnikov, Olympia Orlova Olympia Bezukladnikov, – Andrei – Anastasia Nefyodova – IP Dmitry Dovchenko – Pavel Barel, Semyon Poluyanov, Ariadna Popova Ariadna Popova Semyon Poluyanov, Barel, – Pavel Monster Is Not Singing Anymore – Maria Nikitina – Tatyana Kudryavtseva – Tatyana Asteroid 62 Dido and Aeneas Grace and FortitudeGrace – Yevgeny Kobets – Yevgeny German Requiem been choirmaster at Stanislavsky Electotheatre since 2013. been choirmaster at Stanislavsky Electotheatre – Anton Grositsky – Anton Grositsky , and – Kristina Matvienko Yury Mamleev (1931–2015) Mamleev Yury poet, playwright, and philosopher who belongs to the Writer, of the unofficial figure He was a prominent "metaphysical realists." in the . He published his works in samizdat in culture to the United States, then he emigrated this Soviet period. In 1974, he began where in the early 1990s to returning to Paris, Mamleev's works publishing his work with Russian publishers. into many languages. He continues the literary translated were particular in by means of his of Gogol and Dostoevsky, traditions in the metaphysics of Russian life. deep immersion (1860–1904) and playwright. One of the most produced writer Russian prose published Steppe" was first playwrights in the world. His story "The (Severny Vestnik). In a letter in the journal Northern Herald in 1888 the hope that his story to Dmitry Chekhov expressed Grigorovich, and show them what wealth, what "will open the eyes of my peers the still intact, and how unrestrained are of beauty, reservoirs Russian artist still can be." Workshop Director Workshop Carpenter Workshop Set Engineer Department Head of Production Manager Company Company Superintendent Company DeputyFirst Director Deputy Artistic International relations for Director International DepartmentManager of Development Deputy Artistic for Strategic Director Gleb Aleinikov Development Communications, Media and Manager, Virsavia Alexeeva, Yulia Alyona Malykhina, Anna Khaibullina Kulagina, Editor English translation Attache Press Photographers Designer Head Administrator Administrators Shoemaker Set Production Karlov Special thanks for the optics system to Sergei Chief Set Designer Chief Choreographer Musical Director Managing Director Chief Designer Artistic Director Alexandra Gavrish Alexandra and Development Team Communications, Media The Constant Principle , by Boris Filanovsky, by Boris Filanovsky, by Pascal Dusapin, and by Pascal Agatha Returns Home Play.list – The Blue Bird – Sergei Kotov – Sergei by Vladimir Rannev. N'Caged has performed in subscription concerts at the by Vladimir Rannev. – Natalya Avdonina – Natalya ), and the Dmitry Krymov Laboratory. He is the laureate of a Golden Mask award for Best Lighting of a Golden Mask award He is the laureate ), and the Dmitry Krymov Laboratory. Medea. Material Prose

by Olga Raeva,

– Tatyana Abramova – Tatyana www.twitter.com/electrotheatre_ The Visit is the first time the chorus has participated in a musical project. is the first www.instagram.com/electrotheatre

– Ksenia Gorcheva – Ksenia Gorcheva – Mikhail Klimov – Mikhail Klimov – Alexander Mikhlin – Alexander www.vk.com/electrotheatre – Olga Alexandrova – Olga Alexandrova

Prose – Sergei Lychkaty – Sergei www.facebook.com/stanislavskydrama

– Olga Roslova

– Valeria Zorina – Valeria Zorina , Alexandrinsky Theatre, 2015). , Alexandrinsky Theatre, – Irina Orlova www.electrotheatre.com by Vladimir Nikolaev, by Vladimir Nikolaev, – Artur Alenko, Vadim Gorbachyov, – Artur Vadim Gorbachyov, Alenko, – Polina Beletskaya, Anastasia Khlystova Anastasia Khlystova Beletskaya, – Polina – Asya Artyukhina, Demenskaya, Valeria – Olga Kozhevnikova, Alexandra Romanova – Olga Kozhevnikova, Alexandra – Mikhail Aksyonov, ArturAltybarmakyan, – Mikhail Aksyonov, – Alexander Smorodov – Alexander Smorodov

Dreams of the Minotaur Dreams – Anastasia Bezkorovainaya, Leila Karelina, Leila Karelina, – Anastasia Bezkorovainaya, Gereven Box office: +7 495 699 7224, [email protected] 7224, 699 495 +7 office: Box Exhibit/Awake

– Olga Dorina, Natalya Guseva, Alina Kadyrova, – Olga Dorina, Natalya Guseva, Alina Kadyrova, on Sony Classical label. As a musical director and conductor, she has collaborated with the Moscow Ensemble of Contemporary Mu with the Moscow Ensemble of Contemporary she has collaborated and conductor, on Sony Classical label. As a musical director

), Stanislavsky Electrotheater ( ), Stanislavsky Electrotheater – Konstantin Vyuev, Vladislav Zinovyev, Vera Malysheva, Vera Vladislav Zinovyev, – Konstantin Vyuev, Tverskaya Ulitsa 23 STANISLAVSKY ELECTROTHEATRE ELECTROTHEATRE STANISLAVSKY chorus consists of dramatic actors who, however, perform the highly complex music of contemporary composers on a par with profe perform composers the highly complex music of contemporary who, however, actors chorus consists of dramatic singers. Vladimir Rannev’s singers. Currentzis and the MusicAeterna orchestra and chorus she took part in the studio recordings of and chorus she took part in the studio recordings and the MusicAeterna orchestra Currentzis Stravinsky, Stravinsky, Andrei Kaplanov. Andrei chorus Stanislavsky Electrotheatre performances ( to participate in dramatic Was created International House of Music since 2014. The ensemble members are: Arina Zvereva, Alyona Parfyonova, Olga Rossini, Sergei Malin Olga Rossini, Sergei Alyona Parfyonova, Arina Zvereva, are: ensemble members The International House of Music since 2014. (MASM). She is the founder and artistic director of N'Caged vocal ensemble. She has has of N'Caged vocal ensemble. She (MASM). She is the founder and artistic director Figaro Design ( Arina Zvereva Musical director are of the N’Caged vocal ensemble. Among her credits artistic director Choirmaster, in Hell Sergei Vasilyev Vasilyev Sergei Lighting designer ( He has designed the lighting for performances at Praktika Deputy Directors, Artistic and Production Department ArtisticDeputy and Production Directors, Alexei Naumov Alexeev, Alexandra Department Sound Director, Sound Engineers Lighting Department Director, Lighting Engineers Slabospitsky, Konstantin Natalia Kudryavtseva, Papkov, Alexei Taran Pavel Video Khvorstyany Taras Set Department Director, Set Engineers Ivan Nikitin, Marenkov, Vadim VIktor Kuznetsov, Viktor Belozyorov, Kirill Churin Titaev, Slichenko, Nikolai Pavel Alexander Ryabov, Shop Director Props Handler Props Make Up Department Director, Make Up Artists Natalia Chekheneva, Angelina Levichev, Alexander Kozlov, Chuiko Cheryomisina, Tatiana Veronika Costume Shop Director Costumers Kristina Starostina Ksenia Minochkina, Olga Mordvinova, Shop Director Dressmaking Shop Dressmaking Deputy Director, Designer Technological Cutters Tailor’s Tailors Viktoria Natalya Kashitsina, Moskvina, Maya Pechyonkina, Marina Sakhnova, Irina Kharitonova Deputy Director for Construction and Operations and Construction for Deputy Director Department ArtisticProduction and Director, Kourliandski and Alexei Sioumak, and Filonenko, N’Caged ensemble include: ensemble’s chief goal is to perform music. Its projects contemporary The

llet in the Cinema tudied at of the 4th ausen and ture of the ture An opera based on stories The Collage , 2002) and a ussian family, ussian family, the same life, adimir Rannev by Yury Mamleev and Anton Chekhov S., 2009) and the ut their manner of

VIDEO # RUSSIA! Composed and directed by Vladimir Rannev AFTERADVERSITY

they are presented. In presented. they are Designed by Marina Alexeeva (Na Solyanke gallery, (Na Solyanke gallery,

atural world surrounding world surrounding atural Lighting designed by Sergei Vasilyev

(Sigmund Freud Museum of (Sigmund Freud Musical director: Arina Zvereva (Institute of Contemporary Art, (Institute of Contemporary St. (Manege, St. Petersburg, 1992), 1992), (Manege, St. Petersburg, Carpets A Small Retrospective Rapid Eye Movement (Mitka-Vkhutemas gallery, St. Petersburg, 1998), 1998), St. Petersburg, (Mitka-Vkhutemas gallery, Garderop

(State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg, 2002), (State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg, (Central House of Artists, Moscow, 2011), 2011), House of Artists, Moscow, (Central (Pro Arte Institute, St. Petersburg, 2008), Arte Institute, St. Petersburg, (Pro was awarded the Sergei Kuryokhin Grand-Prix (2013). His opera His opera (2013). Kuryokhin Grand-Prix the Sergei was awarded Duration: 1 hour, 20 minutes 1 hour, Duration: night:First November 20, 2017, in Moscow at the Stanislavsky Electrotheatre Performed by: Malinin, Dmitry Matvienko, Sergei N’Caged ensemble: Olga Rossini, chorus: Stanislavsky Electrotheatre / Alyona Parfyonova; Arina Zvereva Maria Menshenina, Perevalova, Tatyana Alina Gorina, Alyona Kakhuta, Byrkina Yelena Ilona Bul, Alyone Fyodorova, An opera based on stories An opera Chekhov and Anton Mamleev by Yury Squirrel. Neon Squirrel. Aurora Two Acts Two ARTMOSKVA Media-Greetings Dmitry Renansky (Peter and Paul Fortress, St. Petersburg, 2006), St. Petersburg, Fortress, and Paul (Peter (Borei gallery, St. Petersburg, 1997), 1997), St. Petersburg, gallery, (Borei already has the look of an exemplary already Vladimir Rannev Vladimir Rannev (Academic Opera and Ballet Theater, Perm, Russia, 2015), and Russia, 2015), Perm, and Ballet Theater, (Academic Opera (State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg, 2005), (State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg, Alexandra Atamanchuk, Alexandra Varvara Pushkarskaya Pushkarskaya Varvara Prose Sergei Vasilyev Sergei Alexander Belousov A Soft Heart (Rural Life gallery, , 2000), Saint Petersburg, Life gallery, (Rural , based on a libretto by Dmitry Alexandrovich , based on a libretto : Arina Zvereva : Arina Zvereva Sequence Marina Alexeeva Marina Alexeeva (Episode V) was nominated for a Golden Mask award in 2016. in 2016. (Episode V) was nominated for a Golden Mask award Two Acts Two is based on texts by Yury Mamleev and Anton Chekhov, whom the creators of this opera consider to be two of the harshest, most most to be two consider of the harshest, of this opera whom the creators Yury is based on texts by and Anton Chekhov, Mamleev

Assistant Director: Assistant Director: Manager: Production Director’s Assistants: Director’s Khvorostyanaya Tatyana uncompromising writers in the 150 year tradition of Russian realism. A full century separates the times in which they worked, b the times A full century separates of Russian realism. year tradition 150 in the writers uncompromising Prose exploring human nature and social relationships is timely even today – or, to be exact, is especially timely today. Composer Vl to be exact, is especially timely today. or, is timely even today – and social relationships exploring human nature interprets Yury Mamleev’s story “The Bridegroom (1980), and fragments of Chekhov’s story “The Steppe (1888) as different stages different as Steppe (1888) story of Chekhov’s “The and fragments (1980), Bridegroom Yury Mamleev’s storyinterprets “The Mamleev’s story is simultaneously the hyper-realistic and phantasmagorical exploration of an incident that occurs in a common R of an incident that occurs and phantasmagorical exploration Mamleev’s story hyper-realistic is simultaneously the He is thrilled by the n by distant relatives. to be raised Steppe,” is traveling of Chekhov’s “The the hero boy Yegorushka, The about one and moments in his life, as if Chekhov and Mamleev had written at different captured us a single person, We see before development of a single story. The former is an example of “cruel” prose, the latter is meditative and virtually event-free. the latter is meditative and virtually event-free. is an example of “cruel” prose, former The story. development of a single incontrovertibly. and changing it radically terrifying alien and world – the world of people. for the discovery of a new, preparing him, but is already in the way types of texts give rise to a tension that dictates a principal difference different and the very same anxieties. The complex na to the viewer a statement about the reveal and helps of the opera, nature turn, this gives rise to the dramaturgical society. among people in contemporary relationships in Russia. 20th Century 2011), Moscow, Art,Moscow Biennale of Contemporary (ARTPLAY, in Three Windowsin Three main project ViennaFair (Vienna, Austria, 2011), 2010), GOGOLFEST (Dovzhenko Studio, Kiev, 2010), Krasnoyarsk, (Museum Center, Moscow, 2013), 2013), Moscow, Graduated from the Rimsky-Korsakov Conservatory in St. Petersburg where he studied composition with Boris Tishchenko. He also s he studied composition with Boris Tishchenko. where Conservatory the Rimsky-Korsakov in St. Petersburg from Graduated Composer Vladimir Rannev (Germany Gartow of the Stiftung scholarship the Hochschule fur Musik in Cologne with Hans Ulrich Humpert. Rannev is a recipient of Illinois (U. of the University Award Martirano (Russia, 2003). He was a winner of the Salvatore grant Muse of St. Petersburg His opera (Switzerland, 2010). Music Award Classic Gianni Bergamo Drillalians Conservatory and Ba Opera of the St. Petersburg Rannev’s music has been performed by various ensembles, including the Orchestra Music Ensemble, Questa musica ensemble, Chorus, the Studio for New Music, the Moscow Contemporary Smolny Cathedral The Theatre, Netherlands), the Singakademie Oberh the Amstel Quartet (The Orkest de Volharding, (), N’Caged (Russia), Nostri Temporis Art Museums in Contemporary Traditional She has participated exhibitions: in the following collective 2017). St. Petersburg, Dreams, and others. 2013), (PERMM Museum, Perm, Graduated from the Leningrad Higher Art and Industrial School. Personal exhibitions include: Higher Art and Industrial School. Personal the Leningrad from Graduated Designer Marina Alexeeva He is a member of the StRes (Structure Resistance) group of composers, and teaches at St. Petersburg State University. and teaches at St. Petersburg of composers, Resistance) group He is a member of the StRes (Structure Cantus Domus choirs (Germany), Ums ‘n Jip, KontraTrio, Ensemble Phoenix Basel and Ensemble Proton Bern (Switzerland). Basel and Ensemble Proton Ensemble Phoenix (Germany), Ums ‘n Jip, KontraTrio, Cantus Domus choirs 1993), Petersburg, Lighting designed by Musical director Designed by Designed Composed and directed by and directed Composed production’s director. director. production’s elements of the finished theatrical product." the author of musical scores for eight a capella voices, and as the the author of musical scores extending his author's will to all what he has to say, to express acts as librettist working with texts by Mamleev and Chekhov, as and Chekhov, working with texts by Mamleev acts as librettist of accessible artistic means - but uses the widest possible range experiments with theatrical discourse. In his fourth opera, Rannev In his fourth opera, experiments with theatrical discourse. a single specialization to limit the scope of his activities to refuses Prigov, while even in purely instrumental works he consistently instrumental works he consistently even in purely while Prigov, the artist intentionally art of contemporary wherein product

opera opera in the realm of theatre for years: in 2012, he produced his own he produced in 2012, for years: of theatre in the realm "Vladimir Rannev, one of Russia’s leading composers, has worked composers, one of Russia’s leading "Vladimir Rannev, PROSE Fragments from Anton Chekhov, The Steppe munching. Somewhere far away a lapwing wailed, and occasionally solemn. Only the rooks, who had grown old on the steppe and were kindle, then fade away; guardian angels covering the horizon with

there sounded the cries of the three snipe who had come to see accustomed to its vagaries, hovered calmly over the grass, or took their golden wings prepared for the night’s slumber. The day had

...a wide boundless plain encircled by a chain of hills. Huddling whether their uninvited visitors had gone away. The rivulet babbled, no notice of anything, going on indifferently pecking with their stout passed well; the quiet peaceful night had come and they could rest together and peeping out from behind one another, these hills lisping softly, but none of these sounds broke the stillness, or beaks at the hard earth. tranquilly at home in the heavens... Yegorushka saw the sky melted into rising ground that stretched on the right of the road to stirred the stagnation, but, on the contrary, lulled all nature to sleep. gradually grow dark as dusk fell over the earth. He saw the stars the very horizon, and disappeared into the lilac distance; one drives A dull roll of thunder sounded beyond the hills; a whiff of fresh air light up one after the other. on and on but cannot tell where it begins or ends... The sun had Yegorushka, gasping from the heat, ran to the sedge and surveyed arose. One effort, one struggle more, and it seemed the steppe already peeked out from beyond the town behind them, and quietly, the country. He saw the same thing he had in the morning: the plain, would get the upper hand. But an unseen oppressive force When you gaze steadily at the deep sky, for some reason thoughts without fuss, set about its work. At first up ahead, where the earth the hills, the sky, the lilac distance; only the hills stood nearer; and gradually immobilized the wind and air, and settled the dust. The and feelings merge in an awareness of loneliness. One begins to met the sky, a broad, bright, yellow streak of light crept over the he could not see the windmill, which had been left far behind. From stillness returned as though nothing had happened. A cloud hid, feel hopelessly solitary, and everything one used to consider near ground near the mounds of earth and a windmill, which in the behind the rocky hill where the stream flowed, another rose, the sun-baked hills frowned, the air submissively grew calm, and and dear becomes infinitely remote and valueless. Stars that have distance looked like a tiny man waving his arms. A minute later a smoother and broader. Out of boredom Yegorushka caught a only the troubled lapwings wailed and lamented their destiny.... gazed down from the sky for thousands of years, the gloom and similar streak gleamed a little nearer, crept to the right and grasshopper in the grass, held it in his closed hand to his ear, and Evening soon came on. His drowsy brain utterly refused ordinary incomprehensible sky itself, indifferent to the brevity of man’s life, embraced the hills. Something warm touched Yegorushka's back; a long listened as the creature played its instrument. When he tired of thoughts. It was in a cloud and retained only fantastic fairy-tale oppress the soul with their silence when one is left face to face with streak of light, stealing up from behind, darted between the the music he chased a flock of yellow butterflies that flew toward the images, which have the advantage of springing spontaneously into them and tries to grasp their significance. One is reminded of the carriage and the horses, moved to meet the other streaks, and sedge at the water hole, and, not noticing it, found himself again the brain with no effort on the part of the thinker, and of completely solitude awaiting each of us in the grave, and the essence of life suddenly the whole wide steppe tossed off the early morning beside the carriage. Yegorushka instinctively put his lips to the vanishing at a mere shake of the head. On the right the hills loomed seems awful and full of despair. [...] There is something twilight, and smiled and sparkled with dew. The cut rye, the coarse trickle that ran from the waterpipe; his mouth felt cold and he tasted darkly and seemed to hide something unseen and terrible; on the melancholy, pensive, and extremely poetic about a solitary tomb; grass, the milkwort, the wild hemp, all withered from the sultry heat, hemlock. At first he drank eagerly, then forced himself to drink until left the whole sky at the horizon filled with a crimson glow, and it was one hears its silence, and in this silence one senses the presence of brown and half dead, now revived, washed by the dew and the sharp cold ran from his mouth all over his body and water spilled hard to tell whether a fire burned somewhere, or whether the moon the soul of the unknown individual lying beneath the cross. Is this caressed by the sun, to bloom again. Arctic petrels flew over the on his shirt. A song, subdued, dreary and melancholy, like a dirge, was about to rise. As by day the distance was still visible, but its soul at peace on the steppe? Does it grieve on a moonlit night? The road with joyful cries; squirrels called to one another in the grass. and hardly audible, seemed to come first from the right, then from tender lilac tint was gone, quenched by the evening darkness, steppe near the grave seems sad, dreary and contemplative; the

Somewhere, far off to the left, lapwings wept plaintive notes. A the left, then from above, and then from underground, as if an which hid the entire steppe. As soon as the sun goes down and grass seems more sorrowful, and it seems the grasshoppers chirp covey of partridges, frightened by the carriage, fluttered up and, unseen spirit were hovering over the steppe and singing. darkness enfolds the earth, the day's weariness is forgotten, all is more cautiously. No passer-by could forget that lonely soul or fail to with their soft "trrrr!" flew toward the hills. In the grass crickets, Yegorushka looked about him, not able to understand where the forgiven, and the steppe breathes a light sigh from its broad keep looking back at the grave, until it was far behind and lost in the locusts and grasshoppers kept up their churring, monotonous strange song came from. Then as he listened he began to think the bosom. As if in the dark the grass cannot see that it has grown old, gloom. [...] The thought that he was forgotten and had been left to music. grass was singing; its song, withered and half-dead, lacked words, a joyful, youthful twitter rises up from it, such as is not heard by day; the mercy of fate sent through him a cold chill of dread and several

but plaintively and passionately urged that it was not to blame, the chirping, twittering, whistling, scratching. The basses, tenors and times he had the impulse to leap off the bales of wool, and race

Some time passed, the dew evaporated, the air grew stagnant, and sun was burning it for no reason. It insisted that it ardently wished to sopranos of the steppe all mingle in an incessant, monotonous din, back full speed along the road. But the thought of those huge dark the disillusioned steppe donned its dejected July air. The grass live, that it was young and might be beautiful but for the heat and to which one easily broods on memories and sorrows. The crosses which he would certainly meet on the way, and the lightning drooped, everything living fell still. The sun-baked hills, drought. It was innocent, yet prayed for forgiveness and swore that monotonous twitter lulls one to sleep like a lullaby; you drive and flashing in the distance, stopped him... Only when he whispered, brownish-green and lilac in the distance, with their quiet, shadowy it was in anguish, sad and sorry for itself....Yegorushka listened feel you are falling asleep, but suddenly there comes the abrupt "Mother, mother!" did he feel a little better. There was a flash of tones, the plain, misty and distant and, arched above them, the sky, awhile, and it seemed as though this dreary, mournful song made agitated cry of a wakeful bird, or a vague sound like a voice crying lightning on the right, and, like a reflection in a mirror, a second which seemed terribly deep and transparent in the steppe which the air hotter, more suffocating and more stagnant.... To drown the out in wonder "A-ah, a-ah!" and slumber closes one's eyelids flash in the distance. Between the distance and the horizon on the lacks woods or mountains, now appeared endless, petrified with singing he ran to the sedge, humming to himself and stomping his again. Or you drive by a little creek where there are bushes, and right a flash of lightning sparked so brightly that it lit up part of the ennui.... feet. The song ended. Yegorushka sauntered back to the carriage, hear the bird, dubbed by steppe dwellers "the sleeper," call out, steppe, including the spot where the clear sky met the blackness. A

and to kill time went again to the trickle of water. And the dreary "Asleep, asleep, asleep!" while another laughs or breaks into trills terrible cloud was swooping down unhurriedly, a compact mass;

So stifling and oppressive! The carriage raced along, but song arose again. The hot sun scorched the back of his head, his of hysterical weeping - that is the owl. For whom do they call and big black shreds hung from its edge; similar shreds were building

Yegorushka always saw the same thing - the sky, the plain, and low neck, and back. The sad song died away, then arose again on the who hears them on that plain, God only knows, but their cry up on the right and left horizons. The tattered, ragged look of the hills.... The music in the grass fell silent: the petrels had flown away, stagnant stifling air. The rivulet gurgled monotonously, the horses contains a deep sadness and lament.... It smells of hay and dry cloud cloud gave it a drunken, mischevious air. There was a distinct, the partridges were out of sight, the rooks hovered idly over the munched, and time dragged on endlessly, as though it, too, were grass and belated flowers, but the scent is heavy, sweetly mawkish clear growl of thunder. Yegorushka crossed himself and quickly withered grass. They were all alike and made the steppe even more stagnant and had come to a standstill. It seemed as if 100 years had and soft. Everything is visible through the mist, but it is hard to began putting on his coat. Suddenly a squall of wind arose so monotonous. passed since morning. Could it be that God wanted Yegorushka, make out the colors and outlines of objects. Everything looks violently that it almost snatched away Yegorushka's bundle and

the carriage and the horses to stop in that air, and, like the hills, turn different from what it is. And when the moon rises the night grows mat; the mat fluttered in all directions, flapping on the bale and

A hawk flew just above the ground with an even sweep of its wings, to stone and remain for ever in one spot? Yegorushka raised his pale and dim; the mist has disappeared. The air is transparent, Yegorushka's face. The wind whipped, whistling over the steppe, then suddenly halted in the air as though pondering the dreariness head, and with smarting eyes looked forward; the lilac distance, fresh and warm; one sees well in all directions and even whirling around in disorder. It raised such a din from the grass that of life, then fluttered its wings and flew like an arrow over the motionless until then, began heaving, and floated away with the sky distinguishes separate stalks of grass by the road. Increasingly neither the thunder nor the creaking of the wheels could be heard. steppe. There was no telling why it flew off and what it wanted. In the in the distance.... It drew with it the brown grass and sedge, and amid the monotonous chirping one hears the sound of that It came straight from the black storm cloud, carrying with it clouds distance a windmill waved its sails.... then again just the high grass, Yegorushka flew with extraordinary speed after the retreating astonished "A-ah, a-ah!" troubling the motionless air, and the cry of of dust and the scent of rain and wet earth. The moonlight grew the hills, the rooks flashed before the eyes... [...] A solitary poplar distance. Some force noiselessly drew him onwards, and the heat a sleepless or delirious bird. Broad shadows move across the plain murkier, as if it were dirtier. The stars were even more overcast; and came into sight on the hill. One wanted to stare at its shapely figure and the wearisome song flew after him in pursuit. Yegorushka bent like clouds across the sky, and in the ambiguous distance, if you clouds of dust could be seen scurrying along the edge of the road, and green apparel. Was this lovely creature happy? Sultry heat in his head and shut his eyes.... look long enough, monstrous misty shapes rise up and jostle each followed by their shadows. By now, most likely, whirlwinds spinning summer, in winter frost and snowstorms, terrible nights in autumn other.... It is rather eerie. One glances at the pale green, round and lifting up dust, dry grass and feathers from the earth, when nothing is seen but darkness and nothing is to be heard but A minute later the carriage lurched onto the road. As if it were going star-spangled sky on which there is no cloud, no spot, and were rising right to the sky. Tumbleweeds had probably flown up to the senseless, angry howling wind, and, worst of all, always alone backward and not forward, Yegorushka saw the same scene as he understands why the warm air is still, why nature is on her guard, that very black storm cloud; how frightened they must be! But all life long.... Beyond the poplar, wheat stretches out like a bright had before midday. The hills were still plunged in the lilac distance; afraid to stir: she is afraid and fears losing a single instant of life. through the dust clogging the eyes nothing could be seen but the yellow carpet from the road to the top of the hills. [...] no end could be seen to them. There were glimpses of high grass One fathoms the boundless depth and infinity of the sky only at sea flash of lightning. The blackness in the sky yawned wide and

and heaps of stones; strips of bristly land passed them by, and the or in the steppe by night when the moon is shining. It is terrifying, breathed white fire. Immediately another clap of thunder followed.

The wheat, too, flashed by. Again the parched plain, sunburnt hills, same rooks and hawk, moving its wings with slow dignity, soared beautiful and gentle; it gazes down languid and alluring, although It had scarcely died down when a flash of lightning struck so broad and sultry sky stretched before them. Again a hawk hovered over over the steppe. The air was stuffier than ever from the heat and its caresses only make one giddy. And then in the churring of that Yegorushka suddenly saw through a slit in the mat the whole the earth. In the distance, as before, a windmill whirled its sails, still stillness. Submissive nature was spellbound in silence.... No wind, insects, the sinister figures, the ancient mounds, the blue sky, the road to the very horizon. The black shreds on the left now had risen, looking like a little man waving his arms. It was wearisome to watch, no fresh cheery sound, no cloud. But at last, when the sun began moonlight, and the flight of the nightbird, in all of this you see and and one of them, coarse and clumsy like a claw with fingers, it seemed one would never reach it, as though it were running from sinking in the west, the steppe, the hills and the air could bear the hear triumphant beauty, youth, unbridled power, and a passionate stretched to the moon. Yegorushka resolved to shut his eyes tight, the carriage. [...] Yegorushka had quit crying, and gazed about oppression no longer, and, losing all patience, exhausted, tried to thirst for life. The soul responds to the call of its splendid, ruthless to ignore it all, and to wait until it all ended. Suddenly, right over his listlessly. The heat and the tedium of the steppe fatigued him. It fling off the yoke. A fleecy, ashen-grey cloud unexpectedly fatherland, and longs to fly over the steppes with the nightbird. And head, the sky cracked with a ferocious, deafening din; he hunkered seemed he had been traveling and bouncing up and down for a very appeared behind the hills. It exchanged glances with the steppe, as in the jubilation of beauty, in the surfeit of happiness, you sense down and held his breath, waiting for fragments to fall upon his long time, that the sun had long been baking his back. if to say, "I’m ready," and frowned. Suddenly something burst in the yearning and grief, as though the steppe understands it is alone, head and back. He inadvertently opened his eyes and saw a

[...] stagnant air; there was a violent squall of wind that whirled around, knows that its wealth and inspiration are wasted to the world, is not blinding intense light flare out and flash five times on his fingers, his

Yegorushka gazed reluctantly at the lilac distance ahead, and it roaring and whistling over the steppe. All at once a murmur rose glorified in song, is wanted by no one. Yegorushka awoke and wet sleeves, and on the trickles of water running from the mat onto began to seem that the windmill, waving its sails, was coming from the grass and last year's dry weeds, dust curled in spirals over opened his eyes. It seemed to him that the sky was nearby and the the bales and down to the ground. A fresh peal of thunder sounded, nearer. It grew bigger and bigger, then quite large, and then he the road, raced across the steppe and, carrying with it straws, earth was far away. "Sleep, sleep, sleep," he thought. When he equally violent and ferocious. The sky was no longer growling and could clearly distinguish two sails. One sail was old and patched, dragon flies and feathers, rose up in a whirling black column toward woke up the sun had risen. It was blocked by an ancient earthen rumbling, but giving off dry crashing sounds like the crackling of dry the other had recently been made of new wood and it glistened in the sky and darkened the sun. Tumbleweeds ran stumbling and mound, and, straining to shed its light upon the earth, it scattered wood. Again he inadvertently opened his eyes and saw a new the sun. The carriage drove straight on, while the windmill, for some leaping in all directions over the steppe. One was caught in a its beams in all directions flooding the horizon with gold. It seemed danger: three huge giants with long pikes were following the reason, began retreating to the left. They drove on and on, as the whirlwind, turned round and round like a bird. It flew up to the sky, to Yegorushka that it was not in its proper place, since the day waggon! Lightning flashed on the points of their pikes and lighted windmill kept moving to the left, without disappearing. [...] A becoming a little black speck, and vanished from sight. Another before it had risen behind his back, and now it was further to his up their figures quite distinctly. They were men of huge proportions, farmstead soon came into sight, but the windmill did not retreat, did followed it, and then a third, and Yegorushka saw two tumbleweeds left... In fact, the whole landscape was different. There were no hills with covered faces, bowed heads, and heavy footsteps. They not fall behind; it still watched Yegorushka with its shining sail and meet in the blue canopy and clutch at one another as though they now, but all around, wherever one looked, there stretched a brown, seemed gloomy and somber and lost in thought. Perhaps they were waved. What a sorcerer! [...] At midday the carriage turned off the were wrestling. cheerless plain; here and there upon it small mounds rose up, and not following the waggons with any harmful intent, yet there was road to the right, slowly went a little way, then stopped. Yegorushka rooks flew as they had done the day before. [...] But nothing something awful in their proximity. heard a soft, gentle gurgle, and felt a different air caress his face A bustard flew up right beside the road. Fluttering its wings and tail, differed so much from yesterday as the road. Something He was convinced that the thunder would kill him any minute now, with a cool velvety touch. Through a little pipe of hemlock stuck bathed in sunshine, he looked like an angler's glinting spinner or a extraordinarily broad, sprawling and heroically large stretched over that he would accidentally open his eyes and see the terrible giants. there by some unknown benefactor, water ran in a thin trickle from waterfly flashing so swiftly over the water that its wings cannot be the steppe instead of a road. It was a gray swathe, well trodden and He stopped crossing himself, quit calling for his grandfather and a low hill, assembled by nature from huge ugly stones. It fell to the told from its antenna, which seem to grow before, behind and on all covered with dust, like all roads, but it was several dozen fathoms ceased to think of his mother. He simply went numb with cold and ground, and transparent, sparkling gaily in the sun, softly sides.... Quivering in the air like an insect, with a shimmer of bright wide. Its width puzzled Yegorushka and brought fantastic thoughts the conviction that the storm would never end. Yegorushka felt that murmuring as though fancying itself a great tempestuous torrent, colors, the bustard flew high up in a straight line, then, probably to his mind. Who travelled this road? Who needed so much space? everything he had ever known was now vanished forever, like a puff

flowed swiftly away to the left. Not far from the hill the little stream frightened by a cloud of dust, swerved to one side. The gleam of his It was strange and incomprehensible. [...] The sun blazed as it had of smoke. Shedding bitter tears, he greeted a new unknown life that spread out into a pool; the burning sunbeams and parched soil wings could be seen for the longest time.... the day before; the air was stagnant and depressing. A few willows was beginning for him now... What would that life be like? drank it greedily and sucked up its strength. But a little further on it stood on the bank, but their shade fell not on the earth, but on the must have mingled with another rivulet, for a hundred paces away Alarmed by the wind and not knowing what had happened, a water, where it was wasted; even in the shade under the waggon it thick reeds showed green and luxuriant along its course, and three corncrake flew up out of the grass. It flew with the wind and not was stifling and tedious. The water, blue from reflecting the sky, was snipe flew up from them with a cry when the carriage approached. against it, like all other birds, so that its feathers were ruffled and it enticing. [...] Yegorushka lay on his back, and, putting his hands

[...] All was silent. One only heard the horses snorting and was puffed up to the size of a hen and looked very angry and under his head, gazed up at the sky. He watched the glow of sunset