Sergei Zharov choir. Zharov Cossack Choir

At the beginning of the 20th century in Europe, the word “Cossack” was associated not only with the army. Several Cossacks were known choir groups, who came on tour to different European countries. After the revolution and the unsuccessful attempt to resist the Red Army, many Cossacks emigrated mainly to France, Yugoslavia and Germany. It was in these countries that emigrant Cossack choirs subsequently arose, which became famous throughout the world in the 20th century: the choir of the Ural Cossacks of Andrei Sholukh, the choir of the Don Cossacks of General Platov, the choir of the Black Sea Cossacks of Boris Ledkovsky. But obviously the most famous and famous of these groups was the Don Cossack Choir under the direction of Sergei Alekseevich Zharov.

Return

The choir enjoyed enormous and well-deserved success. During his entire existence, he traveled around the world several times and gave about 10,000 concerts. The skill of the Zharovites was admired not only by Russian emigrants, but also by recognized luminaries of world musical culture. The outstanding Russian composer Sergei Rachmaninov was very fond of the choir and more than once supported Zharov in his innovative arrangements and unexpected readings of Russian songs. In a letter to Emelyan Klinsky, he wrote: “Zharov’s choir gave me true pleasure by performing a number of my favorite spiritual chants in a closed concert. They sing spiritual music well!” Fyodor Chaliapin gave concerts with the choir and highly appreciated the singing skills of the Cossacks. Outstanding Russian composer K.N. Shvedov spoke about the choir as follows: “Zharov’s choir is exceptional. Magnificent, varied sonority, richness of nuances, virtuosity of performance, unusual, some kind of spontaneous endurance of the choir - these are its main advantages.”

The Italian composer Giacomo Puccini persuaded Zharov to come to Italy with a concert, promising help and full support. Russian emigrants called the Zharov choristers nothing more than ascetics, whose feat was to preserve and exalt Russian art in front of “all languages.”

Zharov had a dream to perform in his homeland, but it never came true. In the USSR, emigrants, as carriers of pre-revolutionary culture, were enemies of the Soviet regime, especially since the choir performed not only folk songs, but also church music. For the same reasons, records of the choir could not appear in the Soviet Union before the fall of communism. When rare recordings penetrated the “Iron Curtain”, they instantly dispersed among a narrow circle of philophonists.

Today, the legacy of the Don Cossack Choir of Sergei Zharov returns to Russia. The time has come for the names of outstanding Russian people who preserved the traditions of Russian choral singing in exile to be recognized in their homeland, because nowhere except Russia can Zharov’s work be fully understood and appreciated. During their existence, the Zharovites recorded a lot of records, films and video clips were made about them and with their participation. Nowadays, when it seems that nothing prevents the great choir from finally being heard in the Motherland, a number of difficulties and problems of a different kind arise: the rights to reproduce the recordings belong to Western recording companies, and in order for listeners in Russia to appreciate Zharov's choir in all the diversity of its repertoire now requires a lot of effort. In 2007, through the efforts of Archpriest Andrei Dyakonov, Hieromonk Evfimy (Moiseev), as well as the famous musicologist Svetlana Zvereva, the State Museum of Musical Culture named after. M.I. Glinka was transferred most of personal archive of Sergei Zharov, about 3000 items in total. Since 2003, the publication of CDs of the Zharovsky choir began in Russia. Collections of church hymns and Russian folk songs were released by the Russian Lyre publishing house (St. Petersburg), the Moscow Compound of the Holy Trinity Sergius Lavra and the production center of Igor Matvienko. In 2004-2006, with the blessing of His Grace Bishop Longin, the publishing house of the Saratov diocese prepared a series of discs with recordings of the choir. Three famous phonograms were published, which occupy a special place in the discography of the Zharov choir: liturgy, chants of Great Lent, chants of Holy Easter. Once they were recorded with the purpose that Russian emigrants, scattered all over the world and unable to visit Orthodox church, could at least hear an Orthodox service recorded, but, like many other choir records, they sold millions of copies around the world. A number of other archival recordings of church chants, romances and folk songs are currently being prepared for publication.

The beginning of the way

The history of the Don Cossack Choir Sergei Zharov is mainly associated with the name of its founder and long-term leader. Indeed, it was thanks to Zharov’s personality that the choir received world fame and recognition.

Sergei Alekseevich Zharov was not a hereditary Cossack. He was born in 1896 in the city of Makaryev Kostroma province in a merchant family. At the age of 10 he entered the Moscow Synodal School of Choral Singing, whose director was then A. Kastalsky. In this renowned educational institution, for 11 years Zharov mastered the art of church singing and choir management. His teachers were such recognized masters as S. Smolensky, P. Chesnokov, V. Kalinnikov, N. Danilin and many other outstanding representatives of the Russian singing school of the early twentieth century.

At school, Zharov did not stand out in any way. Although he was talented, according to some teachers, he was a rather lazy student. “It was very difficult with Zharov. Capable? May be. Lazy person? And what a one!” - Konstantin Shvedov recalled about him. Zharov himself later admitted that he never liked to study, but wanted to teach, lead and educate himself.

After graduating from the Synodal School in March 1917, Zharov, like many other graduates, entered the Alexander Military School, where junior officers were trained for the army. The First World War was going on. Stung by accusations from a fellow Pole of insufficient patriotism, Zharov volunteered to serve at the front, but he never had to visit the battlefields. According to surviving information, after Russia exited the First World War and the signing of a separate peace treaty, he returned to his native Makaryev, where he worked as a singing teacher until 1919.

During the Civil War, Zharov served as a machine gunner in the Third Don Division of General Fyodor Abramov, and also served as regimental regent. Priest Dimitry Vasiliev recalled that he was a skilled machine gunner, and a neat and talented regent, and “performed his duty during divine services not by virtue of orders, but by virtue of his heartfelt desire.” Despite the fact that the composition of the regimental choir was constantly changing and the chants were often sung from sight, without rehearsals, under the leadership of Zharov the choristers always sang harmoniously and soulfully, and their singing encouraged prayer, kindled hope, and made one forget about danger.

In 1920, the last resistance of the Don troops was broken. The Cossacks retreated to Crimea, which soon passed into the hands of the red units. A hasty evacuation of the Don Corps began, as part of which, on November 15, on the ship “Ekaterinodar” Zharov left his homeland, as it turned out, forever. The next stage of his life began 60 kilometers from Istanbul in the Turkish village of Çilingir.

Chilingir

Chilingir, which the Cossacks later gave the name “death camp,” became the location of the evacuated Cossack troops. The conditions in which the Cossacks lived were terrible. Hunger, dirt, cholera... “We lived in barracks and dugouts,” recalled Zharov. “The entire camp was in an extremely unsanitary condition. Due to the lack of fresh water, they often drank water directly from the stream in which they washed clothes.” But despite all the hardships and hardships, an extraordinary religious uplift was felt among the soldiers. To maintain the morale of the troops, the division chief gave the order to gather from all regimental choirs best singers into one large choir, of which Zharov was appointed regent. Thus, in the oppressive atmosphere of despair and death, the famous Don Cossack Choir was born.

Work with the choir was carried out in a small cramped dugout. The notes were written by hand from memory; the arrangements were made by Zharov himself. There was no church in the village, and liturgy was celebrated extremely rarely. Most often, the choir sang at funerals and memorial services - in the camp, hundreds of Cossacks died from hunger and disease.

In March 1922, a decision was made to resettle the Cossacks to the Greek island of Lemnos. But with the resettlement, their way of life did not change at all; there was complete uncertainty ahead. Zharov persistently continued his work with the choir, arranging new repertoire and constantly organizing rehearsals.

Finally, an order came to transfer the Cossacks to work in Bulgaria. By that time, the choristers were gathered into one platoon, so they all went to Sofia together.

Staying in the Chilingir camp and on the island of Lemnos is a special page in the history of the Don Cossack Choir. As the author of one foreign Russian-language newspaper put it, it was then that the choir “grew up and took wings.” Three tens best votes"Orthodox Quiet Don" were collected under the leadership of a graduate Synodal School choral singing to soon make the world's most famous concert halls applaud again and again.

World recognition

Moving to Bulgaria somewhat eased the fate of the exiles. The Cossacks had the opportunity to somehow earn a living: they worked at the sawmill and in other places. On Sundays, Zharov's choir sang in the church at the Russian embassy in Sofia, where the famous Russian ballerina Tamara Karsavina often came to pray. She started taking Active participation in the fate of the choir, contributed in every possible way to improving its situation. Thanks to her, Zharovites were repeatedly invited to sing at the Spanish, American and French embassies.

Soon Zharov had the chance to move with the choir to the small French town of Montargis. To finally end poverty, the Cossacks decided to take advantage of this opportunity. At the same time, the representative of the League of Nations, Baron Van der Groven, became interested in the choir, who invited them to visit Vienna. Since the route to France lay through Austria, the proposal was accepted.

In the summer of 1923, the choir left Bulgaria. There are touching memories of how the comrades saw off the choristers on the road. Many tears were shed. Bishop Seraphim (Sobolev) fatherly exhorted them not to leave the Church, no matter what happened. The Zharovites themselves doubted whether they were doing the right thing. In Sofia, the choir became quite famous, mainly among Russian emigrants. Stability and hope for a better future came to the life of the Cossacks. In France, complete uncertainty once again awaited them.

But the decision to leave Bulgaria turned out to be fateful. In Vienna, Zharov met the director of the concert bureau, Otto Heller, who decided to arrange a choir performance in the famous Hofburg concert hall. This was a chance for an unknown director and an unknown choir. The elite of Austrian society longed to hear the music of Russian composers and daring Cossack songs. She couldn't be disappointed. Zharov and his wards understood this.

On July 4, 1923, the crowded Hofburg froze in anticipation of the performance of Bortnyansky’s great hymn “We Praise Thee God,” as was the case in 1911, when the famous synodal choir. The difference was that now the praises of God were given to a handful of tired, suffering warriors. Subsequently, Zharov recalled how, before going on stage, he gathered the choir members around him and gave them the last instructions. How he chose the neatest of them and, as far as the division of votes allowed, placed them in the first row in order to somehow cover with them those whose clothes were more like rags. Then the door to the stage swung open, and the Cossacks, making the sign of the cross, came out and stood in the usual semicircle. A confused and uncertain regent followed them out. Another moment, and the walls of the Hofburg were filled with majestic singing. According to Zharov’s memoirs, “the choir sounded like an organ. All the sorrow of the previous suffering life trembled in its chords. The audience was completely delighted: applause, shouts of “bravo,” and the choristers could no longer hold back their tears of joy and excitement. This was the beginning of a great, long-term work. Four years later, the crowded Hofburg again applauded the Zharov choir, which was already holding its thousandth concert. But this was no longer a bunch of unfortunate and pathetic refugees, but the famous choir of the Don Cossacks of Sergei Zharov.

After a successful performance in Vienna, the choir received several offers at once. Concert tours were organized to Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Switzerland and Germany. The popularity of the Zharovites increased with each new performance. In just one year, the choir has toured half of Europe. The choir’s concert in the famous “Sport Palace” in Berlin aroused enormous public interest, where, according to the recollections of the Cossacks, they “encored” ten times.

After a successful performance in Europe, a tour to Australia was organized in March 1926. Not all choir members returned from that trip. Cossacks were drawn to the earth. They were already earning quite well, and some of them decided, having bought farms, to stay on the evergreen continent, which accepted them with joy. “It was difficult to part with dear friends who shared with us all our joys and hardships for so long,” Zharov recalled.

In 1930, shortly after returning from Australia, the choir went on a six-week tour to the United States. Once again, more than forty concerts were given with success, including at the famous Metropolitan Opera and Carnegie Hall.

In 1939, Zharov and his charges received American citizenship. By that time, the popularity of the choir had reached unprecedented heights. The concerts were invariably sold out, and the choristers themselves were rarely at home due to tours. Throughout its existence, the choir has visited Germany, Austria, Switzerland, France, Spain, Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Japan, New Zealand, South Africa, Canada, Argentina, India, Mexico, Cuba; About ten thousand concerts were given, more than 250 records were recorded, the total circulation of which was almost 11.5 million copies.

It should be noted that wherever the Zharovites toured, they always emphasized their loyalty to Orthodoxy. At the first opportunity they sang during the liturgy and always began their performances with church hymns.

"The Armless Regent"

Intensive concert and performing activities required great dedication from the choir members and its leader and overcoming considerable difficulties and inconveniences. Sometimes the tour lasted up to 11 months in a row, and despite constant travel and flights, daily rehearsals remained the constant norm of life for the group.

The success of the Don Cossack Choir, attention and interest in its activities were largely due to the personal qualities of its permanent leader Sergei Zharov - his brilliant musical talent, professionalism, dedication and talent as an organizer. Zharov began conducting the choir at the age of 25, but continued to perform at the age of 80, without losing his original conducting style, which was distinguished by laconicism and restraint and was alien to the manifestation of external effects. This kind of conducting system was formed as a result of Zharov’s involvement in the regency school of the Synodal School. “The extraordinary discipline in this choir is amazing. This is an obedient instrument in the hands of the regent - one movement of the hand, a turn of the head, the expression of the regent’s face, and the choir understands and follows him,” recalled Pyotr Spassky. A number of statements in the Russian-language foreign press also testify to Zharov’s “minimalism” of conducting techniques. Journalist P. Romanov noted Zharov’s conducting style, which was almost invisible to the public, calling him the only “armless conductor” of his kind.

Reviews of the performances of the Zharovites have repeatedly noted the ability of the choir and the regent to perform the same church chants in completely different ways. In church during services they sang with restraint and concentration, and at concerts they sang brightly and effectively. Obviously, the comments of some critics are correct when they point out Zharov’s excessive fascination with dynamic contrasts and colossal increases in sonority in the concert performance of spiritual chants. The excessiveness of dynamic effects, which is unusual for Russian church music, is also heard in most sound recordings, from which one can judge the performing style of the choir. A.P. Smirnov argued that Zharov and his choir are continuers of the “synodal” style of singing. Now this assessment is perceived very conditionally, due to the fact that the synodal choir never gravitated towards excessive performing contrasts, and its dynamic ensemble was determined by the balance of male and children's voices.

From the first years of the choir's existence, one of its main tasks was the formation of a repertoire. The unique arrangements of spiritual works and many folk songs belong to Zharov himself. In search of new timbre colors, he used falsetto singing of high tenors, significantly expanding the upper limits of the range, which gave the homogeneous composition the sonority of a mixed choir. In addition, from the very first concerts, Zharov resorted to imitation of musical instruments and various sounds.

Speaking about Zharov's arrangements, which were received with a bang by the public, one cannot fail to note criticism from some professional musicians. “I remember many times I expressed my displeasure about some things in his repertoire,” recalled Konstantin Shvedov. “Tell me, please, Seryozha, what kind of desire is there to sing such rubbish?” He always had the same answer: “The public likes it. For her, success is everything.” Indeed, while working for the public, Zharov often deviated from the traditional performance of Russian folk songs, but he did this consciously, obeying his creative intuition.

"I believe"

The history of the Don Cossack Choir of Sergei Zharov is truly unique. It reflects the history of an entire people, cut off from their homeland, but, in the words of Valentin Mantulin, who carried the lamp of its culture throughout the world.

Base

After fleeing the Red Army, the Cossacks ended up in a refugee camp in Cillinger near Constantinople. It was there in 1921 that Serge Jaroff founded his choir of Don Cossacks. Initially, the choir accompanied only its church services. Later, concerts were also given. The choir subsequently moved to the Greek island of Lemnos. Outdoor concerts were particularly popular there, particularly with the British. The Cossacks then crossed by sea to the Bulgarian city of Burgas, where the choir became associated with the church. Since that church was too poor to pay for the choir, the Cossacks performed various other jobs, among other things in a factory where matches were made.

Sofia. Bulgaria

Eventually the tents gave way to barracks in Sofia, provided at the disposal of the Ministry of Defense. For one given concert they earned 2 $, at that time approximately 4 €, but the debut was in the Cathedral in Sofia, 23-6-1923. did a good job of boosting morale. This small success was followed by an offer from the director of the factory in Montargis (France). The director's wife was Russian, and the couple even took the orchestra under their guardianship, as if “adopting” it. They worked during the week and gave concerts on weekends. However, due to a lack of money, the Don Cossacks soon found themselves in Vienna. The Cossacks received help from the People's Union, which was interested in the activities of the choir and organized an audition competition with the director of the concert bureau in Vienna. The decision was made quickly; in the Vienna Hofburg the first concert was organized on 4-7-1923. This concert brought big success and the director predicted that many more concerts would follow. Ultimately, Jaroff conducted more than 10,000 concerts; an unsurpassed achievement in the world of choral music. In 1930, the Cossacks moved to America, where they received American citizenship during a joint ceremony in 1936.

The Second World War

After World War II, the choir found a new home in the United States. The famous impresario Sal Hurok acted as manager. This responsibility then passed in Germany into the hands of Clara Ebner, who was replaced in 1953 by the Concert Director Colleen from Hamburg. Then Otto Hofner took the choir under his wing in 1960. He became very good friend Serge Zharoff. After the last series of concerts in America on March 20, 1981, Serge Jaroff transferred the rights to his choir to Otto Hofner and eventually gave permission for a tour under the direction of George Markitish. At that moment, however, Hofner did not want more.

Mikhail Minsky

In 1985, Otto Hofner sought contact with Mikhail Minsky, who had long been a soloist with Serge Jaroff. Minsky had been in contact with Zharoff and the choir since 1948. Minsky had a world-famous reputation as a baritone soloist and choir conductor. For quite a long time under Zharoff, he actively participated in ensuring that the choir preserved and continued its traditions. According to the wishes of Zharoff, Otto Hofner organized a tour with Nikolai Gedda as a guest soloist. The tour was a success, but since Nikolai Gedda no longer wanted to perform every day, and Mikhail Minsky fell ill, Otto Hofner was finally forced to give up.

Vanya Khlibka

Then the youngest soloist of the choir, Vanya Hlibka, together with George Timchenko, took the reins into their own hands. In 2001 they received the rights to the choir from Otto Hofner. And to this day concerts are given on the world's largest stages.

Conducting style

Serge Jaroff stood out for his conducting style, as did several of his Russian contemporaries. He was short, and besides, he stood in front of the choir, almost motionless. He conducted by moving only his head, eyes and fingers. If a Cossack dance was performed on stage, then Zharoff conducted only the first bars, after which he then left the choir to its own devices. They write about Serge Jaroff that he uses his singers like keys on an organ. This is shown very well in the recently released film.

When I try to recall in my memory my first experiences of childhood and try to penetrate into the time of my earliest conscious life, a vague echo in my ears sounds like something otherworldly and prophetic:

“Our Father, who art in heaven...” - the image of my mother, lovingly bending over me, appears in my brain. “Sing, Serezhenka,” I echo the words of her prayer in a weak childish voice.

I remember the mother’s affection vaguely; it dissolved in this child’s prayer, reviving later in the consciousness of an adult. My mother died early. My father, always busy, paid little attention to my upbringing; I was lonely. IN early childhood played a lot of pranks. He loved to climb on roofs. I spent hours sitting by the chimney of the neighboring house, imagining it as a beautiful dacha. He took a blanket with him and often spent the night high on the roof.

One day, as a child, I climbed onto the roof of a small house and saw a nest with newly hatched chicks. I was frightened by their “terrible” appearance, mistaking them for frogs, and, falling off, fell onto the panel, painfully breaking my leg. Without complaining or seeking help at home, I overcame the pain without telling anyone.

He was painfully proud and proud. As a seven-year-old child, subjected to unfair punishment from his grandmother, wearing only a shirt cold winter climbed onto the roof of the house, deciding to die. They searched for me with flashlights for a long time and in vain. I remained stubbornly silent until I heard my grandmother crying and wailing loudly. I couldn’t stand it - the child’s heart trembled with pity. Answered the call. Half frozen, they took me off the roof and carried me home in their arms.

When I was nine years old, my father decided to send me to a commercial school in Nizhny Novgorod. At that time, my four brothers and one sister were very young. Among the children I was the eldest.

On the way, the father, a good-natured joker, met rich merchants he knew. After a glass of vodka and cards, I decided to go with them. The merchants' road led to Moscow.

“It’s all the same, I’ll go with you,” the father reasoned. To justify the long trip, it was decided to send me to the Moscow Synodal School; besides, my godfather, the director of the church choir, had long recommended this path. Even earlier, he sent me to sing in church, rewarding me with altyn or sweets.

On the pier in Novgorod, the adults were drinking and left me unattended. I went to wander the streets and for the first time in my life I saw a tram. Without thinking for a long time, he climbed onto a high bench and rode off. I liked the trip, I didn’t get out at the final station. I knew instinctively that the carriage would go back. Returning to the pier, I received several healthy slaps on the head from my father, but did not cry. Everything was too new and exciting: a foreign city, a pier and the piercing whistles of steamships beckoning into the distance.

Then we went further - to Moscow. When we got out at the Moskovsky station, the company was very tipsy. They took me with them to the Bristol Hotel. The cheerful people, with mugs of beer in their hands, amused themselves by “examining” me, asking me questions supposedly needed for the exam, and then they left, leaving me alone.

“Well, look, Seryozha, behave decently here, we won’t be back today. If you feel scared alone at night, call the sexton and say that you want tea,” my father, who had not been in Moscow for a long time, decided to go on a spree with his friends.

All night, tormented by loneliness and fear, I called and demanded tea, and every time I saw the sexual one, I refused it. The exams started in the morning. A huge hall that could accommodate eight hundred students. An affectionate examiner who placed the examinees with their backs to the commission.

Read “Our Father,” the teacher of the law, the famous Archpriest Kedrov, addressed me during the exam.

I remember another case with the same Kedrov.

What did God create man from? - he asked me a year later.

Made from clay.

God took it, molded a figurine out of clay and blew on it, and the figurine moved.

What size was the figurine?

“This,” I answered and showed her size with my hands. There was laughter in the class.

Come here! - Archpriest Kedrov ordered. - Now I’ll show you the size of this figure. He took me to the magazine and put a huge one against my last name.

This is the size of the figurine.

I was a terrible student. Didn't show any abilities. The old way in free time climbed on the roof of the conservatory adjacent to the school and still dreamed of heights and distances. He was extremely touchy and did not forgive anyone for insults.

One day, when I was already 16 years old, I was insulted by one of the professors. To this, in a fit of sudden anger, I called him a toad. For this act I was dismissed from the school by the council of professors. Only thanks to the intercession of the director of the Synodal School A.D. Kastalsky, I was later accepted again, but had to go to the professor and ask for an apology. I struggled with myself for a long time before I decided to do this. I went to the professor’s apartment and met his sister there. I talked to her. And when the professor came in, then my “male” pride spoke up in me and did not allow me to ask for an apology in the presence of a woman.

What brings you here, Zharov?

Director Kastalsky sent me to you.

Why did the director send you to me?

Don't know.

The incident seemed to be over, but the harmony professor did not speak to me until I graduated.

My parents died without seeing me as regent. Then a difficult time began for me. I supported the whole family. I rewrote the notes. Conducted the seminary choir. Taught seminarians. Then even, in high school, he became a regent in the church.

I never liked studying. He loved to teach, lead and educate.

With the Synodal Choir, in which I sang until I was fourteen, I visited Vienna, Dresden and an art exhibition in Rome. I often stood on the stage of the same concert halls in which I was later destined to direct my own choir.

Staying at the Synodal School obligated elementary school students to sing in the famous Synodal choir. One of his concerts stands out vividly in my memory.

S.V. Rachmaninov had just written his entire Divine Liturgy, which then excited the entire musical world. The performance of the liturgy by the Synodal Choir made a stunning impression not only on the audience, but also on the composer himself.

Sergei Vasilievich was the subject of endless applause from those present. The touched composer warmly thanked the choir, and patted me, a boy who happened to turn up, on my shaved head. This expression of affection was quite sensitive. The great pianist’s hand was inversely proportional to my small head, but still the pleasant feeling from this caress remained with me until today.

As director of the Don Choir twenty years later, during a friendly conversation, I reminded S.V. Rachmaninov this case.

Because of my small stature, everyone called me only by my first name. I heard my last name for the first time when I graduated from school in March 1917.

Graduation... I passed the exams by some miracle. It is possible that my childish appearance played a role here too.

I remember the main exam - the first public management of the orchestra.

I'm standing at the music stand in front of the orchestra. I conduct Arensky's suite. I get carried away... I wave impulsively right hand and I feel that the cuff, not attached to the shirt, is slipping onto my hand. I can’t stop her - I’m holding the conductor’s baton in my hand. Another moment, and I see how she, sliding down the stick, flies in an arc into the orchestra... Embarrassment... Among the musicians - my colleagues, school students - there is muffled laughter.

It’s getting dark before my eyes, I want to drop everything and run out of the hall. I try to find the lost place in the suite and nervously leaf through the score. I can’t find it... And now I’m overcome by the determination of despair.

With boundless effort I pull myself together and conduct by heart, at that moment putting everything on the line. My will wins. The orchestra is in my hands, and I lead it with a passion unknown to me until this day.

Applause filled the hall. The exam was passed brilliantly. I was praised. A new talent was discovered in me.

This moment will never be erased from my memory. It was symbolic for me. My life subsequently was replete with tragicomic moments, but I learned to overcome them. The worst thing for me has always been to be funny.

The next day I was already at the Alexander Military School. But I didn’t have to finish it yet. At this time, Kornilov was collecting volunteers for his shock battalion. Stung by my Pole cadet belt, I volunteered for the front.

Only foreigners go to save Russia by enlisting in shock regiments,” he once told me. - For some reason, the Russians don’t come, and a musician like you, even more so.

My pride was hurt.

I will sign up for the front, but you will stay at the school.

I immediately fulfilled my promise and soon went to the front as part of the shock company of the Alexander Military School. I was destined to finish school a month later.

The Civil War found me in the Cossack units. With them I evacuated to Constantinople. My short stature and youthful appearance helped me here too. I owe my life to them. The Don Cossack regiment in which I served was in the Crimean period civil war very shabby. I was captured by the Reds in a small village. We were ordered to take off our clothes, and when we were left in only our underwear, the formal extermination of the prisoners began.

Frail, emaciated, with my head shaved after an illness, I fell to the ground and, covering the back of my head with my hands, waited for my turn. The red horseman had already raised his saber over me when another stopped him: “Don’t touch the boy!”

The Reds galloped away. Some old woman took pity on me, took me to the hut and fed me. Stroking me, an officer, on the head with an old hand, she asked: “How did you, son, end up in the war?”

In rags, I ran for my unit. She was no longer there, and in the Cossack patrol, which I came across the next day, for a long time they did not want to believe that I was a Cossack, not to mention my officer rank.

I will not describe the period of my stay in the volunteer army. I will start from the moment when, with the retreating Cossack units, I was evacuated to Turkey, finding myself in the gloomy camp of hunger and death - Chilingir.

Here, amid terrible hardships, in an atmosphere of endless despair and hopeless longing for the Motherland, the Don Cossack Choir, now known throughout the cultural world, grew up and became established.

Evacuation of the Don Corps (November 1920)

The last resistance of the Don troops was broken. Crimea passed into the hands of the red units. The hasty evacuation of the Don Corps began. On November 15, the third Don division, to which I belonged, plunged into Kerch. The accommodations were extremely crowded. There were about seven thousand people on my ship alone. Under the cover of military ships they went to sea.

The Black Sea was boiling and agitated. Waves flooded the deck. They sat crowded together in dark holds or on open decks in the rain and cold north-east. They suffered from hunger and thirst.

Our steamer, the huge Ekaterinodar, was groaning, struggling with the storm. He walked slowly with stops and delays. On cables that often broke, we pulled barges loaded with soldiers behind us... Only on the fourth day did it become known that we were sailing to the shores of Turkey. The supply of fresh water and bread on the ship gradually dried up.

In some military unit they found flour. From a mixture of flour and sea water, some - including me - began to prepare their own dough. They rolled out crumpets by hand and baked them on steamer pipes. The hunger was so tormenting that there was no time to wait... And the warm dough, slightly baked, was torn into pieces and sent to empty stomachs.

For eight days we saw nothing but foaming waves and fog. Finally, the outlines of the coast appeared in the distance. We were approaching the Bosphorus. The French flag was raised on the masts, next to the Russian one. France took the Cossacks under its protection. The steamer came to life. The Cossacks clung to the decks, towers and roofs like locusts, admiring the majestic spectacle of the Bosphorus panorama. They stood near the shore for a long time, without receiving permission to leave the ship. Transports unloaded slowly.

Boats selling food supplies swarmed around the ship. Hungry Cossacks crowded around the sides, exchanging their last valuables for bread, fish and water from greedy Turkish sellers.

We landed on the Sarkedzh embankment. Steamboats from other Cossack units slowly approached the shore. The free Cossack nature could not stand the cramped conditions. As they walked, Cossacks with their luggage jumped onto the shore from the high sides, often falling into the icy water.

I saw how people impatiently jumped from steamships that had long since lowered their gangways to the shore, ignoring them, having no other desires and aspirations at that moment than to free themselves from the vicious circle of the steamship crowd.

My regiment was loaded into wagons and headed to the Khadem-Kioi station (50 kilometers from Constantinople), and then marched along the mountain paths to Chilingir. There we were destined to spend several difficult months, perhaps the most difficult of my life.

Chilingir - death camp

Chilingir - this small Turkish village, located sixty kilometers from Constantinople, was already destined to play a sad role in the history of the Balkans.

In 1912-13, during the Balkan War, the main forces of the Bulgarians were concentrated here. A terrible cholera epidemic, requiring almost thirty thousand victims, destroyed this army, playing a significant role in the outcome of the entire campaign.

The population of the village is small; it consists of Turks, Greeks and gypsies, engaged mainly in sheep breeding. The gloomy impression is made by the dull nature, which has buried several poor houses.

On the outskirts of Chilingir there were a dozen long, dirty sheepfolds, dilapidated and damp. At one time, sheep were driven here in rainy and frosty weather.

These sheds, completely unsuitable for housing, were supposed to shelter the tired Cossacks.

Shovels and picks clattered. The silent land came to life. Dugouts appeared. The barracks were being put in order. Broken windows were pawned and sealed with paper. The floor was cleared of manure.

I ended up in one of these barracks. The terrible cold and damp kept me from sleeping the first night. There was no stove in the barracks. At first, a fire was made right on the floor. Choking smoke stung the eyes and filled the room before exiting into a huge hole in the roof, specially made for this purpose during the stay of our predecessors - the sheep.

I remember how we lay in piles, tightly pressed against each other, on the hard floor, waking up every minute when someone needed to leave the barracks. They walked over each other's legs and heads, tripping over other people's bodies, often falling along the road.

It was warmer and better in the dugouts; therefore the pilgrimage from the barracks began. The hollow of the huge tree was also adapted for housing, and ten enterprising Cossacks felt at home in it.

How long our exile was to last, no one knew. At first they lived stupidly, like animals resting from the stress of the last campaigns and evacuation. Then, as if awakening to life, they asked themselves what would happen.

Every day, in all weathers - rainy and snowy - they went in groups, accompanied by French guards stationed at the camp, to collect firewood. They cut down dry trees with a saber; there were no axes, and they carried the chopped fuel on their backs, far into the camp.

Despite their close-knit life, they very soon began to feel loneliness and longing for their native places. During these sad days, I often wandered alone between the barracks and dugouts, observing the life of the Cossacks.

There seemed to be no limit to the patience of these people, and, infected by this patience, I waited for the onset of change. Here I often met with the regimental priest, Father Mikhail. We set up hearths together, made fires in the vast area between the barns and had conversations on various topics.

The inactivity, hunger and aimlessness of such a life pushed me to the extreme. Once the French, who were the masters of the camp, opened up registration for interested Cossacks. foreign Legion. I was one of the few who wanted it. My decision caused great embarrassment among my fellow officers. They tried to dissuade me from this step in every possible way. Most of all, our regimental priest was against my decision. “Why,” he said, “go to a foreign legion, expose yourself to danger... die, for what? - Just because they will dress you up and maybe feed you better? Will they provide you with some insignificant amount of money? No!"

But I’m tired of wallowing in the mud, tired of starving. I preferred the legion to this miserable, unworthy existence. I was deaf to all the requests of my friends not to leave them. And I remained true to my decision.

The next morning I reached the railway station, from where our party of volunteers was to be sent to Constantinople, and from there further to the final destination - Morocco. I was waiting for the train scheduled for that day. But fate decided otherwise - for an unknown reason, the composition was not submitted. Warning? I thought about it. - Means no luck! The next day I didn’t go back to the station.

The hopeless camp life began again, without any personal initiative. The food ration was extremely small, and we lived from hand to mouth. There was no hot water to wash thoroughly and wash clothes. The insects literally ate us. The entire camp was in an extremely unsanitary condition. Despite the prohibition, people often drank water from the stream in which they washed clothes, since there was little water in Chilingir.

There was no soap. One kilogram was provided for twenty-five people per month. The first diseases began. And, like eight years ago, the formidable specter of cholera rose above our camp, a camp of deprivation, hunger and despair.

The camp was surrounded by French posts. A long quarantine was ordered. The days passed as if in prison, among alien, wild nature. The spirit began to fall, and the hope of returning to Russia became weaker and weaker. Accustomed to freedom, the Cossack, who loved his village, his Don, became hopelessly sad.

The days passed endlessly slowly and sadly. At 6 o'clock the camp was awakened by dawn. Life was awakening in the stinking barracks. The light - cold and inhospitable - poured dimly through the small windows. They rose slowly, reluctantly. The hum of voices was interrupted on all sides by a terrible, ear-piercing cough.

Due to lack of heat and sun there was no way to warm up. There was no place to hang clothes that were wet from the rain and fog. I was always cold. I warmed myself with tea, drinking it in large quantities.

In the morning, the distributors went to buy food. By eight o'clock in the morning the division of food into hundreds began. They distributed it fairly, counting every grain, every crumb.

One of the Cossacks would turn his back to the portions laid out in a row. Then another Cossack took turns touching the piles.

To whom? - the question sounded.

Davydov, Shlyakhtin, Bazhenov,” answered the Cossack, his back turned.

To whom? To whom? - rushed through all the barracks.

Despite the difficult living conditions, despite the hopelessness of the current situation, despite loneliness and illness, discipline among the Cossacks did not weaken.

These days I have learned to "cook" by combining beans, canned goods and lentils. But my friends did not like my cooking, and very soon I had to resign as a volunteer cook. I have never shown any ability for anything in my life, and here I also remained true to myself.

After lunch, the barracks were cleaned, dugouts were built, and clothes were washed. Then they made tea and drank until the evening.

At 7 o'clock the dawn sounded. It was getting dark. The day was drawing to a close.

“To prayer, hats off!” They prayed with faith, finding joy in prayer. Inspiredly, with deep feeling, they sang the native Cossack anthem: “The Orthodox quiet Don has stirred up, stirred up...”

THE ORIGIN OF THE CHOIR

Cholera spread through the barracks with ominous speed. The surviving report of the divisional doctor dated December 21 is a valuable document of that time: “To this day, in the Chilingir camp there have been 18 cases of diseases suspected of cholera; 7 of them are mortals. A separate barn has been allocated for contagious patients, which is being adapted, and all suspicious cases will be transferred there today. Due to the overcrowding of the camp population, it is not possible to properly monitor sick people and isolate them in a timely manner. No disinfectants. There are not enough kitchens in the camp and there are absolutely no boilers. There is no firewood or coal, so it is impossible to ban the use of raw water. There are no stoves, why do people in real damp weather not dry out, which predisposes them to diseases. There is not enough material to fill the holes in the windows and roofs. If this remains the same, the epidemic will become widespread.”

Although everything did not remain the same, there were no means to prevent the epidemic. Diseases increased, and the spirit of the garrison languishing in captivity fell even further.

This was the most difficult time of our exile. Isolation from the whole world, hunger, deprivation and fear of the impending epidemic took away all faith, all hope for better, more joyful days; and only another faith, faith in the justice of the Almighty, grew stronger every day among the Cossacks. An extraordinary religious upsurge was felt. The feast of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, preparations were underway for the solemn prayer service.

Then the division chief gave the order to gather the best singers of all regimental choirs, which already existed then, into one choir. This choir was supposed to help raise the spirit of the oppressed troops through its participation in divine services. I was called into this choir as a specialist.

At that time, no one knew that this choir would be destined to sing on stages all over the world, that its songs, first heard among the dull nature of the death camp, would be understood and appreciated by the pampered public of concert halls in Europe, America and Australia, who had long forgotten war, deprivation and hunger or even not recognizing them at all.

A strange dream I saw dates back to this time. Clear as a waking experience, it was etched deep into my memory.

I’m young, just a boy, and I’m playing at dibs. It's my turn. I hit the stake and knocked out the silver coins. I'm on the move again. He hit it a second time and knocked out the gold rings and gold watch.

Having woken up, I went to my neighbor, the regimental priest. I told him this extraordinary dream. I asked him to interpret it.

“I’m not Solomon, a fortuneteller,” the priest answered me then, “but I understand the dream this way: silver is not particularly good, they say this leads to tears. But gold, don’t be shy, brother, is glitter and glory. And the clock is, of course, time. This time will come, and a brilliant future will open before you. Your hour will strike and the “con”, that is, the facet of your life, will change.”

The work of the choir began in a small cramped dugout. The notes were written by hand on cheap paper. Everything was compiled from memory. I started working on the first arrangements. The singers in most cases were officers, and many of them still sing in my choir to this day.

The commander of the Don Corps, General Abramov, patronized us. He was often interested in our work and often invited the choir to his headquarters, in the village of Khadem-kioi, ten kilometers from Chilingir. During one of these walks we were caught in a terrible storm. Wet to the bones, we got home and for a long time could not warm up. Some of the choir members coughed and complained of a sore throat for a long time after this. But all this was done willingly in full consciousness of their duty.

The work was in full swing. There were regular rehearsals. The repertoire grew richer. Meanwhile, rumors circulated around the camp about the departure of units to the unfamiliar, mysterious island of Lemnos.

January. They were waiting for the ataman. As in the old days, the authority of the ataman was unshakable and strong among the sons of the Don. What will he say? Where will he tell you to go? We were rehearsing for the parade. We pulled ourselves up. Cheered up. They forgot the grief of exile.

And when, a few days later, a drawn-out “attention” rang through the Cossack regiments, and the ataman, accompanied by the corps commander, galloped in front of the formation, there were no more tired and gloomy faces. Joy and pride shone in the eyes of the warriors. A mighty “hurray” echoed along the front. The Cossacks greeted their chieftain.

The chieftain, General African Bogaevsky, extremely popular among the Cossacks, did not want a parade. Gathering the Cossacks around him, he spoke about transporting units to the island of Lemnos. He called for patience and unity.

Long after the ataman’s departure, this strange word “Lemnos” was heard among the Cossacks, gradually turning into a more accessible, more Russian word: “Lemnos”.

I was very excited about this news. There were terrible rumors about the island of Lemnos at that time. They talked about a wild sandy island without water or food. They were afraid of the very word “island”, which in the minds of the Cossacks was a symbol of isolation and loneliness.

But it was important what the ataman said; they obeyed Him without complaint. And the days flowed by again - monotonously and boringly.

ON THE ISLAND OF LEMNOS

March 1921. On a warm spring day, we boarded the ship and sailed past the Marmara Islands towards the mysterious and ghostly Lemnos.

We expected it to stand before us, deserted and lonely, like the Sahara. On the ship they carried with them everything they could take, everything that was necessary for the expedition into the wild desert. Refugees - grandfathers, taught by the bitter experience of Chilingir, even carried with them vessels filled with fresh water.

And finally, he emerged from the fog, quickly approaching us - dull and sandy Lemnos. Among the low flat mountains, devoid of vegetation, we were greeted by orderly rows of Cossack tents, introducing a touch of life into the dead nature of the island. Tents are the dwellings of the Don and Kuban Cossacks who settled here earlier.

Our way of life on the island has not changed in any way. They lived as before, without any goal ahead among endless assumptions and rumors about the future. They were still starving. We got up early. They went to classes, went to bed tired, and were morally exhausted and homesick.

The city of Mudros, located on an island, was closed to the Cossacks. But no French cordons, no prohibitions could keep the Cossacks from the city.

The Cossacks were strongly attracted by the old Muros church, which the Greeks gave to the Russian clergy. In this church, services were held in Russian according to the Russian rite - always with the participation of a Cossack choir.

Easter was approaching, the saddest of my life. On Thursday on Holy Week A combined choir sang in the church - ours and Lemnos. The choir was a great success among the city population.

To meet the cultural needs of the camp, performances were staged from time to time. open air. The British, who had their own military base on the island, were also invited to these performances.

The highlight of the program was choral singing. Our choir also sang here, delighting the cold Englishmen with the melodies of Russian songs. The French who served as our guard on the island, Greeks and blacks also came to the performances.

In Lemnos I worked a lot on the choir repertoire in preparation for moving to Slavic countries, which was suddenly the talk of the island.

The possibility of this departure gave rise to new thoughts in me. I dreamed of choir performances in large cathedrals of Orthodox countries. I made greater and greater demands on myself and the choir and stubbornly continued the work I had begun, arranging new repertoire and constantly organizing rehearsals. The choir became my goal in life.

And then something happened that none of us expected, something that we only secretly dreamed about. The order set the day for the departure of the Cossack units from Lemnos.

It’s strange that this news seemed to frighten me... It came too unexpectedly... I was afraid for the choir. I wasn't sure about him yet. My demands on him exceeded his skill. But the fact was a fact. The choir, assembled into one platoon, was also supposed to go to Bulgaria with the first echelon.

Everything on the island was rejoicing. Laughter and jokes were heard. The dark days were forgotten. One thing covered everyone general desire quickly leave this piece of earth cut off from the whole world.

I wanted to see normal life, mingle with people, hear understandable conversation around me. I so wanted to throw off these old, tired, everyday and worn-out clothes, replace them with new, clean, tidy ones. How little we needed then!..

The units began to board the steamer Reshid Pasha. When it was our turn, fear literally froze my limbs. No, it was madness for the choir, still so raw and imperfect, to go to Bulgaria!.. And then a decision matured in me - sudden and stubborn: I will stay on Lemnos, I will not go! But it happened differently. The choir members took me by force, picked me up in their arms and carried me onto the ship. I fought long and hard. But nothing helped. Before the steamer departed, they were guarding me on deck, afraid of my escape.

And when the ship set off, the endless joy of the liberated Cossacks poured out in one endless cry of “hurray.” This joy, spontaneous, dormant somewhere for a long time, captured me too. I stopped cursing my captors.

The terrible ghost of the island sank into the sea, preserving as a memory of the Cossacks the remains of an abandoned camp and two sad cemeteries: not everyone was destined to live to see the desired freedom.

BULGARIA

Late in the evening "Ekaterinodar" arrived in the Bulgarian port of Burgas. There was a crowd of people on the pier. The military band thundered solemnly. Bread was distributed. Whole bread per person! What a rejoicing there was! How little was needed for a person to make him dance and sing for joy! Bread! Bread! How long has it been since we saw so much bread!.. We forgot that a hot lunch from Bulgarian cuisine was ahead. They ate bread, gorged themselves on bread... When it was time for lunch, no one had any bread. The quarantine passed relatively quickly. The units were disbanded and sent to work. They went to build railways, factories and factories. The difficult period of camp exile was over. Having landed in Burgas, the choristers decided, in order to earn extra money, to organize their first concert on Bulgarian territory.

They built huge posters and carried them around the city themselves, inviting the public to the evening performance. In the small port city of Burgas they had their first serious success, earning 240 levs for the concert, that is, 8 German marks or two dollars.

CHURCH AT THE RUSSIAN EMBASSY IN SOFIA

The division chief continued to patronize the choir and invited him to remain at headquarters in Sofia.

The first arguments began. Choristers who belonged to different parts, did not want to part with their comrades. The choir was in danger of falling apart. I asked, convinced, insisted. I fervently believed in the future of our young choir. But the singers did not have this faith...

We were helped by the head of the division, General Guselshchikov, and the former Russian envoy A.M. Petryaev, promising to support the choir in every possible way. My employees gave in and only a very few left us. The choir was saved! How I already loved this choir then! How I trembled for its existence!

On the first Sunday we sang in a small church at the Russian embassy. After the service, we were offered to stay with her as a permanent church choir.

I had to think about it. The Church could not provide us with existence. The parish was too small and poor. The choir was faced with the need to earn its living through physical work, since units, as they got jobs, were gradually deprived of food rations.

The church's offer was accepted, but it was decided to earn a living at the same time. There were many possibilities. Offers came from everywhere. The choir members went to work. As officers they received more or less decent positions. They adapted, worked and achieved the point that they soon got out of the tents into the barracks, which were provided to the choir by the Bulgarian Military Ministry in the form of a special location. To save money, they continued to make do from the common pot.

In the evenings, despite being tired after work, the choir members continued to sing, and on Sundays the choir still sang in the embassy church.

The attitude of the Bulgarians was good. The participation of the choir in divine services attracted a lot of people. Interest in him grew.

If my choir members were lucky in the service and at work, I cannot say the same about myself. I changed my professions almost weekly and, for the most part, through no fault of my employers.

I already said once that I had absolutely no talent for anything. Everything I took on was a lost cause right off the bat. If I washed bottles at a brewery, I was fired for being independent. If I worked in a cardboard factory, I was punished for my inability, and if I made boxes, I was the slowest. I never knew before that when washing bottles you can show some kind of independence, for which you are punished. And I didn’t know that a worker at a cardboard factory needed some talent.

I passed off relatively well as a singing teacher at the gymnasium. He taught the children as best he could. Then even as a gymnastics teacher he reaped “well-deserved” laurels. Life has taught me everything. All this, however, was done only because the stomach required it. The main content of my life even then was the choir.

In the summer, the choir received an offer to sing a spiritual concert in the St. Sophia Cathedral. This proposal was, of course, happily accepted. This cathedral - a gift from Russia in memory of the liberation war - accommodated almost five thousand worshipers on the day of our speech.

The concert took place in deathly silence. The majority of the people in the cathedral were Russians, longing for the homeland they had left behind. During the service, many tears were shed and much was experienced.

The success of the concert finally pushed me to the decision to free the choir from physical work and give it the opportunity to earn money through concerts.

The first significant concert of this kind was the performance of the choir at the Sofia Free Theater. Besides us, major Russian artists such as Zaporozhets and Knyazev took part in this concert.

Our performances were a great artistic success, but materially We were at the same level. However, the choir was already on its feet.

A start has been made. While still serving at the embassy church, we organized various concerts, which gave us the opportunity to somehow exist.

THE FIRST STEPS OF THE CHORUS

At this time, our famous ballerina Tamara Karsavina was in Bulgaria. The singing of the choir produced strong impression to her sensitive and religious nature.

Thanks to the great connections that Karsavina had in Bulgaria, we were repeatedly invited to receptions of the diplomatic corps. The choir sang in the Spanish, American and French embassies, earning a living and gaining more and more experience and self-confidence.

With the assistance of our patroness, I first decided to leave the borders of Bulgaria in order to try my luck with the choir in Western Europe. I didn’t expect to immediately begin to exist there by singing alone. At the same time, we decided to take up physical labor in order to somehow later switch entirely to earning a living through concerts.

The choir already numbered 32 people at that time and, in my opinion, was sufficiently prepared to meet the requirements of a large concert stage.

The representative of the League of Nations, Baron Van der Gauven, patronized the choir, but there were still great difficulties with visas and money. The choir had no savings.

They started talking about France. And then for the first time I heard the word “Montargis”, which became a guiding star above us.

Montargis was the name of a small French town. There, at the factory, the choir was offered a job. The plant already had a good brass band and now wanted to acquire a choir. Negotiations began. They were conducted in Russian, since the wife of the factory director was Russian.

Did it make sense to go to a factory in some unknown place? I didn't think about it. My goal was to leave the Balkans in order to Central Europe start a new life with the choir. Perhaps Montargis was then just the beginning...

Thanks to the assistance of the representative of the League of Nations and the French ambassador, thanks to the increased efforts of Tamara Karsavina, we managed to get a visa to France for everyone at once.

Thus, the first obstacle was removed from our intended path. The main obstacle was still the complete lack of money.

The question of where to get money for the trip worried me greatly. But we were lucky. The Don Ataman helped us, the League of Nations helped us, the Church helped us. Unfortunately, too little was collected, and part of the choir had to be left in Bulgaria. If things went well, the remaining choristers were promised to be released later.

I remember the farewell service in the embassy church. I remember Bishop Seraphim’s fervent request not to leave the church. I remember the touching farewell to my comrades who had come from the provinces. I remember the last hesitations of some of us. But I was firm. I believed in the success of our business and instilled this faith in my employees. At this time I received a letter from composer A.A. Arkhangelsky, in which he offered me to be his assistant in his choir in Prague. Despite the good reward that was in store for me, I refused. There was no strength to leave my own choir.

Having presented everyone with the fact of our departure, we suddenly began to receive concert offers. They arrived in French and English, which were still unfamiliar to us at that time. For translations we went to our friends who knew these languages. These friends, not yet believing in our departure and fearing to lose us, deliberately mistranslated these sentences to us. Thus, our first opportunity to perform in America fell apart. It is interesting that seven whole years of waiting have passed since we first managed to carry out the plan for our first American trip. Then, obviously, this was not destined for us.

On the morning of June 23, 1923, we left Sofia. My heart ached painfully at the sight of the crowd seeing us off. The remaining choir friends stood on the platform, sadly looking after us. And ahead was a foreign country and the unknown.

IN THE COUNTRY OF FORMER ENEMIES

They drove nervously, as if frightened by a rash act. We were afraid that due to lack of money we would not get to Montargis. But they rode as free passengers, not depending on anyone. They looked at each other, not believing that this was possible.

At the border station between Serbia and Bulgaria we met Russian officers in Serbian service and Russian nurses. We were encouraged. They treated us to tea and sent us off with heartfelt wishes.

They started singing at the station, thereby winning the sympathy of the railway organization, which met us halfway in everything.

We reached Belgrade, having almost exhausted our cash reserves. At that time, our ideas about money and its value were still primitive. At the station we were met by a representative of the Don Ataman. This meeting gave us great moral support.

There was not enough money for travel from Belgrade to Vienna. We went cheaper - by boat. On the boat, we whispered and decided to sing. We overcame our shyness and started. The public willingly listened to Russian songs. The "concert" was a success. The choir fund was replenished with money again.

A notice of our arrival was sent to the League of Nations and its representative, Baron Van der Goven, appeared on the ship... Even if the road had many obstacles in store for us, we passed through customs control easily. We traveled light, not even having such precious things as a coat. For the most part, they didn’t have suitcases either.

An unfamiliar language sounded alien and incomprehensible around us. Feeling insecure, we were afraid of losing each other in a huge city. Upon arrival, we headed to our accommodation for the night.

Having been at war almost since 1914 and not having seen a large European city for a long time, we were shocked by Vienna. There were still places in the world that did not scream about war, disasters and camp life! We walked along well-maintained streets. The houses, large and beautiful, so little reminiscent of what had hitherto served as our home, amazed us.

German speech sounded around us as if it were something completely understandable. We saw the happy faces of well-dressed people. Was all this really true?

And it seemed that there had never been a war - so calmly they passed by us, our yesterday's enemies, who just recently in those gray uniforms with weapons in their hands, walked against us. And we, the Cossacks that they hated, walked along their streets, without fear of being offended, as if nothing had happened, as if it had never been otherwise.

Vienna - sunny, cheerful, with kind, friendly people - breathed the joy of being around us. For them, the war had long been over. It was only we who still lived under the impression of its oppression, having not yet been able to completely get rid of the rotten smell of the barracks, from camp life and the war cauldron.

Life, life! How beautiful she was on this sunny day! Breathing deeply, raising my head high, I felt her joyful trembling with my whole being.

I wanted to live again! Distant feelings, long dormant, rushed to the surface. Will we really have to leave this city tomorrow to go to where unfortunate people like us lived, huddled in workers’ barracks?

Is the same hopeless and aimless life ahead again? And this choir, for which I fought, with which I became one - was it really destined to work in a factory in a small French town?

But our fate answered: no! Events occurred that radically changed all our assumptions. The choir did not go to Montargis.

DECISION OF DESTINY

A representative of the League of Nations became interested in the choir and introduced it to the director of the concert bureau in Vienna, Geller. Geller, a nice, lively old man, offered us a test concert in the concert management premises.

Tattered, in various military uniforms, we appeared before the arbiter of our fate. They walked respectfully with rough boots on the smooth parquet floors and carpets of the elegant rooms. All this was unexpected and new for us. We obediently walked into the hall of the concert directorate.

The knowledge that talent had been discovered here more than once in these premises and that great careers had been born here, behind the scenes, increased my excitement.

And so, in front of representatives of the press and theater world I introduced my choir. The impression made by the choir far exceeded all expectations.

The French factory town with the memorized name of Montargis remained an unfulfilled dream. On July 4, the choir’s first performance under my direction was to take place in the luxurious Hofburg Hall. We were at our goal...

The preparations for the concert, which took place in terrible excitement and painful anticipation, somehow blurred in my memory. They pale in comparison to that significant day in my life when I was destined to appear with the choir before the Viennese public, famous for its taste and innate understanding of music. The decisive moment was approaching.

We surrounded the artistic director with an excited ring, taking all kinds of advice from him. At this moment there was no need for a translator. They understood each other. With our first big performance, he was nervous too. His wife, equally attentive and caring, took a close part in us. She treated us to tea with rum, which tasted more like rum than tea. She talked to us, patted us on the shoulder reassuringly and expressed her affection to us in every possible way. These dear old people replaced us - in a new, unusual environment for helpless children - with guiding, loving parents. The gray-haired director explained to us that many of us had already stood in front of this lowered curtain, tormented by the same terrible question: will it succeed or not? And as if repeating this question, I asked in German as best I could:

Will it succeed, Mr. Director, or not?

It will undoubtedly succeed, my dear, be brave and patient.

We still did not believe that our dreams were destined to come true, that in a few minutes we should be standing on the first big European stage.

I gathered the choir members around me, giving them necessary instructions. How pitiful they looked then in their threadbare, mended tunics of various colors and cuts! One in windings, the other in boots...

I chose the neatest of them to cover them, as far as the separation of voices allowed, the most shabby and torn. Ragged... Yes, we were still ragamuffins, coming from a poor, gloomy Chilingir camp.

A few more words. A few unanswered questions and the start was near. Every moment the door to the stage had to open. Behind the wall the hall was agitated.

And then this door opened. One after another, the choristers walked onto the stage, many of them made the sign of the cross. Flooded with light, they stood in the usual semicircle. The line was behind me.

I stopped at the door. A fit of terrible weakness seized my limbs. Having lost control over myself, I did not hear that the applause that greeted the choir had already fallen silent. They were waiting for me. I heard the excited director order something to me. But I didn't understand his words. I couldn't move.

And suddenly, like before we left for Bulgaria, I wanted to run away, run away anywhere... Hide from the whole world. Forget that I am Zharov, that my choir is standing on the stage and waiting for my appearance.

I made a movement to turn around, but someone's hands forcibly pushed me over the threshold, and, blinded bright light, I found myself on stage.

A dull noise rolled towards me. I realized that they were meeting me. As if through a fog, I saw in front of me a crowded hall and close, almost right at the stage, the faces of the elegant audience in the first rows. Then it suddenly dawned on me how poorly I was dressed, that through the large hole in my boot, reminding me of my miserable past, I could see a white military footcloth. My heart sank painfully from shame... Scraps of thoughts flashed through my head, overtaking each other, and suddenly clearly, very clearly, I remembered this hall and this stage. Here, many years ago, as a small boy, I stood in the ranks of the synodal choir

Overcoming shame, shyness and memories, I raised my hands. The choir froze. There was deathly silence in the hall.

“We sing to you, we bless you, we thank you and pray to you, our God!” - The choir sounded like an organ. All the sorrow of the previous suffering life trembled in its chords. The choir has never sung like this before! I have never experienced this before...

The last sounds of the beautiful church melody of Rachmaninov’s inspired music were still heard in the frozen hall when I lowered my hands. The growing noise of applause and shouts of approval woke me up to reality.

And reality appeared before me in the person of my choristers, standing on the stage of a huge European hall in the deafening noise of applause and in the satisfied consciousness of what they had achieved. I turned around.

Something squeezed my throat. The hall floated in front of me in a murky veil. Tears of joy and excitement shrouded everything in a fog.

Conducted again. Again he silenced everyone... Again I heard applause. He bowed and thanked. I conducted the concert program like in a dream...

Crowds of congratulators crowded into my dressing room after the concert. Happy and tired, I accepted gratitude from friends and strangers. He shook hands. Answered endless questions. He allowed himself to be hugged and stroked. Signed autographs.

“Mr. Zharov, you will sing with your choir not just once, but a thousand times!” - The beaming director stood in front of me. Then I found out that the choir was engaged for two months in Venice, provincial cities in Austria and Czechoslovakia. And ahead was the prospect of a Swiss tour. Sooner than we expected, the opportunity arose to discharge our remaining employees from Bulgaria. Physical work could now be forgotten.

I was so happy in these moments of success, and if there was another person in the world, besides my choristers, who understood me and sincerely shared my joy with me, then it was the dear old concert director Geller, for whom my joy was greater than material success of the business.

In my long, now almost ten-year, activity, I have met many people. Many of them will never disappear from my memory. To these people belongs this kind-hearted, humane crown in all respects, who, unfortunately, has already passed away from this life...

Tired of the excitement I had endured, I fell asleep deeply in my room. And when I woke up, the whole room and bed were strewn with flowers. They were a gift from a representative of the League of Nations. These flowers were supposed to symbolize the success and joy of my upcoming work...

A few days after this concert, one of my choir friends approached me. I stood at the open window of the train that was rushing us to Graz.

Look, Sergey, here we are now free people, we are going on a European tour, perhaps security and fame lie ahead. Could any of us have imagined this in Chilingir or even in Bulgaria? - No. No one expected this... Only you.

I became wary.

Do you remember, Sergei, how after the Lenten service we walked together along the sleepers. This was in Bulgaria. While talking about the choir, we went far out of town. You talked and talked, jumping from one topic to another, worried and gesticulating. Let's go, suddenly - a barrier! I will never forget this scene. As a prophet, you stopped in front of an unexpected obstacle and said, almost shouting, - I remember directly prophetic words: “With this choir you can conquer the world. Give it to me! The choristers don’t believe - they can be instilled with this belief! They will believe and there will be success and recognition!” I didn’t believe in your words then either. Now I'm infected by your faith. Now we all believe in you and...

Mature fields swayed before us. Houses dotted among them with bright roofs. The train was turning somewhere, and I first saw a steam locomotive, then one carriage after another began to appear at the turn, so I saw a whole train. We were riding at the very tail.

My friend looked at me and, as if guessing my thoughts, remarked with a smile:

It’s okay, Seryozha, we still have a long way to go.

We were all always friends in the choir. We remain so to this day. Our close friendship, which began in the army, has withstood all the hardships to which we were subjected. We did not disperse or fall apart when we were hungry. We live as a close-knit family now that the years of need and disaster have passed. We have one common past. One common goal ahead. We have one common faith, one common ideal.

The Vienna concerts taught me a lot. They showed me that I was right in looking for new ways of choral singing. I have always avoided boredom in performance. I have always looked for variety, which is not always achievable in a monotonous choir.

Having previously built my choir on new principles, I introduced into it the imitation of a string orchestra, and the Vienna concerts showed me that I was on the right path. I have no predecessors in this direction yet. In Russia, these innovations were viewed with skepticism. Meanwhile, I noticed long ago that I achieved a special effect when I forced, for example, one half of the choir to sing with their mouths closed and the other half with their mouths open.

The introduction of falsettos greatly expanded the choir's range, giving it freshness. By developing the parts of the first tenors (falsettists) to the limits of the second octave and relying on the parts of the second basses (octavists), it was possible to give the choir the sonority of a mixed choir.

In Russia there were mainly mixed choirs, and therefore there was little interest in a homogeneous choir. Naturally, composers in most cases wrote for mixed choirs.

I took upon myself entirely the work of creating a new repertoire; the arrangements of spiritual works performed by the choir belong, without exception, to me. The arrangements of secular items were mostly made by me, a small part was made by A.T. Grechaninov and I.A. Dobrovein.

I was afraid of the choir turning into a machine. This fear increased later, when concerts became almost daily. Therefore, I always kept the choir in some tension, changing shades in the same things, changing accelerations and decelerations. Thanks to this, I always kept the choir in my hands, not letting it get used to a certain pattern. At the same time, he even often diverged from the intentions of the author himself. At the same time, I learned to apply myself to the acoustics of the hall. From the first chord I know what sounds better, high or low voices, fast or slow tempo.

ENEMIES AND FRIENDS

Graz. Crowded hall. The first number of the concert was finished. Suddenly a man stood up in the box, as I later learned, a professor at the University of Graz. In a long fiery speech, he urged the audience to leave the hall and not listen to the singing of their sworn enemies, the Cossacks.

Austrian wives and mothers! They killed your husbands and sons, they ravaged your homeland, leave the hall as a sign of demonstration and protest against these barbarians!..

I had just entered the stage and stood behind the line of singers listening to incomprehensible words.

What he says? - I asked the octavist, who understood me even less in German.

He praises you very much, Seryozha.

I walked out to the middle of the stage and with a deep bow thanked the speaker for his praise.

The hall, which had been quiet at first, erupted in a storm of applause. The audience roared and rushed to the stage. The hall was buzzing with applause for the choir. And the people who burst into his room asked the professor from the box. Back then it was still good not to know German...

It was in Stetin. We stood on the stage, intending to start the concert. Suddenly there was movement in the hall. I saw how a gray-haired, slender general in a hussar’s uniform appeared in the aisle between the chairs. Everyone present stood up. Ringing his spurs, the general walked to the front ranks and took his place.

The concert has begun. I saw how, after the first number, the old general applauded approvingly. We just finished "How Glorious is...". Someone came up to the stage and asked for a repeat. The request came from the general. After the concert, he got up and headed to the stage. Everyone was watching him.

Facing the audience, the general raised his hand. Everything was quiet. In the ensuing silence we heard his firm voice, accustomed to the command:

I salute my glorious opponents of the Galician battles. Cossacks, here, in a peaceful concert hall, I express to you my admiration for your art. You, emigrant officers, can openly and proudly look into the face of everyone, everyone, the whole world.

The general's address was met with loud applause. Before the public stood one of the German heroes of the last war, Field Marshal Mackensen. Now, every time a personable and amiable cavalryman is present at our concerts, we always sing for him “How glorious ...” and willingly repeat this thing when he demands it.

FIRST ADVENTURES

Switzerland. January 1924. Back then, very few of us knew what a transit visa was. Having entered Swiss territory and having the opportunity to sing concerts, we made full use of this opportunity. We sang for a whole month. In Nez-Chatelle, Lausanne and Geneva. In Bern, where we were supposed to speak, our passports were suddenly examined. A transit visa for a whole month's stay in Switzerland turned out to be more than enough. The choir was briefly asked to leave the country within 24 hours. And in Nez-Chatelle, according to the schedule, we had a concert the next day. At 12 o'clock at night we had to cross the Swiss border. They still sang the concert in Nez-Chatelle and, in a terrible hurry so as not to be late, boarded the train heading to the French border.

On a cold night we reached the border. The thermometer showed 24 degrees Reaumur. There was no train from the border and, fearing complications, the choir hired a sleigh and rushed on horseback to Pontarlier. They installed things in the sleigh and stood on the runners themselves. Many fell, unable to hold on to the sled with frozen hands. We arrived at the place with endless adventures.

It turned out there were a lot of people with colds. Someone needed an egg for a sore throat. We couldn't talk to the hotel staff. They crowed, hit their sides and hands, and drew circles on paper. They demanded the ill-fated egg.

Where to now? - An unexpected question arose before us. North or south? Was it even worth continuing the trip? There was no money for travel. They didn’t give a visa anywhere except France. And again appeared before the choristers last exit the distant, already forgotten city of Montargis.

Is it really there? We thought a lot. We hesitated for a long time. Together we finally decided to continue working. Let's go south to look for warmth, sun and success. We chose Nice.

The first concert was sung in the city casino. I remember the noise of dishes being served and the hum of conversation during the concert. I cut short the concert, refusing to sing. Then the frightened management turned to the public, demanding silence. The noise stopped instantly.

This was followed by whole line performances that met with varying material success. Artistic success has already accompanied us everywhere. Critics predicted a brilliant future for us.

In Antibes we cut short the tour in anticipation of new offers. They dreamed of Italy, diligently negotiating on this issue through a representative of the League of Nations.

And then the day approached for our departure to the country of singers, where a long tour was planned. Sunny cities followed one after another: Geneva, Milan, Turin.

Our first concerts did not yet enjoy the popularity that we later gained. We made the greatest impression on the Italians by singing spiritual chants. Our falsettos were amazing...

The first half of the Italian tour was disastrous financially. In addition, sitting idle for a long time in Antibes took its toll.

Then our wanderings began around small Italian towns, where we earned pennies. They chose Arona as their permanent residence near the picturesque Lake Maggiore. We went to concerts on foot to surrounding towns, sometimes walking twenty kilometers a day. Despite this, the choir members were not pessimistic about the future. Their growing success filled them with hope.

After eating pasta, they set off on their way to neighboring towns, laughing and exchanging jokes. And after the concert, when we got hungry, we raced home.

The second half of the tour brought material success. By this time, we had managed to obtain the right to enter back into Switzerland, in which we were greatly supported by Swiss newspapers, which vehemently protested against the unjustified expulsion of the choir.

IN GERMANY

Most of all I longed for Germany and most of all I feared it. How will she meet us, former enemies, Cossacks with red stripes, will she appreciate our singing? And finally we appeared before the German public.

This was in Stuttgart in May 1924. We were nervous. But the concert went well. The Germans treated us well. The feud was long forgotten. We were questioned and interviewed. The first fear of “terrible Germany” passed. They sang in Frankfurt, Munich and Breslau, constantly striving for the huge, demanding Berlin. The day after the concert in Stuttgart, we sat in the hotel lobby and translated the critics. The newspaper “Schwäbishe Tagwacht” wrote: “Consisting of 35 people, the choir represents a sensation in the field of choral singing. We also have excellent male choirs, but their skills do not even remotely resemble what was presented to us yesterday by the Don Cossack Choir.”

We cheered up. In Germany, the country of choral singing, we were treated more favorably.

MEETING WITH S.V. RACHMANINOV

Germany gave us a warm welcome. The concerts were held to full capacity, each time awakening a storm of delight among the German public. We were afraid in vain. Ten concerts were given in Dresden alone. Subsequently, this city was destined to play a significant role in the life of the choir.

After one of the concerts in Dresden, the door to the artistic room opened, and a tall gentleman with a stern and intelligent face walked towards me. I recognized him immediately, I could not help but recognize him. It was S.V. Rachmaninov, whom I knew as a boy in Moscow.

Excited and happy, I looked at Sergei Vasilyevich. We started talking. I asked him about the impression made by the concert. He looked at me with his cold gray eyes. He smiled.

And there are spots in the sun, and you have rough spots. We have to work, a lot more work.

Our meetings have become more frequent. I remember one of them. The two of us sat together. S.V. Rachmaninov told me:

You still have too little faith in yourself. You must be more confident. Value yourself more. Learn from great musicians. They were far from shy. Let's take Rubinstein, for example. Having received an invitation from English king, he appeared at the palace, but was not seated in the hall where the king was dining. The invitee was offended to the core. Rising after dinner, he paid the pound and left the hall. Judging by Rachmaninov’s stories, Liszt was no less proud.

During the Hungarian composer's tour of Russia, Emperor Nicholas I invited him to court. In front of him and the invited guests, Liszt sat down at the piano and began to play. The Emperor leaned towards his neighbor and whispered something to him. Liszt interrupted the game and politely asked: “Perhaps I disturbed Your Imperial Majesty?” “No,” answered the sovereign, “continue!” After the concert, Liszt received a fee for all concerts ahead of him in Russia with a simultaneous order to travel outside the state within 48 hours.

At another meeting, Rachmaninov and I talked for a long time about the Synodal School.

From him I received instructions regarding conducting the choir. “Don’t swing your arms,” he said, “the shorter the movements, the more opportunities you have to amplify the sound, gradually increasing the movements. Only short movements impress the choir.”

I learned Rachmaninov's instructions. I reduced my movements to a minimum, giving them more expressiveness and helping myself with facial expressions. Regarding repertoire and composition, Rachmaninoff also gave me some valuable instructions, ending with the following words: “You must be bolder in terms of arrangement. You have the abilities. Do everything yourself, there are no special arrangements for the male choir.”

Every time I visit the city where S.V. is located. Rachmaninov, I invariably visit him to supplement my experience with his instructions and to criticize my great compatriot’s new works.

About Zharov’s Cossack choir in other articles:

It’s paradoxical, but it’s a fact - not only people who are far from music, but also the vast majority of lovers of choral singing in Russia, unfortunately, often have not even heard of the existence of the most famous Russian choir in the world.

“Your Resurrection, O Christ the Savior,” Easter Matins, recording from the early 1950s.

Today in Russia only a few know about the Don Cossack Choir of Sergei Alekseevich Zharov. It’s paradoxical, but it’s a fact - not only people who are far from music, but also the vast majority of lovers of choral singing in Russia, unfortunately, often have not even heard of the existence of the most famous Russian choir in the world.

Created in the most difficult conditions of the Çilingir military camp in Turkey in 1921, which became legendary, the choir has traveled all over the world over the almost sixty-year history of its existence, performed at the most famous concert venues, sung before kings, emperors and presidents, and has invariably enjoyed enormous and well-deserved success.

The choir’s performing skills were highly appreciated not only by Russian emigrants, for whom the wonderful singing of the choir served as a reminder of their irretrievably lost homeland and was an outlet in their difficult life, but also by venerable music critics and luminaries of choral art. The outstanding Russian composer S.V. Rachmaninov loved the choir very much and repeatedly supported Zharov in his innovative arrangements and unexpected readings famous works. F.I. Chaliapin, being himself an excellent connoisseur and performer of Russian songs, paid tribute to the singing skills of the Cossacks. Such luminaries made arrangements especially for the choir and wrote works musical art, like K.N. Shvedov and A.T. Grechaninov and other famous composers.

Sergei Alekseevich Zharov, a graduate of the Synodal School of Choral Singing, who studied with such great masters as Kastalsky, Chesnokov, Danilin, Smolensky, managed to create a unique singing group, which was a worthy successor to the best traditions of choral singing of pre-revolutionary Russia. The success of the choir abroad was truly stunning. But why, being so famous and recognized throughout the world, is this unique choir still so little known in its homeland? Perhaps rumors about his skill and original style of performance are greatly exaggerated, and individual successful performances cannot yet be called a genuine contribution to the treasury of world musical art?

There are several reasons for this obscurity of the choir in its homeland. The first of them is that the time of creation and flowering of the choir - the 20s and 30s of the twentieth century - occurred during the period of the most fierce struggle of the Soviet government with traditional Russian culture, which was fundamentally Christian. In those years when in Soviet Russia the Cossacks were exterminated to the roots, and even regulations were adopted prohibiting the performance of Cossack songs, performances by the Don Cossack Choir in their homeland were simply unthinkable. Those who tried to somehow preserve pre-revolutionary culture and national traditions were considered the first enemies of the new government.

The choir had in its repertoire many church chants, which were always performed in the first section, thereby Zharov emphasized the spiritual essence of the national song tradition. This was by no means a plus from the point of view of the ideologists of the godless government. Zharov’s archive contains a caricature depicting Stalin covering his ears so as not to hear the singing of the choir.

Our mother Raseyushka was given to her adversaries,

Given to the adversaries - they will sink to the bottom...

This is how the Zharovsky choir sang at the height of Stalin's repressions in the mid 30s. Of course, after such songs there was no point in thinking about the choir performing in their homeland. For the same ideological reasons, records with choir recordings were never published in the Soviet Union.

It was only in the 90s that the first recordings of Zharov’s choir appeared in Russia. St. Petersburg archpriest Andrei Dyakonov, owner of the largest collection of records from the Zharov choir in Russia, released several audio cassettes, thanks to which lovers of choral singing were able to learn about the existence of an amazing choir. These were amateur recordings of low quality, but they sold out instantly.

In 2003-2004 Through the efforts of the same father Andrey, the first two CDs with recordings of the choir were finally released, and in 2005, in the series “Traditions of Orthodox Singing”, published by the Igor Matvienko Production Center, four choir discs were released at once. In 2006, with the blessing of Bishop Longin of Saratov and Volsky, a Divine Liturgy performed by a choir was published. And yet, the circulation of these publications is still too small to say that Zharov’s Don Cossack Choir returned to Russia and finally received recognition in its homeland.

We bring to the attention of the readers of "Russian Line" the memoirs of the founder of the choir and its permanent regent Sergei Alekseevich Zharov, recorded and published in the early 30s of the last century by a great fan of the choir, writer Emelyan Klinsky. The reader is presented with a difficult life path Zharova, described amazing story the origins of the choir, its ascent to the heights of excellence and triumph on the world stage. Already in the first decade of its existence, the choir achieved enormous success, but the process of creative search did not stop until last days its existence - and the choir gave its last concert in 1978!

Sergei Alekseevich Zharov died in 1985 in the city of Lakewood (New Jersey). Unfortunately, as often happens, Zharov’s closest relatives failed to appreciate the scale of his talent for Russian and world musical culture and did not preserve his legacy. After the death of the great regent, the house in which his priceless archive was kept was empty for a long time. After some time, he attracted the attention of hunters looking for easy money and was robbed. Some personal belongings and documents of Zharov fell into the hands of an experienced antique dealer, who realized that they belonged to the world famous musician and represent a large cultural value. Having made inquiries about the house and learned that it was practically abandoned and not protected in any way, the antique dealer freely removed from it everything that was of any value. Thus, Zharov’s archive ended up in private hands and is currently being put up for auction.

Not only fans of the Zharov choir, but also everyone who values ​​the cultural heritage of the Russian emigration considers it a matter of honor to save Zharov’s archive. For this purpose, a society is being created that aims to return the unique heritage of the Don Cossack Choir to Russia. We hope that the publication of Zharov’s memoirs will be the first step on this path, and we believe that this return will definitely take place, since although the fame of the Zharov choir thundered throughout the world, nowhere except Russia can his work be understood and appreciated.

In the early 30s, Emelyan Klinsky met with Zharov, who at that time was already at the height of his fame. "You sang at the Met! You have achieved the highest! What is your goal now?" - he asked the great regent. Sadness appeared in the eyes of his interlocutor: “The highest! Perhaps unattainable!” - “I look at Zharov. I understand him without words. We are both silent. Our thoughts are far away, and, having overcome my excitement, I firmly shake his hand: “I wish you to achieve this goal!.. So that your choir is on ours.” To the Motherland, in front of our people, on the Russian stage, forgetting the years of exile, he sang “I Believe!.. "

*The feast of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker was approaching. Preparations were underway for the solemn prayer service. Then the division chief gave the order: the best singers of all regimental choirs, which already existed at that time, were to be collected into one choir. This choir, through its participation in divine services, was supposed to help raise the oppressed spirit of the troops. I was called into this choir as a specialist.
The work of the choir began in a small cramped dugout. The notes were written by hand on cheap paper. Everything was compiled from memory. I started making arrangements. The singers in most cases were officers, and many of them still sing in my choir to this day * (Interview taken in the fall of 1930 in the Czech Republic.) Therefore, the founding day of the Don Cossack Choir can be considered December 19, 1921 according to the new style.

What is the peculiarity of the Zharov miracle heroes from the song? The essence of the innovation of the Zharovites lies in the fact that they sang passionately, sincerely, without much shouting, with the compressed, inner strength of their voices. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Don Cossack Choir, at the request of the public, invariably organized a series of concerts dedicated to each period of the church circle, as was the tradition from Dresden back in the early 20s. While militant atheists in the Soviet Republic blew up one temple after another, and buried monks alive in the ground, the Don Cossack Choir not only preserved and developed genuine Orthodox singing, but also proclaimed it to all languages.div>

Leaving aside all the subtleties of artistic performance, we can freely say that Zharov’s main merit to Europeans, and to all foreign countries, should be considered the popularization of a simple Russian song; not necessarily purely folk. The songs that pre-revolutionary Russia sang in all levels of society especially appealed to foreigners. This group of songs includes *Stenka Razin*, * evening call, evening Bell*; *The bell rattles monotonously*, *White acacia*, *The Twelve Thieves*; to them you can add several numbers, which, in essence, were quite successful adaptations of German marches, such as, for example, *Song of the Prophetic Oleg*.

The Don Cossack Choir stands apart in the history of the development of choral music. The fate of the Choir is as extraordinary as our Russian hard times, as well as the entire 20th century. In fact, a platoon of songwriters, consisting, in addition to the Donets, also of Yaroslavl, Kiev, Kostroma and St. Petersburg, through mortal dangers, carried the lamp of its culture from Russia and carried it in a ceremonial march across the entire planet. Moreover, the Zharovites fanned this torch and turned it into many fairy lights: the lights of church music, folk, classical, Cossack dance, military music shine on us in modern night progressive barbarism and vandalism. But Europe, which at that time was also the bearer of world consciousness, accepted the Chorus as a true envoy of the Russian people. This is evidenced by a symbolic incident that occurred during a concert in the city of Stetin in 1925. During the intermission, a military man stands up from the first row and, raising his hand, addresses the silent audience with the following words: * I salute my valiant opponents with whom I fought in Galicia. Cossacks, here in this peaceful hall, I want to tell you about my admiration for your art. You, emigrant officers, can openly look into the face of all nations, into the face of the whole world*! It was Field Marshal Mackensen. And a representative of the European cultural elite, Max Rheingart, seals this with a brief testimony:
*To this choir I owe the deepest, most a vivid impression as I have ever experienced while listening to choral singing*.
Every Russian person can subscribe to this.

The choir enjoyed enormous and well-deserved success. During his entire existence, he traveled around the world several times and gave about 10,000 concerts. The skill of the Zharovites was admired not only by Russian emigrants, but also by recognized luminaries of world musical culture. The outstanding Russian composer Sergei Rachmaninov was very fond of the choir and more than once supported Zharov in his innovative arrangements and unexpected readings of Russian songs. In a letter to Emelyan Klinsky, he wrote: “Zharov’s choir gave me true pleasure by performing a number of my favorite spiritual chants in a closed concert. They sing spiritual music well!” Fyodor Chaliapin gave concerts with the choir and highly appreciated the singing skills of the Cossacks. Outstanding Russian composer K.N. Shvedov spoke about the choir this way: “Zharov’s choir is exceptional. Magnificent, varied sonority, richness of nuances, virtuosity of performance, unusual, some kind of spontaneous endurance of the choir - these are its main advantages.”

The Italian composer Giacomo Puccini persuaded Zharov to come to Italy with a concert, promising help and full support. Russian emigrants called the Zharov choristers nothing more than ascetics, whose feat was to preserve and exalt Russian art in front of “all languages.”

Zharov had a dream to perform in his homeland, but it never came true. In the USSR, emigrants, as carriers of pre-revolutionary culture, were enemies of the Soviet regime, especially since the choir performed not only folk songs, but also church music. For the same reasons, records of the choir could not appear in the Soviet Union before the fall of communism. When rare recordings penetrated the “Iron Curtain”, they instantly dispersed among a narrow circle of philophonists.
The history of the Don Cossack Choir of Sergei Zharov is truly unique. It reflects the history of an entire people, cut off from their homeland, but, in the words of Valentin Mantulin, who carried the lamp of its culture throughout the world.

Fate didn’t break us, didn’t bend us,
At least she bent it down to the ground.
And because our Motherland kicked us out,
We carried it around the world -

These words of the emigrant poet Alexei Achair can be fully attributed to the Don Cossack Choir of Sergei Zharov. The unique style of performance and the extraordinary fate of the choir allow us to speak of it as a unique phenomenon in the history of world musical culture. Nowadays, when the line between art and craft is blurred, cultural and national traditions are forgotten, the choir of the Don Cossacks of Sergei Zharov can serve as an example not only of a real creative feat, but also of heroic spiritual fortitude, unshakable faith and national self-awareness.

Sergei Zharov died on October 6, 1985 in the USA, in the city of Lakewood (New Jersey). During his lifetime he achieved worldwide recognition and fame. But when asked what it is cherished dream, he invariably answered: “I want my choir in our Motherland to sing “I Believe” in front of our people on the Russian stage, forgetting the years of exile.”