And now Zheverzheyev was proposing turning the Hermitage Theater into “the bearer of new forms of theater art.” Just how avant-garde the new enterprise was to be is clear from Zheverzheyev’s list of designers, including Altman, Chagall, and Tatlin. The whole concept was going to be under the aegis of the People’s Commissariat of Education, where modernists like Mayakovsky, Punin, and Arthur Lourié set the tone in the arts section.
Zheverzheyev, however, met many obstacles right off the bat. Meyerhold, who could not stand the hungry life, fled south from Petrograd. The city authorities did not allow performances at the Hermitage Theater, citing the danger of fire. (Curiously, the same excuse was given to me when, half a century later, I tried to obtain permission to use the Hermitage Theater for the struggling Experimental Studio of Chamber Opera).
But in the end, the avant-garde artist Yuri Annenkov managed to produce under Zheverzheyev’s auspices an influential production of Leo Tolstoy’s play
The scenery was made up of multicolored crisscrossing ropes, slightly camouflaged trapezes, various swaying platforms suspended in space and other circus equipment, against a background of abstract blobs of color, primarily in a fiery spectrum. The devils flew and tumbled in the air. The ropes, trapezes, and platforms were in constant movement. The action developed simultaneously on the stage and in the audience.71
This “people’s” production was banned after four performances because the Bolsheviks were offended on Tolstoy’s behalf and found this “bourgeois modernization of the classics” unacceptable. However, Annenkov’s radical experiments were immediately picked up and continued by Sergei Radlov, who opened his theater, the “People’s Comedy,” in the Iron Hall of the Petrograd People’s House in 1920.
The observant Shklovsky noted, “Radlov, coming in a direct line from Yuri Annenkov, proceeds tangentially from Meyerhold’s pantomime.”72 In Radlov’s productions the actors also improvised, did complicated acrobatic turns, and juggled fire. Only a few of them came from traditional theater (one of them was Lyubov Mendeleyeva, Blok’s wife), for Radlov had recruited most from the circus or variety stage. The action could take place in Russia, Paris, or New York, with transformations, fights, and almost cinematic chase scenes.
During Meyerhold’s absence from Petrograd, the energetic Radlov became the recognized head of the avant-garde theater. But Meyerhold soon returned and made directly for Radlov’s theater, where he created a loud scene, accusing his follower of plagiarism. The horrified actors watched the infuriated Meyerhold, dressed in the Bolshevik “uniform”: leather jacket, rough boots, and cap with a badge depicting Lenin, also in a cap. Meyerhold ran from the Iron Hall shouting curses. As of that moment, he and Radlov were mortal enemies. But Zheverzheyev continued to maintain friendly relations with both.
A little taller than average, well built, and always calm, Zheverzheyev was self-confident in the stormy seas of Petrograd’s artistic avant-garde. His temperament made him the ideal arbiter for settling the innumerable disputes and conflicts of superinflated egos. Before the revolution, the authorities had respected him for being rich. After the revolution the new authorities continued to respect Zheverzheyev because he had given up his wealth easily and gracefully. The avant-gardists respected him before and after the revolution for his steady support for their experiments and for his organizational skills. In the early 1920s Zheverzheyev was still in the middle of Petrograd’s cultural life.
For the young Balanchine, Zheverzheyev’s apartment was a haven, and its owner must have become a father figure. George even began imitating Zheverzheyev, who wore his hair long and parted on one side. Balanchine got the same hairdo. Zheverzheyev had beautiful hands (his daughter Tamara described them as “Botticelli-like”), and George started paying attention to how his hands looked.73
