“Writing As Performance: the Case of Marina Tsvetaeva.”

Source: “Writing As Performance: The Case of Marina Tsvetaeva”, New Zealand Slavonic Journal, vol.37, 2003, pp.143-153.  
 

      The topic “Marina Tsvetaeva and theatre” remains a grey area of Tsvetaeva scholarship, in spite of the fact that several scholars have analysed various aspects of Tsvetaeva’s plays and commented on Tsvetaeva’s personal friendship with Russian actors and directors. Tsvetaeva is the author of several plays that can be defined as verse dramas. The list of these plays includes Ariadna; Fedra (Phaedra); Metel’ (The Snowstorm); Chervonnyi valet (The Jack of Hearts); Smert’ Kazanovy (The Death of Casanova); Prikliuchenie (An Adventure); Feniks (Phoenix), and Kamennyi angel (The Stone Angel). Tsvetaeva’s 1936 autobiographical story “Povest’ o Sonechke” (“The Tale of Sonechka”) gives a detailed account of Tsvetaeva’s involvement with the Vakhtangov studio in Moscow. In addition to the above mentioned texts, numerous essays, poems and letters reflect on Tsvetaeva’s personal friendship with many actors, theatrical critics and directors. Surprisingly only a few attempts have been made in Tsvetaeva scholarship so far to evaluate Tsvetaeva’s involvement with theatre, and more importantly, to explore the inter-relationship between theatre and her writings. The present paper aims to demonstrate Tsvetaeva’s dependence on modernist theories relating to performance and acting as part of her search for the most expressive and dialogic forms of communication. As will be argued, Tsvetaeva’s texts display a strong orientation towards performance and reveal various meanings if viewed with conjunction with the leading modernist theories of performance as disseminated in Russia and abroad by Nikolai Nikolaevich Evreinov and Sergei Mikhailovich Volkonskii. The influence of these important cultural figures on Tsvetaeva’s world-view and aesthetic aspirations has never been examined in Tsvetaeva scholarship and therefore it begs investigation. The present paper aims to outline a few possible directions for the exploration of this topic.

      It is necessary to give a few preliminary remarks that would help to establish the framework for the above mentioned goal. A few studies deserve special attention since they lay the foundation for examining Tsvetaeva’s interest in theatre per se, and for the examination of performance-oriented aspects of Tsvetaeva’s writings and life. Thus, for example, Julia Dobson’s pioneering study  points to some  highly crafty strategies of Tsvetaeva’s romantic plays that relate to body politic and gender performance.¹  R.D. Thompson, and Andrew Khan provide us with a structural analysis  of Tsvetaeva’s classical plays focussing on versification, composition, and so on.²  Victoria Schweitzer³ and Simon Karlinsky⁴ offer a contextual analysis and biographical details that help us to understand the extent of Tsvetaeva’s association with the theatre in Moscow, as well as Tsvetaeva’s long-standing friendship with various critics and actors. Tsvetaeva biographers draw our attention to Tsvetaeva’s contacts with Evgenii Vakhtangov, Vsevolod Meyerhold, Pavel Antokol’skii, Iurii Zavadskii, Aleksei Stakhovich, and Prince Sergei Volkonskii, to name just a few. In addition to this list of important names that are well-known in Russian theatre studies, it is also important to bear in mind that Elizaveta Efron, Tsvetaeva’s sister-in-law, was a theatrical director, and Sergei Efron, Tsvetaeva’s husband, was a very talented actor, who took part in many amateur and professional productions. As Michael Makin notes, the Vakhtangov studio – known later as the Third Studio of the Moscow Arts Theatre – provided Tsvetaeva with “a stable world and friends and associates in the difficult years after the October Revolution.”⁵ Furthermore, at the beginning of her career Tsvetaeva displayed a strong interest in the mechanisms of becoming an icon and in the image-making  strategies in the age of  mass consumption. Her objects of worship — Sarah Bernhardt and Marie Bashkirtseff — might be identified as perfect examples of female dandyism.

      However, the present paper will concern itself only with the appropriation of certain theatrical theories and beliefs as manifested in Tsvetaeva’s texts, leaving aside thereby the fascinating subject that deals with various semiotic modes of Tsvetaeva’s behaviour. In this respect, it would be interesting to point, for example, to Tsvetaeva’s reverence towards the French actress as expressed in her letters. As Karlinsky points out, Tsvetaeva on her first visit to Paris in 1908 did not see Sarah Bernhardt  performing in Rostand’s play L’Aiglon. Nevertheless, Tsvetaeva was impressed with Mlle James, a French teacher at the Alliance Française. It appears that Tsvetaeva’s visit to Paris in 1908 was presented in her letters and writings as an extension of female dandyism. Yet given the fact that Tsvetaeva was well-acquainted with Maksimilian Voloshin, who wrote reviews on Russian and French theatre, it is tempting to have a closer look at Tsvetaeva’s familiarity with the French theatre. It might be plausible to suggest even that Tsvetaeva’s interest in French drama was not just limited to Rostand. The intertextual analysis of some of Tsvetaeva’s texts might be seen as a starting point for such an endeavour.

      Unfortunately, some scholars believe that Tsvetaeva’s early Romantic plays are failures. Thus Makin suggests that Tsvetaeva’s plays are “probably her least-read works, and some were long among her most inaccessible”, and “clearly the least successful of Tsvetaeva’s post –1915 works.” ⁶ Similar views are found in the studies of Anna Saakiants and Victoria Schweitzer. ⁷ However, the growing interest in Tsvetaeva’s plays and the growing number of successful performances demonstrate that Tsvetaeva’s aesthetic aspirations were too original and innovative to be fully appreciated in Russia and outside Russia in the 1920s. It is no coincidence that Vitalii Vul’f, the  established Russian contemporary theatre critic, surveys a few productions of Tsvetaeva’s plays in 1990s Russia. In his 1998 essay on Tsvetaeva’s drama Vul’f proposes a view that in spite of some imperfections, Tsvetaeva’s plays are written for performance, with the view to be appreciated by an audience, not a readership. Vul’f labels aptly Tsvetaeva’s plays as “Theatre of the future.” ⁸

      Given the fact that Tsvetaeva turned to plays for aesthetic reasons, it would not be an exaggeration to state that such a u-turn in her career might have been triggered by the search for more perfect forms of communication with potential readership and for more expressive performative qualities. In one of her letters Tsvetaeva explains her interest in theatre as follows: “I have begun to write plays — it was unavoidable, my voice simply outgrew lyric verse, there was too much breath in my chest for the flute… Indeed, I write without sparing myself, without thinking of myself.” ⁹ In fact, the Russian version of this statement uses the expression “sebia ne pomnia” that can be rendered as “without thinking of myself”, implying  thereby the act of transcending. It is as if Tsvetaeva describes herself as the poet who transforms herself into the characters she crafts — just like an actor who performs on stage.

      It would not be far-fetching to name Sergei Volkonskii as one of the most important figure who played a significant role in shaping Tsvetaeva’s new performance-oriented language of communication. The importance of Volkonskii’s theories to Tsvetaeva’s writing has escaped the scholars’ attention, in spite of the fact that at  the beginning of the twentieth century Volkonskii  almost single-handedly revolutionised Russian theatre. He also might be seen as the first Russian semiotician. In  view of Tsvetaeva’s search for new forms of self-representation and a new voice that outgrew lyric verse, it is not coincidental that Tsvetaeva dedicated to Volkonskii her poetic cycle “Uchenik” (The Disciple), which was included in the  collection of poems Remeslo  (Craft). Tsvetaeva admired Vokonskii and considered him the most genius person she had ever met. Makin mentions Volkonskii together with Stakhovich as one of the objects of Tsvetaeva’s sexual desire, arguing that Tsvetaeva had a fascination with much older man, and “expressed in her lyrics and prose” her infatuations with these two ageing men of theatre.¹⁰ It appears that Makin develops Karlinskii’s line of investigation that highlights some sexual overtones in Tsvetaeva’s friendship with Volkonskii, which lasted from 1921 till his death in Paris in 1939. Such an interpretation stems from Tsvetaeva’s own description of her love for Volkonskii as the purest form of art. In her 1924 letter to Aleksandr Bakrakh Tsvetaeva comments on her infatuation with Volkonskii in the early 1920s thus: “He didn’t learn to love women, but he did learn to love love.”¹¹ Yet the biographical detail to which Karlinsky points out in his book does not explain why in her cycle “Uchenik” Tsvetaeva presents herself as a disciple of Volkonskii. Karlinsky does not comment on the nature of Tsvetaeva’s lessons  either. Nevertheless, in his analysis of the cycle Karlinskii highlights the creative aspect of the relationship between the two protagonists: “The younger disciple’s devotion and self-sacrifice are to be rewarded with solitude and independence after she/he left the master behind.” ¹² Karlinsky also muses on Tsvetaeva’s desire to act as personal assistant of Volkonskii in 1920s Moscow: “While hating the drudgery of office work for pay, she did not mind performing secretarial duties for Volkonskii and she personally copied his manuscripts.”¹³ While Karlinsky’s observations on the strange if not perverted sexual attraction of Tsvetaeva towards Volkonskii is true to a great extent, the fact that Tsvetaeva might have been inspired by Volkonskii’s theories conspicuously escapes the scholar’s attention. In fact, one can use as a counter-argument to Karlinsky’s claim regarding the sexual overtones of Tsvetaeva’s interest in Volkonskii Tsvetaeva’s characterisation of her teacher that was  conveyed in one of her letters to Liudmila Evgen’evna Chirikova, dated as 4 April 1923. In this letter Tsvetaeva strongly recommends her friend to visit Volkonskii’s flat in Paris. As Tsvetaeva acknowledges in this letter, she admires Volkonskii unconditionally: “It is my best friendship ever; he is the cleverest, the most sociable, the most ancient, the most strange, and the most genius of all the people in this world.”¹⁴ Tsvetaeva encourages her friend to go and visit Volkonskii, because she believes that it would be worth it; Tsvetaeva also points out in another letter that Volkonskii’s knowledge of paintings and artists is outstanding.¹⁵ The role of the great connoisseur of fine art comes, of course, in addition to other Volkonskii’s achievements that Tsvetaeva admired. In the 1910-30s Volkonskii was well-known as  an author of short stories and memoirs; a lecturer; a theoretician of the performing arts; critic; and former director of the imperial theatres.  On several occasions Volkonskii took part in the same literary evenings as Tsvetaeva: he appeared, for example,  alongside with Tsvetaeva in “An Evening of Romanticism” on April 26, 1930 in Paris.¹⁶  According to Vladimir Boikov, Volkonskii helped to organise numerous literary evenings in which Tsvetaeva recited her poems and read her fiction. On 25 May 1929 Volkonskii organised an evening of Tsvetaeva’s poetry, in which he read his piece on theatre “Repetsitsiia i predstavlenie”  (“Rehearsal and Performance” ) prior to Tsvetaeva’s recital.¹⁷ The latter duet might be seen as a vivid manifestation of the teacher-disciple relationship. In addition to this performance, the correspondence between Tsvetaeva and Volkonskii  inspired Volkonskii to write his famous book Byt i bytie (Everyday Life and Being), the title of which alludes to the romantic aspirations of the both of them.

      The fact that Tsvetaeva was well versed in Volkonskii’s writings has been overlooked by scholars so far. Yet Tsvetaeva’s autobiographical story “Povest’ o Sonechke” displays Tsvetaeva’s profound understanding of the art of performance as disseminated by Volkonsky in his books. It can be argued that Sof’ia Gollidei is presented by Tsvetaeva as another perfect disciple of Volkonskii. In Tsvetaeva’s story Gollidei uses various gestures to compliment her speech in a way that was advocated by Volkonskii’s recommendations on acting. Her training was representative of the practice employed in Russian modernist theatre. During  the Silver Age many Russian actors (including actors with whom Vakhtangov, Evreinov, and Meyerhold worked) learnt gesture, movement, dance and plastique, in preparation for their performances. Their training included  a course based upon the Dalcroze system of eurythmics as manifested in Volkonskii’s lectures and books. Irina Odoevtseva’s memoirs On the Banks of the Neva (Na beregakh Nevy, 1988) testifies to the popularity of Volkonskii’s method in Russia in the 1910-early 1920s. Odoevtseva recollects her lectures in the Petrograd College Zhivoe slovo (The Living Word), which combined training in literary criticism with lessons in rhetoric and eurhythmics. Arguably Tsvetaeva’s aesthetics evolved around the same idea of the living word that was pivotal to the aesthetics of the Russian avant-garde. This approach to the word as living evokes the synthesis of language and speech, as well as  the unity of non-verbal forms of communication — such as gestures, dance, rhythm— and verbal communication. Bearing in mind that Tsvetaeva had a hand at verse drama, it appears to be fruitful to  examine how various communicative strategies embedded in Tsvetaeva’s writings interact with each other; how they contribute to the production of meaning; and whether they were shaped by the theories of  modernist theoreticians including Dalcroze and Volkonskii.

      Dalcroze’s eurhythmics, or rhythmic gymnastics, were taught at private schools and as part of the high school curriculum, following the first demonstration of this system by its creator Emile Jacques Dalcroze, at Petersburg’s Imperial Mikhailovskii Theatre on 20 January 1912. In 1910 Volkonskii discussed Dalcroze’s system in his  lecture, “O cheloveke i ritme”  (“On Man and Rhythm”). In this lecture Volkonskii dismisses Isadora Duncan’s free dance, or manifestations of natural plastique, as subjective and arbitrary, based on the dancer’s desire to express her mood and her fluid self.  In Volkonskii’s view, Dalcroze’s system was more objective, for it expressed the rhythm and soul of the  music painted by the body. Some differences notwithstanding, both approaches put to the fore the emphasis on the individual performer and his/her ability to improvise. In 1912 the appearance of the first translation of Edward Gordon Craig’s book On the Art of the Theatre promoted similar techniques. Craig’s monodramatic approach to staging William Shakespear’s Hamlet , together with his rejection of realism, and ambivalent attitude to the actor seen simultaneously as a potential source of noble artificiality and an egoist, might be also seen as an important source for Tsvetaeva’s interpretation of Hamlet. Craig’s search for new aesthetics was also echoed in Meyerhold’s experiments. As Spencer Golub observes, Meyerhold  “shared Craig’s belief in the necessity of the actor’s transcending himself in order to operate on the level of symbol.”¹⁸  Golub explains Meyerhold’s concern with the marionetteness and sculptural qualities of the actor in terms of the director’s search to some universal means of communication. According to Golub, Meyerhold “demanded of man the performer that he rediscover his eloquence, resilience, stature and divinity so as to recreate an art that could once gain be called universal.”¹⁹

      Arguably, similar tendencies are embedded in Tsvetaeva’s writings, too. In various poems and letters, Tsvetaeva insinuates a strong bond between her poetry and the performing arts. Thus, for example, one of her letters to Salomeia Andronnikova-Gal’pern contains enthusiastic remarks on Sergei Diagilev’s ballet. Tsvetaeva letter written on June 11, 1929 states: “I went to see Diagilev’s ballet The Prodigal Son; it had a few clever gestures that reminded me of poetry, in particular — of my own poems: especially the scenes of the transformations of a cloak into a sail; and of the wanderers into the rowers.”²⁰ The image of the  cloak plays an important role in creating a visual spectacle in Tsvetaeva’s cycle “Uchenik”, that was inspired,  as has been mentioned above, by Tsvetaeva’s friendship with Volkonskii. The image of the cloak appears as a personified object in the first poem of the cycle “Byt’ mal’chikom tvoim svetlogolovym…” (“To be a fair-haired boy of yours…” ). The poem presents the role that the narrator wishes to be — a young boy, covered by the cloak of a disciple. The first stanza goes as follows: “Byt’ mal’chikom tvoim svetlogolovym, — / O, cherez vse veka!—/ Za pyl’nym purpurom tvoim bresti v surovom / Plashche uchenika” (“ To be a fair-haired boy of yours, — / Oh, through all the centuries! —/ To wander after your dusted purple cloak / In the solemn cloak of your disciple” )²¹. As Tsvetaeva’s poem implies, the cloak is used by the narrator to adopt a different personality and transgress gender limitations. In other words, the text animates a scene from the past featuring an apostle and his disciple. In the whole cycle that comprises seven poems Tsvetaeva avoids any specific references to gender, giving the impression that both protagonists of the cycle are males: a wise man with his disciple (and as some poems of the cycle indicate, possible two lovers). Yet in the seventh poem there is a reference to a pair of small boots that follow the cloak: “Sapozhkom — robkim i krotkim — / Za plashchom — rdianym i rvanym”  (“Little boots — timid and quiet — / Follow the cloak — red and worn out one”). ²² The image of the cloak that has experienced so many transformations throughout the cycle appears in the last line as a device of deception:“ za plashchom — lgushchim i lgushchim”( “following the cloak that lies and lies”). ²³ As the narration of the cycle unfolds, the cloak that turns the speaker into a disciple experiences a chain of transformations that include  an image resembling a moving curtain; a protection wall; a shield; an object to be burnt by a passion; a cloak that covers two people in love and makes them look like a tower; a cloak that is falling off the shoulders like a wave; a cloak that appears as wings; and finally as a deluding cloak that lies.

      On the grammatical and syntactical level Tsvetaeva’s cycle “Uchenik” presents a remarkable spectacle comparable to a dynamic and imaginative short play. Its whirlwind atmosphere is created, however, without any use of verbs: Tsvetaeva’s narration relies on the usage of the verbal adjectives and the Instrumental case, surpassing thereby the poetic experiments of Aleksandr Fet and Konstantin Bal’mont. The range of rhythmical variations displayed by the cycle convey the Dalcrozean touch: various breathing patterns, movements up and down are skilfully matched by sudden changes in rhythmical gestures. Thus, for example, the flow of conversation that is slow but charged with erotic subversion is presented as the streams of words entwined with the falling down cloak: “Ruch’ev nispadaiushchikh rech’ /Spletalas’ predivno / S plashchom, nispadaiushchikh s plech/ Volnoi neizbyvnoi” (“The speech of falling streams/ Was forming a wonderful pattern/ Matching the movement of the cloak that was falling off the shoulders like a wave”).²⁴  The image of the speech of streams that flow down alludes to tears that reveal a dramatic tension that exists between the two protagonists of the cycle.  The portrayal of this emotionally charged state of mind is entwined with the cloak, that is slowly falling down the shoulders, uncovering the two bodies of people that walk up the hill. The speaker presents a scene as an image of a recovered memory of two people from the past: “I pomniu – bok o bok – na kholm. / Ia pomniu – vskhodili… “ (“ I remember side by side up the hill. / I remember them ascending…”).²⁵  Yet the sixth and seventh poems of the cycle encompass the different rhythmical patterns, that are associated with the act of spiritual ascendence. It revolves around the image of the cloak that is disappering slowly out of sight resembling a bird that tries to fly away from the speaker. Therefore the action embedded in the cycle manifests the eternal quest for truth. Tsvetaeva questions here the ethics and aesthetics of the representation of human body and subjectivity. The performance embedded in the cycle calls upon the readers to search for truth, advising them  not to settle for any static and sculptural images that destroy the spirit of living word. To put it differently, the cycle inspires the spectators to invent themselves by turning their lives into somewhat daring perpetual theatrical performances that test the boundaries of societal, gender, and  temporal limitations that are ascribed to the implied uninitiated audience.

      Tsvetaeva’s cycle “Uchenik” also plays on the conventional pictorial representations of the cloak that are found in many European classical texts and works of art. One of the possible sources for Tsvetaeva’s image of the cloak associated with the theme of learning is the description of the Saint Peter (Apostle Peter) in the Gospels. Apostle Peter, the disciple of Christ, held a unique position as one of the founders of the Church. He is usually represented in art  as a vigorous elderly man with curly white hair and beard, who often wears a golden-yellow cloak over green or blue.²⁶ Bearing in mind, however, that Karlinksy interprets this cycle as the manifestation of “the poet’s desire to be the male lover-disciple of a wise older mentor”²⁷, Tsvetaeva’s text might be seen as  a theatrical performance that couches homosexual  desire in the allegorical symbols of Christian love and spiritual development. Given the fact that the adressee of the cycle “Uchenik” is a homosexual man who was described in Tsvetaeva’s above mentioned letter as a man who “did not learn to love women”, the readers of the cycle are invited, therefore, to participate in the carnivalesque activities. They are left to judge for themselves whether the performed act of selfless love is a lesson in sublimation, or in dandyism, or in camp-performance.

      The title of the cycle “Uchenik” highlights the role of the disciple rather than a mentor it evokes. The disciple is presented as a skilfull actor. It is possible to detect an unmistakeable similarity between the speaker in the cycle “Uchenik” and the speaker of Tsvetaeva’s cycle “Podruga”  (“Female Friend”), which is dedicated to the author’s lesbian lover Sophia Parnok. Thus, one of the poems of the cycle presents the female speaker as a young boy. Reflecting on her relationship with Parnok, Tsvetaeva recollects how Parnok likened affectionately Tsvetaeva to a young boy. One of  1920 entries in Tsvetaeva’s diary reveals Tsvetaeva’s tormented self and reflects on the painful experience associated with Parnok. Tsvetaeva goes on and says: “She would reject me, turn to stone, trample me under her feet — but she would love me.”²⁸ By the same token, Tsvetaeva’s cycle “Uchenik” animates a figure of the disciple chasing his/her object of desire and worship.

      Viewed in the light of the tradition of camp performances, Tsvetaeva’s female figure dressed in a cloak as a young male has clear resonates with the French American camp queen dancer Loie Fuller whose electrifying shows made her an Art Nouveau icon. As Rhonda Garelick  explains, “Camp occurs whenever a personality or a work of art exists in two realms simultaneously, and these realms can include the aesthetic and the sexual, as well as temporal. If a certain group of spectators, a cognoscenti, can recognise the second realm of significance, then camp is possible.”²⁹  Susan Sontag defines camp as dandyism in the age of mass culture. “It makes no distinction between the unique object and the mass-produced object,” Sontag notes, “camp is the glorification of ‘character’. The statement is of no importance — except of course, to the person […] who makes it.”³⁰ In the light of the above definitions, it can be argued that Tsvetaeva’s cycles “Uchenik” and “Podruga” promote a gay sensibility and counter-cultural discourse, putting on a grand show of denaturalised desire and gender transformations.

      Tsvetaeva’s image of a living cloak in “Uchenik” that is ascribed with so many meanings, also evokes the images of Oriental cloaks and veils that were successfully appropriated in French and Russian gay circles during the modernist period. In her seminal study “Acting Out Orientalism” Emily Apter surveys fin-de-siècle’s versions of Oriental heroines such as Cleopatra and Scheherezade and points to the relationship between the flamboyancy of these characters and the lesbianism of some of the women who performed them, such as Colette (in Reves d’Egypte) or dancer Ida Rubinstein (who appeared in Fokine’s Cleopatra and Scheherezade). Eve Sedgwick and Wayne Koestenbaum liken performance of homosexulaity (as passing for a straight, or existing in two roles simultaneously) to theatricality and masquerade. In the style of Fuller who appropriated popular motifs of Salome and her Dance of Seven Veils, Tsvetaeva offers her readers/spectators her  cycle “Uchenik” that comprises seven poems which unfold her real self. The image of a cloak is also used in Tsvetaeva’s plays. It seems that Roman Viktiuk, a prominent contemporary Russian gay producer, was particularly perceptive in his 1988 production of Tsvetaeva’s play Fedra : he made Alla Demidova (who was simultaneously presenting both Phaedra and Tsvetaeva herself) to appear on the stage in a loose cloak, which significantly revealed the actresses’s breasts, evoking thereby erotic connotations.³¹ More importantly, however, Viktiuk aptly interprets Tsvetaeva’s poetry as visual spectacle, in the style of ritualistic and –gymnastics-like  movements and dances that resonate with the Dalcroze rhythmical gymnastics, accentuating various representations of body as implied by Tsvetaeva’s play as part of the camp theatrical spectacle. Thus, for example, in his analysis of Viktiuk’s production of Fedra Aleksandr Gorshkovich points out that a short actor A. Iatsko, who plays Phaedra’s husband, performs a strange march -like dance, displaying his strong body while reciting Tsvetaeva’s text that clearly denounces women as objects of male sexual desire. His masculinity is performed in conjunction with slogan-like lines from Tsvetaeva’s Fedra that include such phrases as “Nam v zhienakh nuzhdy nest!” (“We have no need in women!” ), or “Vosslavim druzhestvo! Vosslavim muzhestvo!” (“Long live brotherhood! Long live mascilinity!”), and so on. ³²

      The examination of Tsvetaeva’s affectionate portrayal of Volkonskii in her poems, essays and letters  in conjunction of the aethetic principles of the camp art sheds a new light on Tsvetaeva’s image of Hamlet in the poem “Ofeliia — v zashitu korolevy” (“Ophelia, in Defense of her Queen”, 1923). In her survey of five of Tsvetaeva’s 1923 poems that redefine Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Anna Tamarchenko states that these poems “neither offer a polemic with Shakespeare, nor display any bond with various problems of theatre and drama.”³³ Tamarchenko considers Tsvetaeva’s image of Ophelia who after death visits Hamlet in the shape of a ghost, just to make him realise that he hates women because of his mother’s sin, from the psychoanalytical point of view. Tamarchenko convincingly argues  that Tsvetaeva’s poem “Ofeliia — v zashitu korolevy” inscribes Hamlet’s voice, giving the way to the re-enacted exteriorisation of Hamlet’s self-reflection and self-denunciation.³⁴ Tsvetaeva poems ends with a warning: “Svoei koroleve vstaiu na zashitu/Ia, vasha bessmertnaia strast’” (“I am  rising  in defence of my queen./ For I am your immortal passion”).³⁵ According to Tamarchenko’s interpretation of this poem, Tsvetaeva’s Hamlet is exposed to a tragic situation for he recognises his guilt towards women he loved — Ophelia and his mother. In sum, Tamarchenko views Tsvetaeva’s poem as a performance of guilty consciousness. The poem testifies to the author’s ability to influence would-be readings of the text. Just like Meyerhold, Tsvetaeva succeeds in her goal: she wants to  involve her audience in the act of performing and transcending in order to operate on the level of symbol. Undoubtedly, while Tsvetaeva’s Ophelia stands out as a symbol of eternal passion, Hamlet exemplifies a model of guilty consciousness. The tragedy, as implied in this poem, lies in the impossibility of a happy union due to the fragmentation of organic life and of self that mirrors the artificial nature of the modern world.

      By juxtaposing Tsvetaeva’s unrequited love for Volkonskii to the tragic love between Ophelia and Hamlet as conveyed in the above mentioned poem, we could reveal an intrinsic bond between Tsvetaeva’s world-view and Volkonskii’s understanding of life as perpetual theatrical performance. It is not coincidental that both Tsvetaeva and Volkonskii shared a strong interest in Shakespeare’s plays. In his memoirs Volkonskii recollects his profound admiration for famous Italian actor Rossi, who introduced young Volkonskii to Shakespeare’s plays, aroused his interest in theatre, inspired him to have a hand at acting. Volkonskii produces a vivid account of the production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, that he organised with the help of his brother, and their friend Viktor Bariatinskii. While Volkonskii played Hamlet, his friend Bariatinskii acted the queen. This production inspired the establishment of a new fashion in Russia to create amateur performances at home. Volkonskii also describes Rossi’s outstanding performance of Hamlet and refers to his brilliant rival — famous Italian actor Sal’vini— who played  Othello and interpreted Shakespeare’s Othello as a play of love, not jealousy.³⁶ Both actors came to Russia in the 1880s. Given the fact that Volkonskii started a new fashion of amateur performances in private environments and contributed to the promotion of theatricality, and even camp tradition, it might be possible to read Tsvetaeva’ poem “Ofeliia — v zashitu korolevy” as an exaggerated performance of denaturalised desire and gender, in the style of her discussed above poems addressed to Volkonskii. Not only Tsvetaeva insinuates in this poem the image of a gay man whom she desires nevertheless, but she also invites to transcend any established boundaries and stereotypes  that prevent indivuals from realising their full creative potentials.

      Tsvetaeva’s meditation on a pain of separation with Boris Pasternak as expressed in the cycle “Provoda”  (“Lines”) that boast her famous exclamation —“To describe my misfortune / I cannot use all of Racine, and all of Shakespeare!” — could be seen as an extension of the theme of the fragmented self as expressed in the above discussed poems that feature theatrical apsects of life.  It also might be viewed as manifestation of Tsvetaeva’s inability to love a male poet, for her longing for a female artistic persona (as exemplified by Parnok, or Sofia Gollidei, for example) prevents her from doing so. In this respect, the references in the poem “Ofeliia — v zashitu korolevy” to Shakespeare’s tragic world-view bring to mind Tsvetaeva’s relationship with Parnok. In this respect, the image of eternal passion suggests the passion that obstructs happy love affairs and leads to torment and fragmentation. Tsvetaeva’s Hamlet conspisciously alludes to the  examples of  female performances of Hamlet that were not that uncommon in European modernist culture. In Tsvetaeva’s case, however, the image of Hamlet symbolises the guilty consciousness that leads to fragmented personality.

      Such a view might be also supported by Sophia Poliakova’s study of Tsvetaeva and Parnok.³⁷ Karlinsky shares Poliakova’s view that Tsvetaeva’s longing for Parnok lasted well into the 1930s, as reflected in her story “Povest’ o Sonechke”.³⁸ Both scholars think that the aim of Tsvetaeva’s narrative was to immortalise Golliday and to condemn Parnok to oblivion. The motif behind such an act would be Tsvetaeva’s wounded self, since she was rejected by Parnok. Yet if we take Karlinsky’s view that both Efron and Parnok represent “her two great loves”, and the self-awareness of this fact caused Tsvetaeva a great deal of pain³⁹, as expressed in Tsvetaeva’s numerous letters and poems, then Tsvetaeva’s 1915 about the lawless women who break the societal conventions — “We are sure to end up in hell, O my ardent sisters!” — reveals the nature of Tsvetaeva’s tragically divided self, and he reliance on the theatrical forms of behaviour. In her 1915 poem “Dva solntsa” (“Two suns..”) Tsvetaeva reveals the high emotional cost of her involvement with Parnok and asks herself: “How these suns — one in heaven, the other in my breast —could I ever forgive myself?”.  Therefore, the vision of Ohelia in Tsvetaeva’s poems on Hamlet might be seen as re-enacted ritual of forgetting and remembering. In her poetic works Tsvetaeva puts on  a grand show her camp character and couches her sublimated self-representation in the images of tragedy and comedy simultaneously.

      It is not surprising to discover that Tsvetaeva’s cycle “Derev’ia”  (“Trees”) inspired by her  friendship with Teskova evokes the same images as her poems on Hamlet and Ophelia. Tsvetaeva’s cycle “Derev’ia”  comprises nine poems that contain erotic overtones: in a metonymic manner, Tsvetaeva employs the image of  trees that try to remember and forget some painful experiences. Tsvetaeva’s trees resemble actors that perform the gestures of tragedies. They re-enact Ancient Greek tragedies and rituals of self sacrifice that resemble a dance: “Kto-to edet k smertnoi pobede. / U derev’ev – zhesty tragedii/ Iudei – zhertvennyi tanets! U dereviev — trepety tainstv” (“Somebody is riding towards the fatal victory./ Trees have gestures of tragedies! / It is a sacrificial dance of Judea./ Trees reveal trembling of mysteries”).⁴⁰ Just like other poems discussed in this article, the cycle “Derev’ia”  provides a profound insight into Tsvetaeva’s divided self and conveys her sublimated desire for a female friend. By using animated images of trees Tsvetaeva inscribes into the cycle the symbolist’s notion of the dancer as pure potential, a cryptic living metaphor to be transcribed and translated by her readers into a visual spectacle. Tsvetaeva treats her audience to a visual feast of tormented and suffering landscapes that act as mirror-like images of her many selves.

      Tsvetaeva’s poems and essays that exhibit strong autobiographical overtones accord with Evreinov’s concept of monodrama defined by him as theatre of the soul. Evreinov was attracted to commedia dell’arte and was drawn to reliance upon masks, conventions and plastique that enabled actors to perform a true dramatisation of a human condition. According to Golub, “Evreinov perceived the possibility of commedia dell’arte’s conventional devices, propelled by the spirit of anarchic play, yielding new revelations to man about the self, allowing him to trade in self-consciousness for self-awareness.”⁴¹ Tsvetaeva monodrama, — that she views as art in the light of consciousness— appears to be fulfilling the same goal to explicate self-knowledge and self-awareness — just like Evreinov’s performances.

      As the  result of Tsvetaeva’s concept of writing as performance we are left to deal with the paradoxical unashamed sincerity about her true self. Such an effect stems from the fact that dandyist art  relies upon a biographical fiction: it takes a life and turns it into art. Tsvetaeva’s orientation towards performance of female dandyism might be also due to the fact the mass culture showcases women especially, a fact that subverts conventional dandyism’s forms of masculinity, highlighting the important theme of dandyism such as blasphemous rivalry of man with God for the power of creation. In his 1923 letter (written in December) , Tsvetaeva’s husband Sergei Efron muses over his wife’s dandyism: “Marina is a person of passions. […] She creates an emotional whirlwind that absorbs her completely. It became an essential part of her life, just like the air. Who evokes her emotional hurricanes is of no importance to her. As always (even more now than before), everything stems from her self-deception. She creates a person and then her hurricane comes alive. […] What she is interested in is not in the profound meaning of her actions, not in the object of her desire but in the rhythm per se, in the wild rhythm. One day she is in despair, next day she is delighted, she is in love, she gets absorbed by another person completely, and then she is despaired once again. This is all done under the observance of  Voltair-like cynical, perceptive  and calculating mind of hers. She mocks the objects of her desire as soon as she finishes with them […] everything turns into her writing. In a cool and mathematical manner she crafts a new formula.”⁴² Efron’s letter implicates Tsvetaeva’s dependence on  the machine-like aesthetics of the dandyist performance that drive her to stage a grand show of self-representation.

      In other words, Tsvetaeva’s art depends on the production of new masks for her spectacles. Just like Evreinov’s book The Origins of Theatricality — Masks, Rites and Rituals (1927) asserts the theatre’s primacy in life as a pre-aesthetic instinct, Tsvetaeva’s art illustrates at its best the process whereby human behaviour becomes ritualised and theatrical elements self-consciously become conventionalised. Yet the sense of the shared mystery and communion in its audience Tsvetaeva’s poetry displays  reveal her profound dependence on her spectators who would engage in her camp performances in the process of experiencing her texts. The enormous ego Tsvetaeva persistently displayed was being moulded, as it were, to set a fashion to subvert and undermine societal conventions and stereotypes. Tsvetaeva’s attempt to bring together amateur theatrical performances and poetry subvert the established boundaries between the private space and public space, highlighting the all-encompassing artificiality of modern life and questioning the authenticity of any human experience.