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XI

Memories ... memories, countless testimonies of what she was: always unexpected, sometimes imperious, and sometimes very soft ... Surprisingly bashful in her generosity, unusually delicate in mercy.

She was intolerant of two things: ugliness (of course, in the manifestation of feelings) and stupidity. Yes, in relation to stupid people she was harsh, ironic, merciless ...

And how not to understand her, because she started from nothing and reached the top not only thanks to her talent, but also thanks to hard work, will and, I will never get tired of repeating this - thanks to a rare mind.

One had to attend Edith's meetings with young composers to understand how strong her intuition was; but she always controlled herself, always analyzed her actions.

One day I came to Edith when two young musicians were playing a song written for her. Such meetings took place almost daily. She often took songs from aspiring composers, and thanks to her they became famous.

It was a kind of exam. Finally, the pianist and the one who sang looked shyly at Piaf, who was listening with great attention.

She went to the piano, put her hands on the shoulders of the young people and stood for a little while, singing some musical phrase from what she had heard. Then, as if regretfully, she spoke:

- It's very good, your song. And you have talent. I am sure you will be successful. But, unfortunately, I can't sing it. Why? Yes, because this is a song about happy, triumphant love, and this, you know, is not Piaf. The audience knows me too well, and if I sing about it, they won’t believe me… they won’t recognize me… I’m not fit to sing about the joy of life… It doesn’t fit with me… Everything is short-lived for me… Nothing can be changed here… this is my fate...

I will not speak here about the infallibility of artistic taste. Edith Piaf.

Everyone knows how many people she helped to succeed ... Yves Montand, Eddie Constantine, Aznavour, "Companion de la Chanson" ... and many others. There were those among them who forgot about it.

But that's not what we're talking about now. I will give a short episode and you will see what kind of musician this street singer became and how she worked.

Once I attended a rehearsal of a gala concert, which was to be held at the Chaillot Palace.

Edith was to perform with a large orchestra, dozens of choristers and singers. From empty auditorium I watched her; she approached one, another, performed an excerpt from some song, checked the lighting, rehearsed gestures, poses, again tried how the voice sounds, gave instructions to the choir leader. She was tireless, omnipresent… (how painful it is to write this word today…).

Finally everything was ready, and the conductor announced the last rehearsal. The orchestra began to play, everything seemed magnificent, suddenly Edith shouted:

Stop, something's wrong!

The conductor looked at her in surprise and said:

- All is well, you thought.

Edith shook her head bitterly and rushed to the violins.

- And I'm telling you - no, here someone took a false note ... I heard.

Edith Piaf and her second husband Theo Sarapo. Home and last love Edith Piaf. The stage name was invented by the singer herself. In translation, the surname meant: "I love you." At first, no one took their relationship seriously, but the singer’s touching and tender love for the “sparrow”, although it did not cure the terminally ill singer, illuminated the last days of Edith Piaf’s life with a “pink light”

Everyone was silent, she took a few more steps.

- It's in this corner.

And then one of the violinists got up and said that he really was mistaken by half a tone.

There were more than eighty musicians in the orchestra.

I know how much the world of literature lost with the death of this poet, this charming man, whom I also had the good fortune to know and whom I highly valued.

Both of them, Edith and Cocteau, loved the beautiful and devoted their lives to what is immortal, what will never disappear - art.

Cocteau always spoke of Edith with tenderness; he was happy to see her talent flourish.

And Edith, although she loved to play a trick on him, was proud of his friendship and never forgot that he wrote the play “The Indifferent Handsome Man” for her. By performing in this play, Edith proved to those who doubted it that she was an unusually gifted dramatic actress. Cocteau was not mistaken in her, he knew that Edith was a multifaceted nature.

If death, touching Edith, whispered to her that she was going to take away Cocteau, I am sure she would be proud that she went on this long journey from which there is no return, with him.

"An indifferent handsome man" ... I have purely personal memories in connection with this play.

After the success of The Nameless Star, we, Edith and I, were approached to make a new film for the same producer.

In this film, Edith was supposed to play the role of the daughter of Marguerite Moreno, but Marguerite fell ill, and her role was transferred to Françoise Rose. By age, Edith could no longer be her daughter. And the role was given to a younger actress - Andro Clement.

I'm talking about the movie Macadam. Its success did not recompense me for the grief that I myself experienced and unwittingly caused Edith, depriving her of the opportunity to act in this film. It was all the more difficult for me because I knew how painfully she was going through what had happened.

To celebrate the premiere of the film, one of the 140 cinemas on the Champs Elysees decided to arrange big concert. To give it a special brilliance, something sensational had to be included in the program. My producer, although he was well aware of how bitterly we disappointed Edith, advised me to ask her to take part in our concert.

“But how can I ask her about it? Is it her?

- You are right, it would be simply unthinkable to apply to any other actress with such a request. But not to Edith. And she won't refuse you. Try.

And I called. I was very worried, I was afraid that she would be harsh with me. But the producer was right - she agreed.

“But,” she said, “I will not sing. I will do more for you. Paul Meurisse is playing in your film. He was my partner in Indifferent Handsome. That was during the war, and now another generation of Parisians will be watching us.

From excitement I could not express my joy, my gratitude, and she said quite simply:

- It will be your holiday, and I want to be near you.

XII

Now, Edith, we will accompany you on your last journey.

Thousands of people will follow your coffin, and I am sure you will stand before their eyes, they will hear your voice again. Among them will be me, yours true friend, with whom you were sometimes harsh, because he did not always share your opinion. But we loved each other deeply, didn't we? Although sometimes we did not see each other for six months. You didn't need me when everything was fine, but you knew that on the day when trouble comes to you, I will be with you.

We, your loved ones, will dissolve in the crowd, about which you sang so that your heart ached.

And then you will be left alone, you, who loved people so much.

You always had people... They came and went as they wanted. I remember I once began to complain that we didn’t see each other much, you answered me:

But you know I'm always at home at four o'clock.

And when I said that it was the middle of the working day and it was difficult for me to free myself, you looked at me in surprise.

- But, Sel, I'm talking about four o'clock in the morning!

Well, what could be said to that? You lived according to your own laws, and it must be said that your logic, or rather the lack of it, and your special morality surprisingly suited you.

And now you're gone! You left, as Marguerite Monnot left before. It became empty all around.

Marguerite! Do you remember how much she gave us fun minutes. She was so distracted: she forgot everything, she confused everything. If you needed to meet someone, she could come on the wrong day and at a different time. She could get into someone else's car, mistaking it for her own. Amazing Marguerite! Sometimes, while listening to music, she would look at us and say:

My friends, this is amazing! Not, honestly, I really like!

“But, Gigit,” we answered, “of course, it’s magnificent. It's your music!

And she, as if nothing had happened:

- Truth? Are you sure? Well, I'm very glad.

Poor, dear Marguerite... you also had to do so many more beautiful things on earth...

My wife did not know you yet, although she has always been your fan.

It is a great honor for any young woman to be at a dinner at Edith Piaf's, specially arranged on the occasion of her wedding. My wife tried to look especially good that day so that I could be proud of her.

We were met by Jacques Pills (you were still together). I remember there were a few more of our friends, only you were missing. I saw that my wife was burning with impatience to get to know you as soon as possible.

And suddenly the door to the large living room opens, and you come out to us, cheerful, charming, friendly ... but in a dressing gown! Seeing my wife's understandable astonishment, you exclaimed:

“Don’t be angry, I didn’t have a free second today, and then it’s more convenient for me, I’ll feel better.” There is no need to be surprised with me.

And my wife immediately accepted you for who you were. Your frankness, your cordiality conquered her, and she fell in love with you. She always understood you and appreciated the exceptional that was in you.

Sometimes you jokingly called me "bourgeois". You stated that it is difficult to be an artist and lead a normal family life. Of course… your life was not a model of the virtues that are read about in the catechism and taught in the monastery. Of course... of course... But the good you did? The happiness that your voice gave to millions of people? Doesn't that count? Or is it more important all these small, insignificant lives, after which nothing remains, but which meet generally accepted standards?

It has been three days since you died, and it is still unknown whether the church will allow you to be buried in full religious rites. And how many of those who go to church have done as much good as you have done? Which of them possessed truly Christian mercy?

And is it not known to those who do not dare to give you this "mercy" that you were a deep believer?

And what a friend you were! What warmth, what support you provided in trouble! You wrote me a wonderful letter when, after a serious illness, I was afraid that I would lose my sight. You spoke in it about my mother, about faith, about everything that is beautiful, noble, pure. I know you have written letters like this to others.

I think that you are honoring the church, and it should not condescend to accept you into its bosom, but be proud of you and defend its rights to you.

And when Marcel Cerdan died, where did you find the strength to sing the “Hymn of Love” like that? Then, in New York, you were carried on stage. You were beside yourself with grief, you could not believe it yet ... but the audience, your constant lover, was waiting for you, and it was she who gave you the strength to sing that evening. I was not there, but I know how you sang! You were in some kind of mystical ecstasy. You sang for him... And he heard you!..

And who, if not you, prayed for him for many days and weeks in the twilight of churches?

It was never written about.

Reports of scandalous incidents printed under bold, screaming headlines were much more profitable for the newspapers. The authors of such notes, without hesitation, distorted the facts, gave free rein to their imagination - this provided high fees.

XIII

Edith Piaf traveled a lot, but wherever she was - in New York, Buenos Aires, Ottawa - she seemed to bring her own climate, her own inherent atmosphere. After the concert, she, as in Paris, returned home, accompanied by her retinue, consisting of fans, journalists, snobs - all those who the next day could tell their friends to arouse their envy: "I spent the evening at Piaf's."

She sometimes liked to juggle with paradox, and sometimes, I will not hide it, to shock.

It was a kind of revenge for a terrible childhood and youth ... After all, when she was nothing, she was not allowed to do anything. "Well-bred" people did not grace her with a glance. Now it was her turn to make fun of those who froze at her slightest gesture. Edith had good speech, she wrote with great ease, but she liked to suddenly dumbfound her interlocutors by saying something very rude. And such is the essence of snobs: what used to infuriate them now seemed funny, witty ... “No, she is simply inimitable! What individuality! What a mind!

Hearing this, she could not help laughing and kicked us under the table with her foot. She had no illusions about the human race, everything seemed to her vain and empty.

I cannot give the names of all those people whose actions and statements she foresaw as soon as they appeared in her house. She pretended to believe their compliments and found the flowers they brought her beautiful, but a few minutes before they appeared, she explained to us why they had come. She knew that they would ask her for something.

Piaf has never been wrong about anyone. She could not be deceived, unless it was a matter of love - here she was defenseless.

XIV

Its end! It was noon when you left us forever ... When it suddenly became cold ... and what a pity that Paris is flooded with sun today. It's not fair. The sky should be gray, low, there should be darkness all around, as in our hearts.

But, my God, Edith, how beautiful he was, your last "exit".

Where did these thousands, tens, hundreds of thousands of people come from? They stood like trellises from your house to the Pere Lachaise cemetery.

Your apartment is full of flowers, they are everywhere, they are stepped on, there is nowhere to put them, and everyone carries them and carries them.

All your friends are here, they are in grief, in tears. And yet we still hope for something, because how many times the impossible has happened.

But when you enter a large room covered in black, when you see your coffin, you stop, you freeze. How quiet it is today in this big house, where your songs, your laughter have always sounded.

The priest has appeared, but you will not be carried to the church. They still denied you. But maybe it’s better this way… We are all here with you, and even if we don’t know how to pray, we feel you very close… Everyone remembers something of his own, especially dear to him, that he will forever hide in his heart. Heart, again heart ... It is impossible to talk about you, Edith, without repeating this word again and again, because it is you yourself.

Nevertheless, I had to leave the house to see you off, as they say, on your last journey.

And then suddenly we saw them: they silently stood in front of your house, as if waiting for you at the artistic entrance.

And so began your triumphal procession, Edith. It was your apotheosis...

The long, endless procession set off, and Paris, all of Paris, stood in the guard of honor. People were in the windows, on the sidewalks, traffic stopped, and you passed through your City, your Paris.

- This is Piaf ... Piaf is leaving ...

All these people did not come out of curiosity. They were waiting for you to pay the last debt, the last tribute of love, they wanted you to understand that from now on Paris will not be the same as before. Something is gone forever.

At that moment, when we entered the gates of the cemetery and in front of you carried the tricolor banner through the city of the dead, waves of people poured in from all sides. We were overwhelmed by this current. All of them who came here wanted to participate in the funeral procession along the uneven stone slabs of the cemetery. They wanted to make it clear to everyone who saw her off, to all these celebrities that they have a right to her, they want to be with her to the end, as they have always been with her. Shoulder to shoulder, without distinction of class, not looking at each other, paying no attention to anyone, they walked in silence. In the hands of many were small bouquets of flowers. Next to me, an old woman tried to get closer:

- I have to see her off, I remember her as a girl, she was then called Mom Piaf.

You see, Edith, years have passed, you have become the queen of song, but for thousands and thousands of people you have remained mom Piaf, a little street singer who managed to find her way to their hearts. You spoke about what they could not express, you were always sincere, you did not deceive them ...

Once Edith sang a wonderful song to the words of Henri Conte. In it, she addressed the apostle Peter.

It was a song about a poor girl who suffered a lot and loved a lot ... She did not know how to pray, but before her death she asked the apostle to let her go to heaven, “where, they say, it’s so good”, she did no harm to anyone. And she imploringly folded her hands - Love herself asked.

This song was not the best of her songs, just a song, but so beautiful that you were sure that the apostle Peter would let her into paradise.

I don’t know if he heard it where he is, but today I ask him to open the gates of heaven for Edith Piaf.

She suffered a lot, she loved, she was extraordinary...

You receive a priceless gift, and we have forever lost something very big.

Forever and ever? No, It is Immpossible.

So don't say goodbye, goodbye, Edith.

October 1963

Simone Berto
Edith Piaf. Pages of Memories (abbreviated version)

Chapter 1. From Belleville to Bernay

My sister Edith 6
Simone Berto claims to be the half-sister of the great singer Edith Piaf. However, as many of Piaf's relatives and biographers testify, Simone was not a blood sister, but rather a friend, a "sister" in street poverty (from the colloquial word "frangine" - "sister, little sister"). Is it not about her that Piaf writes in his book “At the Ball of Fortune”: “It happened a few years before the war, on the street adjacent to Place de l'Etoile, on the most ordinary street called Troyon. In those days, I sang wherever I could. I was accompanied by a friend, who then bypassed our listeners in the hope of a reward. - Note. ed.

And I have a common father - Louis Gassion. He was a good fellow and a great lover of women - and I must say, he had a lot of them. The father could not recognize all his offspring, and his partners were far from always able to say with certainty who the father of the child was. He numbered about two dozen of his own, but go and know! .. All this happened in an environment where people do not notify city hall officials either before or after having a baby. For example, I had another father, the one who was listed in the documents - Jean-Baptiste Berto. But he did not give me life, but only his name. My mother—she married at fifteen and divorced at sixteen—had three more daughters by different fathers.

Edith Piaf, Marcel Cerdan, Simone Berto

At some point, she lived in the suburb of Falguier in the same hotel with her father Gassion. He was mobilized. I was born after his arrival on vacation during a lull at the front in 1917. Their meeting was not accidental, they liked each other for a long time. However, this did not prevent the mother from picking up the eighteen-year-old boyfriend Jean-Baptiste Berto, who had just arrived in Paris. And he, without hesitation, hung around his neck a twenty-year-old woman, her three daughters and me, in addition, who was only in the project.

On the day he turned twenty, Jean-Baptiste left for the front with five dependent children. Before I had grown up, there were already nine souls in the house, and not all of them were the children of Papa Berto, as we called him. Strange as it may seem, he and his mother adored each other. This did not prevent her from time to time - tail pipe - disappearing from the house for several days. She left with a full wallet, returned with an empty one, but with a new baby in her stomach.

By pure chance I was born in Lyon, but eleven days later my mother returned with me to Paris. She was selling flowers on the Rue de Mar, opposite the Belleville church.

I hardly went to school. Nobody seemed to need it. But still, from time to time I was sent there ... Mainly in the beginning school year to get money to pay for electricity, and on January 1, when shoes were given out.

According to the mother, this was the only benefit of the school. As for the rest, she said: "Education is like money, you need to have a lot of it, otherwise you will still look poor." Since at that time it was not so necessary to go to school, the street became my school. Here, perhaps, they do not acquire good manners, but they learn very quickly what life is.

I often went to Papa Gassion in the suburb of Falguiere. These days I was always happy, because I was sure that I was loved. He thought I looked like him. Petite, flexible as rubber, with big dark eyes, I was the spitting image of a father! He made me do acrobatic exercises, treated me to iced lemonade and gave me change of money.

I loved my father very much.

My father was an acrobat, not a fairground, not a circus, not a music hall, but a street. The sidewalk was his stage. He felt the street, knew how to choose the most advantageous section of the sidewalk, never worked anywhere. Among his people, he was known as a seasoned man, knowing good places In other words, a professional. His name carried weight. If I said: "I am Gassion's daughter," then I could count on a certain respect.

When a platform was found on the street or on the boulevard, sufficient for the artist and the public to sit comfortably on it, and the father spread out his “carpet” (a piece of carpet fabric wiped to the base), people knew that they were waiting for a serious performance. He began by taking a sip of wine straight from his throat. The public has always liked this: if you drink before work, it means that you are going to sweat a lot. Then the father invited the audience. Edith, who had been with him for six years, from eight to fourteen, mimicked him very well.

Edith generally liked to imitate. She cleared her throat like a father and yelled in a hoarse voice:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the show is about to begin. What you see, you will see. No deceit, no show. The artist works for you without a net, without insurance, even without sawdust under your feet. Let's pick up a hundred sous and start."

Here someone threw ten sous on the carpet, another twenty.

“Among you there are lovers, there are connoisseurs, there are real connoisseurs. In your honor and for your pleasure, I will perform a number that is unparalleled in the world - balance on the thumbs. The great Barnum, the king of the circus, promised me mountains of gold, but I answered him: “You can’t buy a guy from Panama!” Isn't that right, ladies and gentlemen? "Take your money, I choose freedom!" Well, shell out a little more, now we are starting a performance that crowned heads of all countries and the rest of the world are going crazy about. Even Edward, King of England, and the Prince of Wales, to look at my number, once went out of their palace into the street, like mere mortals. Everyone is equal before art!

Well, bolder, gentlemen, let's start!

And, I must say, they did not spend money in vain, because the ancestor was an excellent acrobat.

I had barely learned to walk when he began to bend me. To my mother, who didn't give a damn about it, he said: “We need to give Simone a craft in her hands, it will come in handy in life ...” I lived on the street. The mother returned home late or did not return at all. I didn't know what she was doing, she was too small. Sometimes she took me to the tavern with her. She danced, and I slept, sitting on a chair. Sometimes she forgot about me, and I ended up in orphanage, later in correctional. The state has always taken care of me. When I was five years old, my mother worked as a concierge in Ménilmontant at 49 rue Panoiyo. I often saw my father, but I did not know Edith. She is two and a half years older than me, and then lived in Berneille, in the department of Eure, in Normandy. I've only heard of her. Her father loved her more than me. “Naturally,” he said, “because you have a mother, but she doesn’t.” Yes, if you like, I had a mother. In any case, I thought so for a long time. The other boys in Ménilmontant were no better at home, and those who could say, “My mother does this and that,” we called “imaginators,” and we didn’t hang out with them, they didn’t belong to our world. I was born in a hospital, Edith was born on the street, right on the sidewalk.

“Edith was not born like the others,” my father told me. – It was in the midst of the war, after the fighting on the Marne. I fought in the infantry, I was one of those who were told: "Go ahead or die"; " best places always go to the poor, because there are more of them. My wife, Edith's mother, Lina Marsa, and really Anita Mayar, was a singer. She was born in the circus and was a born actress. She wrote to me: "I'm going to give birth, ask for a vacation." I'm lucky I got it. It's been a year since the flowers withered in the guns. (A hint of a phrase from the song “A soldier goes to war with a flower in his gun.”) No one believed in an easy, fun war anymore. Berlin is very far if you stomp there on foot. I'm coming. Straight home. Emptiness: no coal, no coffee, no wine, only half-and-half bread and straw, and around my hostess neighbors cackle:

- That's the trouble - the war, and the peasant is at the front.

“You are free, ladies,” I tell them. “I will do everything myself.”

When Edith told about her birth, she added: “Three in the morning is not the right time to stick out into the light of day. Where is better - outside or inside? .. "

“I didn’t have time to look back,” my father continued, “when Lina began to shake me by the shoulder:

Louis, I'm in contractions! I give birth! - All white, cheeks sunken, more beautifully put in a coffin.

I jump up, pull on my pants, grab her by the arm, and we run out into the street. At this hour there was not a single policeman there, either they had already left, or they had not yet gone on duty. Lina wheezes:

“I don’t want a boy, they’ll take him to war…”

He walks, waddling, holding his stomach with both hands ... Suddenly he stops at a gas lamp and sits down on the sidewalk:

- Leave me, run to the police, let them send an ambulance ...

The police station is a few steps away, I fly in like crazy and yell:

- My wife gives birth right on the street!

“Ah, motherfucking…” replies the foreman with a gray mustache. Azhans grab their cloaks and run after me like they're certified midwives.

That's how my daughter Edith was born under a lamppost opposite number 72 Rue Belleville on a policeman's raincoat.

“Mother wanted to be named Edith in memory of the young Englishwoman Edith Cavell, who was shot by the Boches for espionage a few days before December 12th. “With such a name,” said Lina, “she will not go unnoticed!”

This is not to say that Edith's birth did not lack foreshadowing or historical parallels. They were more impressive than a horoscope.

When the father left, his wife was still in the hospital. “And two months later, Lina, she was a real actress, but she had no heart,” the father explained, “gave our daughter to her mother, who lived on Rebeval Street.”

Edith's family on her mother's side was by no means like the families in picture books for good children. Both the grandmother herself and her old man were real scum, swollen from red wine. “Alcohol,” said the old woman, “and the worm will kill and give strength.” And diluted red milk for Edith. Edith called her "Mena". She did not know her last name, but she thought that this was the real family. Meanwhile, the soldier Louis Gassion was feeding lice in the trenches along with other heroes like him. Lina stopped writing to him a long time ago, announcing her resignation without loud phrases: “Louis, everything is over between us. I gave the baby to my mother. When you return, don't look for me."

Whatever it was, but the father was not going to leave his child. At the end of 1917, having received his last vacation, he goes to see Edith and finds a terrible sight: a head like a balloon, arms and legs like matches, a chicken breast. Dirty so that you should touch it with gloves. But our father was not a snob. "What to do? he thought.

“We need to put the baby in a more suitable place. When the damn war is over, I'll be a street acrobat again, and the street is not a nursery for a child. How to be?

At that time, there were not all those types of charitable assistance that exist now. However, the ancestor would never have thought to use them. Neither poverty nor a disorderly life would ever force him to give his child to an orphanage, like a dog to a knacker's yard. Papa Gassion sits down in the bistro and orders absinthe for courage. When he had money, he did not neglect the "green" (that is, absinthe), but got drunk only with red wine, believing that it was cheaper and less harmful to health. He decided to write a letter to his mother, who served as a cook for Marie, her cousin. The nice Baba Marie could have been a mistress on a farm, but she became the mistress of an “institution” in Berneille, in Normandy. The answer came immediately - from the mother and from the "madam": "Don't worry, we're leaving for the baby."

And soon the landing party, consisting of grandmother Louise and "Madame" Marie, snatched Edith from the hands of her grandmother on her mother's side.

“Baby was fine, she was fine with us…” Mena whimpered. The baby was brought to Verneuil, the girls were delighted: “The child is in the house, this is fortunately,” they said.

Edith was washed in two, three, four waters, the dirt came off in layers, they had to be scraped off. The screaming rang in my ears.

Edith said: “Grandma Louise bought me everything new and threw the old things in the trash, but when she wanted to take off my shoes, I yelled like a cut: “It's the weekend!” And from them the fingers stuck out. When the girl was washed, it turned out that her eyes were covered with pus. Decided it was dirt. And only about two months later, the "girls" noticed that Edith stumbles upon everything, she looks at the light, at the sun, but does not see them. She was blind. Edith remembered this time very well. She spoke of him with a fear that never really went away. The girls adored her, pampered her.

“They were very kind to me. For them, I was a talisman that brings happiness ... Although I didn’t see anything, I understood everything. They were nice girls. In the "institutions" there are not the same relations as on the panel. It's two around the world; they despise each other.

I got into the habit of walking with my arms outstretched to protect myself—I hurt myself on everything. My fingers have become unusually sensitive. I could feel the fabric, the skin. Touching her hand, she could say: “This is Carmen, and this is Rosa.” I lived in a world of sounds and words; those that did not understand, she repeated to herself endlessly.

Most of all I liked the mechanical piano, I preferred it to the real one; it was also in the house, but it was played only on Saturday evenings when the pianist came. It seemed to me that the mechanical sound is richer. So I lived in darkness, in the night world, but I reacted very vividly to everything. I remember one phrase for the rest of my life. She touched the dolls; They brought them to me, but when they wanted to give them, my grandmother said: “It’s not worth it, the girl doesn’t see anything. She will break them."

And then the "girls" - for them I was a child, similar to the one that one of them had somewhere or that one of them dreamed about - sewed to me rag dolls. All day I sat on a small bench with these dolls on my knees. I didn't see them, but I tried to "see" them with my hands. by the most best time day was lunch. I chatted, laughed, and everyone laughed with me. I told different stories. They weren't too difficult, but they were my stories, the ones that happened to me.

Accustomed by my maternal grandmother to red wine, I roared when they gave water instead of it in Bernay: “I don’t want water. Mena said that it was harmful, that water made people sick. I don't want to get sick."

So I looked at "Diagnosis: Edith Piaf", not having endured until the fifth anniversary of the production (premiered on May 8, 2004). The choice of the performance is by no means accidental: I wanted to cover the impressions of the failure of Sokolov as a film director with his theatrical and acting work, and, to be honest, it is interesting to visit a theater that is either passionately hated or fanatically devoted to it. Allow me, having visited the “moon house” once, not to consider myself either one or the other.

AT last years(and maybe, by the way, for all five years) "Diagnosis" is shown in the Theater of the Moon once a month. This is enough: 100 seats in six rows of the small auditorium can accommodate both old fans who know the production by heart, and new spectators, which was in this case me, and regulars-friends-relatives, for whom there are special chairs marked "sl". Sitting in the middle of the first row and studying the booklet, somehow smoothing out the technical moments in the form of a “rotation” of the audience, I began to feel the atmosphere as soon as the hall plunged into darkness. And rushed ...

Sur on theater stage- the phenomenon is not only not rare, but also beaten. The effect of the unreality of what is happening, the feeling that this cannot be, but it does happen, is exploited by everyone who wants to create on the stage a shade of perfect, undoubted reality with the absolute unreality of the very essence of what is happening. But what we see in "Diagnosis" is not just surreal, it is surreal burlesque (burlesque - this is the genre stated in the program) in a direct sense, close to sur as such in stylistic content, but also a show-mixture of a musical, cabaret and vaudeville, where the visual side of the action far exceeds its content. As for the latter, the theme of twins and madhouses is no less in demand - an almost eternal, fruitful topic in literature, theater and cinema. Oddly enough, Sergei Prokhanov, as a screenwriter and director, managed to create something expressive and catchy from clichés.

A certain director and actor Larry Lozovsky (Andrey Sokolov) is going to make a biopic about Edith Piaf for the 100th anniversary of the diva. Being in a creative crisis and tired of failures in finding an actress for the role of Piaf (plus next to his wife, an average actress with an obsession with becoming the second Marlene Dietrich (Anastasia Terekhova)), Lari is slowly going crazy. Fortunately, Dr. Tissot (Oleg Marusev) comes to the rescue, in whose psychiatric clinic every patient is a celebrity. Just the other day, a girl was brought to him, found in a trash can with a dead child in her arms, which could be an excellent “material” for Tissot and an organic Piaf for Larry. This is where the real surf begins. The action balances on the verge of the real world of a madhouse (as much as it can be real at all) and the biography of Edith Piaf, which ... is also real, however, because everything was like that in the life of the French singer. What then is the unreality of what is happening?

And that Prokhanov turns everything upside down, turns everything inside out. Real lunatics change roles with real characters of the story (Edith Piaf, Marlene Dietrich, Salvador Dali, Yves Montand, Coco Chanel), who are all played together: both the lunatics and potential patients of Dr. Tissot approaching them (the same Larry and his wife) , and Tissot himself, towards the end, more and more clearly imagines himself (and not only imagines, but also appears to the audience) as Jean Gabin, which says a lot ... All these reincarnations are accompanied by enchanting disguise and incendiary dance numbers in the context of the speaking and playing scenography by Konstantin Rozanov, where every speck of dust is in its place. Moreover, the action is so dynamic that you do not have time to follow all the movements on the stage, being afraid to miss some important plastic sketch in general or a turn of the head in particular; with each episode, what is happening on stage captures you in a ball of kaleidoscopic slide pictures and various emotions, dances and music. Well, of course, music. This is almost main character all this fascinating madness.

For me, this is the main success of the production - the musical concept of Asaf Farajev. In addition to Piaf's classics, brilliantly performed by the "live" Irina Zaitseva (the crazy vocal abilities of this actress are simply amazing!) And other classical rehashings in original performance and in the phonogram, it was a revelation for me to use the composition of Paolo Conte - this is an absolutely brilliant thing. And she is so organic in this theater of the absurd that you can’t even imagine otherwise. You don't hear differently. She adds crazy - but where else? Everything is already on the verge of conscious and unconscious, especially when the solo turns into a chaotic chorus. Arriving home, I immediately sat down at the computer and downloaded the song "It's wonderful", which catches you instantly and which you want to hear more and more. Plus “Love me, love me”, plus a number of songs by the most unforgettable Piaf…

As digression, smoothly moving on to taking the next lunar-theatrical barrier and concluding this opus. In fact, the Theater of the Moon, or rather one of the "children" of the Moon, I discovered four years ago: I watched on the stage of the Rostov Drama Theater. Gorky's "Thais shining", however, in its non-representative version, but nonetheless. These are the thoughts I splashed out in the then press:
“Entreprise “Tais”, staged in 1998 and becoming a “hit” in the native walls, finally got to Rostov seven years later. And the Rostov audience was happy. I do not quote the latter, because the audience does not want to know all the troubles of the Russian theater, they "go to celebrities." And this time, an almost full hall - people came to the daughter of the incomparable Margarita Terekhova and Andrei Sokolov, not a single Russian TV series can do without this charismatic handsome man today. It would seem that the components of success are obvious: the scandalous Moscow theater, experimenter Sergei Prokhanov, whose productions always cause controversy, a performance on the "theme of Alexander the Great", allegedly based on famous novel Ivan Efremov "Tais of Athens", "star" artists and more. Everything would be fine, but only the fact that a simple spectator is good, a real theater-goer is death ...
… you can’t treat actors like that, even if they are infinitely talented. In this Sokolov was, unfortunately, alone. Anna Terekhova in the role of Thais showed that nature still rests on celebrity children. You can’t call other acting works bright either - maybe only Aristotle (Evgeny Gerchakov), and even then with a number of reservations. Although, probably, everyone was satisfied: both the artists and the audience. The first did not overexert themselves much, the second satisfied their natural need: they looked at their favorite artists and presented frozen bouquets. What up tragic fates Alexander and Thais, Darius and Aristotle - well, there were such heroes in world history. And it's good that they were. “Of course, Alexander the Great is a hero, why break chairs?” “Chairs” were not broken at Prokhanov’s theater, they simply didn’t turn out there - the director did everything to make another improvisation on the theme of Macedonian turn out to be meaningless ”(See details at http://www.website/personalpage/351150/review/270826/)

I think that “Tais” at home would have made (and, in fact, will make) a less depressing impression on me, because, to be honest, we all know what an entreprise is and how it is played. Director Iosif Reichelgauz once remarked that “the problem of enterprise is a disaster for Russian theater”, artists need to earn money and, participating in an enterprise, an artist, first of all, sells his name - and nothing more. As for the "Diagnosis" - I simply do not imagine it "exit". There are performances that are simply impossible outside the native stage. "The Seagull" or "Hamlet" in the Rostov RAMT, for example. But Prokhanov's production in this sense is tied to the stage, not because they use complex scenery that cannot be mounted on another stage, no. And a telephone receiver, and an ear, and a clock, and even an incubator lamp could be hung anywhere, films with windows on the sides can also be hung, and an impromptu plane on the second scenario floor is also not a problem, but ... It's just that this burlesque was made precisely in the lunar hall for the lunar viewer. The chamber platform of the small hall seemed to be created for a madhouse, which in every sense from the first to last minute takes place in a closed surreal space. And no matter what the skeptics say theater critics and fastidious spectators, a piece of unreality in a single "here and now" - not the worst pastime of a theatergoer-philistine on an ordinary Tuesday evening in mid-March.

What can I say?..

The performance fully falls under the definition of "GENIUS WORK OF ART" ...

Secret creative success lies in the amazing GIVENESS of the screenwriter and director (as far as I understand, in this case, both incarnations are in one person) ... Moreover, I insist on the word "GIFTED"! -to his own ... Someone sees in it the apotheosis of nature, a bright and unique "genetic collage", and someone sees the presence of the Holy Spirit ... By the way, I myself belong to the latter ... But the interpretation, in this case, is not so important... The main thing is to understand that this cannot be achieved arbitrarily! One must either be born with this, or come to this through the Appeal!..
How did this very TALENTEDness of the author manifest itself in the performance? .. Let me answer this question. The work turned out to be incredibly multi-layered! Yes. Exactly different layer. You won’t pick up another word ... I’ll explain. Firstly, I watched it five times, and each time everything was perceived in a new way ... It was as if I were an artist-restorer, restoring an ancient art canvas that a brilliant beggar artist reused many times, overlaying one masterpiece on top of another to save on canvas and primer... You remove one layer of paint, and under it - another one... What a more! , and extraordinary conclusions emerge from the subconscious ...
Our world in all its diversity and in all its paradoxical nature is nothing but a huge "madhouse"...
The gifted (regardless of what talent they are gifted with) are often perceived by the statistical majority as "people not of this world" ...
Grief at the loss of oneself loved one is the kind of electric shock that can bring a paranoid person out of a state of delirium, and, on the contrary, enter a healthy person into a state of catatonic stupor ...
BUT famous names... Edith Piaf, Yves Montand, Coco Chanel, Jean Gabin... There is a whole story behind each of them... You remember, you remember, as if you are turning over the pages...

I left the Theater (I tried to write the word "Theatre" with a small letter... It didn't work out!), as if hypnotized... I left the mnemonic trance for more than a day... And this was after the fifth viewing!..

As it often happens to me, I came home, and these lines literally fell on me:

ONCE AGAIN ABOUT LOVE…

She was the first excellent student in our class, confidently “went to gold medal"... We all copied her math tests, dictations ... and used her tips, which she never skimped on ...
Everyone admired her ... But ... She herself considered herself the most unhappy in the world, because she was very ugly ... All small, round-shouldered, flat; with a large, round, pancake-shaped face, wide-set colorless eyes ... But this is not the main thing ... The main thing: she was in love, in love for real, with all her heart, with all her imagination ... with the most handsome guy of our class ..., tall, slender, muscular; with a beautiful, strong-willed face; blue-blue, piercing gaze; thick, golden hair and a melodic, soft baritone ... And he ... He didn’t even look in her direction ... He copied, used her tips, like everyone else, but he didn’t see the girl in her ... He treated her like a walking computer with a voluminous “hard drive ”and a powerful“ semiconductor memory ”... And she loved him! .. She loved every day more and more, more and more selflessly ...
And, so, one day in a mathematics lesson, she from her love ... went crazy ...
She was called to the board to solve a biquadratic equation, and she ... instead of cold, blind numbers and letters, she wrote a hot and big-eyed “Earring, I love you” and, after standing in indecision for half a minute, attributed “madly in love” and put three exclamation marks ... And then she turned to face the class and ... froze with raised right hand holding a piece of chalk... A dreamy, bright smile froze on her face... For some reason it ceased to be pancake-shaped and thin-lipped...
At first we burst out laughing as a whole class, then we became wary, then we were frightened, and then we rushed towards her... We failed to seat her on a chair... When we tried to do this, we were surprised by a strange phenomenon... Hands, legs, neck, torso... It seemed that all this was molded from warm wax; gave in, bent, unbent and froze in a new position ...
When the ambulance team put her on a stretcher, some of us cried ... and Seryozha too ...
She lived in a mental hospital for about five years and up to last day so she never moved ... The diagnosis was called somehow strange ... In my opinion, “Catatonic stupor” ... Unless, of course, I confuse ...
Here's a story...

Member of the Union of Writers of Russia,

Alexander Smirnov.

"Edith Piaf. Rehearsal of love"- this is the name of the performance, which was brought to our small mining town by the Donetsk Music and Drama Theater. I am not spoiled by visiting the Bolshoi and Maly theatres, so the spectacle gave me great, incomparable pleasure. I think that the rest of the audience was also delighted, because at the end of the performance everyone stood up, sending ovations and shouts of “bravo” to the troupe. Trite, strange, but it was.

Are you anything heard about Edith Piaf? I think everyone will answer in the affirmative. That's right, heard. I also heard about the famous French singer who conquered not only France. But after watching the performance, I realized that I knew nothing about her. Now I know.

Actress- performer of the main and only female role in the play - reigned on the stage. She lived the life of a great singer in one breath - brightly, selflessly, beautifully, passionately. She conquered me and I saw on stage Edith Piaf, I believed that this is how this little woman lived - "little sparrows" - she sang, loved, suffered, giving her whole life.

I dont know name of this actresses, because printing programs for the provincial public is too expensive. On the poster, handwritten by a local artist of the House of Culture, everything is also simple at home: the name of the performance, the date and time of its start. But I would like to know her name in order to simply thank the person who managed to convey to my mind the fact of what a great singer and actress she was Edith Piaf.

male actors, who played the roles of the stronger sex, who accompanied Edith through life, did not obscure main character with his game. They played great, but they kind of remained in the shadows. actresses, and I realized that in life Edith was always the first, “above” all her men, despite her small stature. If she loved, then with all the passion, if she left, then without looking back. Actress- performer leading role She is also a small woman. She copied Edith's hair as well as possible.

Play was staged as a rehearsal of one day in the theater - a rehearsal of a performance about Edith Piaf. Therefore, at the beginning of the play, the actress and actor who plays the role of Edith's father and at the same time Marcel Cerdan- the main man in her life, they discuss Piaf's personal life. The man says that in fact Edith, as a woman, was promiscuous in relationships with men, that she had too many lovers. But the woman proves that she wanted to love, that she strove for love, was in her eternal search - the actress was able to convey this with her acting. Edith left men when she saw that there was no love, not wanting to live in a false world of feelings. And when in her life appeared Marcel Cerdan- a boxer (at one time very famous, world champion), for Edith all other men ceased to exist, main love found her. They were inseparable, he went on tour with her, she accompanied him to boxing championships. But he could not marry her, as he was married and had three sons. Marcel and Edith

To Marseille Edith had many men - both completely unknown, including the father of her dead two-year-old daughter, and famous - Raymond Asso- Lyricist for songs. Many of these songs were written for Edith: "My legionnaire", "Hymn of love", "Little Marie", "My heart chose him", "Paris - Mediterranean". Also her lover was Yves Montand. She herself left them, realizing that love had ended, or maybe it never existed. But when she lost Marseille - he died in a plane crash - she could not continue to live without him. Depression enveloped her with its fear. She drank her head off, she walked down the street in rags, singing songs. At the same time, no one recognized her, and she was happy about it, like a child. To top it all off, Edith herself got into a car accident - she began to take morphine as a painkiller. Drug addiction consumed her. She tried to commit suicide and survived. The actress was able to convey all the torments of this woman - I suffered along with the great singer.

At the end of your life at 47, Edith fell in love again with a 27-year-old Greek, Theofanis Lambukas. Theo Sarapo- such a stage name she came up with for him. "Sarapo" - translated from Greek - "I love." Theo married her. Edith brought him to the stage, but did not have time to make him a "star". They did not live even a year, Edith died - the cancer turned out to be inexorable. Seven years later, Theo died in a car accident. He was buried in the same grave as Edith Piaf.

During the whole performance stage action was accompanied by a soundtrack of songs performed by Edith Piaf. And in conclusion, the actor who played the role of Theo Sarapo performed a live song in French. This plunged me even more into the atmosphere of talent, love, charisma of this great woman.

P.S. Edith Piaf(real name - Edith Gasion) began her career as a chansonnier singer in a small restaurant, the owner of which managed to discern talent in her and brought her to the stage. Before that, she sang on the street, helping her father (he is a street acrobat) earn a living. Several years have passed - the musical "ABC" glorified her. The name Edith appeared in all the newspapers, she, as they say: "made a splash." She captivated the listeners with a voice rich in shades, simplicity, and, at the same time, expressive performance. She was tormented by the fact that she was illiterate in terms of music education, so I learned this from my lovers and friends, not embarrassed to admit it. Edith played in the theater and starred in films: "Nameless Star", "Paris continues to sing" .... She created masterpieces of lyrical confession song, being the author of texts and music of some songs.

Edith Piaf- a great, extraordinary Woman and Singer was born December 19th 1915. Therefore, I dedicate this review article to her. And also thanks to Donetsk musically - drama theater and actress, who played the role of Edith, personally, for getting to know the Singer and having a great time in one breath.

TV version of the famous performance of the Moscow State academic theater named after the Moscow City Council. Biographical drama about the great French singer Edith Piaf.

Based on the play by Viktor Legentov, based on the books by Edith Piaf "My Life" and "At the Fortune Ball".

Directed by Boris Shchedrin.

Translation of songs by E. Orlanovskaya.

Cast: Nina Drobysheva, Boris Ivanov, Anatoly Adoskin, Leonid Evtifiev, Alexander Lenkov.

Your attention is invited to the performance of the Moscow State Academic Theater. Moscow City Council, based on the books of the great French singer Edith Piaf (Edith Giovanna Gassion) "My Life" and "At the Ball of Luck". The performance uses soundtracks of songs performed by the singer, recorded on records in different years.

“My life was terrible and at the same time amazing. How many times misfortune overtook me, how many times I barely escaped death. Hunger and homeless childhood, death and loss of friends, loss and disappointment, death of a girl, death of Serdan, then alcohol, drugs, car accidents, surgeries and illnesses. But each time I rose from the bottom again, went on stage again. And if they asked me now if I regret that I lived my life this way, I answered with the words of one of my last songs:

No, I don't regret anything.

No, I don't regret anything. "

Edith Piaf

"... Look at this little woman, whose hands are like lizards. Look at her Bonaparte's forehead, at her eyes of a blind man who has gained sight. How will she sing? How will she express her thoughts? How great will break out of her narrow chest the moaning of the night?! And now she is already singing, or rather, in the manner of the April nightingale, she is trying to sing her love song. Have you ever heard how the nightingale works at the same time? He tries. He thinks. He polishes. He suffocates. It rushes forward, retreats. And suddenly, having found what it was looking for, it starts to sing. And shocks us."

Jean Cocteau, member of the French Academy

The famous performance about the life and work of the legendary great French singer Edith Piaf, about random and beloved people in her life, was staged by Boris Shchedrin at the Mossovet Theater in 1983. For more than twenty years, she played the title role in the play. People's Artist Russian Nina Drobysheva.

... A low platform, open to the viewer from several sides. Several chairs pasted over with old posters; hat hangers, light colored umbrellas, photographs, newspapers, magazines, books... This is how the artist, Mikhail Anikst, helps the actors to recreate the atmosphere that surrounded Edith Piaf.

On the platform, the actress in a strict concert dress. She slowly approaches the table, takes a book, carefully looks at the photo on the cover, opens the first page ... This role of Nina Drobysheva became an event, people came not only from all over the country, but also from other countries to watch her play. They say that Charles Dumont, the author of numerous songs by the French diva, after watching the performance in Moscow, said: “I saw Edith Piaf!”.