SINCE THE BOLSHOI THEATER is, indeed, Bolshoi (i.e., big and grand), perhaps it is not surprising that it has seen its share of problems over its 200-plus-year history.
Work on the theater’s design and a search for a suitable site got underway in 1776, as soon as Catherine the Great gave Prince Urusov permission to construct a public theater in Moscow. The project was put in the hands of English businessman Michael Maddox, who managed to complete construction in five months. The theater was located on Petrovskaya Street, in other words approximately where the Bolshoi looms today. Yet, the original theater stood there only 25 years, burning to the ground in 1805.
It was rebuilt on Arbat Square. Unlike the old theater, which had been made of stone, the new one was a wooden structure. And it too met a lamentable end. Seven years after its inauguration, Napoleon invaded, followed by the infamous 1812 fire that consumed Moscow. Not a trace was left of the theater.
After victory over Napoleon, Moscow was gradually rebuilt. In the 1820s, the architect Joseph Bové tried an interesting experiment — bringing some of the grandeur of St. Petersburg to Moscow, which previously had prided itself on its atmosphere of unpretentious hominess. Bové’s designs were sumptuous and stately — perfectly suited for the squares and avenues of the northern capital. In Moscow, Bové’s creations looked, if not odd, at least a bit out of place. Among these creations, the huge Bolshoi Theater that he erected on what is now known as Theater Square remains one of his most important works. The building turned out to be larger and grander than many of the world’s most famous theaters and the columns and alabaster statue of Apollo’s chariot that adorned it did not match the character of Moscow, with its cozy little streets and courtyards. But now, can we really imagine Moscow without the Bolshoi Theater?
Fire continued to plague the theater. On March 17, 1853, flames broke out in the theater’s workshop. By the time firefighters arrived, the entire building was ablaze — sets, costumes, musical instruments, and scores were all reduced to ashes. Here, alas, there was no shortage of flammable materials. The fire consumed everything but the walls and colonnade. Damage was estimated at 10 million rubles — billions in today’s money.
The architect Albert Kavos was put in charge of rebuilding. Like Bové, Kavos was descended from Russified Italians. It took 900,000 rubles and three years before the Bolshoi was again able to reopen its doors. The new Apollo above the entrance was made of bronze rather than alabaster, and his chariot was drawn by four bronze horses. The huge hall was striking not only for its size, but for the radiance of its lighting, its huge stage and lavish boxes, and especially the tremendous chandelier that hung from the ceiling, which was covered with depictions of the Muses.
Today, one might question whether or not all this opulence is a bit crass — the moldings, the candelabras, the red-carpeted staircase, the huge royal box. Everything is oversized, everything glistens with gold and light. But for those of us who still remember the childhood wonder we felt the first time we experienced it, it is hard to criticize the Bolshoi.
Your heart started beating a little faster as soon as you exited the metro (back then the station was called Sverdlov, not Teatralnaya). You looked across the entire square, not noticing the Hotel Metropol to the right or the ridiculous statue of Karl Marx that was for some reason stuck right in the center, with the obligatory pigeon atop the philosopher’s head. No, all you saw was Apollo driving his quadriga and the huge doors beckoning beyond the colossal columns. Once inside, you climbed higher and higher to some lofty tier (since only foreigners could get orchestra seats). You would sit in the red-upholstered seats, rejoicing if your tickets were for the first row, because you could rest your binoculars on the ledge, which was upholstered with the same red material as the seats. There was always a fear of dropping your glasses over this edge, until you peered down and saw the netting strung under each tier to protect against this very thing. Intriguing sounds emanated from the huge orchestra pit as the musicians warmed up. Then, the gigantic chandelier dimmed, everything disappeared into darkness, and suddenly the stage was illuminated — The Nutcracker!
The parterre that Kavos designed featured 17 rows of seats and a parquet circle, above which rose five tiers, plus one more, the galyorka – the altitudinous gallery that, over the years, impoverished students and cash-strapped devotees of ballet or of the tenors Lemeshev and Kozlovsky would try to get into by hook or by crook. In theory, each box sat five people, but the ushers were well aware that they could squeeze in many, many more.
In 2005, 149 years after the Bolshoi reopened, the theater was again closed for renovation. This time, thank heavens, there was no fire. There were, however, countless feuds within the theater — between the dancers and the directors, between conductors and the management — as one might expect in any institution concerned with artistic expression.
For five years, the theater has been closed and all the familiar productions have been performed at a New Stage next door. But something is missing. Maybe it’s the chandelier, or the larger than life scale, or maybe even that crass opulence. They say that the theater will reopen this fall. They also say that a large share of the money allocated for renovation has been pilfered. It is scary even to contemplate how much, in the end, the renovation will cost (estimates already top 20 billion rubles).
When it reopens, the theater will have elevators, so it will no longer be necessary to trudge up endless flights of stairs to the upper tiers. There will also be ramps for the handicapped and a screen above the stage for captioning.
But some of us are too attached to the Bolshoi of childhood memory to be enthusiastic about such modernization. For us, it was fine as it was: extravagant, with red upholstery, a quadriga, and chandelier. In a word — The Bolshoi!
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