Fyodor Volkov

the founding of Russia’s first public theater

It is 1756. More than a quarter century has passed since the death of Peter the Great. By now, no one has the slightest thought of opposing his reforms. The nobility has long since made peace with the notions of shaving their beards and permitting their wives and daughters to dance with other men at balls while wearing décolleté dresses. Everyone has grown accustomed to the fact that the capital has been moved to St. Petersburg. 

A few years after Peter’s death (under Peter II), the court moved back to Moscow, with all the other denizens of the northern capital following the aristocrats’ lead. For a time, the streets of St. Petersburg were overgrown with weeds. It seemed that this city, born through the force of Peter’s will, would soon vanish, retreating into the Finnish swamps from which it had so unexpectedly risen. 

But, by 1756, Petersburg is once again ascendant. Empress Elizabeth (1741-1761) had for several years been living in the city her father created. The capital was expanding, filling up with stately homes, elegant churches and residential buildings. Two years prior, Italian architect Francesco Bartolomeo Rastrelli began building a new residence for the empress – a grandiose Winter Palace. Tsarskoe Selo’s elegant Catherine Palace already glistened with the gold, light blue and white of its elaborate façade. There was the sound of music playing, the clatter of balls, the staging of plays. 

Theater was one aspect of European culture that had difficulty putting down roots in Russia. Pre-Petrine Rus loved public square performances and the antics of traveling clowns, but these forms of entertainment were viewed here as dubious, as they were throughout the world. The Church never entirely succeeded in banning the antics of skomorokhi – traveling entertainers who juggled, performed acrobatics, and entertained crowds with their clowning, and it did not find it easy to tolerate them. We can recall how English Puritans in Shakespeare’s time believed that God would bring a plague upon London because of the bard’s plays, or how Molière was denied a Christian burial, since all actors had been excommunicated. In Russia, skomorokhi, who amused the people in whimsical masks, also were viewed as strange and frightening creatures. 

Nonetheless, people were drawn to the theater. Even during the reign of Peter’s father, Alexei Mikhailovich, performances had been staged. The god-fearing tsar had to be reassured, however, that the plays were based exclusively on stories from the Bible, so there was no need to worry that they might be sinful. Apparently, he was easy to convince. The “House of Comedy” erected at the tsar’s summer residence even featured a special screened loge from which the tsarina and tsar could watch performances. 

But it was one thing to have the court watching plays and quite another to have performances for the public. For a long time, that was a line no one wanted to cross. Even Peter the Great, with his love of spectacle, did not step over this Rubicon. During the Petrine era, masquerade balls and processions flourished, along with Peter’s Most Holy Synod of Fools (a.k.a. the Drunken Synod), something the young tsar created as a parody of a church service, but which was in essence a long, drawn out (over several months) theatrical performance. But it still was not theater. 

It was not until the reign of Elizabeth that Russians dared to perform for the public. Elizabeth Petrovna was not terribly keen on Affairs of State, but she put heart and soul into all forms of amusement. She adored balls and celebrations, and was never seen in the same dress twice (after her death, she left behind fifteen thousand of them). A passion for the theatricalization of life was something she inherited from her father. The slender empress is reputed to have looked good in men’s clothing in her younger days, and she loved to arrange masquerade balls and forced all the women at court, whatever figures they might have, to dress as men. She also loved to take part in the weddings of her servants – also a kind of theater in miniature. 

It was during Elizabeth’s reign that foreign theater troupes began to visit Russia. And it happened that a Petersburg performance by an Italian company was attended by a young merchant’s son, Fyodor Volkov, who had traveled to the capital on business from Yaroslavl. The words “merchant’s son” suggest to a Russian ear a semi-literate, bearded fellow selling goods in a shop, kowtowing to his despotic father, from whom he escapes at the first opportunity to drink away the paternal income at the nearest tavern. Fyodor Volkov, however, was well-educated and had a wonderful relationship with his stepfather, who hoped that this intelligent and energetic young man would take over the family business. It was in fact the stepfather who sent Fyodor to Moscow and St. Petersburg on business. In Petersburg, Fyodor quickly took care of all the matters entrusted to him, after which he could not tear himself away from the performances of the Italian troupe. Something happened to him that has happened to children and adolescents all over the world, throughout modern history. He saw a miracle take place on the stage and was spellbound. Volkov did not miss a single performance. He became friendly with the actors and little by little tried to learn the elements of their art.

And, like other spellbound youths before him, upon returning home, Fyodor tried to reproduce what he had seen. He set up a theater in his own home and started to stage solemn tragedies and exquisite comedies by Russian playwrights. He was 21 – a full-fledged adult. At first, his stepfather indulged this pastime and was proud of the fact that people were drawn to his home by this delightful and unconventional form of big-city entertainment. But, as Fyodor’s obsession began to take up more and more of his time, there came a point where he had neither the desire nor the strength to fulfill his commercial duties. Furthermore, Volkov needed a larger stage, and he had decided to convert a large shed into a theater. At this point, the stepfather put his foot down and refused to fund the costly hobby of this full-grown shirker. But there was no turning back. The young Volkov did not think of theater as an amusing diversion – it had become his life. 

Deprived of family funds, Fyodor Volkov turned to his audience and collected sufficient support to rent a stone structure that could accommodate a thousand people. He immersed himself in creating scenery, equipping the set and preparing the production. His audience grew, but so did a local sense of indignation. There were many in Yaroslavl, after all, who did not approve of this strange form of entertainment. One day, a cudgel-wielding mob attacked people returning home from the theater. Rumors of the shocking assault reached St. Petersburg. This turned out to be a stroke of luck.

The aging but still fun-loving empress heard what had happened in Yaroslavl. In 1752, the entire company was urgently summoned to perform at court. We do not know what the young company was feeling as they hastily made their way from the stone warehouse to the royal theater to stage a tragedy by Alexander Sumarokov before the play’s author and the empress. Were they quaking in their boots? Most likely. 

Nonetheless, their performance was a success. True, it was said that “their acting was purely natural and not sufficiently embellished with art,” but, after all, it was a home-grown theater, not some traveling company, and yet they were almost professional. The empress ordered them to study, and the actors were sent to the Cadet Corps. Despite the institution’s name, they did not receive a military education, but were able to study the arts of music, drawing and recitation. 

By 1756 the company was ready. Although Volkov was given the title of First Court Actor, they were not actually performing in the palace. The idea was to have a public theater, open to the entire capital. That meant that a building was needed. Today it is difficult to conceive of St. Petersburg without its countless theaters, but in those days, there were none – there had been no need of them. 

A place was found for Volkov’s theater company – the home of Count Golovkin, who had been exiled to Siberia. Here, on Vasilevsky Island, in November 1756, Russia’s first professional theater was opened to the public. Volkov was ecstatic. Like many people in the 18th century, he longed to do many different things – to act, to produce plays, to write music and plays. On November 27, 1756, the city of St. Petersburg saw his opera, Tanyusha, or the Lucky Encounter. An opera taking place in Russia, written by a Russian composer and performed by Russian actors was completely unheard of. Yet this marked the beginning of Russian theater – both operatic and dramatic. Volkov’s company went on to perform tragedies, comedies and traditional tales.

Over the ensuing decades, a multitude of theaters sprung up in Russian cities – both private and imperial. Marvelous actors, singers, and musicians graced their stages. Everyone from courtiers to the petite bourgeoisie attended, and students scraped together their last copper coins for the price of admission, so they could savor the performances of their idols. And all because a modest merchant’s son lost his interest in commerce.  RL