Boris Bashkirov (Verin)

After two o'clock I read in English and played the Second Concerto, then I dreamed that I'm about to play at the IRMO and don't know it. Next Bashkirov, who had had a lesson (he is doing well), had dinner and then took me home, to which I had no particular objections as my head was beginning to ache. He's as nice as ever, read Balmont to me and gave me his photograph with a dedication : "You speak to perfection the language of the gods". (That evening I examined it ; he looks completely natural). He took me halfway home and told me he is buying himself a new car from Peugeot in Paris. (Diary, 1914)

 




Sitting in the carriage, left to right:
Serge Prokofiev, Max Schmidthoff.

Leaving the Nikopol station, we first looked for a boat to take us to Morolev's but it emerged that it was only half a Venice : although there are canals of mud and water everywhere, people go by four-legged gondolas. We gingerly sat in a tarantass and sailed away. Having navigated the whole town, we moored at the entrance of a stone house. There was a flashing of Kodaks and Morolev seized Sergus in an embrace, informing us that he had photographed our triumphant entry through the gates. Vasilii Mitrofanovich promptly sat us down to table, treating us to pies and apricot liqueur. Meanwhile he knocked back vodka, talking rapidly in a lively fashion, and in general went to great pains to create a sympathetic impression. (Diary,1913).

[Passage written by Max Schmidthoff]   

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