1928. This year in the life of Yevgeny Schwartz was full of various events. First, this year he wrote Underwood, which the Leningrad Young Spectator’s Theatre accepted for production. Second, together with Veniamin Kaverin, he wrote the musical comedy Three and a Half, which, however, did not become a performance. But most importantly – on May 30, 1928, he met Ekaterina Ivanovna Zilber.

On June 16, he read the play at the Artistic and Pedagogical Council of the Young Spectator’s Theatre, after which a discussion began. The most surprising thing about this discussion was that Schwartz, a just-beginning playwright, author of the first play he offered to the theatre, after hearing criticism directed at him, mostly did not accept it. Because he already knew the worth of the play. Moreover, he was angered by the absurd arguments of the speakers. More than that, he responded to them by referring to himself in the third person: “Regarding everything related to the ‘verbal’ aspect of the play, it is difficult to respond. Apparently, in this respect, the author and his opponents ‘did not see eye to eye.’ The author is responsible for the dialogue. This is how he hears his characters. But, in any case, this is a matter of taste sensations, about which one cannot ‘argue.’ However, those who spoke against the play expressed a number of considerations disputable from the author’s point of view, and he responds to them:

1) “A petty, shallow plot…” One can perhaps say that the idea is not deep enough. But that is another matter. As for the ‘plot,’ it cannot be considered ‘petty.’ Absolutely ‘petty’ does not exist. The plot of the play is quite ‘complex’… The task of constructing the plot was to ‘excite’ the children, not to leave them indifferent, and this explains a number of ‘techniques’ and proportions.

2) “No contemporary relevance…” This is incorrect. All the ‘details’ mentioned are only possible today. In this regard, the reproach of the play’s ‘timelessness’ and ‘placelessness’ is unfair. True, the play lacks specific ‘everyday life’ as such, but ‘everyday life’ is an extremely complex phenomenon. It is difficult to understand this concept when it comes to an adult play, and even more so a play written for children. ‘Everyday life’ is something already familiar, ordinary, and close to us, so it can, to some extent, no longer be shown but only named.

3) “Radio is inappropriate, contrived, artificial…” But what is presented in this regard in the play is actually possible. One can talk about ‘radio.’ Tomorrow ‘radio’ will no longer be a ‘gimmick’; ‘radio’ is our today. Perhaps not the immediate ‘today,’ but we live by it, and it would be strange to reject ‘fiction’ just because it does not yet exist. But it should. Therefore, ‘radio’ in the play is entirely appropriate in this presentation.

4) “Language is contrived, not corresponding to the age of the characters…” This is incorrect, since children, even thirteen- or fourteen-year-olds, in certain circumstances can and do speak like that. Moreover, in the play, they are deliberately made by the author to be ‘eloquent.’ After all, this always gray, indifferent speech is uninteresting to anyone, and perhaps especially to children. Even the so-called ‘realistic language’ in art is not the same as correct, ‘everyday language.’ The author is far from any approximations and comparisons, but if examples regarding ‘language’ are needed, it is enough to name Sukhovo-Kobylin, Gogol, and others to see how their ‘language’ does not resemble ‘life.’ The speech, words of the characters, the dialogue are not invented, not false, but alive, ‘made up.’ But only in this way can a play be written. And in conclusion, it is necessary to say: Marusya is active all the time, consistent, and there are no ‘breaks’ in her. There are no ‘theosophical’ tendencies. The author did not want to give ‘grotesque.’ He wanted to give an exciting plot, an engaging plot. He did not want to ‘make people laugh’ at all costs. The task the author set for himself was to excite the children by the simplest means (a small number of characters, without music, without complex changes of ‘setting’).

In the end, 10 people voted in favor of the play, 3 against, and 2 abstained.

So, the play was accepted for production. But on July 6, for some reason, it was discussed again at the Artistic and Pedagogical Council. And the same old fuss began again. Schwartz was not present at this meeting. Nor would he be at subsequent discussions. Apparently, he simply did not want to listen to the nonsense there, especially to justify it.

This time, most likely, the theatre received an external directive to ‘kill’ the play, and corresponding scurrilous letters were sent. But friends actively joined in its defense. The ‘protocol’ is not a ‘transcript.’ Everything is left to the discretion of the meeting secretary. Perhaps that is why all the positive and negative formulations look somewhat absurd. Nevertheless, the resolution on this meeting is absent from the protocol, probably because it was already clear that Underwood was banned, and banned for the first time even before production. As with all my plays later on, it was first praised, and suddenly… A sluggish, yellowish, stout pedagogue named, it seems, Shevlyakov, at the next discussion, took and scolded the play. I felt an enemy as soon as I saw him, not a personal enemy, but a species enemy – a bureaucrat. The theatre supported him… Shevlyakov was an influential bureaucrat, an instructor of the People’s Education Commissariat or People’s Commissariat of Education, and the play was banned… But when I left for New Athos, I had already managed to forget all the disappointments connected with the play. It seemed to me that my life was ringing, tightly stretched.

Despite various obstacles, at the next meeting of the Artistic and Pedagogical Council on September 7, the new plays “approved by the Regional Repertoire Committee” were included in the Young Spectator’s Theatre repertoire for the 1928/29 season, including Underwood. But it seems the theatre again failed to overcome some hostile force. I judge this because at the Council on May 3, 1929, Boris Zon again proposed including Schwartz’s play in the repertoire, “which at one time caused objections from certain members of the Council.”

Underwood was read again. This time even Dalsky – “deputy head of the Young Spectator’s Theatre” – gave in: “At one time, I spoke against this play due to its ideological insignificance. Other comrades in the Council treated it as a skillfully made anecdote. Currently, experience has shown us that plays with serious ideologically valuable thematic problems exceed the level of understanding of our younger viewers. Apparently, the question of repertoire should be resolved depending on the specific situation. Underwood is the only play that, with minor literary changes, can correspond to the level of understanding of the little ones. An engaging performance can be made from it. If Underwood is considered a Soviet fairy tale, then, provided some ideological ambiguities are corrected, it can be staged for a younger audience. The author must be given specific tasks for revision. Doubtful points can be corrected in the director’s work.”

It was decided: “In principle, consider the play Underwood planned for production.”

“I literally clung to the play,” Zon recalled. “Is it a joke – the first Soviet fairy tale, as the actors called it… The play passed through all repertoire and other instances with difficulty. The seeming genre contradictions of the play were very confusing. Judge for yourself: everything amazingly resembles a fairy tale, and at the same time, it is our life and our days. Naturally, having such an exciting material in hand, the theatre tried to fully reveal the fairy tale hints of the author…”

And the performance, even at this unfinished stage, received a printed response. “An engaging ‘children’s detective,’ built by E. Schwartz on a usual fairy tale structure, was met with general approval at the public viewing of the performance,” Vladimir Granat reported to readers. “Underwood opens a new period in the theatre’s work – a period of modern children’s fairy tales, quite unlike our traditional idea of the fairy tale genre.”

On April 16, 1929, Gayane Nikolaevna gave birth to a daughter, Natasha. But even this could no longer keep Yevgeny Lvovich. Two months later he finally left for Ekaterina Ivanovna. With great difficulty, they obtained two rooms on Liteyny Prospect. At that time, a new house was built for writers on Troitskaya Street, and the most “established” moved in there. The remaining living space was given to other, less established, writers.

The success with the audience – children and their parents – was extraordinary. All contemporary Leningrad publications responded to the performance. And most theatre critics spoke of the play and the performance with great respect. Schwartz recalled: “For the first time in my life, I experienced what success is at the Young Spectator’s Theatre at the premiere of Underwood. I was stunned but remembered the special obedient excitement of the hall, enjoyed it, but with inherited skepticism from my mother. But even my relentlessly strict friends praised it. Zhitkov, when I came out for bows, threw his hat on the stage amid the general noise, the special noise of the Young Spectator’s Theatre. In the morning, I came to the editorial office. Everyone was talking about current affairs. I shouted: ‘Comrades, are you crazy! Talk about yesterday’s performance!’ My relentless friends laughed good-naturedly. Silent Lapshin praised convincingly. I was happy. But I behaved so that my success was quickly forgotten. However, Kharms quite noticeably despised the play from the very beginning. And I understood why. Marshak watched the performance strictly, flashing his glasses, then, about two days later, looking aside, said that if one is to write a play, then like Shakespeare. And life went on as if no premiere had happened. And it seemed as if nothing had been added to my experience. I took on a new play as if it were the first – and so all my life.”

But the story with Underwood continued, and not everything was smooth from the very beginning. The actors loved playing in Underwood. The audience constantly filled the hall. But the performance was not allowed to die a natural death. On June 27, 1930, the Young Spectator’s Theatre raised the question of removing Underwood from the repertoire. After a long discussion, it was decided to “remove from production the plays Underwood, Tom Sawyer, Children of India, and The Prince and the Pauper,” probably so that it would not be boring for it alone.

Underwood was published as a separate edition in 1930 but was never staged again anywhere. Moreover, by the late 1960s, the six-volume History of Soviet Dramatic Theatre would declare the production of Underwood a mistake of the Leningrad Young Spectator’s Theatre.

Schwartz did not include Underwood in the only lifetime collection of his dramatic works, published for his sixtieth birthday. Ekaterina Ivanovna also did not recall it when compiling a more complete collection published in 1960.

Thus, Yevgeny Schwartz became a children’s playwright.

Sources:

Evgeny Mikhailovich Binevich, Yevgeny Schwartz. Chronicle of Life