The Daily Worker Newspaper, July 2, 1927, Page 9

e e Strangers’ Songs pa upon a time, in the hungry hard times of the civil war, in the offices of the educational committee of N-. , in the vestibule, the corri- dors, on the stairs, appeared strange people, stoop- shouldered men with curly black beards, dark-skin- ned women in worn shawls, and everywhere, getting in one’s way, were half-frozen children with dis- tended stomachs. It was a tribe of wandering gypsy entertainers which had followed the troops of Kolchak, and after the defeat» of the whites, wandered to the Urals. Here the gypsies were sent to a copper factory, but it soon beeame apparent that they had greater aptitude for stealing copper articles than for manu- facturing them. From the factory they were sent to the salt-mines, but started such- gambling there, that they were immediately transported to Lisva. In Lisva they set fire to something and every one of them got mixed up in some inexplicable, tangled business with the factory horses. In a week the workers of the neighboring factory begged the pro- vincial government, by all that’s holy, to rid them of neighbors who found such irresistible attraction in chicken coops. : The gypsies, fifty lively, atte and cunning people, were not a bit discouraged by these defeats on the labor front. Arriving at the provincial capital, they directly betook themselves to the offices of the execu- tive committee. The president, an ifitelligent, straightforward man with a strain of humor, asked them at once. “What can you do besides steal?” “Sing,” they answered. “Then go to the Educational Committee, the music department will take care of you.” The gypsies did not understand, but went to the educational committee, not suspecting in the least to what a cruel fate the president was leading them. A concert, to acquaint the public with the gypsy choir was announced for Saturday night. This con- cert was organized by a committee especially as- sembled for the purpose, and called the “gypsy com- mittee.” An unheard of number of people came to the concert. The Red Army soldiers standing at the door attempted to keep back some of the crowd, but they protested so vigorously and thrust so many papers with seals on them, into the faces of the soldiers, that they had to admit them. In the first row sat members of the “gypsy com- mittee.” Hardly noticeable, expectant ironic smiles, foreboding no good, flitted acrss their faces. Be- hind the curtain, on which the scenic artist, eon- fusing all epochs and styles, had painted a fiery horseman galloping across factory chimneys, was heard whisperings, coughing and the stamping of cold feet. ; When the hall was filled, the curtain, creaking and trembling, crawled slowly upward and on the stage the spectators beheld a group of people in triumphant poses. Behind, stood the men, black-bearded and grim, in crimson and purple shirts with gold braid and fringes and shiny buttons sewed on. where needed and where not. Black and blue jackets were thrown carelessly across their shoulders. In front, scattered in a bright wreath, were te , women, boldly and gaily draped in shiny shawls ‘the brightest and most unexpected colors. ‘bright beads and bangles, skirts like wallpaper in The a saloon, the glances and smiles, were something most far removed from the stern reality. Two mustachioed guitarists, in drawers wide as the steppe and shiny high patent-leather boots stood at either side. Before the footlights, with his head raised high and his carved guitar lying lovingly along his arm, self-confident, with the eyes of an Indian fawn, stood a mighty gypsy man. His glances wandered slowly over the audience; he smiled faint- ly, struck the strings with his brown fingers and a thick, organ-like stream of sound poured into the hall. . The choir sang and the lips of the singers, scaree- ly moving, prdnounced each word tenderly and slowly. “T...0..1..1..1..0..u..u..u..used to smoke Ma..a..a..a..a..a..ho..0.-0..0..0..rka A.a..a..@..a..a..nd no..0..0..0..0w” Pausing significantly for a second, the choir con- cluded cleariy and decisively. “I smoke tobacco.” And again floated out the slow, restless cHorus -without words: “La la la la Ja la lira la La la la la la la la la la A..a..a..a.nd n0..0..0..0..0w.” And again rapidly and distinctly: “IT smoke tobacco!” - he feminine voices blended and sparkled like crystal beads, the tenors shook their black curls and added silver to the trembling chords, the baritone put his hands on his hips am&® took a deep breath, the bass loosened his collar and glared fiercely at the conductor, “LLL u..u..u..used To lo.o.o.'ve the gi..i. vis.” The choir warmed up, the women grasped their shawls more tightly, the men threw back their heads, the conductor unexpectedly turned his back on the choir and, fiercely twanging his guitar, added his bronze notes to the swelling music. “A..a..a..nd no..0..0.0w,” sang the choir almost in a frenzy, “T love old hags,” burst from the trembling choir. “Curtain, curtain!” called someone angrily from the first row, and a member of the gypsy commit- tee, Comrade Solodnikov, was seen standing on a chair with a twitching face and making signs to someone back of the stage. The “gypsy committee” met immediately after the concert. “Comrades,” said Comrade Selodnikoy in a hurt voice, “what sort of ‘popular enlightment’ is this? Blood is flowing at the frdént and we carry on like this! I categorically disagree and definitely ‘re- fuse!” “That is a genre,” timidly began Comrade Frae- berg. “I think that this genre shows unmistakable traces of the old order and definitely extinct means of production. It developed under conditions of over- production, in that dark epoch when the Russian bourgeoisie made holiday in its capitalistic streets But now, being, to a certain extent, con- nected with art, I consider it my duty to declare that, in the present instance, if we are to discuss the object, we have to do with something that— that is to say—in the sense of certain diverted musi- cal talents we here encounter something superla- tively common, which compels—that is—so to say— I am whole-heartedly of the same opinion as Com- rade Solodnikov,” Fraeberg ended unexpectedly and blushed scarlet. “T too,” said. another member, “the proletariat must be educated in the classic spirit.” Yes, but what shall we do with these devils?” asked Comrade Solednikov thoughtfully, “they’ve in- fected the whole province.” s; “Send them to the front, to the firing line,” said Nakoriakoy desperately. “Perhaps they could—along theatrical lines,” be- gan Fraeberg and stopped abruptly. It was decided to adjourn till the next day and invite some responsible comrades. The president of the executive committee, hear- ing of the unsuccessful concert and fearing another visit from the gypsies, said to someone over the phone, half banteringly and half seriously: “Well, what of it, if the words are unsuitable, the words could be changed to something revolutionary -—but the music—such material—such music, if handled right, will make revolutions.” : “Perhaps they could do the International, in their own way, with pep,” said Comrade Nakoriakov. “The eathedral choir is getting too nasal and besides it’s as dead as a funeral service.” After a short exchange of opinion, it was decided to appoint Comrade Fraeherg to make a detailed study of the repertoire of the gypsies, to develop anything in it that corresponded to the spirit of the proletarian revolution, to alter and adapt every- thing, and, when finished, to give them another trial. The city was swept by blizzards and sunk in snow. Its inhabitants were occupied in searching for food and fuel and, without money, means of com- munication or skilled workers, carried on, in several departments, work which progressed like a light cart along a bumpy road. A rumor was current that the authorities were attempting to “Bolshevize” the gypsies, that their chief was appointed head executioner and that he petitioned to be permitted to use an ax. Mothers frightened their children with mention of the gypsies and it was openly said that Comrade Fraeberg had _ (Translated ftom the Russian of N. Verjbinsky By VERA and VIOLET MITKOVSKY). adopted the gypsy faith and was going to marry “one of those she-devils.” Comrade Fraeberg, with his emaciated, stumbling feet in broken old boots, his hands tucked into the short sleeves of his coat, bent, blue-nosed, walked about the town, from one to another of his numerous offices. When questioned about the gypsies, his face assumed a mysterious expression and he an- swered with some vague remark. Every evening he went to the district club-house, locked himself into an isolated room with three tall gypsy men and for two hours _fterwards, through the door came the intermittent sounds of a piano, someone’s doleful humming and muffled conversa- tion. The gypsies would. come out hot and excited and talk 2anerily among themselves. In the cold empty corridors, their voices sounded like the caw- ing of crows who had lost their flock. Sunday was decided upon as the day for the sec- ond trial. Comrade Fraeberg seemed worried and excited and was constantly disappearing. The hall was packed. When everyone was seated, the mem- bers of the gypsy committee began to act queerly. Some of them tore through the crowd and sent ushers on endless errands. others fussed about the stage and whispered to the stage hands. Behind the curtain all was quiet. Soon the less patient of the crowd began to clap their hands and stamp their feet. There were shouts of: “Time! Time to begin!” Comrade Fraeberg suddenly jumped on to the stage and constantly adjusting his falling off pince- nez, made signs to someone. The audience hummed with impatience and annoyance. Comrade Fraeberg took a-few uncertain steps forward and, holding his pince-nez in his hand said: “Comrades, I deeply regret to announce that, due to solely objective causes, the concert, that is, the second trial of the gvpsies, which was to have taken place tonight, is not going to take place tonight and may never take place———__..” The answer to this was a terrific roaring, whist- ling and over-turning of benches. The crowd rushed to the stage, indignantly demanding a more detailed explanation, Someone pulled down the curtain and revealed a dark empty stage with chairs scattered about in disorder. The gypsies were nowhere to be seen. Comrade Fraeberg escaped unscathed. That night, the president of the executive com- mittee related with,rauch laughter how from the very dawn, families of the gypsies had been coming to him on their knees and imploring: “We can no sing the stranger’s songs. The spec- tacled commissar not treat us right. Let us go, com- rade, give us a paper to leave town, we'll never come back, we not sing stranger’s song, let us go, for God’s sake!” { Later in the day the whole noisy, shouting, dis- orderly iribe, bending under heavy bundles, was seen at the station, boarding a south-bound train. Some, not finding room in the train, walked away along the track, angrily looking back at the city over their shoulders. ts Sa a 2 is DR a MD 2 a MS Di De DM a a ie i Me ee Oe Oe a ah a oo oe eo ee Sacco and Vanzetti Awake! Awake! O workers of the land! Two noble lives within the balance lie. Two workingmen—it could be you and I— Within the shadow of the black chair stand. They can be saved but by the stern command ; Of labor. Quickly raise your battle cry 7 Of “Sacco and Vanzetti shall not die!” And lift against this crime your mighty hand. They suffered long behind the prison wall They wait their death For loyalty to class. © For principle. Within your hands their fate Now rests. O heed their brave, their final call, : While yet their hearts beat high and they have breath! O workers! Strike before it is too late! HENRY REICH, JR. Se a a an i ae a a ee a a a ee a i ad