The Horse of Ivan the Terrible
In the film October, I saw a carriage roll off the raised span of the Palace Bridge, and a dead horse hanging from the traces above the Neva River looms over the city and turns into an image of carrion in the minds of the audience, threatening a new, revolutionary world.
No one told Eisenstein about this. But maybe that's what he saw when he asked about bridge-building techniques. A powerful fantasy was based on precise knowledge.
Sergei Mikhailovich asked the groom to mount his horse and ride at a walk. The horse cheered up and paraded diligently in front of Eisenstein. She stopped, shook her head, and received another lump of sugar from his hands. But for that, she had to walk in front of him one more time. The groom held the horse on the cord, said something to him, encouraged him with a light blow of the whip. The horse galloped around Eisenstein at a short, heavy gallop.
Sergei Mikhailovich was pleased, gave him more sugar and patted him on the withers. And yet, once again, he began to combine the location of the badges on the horse's breastplate.
Obviously, Sergei Mikhailovich was tired of tinkering with the horse. He moved into the shade, took off his hat, and sat down on the deck. He remembered something and called the groom over. He left quickly and returned a minute later with a bag.
Only then did Eisenstein pull out a package of sandwiches from his pocket, unwrap it, and began to eat.
The groom had already tied a bag of oats to the horse's muzzle. Sergei Mikhailovich did not finish his sandwich, carefully wrapped it in paper, put it on the edge of the deck and stood up. He waited until the horse had finished his breakfast.
It seemed to me that Eisenstein had become very gloomy. Have I ever seen him tired and unhappy? I don't think so. But there was a time of great failures. It's not my place to blame anyone for them. But there were years when he didn't put up paintings. He, Eisenstein. The author of "Potemkin" and "October".
Only once did he tell me about his tragically unfinished film Long Live Mexico.
"That would be the best thing I've ever done." He caught himself, as if afraid of his frankness, and began to tell me about Pushkin, whom he was studying at the time. Got carried away.
He didn't have time to worry. It was necessary to learn new facts every day and evaluate them.
It was necessary to simultaneously write down thoughts in three languages, refute old ideas, and construct new ones. I had to write scripts for future films. It was necessary to fix how to remove them. It was necessary to sketch the frames of these future paintings. It was necessary to create a new reality.
But there wasn't enough time.
Sergei Mikhailovich was explaining something to the grooms. Everyone laughed. Then the horse's harness began to be taken off, and he became old, clumsy, and pathetic again.
Eisenstein shook hands with the grooms, who were embarrassed by his comradely politeness.
I caught up with him at the exit. He was walking, breathing heavily, fanning himself with his straw hat.
The Alma Ata sun was blazing.
— Sergey Mikhailovich! I said.— But I saw how you dressed up the horse.
—Yeah?" — He replied absently. I think I've done something.
— Is this Ivan the Terrible's horse?
He stopped, startled. Indignation flashed in his eyes.
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