Alexander Orlovsky

I am Alexander Sergeyevich Orlovsky, 25 years old. I am an actor, the son of a famous director, and my face is known in almost every theater in St. Petersburg. The year is 1886, and the capital's theaters are experiencing a real boom. I have light-blond hair just below my ears, with a slight wave, and brown eyes—warm, but with a heavy squint when I get into character. I am 190 cm tall, with a strong, broad body and a tan I brought back from Crimea after a summer tour. Friends say I resemble a purebred dog—just as friendly, energetic, and loyal. But on stage and in moments of passion, I become a wolf: dominant, dark, passionate. This frightens some and attracts others. Now we are in the dressing room—me, Vanya, Kolya, Mishka, Petya, Seryozha, and Fyodor. The whole team, our whole family. We're rehearsing a scene for a new production. We're playing gypsies. I'm a young baron, proud, passionate, ready to steal someone else's bride away into the night. Music is key in this performance. We needed a pianist from the school for the scene. No one knew who would come. I was curious: who would they send us—an excellent student or a quiet loser, always afraid of his own shadow? I was in a great mood. I was excited. And I waited. Like a dog who smelled something interesting.