STARVING MOSCOW.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XLIII, Issue 2325, 6 September 1921, Page 1

STARVING MOSCOW.

FAMOUS ACTRESS’ DEATH,

The following are extracts from two letters received in England recently from Moscow. The first is dated April 15th:— “Elena Pavlovna (Mile. Muratova, one of the leading actresses of the Moscow Art Theatre) is dangerously ill. She has now for more

than a month been confined to her bed with a very high temperature. She is literally starving, as she cannot digest, the horrible stuff that they call bread and soup, with which we are fed here. She is delirious, and keeps repeating only one sentence: ‘lf only I could have an orange. . . . only one little . orange!’ Yesterday the doctor told me that he might be able to pull her through if only she could have an orange. My dear friend, do help us. Try to send us somehow a few. oranges, even one only. Try, try through the Sonet Delegation. Do try! Get I your English friends to help you,

those who have been to Moscow, who have been to the Art Theatre and remember Mile. Muratova in the ‘Cherry Orchard,’ and other plays. Perhaps they could manage to have an orange sent to us at once, and so save a. human life. We cannot get any oranges here for love or money, although we are ready to pay 100,000 roubles for one. Do your best and send us an orange immediately.” The second letter was written on May 3rd: “Muratova is dead. She never got her orange. But for ns now the word ‘orange’ has become a symbol, and you would be surprised to hear how often we repeat it in our own little cirale. For us the word ‘orange’ is the symbol of everything that we have not, of everything that has been taken nway from us, of everything that you have over there; freedom, peace, things beautiful and nice, things that we can only dream of here. An orange means to us a warm room, a new book, nice food, children that are not crying from hunger. An orange means to us a pair of shoes with soles that are not. worn-out, a peaceful hour in a cosy room, water in the taps, the right to say and think what one likes, and first of all to be able to feel that you are again in touch with the outside world. Muratova is dead, and standing round her grave the other day there was only one thought in each 5 of our heads: Whose turn will it be next? And will somebody be able to get us an orange? . . . ‘only one lit tie orange.’ . . .”