HIS EPITAPH
nHALIAPIN, the Russian operatic singer, who travelled specially from Vienna to Folkestone to sing at the concert of the Convention of British Music Industries, told a reporter that he had composed his epitaph. He smiled as he drew from his pocket two crumpled sheets of notepaper. “It is in Russian,” he explained, “but we will try to put it in English.” It would be something like this: Here is the grave of Chaliapin. He lived, he loved, and he did scandalous things. He lied and committed sins unspeakable. He was like the devil who danced in church before mass. At last he has found repose. Now immobile he lies under this stone, his tomb watered only by the tears of his wife and children. Eternal peace to your remains, Chaliapin, actor, singer, artist. and man who sold himself to all peace. “I shall make that into a song,” added M. Chaliapin.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/SUNAK19270804.2.120
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Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 114, 4 August 1927, Page 12
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153HIS EPITAPH Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 114, 4 August 1927, Page 12
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