A Friend

Wustrau 1946

Every musician needs an audience, someone who believes in him and recognizes his work. One person who not only supported the composer, but also was supported by him from the very beginning of his career in Europe was Mary Hogopian. These are her memories:

            After a lengthy illness, my beloved mother died on February 16, 1942. I was only 16 years old. It was wartime and life was very difficult. I lived with my father, younger brother and grandmother in West Berlin. Everything was rationed; vegetables and fruits were scarce. Bombings of the city were nightly . . . it was a wonder, under those circumstances, that transportation by bus, train, and tramway was available.

            Sometime in the autumn of 1942, my father told me of a young Armenian musician who had connections to certain people who could provide us with fruit. My father had met this young musician at a gathering and talked about him enthusiastically. He had obtained his address and asked me to visit him because he had told my father that on that Sunday, we could get fruit, like apples, pears, etc.

            The musician greeted me with a warm and friendly smile and asked me to come in. He told me about his life, his parents, and the hard times he had had as a prisoner of war. He introduced himself as Arshavir Ferdjulian. I was mesmerized by his tales, mannerisms, and very sincere approach. I learned that he had been a famous kanon player in Armenia and had received several medals. He asked about my life, and I told him that I had recited poetry since I was four years old. I offered him to recite a poem about a mother who is separated from her son, lives far away and misses him very much. He was impressed with my recitation so much that he brought out his kanon and played a few fascinating pieces just for me.

            The Armenians in Germany were very concerned about the well-being of Armenian prisoners of war who had fought for the Russian army. Somehow, German authorities were lenient towards these prisoners and allowed them to live in a camp near Berlin, in Wustrau. These prisoners had formed a song and dance group with some highly professional people. Arshavir had changed his name to Ara Sevanian and was given the job of director of the musicians and singers of the group. Vazgen Karapetian was the instructor of the dance group. Somehow, Ara remembered me with my recitation, and when they looked for someone to recite poetry for the group, Ara suggested that they contact me. I was given an Armenian poem by Yeghishe Charents that had been translated into German. I was invited to join the group, because Ara was the person who gave me the opportunity to recite.

            In the group was a handsome young artist who was singing with the group. I had briefly met him once in a shelter during an air raid. Ara thought we would be compatible partners, and so he brought us together, becoming our best friend. We became so fond of him that we asked him to become our best man at our wedding.

            To this day I still call Ara, Arshavir. I am maybe the only person left who calls him by his birth name.