the next time you listen to Borodin remember he was just a chemist who wrote music to relax; his house was jammed with people: students, artists, drunkards, bums, and he never knew how to say: no. the next time you listen to Borodin remember his wife used his compositions to line the cat boxes with or to cover jars of sour milk; she had asthma and insomnia and fed him soft-boiled eggs and when he wanted to cover his head to shut out the sounds of the house she only allowed him to use the sheet; besides there was usually somebody in his bed (they slept separately when they slept at all) and since all the chairs were usually taken he often slept on the stairway wrapped in an old shawl; she told him when to cut his nails, not to sing or whistle or put too much lemon in his tea or press it with a spoon; Symphony #2, in B Minor Prince Igor On the Steppes of Central Asia he could sleep only by putting a piece of dark cloth over his eyes in 1887 he attended a dance at the Medical Academy dressed in a merrymaking national costume; at last he seemed exceptionally gay and when he fell to the floor, they thought he was clowning. the next time you listen to Borodin, remember...