Let me have a moment, let me say goodbye

When audiences view the trio of protagonists Anya, Dmitry and Vlad, standing still amidst a subdued crowd in a train station, they may not all know they are witnessing an old Russian tradition. This custom of "waiting by the door" before a journey is in a pragmatic sense a chance to make sure all important belongings are accounted for. But on a more profound level, it is a time of reflection, on evaluating the present here and now, before setting off on the future out there somewhere in the world.

Such occurs in Anastasia without ever calling it that explicitly; rather, it is shown when the trio and their fellow travelers hear that their train is ready to board but pause, everyone facing away from the train into the vast unseen expanse of everything they ever knew. That is when we ear sung "Stay, I Pray You," a farewell to their homeland, for better or worse.

People have faced relocations for various reasons across human history and everywhere around the globe. This song's relevance is timeless, though in the world we live in today it feels like no better time could exist to hear these words. And the words themselves are a masterful exploration of the many facets of being uprooted, such that anyone listening can find themselves in this song, for though the singers are refugees fleeing Soviet Russia, their experiences and emotions are expressed in a way that welcomes any other wayward, displaced souls into the midst of their mournful harmonies.

The song opens with questions, questions that are repeated but never answered, as so many of life's mysteries are left: how can I desert you? / how to tell you why? The singer, for the moment only Count Ipolitov, wonders aloud where on earth to begin explaining to the place he called home that he cannot stay, must leave- very likely forever. Though the land is no longer safe for him, he recognizes its influence in shaping him, in getting him to this point in life, and asks how to possibly articulate to that which gave him himself that he needs to leave it.

Coachmen hold the horses / stay, I pray you / let me have a moment / let me say goodbye subtly verbalizes the aforementioned Russian custom of pausing before a journey, and it is in this moment he and the other travelers take in the magnitude of the moment and the land.

To bridge and river / forest and waterfall / orchard, sea, and sky / harsh and sweet and bitter / to leave it all / I'll bless my homeland til I die is perhaps the most sweeping sequence of lyrics not only in this song but the entire musical. This moment in the entire production directly addresses the heart, beseeches spectators into this private, aching, conflicted, wondrous, hopeful, dire moment. For those are all what such a journey promise; to leave a precarious situation fills sleep with dreams of something better, safer; the machinations of forces mightier and more sinister than the loving family uproot generations from the corner of the globe that ought to be theirs.

It is excitement and dread, to look back on all that marked a person's land- the natural and the manmade- and say goodbye to it all. Is it even possible to? The echo of our past selves lingers there, like ghosts born with each passing second that goes by, made not by the death of a person but by the end of present life as we know it. They still wander places that saw us grow up, burned into our memories and with memories of their own, of us. These lyrics encapsulate just a few aspects of any place, but again it reflects that which is made by nature and that which man had a hand in, both elements of much that is seen anywhere.

Finally, Count Ipolitov, joined now by the other passengers, promises, I'll bless my homeland til I die. This vow becomes even more impactful each time it is repeated later, especially after How to break the tide / we have shed our tears / and shared our sorrows / though the scars remain / and tears will never dry they still can say they shall say blessings unto the land of their birth and upbringing. Even after acknowledging the hardship their home has brought. These words in part refer to the overall trauma of fleeing home, a catalyst for deep, aching, restless and indignant grief; but it also acknowledges the responsibility of their land for driving them to leave. Though it was all these people knew, Soviet Russia inspired fear, and the refugees do not skirt the fact: their land is a perpetrator in their sadness and hardship now. For all Russia has done for them, however it has made them, it also now is a reason they must leave. Yet they still harbor love for the land they are leaving, a weighted love, a dense, expansive, branching love irrevocably entangled in the pain for the loss they suffered and worry that became part of their daily lives.

The lyrics, however, do not specify a place; these words may be sung by individuals fleeing from anywhere, they are that universal, that penetrating, that human. And the extent to which the song explores the range of emotions invoked by fleeing is not over. Rather, it is seen again when Anya, Dmitry and Vlad each sing; for Anya it's never to return, for Dmitry finally breaking free, together they admit you are all I know / you have raised me before Vlad then all three wonder How to turn away / how to close the door / how to go where I have / never gone before. The world is vast, the corners we inhabit small even compared to some countries. There is comfort in familiarity and areas experiencing conflict that uproots people rips people from that soothing comfort, from the personalized habits they developed without even realizing it, from the memorized scents characteristic to each season, to each niche in their personal universe on Earth, the particular sound the grass makes under foot, the shape snow piles up on a neighbor's home, the blaze of the sun against sweeping swatches of dirt and sand. To leave an entire life and still be expected to go on living is no small thing; to move forward while still needing to gaze back, to remember how it all started, is impossible. The questions posed by Count Ipolitov and the trio are never answered not only because they are of unimportance right now but because they have no true answer. These are the last few moments within the border of what made them; seeking impossible answers about how to explain all these feelings and needs and fears does not need addressing. What matters is what can actually be done: remember and reflect. Wait at the door and savor that which may never be felt again.

The emotions explored in Broadway's Anastasia manifest with remarkable potency in "Stay, I Pray You." A particular homeland is never mentioned, and the thoughts and fears and hopes expressed by each émigré perfectly explores every element of this tumultuous endeavor. Hope and fear exist within the same hearts in different concentrations, mourning and celebrating all that deserves it, soaking in what once seemed so permanently theirs. A piece so timeless will always speak to our hearts, no matter the journey we embark on, for each emotion and thought is sparked into a flame with every monumental change. Indeed, "Stay, I Pray You" is perhaps one of the most successful tools in helping us all empathize with others as will ever exist, wrapping around the heart and injecting into our veins the rush of being suspended over a space of unknown depth, wondering what tomorrow will bring, knowing only what was.