ALEXANDER SCRIABIN IN RUSSIAN MUSICOLOGY AND ITS BACKGROUND IN RUSSIAN INTELLECTUAL HISTORY

by Don Louis Wetzel

A Dissertation Presented to the FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL University of Southern California In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY (HISTORICAL MUSICOLOGY)

May 2009

Copyright 2009

Don Louis Wetzel

Dedication

To my parents

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Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I would like to express my profound gratitude to the members of my dissertation committee: Bryan Simms (chair), Bruce Brown, Gerald Clausing, Giulio Ongaro, and Daniel Pollack for their continuing support and advice. Also, I would like to thank members of the USC Slavic Department, especially Tatiana Akishina and Daria Shembel, for their generous help in proofreading the Russian-English translations. Finally, I would like to thank my dear friends Klaus, Roland, Gottfried, Sam, Kurt, Willi, Gudrun, Gisela, Eva, John and Jae for all their encouragement over the years.

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Table of Contents

Dedication Acknowledgements Abstract Preface Chapter 1: A Survey of Writings on Scriabin Chapter 2: Historical Context Realism versus Romanticism Slavophiles and Westernizers The Silver Age of Russian Culture The World of Art Movement Chapter 3: Philosophical Perspectives Prince Sergei Trubetskoi Philosopher and Friend of Scriabin Vladimir Solovyov and Vladimir Ivanov Religion and Symbolism Biographers of Scriabin: Leonid Sabaneyev and Boris de Schloezer

ii iii v vi 1 36 36 45 60 72 94 100 111 134

Chapter 4: Boris Asafyev and Arthur Louri: Composer-Musicologists and their Contribution to the Legacy of Scriabin 149 Chapter 5: Georgiy Plekhanov and Anatoly Lunacharsky. Marxist Writers on Aesthetics and Scriabins Significance Chapter 6: Scriabins Legacy in the Post-Revolutionary Era Bibliography Appendices: Translations A. Sergei Trubetskoi On the Occasion of Scriabins Concert B. Leonid Sabaneyev Liszt and Scriabin C. Arthur Louri Alexander Scriabin and Russian Music D. Georgiy Plekhanov Letter to Dr. Vladimir Bogorodski E. Anatoly Lunacharsky On Scriabin F. Nikolai Zhilyayev A. N. Scriabin and His Creative work G. Viktor Belyayev Scriabin and Modern Russian Music

186 218 248 269 269 274 278 292 297 307 310

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Abstract The specialized writings by Russians of the early twentieth century on the composer Alexander Scriabin reveal an astonishing diversity of critical, political, and artistic viewpoints. The reasons for this variance can be found in the very personality of the composer. The elusive qualities of Scriabins music and the ambiguous nature of his ideas lent themselves well to this multivalence of interpretational standpoints. It was exactly these traits that insured the durability of his music in the tumultuous first decades of the twentieth century. The following dissertation discusses the social and philosophical influences on Scriabin and contextualizes the reception and various attitudes in Russia towards the composer. In an era when ideology and polemics played an important role, a perpetual conflict developed between the preservation of old values and the dissemination of new ideas. The controversy raged between the conservative and the progressive elements, realism and modernism, emotionalism and rationalism. Many of the creative minds in Russia were caught in the crossfire and fell victim to it. However, the disarming beauty of Scriabins music and his utopian ideals, although not entirely impervious to criticism, provided the composer and his legacy with a certain inviolability which would guarantee his survival within a highly unstable, metamorphic environment. The period covered in the dissertation extends from the end of the nineteenth century through the first three decades of the twentieth century, overlapping on occasion the early years of Stalinism. Here, it has been necessary to make certain comparisons with some later musicologists as well as those who were active before, during, and after the early years of the Communist Revolution. v

Preface

This is a study of the historical events and philosophical thinking that shaped the artistic development of Alexander Scriabin. It will reveal the profoundly Russian aspects of his nature, which music historians have often overlooked heretofore. The study is chronological, although for the most part, I have avoided Soviet musicology under Stalins reign of terror from the mid-1930s. Such writings reflect the total control by the Soviet government in artistic matters, placing them beyond the scope of this dissertation. Moreover, by that time, Scriabins legacy in Russia was secure; Soviet musicians, historians, and functionaries of the regime all regarded the composer as an inviolable national icon on par with Glinka and Tchaikovsky. Chapter One appraises the writings on Scriabin that have been readily accessible in the West; these are for the most part in English and German. The survey reveals that very little of this material has examined how the cultural and political history of nineteenth-century Russia formed the context in which Scriabin developed artistically. Further, the chapter illustrates that numerous critics, working within a narrow framework, have presented a distorted image of the composer. Many of these writers have relied on antiquated or unreliable sources. Others have based their information on dogma extracted from the books and articles written by music scholars who were working under the pressures of the totalitarian Soviet government. If Soviet scholars mentioned Russian Symbolism and Futurism at all, they played down the significance of these cultural movements in the creative world of Scriabin, dismissing them as decadent aberrations of vi

pre-Revolutionary Russia. Until very recently, Scriabin scholarship in Russia has dealt with the less controversial aspects of the composers creative work. Chapter Two reviews significant historical events of nineteenth-century Russia and weighs their impact on the political, literary, and artistic developments of that country. The section examines Russias struggle for national identity and search for lasting unity. These issues are reflected in the literature of the period which in turn had major implications for later cultural movements in Russia. The interaction between Russian national conservatism and progressive intellectual trends culminated in the cultural period referred to as the Silver Age. It was the era in which Scriabin lived and worked, and for this reason it receives special attention here. Chapter Three looks at the origins of philosophy within Russia and traces its development into the period of Scriabin. Here, religious tradition plays a major role. Orthodoxy supplies the moral foundation upon which Russian philosophy is constructed. One of the defining features of the latter is the sense that Russia has a unique and preordained role as moral leader to guide the entire world towards redemption. This section illustrates how these ideas found their way into Scriabins mind and his creative expression. Two of his most noted biographers, Leonid Sabaneyev and Boris de Schloezer, interpret these issues, and their respective works receive comparative analyses at the end of this chapter. Chapter Four presents the assessments of two outstanding Russian music critics who were also composers themselves, Boris Asafyev and Arthur Louri. Both men, advocates of modern music, contributed valuable essays on Scriabin that portray the composer as a reflection of the period in which he was creatively active. Further, they vii

analyze the composers work and explain his significance for the future of Russian music. They interpret Scriabins music in a manner acceptable in the post-Revolutionary context. Chapter Five examines Scriabin and his music from the point of view of Marxist aesthetics. At the time of the Revolution, the two leading Marxist philosophers were Georgiy Plekhanov and Anatoly Lunacharsky. This section explains their positions in support of modern culture, and in particular Scriabin. It demonstrates how revolutionaries were able to interpret the composers creative work in a manner that adhered to their ideology and thereby sustained his legacy through the era of communism. Chapter Six demonstrates how Russian musicians and critics of the early postRevolutionary period contributed to the enduring legacy of Scriabin. Among the evidence here are testimonies from some of the most renowned figures in Russian music during the first half of the twentieth century. Most importantly, this section reveals how Scriabins ideas and compositional style continued to have an impact on the younger generation of Russian composers. Regarding the transliteration of Russian words, I observe the current trend to simplify, omit diacritics, and make the text more accessible to a general audience. In general, I follow the system of the United States Board on Geographic Names. I have also avoided the confusing <> which replaces the so-called soft-sign in Russian. Elsewhere, I make abundant use of the letter y when it corresponds to that sound in the Russian word. This will help the reader to render a correct pronunciation of the transliterated words. The spellings of proper nouns that have been in common use especially the names of famous composers remain untouched.

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Chapter 1 Survey of Writings on Scriabin

The 1972 centenary of Alexander Scriabins birth witnessed intensified interest in the life and creative works of the composer. Since that year, nearly 300 articles and books on him have appeared throughout the world. Most noticeably, this upsurge has taken place in the English-speaking countries. This is documented by an examination of the main bibliographic sources in the field, in the compilations of Luigi Verdi and Daniel Bossard. This so-called revival has astonished some musicologists;1 in fact, it was an expansion of the already existing interest and research in the field. During the tense period of Stalinism and Zhdanovshchina (mid-1930s mid-1950s) no fewer than twenty articles had appeared in Sovyetskaya Muzyka either directly or indirectly mentioning Scriabin. In Western Europe, the fascination with the composer did not abate after his sudden death in 1915, as some might be inclined to believe; on the contrary, this unexpected and shocking event hastened a closer scrutiny of the whole Scriabin phenomenon. Subsequently, the new situation prompted numerous articles and books to appear on the subject. Nowhere was this more apparent than in England. The critical writings following historic performances of Scriabins music there provide insight into the attitudes that developed among English musicologists. The Russian conductor Sergei Koussevitzky had introduced English audiences much as he had done for Russian audiences to Scriabins orchestral works, in May

In his essay Scriabin and the Superhuman, Richard Taruskin has written that, scholarly interest in Scriabin has somewhat unexpectedly begun to revive.... in Defining Russia Musically: Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 312.

1909. There he led the London Symphony Orchestra in a performance of the composers Symphony No. 1. According to Koussevitzky, the concert was an immense success.2 One year later, the experience was the same when Koussevitzky conducted the Poem of Ecstasy. In February 1913, the English conductor Sir Henry Wood (1869-1944) gave a much anticipated performance of Scriabins Prometheus; the work was repeated immediately to an astonishingly receptive audience.3 The music historian Rosa Newmarch (1857-1940) wrote to Scriabin: The orchestra was full of enthusiasm. The impression was terrific, the applause warm and enthusiastic. Wood had to come out and take a bow three times (a thing unprecedented for a premiere). It may be of interest to you that among the people who listened to both performances I noticed Mr. Bernard Shaw, who was one of the greatest enthusiasts and applauded loudly, and also John Sargent, an artist, who cried out: We want to listen to Prometheus for a third time! . . . You have managed to express something new, ideal, deeply moving. I also believe you have made enthusiastic friends here.4 Responding to several invitations, Scriabin journeyed to England in March 1914 to conduct his works in person.5 He was received with a warm welcome and an overwhelming respect. In spite of some perplexed listeners and dissent among the more conservative factions, the audience demonstrated its approval of the innovative sounds of Prometheus. If there was any skepticism among the critics, it was far outweighed by the enthusiasm of the audience. A writer for the Musical Times, E. A. Baughan, reported:

Quoted in Olga Tompakova, Zobushchiy k svyetu. Aleksandr Skriabin v Anglii [Calling to Light: Alexander Scriabin in England] (Moscow: Muzyka, 1999), 27. 3 Ibid., 29. Tompakova includes five previously unpublished letters from Wood to Scriabin that testify to the very cordial relationship between the two men. 4 Ibid., 32. From a letter from Rosa Newmarch to A. N. Scriabin, Feb. 3, 1913; preserved at the State Memorial Scriabin Museum (SMSM) in Moscow; mf 26100, No. 859. 5 The London Concert Bureau Ibbs & Tillet arranged his concert tour of England. See Tompakova, 33.

On the 14th day of March in this year of grace Alexander Scriabins Prometheus was applauded with much enthusiasm by a very large audience in the Queens Hall. . . . The audience was composed of men and women accustomed to hear the best music the world has made, and yet they accepted Scriabin. The same audience had previously applauded Schnbergs Five Orchestral Pieces, so that it was at least consistent. You could not read any reflection of that popular enthusiasm in the writings of most professional critics. They either sat on the fence in aloof amusement, or clambered down to throw a small pebble or two at the daring composers. These facts are set down here as material for the historian of the future, so that he shall not write of Scriabin having been cast out by the London public. Nor should that historian place too much reliance on the statements in the public prints that the composer of Prometheus was honoured by the public because the public likes a new sensation.6 In an article the following year, the musicologist Ernest Newman sought to clarify the diverse reactions and opinions between the critics and the larger audience. He wrote: [The British public] has an intuition and a perfectly sound one that a person cannot become a world-figure in music without there being something in him; and that something the British public is willing, as a rule, to sample, without at all committing itself in advance to liking it. This explains why a certain number of people in England will go to hear a new work by Strauss or Debussy or Puccini or Stravinsky or Scriabin, while very few of them will to hear a new work by John Brown or William Robinson.7 Many of the periods most eminent English music critics, however, wrote quite positively in defense of Scriabins music and modernism. Among these early enthusiasts were Sir William Henry Hadow (1859-1937) and Philip Heseltine (pseud. Peter Warlock, 18941930). These two very different men one an aristocrat, the other a bohemian had at least one thing in common: they were respectful of musical heritage while at the same time able to perceive and acknowledge the important achievements of such men as
E. A. Baughan, On the Modern Language of Music, Musical Times 55, no. 854 (April 1, 1914): 231. Ernest Newman, The Public, the Critic, and the Native Composer, Musical Times 56, no. 865 (March 1, 1915): 142.
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Scriabin as part of the evolutionary development in music. Already in 1892, Hadow had denounced the stance of reactionary pundits in his essay Music and Musical Criticism: A Discourse on Method. He stated that we entirely decline to believe the reiterated assertion that the methods of today are wrong because they are not the methods of yesterday.8 In 1910, the year in which Sergei Koussevitzky conducted the London premiere of Scriabins Pome de lextase, Hadow wrote that the composers music is no laggard or timid art. . . . As his work proceeds it grows more sonorous, more impetuous more passionate. . . . It is music as free in thought and as vigorous as life, which has won strength, the rough discipline and liberty, through reverence for law. . . . Amid the younger composers of Europe there is none whose present achievement holds out greater promise for the future.9 Hadow continued to maintain this high esteem for the work of Scriabin throughout his life. In 1924, he delivered a presentation in which he discussed the communality of mysticism in the English and Russian characters. In this address he stated emphatically that the composer was the greatest of all recent Russians.10 Among those dissenters opposing the modernist sounds of Scriabin was Frederick Corder (1852-1932) composer, critic, and professor at the Royal Academy of Music.11 Following Maestro Woods first performance of Scriabins Prometheus, Corder wrote a sarcastic and reactionary article titled Wagner and Super-Wagner. In it he remarked,

William Henry Hadow, Music and Musical Criticism a discourse on Method, Studies in Modern Music (New York: Macmillan, 1892); cited in Colles, H. C., William Henry Hadow (1859-1937), obituary in Musical Times 78, no. 1131 (May 1937): 404. 9 Cited in Stuart, Charles, Fifty Years of Music Criticism, Tempo New Ser., no. 19 (spring 1951): 14. 10 W. Henry Hadow, The Balance of Expression and Design in Music (III), Proceedings of the Musical Association 50th Session (1923-1924): 96. 11 In the obituary of Frederick Corder which appeared in Musical Times on October 1, 1932, it is stated that he had added a new luster to the institution that he served. His class of instruction became famous, and for a long period it was almost identified with the re-birth of British music and the rise of a new spirit of adventure and independence among British composers. Among his students were Granville Bantock, Montague Phillips, and Arnold Bax.

Now if Scriabines Prometheus is music, then it is idle to pretend that the other works are also music, for you cannot name a point in which the two styles are not absolutely contradictory.12 This nave syllogism prompted the writer and composer Philip Heseltine to respond defiantly with his article Some Reflections on Modern Musical Criticism. Here he stated that the ever-recurring spectacle of critics who, being totally unable to keep pace with the musical thought of their day, seek to conceal their obtuseness by a lofty cynicism and feeble attempts at humor, is becoming monotonous, to say the least of it. The only humor in the situation lies in their own attitude.13 Deconstructing Corders anti-Scriabin logic, Heseltine concludes that it would be absurd to call anyone unmusical because the music of Schnberg or Scriabine meant more to him than that of Haydn or Beethoven, as it would be to call Mr. Corder unmusical for the taste he has professed in his letter to the Musical Times.14 Three English scholars of Russian music who wrote extensively on Scriabins life and works during the period from the 1910s are Arthur Eaglefield Hull (1876-1928), Montagu Montagu-Nathan (1877-1958), and Alfred Swan (1890-1970). The year following the death of Scriabin, Hull and Nathan published short guides to the piano works of the composer. Subsequently, Hull incorporated his material into the book Scriabin. A Great Russian Tone-Poet.15 In a review later in the century, another English musicologist, Gerald Abraham (1904-1988) referred to Hull as a pretentious charlatan. . . . who with characteristic impudence not merely wrote Notes on the
Frederick Corder, Wagner and Super-Wagner, Musical Times 54, n. 841 (March 1, 1913): 172-73; 172. Philip A. Heseltine, Some Reflections on Modern Musical Criticism, Musical Times 54, no. 848 (October 1, 1913): 652-54. 14 Ibid. 15 Arthur Eaglefield Hull, Scriabin. A Great Russian Tone-Poet (London: K. Paul, Trench, Trubner and Co., Ltd., 1916).
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Complete Pianoforte Works with Montagu-Nathans at his side but often lifted whole phrases, even sentences, verbatim without acknowledgment. Nor was Montagu-Nathan his only victim; someone had supplied him with translated excerpts from Evgeny Gunsts A. N. Skryabin i evo tvorchestvo [A. N. Scriabin and His Creative Work]. . . .16 Abraham proceeded to cite one particularly blatant example of these violations. Notwithstanding such accusations, Hulls interest in modern music theory17 led him initially to attempt analyses of Scriabins harmony which he then presented to the English Musical Association during its 43rd Session.18 In this discussion he states that we may safely say that the case of Scriabin presents the first occasion on which a really great composer has closely linked his music to the science of sound.19 Following this, Hull makes the point that Scriabin is nearly always credited with the invention of a new scale. This is absolutely wrong. He invented new chords, that is all.20 Less analytical from the music-theoretical standpoint was the 1923 Scriabin biography of Alfred Swan.21 The author himself a composer and fluent in Russian consulted original sources in the preparation of this book.22 He describes many interesting details of Scriabins personal life, but provides no musical examples in support of his discussions. Swans book Russian Music, published posthumously in 1973, contains a chapter Scriabin and Rachmaninoff in which he compares the styles of the
Gerald Abraham, review of Skryabin by Hugh MacDonald, Music and Letters 61, no. 1 (January 1980): 81-83. 17 Hulls Modern Harmony: Its Explanation and Application (1915) was translated into several languages. 18 A. Eaglefield Hull, Scriabins Scientific Derivation of Harmony versus Empirical Methods, Proceedings of the Musical Association 43rd Session (1916-1917): 17-28. 19 Ibid., 18. 20 Ibid., 19. 21 Alfred Swan, Scriabin (London: John Lane The Bodley Head Ltd., 1923). 22 The author, of English descent, was born in St. Petersburg, studied law at Oxford, and later returned to his birth city to study music. He is the translator of Boris Asafyevs 1930 book Russian Music from the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century (Ann Arbor: J. W. Edwards, 1953).
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two composers. He finds Rachmaninoff more diversified and influenced by folksong and the sounds of the Russian Orthodox Church.23 In a sweeping generalization typical of this period, Swan describes all the early works of Scriabin as Chopinesque while disregarding the profoundly Russian qualities in the music. He writes that Scriabin had immersed himself so completely in the world of Chopin, both as pianist and composer, that all those who heard him, except Safonov,24 expected little else. . . . Strangely, there are no typical Russian idiomatic expressions anywhere, either from folksong or from chant a fact which clearly reflects the hothouse atmosphere of his upbringing. Wrapped up as he had been in his favorite western composers, he apparently ignored all earlier developments in Russia.25 Some contemporaneous as well as more recent scholarship discussed below has examined these earlier works of Scriabin beyond the superficial hearing. It casts doubt on Swans statements. The decade of the twenties in England also witnessed a backlash against the burgeoning cult of Scriabinists. This is nowhere more evident than in the extended essay of Alexander Brent-Smith (1889-1950), Some Reflections on the Work of Scriabin.26 In this article, the author accuses Scriabin of having been musically unhinged, mentally confused, illogical,27 and calls his later music monotonous and senseless noise.28 Reacting against the new harmonic language, the religious conservative Brent-Smith finds that one cannot disavow the common chord without restricting the range of emotional expression. According to Brent-Smith, with a limited vocabulary it is
23 24

Alfred Swan, Russian Music (New York: Norton, 1973), 147-54. Vasili Safonov (1852-1918). Pianist, composer, and director of the Moscow Conservatory. 25 Swan, Russian Music, 152. 26 Alexander Brent-Smith, Some Reflections on the Work of Scriabin, Musical Times 67, no. 1001 (July and August 1926): 593-5 and 692-94. 27 Ibid., 593. 28 Ibid., 594.

impossible to say anything that is really heart-felt.29 With an attitude of Victorian prudery he rejects the implicit sexual nature of Scriabins music. Throughout his work we notice the emphasis he lays upon the sensual nature of his art a never-far-distant, quickly stirred eroticism. Indeed, the expression marks in his tenth Sonata, when read consecutively, give an unpleasant suggestion of grossness.30 On the same grounds, one church community made an attempt to ban Scriabins Poem of Ecstasy from a concert, citing the music unsuitable for performance in a place of Christian worship. . . . It is thoroughly morbid, erotic, and sensational in the worst sense of these terms, and its performance at Gloucester [Cathedral] would create a most undesirable precedent.31 Reactions and counter-reactions continued to play out in the press. For example, one reader, Ernest Fennell, responded, Mr. Brent-Smiths burlesque hardly does the composer justice. Placed in such a light of ridicule Holy Writ itself could be made to look absurd. . . . It is quite possible that Mr. Brent-Smith is temperamentally unable to appreciate such essentially un-English music. . . .32 Other well-known music historians in England proceeded to reassess the Scriabin phenomenon. Cecil Gray (1895-1951) had less-than-kind words for the composer which he expressed in his provocative book A Survey of Contemporary Music (1924).33 The author, praised for his profound musical knowledge and high literary talent,34 makes the following statement:

29 30

Ibid., 595. Ibid., 694. 31 Cambrensis, Scriabins Music and the Three Choirs Festival, Musical Times 63, no. 948 (February 8, 1922): 124. 32 Ernest Fennell, A Word for Scriabin, Musical Times 67, no. 1003 (September 1, 1926): 833. 33 Cecil Gray, A Survey of Contemporary Music (London: Oxford University Press, 1924). 34 Hubert Foss, Cecil Gray, 1895-1951, Obituary in Musical Times 92, no. 1305 (November 1951): 49698.

Scriabine has given us synthetic music, musicine, a product which bears much the same relation to music as margarine to butter, and saccharine to sugar. . . . Scriabines music has all the appearances of great art in the same way that culture pearls have all the appearance of real pearls. . . . It satisfies triumphantly all the more mechanical tests of criticism. It has all the appearance of art. Everything is there except the vital principle.35 Following this negative opinion, the critic Michael Calvocoressi (1877-1944) later attempted to explain the early fascination with Scriabin in his book A Survey of Russian Music (1944, based on lectures given at Glasgow University in 1935).36 In his assessment of the situation, the author provides the following argument: The critics and musiclovers who, by nature or by virtue of their musical experiences, were best qualified to see through Scriabin, had more important claims on their time and labor.37 Writing about the music as though it were a disease epidemic, he concludes, By now, it seems more than likely that no new wave of uncritical Scriabinism will spread.38 Noteworthy is the fact that Calvocoressi had been a very close associate of the impresario Sergei Diaghilev in Paris, with whom Scriabin was on extremely poor terms.39 There were other English musicologists during this period who presented a more balanced assessment of Scriabin the composer; among them was Herbert Antcliffe (18751964). He rejects the assertions of nearly all the earlier English music critics that Scriabin was a style imitator especially of Chopin. In his opinion:

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Gray, 155. Michael Calvocoressi, A Survey of Russian Music (Harmondsworth, England: Penguin, 1944). 37 Ibid., 86. 38 Ibid., 87. 39 Scriabin to Diaghilev in conversation (Paris, 1907): Let me remind you that I am actually a chosen representative of Art itself. . . .whilst you, you are privileged to gallivant about its fringe. . . . But for the likes of me such people as you would find it difficult to supply a reason for your existence! . . .; quoted in Arnold L. Haskell, in collaboration with Walter Nouvel, Diaghileff: His Artistic and Private Life (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1935), 153.

Actually, Scriabin was not like anyone of the composers with whom he has been compared, whatever details he may have acquired from them; for he represents in himself and in his work the opening phases of a new epoch in music. If it can be said that he carried on the work of any previous individual or any particular school, it was that of Liszt, through whom he descended from the German classical school, but whose ideas on programme music he developed quite independently of other composers in France, Germany and England.40 Admitting that it was still too early to determine Scriabins ultimate position in the evolution of music, Antcliffe welcomed and admired wholeheartedly the composers pioneering attempts to reach new methods of artistic expression. He has like Bach, Beethoven and Liszt opened up a new way.41 Following a description of Scriabins major works for piano and orchestra, he summarizes: We have to realize that the significance of his work lies in its independence of mere technique, in its adoption of both ancient and modern principles and its employment of the means to hand. When we recognize how far beyond his predecessors he was able to go with how little new machinery, we shall then begin to realize his significance and his position great or small, but certainly individual and at present unique among the composers of the last three centuries.42 In spite of the controversy that had developed among the critics and historians of this period, English conductors continued to perform the orchestral works of Scriabin, especially The Poem of Ecstasy. Albert Coates (1882-1953), who had been a student of Rimsky-Korsakov and a friend of Scriabin,43 remained an advocate of the composer,

40 41

Herbert Antcliffe, The Significance of Scriabin, Musical Quarterly 10, no. 3 (July, 1924): 335. Ibid., 336. 42 Ibid., 345. 43 Two letters from Scriabin addressed to Alexander Siloti and dated October 3 and 17, 1912, make reference to plans to have Albert Coates conduct Prometheus in Berlin later that year. See Skriabin: Pisma [Scriabin: Letters] edited by Kashperov (Moscow: Muzyka, 1965), 597-8.

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performing his music in Western Europe and on tours of the United States.44 Leopold Stokowski (1882-1977) was another English conductor who kept the legacy of Scriabin alive in Europe and later in the United States. The two Englishmen were also pioneers in the earliest recordings of Scriabins orchestral works, which furthered the exposure and fame of the composer. Coates recorded The Poem of Ecstasy already in 1920 with the London Symphony Orchestra,45 Stokowski recorded it in 1932 with the Philadelphia Orchestra.46 Discussing this same work in 1923, however, the chief music critic of the London Times, Henry Colles refers to the . . . real poverty of the music, once the first glamour of its strange harmony has passed away.47 At the same time, though, he is forced to admit: Scriabin is a composer about whom it is futile to argue. To some he is the evangelist of a new gospel; on others his music produces the unpleasant effect which one experiences on witnessing the hysterical outburst of a neurotic person.48 Noteworthy and somewhat ironic is the fact that Colles was a disciple of Hadow, who as was stated above had held Scriabin in very high esteem.49 In the following decade, Calvocoressi and Abraham collaborated on the book Masters of Russian Music.50 The two historians were considered the major authorities on
44

Richard Aldrich, music critic for the New York Times, wrote on Feb. 27,1922, following a performance of the New York Symphony Orchestra, . . .and Scriabins Pome dExtase [was] repeated by request. . . There was much enthusiasm for Mr. Coates, who was vigorously applauded. 45 Albert Coates, dir., Poem of Ecstasy, Op. 54, by Alexander Scriabin, London Symphony Orchestra (1920), 78 rpm: Columbia L1180-82; 65016-18D; re-released in 1978 as LP: Past Masters PM 11. 46 Leopold Stokowski, dir., Poem of Ecstasy, Op. 54, by Alexander Scriabin, Philadelphia Orchestra (1932), 78 rpm: RCA Victor 17195; re-released in 1993 as a CD: Pearl GEMM 9066. 47 Quoted in the New York Times; London Critic Finds Scriabin Cloying, 30 Sept. 1923, R3. 48 Ibid. 49 Richard Aldrich wrote, . . . [Colles] is a graduate of Oxford University, where he attended Worcester College and came largely under the influence of W. H. Hadow (now Sir W. H. Hadow), one of the most genial and profound of contemporaneous musical writers and thinkers. In Guest Critic to Give Views of Music Here, New York Times, 7 October 1923, X6.

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Russian music in England at that time. Both fluent in Russian, the scholars were able to draw on and compile information from native sources. The two-volume work containing the biographies of fourteen major Russian composers included a lengthy chapter fortyeight pages on Scriabin written by Abraham. While the book was recognized as a major contribution, the reviews of Masters of Russian Music were nevertheless mixed. William McNaught (1883-1953), critic for The Musical Times and later its chief editor found Abrahams section on Scriabin to be a first-rate study.51 In contrast, the English musicologist and composer Edward Lockspeiser (1905-1973) thought the work to be too anecdotal,52 which, indeed, is the case; the work relies heavily on many of the stories documented by one of Scriabins most important biographers, the Russian composer and critic Yuli (Joel) Engel (1868-1927). Abroad, the French musicologist and composer Paul-Marie Masson (1882-1954) recognized the importance of such biographical information, but regretted the lack of work analyses and aesthetic considerations.53 In all fairness, however, Abraham did examine these aspects in his companion book of the same period, Studies in Russian Music.54 In this volume, he tends to emphasize nonRussian traits not only in Scriabin, but also Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff. He writes: But it is in the manner of handling the very fabric of music, and even more in the sources of inspiration, that we find men

M. D. Calvocoressi and Gerald Abraham, Masters of Russian Music (London: Duckworth; New York: A. Knopf, 1936). 51 W. McN., review of Masters of Russian Music, by M. D. Calvocoressi and Gerald Abraham. Musical Times 77, no. 1120 (June, 1936): 516-17. 52 E. Lockspeiser, review of Masters of Russian Music. Music and Letters 17, no. 3 (July, 1936): 263-64. 53 Ces tudes veulent tre strictement biographiques. On y chercherait en vain des analyses duvres ou des considrations esthtiques. Mais ces biographies ont t enrichies dune foule de documents nouveaux, provenant surtout de publications russes. Paul-Marie Masson, review of Masters of Russian Music. Revue de Musicologie 19, no. 65 (1938): 24. 54 Gerald Abraham, Studies in Russian Music (London: W. Reeves, 1936).

50

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like Tchaikovsky, Scriabin and Rachmaninov ranging themselves with Western musicians rather than with their compatriots.55 It was perhaps with this in mind that the English musicologist Hugh Macdonald (b. 1940) wrote, . . . he [Abraham] held opinions (on Scriabin, for example) which are out of favor today.56 The sustained attention and interest accorded Scriabin during the first quarter of the twentieth century in England found no equivalent in other West European countries. The hegemony of German musical culture before World War I was surely a major contributing factor to this situation. Scriabin concertized in different cities in Germany on several occasions, most notably Berlin and Leipzig, but his performances elicited more skepticism than inspiration. The comments of several contemporaneous German writers on music confirm these reactions. The composer and critic Oscar Khler (1851-1917) wrote that Scriabin was following the paths of Debussy and even attempting to surpass him in his harmonic and rhythmic peculiarities as he made apparent in his Dsir, Opus 57.57 The assessment of the music historian Arthur Smolian (1856-1911) was even less flattering. . . . Indeed I attended the concert where Alexander Scriabin performed his own works. He applied his cute Chopin-addictive and iridescent-concupiscent trifling talent to several small works and unfortunately also to a sonata, without leaving any

Ibid., Ch. 1, The Essence of Russian Music, 5-6. Hugh MacDonald, Gerald Abraham (1904-1988), obituary in 19th-Century Music 12, no. 2 (autumn 1988): 188-89. 57 Dazu kommt noch, dass sich der Komponist in den Bahnen Debussys bewegt und diesen an harmonischen und rhythmischen Absonderlichkeiten sogar zu bertreffen sucht, wie er in seinem Desir Op. 57 deutlich zu erkennen gab. Oscar Khler, review of Scriabins Leipzig piano recital, Neue Zeitschrift fr Musik (Leipzig) February 24, 1911, vol. 9, p. 132; repr. in Christoph Hellmundt, Alexander Skrjabin: Briefe (Leipzig: Reclam, 1988), 365.
56

55

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deeper impression.58 Earlier in 1905, the composer and critic Walter Niemann (18761953) had praised Scriabin as a piano composer; but as far as his orchestral works were concerned, he dismissed them with the following negative explanation: That such an intimately sensitive and exceedingly elegant composer as Scriabin would be unable to produce anything of lasting strength and value in the larger forms of a concerto or symphony was already evident in his natural predisposition.59 Noteworthy is the fact that Niemann, in contrast to many early critics, was able to cite numerous instances of typically Russian stylistic influence in the works of Scriabin. Further, in a reverse maneuver, he dared to suggest that Debussy had imitated Scriabin. . . . one passage (page 9, pi vivo) in Scriabins Fantasy, Opus 28 [1900] reappears almost literally in Debussy (finale to Lle joyeuse [1904]). . .60 One German musicologist and journalist who understood Scriabin and endeavored to enlighten the German public about the composer during the early decades of the century was Oskar von Riesemann (1880-1934). Born in Russia, he worked for a German newspaper in Moscow and was a personal friend of Scriabin.61 He translated Scriabins notebooks from the years 1900-1906 into German, publishing them in 1924 as Prometheische Phantasien.62 Noteworthy is also his German translation of Istoriya

58

. . . Wohl aber wohnte ich dem Konzert bei, in dem Alexander Scriabine als sein eigener Interpret sein hbsches, Chopin-schtiges und Farbenspiel-lsternes Bagatelle-Talent in zahlreichen kleinen Stcken und leider auch in einer Sonate aufsprhen machte, ohne damit irgendwie tiefer berhren zu knnen. . . Arthur Smolian, review of Scriabins Leipzig piano recital, Signale fr die Musikalische Welt (Leipzig) 24 February 1911, No. 10, p. 392; repr. in Hellmundt, 365. 59 Dass ein so intim fhlender, beraus feinnerviger Tonpoet wie Scribine in den grossen Formen des Konzerts und der Symphonie nichts von dauernder Durchschlagskraft und bleiben Werte schaffen wrde, lag in seiner Naturanlage schon begrndet. Walter Niemann, Alexander Scribine, Neue Zeitschrift fr Musik 40 (September 27, 1905): 757-60. 60 . . . eine Stelle (S. 9, pi vivo) in Scribines Phantasie op. 28 kehrt fast wrtlich bei Debussy (Schluss der Lle joyeuse) wieder . . . Ibid., 757. 61 Hellmundt, 433. 62 Alexander Skrjabin, Prometheische Phantasien, trans. and ed. Oskar von Riesemann (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlagsanstalt, 1924).

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Russkoi Muzyki [The History of Russian Music] by Leonid Sabaneyev (1881-1968), which contains information about the composers musical and spiritual development.63 The following decade witnessed increased interest in theoretical aspects of Scriabins music in the German-speaking countries. In 1935, the German music critic and musicologist Hans Heinz Stuckenschmidt (1901-1988), otherwise a recognized scholar on Schoenberg and Stravinsky, produced a thematic-structural analysis of Scriabins Fifth Sonata in F-sharp minor, Op. 53. This essay was published in the Schweizerische Musikzeitung. The author explained that beyond the thematic and harmonic aspects, the one-movement structure serves to accommodate the programmatic content of the work; he cites precedents for such compositional methods. From this programmatic idea can be explained the basic one-movement structure in Scriabin. Single-movement sonata forms, which have existed since Beethoven (C-sharp minor Quartet), are nothing extraordinary in the new music. Liszt and Richard Strauss were also ahead of Scriabin.64 During the same year, in Switzerland, the musicologist Paul Dickenmann (1905-?) published his book Die Entwicklung der Harmonik bei Skrjabin65 using a Kurthian approach to analysis by which aspects of philosophy are applied. Also from 1935 is the well-known essay Geschichtliche Vorform der Zwlftontechnik by the Polish musicologist Zofia Lissa (1908-1980). She maintained that, The harmonic technique of Scriabins later works demonstrates in their method of

63

Leonid Sabaneyev, Geschichte der Russischen Music, trans. and ed. Oskar von Riesemann (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Hrtel, 1926; repr. Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1982). 64 Aus dieser programmatischen Idee erklrt sich bei Skrjabin auch die prinzipielle Einstzgkeit. Einstzige Sonatenformen sind seit Beethoven (Cis-Moll-Quartett!) nichts Seltenes. Auch Liszt und Richard Strau sind Skrjabin darin vorangegangen. Hans Heinz Stuckenschmidt, Skrjabins Fis-MollSonate, Op. 53, Schweizerische Musikzeitung und Sngerblatt (Zurich) April 15, 1935, No. 8, pp. 293-97. 65 Paul Dickenmann, Die Entwicklung der Harmonik bei Skrjabin, (Bern: P. Haupt, 1935).

15

construction extensive analogies with the twelve-tone technique.66 According to Lissa, Scriabin employs a structural technique for his compositions that she calls a System des Klangzentrums. In this system, a chordal harmony provides the basis for an entire piece including its melodic formations. Lissa also maintains that the so-called Prometheus chord of Scriabins symphonic poem, Op. 60, is not the only Klangzentrum that the composer used for his later works. In this opinion, she stands at odds with leading music scholars such as Karatygin, Asafyev, Sabaneyev, and Schloezer. In her essay, Lissa also cites two major differences between the technique of Scriabin and that of Schoenberg. First, Scriabins Klangzentren are made up six tones not twelve and share some features with the scales of the tonal era. Second, Scriabins melodies need not follow a consistent order or tone row. According to Lissa, the common aspect between the systems of Scriabin and Schoenberg lies in their synthetic nature. In terms of their origins, however, she views Scriabins scales as more chordal (vertical) and Schoenbergs as more melodic (linear).67 After 1935, the twentieth anniversary of Scriabin death, one notices a sharp decline in the scholarly literature on the composer published in Western Europe. Economic and political crises certainly had led to nationalist sentiment, but above all, the essential art of Scriabin, Russian in its very nature, gradually, though not permanently, lost its appeal in the West. This was, however, not the case in the East in the Soviet Union. The historic reasons for this will be clarified in the chapters that follow.

66

Die harmonische Technik der spteren Werke Skrjabins zeigt nun in ihren Aufbaumethoden weitgehende Analogien mit der Zwlftontechnik. Zofia Lissa, Geschichtliche Vorform der zwlftontechnik [Historical Prototype of Twelve-Tone Technique], Acta Musicologica 7, no. 1 (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Hrtel, 1935): 15-21; 18. 67 Ibid., 19-21.

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During the period of National Socialism, World War II, and immediately following, no major books or essays on the subject of Scriabin appeared even in German. In the 1950s, however, the composer once again became topical. The Russian biography of the composer by the eminent Soviet musicologist Lev Danilyevich (1912-1980), viewed the composer from an entirely socialist standpoint, and was translated into German.68 Other writings of Soviet Scriabin scholars were also translated into German and other languages. In this context, the work of Arnold Alshvang (1898-1960) deserves mention. His essay Die Stellung Skrjabins in der Geschichte, published in 1964, examines the interaction of musical influences of various composers in particular, Chopin, Liszt, und Debussy that played a role his creative development.69 For example, he emphasized, The assertion that Scriabins piano works of the last decade of the nineteenth century are bound up exclusively in the Chopinesque mindscape is utterly onesided. 70 In other countries of Western Europe, the appreciation of Scriabins music during the first half of the twentieth century remained at a rather steady and moderate level. France, however, represents a special case. A large community of Russian musical migrs was living in Paris. One would imagine that Scriabins music could have achieved the same enormous success that it had enjoyed in Moscow and St. Petersburg. This was the case during his first tours of the1890s. Later, however, as Diaghilev dominated and determined the path of Russian musical life in Paris with opera and ballet,
68

Lev, Danilevich, A. N. Scriabin (Moscow: Muzgiz, 1953); German trans. Margarete Hoffmann (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Hrtel, 1954). 69 Arnold Alshvang, Die Stellung Skrjabins in der Geschichte Beitrge zur Musikwissenschaft 6, no. 2 (Berlin: Verlag Neue Musik, 1964): 143-50. 70 Die Behauptung, Skrjabins Klavierwerke aus dem letzten Jahrzehnt des 19. Jahrhunderts seien ausschlielich der Vorstellungswelt Chopins verpflichtet, ist jedoch mindestens einseitg. Ibid., 143.

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Scriabins music lost some of its attractiveness. By 1921, the composers brother-in-law, Boris de Schloezer (1881-1969), who was then living in Paris, published a lengthy article on Scriabin in which he wrote the following: . . . France continues to ignore one of the greatest masters of Russian music, while it acclaims and idolizes so many others.71 Among other Scriabin scholars who immigrated to France was Leonid Sabaneyev (to be discussed in detail in a later chapter). He left Russia in 1926 as a consequence of the political and cultural upheaval. Living in Paris, he was free to express his evaluations of Russian musical culture even more forcefully than he had already done under the increasingly repressive climate of the USSR. Another famous Russian musicianimmigrant, the violinist Nathan Milstein, reminisced about his encounters in Paris with the famous musicologist: Sabaneyev, whom I had met back in Moscow, didnt look too glamorous either: he wore a cheap suit and generally seemed pathetic. He even smelled bad. It was hard to believe that in Russia this man had been one of our most influential critics, a man whose reviews decided the fate of many musicians. . . . Sabaneyev had a brilliant and caustic pen. . . .72 Along with Boris de Schloezer, the critic Sabaneyev contributed to keeping alive in the West the memory of Alexander Scriabin. He published many articles in French and English on the composer and included a chapter on him in his book Modern Russian Composers.73 His magnum opus Vospominaniya o Scriabina [Reminiscences about

71

. . . la France continue ignorer un des matres les plus grands de la musique russe, tandis que tant dautres y sont accueillis et consacrs. Boris de Schloezer, Alexandre Scriabine, Revue Musicale 9 (July 1, 1921): 28-46; 29. 72 Nathan Milstein and Solomon Volkov, trans. from the Russian by Antonina W. Bouis, From Russia to the West: The Musical Memoirs and Reminiscences of Nathan Milstein (New York: Limelight Editions, 1991), 74 73 Leonid Sabaneyev, Modern Russian Composers, trans. from the Russian by Judah A. Joffe (Freeport, NY: Books for Libraries Press, Inc., 1927, repr., 1967).

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Scriabin] has appeared recently in a German translation.74 It is now the most often quoted source for the study of Scriabin. Scriabin scholarship in recent years has encompassed several broad areas including cultural, political, music theoretical, aesthetic and religious-philosophical studies. Music historians have been conducting biographical research, examining various memoirs and correspondences; these have shed light on Scriabin as a pedagogue, his relationship to fellow musicians, and his attitude toward other composers. The most complete collection of letters available was published in Moscow in 1965 under the editorship of Alexei Kashperov, a leading Soviet musicologist. A significant number of these letters also appeared in the Reclam, Leipzig German edition, 1988, translated and edited by Christoph Hellmundt. The correspondence between Scriabin and his mecaenas Mitrofan Belyayev (1836-1904) was published separately in St. Petersburg in 1922, edited by the renowned ethnomusicologist Viktor Belyayev.75 Following the death of Mitrofan Belyayev, Scriabin found material support from the wealthy Moscovite Margarita Morozova. The two corresponded regularly from 1904 through the end of 1908. Many of these letters were preserved and are contained in the volume by Kashperov. From year 1908 onwards, the composer was financially secure, through a generous annual stipend from the conductor-impresario Sergei Koussevitzky (1874-1971) and through concert honoraria resulting from growing international recognition.

Leonid Sabanejew, Erinnerungen an Alexander Skrjabin, trans. Ernst Kuhn (Berlin: Verlag Ernst Kuhn, 2005). 75 Viktor Belyayev, Perepiska [Correspondence] A. N. Skriabina i M. P. Beliaeva. 1894-1903 (St. Petersburg: Gosudarstvennaia akademicheskaia filarmoniia [State Academy of the Philharmonic], 1922).

74

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Following the break with Koussevitzky in 1911,76 however, Scriabin was largely dependent upon himself for his livelihood and that of his family. Although by that time he could sustain himself through royalties from concerts and score publications, after his death in 1915 his family relied on the generosity of members of the Scriabin Society and the magnanimity of men such as Koussevitzky77 and Rachmaninoff, who saved the family from destitution. The American Scriabin biographer Faubion Bowers has indicated in his book that no letters between the composer and Koussevitzky survived;78 indeed, none were published in the Kashperov edition, but some do exist in the correspondence collection of the Serge Koussevitzky Archive at the Music Division, Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.79 The problematic relationships and mixed attitudes between Scriabin and his famous contemporaries Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and Igor Stravinsky are well-known. Scriabins influence on the latter as well as the younger generation of composers, Prokofiev, Myaskovsky, and Shostakovich, has been pointed out frequently.80 This subject area, though, is now being re-examined by such noted scholars as Larry Sitsky and Peter Deane Roberts. In an earlier case, shortly after the death of Scriabin, Rimskys widow, Nadezhda, had attempted to reinterpret and clarify her husbands negative

A conflict arose between Scriabin and Koussevitsky in which the latter had reinforced his demands on performance and publication rights that had been verbally established, to the dismay of the composer. See Leonid Sabaneyev, Reminiscences about Scriabin (Moscow: State Music Publishers, 1925), 97-112. 77 Nicolas Slonimsky, Writings on Music, Vol. 2: Russian and Soviet Music and Composers (New York: Routledge, 2004), 52. 78 Koussevitzky in a fit of disgust destroyed all correspondence from Scriabin, a remarkable gesture for that self-conscious era when everyone thought everyone else a genius and that the future held high stakes of fame and value for all of them. See Faubion Bowers, Scriabin, 2nd revised edition (Mineola, NY: Dover, 1996; orig. pub. in Palo Alto: Kodansha Intl., 1969), Book 3, 224. 79 The Serge Koussevitzky Archive, Correspondence Box-Folder 54/26-27. 80 See, for example, Boris Schwarz, Music and Musical Life in Soviet Russia, 1917-1981 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1972; expanded and republished 1983), passim.

76

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comments about Scriabin found in his autobiography.81 She maintained that these had nothing to do personally with Scriabin, whom she and her husband found to be a very gracious human being.82 Elsewhere, Shostakovichs comments about an unhealthy eroticism83 in Scriabin must also be viewed not as a true assessment, but one which the still young composer felt necessary to make for the sake of self-preservation during a time in the 1930s when his own music would soon be under attack from the authorities of an increasingly repressive regime. Shostakovichs own Symphony No. 1 (1925) and Piano Sonata No. 1 (1926) show occasional traces of Scriabins influence in their scoring and gesture. Later, in1972, Shostakovich assumed the chairmanship of the Scriabin Centenary Commission and prepared the opening address for the occasion. The work of Alexander Scriabin is close and dear to us, his compatriots, men and women of the first socialist country which opened up new horizons for humanity in the twentieth century.84 More recently, Richard Taruskin has revisited and scrutinized more closely the Scriabin-Stravinsky constellation. He has suggested that the latters negative opinion of Scriabin85 was a result of unreciprocated respect. Stravinsky received little esteem from the famous modernist composer from Moscow.86 Indeed, Scriabin appears to have been indifferent towards the music of all his contemporaries. That with which he was familiar
81 82

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakoff, My Musical Life, trans. Judah A. Joffe (New York: A. Knopf, 1923). N. N. Rimskaja-Korssakow, Rimskij-Korssakow und Skrjabin, in sterreichische Musikzeitschrift (October/November 1950), 221-24; originally written in 1915 shortly after the death of Scriabin this memoir was translated into German from Sovyetskaya Muzyka no. 5 (1950). 83 Rose Lee, Dimitri Szostakovitch: Young Russian Composer Tells of Linking Politics with Creative Work, New York Times December 20, 1931; article dated Moscow, Dec. 5, 1931. 84 Facsimile of the original Russian autograph handwritten by Shostakovich available online at http://members.bellatlantic.net/~restemey/Scriabin/ScriabinShostCritlarge.GIF 85 Stravinsky: . . . Scriabin isnt a musician at all. . . . I never liked him as a composer, and dont see that a musician can possibly like him. Leonid Sabaneyev, Beseda so Stravinskom [Conversation with Stravinsky], Zhisn iskusstva [Life of Art] (Leningrad) June 14, 1927; quoted in Stephen Walsh, Stravinsky: A Creative Spring: Russia and France, 1882-1934 (New York: A. Knopf, 1999), 449. 86 Richard Taruskin, Stravinsky and the Russian Traditions: A Biography of the Works through Mavra, vol. 1 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 797.

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was for the most part presented to him by his tag-along friend, the mathematiciancomposer Leonid Sabaneyev.87 Scriabins commentaries were published in the latters book on the composer, in which compositions of both Stravinsky and Prokofiev were dismissed with the verdict minimum of creativity.88 Scriabin had been ostensibly very disparaging in nearly all his judgments. Recently, Taruskin has uncovered evidence that indicates Scriabins influence was not only present in Stravinskys earliest piano works, for example, the Piano Etudes, Op. 7 (1908); his analyses substantiate a continuation of the influence through the orchestral works Firebird (1910), Zvezdoliki (King of the Stars, 1911-12; text by the Russian Mystic-Symbolist poet Konstantin Balmont [1867-1942], a friend of Scriabin), and even into Petrushka (1911).89 Among other Russian composers, this influence can also be found in the very early works of Prokofiev (as in the Piano Sonata, Op. 1 and the Piano Pieces, Op. 4) and more obviously in the symphonies of the composer Nikolai Myaskovsky, who is less known in the West. Beyond Russias borders, an association with Scriabins compositional style and harmony, and various aspects of mysticism and synaesthesia, can be found in the creative work of the French composer Olivier Messiaen. In America, Scriabins stylistic influence has been identified in the works of Charles Griffes, Ruth Crawford, and some early compositions of Aaron Copland.90 The issue of Scriabins enduring influence, now a major theme in contemporary musicological research, is a subject dealt with in the following chapters. It is also a topic
Leonid Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Skriabine [Reminiscences of Scriabin] (Moscow: State Music Publishers, 1925). 88 Minimum tvorchestvo [Minimum of creativity], Scriabin quoted in Sabaneyev, 288. 89 Taruskin, Stravinsky, 795. 90 See Peter Dickinson, Copland: Early, Late and More Biography, Musical Times 131, no. 1773 (November 1990): 582-85.
87

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discussed in David Haass 1998 published dissertation, Leningrads Modernists: Studies in Composition and Musical Thought, 1917-1932.91 In this study, the author emphasizes, among other things, the significant role played by the St. Petersburg pianist, composer and theory professor Vladimir Shcherbachyov (1887-1952) in perpetuating the stylistic legacy of Scriabin. Shcherbachyov had played the celesta part in the St. Petersburg premiere of Scriabins Prometheus,92 a work described by Haas as the quintessential work of Silver Age syncretism.93 Later, Shcherbachyov established a new method of teaching composition in Leningrad the Shcherbachyov School which incorporated ideas of Scriabin and developed these among other into a direction referred to in Russian as Polistilistika (polystylism). This new style, according to Haas, subsequently influenced the compositional styles of Mosolov, Popov, Shostakovich94, Schnittke, and others.95 The tradition of including Scriabin in the theory curriculum at the Leningrad Conservatory continued in the classes of Prof. Mikhail Mikhailov.96 The RussianAmerican musicologist Boris Schwarz (1906-1983) witnessed one such session in 1962 and reported: Because of my limited stay in Leningrad, I visited only a few classes in order to have more time for personal interviews. I remember an hour in Mikhail Mikhailovs class on Scriabin as a fascinating experience. Under discussion was Scriabins late period, and the examples played in class demonstrated
David Edwin Haas, Leningrads Modernists: Studies in Composition and Musical Thought, 1917-1932 (New York: Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., 1998). 92 Alexander Ivashkin, Letter from Moscow Post October Soviet Art: Canon and Symbol, Musical Quarterly 74, no. 2 (1990): 303-17. 93 Haas, 108. 94 Haas examines certain affinities in the thematic structure and lyricism between Scriabins Third Symphony, The Divine Poem, and Shostakovichs First Symphony. See Haas, Chapter. 7: 155-75. 95 Ivashkin, 311. 96 Mikhailov has written a biography of Scriabin (Leningrad: Muzyka, 1966) and a research essay, The National Sources in Scriabins Early Works, in Russian Music at the Border of the 20th Century (Leningrad: Muzyka, 1966).
91

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anew how far ahead of his time this master had been. Mikhailov traced Scriabins relationship to Debussy; and though the older Soviet generation (especially Prokofiev and Shostakovich) was anti-Scriabin, Mikhailov felt a certain influence in the second movement of Shostakovishs First Symphony. Prokofiev even dedicated one of his early pieces to Scriabin. A satisfactory analysis of Scriabins late period is still lacking, Mikhailov said, though Yavorskys theories have contributed to his understanding.97 Schwarz, a violinist and conductor as well as musicologist, made several research trips to USSR from his post at Queens College, New York. His book Music and Musical Life in Soviet Russia, 1917-1981, an ASCAP winner, provides much first-hand knowledge of the evolution of music under the former communist regime. The work includes contemporaneous attitudes concerning the pre-Revolutionary music of the Silver Age to which Scriabin belongs. It is also a valuable bibliographic reference source. In the book there is no noticeably negative influence regarding Scriabin remaining from Schwarzs period of studies with Paul Henry Lang at Columbia University. In his 1941 book Music in Western Civilization, Lang had propagated a very disparaging assessment of Scriabins position in music history. Towards the end of this encyclopedic interdisciplinary study, Lang examined the state of music in a section titled The Decline of the West? His comments on Scriabin and his music tantamount to a diagnosis of mental illness are the following: Experiment then became the final aim, as is so tragically demonstrated in the works of Alexander Scriabin (1872-1915), whose whole art, nay whole life, was a mere experiment, a supernatural dream, and whose mind, possessed by demonic forces, penetrated deeper and deeper into the mire of mystical speculations, hallucinations, and dementia.98

97

Boris Schwarz, Music and Musical Life in Soviet Russia, 1917-1981 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1972; expanded and republished 1983), 388. 98 Paul Henry Lang, Music in Western Civilization (New York: W. W. Norton, 1941), 1025.

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He continued to dismiss Scriabins late orchestral work Prometheus, Op. 60, on whose harmony all of the composers subsequent pieces are based, as an unruly maze of tones.99 Music-history textbooks in English-speaking countries in the second half of the twentieth century have tended to treat the case of Scriabin more kindly and in a manner comparatively more reasonable and less biased than in Langs monumental opus. They have recognized the importance of Scriabins historical position. Whatever opinions the authors hold regarding the significance of Scriabins philosophical wanderings, they have attempted to explain him in the context of the musical evolution of Russia before, during, and after the Silver Age. But books on Russian music published in the West have avoided the very confusing world of Russian Symbolism and its effects on Scriabin. Most of these volumes address the topic peripherally, touching on mysticism, but do not give a clear explanation of either. Instead, they deal with incontrovertible biographical details and stylistic comparisons. In the 1950s, Richard Leonard wrote a survey of Russian music in which he dedicated a complete chapter fifteen pages to the topic of Alexander Scriabin. It includes the usual characterizations of a composer so dazzled by his divine hallucinations that he lost touch with reality, writing second-rate Chopinesque pieces, and caught up in a transition between Romanticism and Modernism.100 However, the author did credit Scriabin with having provided his country with the first substantial piano literature by any Russian composer.101

99

Ibid., 1026. Richard Anthony Leonard, A History of Russian Music (London: Jarrolds, 1956), 211. 101 Ibid., 225.
100

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The next book on Russian music to appear in English was by James Bakst.102 Here, too, the topic of Scriabin received a separate chapter. Its eleven pages contain the usual biographical information, but this book on the whole smacks of socialist ideology. Bakst seemed intent on discrediting Scriabins personal beliefs and those of the entire pre-Revolutionary era in which he lived. But on the whole, the composer is ultimately forgiven, because Scriabins music was a reaction and protest against Russian social conditions of his time.103 In reviewing this book, Boris Schwarz stated, Professor Baksts concept of Russian music closely parallels the views held by Soviet musicologists. . . .104 Schwarz also found that Baksts low appraisal of Scriabin was unsuitable. If Tchaikovsky has been overrated, Scriabin is underrated. It may well be true that Scriabins music ignored intonations which express Russian life and social realities and that his philosophy is an anachronism in Russian culture. Far more important than his obscure philosophy is Scriabins purely musical significance: he broke the stranglehold of narrow nationalism and prepared Russian music for a concept of non-tonality, a development that was abruptly terminated by his early death in 1915. The affinity between Scriabin and Schoenberg has been brought out by Russian and Polish musicologists some decades ago but is overlooked in this book.105 The obscure philosophy reference by Schwarz is also quite typical for the period in which he wrote this review. Russian Symbolism was still a suppressed topic associated with bourgeois decadence. Anathema to official dogma, its impact on the creativity of

James Bakst, A History of Russian-Soviet Music (New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1962, repr. 1966). 103 Ibid., 271. 104 Boris Schwarz, review of A History of Russian-Soviet Music, by James Bakst, JAMS 20, no. 2 (summer, 1967): 304-7. 105 Ibid., 306.

102

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Scriabin could not be discussed. In spite of certain objections, Schwarz found Baksts book to be thought-provoking and an overall valuable contribution if read critically. Neither Bakst nor Leonard provided musical examples to support their positions. This was also the case with a third study, Gerald Seamans History of Russian Music106 from the same period. In a 1969 review, Malcolm Brown assessed this work alongside that of Leonard. Brown wrote that Seaman almost wholly extracted, by way of direct paraphrase and verbatim quotation, from the music history textbook prepared under the editorship of Professor Mikhail Pekelis and used widely during the 1940s in Soviet Russian conservatories and music schools.107 On the other hand, he criticized Leonard, who relies essentially on the standard secondary literature in English for his history. . . . Unfortunately, a number of these old standard studies were outdated at best or at worst inexact when Leonard turned to them.108 Ultimately, Brown dismissed both of these works as inadequate, stating neither Gerald Seaman nor Richard Leonard has succeeded in satisfying the need for a modern, critical, comprehensive history of Russian music in English.109 The next major study of Russian music printed in English did not appear until 2002. Translated from the original Dutch version (1996), Francis Maess A History of Russian Music: from Kamarinskaya to Babi Yar traces the history of the countrys music from Glinkas orchestral fantasy (1848) through Shostakovichs Thirteenth Symphony (1962). Chapter Nine covers the Silver Age, providing a basic overview of the period

106 107

Gerald Seaman, History of Russian Music (New York: Praeger, 1967). Malcolm Brown, review of History of Russian Music, by Gerald Seaman, and A History of Russian Music, by Richard Leonard, Notes 26, no. 1 (Sept., 1969): 24-26. 108 Ibid., 26. 109 Ibid.

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with no new information. As with the books mentioned above, Maess survey, unfortunately, contains no music examples. His book has received mixed reviews. Gerald Seaman has chastised Maes for his exclusive use of secondary, non-Russian sources, the disregard of many Russian sources that exist in English translation, and the heavy reliance on the writings of his mentor, Richard Taruskin.110 As an example, Seaman points out that Maes has neglected to mention Nikolai Findeisen (1868-1928), the brilliant progenitor of Russian musicology, whose long-lasting and immensely influential Russkaya muzykalnaya gazeta (Russian Musical Gazette), regarded by some as one of the most remarkable musical periodicals ever produced, performed an invaluable task in publishing critical articles on aesthetics and the development of Russian music.111 Indeed, correspondence between Scriabin and Findeisen testifies to the unusually high esteem in which the composer held the Russian journalist.112 The Dutch historian Willem Vijvers also draws attention to the inherent dangers of imbalance in Maess presentation of the material. By ignoring most of the recent research in other countries and concentrating on Taruskins publications, he presents a biased view.113 Graciously, though, Vijvers concluded that we should be grateful that a single-volume history of Russian music is finally available in English. Readers who feel daunted by Taruskins writings should give it a try. However, Maes should have looked further for sources on Russian music in general. Maes did, in any case, devote nine pages of his book to Scriabin, presenting the composer in the broad cultural context of Russias Silver Age in
Gerald Seaman, review of A History of Russian Music: From Karaminskaya to Babi Yar, by Francis Maes, Slavic Review 61, no. 4 (winter 2002): 885-86. 111 Ibid., 886. 112 See Pisma [Letters] edited by Kashperov for correspondence, esp. 1907, between Scriabin and Findeisen. 113 Willem Vijvers, review of A History of Russian Music: From Karaminskaya to Babi Yar, by Francis Maes, Musical Times 144, no. 1882 (spring 2003): 72-73.
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which Symbolism played such a decisive role. Briefly, he mentions Solovyov, Bely, Ivanov, and attempts to clarify the concept theurgy. In reference to the period of Russian Symbolism and Scriabin, three significant essays in English were published in the 1970s. Martin Cooper outlined and explained the impact that the Russian Symbolist poets had on contemporaneous thinking and Scriabins musical creativity.114 Malcolm Brown wrote an essay in which he focused more specifically on the synthetic and theurgic aspects of Russian Symbolism in the first decade of the twentieth century and the interaction between the literary and musical representatives of the movement.115 Ralph Matlaw pursued these issues further in his article Scriabin and Russian Symbolism,116 in which he traced the relevant religious historical background and demonstrated its effect on Scriabins synthetic ritual theater. He also took account of Scriabins texts from notebooks as indications of the creative developments in the composers late period. More recently, Susanna Garcia has attempted to apply the Symbolist aesthetic in her analysis of the composers last sonatas. In her article Scriabins Symbolist Plot Archetype in the Late Piano Sonatas, Garcia defined the composers Symbolist vocabulary and demonstrated how this could explain the narrative line in these last works within a sonata-allegro structure.117 The recapitulations represent in sound the symbolic return of the Eternal Feminine (the earthbound secondary themes) to the Masculine (divine primary themes). This reestablishes the original unity following a phase of dematerialization. This process is a
Martin Cooper, Aleksandr Skryabin and Russian Renaissance, Studi Musicali 1, no. 2 (1972): 327-56. Malcolm Brown, Skriabin and Russian Mystic Symbolism, 19th-Century Music 3 (July, 1979): 4251. 116 Ralph E. Matlaw, Scriabin and Russian Symbolism, Comparative Literature 31, no. 1 (winter, 1979): 1-23. 117 Susanna Garcia, Scriabins Symbolist Plot Archetype in the Late Piano Sonatas, 19th-Century Music 23, no.3 (spring, 2000): 273-300.
115 114

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musical synthesis following those same ideas that were especially fundamental to the second generation of Russian Symbolist writers, poets, and philosophers. The concept of synthesis of the various art forms central to Russian Symbolism has also been explored in the recent literature. In his book Russian Opera and the Symbolist Movement, Simon Morrison has investigated this topic extensively.118 Chapter Three, Scriabin and Theurgy, is devoted to the philosophical background and development of the composers monumental schemes, Preparatory Act and Mysterium.119 Morrison has emphasized here the importance of the Germans Kant, Schopenhauer, Wagner, and Nietzsche as well as the Russians V. Solovyov and V. Ivanov in the evolution of Scriabins ideas. In the introduction to the book, Morrison underscored the importance of Andrei Belys landmark essay On Theurgy, which appeared in the Russian Symbolist journal Novy Put [New Path].120 Morrison has provided a brief historical account and definition of theurgy tracing its origins back to the philosopher Iamblichus. He has explained Scriabins position as the poet-artist-musician and demiurge, divinely chosen to facilitate the apocalyptic event. The chapter contains diagrams, music analyses, and, most valuably, numerous translations from the composers notebooks. Directly associated with Symbolism is the harmony of Scriabin based on the composers so-called mystic chord. There were numerous attempts throughout the twentieth century to crack Scriabins harmonic code. Jay Reises essay Late Skriabin:

118

Simon Morrison, Russian Opera and the Symbolist Movement (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). 119 Ibid., 184-241. 120 Ibid., 7-9.

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Some Principles behind the Style is exceptional in its manner of presentation.121 Reise exposes the weaknesses in the arguments of the theorists Sabaneyev, Dernova, Eberle, and Perle and examines their theories of overtones, whole-tones, atonality, chromaticism, serialism, and octatonicism. Reise makes several important points, supporting these with numerous examples from Scriabins work. He states, Because the symmetrical scales are derived from the tonal vocabulary, and because Skriabin treats them as diatonic units colored by the non-diatonic pitches, his approach cannot be accurately described as serial but rather as chromatically modal.122 In the articles summary, Reise also concludes, Skriabins basic procedures for pitch organization can be simply and briefly stated: four of the six tones of the mystic chord form a French sixth, while the other two function as chromatic notes depending on whether a given passage is in the octatonic or whole-tone scale.123 The period of Russian Symbolism presented numerous problems for the postRevolutionary regime. The three decades of the Silver Age could not simply be erased from the pages of cultural or political history of Russia. In many ways they provided a foundation for the period to come. In this area of research, two recent publications deserve mention. In his book Music of the Repressed Russian Avant-Garde, 1900-1929 Larry Sitsky has compiled a collection of some thirty biographies of Russian musicians during the given period.124 He has also provided valuable information on many lesserknown composers, analyzed and listed their works. The influence of Scriabin is topical
Jay Reise, Late Skriabin: Some Principles behind the Style, 19th-Century Music 6, no. 3 (spring 1983): 220-31. 122 Ibid., 227. 123 Ibid., 231. 124 Larry Sitsky, Music of the Repressed Russian Avant-Garde, 1900-1929 (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1994).
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throughout the entire survey. For example, Chapter 3, Alexei V. Stanchinskiy: The Diatonic Webern, compares the similarities of the piano etudes of this composer with those of Scriabins Opus 8. Each chapter contains an abundance of music examples to support the claims of the author. Conspicuously missing, however, is an extended discussion of the position of Reinhold Glire (1875-1956), who taught at the Moscow Conservatory and whose Third Symphony (Ilya Murometz, 1911) betrays the lateRomantic Scriabinesque harmony found in Pome de lextase. Importantly, Sitsky has included an examination of Sergei Protopopov (1893-1954), a composer and conductor whose style derives from late Scriabin. He has stated that Protopopovs contribution to the piano literature must be seen as a possible extension of Scriabins thought. Sitsky also emphasizes in regard to the structure of Protopopovs piano sonatas that the composer was a fanatic adherent to Boleslav Yavorskys theories of modal rhythm,125 popular in the first half of the twentieth century. In another recent book, Music for the Revolution: Musicians and Power in Early Soviet Russia, Amy Nelson analyzes the interactions between the various cultural and political factions and demonstrates the impact on musical life. This work contains valuable information on the structural hierarchy of internal state organizations such as Narkompros. Nelson points out an important conflict within official cultural policy: dissolution of traditional harmony in the works of modernist composers could be viewed either as a new point of departure or decadence associated with pre-Revolutionary

See Gordon D. McQuere, The Theories of Boleslav Yavorsky, Russian Theoretical Thought in Music (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1983), 109-64.

125

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bourgeois society.126 In this context she discusses the position of the composer, theoretician and critic Boris Asafyev (1884-1949),127 his role in promoting modernism, reforming music education, and diplomatic maneuvering in protecting the lives and legacies of fellow composers within the structure of a totalitarian system. Other distinguished historians and critics discussed in the pages of the book include Leonid Sabaneyev (1881-1968), Vladimir Derzhanovski (1881-1942), Viktor Belyayev (18881968), Mikhail Ivanov-Boretsky (1874-1936), and Konstantin Alekseyevich Kuznetsov (1883-1953).128 Of these scholars, only Sabaneyev immigrated to the West. Among the Russian musicologists who immigrated to the United States, two prominent names deserve mention: Nicolas Slonimsky (1894-1995) and Andrei Olkhovsky (1900-?). In a collection of Slonimskys writings published in 2004, an article on Scriabin from 1969 was included.129 It contains some interesting personal anecdotes Slonimsky had been a board member of the Kiev Scriabin Society and friend of the composers family before his departure in 1923. Unfortunately, his retrospective outside view of the Scriabin situation under the Soviet regime does not give a completely accurate account. He viewed Scriabin as an isolated phenomenon with little influence. Andrei Olkhovsky, a dissident musicologist who left the Soviet Union in 1942, lived and worked in the United States from 1949, gave perhaps a more accurate assessment of the
Amy Nelson, Music for the Revolution: Musicians and Power in Early Soviet Russia (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2004), 54. 127 Three important books of Boris Asafyev are available in English translation: Russian Music from the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century, trans., Alfred Swan (Ann Arbor: Edwards Brothers, Inc., 1953); A Book About Stravinsky, trans. Richard F. French (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1982); Musical Form as Process, trans. and com. James Robert Tull (Ann Arbor: UMI, 1985). 128 Least known in the West, Konstantin Alekseyevich Kuznetsov is the author of a book of musical portraits of Russian composers, a history of Russian music, and a monograph on the life of Glinka. 129 Slonimsky, Alexander Scriabin, in Writings, 48-56; orig. pub. in Boston Symphony Orchestra program book, 1969. In this essay the author stated that he accompanied the rescue team that retrieved the body of Scriabins son Julian who drowned in the Dnepr River in 1918.
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appreciation of Scriabin after the Revolution. In his book Music Under the Soviets: The Agony of an Art (1955) he stated, In the process of developing modernism in music Scriabin played a major role, not merely in Russian music.130 In this context Olkhovsky also emphasized Scriabins philosophical leanings as significant in overcoming past musical traditions.131 Mention should be made here also of Olkhovskys son Yuri, professor emeritus at Georgetown University;132 his book on the controversial art-music critic Vladimir Stasov (1824-1906) reassesses the latters position and influence in the history of Russian music. Music authorities in the Soviet Union had presented Stasov continually as an unwavering proponent of Realism Socialist, of course publishing only selectively his writings. This attitude had been more or less adopted by musicologists in the West. Yuri Olkhovsky corrected this by offering a more balanced view of Stasov. The relaxation of strict ideological guidelines during the period of Glasnost under Gorbachev and the final collapse of the USSR led musicologists in Russia to become increasingly more interested in Scriabins relationship with the countrys Symbolist writers of the Silver Age. The eminent Soviet musicologist Olga Mikhailovna Tompakova, who up until this period had one major credit to her name the monograph on the Stalinist composer Ivan Dzerzhinsky (1909-1978)133 has written a chronicle of the life of Scriabin (1985). It contains less of the state ideology that characterized the standard Scriabin biography of Lev Danilyevich (1953), or even in the later one of Igor
Andrey Olkhovsky, Music under the Soviets: The Agony of an Art (New York: Praeger, 1955), 25. Ibid., 26. 132 Yuri Olkhovsky, Vladimir Stasov and Russian National Culture (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1983). 133 Dzerzhinskys opera TikhiyDon [The Quiet Don] (1935) had received the official approval of Stalin. See Anna Ferenc, Music in the Socialist State in Neil Edmunds, ed., Soviet Music and Society under Lenin and Stalin: The Baton and Sickle (New York: Routledge, 2004), 8-18.
131 130

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Belza (1982). Tompakova, in contrast, has included information on Symbolism and, indeed, has recently (1995) published a series of small brochures on the subject (among her many for visitors to the Scriabin Museum, Moscow). Each booklet is separately devoted to one of Scriabins Symbolist friends Balmont, Baltrushaitis, and Ivanov and discusses his relationship to the composer. Beyond the research of Symbolism, but not unrelated, is the interaction between light and sound. The phenomenon synaesthesia with which several Russian artists and composers were purportedly endowed (Rimsky-Korsakov, Scriabin, Kandinsky), has been an area of active research at the Prometheus Institute of the University of Kazan in the Russian Federation. An official website is maintained and supported by a grant from the Russian Foundation for Humanitarian Research at http://prometheus.kai.ru. Many of the articles and research reports notably those of Bulat Galeyev and Irina Vanetschkina are available at the website. Some of these have appeared also in the English-language art periodical Leonardo and contain information relevant to the latest research on Scriabin.

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Chapter 2 Historical Context

Realism versus Romanticism. The several decades of the nineteenth century preceding the extraordinary appearance of Alexander Scriabin were characterized by a forceful movement in Russian literary and intellectual circles away from the legacy of eighteenth-century Classicism through a relatively brief period of a quasi-imitative-import Romanticism into the starkly controversial and highly consequential era of Russian Realism. Indeed, the lastmentioned term often became nothing less than a euphemism for the revolutionary movement that was to impact the country for the next 150 years. In spite of certain reactionary trends against Realism as found, for example, in the Russian version of Symbolism of the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, the former never truly lost momentum, but instead found expression in various styles of Modernism and Futurism. Thus, nineteenth-century Russia witnessed and experienced an interaction of those constituent elements characteristic of Romanticism, Realism, and Modernism that then later merged together. This confluence and subsequent amalgamation of seemingly opposing aesthetics manifested themselves and found an outlet of artistic expression in the composer-philosopher Alexander Scriabin. The creative and philosophical ambiguities so often cited in discourse about his work and personality represent the result of this phenomenon and have since lent themselves well towards manifold critical interpretations. In spite of these various and often conflicting opinions held by critics 36

regarding the inherent depth and value of the composers works, none of these critics have denied the immense impact of Scriabin on Russian music. To perceive and evaluate more clearly the diversity of critical positions taken by Russian scholars in the early twentieth century, it is necessary to develop a cogent retrospective understanding of the evolution of literary, social, and musical criticism in nineteenth-century Russia. From the ages of the so-called cultural despots Peter the Great (1672-1725) and Catherine the Great (1729-1796), musical activity in Russia had been determined largely by Western European schools mainly German and Italian, which literally set the tone in the capital of St. Petersburg. This influence also continued throughout the nineteenth century, but no longer unchecked and without opposition. In this respect, a watershed date in the history of modern Russian cultural criticism was the year 1812. During 1812, the Russians managed to repel the Napoleonic forces from their country and to secure the immediate future of their Tsarist Empire. Aside from the geopolitical consequences, the war had set in motion a national trend towards selfawareness, pride, and identity. Russians began to confront their own self-image in its allencompassing reality. Here, too, is to be found the root of conflict with Romanticism, which will be discussed below. If Russians were not willing to let themselves be conquered, divided, and occupied politically, why should they allow this to occur culturally? New guidelines needed to be established for the purpose of self-preservation. A distinction needed to be established between that which was innately Russian and that which was of European import or adulterated by such. This gradually led to the midcentury conflict between Slavophiles and Westernizers (Russian: Zapadniki). 37

In spite of the French military campaign into Russia and subsequent debacle, the ideas of the Enlightenment and various concepts of social reforms and liberty continued to develop under the relatively liberal Tsar Alexander I (1777-1825), who through his defeat of Napoleon came to be known as the Savior of Europe. During the latter part of his reign, from approximately 1816 until his death in 1825, the movement later to become known as Decemberism the month of a failed coup-dtat attempted to bring a legislative form of government to Russia. The Decembrists, headed by Nikita Muraviev in the north (St. Petersburg) and Pavel Pestel in the south (Kiev), were members of the educated aristocracy, who formed into secret societies similar to those of the Freemasons. They may have in detail disagreed with one another, but their ultimate goal was the abolition of the autocratic form of government and serfdom, a system of bondage not unlike that in the southern states of the United States before the Civil War. Taking advantage of disturbances brought about by the interregnum separating the reigns of Alexander I and Nicholas I, the rebels attempted a coup dtat, but alas failed and were swiftly dealt with by the following regime. Thus, there began a period of repression that proved instructive for Stalinist forces one hundred years later. Under Nicholas I (1796-1855), the techniques of repression, and in particular those employed by the notorious secret police, the so-called Third Department, had the original goal of stabilizing the traditional powers of the Tsarist regime at a time when the European countries in the West were expanding the boundaries of freedom and establishing legislative forms of government.1 These measures produced enormous pressure, which sought and found a release in artistic-literary creativity. Consequently,
1

P. S. Squire, The Third Department: The Establishment and Practices of the Political Police in the Russia of Nicholas I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), 48.

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the earlier Romantic portrayal of courtly life was soon contrasted with the truly desolate conditions found in Russian society. The writer Mikhail Lermontov (1814-1841), twice arrested, convicted, and banished, alludes to the atmosphere of state surveillance in verses composed during his exile: Farewell, unwashed Russia Land of slaves, land of masters, Both you, sky-blue uniforms, And thou, nation subservient to them Perhaps, beyond the Caucasian hills I shall conceal myself from thy tsars, From their all-seeing eye, From their all-hearing ears.2 It was also in Lermontovs most celebrated novel, A Hero of Our Time (1840), that we experience how deeply Realism had penetrated and textured the works of Russian Romanticism. T. J. Binyon describes the novel as a romantic tale in a realistic frame.3 In the Authors Introduction, Lermontov states: A Hero of Our Time, gentlemen, is indeed a portrait, but not of a simple individual; it is a portrait composed of all the vices of our generation in the fullness of their development. You will tell me again that a man cannot be as bad as all that; and I shall tell you that since you have believed in the possibility of so many tragic and romantic villains having existed, why can you not believe in the reality of Pechorin? If you have admired fictions far more frightful and hideous, why does this character, even as fiction, find no quarter with you? Is it not, perchance, because there is more truth in this character than you would desire there to be? You will say that morality gains nothing from this. I beg your pardon. People have been fed enough sweetmeats; it has given them indigestion: they need some bitter medicine, some caustic truths. However, do not think after this that the author of this book ever had the proud dream of becoming a reformer of mankinds vices. The Lord preserve him from
2 3

Quoted in Squire, 235. T. J. Binyon, Introduction to Lemontovs A Hero of Our Time (New York: Knopf, 1992), 7.

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such benightedness! He merely found it amusing to draw modern man such as he understood him, such as he met him too often, unfortunately, for him and you. Suffice it that the disease has been pointed out; goodness knows how to cure it.4 Realism in its artistic-literary expression has been placed incorrectly later in the century by numerous scholars. However, it actually appears to have developed almost simultaneously as part of a Russian Romantic-Realist hybrid. In his History of RussianSoviet Music, James Bakst writes in his chapter on musical trends 1860-1900, Literature describing Russian life and social conditions began to appear. In 1880, Dostoevsky completed The Brothers Karamazov.5 In truth, Feodor Dostoevsky (1821-81) had already shown the horrible face of human suffering in Russia at a much earlier date in his writings at the latest during his period of internment from 1850 to 1854 at the notorious Omsk Prison in Siberia.6 In accordance with the repressive measures under Tsar Nicholas I, the writer had been arrested on April 22, 1849 for having attended and observed meetings of the radical socialist group known as the Petrashevsky Circle.7 A few years earlier, in 1846, his first novel Poor Folk appeared, which was praised for its social text by the Father of Russian Realism Vissarion Belinsky (1811-48).8 Between 1836 and 1842, Nikolai Gogol (1809-52), comic writer of the grotesque and model for the later Austrian writer Franz Kafka, composed Part One of what is now considered to be one of

Lermontov, Authors Introduction, A Hero of Our Time (New York: Knopf, 1992), 15-16. James Bakst, A History of Russian-Soviet Music (New York: Dodd, Mead & Co., 1962), 99. 6 W. Bruce Lincoln, Between Heaven and Hell (New York: Penguin, 1998), 159. 7 Liza Knapp, ed. and transl., Dostoevsky as Reformer: The Petrashevsky Case (Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1987). 8 Robert Belknap, Dostoevsky, in Victor Terras, ed., Handbook of Russian Literature (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), 103.
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the great prose novels of Russian Romanticism, Dead Souls. Belinsky interpreted this work, however, as a realistic indictment of contemporary Russia.9 The transitional period from Romantic Idealism into Realism is referred to as the Natural School. In his article on this topic and in reference to Dead Souls, John Schillinger writes, Though Gogols characters were more grotesque than realistic, Belinsky used them to make the point that Russian reality was indeed grim.10 Both Gogol and Dostoevsky may be considered exponents of the phenomenon of Russian Romantic Realism characterized by a pursuit of the metaphysical and the fantastic, the frequent use of symbols, a tendency to seek out the extremes of the human condition, and vestiges of stylization along the lines of traditional genres.11 Here is anticipated the clear parallel found later towards the end of the nineteenth century in the creative musical work of Alexander Scriabin, which will be analyzed below in the varying positions of the critics commenting on his works. Taking a retrospective view even further back, one can consider the title figure in one of the great Russian literary works, Eugene Onegin (1833) by the national poet Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837). Onegin, although a fictional character, is the realistic representation of an individual in the contemporaneous Russian aristocratic society. In this verse novel, Pushkin juxtaposes the polarities of Romanticism and Realism phenomena that led to the serious conflicts in the authors own life. In 1836, the year before his fatal death in a duel similar to Onegins, Pushkin founded the literary journal Sovremennik (The Contemporary). At first leaning towards Romanticism, it subsequently
Abbott Gleason, European and Muscovite: Ivan Kireevsky and the Origins of Slavophilism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972), 191. 10 John Schillinger, Natural School, in Terras, 294. 11 Terras, 376.
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became one of the most important press organs for the radical Realist writers and was finally closed down thirty years later in 1866, since it was seen as representing a threat to the government of the Reform Tsar Alexander II.12 The leaders of the Realist movement sought revolutionary social reform, which stood in conflict with the gradual transitional reforms being implemented by the imperial government. The abolition of serfdom had recently (1861) precipitated a major change in the structure of Russian society and the long-term developments could not yet be predicted. Nearly all of the great thinkers in Russia had been opposed to this state-sanctioned form of slavery. Following in the footsteps of the Westernizer Belinsky and his concepts of Realism was the so-called trio of civic writers: Nikolai Dobrolyubov (1836-61), Nikolai Chernyshevsky (1828-89), and Dmitry Pisarev (1840-68). In its extreme form known as Nihilism, Realism emphasizes scientific rationalism and the complete emancipation of the individual. Of course, the views promulgated here stood in direct conflict with the traditional social values of contemporaneous Russia and were vehemently opposed by the Slavophiles, whose trust in faith and confidence in the teachings of Eastern Orthodoxy as the purist form of Christianity were viewed as the salvation not only of their homeland and culture, but of the entire world. Both Westernizers and Slavophiles sought a formal construct to bring about a social utopia. Although they held this ideal in common, their paths leading to it were fundamentally different. The three leading figures of the mid-nineteenth-century Slavophile movement were Alexei Khomyakov (1804-60), Ivan Kireevsky (1806-56), and Konstantin Aksakov
12

Sigmund Birkenmayer, Sovremennik, in Terras, 445.

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(1817-60). These thinkers furthered the concepts of organic collectivism (sobornost), communality (obshchinnost), and faith (vyera), which were based on the communion of love as laid down in Eastern Orthodoxy. They glorified the Russian peasantry (narod) as defenders of these traditions and sought a return to the conditions of pre-Petrine times, i.e., before the country had fallen under the influence of Western Europe and especially the trends of German philosophical thought. In particular, the idea of sobornost as developed by Khomyakov deserves special mention. It found its way later into the metaphysical theories of the mystic Vladimir Solovyov (1853-1900), which were to influence the Russian Symbolists. In turn, the Symbolists were to have an enormous impact on the life and creative thinking of Scriabin. In contradistinction to individualism as promoted by the Realists, the Slavophile doctrine of sobornost offered a path towards universality through which fraternal communion would culminate in the apotheosis of mankind. In his book The Religious Philosophy of Vladimir Solovyov, Jonathan Sutton writes: At the far end of the spectrum from isolation and individuation stands sobornost. Sobornost is a central theme underlying the thought of Dostoevsky and Solovyov. It is an ideal standard of unanimity and community by which to measure all human relations. Dostoevsky and Solovyov both believed that, if followed in the true spirit, the Gospel teachings allow us to draw sufficiently close to that ideal standard to experience a deeply transformative reorientation of our human, initially self-assertive will.13 Neither Dostoevsky nor Solovyov may be considered staunch followers of the Slavophile movement. Indeed, Dostoevsky promoted a reconciliation between the two factions of Westernism and Slavophilism in the so-called Pochva Movement a return to the

13

Jonathan Sutton, The Religious Philosophy of VladimirSolovyov: Towards a Reassessment (London: MacMillan Press, 1988), 190.

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Soil.14 For his part, Solovyov found truth in the writings of the Realist Chernyshevsky and viewed art as having an objective function. Developing this further, however, in the spiritual and metaphysical realm, Solovyov maintained that the true artist endowed with creative ability possessed transformative powers. This phenomenon, known as theurgy, found its way into the mind of Scriabin and became an outlet in his creativity. This is the subject of a recent book by Marina Lobanova15 and will be discussed further in the context of Symbolist writers. The philosophical teachings of Vladimir Solovyov derived from the progressive-revolutionary positions of the Realist-Westernizers as well as the idealist-reactionary positions of the Romantic-Slavophiles. The fronts were not clearly demarcated, but were characterized by contradiction, ambiguity, and to some degree personal rivalry. It was in this atmosphere of contention that Russian music criticism evolved during the nineteenth century. Just as the basis of much inquiry and discourse in politics, art, and literature had been How Russian is Russia? and How Russian should Russia be? in order to preserve its national identity and traits (narodnichestvo), so, too, the conflict of Russianism and Westernism in music became topical in the intellectual communities. Whether Russia was to re-isolate itself and pursue an indigenous musical culture free from foreign influence, or succumb entirely to the external pressure emanating from Europe which for the most part meant Germany led to intense debates. Indeed, this situation ultimately determined the diverging aesthetic directions of musical development in Russia.

Andrzej Walicki, The Slavophile controversy: History of a Conservative Utopia in Nineteenth-Century Russian Thought, trans. Hilda Andrews-Rusiecka (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), 531. 15 Marina Lobanova, Mystiker,Magier, Theosoph, Theurg: Alexander Skrjabin und seine Zeit (Hamburg: Bockel Verlag, 2004).

14

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Slavophiles and Westernizers. The 1860s experienced an intense polemical battle of aesthetics between two opposing groups. On the one side were the reactionary-conservatives; on the other were the progressives. The first group was made up of European-educated artists for the most part under German influence who sought to establish a conservatory system for the training of future Russian musicians and composers. At the head of this group was the pianist Anton Rubinstein, who enjoyed the support of the Russian nobility and aristocracy, and in particular that of the aristocratic art patroness the Grand Duchess Elena Pavlovna, a German by birth.16 Under Rubinsteins leadership, the Russian Musical Society (RMS) was created in 1859 and granted a charter for a college of music. In September, 1862, the doors opened to Russias first conservatory of music.17 In fear that this foreign-modeled, German-style institution could potentially undermine the inchoate national character and direction of a New Russian School of Music, the pianist-composer Mily Balakirev (1837-1910) and renowned choral director Gavril Lomakin (1812-1885) founded the so-called Free Music School (FMS) during the same year to compete with the aesthetic ideals of the former.18 Officially, it was opened as a free school of singing, but the concept behind it was to promote and secure the aesthetic ideals of the nationally oriented group of individuals who adhered to the doctrine of musical Slavophilism and emphasized artistic Realism.19 It is ironic that the Russian Father of Realism, Vissarion Belinsky, was actually a Westernizer opposed to the
16

Robert Ridenour, Nationalism, Modernism, and Personal Rivalry in 19th-Century Russian Music (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1981), 151. 17 Ibid., 38. 18 Ibid., 33. 19 Ibid., 127.

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Romantic notions of the literary Slavophiles. His involvement shows the ambiguities in the aesthetics and unclear dividing lines which separated the two musical camps. In the years prior to the founding of the RMS Conservatory, Anton Rubinstein had been actively campaigning towards achieving the goal of a music school in St. Petersburg. In the international press he uttered disparaging views on the state of music in Russia. He regarded any endeavor to establish a so-called national school of music as a quest doomed to failure. In an article published in Vienna in 1855, Rubinstein speaks of the unfortunate attempts of Mikhail Glinka, the father of Russian music, to compose national opera A Life for the Tsar and Ruslan and Ludmilla. In opera, he writes, every element of feeling, such as passion of love, jealousy, revenge, cheer, sadness, etc. are [sic] common to all peoples of the earth, and therefore a musical setting of these universal feelings must carry in it not a national sound, but a world sound.20 In addition, Rubinstein wrote that these two works suffered from a sick state of monotony.21 Incensed at the brutal criticism, Glinka countered with a barrage of anti-semitic verbal attacks against Rubinstein, referring to him as that impudent yid.22 Unaffected, Rubinstein continued his campaign to argue for a professional school of music in which future artists would receive a structured education following a pre-determined curriculum. As the establishment of such seemed imminent, he wrote yet another article on the subject, Music in Russia,23 in which he stated that presently only amateurs are engaged in music in Russia. This, of course, harvested the displeasure of the national
20

Anton Rubinstein, Die Componisten Rulands, Bltter fr Musik, Theater und Kunst 33 (May 1855). Denn jedes der Oper innewohnende Gefhlselement, wie die Leidenschaft der Liebe, Eifersucht, Rachsucht, Heiterkeit, Trbsinn usw., sind allen Vlkern der Erde eigen, daher die Inmusiksetzung dieser universellen Gefhle nicht einen Volkston, sondern einen Weltton an sich tragen mssen. 21 Ibid. 22 , quoted in Boris Asafyev, Anton Rubinshtein (Moscow: State Publishers, 1929): 61. 23 A. Rubinstein, Music in Russia, Vek 1 (1861), repr. in Asafyev, Rubinshtein, 87-92.

46

school, among its members the official aesthetic advisor and propaganda critic Vladimir Stasov (1824-1906). The latter maintained that true artists needed no conservatory training. In response to Rubinsteins expos, Stasov wrote a sobering counter-argument including the following statements: The establishment of conservatories and progress in art are by no means synonymous. Even if not one, but many conservatories were to be set up here, there is no certainty that this would really benefit art. On the contrary, such a step might even prove harmful. . . . Nowadays the prevailing opinion in Europe is that academies and conservatories serve only as a breeding ground for mediocrities and help to perpetuate deleterious artistic ideas and tastes. Because of this, in the matter of art education, the best minds are seeking ways of getting along without higher educational institutions. . . . The conservatories in Italy and France did not raise the musical level of those countries; they did not further musical education or even produce the valuable school of teachers they were expected to. In Germany the golden age of music preceded the establishment of the conservatories; all of her greatest talents were educated outside of them. . . . The time has come to stop transplanting foreign institutions to our country and to give some thought to what would really be beneficial and suitable to our soil and our national character.24 Nearly everything associated with Anton Rubinstein was anathema to the Slavophiles of the Balakirev Circle, the majority of whom felt threatened by his power and influence. Stasov, who was an important spokesperson for the group and wrote cleverly in a deceivingly balanced but biased manner, was highly critical of Rubinstein. Notwithstanding the greatness of Rubinstein the pianist, Stasov went so far as to assess

From an article originally published in 1861 in the periodical Severnaya Pchela [The Northern Bee], Stasov quotes himself in his essay Twenty-five Years of Russian Art: Our Music, Vestnik Evrop [European Bulletin] (October 1883), English trans. by Florence Jonas in Gerald Abraham, ed., Vladimir Vasilevich Stasov: Selected Essays on Music (New York: Praeger, 1968): 66-116. This essay is well known among scholars and often referred to simply as Nsha Muzyka [Our Music].

24

47

most of his musical compositions and those of his student and disciple Peter Tchaikovsky as mediocre: Rubinstein had no talent whatsoever for writing in the Russian national style. . . . Tchaikovsky is an incomparably more gifted composer than Rubinstein, but, as in the case of his teacher, the Conservatory, academic training, eclecticism and overworking of musical materials laid its dread, destructive hand on him. Of his total output, a few works are first-rate and highly original; the remainder are mediocre or weak.25 Soon after the founding of the RMS Conservatory in St. Petersburg, yet another conservatory was established in Moscow in 1866 by Rubinsteins brother, Nikolai. Here is where Alexander Scriabin was later to receive his higher education and become part of the faculty. Soon disillusioned, however, with this position, which he had for the most part occupied for an income, Scriabin resigned after a brief tenure as professor of piano from 1898 to 1902. What Vladimir Stasov may have thought about Scriabins early work as a composer is not documented. Through letters of the composer, though, it is known that the two men were on friendly terms through the connection of Scriabins maecenas, Mitrofan Belyayev (1836-1904). In March of 1906, seven months before his death, Stasov wrote a very flattering letter to Scriabin congratulating him on the success of the Russian premiere (February 23 [March 8], 1906) of his Symphony No. 3, The Divine Poem, in St. Petersburg: With this Symphony you have come a long way! You are already a great musician. In the very genre, setting, shape, form, and content with which the symphony has been constructed, no one among us has ever achieved this! Of course, there are smacks of Richard Wagner here and there, but there is an enormous amount of Scriabin himself. What tasks! What a scheme! What strength and what a build-up! How much passion and poetry in the 2nd movement (Volupts)!
25

Ibid., 112.

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And the orchestra how marvelous, mighty and full of strength, at times tender and charming, then once again radiant! Yes, you have here among the Russians already a lot of supporters and admirers.26 In his essay Our Music, Stasov identifies four features as characteristic of the New Russian School: open-mindedness the absence of preconceptions and blind faith; constant search for national character; the oriental element distinguishes the new Russian school; and a strong predilection for programmatic music. 27 Stasov was especially skeptical about academicism. He viewed as necessary the acceptance and cultivation of the folksong element of the Russian musical heritage as well as the confrontation with historical and contemporaneous Realism material and spiritual. He maintained that all Russian composers who had an understanding of their Eastern heritage incorporated this aspect into their work. Above all, identifying many of the great works of European composers as also being programmatic some of Beethoven, Weber, Mendelssohn, Liszt and Wagner Stasov declares that virtually all Russian symphonic music is programmatic. If one bears all this in mind, Stasov obviously saw in Scriabins Divine Poem (1904) a programmatic symphony and a national work that incorporated all the ideas of the New Russian School. It combined spiritual Realism with oriental mysticism and presented these in a non-traditional form. The Symphony is in three tautly interconnected movements labeled in French as follows: 1. Luttes (Struggles), 2.
! . , , , , , ! , , , . ! ! ! II- (Volupts)! , , , , ! , , , . Excerpt from a letter written by Vladimir Stasov to Scriabin, dated February 28 (March 13), 1906, reprinted in A. Kasperov, ed., A. Scriabin: Pisma [Letters] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1965): 415-16.
27 26

Stasov, Our Music, 67-75.

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Volupts (Delights), and 3. Jeu Divin (Divine Play). In the programmatic construction, these movements portray the stepwise ascent of an individual hero into the spiritual realm of reality and ultimately the transformation into oneness with the universe.28 The story reveals the composers preoccupation with the stages leading towards a state of deification found in Eastern thought as disseminated in the mystic writings of the Ukrainian theosophist Helena Blavatsky (The Secret Doctrine, 1888), the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche (Also sprach Zarathustra, 1883-89), and the Russian theologian-philosopher Vladimir Solovyov (Godmanhood, 1877-84). To some analysts, this may seem to be a retrograde form of Romantic Idealism and stand in opposition to the Realist doctrines of the musical Slavophile movement, but the concepts of spiritual unity and the amelioration of mankind were open to manifold interpretations. For example, the freedom of the individual to assume control in order to improve himself as well as the surrounding environment and society belongs to the anthropocentric theories of Realism expounded by the Zapadnik (Westernizer) Belinsky who, as stated above, exercised a major influence on Stasov. This form of enlightenment, however, contradicts that form which allows for the human being to be guided by a higher force through the various stages of spiritual sublimation while at the same time relinquishing the self-assertiveness of the natural ego. The phenomenon of this conflict as observed in the Russian context is rooted in the control over and the suppression of the individuals

28

As with many musical scores of Scriabin, this one is abundantly interspersed with programmatic indications and directions in French for the performers awareness and proper interpretation of the work. Scriabin did not write out an exact storyline to his symphony. His female companion Tatiana de Schloezer, however, prepared a brief narrative for the audience to follow at the world premiere in Paris on May 29, 1905. See Letter to Margarita Morozova, May 24 [June 6], 1905 in Alexander Kashperov, ed., A. Skriabin. Pisma [A. Scriabin. Letters] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1965), 371-72; see also: Maya Pritzker, liner notes to Scriabin, Alexander. Symphony No. 3. USSR Symphony Orchestra, cond. Evgeni Svetlanov. Digital disc. Russian Disc, 11 0058, 1992.

50

mind in service to the Eastern Orthodox Church as well as to the autocratic form of government, Tsarism, and its support system the Russian institution of slavery known as serfdom. Together, the church and state formed a symbiosis of strange bedfellows in the vying for control and sustaining of their respective existences.29 The friction that arose between the church and state on one side and society on the other not unlike that in medieval Europe acted catalytically to produce conditions that helped contribute to the formation of Realism in literature and the arts. Therefore, one aspect of Realism was the rejection of authority. In musical terms, this corresponded to the concept of open-mindedness and rejection of academicism as a tenet of the New Russian School. In their aesthetic directions, Stasov and the musical Slavophiles respected the past, but they saw themselves no longer bound to follow any archaic rules belonging to it. Concerning Scriabin, Stasov had recognized both the independence of mind and the future-oriented compositional style of the iconoclast composer; these supported his theories and earned his approval and praise. And yet, the transcendental nature of the program specified in a composition such as the Divine Poem would indicate a reliance on some omnipotent guiding force. At the same time, there exists the main theme of self-assertiveness, which reappears as a symbolic Leitmotiv throughout the work, indicating the aspiring powers of the individual to attain a sublime state of being, a reintegration into spiritual wholeness. In this sense, Scriabins symphony is a musical representation of the general conflict that existed in Russian culture in the second half of the nineteenth century. On one side, there was the ideology of Realism as

29

Marc Szeftel, Church and State in Imperial Russia, in Robert L. Nichols, and Theofanis George Stavrou, eds., Russian Orthodoxy under the Old Regime (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1978): 127-41.

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it was understood in musical Slavophilism with its bent towards Western-advocated individualism propagated by the revolutionary Russian Intelligentsia.30 On the other side of the spectrum stood the Romantic Idealism of literary Slavophilism which advocated the submission to higher authority. The foundations of this Romantic Idealism lay in the blind faith of Eastern Orthodoxy with its concept of sublime spiritual community (obshchinnost) and conciliarity (sobornost) based on transcendental thought. Ironically, the initial adherents of Russian Idealism were part of a secret Moscow coterie known as the The Society of Wisdom Lovers (Obshchestvo Lyubomudria, 1823-25). The group was strongly influenced by the German transcendental philosopher Friedrich Schelling (1775-1854); this mystic-idealist thinker had maintained that consciousness itself was the only immediate object of knowledge.31 Stasov in his enthusiastic, often exaggerated, yet sober analyses involving music criticism would have rejected such ideas so apparently irrational and unrealistic in their approach. Avoiding this facet of Scriabins creative world, Stasov left behind no commentary on the programmatic indications written into the score of The Divine Poem such as ivresse dbordante (overflowing intoxication), Divin lumineux (divinely radiant), and joie sublime extatique (sublime ecstatic joy). Nevertheless, a case can be made for the
30

In his essay The Russian migr-Journal Versty, Willem G. Weststeijn states, The term intelligentsia does not coincide with that of the intellectuals but has to be seen in a much broader scope. The great mass of teachers, telegraphists, doctors and even professors does not belong to it. The same holds true for lawabiding officials and conservatives. The Russian intelligentsia is characterized, according to E. Bogdanov, by two important features. Those belonging to this group have a certain ideal, which is based on a theoretical world view. This theoretical world view and this is the second characteristic of the Russian intelligentsia is, it is true, rationalistic, but at the same time groundless (bezpovennyj), that is to say, it is not connected with daily life, with national culture and national religion, with the state, class and all organically grown social institutions. The mainstream of the Russian intelligentsia flows from Belinskij to the narodniki and from the narodniki to the later revolutionaries. Appears in Sophie Levie, ed., Reviews, Zeitschriften, Revues, Avant Garde, Critical Studies 9 (1994): 182. 31 Anthony Flew, ed., Schelling, Friedrich, in A Dictionary of Philosophy (New York: Gramercy Books, 1999; reprint, New York: St. Martins Press, 1984): 314-15.

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realistic portrayal of human emotion that found a musical outlet of expression in the Symphony. Also, the struggles (Luttes) of the individual in the material world and the overcoming of adversity must have found sympathy with Stasov. For him, this would have corresponded to the real world of Russian people (the narod) outside of the concerthall who were fighting daily for their survival in an oppressive social-political environment. For the Realists, in contrast to the Idealists, music was to reflect truth the concrete, the objective, the verifiable facts in the world surrounding them. They rejected the idea that music was formed solely out of the imagination as something singularly absolute. In this, they vehemently opposed the views expressed by the Czech-Austrian music critic and scholar Eduard Hanslick (1825-1904) in his comprehensive treatise On the Beautiful in Music, which emphatically explained that music was absolute in itself without extraneous relations.32 The musical realists of the Balakirev Circle and, in particular their spokesperson Stasov, cited instead the importance of vocal music that reflected in the closest manner possible the true essence and meaning conveyed in the text of poetry. In this respect, Stasov declared that Alexander Dargomizhsky (1813-69) was the Father of Musical Realism33 for his ingenious ability to write declamatory recitative that followed so closely the lines of text being set to music. Referring to Dargomizhskys opera The Stone Guest, based on the tale of Don Juan, he writes that realistic expression attained such power, finish, and artistry in this opera that it inaugurated a new era in music and will, without any doubt, serve as the basis for the future development of music, for European Zukunftsmusik. The music of the future is not to be found in Wagners opera,
The treatise was translated into Russian - (Moscow, 1895) by one of the leading music critics of the opposition party, Herman Laroche (1845-1904), who represented the conservative-reactionary ideas of Rubinstein, his former teacher. 33 Stasov, Nsha Muzyka, 80.
32

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but rather in Dargomizhskys Stone Guest. Wagners operas contain few seeds that bear promise for the future; they are too limited and lacking in talent. The Stone Guest is the brilliant cornerstone of the new period of music drama.34 For all his disparagement of the German master Wagner had little talent, was extremely affected and completely devoid of a gift for realistic recitative35 it is once again ironic and inconsistent to praise a work of Scriabin, The Divine Poem, which is the most Wagnerian in style of all the works the Russian tone poet ever created. The Divine Poem has monumental design and instrumental texture, and a Wagnerian motivic structure. All it lacks is the vocal element, which for the Realists represented the closest medium for the expression of truth in music. Scriabin, for his part, was not a composer of opera or song; his First Symphony and Prometheus include sections for chorus. In the second work, also referred to as the Poem of Fire, he dispenses with words in the vocal parts an indication that any textual program could hinder the emotional and spiritual meaning that music alone can express. Scriabin was an instrumental composer. Notwithstanding his enormous but dilettante interests in philosophy and literature as well as his attempts to write a libretto for a future opera project, his concepts for a narrative program in his music remained purely instrumental. Nevertheless, Scriabins music was programmatic and followed an important principle trait of the New Russian School which, according to Stasov, identified it as national. Stasov demanded absolute allegiance to the cause clbre of a national idiom in Russian musical art. This meant above all Realism portrayed within a programmatic

34 35

Ibid. Ibid.

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framework. The member-protgs of the Balakirev Circle36 adhered to this doctrine, especially the composers Modest Mussorgsky (1839-81) and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908). Stasov praised Mussorgsky for being together with Dargomizhsky the leading exponent of realism in our country.37 Mussorgsky, too, was a master of declamatory recitative and the programmatic element found expression in the composers treatment of historical realism in which was represented the true spirit of the Russian people.38 In one of Stasovs most euphoric statements, he condemns all those who did not understand that realistic opera is the opera of the future and that Dargomizhsky and Mussorgsky were the immortal creators of this great manner of expression, which will someday be adopted by the entire musical world.39 The fact that non-realistic fantastic and fairytale elements (as in the opera The Snow Maiden, 1881) played such a major role in the compositions of Rimsky-Korsakov appeared to be of lesser consequence to Stasov. He instead found the beautiful orchestral coloring of the composer and his use of folksongs to be representative of aspects of the Russian nationality (narodnost). The Eastern element in terms of both melody and harmony as an important trait of the New Russian School manifested itself most clearly later in Rimsky-Korsakovs symphonic poem Scheherazade of 1888. Another composer of the group whose works incorporated these realistic aspects was Alexander Borodin (1833-1887), most notably in his opera of historic Realism
36

This group had been labeled the Moguchaya Kuchka [Mighty Handful] in an article written by Stasov in May 1867 following the so-called Slavic Concert on the occasion of the First Slav Congress. May God grant that our Slavic guests never forget todays concert; may God grant that they forever keep a memory of how much poetry , feeling, talent, and skill there was in the small but already mighty group [moguchaya kuchka] of Russian musicians. Quoted in Yuri Olkhovsky, Vladimir Stasov and Russian National Culture, Russian Music Studies 6 (Ann Arbor: UMI Press, 1983), 96. 37 Stasov, Nsha Muzyka, 101. 38 Ibid., 102. 39 Ibid., 104.

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Prince Igor (1874-87, based on a national epic) and the symphonic tone poem In the Steppes of Central Asia. Elsewhere, Stasov praises the latter composers gift for melody which he defines as a continuation of the passion found in Glinka and in customary exaggeration labels his composition The Sea as possibly the most magnificent song in all of European music.40 Twenty years separate these outbursts of enthusiasm and those in which in his twilight years he expressed the same for Scriabin. Stasov had searched throughout his life to find in all aspects of Russian art those features that distinguished it from the European.41 In the twilight of his years, though, he appears to have become somewhat less militant, if still remaining dogmatic and possessing a talent for invective prose. This is apparent in his last published article, A Friendly Commemoration,42 in which he scathingly exposes the fallacies in the opinions and arguments of two fellow critics, Mikhail Ivanov (1849-1927) and Alexander Koptyayev (1868-1941),43 who had written characterizations of Robert Schumann with which Stasov did not agree. Perhaps the most important critic after Stasov representing the Balakirev Circle the Five, as it was also known was one of its own composer-members, Csar Cui (1835-1918). As a proponent of the aesthetics of the New Russian School he was quite outspoken, but his own compositions were marked by a certain reserve and tenderness, perhaps indicative of his French heritage his father had been a soldier in Napoleons invading army. Stasov wrote of him: Because he himself had little propensity for writing in the national vein, Cui never fully understood or appreciated nationalism in the works

40 41

Ibid., 109. European is used in most writings on Russian culture at this time to indicate Western European. 42 Stasov, Selected Essays, 195-99. 43 Koptyayev was a composer, but foremost a critic who wrote negative and positive articles about Scriabin and most notably a monograph on the latter which was published in 1916 in St. Petersburg.

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of others. His gifts were too exclusively lyrical, too exclusively psychological.44 This characterization is quite applicable and is surely the reason why Cui had difficulty esteeming the explosive passion often present those of Scriabins works reminiscent of Liszt and Wagner. A more recent commentary by Ate Orga highlights the discrepancies between the musical tastes of the Balakirev Circle as defended by Cui and the actual style of his own compositions, which for the most part were salon miniatures. Technically undemanding, romantically clichd, harmonically conventional, tonally unsurprising, more diatonic than chromatic, concerned with horizons of lyricism untouched by modal pathos or tragic intensity, it has more in common stylistically with Tchaikovsky or Rubinstein than Mussorgsky or Balakirev.45 The bravura of a Liapunov, the angst of a Rachmaninov, the headily erotic, spiritual incense of a Scriabin are domains beyond its experience.46 In conversation Cui told Stasov that he found Scriabins music Not so bad, but monotonous and nothing special.47 Publicly, in his concert reviews, he was more conciliatory and supportive of the promising young composer, comparing his work to Chopins, but he criticized Scriabin as a performing artist.
44 45

Stasov, Nsha Muzyka, 97. This is a very pointed statement, considering Cuis own negative assessments of Rubinstein and Tchaikovsky. In 1880, Cui published in France the first book abroad on the state of music in Russia titled La musique en Russie (Paris: Fischbacher, 1880). He devotes one chapter to the two named composers. Regarding Rubinstein he writes, La posie, la profondeur, lui manquent souvent, mais le lieu commun y abonde, et cest l son dfaut principal. Les belles pages, quand il sen trouve dans ses uvres, sont presque absorbes par le lieu commun . . . He ends his description by commenting, pour nous rsumer en deux mots, nous dirons que Rubinstein est un infatigable compositeur de second ordre, qui ne fera pas poque, et qui nexercera que peu dinfluence sur les destines futures de lart. Concerning Tchaikovsky, he patronizingly states, Ses thmes sont charmants pour la plupart: ils manquent de puissance, de profondeur et de grandeur, mais leur caractre lgiaque, mlancholique, rveur, est trs attrayant; et des tournures de phrases que lauteur affectionne leur donnent un certain cachet dindividualit. And after many lines criticizing the composers inabilities at producing dramatic music, he finishes by saying, Malgr tout cela, le succs des ouvrages si chaleureusement protgs na t que mdiocre. 46 Ate Orga, from liner notes in Csar Cui: 25 Preludes, Op. 64. Jeffrey Biegel, piano. Compact disc. Marco Polo, 8.223496, 1993. 47 C, , !! From comments in a letter from Stasov to Beliaeff dated February 26, 1895, reprinted in Skriabin: Pisma [Letters], 92.

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He is imbued with the soul of Chopin. . . Listening to many of his compositions it is indeed possible to think that we are hearing unpublished works of Chopin. . . . As a pianist, though, Mr. Scriabin is significantly weaker than as a composer. His playing is nervous, non-rhythmical, and at times obscure, with the exaggeration of piano and forte effects.48 As in the case of Stasov, Cui was also unforgiving towards those Russian critics of the opposition as well as the composers in whom he found the future ideal of music. First and foremost among these critics was Alexander Serov (1820-1871) who formerly had been a friend and student colleague of Stasov. Serovs espousal of Wagner later provoked the unformidable wrath of Stasov and other members of the Balakirev Circle including Cui.49 Stasov wrote: As a music critic, Serov was amazingly inconsistent. Lacking principle, he continually wavered right and left. . . . In the first half of his life his views on music were progressive. This was the best and most important period of his career as a critic. At that time he rendered a great service to our public, championing sound principles and good, honest music. But this did not last long, only from 1851 to 1858.50 During the second period of his critical activity, that is, from 1858 to 1871, he became an out-and-out conservative and reactionary. Throughout both periods he displayed more wit than wisdom.51

. . . , , , , . . . . . , , , piano forte. Originally published in [Weekly] 11 (March 1895): 353-54. Reprinted in Skriabin: Pisma [Letters], 93. 49 Robert Ridenour explains with circumstantial evidence how the split between Stasov and Serov may have been aggravated through non-musical issues. Vladimir Stasov had a love affair with Serovs sister Sofia and became the father of her daughter Nadezhda. Including information from Lebedev, Andrei and Aleksandr Solodovnikov, Vladimir Vasilevich Stasov: Zhizn i tvorchestvo [Vladimir Vasilevich Stasov: life and work] (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1976), 86; quoted in Ridenour, Robert, Nationalism, Modernism, and Personal Rivalry in 19th-Century Russian Music (Ann Arbor: 1981): 94-95. 50 In 1858, Serov met Wagner in Germany. Ridenour, 88. 51 Stasov, Nsha Muzyka, 87

48

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Cui had come to the same conclusion. Serov has hardly left a mark on criticism and has exercised little influence. This is because of the lack of stability in his judgments. He was a man of spontaneous rapture.52 And Cui, himself, later became the target of similar verbal assaults dealt out by Stasov: But around 1874, Cuis writing changed considerably. He became less bold, gave way on many of his views, repudiated some, modified some, withdrew others, and began to find talent in many undeserving musicians and works. In short, from an exponent of progress he became an exponent of moderate, even excessively moderate liberalism. His criteria in matters of musical composition form, melody, harmony and rhythm began to approximate to [sic] those of the conservatives. On the whole, his standards deteriorated and in many respects sank to the level of the commonplace.53 So, just as Serov, who had been an advocate of Realist-Nationalism and critical of Rubinstein, had in the eyes of Stasov become apostate to the cause, so too, now Cui was guilty of defection. In actuality, this was indicative of the tenuousness and varying interpretations associated with the original aesthetics of the Balakirev Circle. Ironically, this was characteristic of the individualism of the member composers, which was considered a positive attribute, and the idea that they were indeed free artists and not products of mediocrity spawned from a system of conservatories. Once again, the discrepancies in attitudes are made clear by the fact that individualism was associated with Western values and idea of community with those of the East. In this situation, however, the New Russian School had attempted to incorporate both in order to produce a tightly-knit group of uniquely individual composers adhering to a common set of values
52

Cui, La Musique en Russie, 156. Sroff na presque pas marqu dans la critique et na pour ainsi dire point exerc dinfluence. Cest quil y avait peu de stabilit dans ses jugements; ctait lhomme des entranements instantans. 53 Stasov, Nsha Muzyka, 100-1.

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which were non-academic, but national-realist. Scriabin could be interpreted as both by virtue of his unique forward-looking style of composition and his rejection of the conservatory as a place to train the future artists of the music trade. It was not until Scriabin had released himself from the shackles of the Moscow Conservatory and the strictly conservative training that he had received from Arensky and Taneyev that his boldly inventive nature as a composer truly began to evolve.

The Silver Age. Contrary to common perception, Realism continued to evolve during that period referred to as the Silver Age the last cultural flowering of Tsarist Russia. The time in question encompasses approximately the reigns of the last two Tsars, that of Alexander III (1881-94) and that of Nicholas II (1894-1917). It was during this period that Alexander Scriabin developed as pianist and composer, assimilating all the contemporaneous ideas manifested in their various forms art, science, and religious philosophy. These influences would congeal in such a manner to form his unique creative identity. His artistic development was moving in step with the times that were marked by interplay between the material and spiritual sides of reality. The Russian artist Vassily Kandinsky (1866, Moscow1944, Paris) addressed this dichotomy in his monumental study of 1911, ber das Geistige in der Kunst (On the Spiritual in Art). In it he poses several questions regarding this issue: Is everything material? Or is everthing spiritual? Can the distinctions we make between matter and spirit be relative modifications of one or the other?54
54

Wassily Kandinsky, translated by M. Sadler, Concerning the Spiritual in Art (New York: Dover, 1977, repr. London: Constable and Company Ltd., 1914), 9.

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This question was often raised during that era. From a material standpoint, the focus on Realism as a driving aesthetic force in the artistic and literary communities of Russia started to wane by the fin de sicle. In a period of industrial advancement, men began to seek solutions to existential problems elsewhere. The intellectual concentration on Realism redirected itself from the material into the spiritual realm. This development in a peculiarly Russia form became the singularly most important influencing factor in the world of Scriabin the composer. Many of the paths leading towards spiritual realism enlightenment and transcendence from the material world came from the religious teachings of Russian Orthodoxy, which had provided a bulwark for the state and helped sustain its existence. Those who adhered to the traditional doctrines regarded the new paths as decadent and their purveyors and disciples as deviant heretics. These latter individuals, however, also rejected the recent results of industrialization and scientific advancements, for the concepts of materialism, capitalist economy and Darwinism55 assaulted those aspects of community and divine eternity grounded in Orthodoxy. Chaos appeared on the horizon and thoughts of a forthcoming apocalypse abounded. These ideas found their way into the period literature and subsequently into the philosophy and music of Scriabin hence, the focus in the last years of his life on the grand project Mysterium. The movement towards spiritual realism resulted from the deplorable social conditions in Russia at the time. This had led to increased revolutionary activity which in turn was combated with severe reactionary measures. The established order was under
55

Oleg Maslenikov, The Frenzied Poets: Andrey Biely and the Russian Symbolists (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1952), 4. The doctrine of Darwinism, which was beginning successfully to penetrate the consciousness of the average educated Russian, added to his spiritual discomfiture.

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attack and necessary means were employed to suppress the renegades. Censorship, which had become comparatively relaxed during the reign of Alexander II, was forcefully reinstated after his assassination. In addition, persecution of Jews56 and non-Orthodox Christian sects57 followed. For centuries, the Russian Empire had been able to sustain itself structurally through the unifying forces of an autocratic state and state religion, of which the Tsar was the supreme defender.58 Consequently, the ideas of wholeness, oneness, and community became historically important and represented an important aspect of life in the minds of most Russian citizens, the majority of whom were illiterate peasants living in a type of commune referred to as the obshchina.59 Communal thinking remained in the psyche throughout the political and cultural upheaval characterizing the last decades of the monarchy. Paradoxically, the despotic government seeking to maintain unity among

Richard Charques, The Twilight of Imperial Russia (London: Phoenix House, 1958), 44-45. The harshest persecution of all was aimed at the Jews. Both Alexander III and his principal advisors were rabidly anti-semitic. The raw nationalist element in anti-semitism was reinforced by the presence of Jews in the ranks of the revolutionary terrorists. The murder of Alexander II had evoked instantaneous Jewish pogroms in Kiev, Odessa and elsewhere, not seldom with police connivance, and a spate of anti-Jewish decrees followed. The Jewish pale of settlement a legacy of the partitions of Poland was still further restricted. Jews were forbidden henceforth to acquire rural property, which was interpreted by many communes as an instruction to expel all Jews from their midst. Quotas for Jews were introduced in all universities and secondary schools, even the secondary schools within the pale. Jews were excluded from the legal profession and from the lists of zemstvo (local government representative body) and town duma electors. In 1891-2 the Grand-Duke Sergei Alexandrovich celebrated his appointment as governor-general of Moscow by the summary expulsion of some twenty thousand Jews from the city. In an even more candid gesture of persecution, the adoption by Jews of Christian first names, a normal proceeding in educated families, was declared a criminal offence. 57 Among these sects were the Skoptzy (castrati) and Khlysty (flagellants). The latter practiced the attainment of divine grace through sin in ecstatic rituals and there is circumstantial evidence that indicates that the notorious monk Grigory Rasputin may have been at one time a member of this sect. See Edvard Radzinsky, The Rasputin File (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 230-33. Less radical sects included the socalled Old Believers who adhered to original doctrines of the church. Others were the Doukhobors, Lipovans, and Molokans many of whom emigrated to avoid persecution. 58 John Curtiss, Church and State in Russia: The Last Years of the Empire, 1900-1917. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1940), 35. 59 This institution provided the basis for the Slavophile philosophy of spiritual community, obshchinost, as developed by Alexei Khomyakov.

56

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the people through repression disintegrated under the unifying will of the masses seeking emancipation, both physically and spiritually. Simultaneously, the will towards liberation also saw a rise in individual expression. The dynamic interaction between the individual and the broader masses is what Count Leo Tolstoy attempted to explain in his monumental essay What is Art (1898). For art to be great, Tolstoy maintained that it must be intelligible to the majority of mankind and from a moral standpoint convey a pure spiritual message, which he describes as coming from the sincerity of its creator. Thus, Tolstoy constructed a paradigm to describe a great work of art: individuality, clearness, and sincerity.60 He then gauged the quality of art according to these three determining factors and referred to a works infectiousness as the one indubitable sign distinguishing real art from its counterfeit.61 Important here was the idea of spiritual unity and communion so strongly embedded in the minds of most Russians. According to Tolstoy, the true work of art must provide a feeling of joy and of spiritual union between its creator and the perceiver.62 These are goals to which Scriabin later aspired and in part through means of artistic synthesis. Formerly, Richard Wagner had endeavored to achieve the same and his influence had been strongly sensed in Russia towards the end of the nineteenth century. Tolstoy, however, rejected the concept of artistic synthesis, citing the impossibility of a simultaneous equality among the components, i.e., the inability for all to appear in full strength.63 From a statistical standpoint, no one can deny the infectiousness of Wagners music among the masses,

60

Leo Tolstoy, What is Art? [1898], English trans. Aylmer Maude, (London: Oxford University Press, 1930), 227. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid. 63 Ibid., 204.

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nor that of Scriabin in Russia and his still-increasing international appeal. Notwithstanding, Tolstoy describes Wagners music in the most pejorative terms and specifically calls Der Ring des Nibelungen a model work of counterfeit art so gross as to be even ridiculous.64 Had Tolstoy lived to experience the later period of Scriabin, he would surely have assessed the works of the Russian composer in a similar manner or perhaps found it necessary to revise his definition of infectiousness. During the time in question, though, he censured everything which did not correspond to his concept of morality influenced by Christian ethics. In this his conscience would not allow him to spare even the Eastern Orthodox Church and for this denunciation of church and state65 he himself was censured and officially excommunicated in 1901.66 This criticism of church and hence state earned him the epithet from Nicholas II of Russias evil genius.67 The Tsar sought to unite the peoples of the empire through oppression. Tolstoy, as later Scriabin, saw in art a means to unite humanity spiritually and understood this as an evolutionary process. In his own words: As the evolution of knowledge proceeds by truer and more necessary knowledge dislodging and replacing what was mistaken and unnecessary, so the evolution of feeling proceeds by means of art feelings less kind and less necessary for the well-being of mankind being replaced by others kinder and more needful for that end. That is the purpose of art. And speaking now of the feelings which are its subject-matter, the more art fulfils that purpose the better the art, and the less it fulfils it the worse the art.68

64 65

Ibid., 207. Leo Tolstoy states, The sanctification of political power by Christianity is blasphemy; it is the negation of Christianity. Quoted from the authors essay, Church and State [1879], reprinted in I Cannot Be Silent: Writings Politics, Art and Religion by Leo Tolstoy (Bristol: The Bristol Press, 1989). 49. 66 Charques, 204-5. 67 Ibid. 68 Tolstoy, What is Art?, 231.

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Tolstoys condemnation of state religion did not hinder him from developing a moralitybased concept of art based on the teachings of Christianity. He emphasized the necessity for art to be universal in order to create and maintain a brotherhood of mankind. He states: The expression unite men with God and with one another may seem obscure to people accustomed to the misuse of these words that is so customary, but the words have a perfectly clear meaning nevertheless. They indicate that the Christian union of man (in contradiction to the partial, exclusive, union of only certain men) is that which unites all without exception. Art, all art, has this characteristic, that it unites people. Every art causes those to whom the artists feeling is transmitted to unite in soul with the artist and also with all who receive the same impression. But non-Christian art while uniting some people, makes that very union a cause of separation between these united people and others; so that union of this kind is often a source not merely of division but even of enmity towards others. . . .Christian art, that is, the art of our time, should be catholic in the original meaning of the word, that is, universal, and therefore it should unite all men. . . .69 For Tolstoy, the value of a universal work, whether it be literature, art, architecture or music, is determined by its ability to achieve broad appeal both in the present and future. In this he emphasizes the importance of clarity and comprehensibility. For example: Melody every melody is free and may be understood of all men; but as soon as it is bound up with a particular harmony, it ceases to be accessible except to people trained to such harmony, and it becomes strange, not only to common men of another nationality, but to all who do not belong to the circle whose members have accustomed themselves to certain forms of harmonization. So that music, like poetry, travels in a vicious circle. Trivial and exclusive melodies, in order to make them attractive, are laden with harmonic, rhythmic and orchestral complications and thus become yet more exclusive, and far from being universal
69

Ibid., 238-40.

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are not even national, that is, they are not comprehensible to the whole people, but only to some people.70 Complexity does not necessarily preclude a capacity to communicate, though, as the extract above would lead one to think. Tolstoy himself was compelled to admit this, citing in his essay some of the major works of great writers and composers. It is often in the novelty and complexity of a work that one can identify its uniqueness as a masterpiece and the individuality and genius of its author. This was true in the case of Alexander Scriabin, although, ironically the composer emphasized the importance of simplicity. Boris Pasternak (1890-1960),71 as a young admirer of Scriabin, relates to us in his autobiographical sketch of 1931, Safe Conduct, the following anecdote recounting his visit to Scriabin in 1908: We walked up and down the salon. He kept putting his hand on my shoulder or taking me by the arm. He was talking of the harmfulness of improvisation, of when and why and how one should write. As models of the simplicity one should always aspire to, he mentioned his own new sonatas, which were notorious for their difficulty. Examples of a reprehensible complexity he found in the most platitudinous parlor songs. I was not disturbed by the paradox in this comparison. I agreed that lack of personality was a more complex thing than personality; that an unguarded prolixity seemed accessible because it was without content; that because we are corrupted by the emptiness of clichs, we think, when after long desuetude we come across something unprecedentedly rich in content, that that is the only formal pretentiousness. Imperceptibly he moved on to more definite exhortations.72

70 71

Ibid., 245. Boris Pasternak, who received in 1957 the Nobel Prize in literature for Doctor Zhivago, was the son of the noted Russian painter Leonid Pasternak, who created numerous illustrations of Alexander Scriabin. The memoirs of the painter, a close friend of Leo Tolstoy, were published in 1982 in English translation by Quartet Books, London. Part Three of the collection is dedicated entirely to his encounters with Tolstoy. 72 Boris Pasternak, Safe Conduct, in Selected Writings and Letters, translated from the Russian by Catherine Judelson (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1990): 99-100.

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What Scriabins musical compositions especially the later ones may lack in immediacy of clarity and comprehensibility is equalized by the convincing expression of individuality and sincerity of their author. His music reflects his personal conviction and sense of mission, which he sought to fulfill on earth. For Tolstoy, sincerity was the most important in the paradigm of three conditions necessary to create infectiousness and he believed that it was exactly the sincerity which would impel the artist to find clear expression for the feeling which he wishes to transmit.73 He identified this quality as an attribute characteristic of peasant art, but entirely lacking in what he terms upperclass art, the latter produced by artists actuated by personal aims of covetousness or vanity.74 Whether Scriabins aspirations to transform the world spiritually can be viewed as vanity or magnanimity on the part of the composer has been disputed and will be treated below in another context. Notwithstanding Tolstoys reservations concerning the value of upper class art, the following positive appraisal of Scriabins music is indicative of the high esteem in which he held the composer: How sincere it is, and sincerity above all is truly precious. From this single piece you can tell he is a great artist . . . .75 The transcendental quality especially of his later works possesses universal appeal. It is this which Tolstoy also valued in art and found works of temporary and local interest to be less universal.76 These do not speak to all mankind since they lack spiritual realism. In criticizing much of the world literature, Tolstoy stated:

73 74

Ibid., 230. Ibid. 75 Following Scriabins dbut in St. Petersburg on March 7, 1895, Tolstoy extended to the composer an invitation to perform at his estate Yasnaya Polyana which he accepted. Tolstoy made the above remark to his private secretary, Valentin Bulgakov (1887-1966) after having heard Scriabin perform one of his preludes. Cited in Faubion Bowers, Scriabin (New York: Dover, 1966), 197. 76 Tolstoy, 246.

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It is therefore impossible in modern literature to indicate works fully satisfying the demands of universality. Such works as exist are to a great extent spoilt by what is usually called [material] realism, but would be better termed provincialism, in art.77 In material realism one is interpreting the immediate surrounding physical environment. Ironically, this would describe the style of Tolstoys two best-known novels, Anna Karenina and War and Peace, in which tradition and local color could be termed provincialism. And, are the many salon pieces of Scriabin for example the Mazurkas to be interpreted according to Tolstoy as provincial in their style? Although drawing from a different source, the importance of religion as a foundation in art has the spiritual aspect in common with the theories and creative work of Scriabin. Yet, in Scriabins mind, the spiritual was synonymous with the metaphysical and it is here that the world concepts of the two men significantly diverge from one another. Diverse sources indicate that Tolstoy and Scriabin met on various occasions. To some degree, Scriabin must have been familiar with Tolstoys works, though he had nothing positive to say about him.78 Pasternak remembered, He [Scriabin] used to argue with my father about life, art, Good and Evil, he attacked Tolstoy, propagated the idea of the bermensch, amoralism and Nietzscheism.79 Leonid Sabaneyev (1881-1968) also recalls incidents of Scriabin railing against Tolstoy the paternal moral conscience of the Russian nation. According to Scriabin, As far as religion is concerned, he [Tolstoy] embodies the typical rationalist! Its an utter scandal and dilettantism! There is not a drop
77 78

Ibid., 245. Works of Tolstoy are listed in the inventory of books remaining in Scriabins personal library. 79 Boris Pasternak, Autobiographical Sketch 1959 reprinted in Boris Pasternak: Selected Writings and Letters (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1990), 257. This was the second of two autobiographical essays by Boris Pasternak in which he discussed his encounters with Scriabin. The first essay, A Safe Conduct (1931), reflects more emotionally the extreme infatuation with which the author embraced Scriabin.

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of mysticism in him! He doesnt even understand the meaning of mysticism!80 Scriabin was not alone in his assessment and rejection of Tolstoys moral preachings and dogma. The assignment of the negative epithet typical rationalist was supported by numerous members of the contemporaneous Russian Symbolist community and, in particular, Vyacheslav Ivanov (1866-1949), whose essays on Scriabin and his relationship to the composer will be discussed later. His analytically based lecture-eulogy Lev Tolstoy and Culture immediately following the death of the writer in 1910 was indicative of the progressive attitudes rejecting that which was viewed among avant-gardists as anachronistic morality. Ivanov states that . . . hardly a single one of Tolstoys instructional tenets is accepted in our day or will subsequently be accepted by a significant number of people.81 He further explains that Tolstoys faith in the rationality of good is incompatible with genuine artistic creativity. In deconstructing Tolstoyan morality, Ivanov presents an analysis of the writer that is in every way antithetical to Scriabins concepts of spirituality. Ivanov speaks of Tolstoys nonacceptance of the world of Dionysus a central point in Scriabins creativity. This ascetic attitude of Tolstoy towards culture inhibits artistic creativity and stands in marked contrast to Scriabins divine inspiration. The pathos of Tolstoy the artist is primarily that of disclosing and exposing; inwardly it is therefore an antinomical and an essentially antiartistic principle. For an artistic genius is called to reveal the noumenal in the clothing of the phenomenon. Moreover, the energy of artistic symbolism does not wish to leave intellectual essences of the spiritual world only incompletely incarnated, nor to push them beyond

80

Quoted in L. L. Sabaneyev, Vospominania o Skriabine (Moscow: State Publishing House, 1925, repr. Klassik 21, 2000), 185. 81 Viacheslav Ivanov, Lev Tolstoy and Culture (1910), in Michael Wachtel, ed., Selected Essays: Viacheslav Ivanov, trans. Robert Bird, (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2001), 200-10.

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the limits of incarnation; instead, it wishes to present them in a transfigured incarnation, as if in resurrected flesh that is at the same time the most real flesh and the actual essence itself.82 For Ivanov, Tolstoys morality suppresses the natural instinct and intuition which are necessary elements of creativity. He finds Tolstoys morality to be based on empirical knowledge, which as an inhibiting factor forms a stagnant barrier towards attaining mystic enlightenment. In other words, the path from material realism towards spiritual realism (Ivanov uses the Latin phrase a realibus ad realiora from the real to the more real) can only be achieved through a creative force that does not exist in Tolstoys worldview. It is the mystical aspect of Scriabins creativity that in part identifies him as a Russian artist and distinguishes him from the more cosmopolitan Tolstoy. Ivanov maintains, Tolstoy is not a direct expression of our national element; he is more a product of our cosmopolitan culture, of our social elite, than our national depths.83 The lack of mysticism in Tolstoy is a fundamental difference between him and Scriabin. It is indeed the mystical element in fin-de-sicle Russian Symbolism contemporaneously this word is synonymous with Dcadence that separates it from its French counterpart found in the works of Baudelaire, Verlaine, and Maeterlinck, for example. Mysticism as an aspect of spiritual realism was very much in vogue during the fin de sicle. Along with the influential teachings of Vladimir Solovyov (1853-1900) came the esoteric mystic-philosophical doctrines of the Ukrainians Helena Blavatsky (18311891) and Georgiy Gurdjieff (1877-1949). Both promoted the idea of universal brotherhood and found a large following in the artistic intellectual sectors of Russian society and throughout the world. In particular, Blavatskys Theosophy (Divine Wisdom)
82 83

Ibid., 203. Ibid., 205.

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appealed to the widespread fears of imminent Apocalypse in Russia during the Silver Age. Theosophical notions of world catastrophe, cleansing destruction, suffering, and the building of a new, superior culture in which Russia would play a leading role were variants on the same messianic theme dear to Russian god-seekers (idealists) and godbuilders (rationalists) alike.84 Scriabin stood under the influence of Theosophy to varying degrees throughout the last ten years of his life. In a letter addressed to his lover Tatiana de Schloezer, he writes, The Key to Theosophy [by Blavatsky] is a remarkable book. You would be astonished how much it has in common with me.85 It is here that Scriabin learned about the seven levels of being leading to Divinity hence, also, one of the important factors of the Seventh Piano Sonata his favorite. The number seven plays a significant role in Christianity, Judaism, and Hinduism. Especially the last influenced Blavatsky and it was her conception of the world that subsequently impacted to a significant degree Scriabins own philosophy of life and artistic creativity. In Chapter 25, The Mysteries of the Hebdomad in the book The Secret Doctrine, Blavatsky explains extensively the symbolic meaning of seven. Regarding science, she wrote: It is the knowledge of the natural laws that make of seven the root nature-number, so to say, in the manifested world at any rate in our present terrestrial life-cycle and the wonderful comprehension of its workings, that unveiled to the ancients so many of the mysteries of nature. . . . To demonstrate more clearly the seven in Nature, it may be added that not only does the number seven govern the periodicity of the phenomena of life, but that it is also found dominating the series of chemical
Maria Carlson, Fashionable Occultism: The World of Russian Composer Aleksandr Scriabin, in The Journal of the International Institute 17, no. 3 (spring-summer 2000): 1, 18-20. 85 La Clef de la Thosophie . , .
84

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elements, and equally paramount in the world of sound and in that of colour as revealed to us by the spectroscope. This number is the factor, sine qua non, in the production of occult astral phenomena.86 Scriabin eagerly assimilated this esoteric material. Leonid Sabaneyev writes, He believed Blavatsky like a child believes its parents.87 Scriabins belief in Blavatskys Theory of Seven Races is also confirmed in the biography of the composer written by his brother-in-law Boris de Schloezer (1884-1969): Having accepted this postulate, Scriabin reorganized in his own terms the entire history of humanity, of which the cycle of his own psychic life was a particular case. This gave him a key to the understanding of world history.88 This theory would also provide the basis for Scriabins final project, Mysterium.

The World of Art Movement. The World of Art (Mir Iskusstva) was a foundation and movement organized in 1897-8 under the leadership of the exceptional Russian impresario Sergei Diaghilev (1872-1929). Chief among its goals was the identification of current trends national and international in the areas of art, literature and music, masterpieces of which were presented and discussed at exhibitions and in the highly acclaimed journal of the group titled Mir Iskusstva. As early as 1899, an article reviewing the phenomenon of Scriabin

Helen Blavatsky, The Secret Doctrine: The Synthesis of Science, Religion, and Philosophy (London: The Theosophical Publishing Company, Limited, 1888; repr. Pasadena, California: Theosophical University Press, 1988), 621 and 627. 87 Leonid Sabaneyev, Vospominania o Skriabine [Reminiscences about Scriabin] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1925), 95. 88 Boris de Schloezer, Scriabin. Artist and Mystic, trans. Nicolas Slonimsky (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987; originally published Berlin: Grani, 1923), 68.

86

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appeared in the periodical.89 One should mention here that Diaghilev was familiar with and enchanted by Scriabins new music, but attempts to collaborate with the composer never succeeded; the temperamental personalities of the two men were not compatible. In all, the movement sustained itself a brief six years before it succumbed to internal conflict and financial pressures. The following lines describe the context in which the World of Art came into existence. By 1900, sustained oppression had led to intense, stylistically new forms of expression in the literary and artistic communities of Russia. Social criticism, however, as previously put forth from the 1860s into the 1880s in the writings of the material realists and as represented in the works of the peredvizhniki (Wanderers, realist painters), had become repetitive and lost a certain dynamic effect in the message these artists wished to convey. It was in this sense that the Russian Modernist painter Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944) later referred to the peredvizhniki as parrots and slaves.90 Diaghilev, as leader of the World of Art movement and editor of its journal (18981904), had already decried the realist painters, citing their lack of individuality.91 Decades before, the Wanderers had rebelled against the stagnant, conservative teaching styles and requirements of the Russian Art Academy in St. Petersburg; now, they, too, were being rebelled against by those who viewed their style as outmoded.
89

Alexander Koptyayev (1868-1941), noted Russian music critic, composer, and later author of a monograph on Scriabin (St. Petersburg, 1916), contributed a short sketch on the composer under the heading Muzykalniye Portrety. A. Skriabin [Musical Portraits. A. Scriabin]. It includes biographical information and a characterization of Scriabins works to date. Among other, he cites the influences of Chopin and Schumann, notes the ecstatic nature of the music, and expresses astonishment at the new chaos of rhythmic figures. Mir Iskusstva 7-8 (1899): 67-70. 90 Vasily Kandinsky, Kuda idt novoe iskusstvo? [Where is new art going?] in Odesskie novosti, Odessa, February 9, 1911, 3, quoted in John Bowlt, The Silver Age: Russian Art of the Early Twentieth Century and the World of Art Group, ORP Studies in Russian Art History (Newtonville, MA: Oriental Research Partners, 1979), 16. 91 Ibid., 69-75.

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The World of Art was composed of an eclectic group of artists, writers, and to a lesser extent, musicians. The individuals in the movement held many different philosophies. It is exactly their individualism that can best characterize its make-up a rejection of the conformity and dogmatism of the Realists. Members of the World of Art expressed in their works a spiritual rather than concrete reality. The World of Art avoided the provincialism of earlier nationalist organizations such as the Kuchka by promoting broader understanding of foreign styles as well as acceptance and appreciation of indigenous ones. John Bowlt stresses the non-dogmatic outlook of the World of Art: True, the World of Art emphasized the visual and performing arts, but it was in touch with the leading representatives of all the humanistic disciplines and acted as a platform for the cross-fertilization of aesthetic concepts. Consequently, the World of Art accommodated the most varied artistic phenomena. . . . Most of the World of Art artists distanced themselves from the pressing demands of social and political reality their logo, Art is Free, Life is Paralyzed, embodied their conception of art as an expression of the spirit that transcended the harsh realities of everyday existence. The emphasis of the World of Art on the autonomy of the artifact does not justify a universal application of the term art for arts sake. Indeed, while promoting the symbolist pantheon of Ibsen, Nietzsche, Solovyov, and Oscar Wilde, the World of Art also acknowledged the achievements of the realists Repin and Tolstoy as well as the transcendental idealism of Bely and V. Ivanov. In other words, the World of Art served as a cultural intersection, rather than as the advocate of a single idea.The World of Art artists looked backward rather than forward, although their retrospective dreams were not limited to any one historical epoch.92 The last sentence would seem to contradict the styles found in Russian Symbolism (discussed in more detail in the following chapter), which represented an evolutionary
92

John Bowlt, Art, in Nicholas Rzhevsky, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Modern Russian Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998,), 210-13.

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forestage to the later Russian avant-garde and which played such an important role in the development of Scriabins theories and musical creativity. Bowlt describes the retrospective aspect, however, in pointing to the Symbolists demand that humankind recapture an earlier and more pristine condition.93 This interpretation also corresponds to the Nietzschean concept of eternal return.94 In the opening issues of the World of Art journal, Diaghilev defends the movement in a series of four articles under the title Complicated Questions.95 These represented a kind of manifesto in which Diaghilev claims that artistic creativity should be free of all external restrictions and should reflect the true essence of the artists individuality. In other words, art should not be shackled by the conventions of the past. Individuality meant freedom, which represented the progressive not retrospective aspect of the movement.96 This direction had its roots in the philosophies of Friedrich Nietzsche and the Russian Nihilist Dmitri Pisarev (1840-68). The latter emphasized the freedom and development of the individual as leading towards an improvement of society as a whole. Closely related to the concept of individualism are the ideas surrounding Messianism and the prophet-leadership that were infiltrating Russian intellectual thought throughout this

Ibid., 213. Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy. In her 1986 book Nietzsche in Russia, Bernice Rosenthal mentions the gradual lifting of the ban on Nietzsches works in Russia from 1898. See the Introduction, page 11. 95 These essays are available online at www.hrionline.ac.uk as part of the Russian Visual Arts project. In the Introduction, Alexey Makhrov states, The authorship of the manifesto is disputed: although signed by Sergei Diaghilev, the articles are now attributed to the journals co-editor and Diaghilevs cousin Dmitrii Filosofov. This attribution is based on the evidence found in the memoirs of Walter Nouvel, a member of the World of Art group, and supprted by the observation that other articles by Diaghilev display little interest in the philosophic, social and theoretical issues which pervade these editorial articles. 96 The fact that some members of the World of Art, in particular Alexandre Benois and Konstantin Somov, found inspiration in past cultures, is not an indication of any regressive movement, but rather a search for the wholeness and reintegration which was to become a goal of the Symbolist movement.
94

93

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period. Descriptive terms such as heroic iconoclasm and rational egoism are associated with this philosophy. The development of the individual would benefit and unite society. Diaghilev writes, Yes, the air is laden with ideas like a priceless fragrance that fills the hearts of all who wish to accept it and to unite through it with the hearts of others in the most elevated communion of the spirit.97 A basic tenet of Diaghilevs World of Art was inclusiveness, not exclusiveness. The movement sought unity through synthesis of ideas and art, a fundamental aim which predominated especially among the second generation of Russian Symbolists during the first decade of the twentieth century. These included Andrei Bely and Vyacheslav Ivanov, two men who figured significantly in the intellectual development of Scriabin. Russian Symbolism, especially the first generation of the 1890s, became to some synonymous with decadence, a term that Diaghilev found insulting and rejected decisively. Criticizing the instability of conflicting artistic directions of the nineteenth century, he maintained that nothing in the past could justify a present so-called decay. They left us a century that consisted of nothing but a mosaic of contradictory tendencies, where school fought with school, and generations with generations, where the power and significance of whole tendencies were defined not over the course of eras, but in years.98 Nowhere in Russia and Europe could he perceive any pinnacle of firmly established traditions in the recent past. This heterogeneous history of the centurys artistic life had its major source in the dreadful instability of the aesthetic principle and demands of the age. They were never, not even for a moment, firmly established. After elaborating
97

Sergei Diaghilev, Complicated Questions: Our Supposed Decline, trans. Robert Russell (Online: Russian Visual Arts Project, 2002), 1; available from http://hrionline.ac.uk/rva/texts/diaghilev/dia01/dia01a.html. 98 Ibid., 2.

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extensively on the many conflicting directions, he concludes, How unbelievably illinformed it is to speak of our decline. There is no decline and there can be none, because there is nothing for us to decline from.99 This statement defended the World of Art organization against the attacks launched by the conservative camp of ideologues, including Vladimir Stasov. Reviewing the opening issues of the World of Art journal, Stasov wrote a scathing article titled The Poor in Spirit100 in which he decried the absurdities, outrage, and filth as decadence, a disgusting influenza transplanted from the West. Was it here in Russia that the words decadent and decadents were coined? Never. They were invented in the West, and their purpose was to brand a sect that the majority of people found disgusting, repellent, and insupportable because it represented ugliness, a perversion and distortion of nature, the worship of that which is insane in content and incoherent in form. Having deplored the contemporaneous Western literary figures and painters as well as those infected in Russia, having referred to Diaghilev as the editor of dekadentshchina, Stasov concludes the essay with the following rhetorical questions and advice. Is it not appalling, all this talentless, decadent gibberish? Must we in truth exchange our former art healthy, true to the nature of life, truthful, profound, sincere for such nonsense and rubbish? It would be like putting the whole world en masse in an insane asylum, a house for idiots. But enough. Let everything healthy in the human brain that has not yet been distorted declare uncompromising hostility towards this worthless decadence!

99

100

Ibid., 6. Vladimir Stasov, Nishchie Dukhom, Novosti i Birzhevaia Gazeta, No. 5, April 5, 1899. Reprinted in V. V. V. Stasov. Izbrannye Sochineniia. Zhivopis, Skulptura, Muzyka (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1952), 3: 23238. Reprinted in translation as The Poor in Spirit, by Wendy R. Salmond, guest editor, Experiment: A Journal of Russian Culture, vol. 7 (2001), 233-40.

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Stasov wished to promote literature, art, and music that would conform to the nationalist ideas, styles, and doctrines of Slavophilism noted above, combined with the social, i.e., utilitarian, purpose established in the 1860s. Long before the aesthetic conflict rose with the World of Art, Stasov had written, . . . there can scarcely be many today who would consider it degrading for true art to serve the aims of everyday utility.101 In the second half of the nineteenth century, the so-called peredvizhniki [Wanderers] had rebelled against the prescribed methods of the St. Petersburg Art Academy. Now, the style of the Wanderers typically landscape painting lacking original inspiration, but also critical realism showing the dire circumstances of common people befell a similar stagnancy, which precipitated this subsequent revolt. For his part, Diaghilev could recognize superior quality in the work of certain artists of the past, but he perceived no outstanding heights of achievement in the recent movements; for this reason he rejected any criticism of decadence. On the contrary, those who would continue to work repetitively in the older, stagnant styles were subject to decay and were therefore in his view the actual decadents. Nevertheless, Diaghilev did preserve the artistic heritage at the exhibitions and in the journal of the World of Art for example, the Realist paintings of Ilya Repin (1844-1930) and Viktor Vasnetsov (1848-1926) were represented initially but he actively promoted the forward-looking works of the young Symbolists, especially painters, but also poets and musicians. In this respect, Sergei Diaghilev was looking away from Saint Petersburg the base of the World of Art movement towards Moscow. Speaking irreverently in 1899, he referred to the former as a city of artistic gossiping,

101

V. Stasov, in a letter to the Editorial Board of St. Petersburg News, 1874, reprinted online in the Russian Visual Arts Project, translated by Carol Adlam, 2002. Available at: http://www.hrionline.ac.uk/rva/texts/stasov/stas03/stas03.html.

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academic professors, and Friday watercolor classes.102 In general, St. Petersburg remained a more conservative city in comparison to Moscow. Although there existed an internal dynamic of opposing viewpoints, the city lingered behind Moscow in its artistic development, especially in regard to Symbolism. This is perhaps to be found in the mystic element of the movement, which was partly rooted in the teachings of Eastern Orthodoxy, the center of which in Russia was Moscow. Alexander Benois made the point clearly in 1907 when he reviewed an art exhibition in St. Petersburg. He stated, Hitherto, we in St. Petersburg have not had any formal Symbolists. Well, now they have appeared. In more progressive Moscow, they have existed already for several years.103 This statement citing differences between the two cities helps to explain why mystic Symbolism influenced the later creative development of Scriabin, a native Muscovite. A trend towards Symbolism had also existed in St. Petersburg earlier, but it tended to manifest itself predominantly in the field of literature as exemplified in the works of Dmitry Merezhkovsky (1865-1941).104 Some of Merezhkovskys writings appeared early on in the World of Art journal another indication of Diaghilevs interest in presenting new directions of thought and creativity. The non-dogmatic outlook of Diaghilev and the World of Art circle accommodated Symbolism as innovation. For them, innovation could be found in

102

Sergei Diaghilev, Illiustratsii k Pushkinu, Mir iskusstva, no. 16 (St. Petersburg, 1899), 35; quoted in Stuart R. Grover, The World of Art Movement in Russia, Russian Review, 32, no. 1 (Jan., 1973), 34. 103 Alexander Benois, Dnevnik khudozhnika [Art Diary/Journal] in Moskovskii ezhenedelnik [Moscow Weekly] 17 November 1907; quoted in John Bowlt, Through the Glass Darkly: Images of Decadence in Early Twentieth-Century Russian Art, Journal of Contemporary History, 17, no. 1 Decadence (Jan., 1982), 102. 104 Dmitry Merezhkovsky wrote an essay in 1893 titled On the Causes of the Present Decline and the New Currents of Contemporary Russian Literature in which he describes some basic ideas of the developing Russian Symbolism. A detailed discussion of the essay can be found in Ralph Matlaw, The Manifesto of Russian Symbolism in The Slavic and East European Journal, vol. 1, no. 3 (autumn, 1957), 177-91.

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individuality. Diaghilev emphasized this topic strongly in the Complicated Questions.105 One of the greatest merits of our times is to recognize individuality under every guise and at every epoch, he said.106 In this sense, Diaghilev was aware of the individuality in Scriabins creativity and later included the composers Piano Concerto on his programs of Russian music in Paris, 1907.107 Elsewhere, despite the eclectic nature among the members and representatives in the World of Art exhibitions and journal, the notion of individualism was undeniably an important point in common. One notable exception, however, was Alexandre Benois, who took issue with the idea in an essay in 1906 titled Heresies in Art.108 In it he writes, Individualism is a heresy because, above all, it denies communion.109 Closely related to the topic of individualism was the concept of lart pour lart (art for arts sake).110 Rejecting any pre-conceived notions of what art should be, the latter was based on the belief that art was in and of itself the sole purpose for its existence; there was no further reason for its existence, and least of all utilitarianism. Diaghilev deals with this issue ambiguously in part two of the Complicated Questions
In practical business terms, he also realized that the controversy surrounding innovation could draw attention and was therefore a marketable item as proven by the many triumphs he enjoyed in Russia and later in Paris and elsewhere in the West. 106 Quoted in Arnold L.Haskell, in collaboration with Walter Nouvel, Diaghileff:His Artistic and Private Life (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1935), 87. 107 Some sources, such as Sigfried Schibli, state that Diaghilev had engaged Scriabin to play his Piano Concerto, when in fact it was performed by Josef Hofmann. Scriabin had just arrived in Paris returning from New York shortly before the performance. 108 A. Benois. This article appeared in 1906 in the Moscow Symbolist journal Zolotoe Runo [The Golden Fleece]. It is reprinted in English online at Russian Visual Arts, available at http://www.hrionline.ac.uk/rva/texts/benois/ben01/benois.html. 109 The word communion [sobornost] is important here because it reflects the religious renaissance taking place in Russia parallel to the rise of Symbolism at the turn of the century. These issues will be discussed in the following chapter. 110 Although this French expression is attributed to the Swiss scholar Benjamin Constant (1768-1830), it was found in his diary entry of February 10, 1804 on a visit to Weimar, where he spent evenings in the company of the Schelling and Schiller. In his article The Beginnings of lart pour lart (1953), John Wilcox traces meaning of the expression back to a misreading of Judgments of Kant.
105

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under the subtitle Eternal Conflict. On the one hand, he rejects Chernyshevsky and Tolstoy for demanding, respectively, a social and religious purpose of art.111 On the other hand, he writes, Who can deny the social significance of art, that old and indisputable truth? But the requirement that art be responsive to our affairs, our concerns, our emotions this is a very dangerous thing . . . . Further, he declares that The great strength of art consists precisely in the fact that it is an aim in itself, it is useful only in itself, and the main thing it is free. Art cannot be without ideas, just as it cannot be without form or without color, but none of these elements can or should be deliberately inserted into it without destroying the harmony of its parts.112 Not all of the many diverse artists and literary figures associated with the World of Art were in agreement with the above statements attributed to Diaghilev. This fact draws attention to the unstable nature of the organization and is surely, aside from later financial difficulties, a reason for the demise of its journal in 1904 after only a brief six years in existence.113 Still, the comprehensive nature of the World of Art caused an enormous impact in many areas of contemporaneous culture and criticism. The representations of so many stylistic directions in art and the discussions of these demonstrate that, in reality, art was serving a purpose in society. In this respect, lart pour lart and individualism could be interpreted not necessarily as decadence, but as a reaction against the status quo. They served as catalysts to move the evolution of art forward as a commentary on the social

Diaghilev, Complicated Questions: Eternal Conflict, 2. Ibid. In contrast to Diaghilevs aesthetic premise, Scriabin inserted extra-musical ideas especially into his later works intending to achieve goals beyond purely aesthetic beauty and pleasure. In this respect, he was following the second generation of Russian Symbolists, many of whom had been contributors to the World of Art. 113 Igor Grabar (1871-1960), a member of the World of Art, states, There was never . . . . a moment when the World of Art presented a common, united front, whether political, social or even purely artistic. From his autobiography Moya Zhizn [My Life], 178; quoted in Bowlt, The Silver Age, 64.
112

111

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situation and as a directional guide into the future. For Diaghilev, art should serve society, but not according to any given set of rules. In this respect, it cannot be established that the World of Art was based on the motto lart pour lart, as some scholars of the Silver Age have contended.114 Subjectivity, ones personal emotional feelings towards an object or idea is associated with the concept of individualism.115 At the turn of the century, subjectivity infused new ideas into outdated methods of criticism. Diaghilev treats this topic in section four of the Complicated Questions. No longer were historical facts and comparisons to be employed or tolerated. Works literary, artist, musical were to be examined and judged on their own intrinsic value and according to the unique sensitivities of the individual viewer or listener. One of the major merits of our time, our generation, is precisely the ability to sense the individual personality.116 Just as the new individual creativity should discard the rules of the past, so to should the new criticism follow a subjective approach in order to gain access into the artists soul and evaluate his creative work. Evaluating the development of the artistic personality and the accord between the artist and the viewer are for Diaghilev essential to the new criticism. In his opinion, the desire to turn criticism into a science will never succeed in resolving the issue of the relative value of talent.117 According to Diaghilev, criticism

Stuart Grover states that the journal took as its motto art for arts sake. See Grover, 32. In fact, the motto was Art is Free, Life is Paralyzed. 115 According to the Russian Symbolist Vyacheslav Ivanov, Individualism is a phenomenon of the subjective consciousness. This deduction is made in his essay The Crisis of Individualism [Krizis individualizma, 1905] in A Revolution of the Spirit: Crisis of Value in Russia, 1890-1924, ed. Bernice Glatzer Rosenthal and Martha Bohachevsky-Chomiak, trans. Marian Schwartz, (New York: Fordham University Press, 1990), 171. 116 Diaghilev, Complicated Questions: The Principles of Artistic Evaluation, Russian Visual Arts Project, 2. 117 Ibid., 4.

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of the recent past had been reduced to pedantic classification and would lose its significance in the future. In metaphorical terms he states, Whereas subjective criticism diagnoses, objective criticism categorizes the illness and records it in a book of scientific statistics, reacting with complete indifference to the facts that it has established.118 The same criteria for evaluation unbiased, non-prejudicial should be applied equally to works of the past, present, and future. Artist and critic alike should be free of those constraints imposed on the previous generations. Neither should fall victim to any subjugation of conformity. Throughout the nineteenth century criticism dealing with both the visual and musical arts had developed into a pattern of focusing on comparative analysis within the historical context, theoretical analysis, and especially nationalist aspects. For Diaghilev, though, criticism needed to go beyond mere categorization; it had to assess the inner value of a work of art, the latter being an object created independently from any factors of historical influence. He states: In our whole attitude to art we first of all required independence and freedom; and if we left ourselves the freedom to judge, we granted the artist complete creative freedom. We rejected any hint of the non-independence of art, and our point of departure was man himself, as a uniquely free creature. All possible surrounding frames had to be removed. Nature, imagination, truth, content, form, the picturesque, nationalism all had to be viewed through the prism of personality.119 Moreover, criticism should now serve a dual purpose, to guide the public and to guide the artist.120 But guidance, by definition, means direction according to guidelines, or

Ibid. Ibid., 5. 120 It was in that practical guidance, in speaking to the painter as well as to his public, that Diaghilev was unique, and it is there that one can truly claim for him a creative gift. Criticism at that point ceases to be academic. Haskell and Nouvel, Diaghileff, 88.
119

118

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following once again a set of rules. Consequently, guidance must in corresponding degree inhibit the freedom of creativity and the unconstrained reaction to creativity. This dual purpose in criticism was in no uncertain terms a novel approach and had not been restricted to the visual arts. For example, in 1856, four decades before the World of Art movement, the music critic Feofil Tolstoy (1810-1881) had commented: Criticism is not written for amusement. It is intended for a twofold purpose: to clarify for readers the composers thoughts, and to indicate to the composer himself what is defective in his work. Criticism which does not achieve this dual aim is useless; it is impossible to achieve it without detailed analysis in both artistic and technical respects.121 In contrast, defending the positive aspect of unity represented in the notion of community, Vyacheslav Ivanov cautions against such excessive freedom.122 But freedom is terrible. Where is the guarantee that it will not make the freed man an apostate from the whole and that he will not get lost in the wilderness of his own isolation?123 In this, Ivanov aligned himself with Benois, who believed that individualism would lead to artistic enslavement.124 For these men, an artist needs to work within a given framework. Benois wrote: True art survives only where there still exists a certain mass of subordinating factors (frequently unbeknownst to the artists themselves), only where artists gather to serve around a familiar dogma: only, in a word, where individualism is sacrificed to what used to be called a school. 125
Feofil Tolstoy, Analysis of A. S. Dargomizhskys Rusalka, The Northern Bee (St. Petersburg), 1856, repr. in Stuart Campbell, ed., Russians on Russian Music, 1830-1880: An Anthology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 57. 122 Ivanov was acquainted with many contributors of the World of Art, but was not directly affiliated. Indeed, he lived abroad in Western Europe Greece, Italy, and Switzerland during the entire lifespan of the original movement (1898-1904). Ivanov returned to Russia in 1905, settling initially in St. Petersburg. 123 Ivanov, The Crisis of Individualism, 166. 124 Benois, 1.
121

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In contrast, the composer Peter Tchaikovsky, who was also active as a newspaper reviewer, opposed the classification and depersonalization of artists into such schools, but at the same time emphasized the necessity of having a solid understanding of traditions and compositional techniques. Twenty years before Diaghilev published his manifesto, Tchaikovsky sent a letter to his patroness Nadezhda von Meck in which he names in pejorative terms the so-called Moguchaya Kuchka (The Mighty Handful, including the composers Balakirev, Musorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, Cui, and Borodin) a mutual admiration society.126 He complained that the whole set suffered from one-sidedness, lack of individuality, and mannerisms . . . had no sound basis, that their mockery of the schools and the classical masters, their denial of authority and of the masterpieces, was nothing but ignorance.127 Diaghilev, notwithstanding his respect for the Symbolist writers and philosophers, was too much a man of business to appreciate the profound consequences of a doctrine of unbridled freedom, which in his assessment provided a basis for the further evolution of innovative artistic expression. As a capitalist of the arts, Diaghilev was concerned with promoting things that were original and fashionable; for him, the more freedom granted to the artist, the more unusual and novel the resulting product. It is this attitude which later led the Marxist theoretician Georgiy Plekhanov to comment that art for arts sake has become art for moneys sake.128 Political commentators in Russia during that era
Ibid., 1-2. Peter Tchaikovsky, in a letter to Nadezhda von Meck dated San Remo, December 24, 1877; reprinted in Fisk, Josiah, ed., Composers on Music: Eight Centuries of Writings (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 2nd ed., 1997; 1st ed. Pantheon Books, 1956), 152. 127 Ibid., 152-53. 128 George Plekhanov, Art and Society, 1912, English version by Granville Hicks (New York: Critics Group, 1936), 92.
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such as Plekhanov were often themselves philosophers well-versed in the criticism of contemporaneous artistic creativity. This will be examined further in Chapter Five. Related to individualism was the major concern of nationalism and to what degree and how it could be expressed in a work of art. It was an aspect that aroused the passions of major critical writers in Russia, especially since the time of Mikhail Glinka (18041857), whom they credited with being the undisputed father of Russian music. This was not only a point of discussion in major works of Glinkas such as the operas A Life for the Tsar (1836) and Ruslan and Ludmila (1842); the works of other composers of that period and later were measured against the stylistic and technical features of the masters works. The influential Russian music theoretician and critic Herman Laroche (1845-1904) made this point in an 1873 article titled Russian Musical Composition in Our Day. In it, he praised the recitative style of Glinka as being distinctly national in style and also drew attention to the composers unique use of double counterpoint. Citing Glinkas impact on other Russian composers, he commented, With a few exceptions, the Russian composers who have embarked on a public career since the 1850s have all shown traces of Glinkas influence, although this influence has made itself felt in very different ways on the various natures. Glinka is the Russian Mozart; his genius has not only depth but also breadth it was diverse, it embraced much.129 The near idol worship of Glinka had already found expression in the writings of earlier music critics in Russia, among them two towering figures archrivals among themselves Alexander Serov (1820-1871) and Vladimir Stasov. Evaluating the merits of Glinkas operas, Serov stated, Our whole theory of national identity (narodnost) in operatic music has to rest on Glinkas works as
129

German [Herman] Laroche, Russian Musical Composition in Our Day, The Voice 329 (November 28, 1873); reprinted in Campbell, 260.

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its foundation-stone. The entire future development of the art of music in Russia is intimately and inseparably bound up with Glinkas scores.130 In the composition of Ruslan, Glinka had demonstrated that he possessed a gift unique among his countrymen of the time of incorporating many diverse styles of Russia and Western Europe into a convincingly unified work most specifically, native folksong and old church music on the one hand, and German counterpoint and Italian and French opera styles on the other. Glinkas achievements in operatic composition set a national precedent. Under his influence, both the contemporaneous and future generation of Russian composers attempted to emulate him, imitating his eclectic style. Their works were evaluated in consequence according to the standard established in Ruslan. Even Serov, renowned mainly as a music critic, created two notable operas, Judith (1863) and Rogneda (1865), into which he, too, attempted to incorporate national and international styles especially Italian, which earned him the scorn of another composer-critic, Csar Cui. Richard Taruskin points out in his discussion of Serovs operas that Italianism, for the likes of Cui, had become merely a generalized term or mode of abuse.131 Serov the critic endeavored to apply absolutely logical scientific methods in his reviews and analyses of musical works, this notwithstanding his principle that Music is an art of expressiveness . . . . the language of the soul, a reflection of mans psychological changes, and of inner spiritual and emotional life. 132 Regarding the purpose of music criticism, Serov found

Alexander Serov, A Life for the Tsar and Ruslan und Lyudmila, Russian World 67 (1860); reprinted in Campbell, 104. 131 Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 229. 132 Alexander Serov, quoted in Bakst, 89; repr. from Groman, A. and D. Zhitomirsky, J. Keldish, M. Pekelis, Istoriya Russkoy Muziki [History of Russian Music], vol. 2 (Moscow, 1940), 45.

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that the main objective is to educate the musical taste of the public.133 This, of course, stands in contrast to the dual purpose of criticism cited above in the opinions of Feofil Tolstoy and Diaghilev. Furthermore, the fact that Serov finds fundamental criticism to be inseparable from purely technical details, and thus from musical examples134 is an untenable argument; it assumes, then, that the general public will have a basic education in music theory that would allow it to understand his analyses. Laroche implied this very point when he commented, Not a single autodidact however gifted, not a single youth who all of a sudden imagined himself wiser than all good and bad conservatories, can turn himself into a true, profound Wagnerian and it is the education of such immature adherents that Mr. Serov seeks, albeit in vain.135 Serov also stated that only a comparative anatomy of music can provide a solid buttress for music criticism, revealing for it realms of inexhaustible riches which are as yet scarcely touched.136 It is the disjunct, non-theoretical, non-systematic style of criticism pervasive in the writings of Vladimir Stasov that gathered the ire of Serov. In his review of Ruslan, Serov uses his talents as a gifted essayist not only to analyze the work in a convincing manner, but also to discredit all of Stasovs argumentation in favor of the work. According to Serov, he lacked objectivity and failed to apply in his analyses the method of organic criticism.137 For his exaggerated praise of Glinka, Serov labeled Stasov a panegyrist whose

Ibid. Campbell, 105. 135 Herman Laroche, A Note on Mr. Serovs Lectures on Music, letter to the editor of The Northern Bee, no. 110 (May 8, 1864), 559; repr. in Campbell, 89. 136 Serov, The Role of a Single Motive Through the Whole of Glinkas Opera A Life for the Tsar, Theatrical and Musical Herald 49 (December 13, 1859), 186-92; repr. in Campbell, 94-104. 137 This is a term coined by the poet and literary critic Apollon Grigoriev, with whom Serov was a friend. See Campbell, 89.
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uninformed writing was the result of a paroxysm of rapture.138 Serov especially attacked Stasovs opinion according to which after Ruslan, Glinka has only two rivals in the world of opera Gluck and Mozart.139 Whether to a greater or lesser degree, most Russian composers and critics of the nineteenth century were profoundly concerned with the issue of nationalism as a factor in artistic creation. Here, the relevant question arose as to what extent this should play a role in a given work of art and how it should be expressed there. The composer-critic Dmitry Struysky (1806-1856) explained the futility of inserting folksongs into a work in order to bestow it with a national identity (narodnost).140 This method of quotation, which he refers to as counterfeiting, might appeal to a largely uneducated public attending musical performances, but it in no way makes a piece national. Consequently, he utilizes two terms peculiar to the Russian language in order to differentiate between what he considers to be genuine national identity (narodnost) and the false, or simple national identity of the common people (prostonarodnost).141 . . . our public decides on the basis of a momentary impression, and not in accordance with the laws of criticism.142 For Struysky, fashion could not be the determining factor in establishing national identity. Finally, he concludes that, Music has least need of national identity among all the arts since by its essence it is the common language of mankind and since it has its own form which is the least reliant upon the contemporary age.143

138 139

Ibid., 127. Ibid., 106, repeated 127. 140 Dmitry Yuryevich Struysky, A Few Words about National Identity in Music, Literary Gazette no. 6 (February 8, 1842), 113-15; repr. in Campbell, 43-47. 141 Ibid., 46. 142 Ibid., 47. 143 Ibid.

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Important in the relationship to Diaghilevs World of Art as well as the critical evaluations of Scriabin is the comment of Struysky that A truly national poet or artist never seeks national identity, but writes simply, giving expression to what is in his heart in an elegant form. This is a characterization that is applicable to the official members of the World of Art as well as those artists who were represented in the exhibitions of the organization and in the pages of its journal. This includes Scriabin, an inherently Russian composer despite all testimonies to the contrary citing influences of Chopin, Wagner and Liszt. Scriabins music, to borrow the phrase of Struysky, has no pretensions and does not go out of fashion.144 Diaghilev would have agreed with this assessment; for him, true nationalism was an unconscious and involuntary expression of the artists internal being;145 it could not be the product of a calculated or planned-out strategy. He emphasized that, Nationalism that is held as a principle is a mask and a sign of lack of respect for the nation. All the crudity of our art in particular flows from this false search: as if, just by wishing it, you could capture the Russian spirit and convey its essence!146 Following this conviction, Diaghilev looked towards Moscow, its provinces, and the local art colony on Savva Mamontovs estate, Abramtsevo. In these places he recognized that artistic activity was producing works reflective of the true national spirit and not contrived in an affected manner that had resulted from the cultural battles and conflicts raging in St. Petersburg. In the northern capital city, the pervasive influence of Western European culture represented to those of Slavophile inclination, such as the critic Stasov, a menace that threatened to destroy the countrys national identity. In musical terms, this

144 145

Ibid. Diaghilev, Complicated Questions, part four, 5. 146 Ibid.

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had been playing itself out in the struggle between the Conservatory connected with the Russian Music Society and the Free Music School, both located in St. Petersburg. Irrespective of their enmity toward each others views, Stasov and Diaghilev were both concerned with securing and protecting a nationalist style in Russia art and music. In the case of Diaghilev, however, an all-inclusive, non-confrontational approach provided the basis of his personal philosophy and determined the key direction of his organization, the World of Art. In this respect both he and Mamontov were in accord; they recognized the importance of exposing Russian artists and the Russian public in general to the latest trends in the West.147 Neither viewed this as a threat that would some day jeopardize the national identity or extinguish the Russian spirit. Diaghilev wrote, The true Russian nature is too elastic to break under the influence of the west.148 Bringing many diverse styles together became the hallmark of the World of Art movement. This has led one of the foremost scholars in the area of Silver Age research, John Bowlt, to claim that, This aspiration towards synthesism was perhaps the greatest legacy of the World of Art. 149 Synthesis consolidating various art forms existed as a concept in Russia already before the World of Art; the tendency had prevailed there through the better part of the nineteenth century. In the works of Glinka discussed above there had been an eclecticism present that could classify the composer as a synthesist.150 Later, the influence of Wagner in Russia was to play a significant role in this respect; it would

Some of the artists under Mamontovs patronage were sent abroad to familiarize them with international styles. See Grover, 30. 148 Diaghilev, Complicated Questions, part four, 6. 149 John Bowlt, The Silver Age, 64. 150 Richard Leonard, A History of Russian Music (London: Jarrolds, 1956), 50.

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affect the positions of all the critics and composers working in the second half of the nineteenth century into the beginning of the twentieth. During this period, synthesism would determine the direction of thinking of the Symbolists, the main musical exponent of whom was Alexander Scriabin. Viewed on a grand scale, synthesism can apply to the historical situation of art and literature at the turn of the century. The philosopher-poet Andrei Bely (1884-1930) described the development in Hegelian terms. The period of Positivism represented the thesis followed by a reaction, the antithesis, of the so-called and disputed period of Decadence151; the synthesis of the two manifested itself in the phenomenon known as Symbolism. Russian scholar John Elsworth explains Belys position in the following way: For in its emphasis on only one aspect of mans nature, decadence was no more capable than positivism of becoming the basis of a new organic culture. The solution to this problem is to be found in the synthesis of these opposing ideologies, the philosophy that arises from their conflict Symbolism.152 The whole construct, however, presupposed that a condition of decadence existed, which, as explained above, was emphatically denied by Diaghilev. The concept of synthesism came to touch nearly every aspect of life in Russia culturally and politically. It was perceived as a manifestation of some not yet attainable wholeness, i.e., all-unity. For example, bringing the East and West together was a major

John Bowlt writes, According to Igor Grabar, the term was introduced to Russia by his brother, Vladimir, in an article Parnasstsy i Dekadany [Parnassians and Decadents] published in Moscow in January, 1889. See The Silver Age, 92 152 John Elsworth, Andrei Belys Theory of Symbolism, in Barnes, Christopher J., ed., Studies in Twentieth Century Russian Literature (New York: Harper and Row, 1976), 24-25. Elsworth cites A. Bely, Nachalo Veka [The Beginning of the Century] (Moscow-Leningrad, 1933), 112.

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concern in religious-philosophical circles; they viewed it as an assigned task to be accomplished with Russia in the messianic role of spiritual leadership. Before this could happen, however, internal conflicts on many levels, emanating especially from the countrys two main cities, needed to be confronted. In broadly stated terms, positions in rational, conservative St. Petersburg and irrational, yet progressive Moscow would need to be reconciled. Although representatives of both camps found themselves in each city, the general tendency followed the above scheme. The differences have been cited and explained by numerous experts in the field. The art being produced in St. Petersburg, for example, tended to lean on a formal accuracy emphasizing a linear and graphic aspect; in Moscow, art was more centered around the manipulation of color, which was thought to be able to depict more the inner life and soul of the artist.

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Chapter 3 Philosophical Perspectives

The development of Russian philosophy throughout the nineteenth century, amid diverse ideologies, provided the intellectual and historical context that made the cultural phenomenon of Alexander Scriabin possible. The concept of unity and specifically reunification that played a central role in the composers creativity was pervasive in Russian thinking of the decades preceding Scriabins appearance. Unity, interpreted variously in terms such as wholeness, oneness, absolute, pan-unity, all-unity, ecumenism, sobornost (conciliarity), sbornost (collectivism)1, leads back to the teachings of the Eastern Church. This feature distinguishes Orthodoxy from Roman Catholicism, which emphasizes the individual. The concept of unity provides the background for the various directions of thought and polemics that characterize Russian criticism of Scriabin. Like a main thread, unity runs through numerous philosophical writings religious, social, political, aesthetic of all the major Russian thinkers from that time into the twentieth century. The persistent and tight focus on unity is also a factor distinguishing Russian philosophy from its West European counterparts. Until the second quarter of the nineteenth century Russia did not possess a national school of philosophy. Ideas that were discussed in intellectual circles drew predominantly on the teachings of German philosophers, in particular Kant, Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel. This situation changed abruptly with the publication in 1836 of the first so-called Philosophical Letter of Pyotr Chaadayev (1794-1856). In this long expos,
The word sbornost is an invented word altered from sbornik (collection) as a euphonious contrast to sobornost.
1

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the author characterizes Russias position in the world in very negative terms. Discussing the isolation of Russia, he writes: It is one of the most deplorable traits of our peculiar civilization that we are still discovering truths which other peoples, even some much less advanced than we, have taken for granted. The reason is that we have never marched with the other peoples. We do not belong to any of the great families of the human race; we are neither of the West nor of the East, and we have not the traditions of either. Placed, as it were, outside of time, we have not been touched by the universal education of the human race. . . . But where are our wise men, may I ask, where are our philosophers? Who has ever thought for us, who thinks for us today? And yet, placed between the two great divisions of the world, between the East and the West, resting one elbow on China and the other on Germany, we ought to combine in ourselves the two great principles of human intelligence, imagination and reason, and fuse in our civilization the history of all parts of the globe. But that is not the role Providence has assigned to us. On the contrary, It seems to have given no thought to our destiny. Excluding us from Its beneficient influence on the minds of men, It has left us entirely to ourselves; It would have none of us, and It has taught us nothing.2 Chaadayevs inflammatory statements, which Alexander Herzen described as a shot ringing out in a dark night,3 marked the beginning of intense debate and can be considered one main impetus in the development of a national school of philosophy in Russia. In spite of his negative assessment, Chaadayev sees a future mission for the Russian nation, one that is based specifically on Christianity. He calls upon the Russian people to reaffirm their religious beliefs as a means to release them from the shackles of foreign influence and to establish their own identity and future success. He writes:
2

Pyotr Chaadayev, Letters on the Philosophy of History: First Letter, in Marc Raeff, ed., Russian Intellectual History: An Anthology (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1978; originally published New York: Harcourt, Brace, & World, Inc., 1966), 160-73. This letter, one of eight, was written in French in 1829, but first translated and published in Russian in 1836. As a result, under Tsar Nicholas I Chaadayev was declared insane and placed under house arrest, the censor dismissed, and the journal Teleskop in which the letter was published, suspended. See Vassili Zenkovsky, A History of Russian Philosophy, vol. 1 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967; originally published London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd., 1953), 150. 3 Zenkovsky, 150.

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The weakness of our faith or the inadequacy of our dogma has kept us out of this universal movement in which the social concept of Christianity was formulated and developed, relegating us to the category of peoples who are to profit only indirectly and very late from the full effects of Christianity, we must seek by every means at our command to revive our faith and to give ourselves a truly Christian impetus; for everything in Europe was achieved through Christianity.4 Parallel to this admonishment, Chaadayev found Orthodoxy, the original Christianity, at the root of Russias backwardness. In contrast to Roman Catholicism, which placed emphasis on the individual, thereby providing a context for dialogue and exchange of ideas, the rigidity of Orthodoxy tolerated no deviation from the established dogma considered inviolable by the Eastern Church fathers. Such attempts were regarded as heresy. This stifling of intellectual development, of natural evolution, had facilitated the subsequent willingness of Russia to import cultural and philosophical ideas from the West. It was time now for Russia to mature in order to assume an equal role among civilized nations. This could only occur through the interaction of ideas. The whole history of modern society takes place in the realm of opinion. Consequently, true education lies there. Initially organized on that basis, modern society has progressed solely through thought. Its interests have always followed, and never preceded, ideas. Opinions have always given rise to interests, and never interests to opinions. All its political revolutions were, in principle, moral revolutions. Men sought the truth, and found freedom and prosperity. This is the explanation of the phenomenon ofmodern society and its civilization; it would otherwise be incomprehensible.5 Chaadayev also analyzed Russias past isolation as a stage perhaps necessary for its future role in the world the redemption of mankind.

4 5

Raeff, 170. Ibid.

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We may be said to be an exception among peoples. We are one of those nations which do not appear to be an integral part of the human race, but exist only in order to teach some great lesson to the world.6 The idea expressed here is an example of another aspect of Russian philosophy that gained momentum during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries Messianism. It manifested itself both in a chauvinistic nationalism as well as universalism and appeared in many colorations, both sacred and secular. The concepts of world theocracy and of communism, for example, describe forms of totalitarian states striving towards universalism. It was also the idea of Messianism that later would seize the mind of Scriabin and influence his creativity. This was not unusual at that time and cannot be attributed to any pathological disorder of the composer. Many Russia thinkers of the nineteenth century had validated the existence of their country and hence themselves through the idea of a preordained mission that would unite humanity and all humanity with God, the Absolute. In his letters of 1835 addressed to the eminent Russian novelist Ivan Turgenyev (1818-1883), Chaadayev writes: . . . Russia has been summoned to an immense intellectual career: she must, one day, provide a solution for all the questions which have been debated in Europe. . . . We are destined to teach Europe an infinity of things which she could not understand without us. . . .Such is the logical result of our long solitude. . . . Our universal mission has begun.7 It was during this period that a schism occurred in Russian society. Two camps developed: one leaning towards the teachings of the West, referred to as the Westernizers; the other a purely nationalist movement, referred to as the Slavophiles.

6 7

Ibid., 164. Quoted in Zenkovsky, 168.

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From Chaadayevs comments, one might ascertain that his position appealed to the Slavophiles; and initially it did. But later they realized that he was a Westernizer aligned with Russian literary critic Vissarion Belinsky (1811-1848) and they rejected him completely. Chaadayev admired the historical achievements of the West, which he attributed to the guidance of Roman Catholicism, and viewed the Pope as a visible sign of unity.8 For Chaadeyev, unity meant and presupposed the unity of the church.9 Among the leading Slavophiles of the mid-nineteenth century, the idea of unity is expressed in the term sobornost (conciliarity). The word refers to a spiritual community, but has been subject to various interpretations. The concept indicating an organic togetherness was developed extensively in the writings of Alexsei Khomyakov (18041860). He completely rejected the idea of individualism associated with Western thought. The isolated individual is marked by complete impotence and irreconcilable discord.10 For Khomyakov, sobornost was an ideological component of Orthodoxy. It signified unity in freedom, the latter representing the truth found solely in the teachings of the Eastern Church.11 Here the concept had an ecclesiological meaning, i.e., referring to the function of the church, and was incompatible with later secular ideas associated with collectivism. Sobornost also provided the only foundation for the acquisition of knowledge. The truth is inaccessible to individual thinkers. It is accessible only to an aggregate of thinkers, bound together by love.12 Khomyakovs doctrine of sobornost provided the basis for further investigation found in the writings of the most important
8 9

Ibid., 165. Ibid. 10 Khomyakov, quoted in Zenkovsky, 189. 11 Andrzej de Lazari and Ivan Esaulov, Sobornost, in Andrzej de Lazari, ed., Ideas in Russia, vol. 1 (Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Semper, 1999), 369-81. 12 Khomyakov, quoted in Zenkovsky, 191.

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Russian philosophers including Vladimir Solovyov (1853-1900), Sergei Bulgakov (18711944), and Nikolai Berdyayev (1874-1948). It is significant that the latter two, disciples of Solovyov, were in frequent contact with Scriabin after the composers return to Moscow in 1910 up until the time of his death. There does not appear to be any documented evidence, however, that indicates Scriabin ever met Solovyov. But he was familiar with his work, which will be discussed below. Vladimir Solovyov is regarded as the most significant Russian philosopher. His influence on contemporaries and future generations is undisputed. The encomiums have been numerous. One eminent Russian philosopher, Nikolai Lossky (1870-1965), characterized his fellow countryman as the first to create an original Russian system of philosophy and to lay the foundation of a whole school of Russian religious and philosophical thought which is still growing and developing.13 The importance of Solovyovs writings was demonstrated by the immense undertaking on the centennial of his birth to translate them into German, a task requiring just over a quarter of a century.14 Drawing on the doctrine of sobornost, Solovyov promoted the idea of unity of mankind in the form of a world theocracy. As with Khomyakov, his theories were based in Christianity, but in contrast to the former, Solovyov sought reconciliation and reunification of the Eastern and Western churches, hence a fusing of ideas to bring about unity. Thus, among the many aspects of his philosophy, Hegelian dialectics and synthesis

13

Nikolai Lossky, History of Russian Philosophy (New York: International Universities Press, Inc., 1951), 133. 14 Deutsche Gesamtausgabe der Werke von Wladimir Solowjew, vols. 1-8 (Freiburg: Erich Wewel Verlag, 1953-1980).

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assumed a major role.15 It is in the concept of sobornost and the synthetic method employed to achieve this goal of unity that we find the connection between Solovyov and Scriabin. Some scholars have analyzed the composers final project, Mysterium, left incomplete by his untimely death, as an act of sobornost.16

Prince Sergei Trubetskoi Philosopher and Friend of Scriabin. Philosophical ideas influenced Scriabin from adolescence until the time of his death. Indeed, he collected ideas, assimilating many of them into what one could call a highly personal intellectual position. Calling it philosophy would be in this case perhaps inappropriate, since his concept of the world lacked the solid continual development of an idea or ideas an approach one finds present in traditional philosophy. This situation, however, was not unusual in Russia during the time of Scriabin. Prince Sergei Nikolaevich Trubetskoi (1865-1905), professor of the history of philosophy at Moscow University and close friend of the composer, observed: For [Russians] have never gone through scientific training, and random, arbitrary philosophizing is the norm. Our philosophical views are often determined by chance readings and arguments and by traits of the character and the education [of their proponents]. What is missing is the regularizing discipline of the mind.17

15

In the Soviet Encyclopedia of Philosophy (1970 edition), nearly equal coverage is dedicated to Solovyov as to Friedrich Engels, testifying to the prominent role he played in the development of Russian philosophy. Solovyov is praised as a dialectic and utopian-progressive philosopher. See Wilhelm Goerdt, Russische Philosophie: Zugnge und Durchblicke (Freiburg/Munich: Verlag Karl Alber, 1984), 474-75. 16 Die Sobornost-Handlung in Lobanova, Marina, Mystiker, Magier, Theosoph, Theurg: Alexander Skrjabin und seine Zeit (Hamburg: von Bockel Verlag, 2004), 123-41. 17 Sergei N. Trubetskoi, Sobranie Sochinenii [Collected Works], vol. 2 (Moscow : L. M. Lopatin, 19071912), 2; quoted in Bohachevsky-Chomiak, Martha, Sergei N. Trubetskoi: An Intellectual Among the Intelligentsia in Prerevolutionary Russia (Belmont, MA: Nordland Publishing Company, 1976), 40.

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One might view such a provocative statement as an over-generalization of a nations incapacity to study and develop philosophical directions, but it is duly applicable with regard to Scriabin. The composer himself was aware of the deficiency in his intellectual training, according to Leonid Sabaneyev. The latter relates one conversation in which Scriabin lamented, I am simply a layman. One cannot mention it to anyone, but my entire education I received in the Cadet Corps with merely four years of middle school! It is an utter scandal!18 This statement provides one logical reason for Scriabins cultivation of friendship more frequently with contemporaneous philosophers than with other musicians and composers. The former group acted as a substitute for the education he missed during his adolescence. Sabaneyevs grounding in both areas, for example, placed him in the advantageous position of being able to interact with Scriabin on a regular basis. In an article published in 1931, he recalled, Scriabin was an untrained, amateur philosopher, though real philosophers were at times amazed at the truth and power of his sentiments.19 At the same time, however, he classifies Scriabin among other great Russian minds of the nineteenth century. His was the perturbed and inquiring soul of the typically Russian thinker, such as Dostoevsky and Vladimir Solovyov, who states his problems with childlike fearlessness and dares to gaze into the abyss.20 In fact, it was Solovyov, father of the Russian Neo-Christian movement, whose very strong influence on the Russian Symbolist poets and religious transcendentalist thinkers indirectly impacted Scriabins personal direction of thought and musical creativity.

18

Leonid Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Skriabine [Reminiscences of Scriabin] (Moscow: State Publishing House, 1925; repr. Moscow: Klassika 21, 2000), 211. 19 Sabaneyev, Scriabin and the Idea of a Religious Art, 72, no. 1063 Musical Times (Sept. 1931): 791. 20 Ibid.

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The link between Russias greatest philosopher Solovyov and Scriabin is found initially in the composers friendship with Prince Trubetskoi, which began around 1898.21 Vladimir Solovyov was a founding member of the Moscow Psychological Society of which Sergei Trubetskoi and his brother Evgeny, both philosophers, were members. Notwithstanding the official designation, the society was primarily a venue for the discussion of philosophical questions, providing an atmosphere less susceptible to government censorship.22 Trubetskoi introduced Scriabin into the society, where he, too, became a member and was able to familiarize himself with contemporaneous philosophical issues and interact with some of the great intellectual minds of Moscow. But there is no evidence among the numerous biographies or collected correspondence that support an actual meeting of Scriabin and Solovyov. According to the testimonies of both Sabaneyev and the composers brother-in-law, Boris de Schloezer, Scriabin found the fundamentally Christian premises of Solovyovs thinking opposed to his own. In his biography on Scriabin, Schloezer writes: He felt equally out of sympathy with the religious mysticism of Vladimir Solovyov and spoke of it with a certain condescension and even derision. Religiosity was to him at that time a symptom of weakness of will, and he equated mysticism with superstition.23
The Soviet musicologist Igor Belsa names without further citation 1898 as the first year of contact between Trubetskoi and Scriabin. See Igor Belsa, Skrjabin, German trans. Christoph Hellmundt (Berlin: Verlag Neue Musik, 1986; originally published Moscow: Muzyka, 1982), 110. This is plausible in that Trubetskoi was familiar enough with Scriabin to write a review of the Moscow premiere of the composers Piano Concerto on March 12, 1899. This article was published in the Moscow Courier. See Faubion Bowers, Scriabin (New York: Dover, 1996, second revised edition; originally published Palo Alto: Kodansha, 1969), 260. 22 This society, despite its name, was the largest and longest-lasting philosophical society in the modern Russian Empire. It was founded in 1885 by a group of largely liberal scholars who were interested in establishing an additional forum for the intellectuals, as well as in popularizing the study of psychology. They hoped that this new discipline, untainted with political implications, would be less mistrusted by the government than philosophy, with its tradition of alleged collusion with revolutionary doctrines. See Bohachevsky-Chomiak, 66. 23 Boris de Schloezer, Scriabin: Artist and Mystic, trans. Nicolas Slonimsky (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987, originally published Berlin: Grani, 1923), 65.
21

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Any rejection of mysticism on the part of Scriabin can only have been associated with his complete rejection of Christianity during that period. This form of religion stood in conflict with his own aspirations regarding his grand vision of the Mysterium, an apocalyptic act involving the transfiguration of mankind. Sabaneyev demonstrates this point emphatically when quoting Scriabin: As peculiar as it may seem, Christianity attempts to involve mankind in the material sense in order to draw it away from its mystic origins. If you observe, it is exactly with Christianity that our great cultural age begins, that which we call civilization. Everything here is interconnected. That is why Christian mysticism appears so material and primitive compared to the mysticism of other races. Today, Christianity has served its purpose and should vanish. The purpose of the Mysterium and Christianity stand somehow diametrically opposed to one another and pursue opposite goals.24 Later in his life the composer himself would be consumed by mystic ideas, not however drawn from Christianity, but from Theosophy and Indian culture. His final opus, Mysterium, can be characterized as a mystic project. The main thread running through the writings of Solovyov, all-unity, does find common ground in the thinking of Scriabin. A future utopia, the attainment of wholeness, found expression in the work of both men. In 1888, Solovyov wrote, Universal history is nothing other than the realization of utopias. . . .25 But the utopia that he envisioned was world theocracy under Christian domination, which is tantamount to collectivism under the leadership of God. In contrast, Scriabins vision represented the dematerialization of mankind returning to the wholeness, which is divinity. This
24 25

Alexander Scriabin, quoted in Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 191-92. Vladimir Solovyov, from his pamphlet Lide russe (1888, in French) quoted in Frank, S. L., ed., A Solovyov Anthology (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1974; originally published, London: SCM Press Ltd., 1950), 18.

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provided the ideological basis for the works he composed in his middle and late periods. Initially, the Russian newspapers referred to Scriabins Third Symphony, Le divin pome (1903), as the composers Philosophical Symphony.26 The music here symbolized the reunification of man with the divine as the composer had idealized in his philosophy. In their utopian endeavors towards unity, Solovyov and Scriabin were futurists, a fact recognized and appreciated by later generations of Russian philosophers. Scriabins regard for the world as it appears to us at the present time was conditioned by his vision of the future, of a world that ought to be, of a world that will assume a new form inconceivable to our senses.27 Neither man could accept the status quo in their society. They rejected the Positivism of the second half of the nineteenth century. Its emphasis on individual achievement posed a hindrance towards the future spiritual unification of mankind. This subject matter provided the content of Solovyovs masters thesis (1874), titled The Crisis of Western Philosophy: Against the Positivists. This thesis attacks rational philosophy as darkness and death in life and it calls for a renewal of Christian faith.28 In this work, Solovyov exposes the weaknesses of rationalism and empiricism in proving that both equally deny the being of the known itself as well as of the knower, transferring the whole truth into the act of cognition.29 Though not a Christian, Scriabin would later dismiss any rational analysis introduced in debate to undermine his own arguments and positions. As a

26 27

Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 25. Schloezer, 57. 28 Lossky, 82. 29 Vladimir Solovyov, The Crisis of Western Philosophy; quoted in Peter Zouboff, Godmanhood as the Main Idea of the Philosophy of Vladimir Solovyov (Poughkeepsie: Harmon Printing House, 1944), 46.

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rationalist you cannot understand what I have to say.30 On the other hand, both Scriabin and Solovyov used rationalist thinking to justify their respective irrational idealistic constructs. Ultimately, there was faith which could be introduced to substantiate the metaphysical. Having observed the composer in discussion, Schloezer writes: This faith, which excluded all compromise, was generated by the irrational impulse which possessed him and which he tried to rationalize, an impulse that demanded its realization in himself. He never doubted the absolute truth and importance of the inner voice that he heard in his soul. When it was questioned, he responded as a fanatic, refusing to grant any concessions and categorically dismissing all arguments by referring to his own inner experience as an ultimo ratio.31 In search of a system leading towards absolute unity, the composer and the philosopher attempted to consolidate reason and faith. Solovyov wrote, The aim of my work is to justify the faith of our fathers, to raise it to a new level of rational consciousness, to show that the ancient faith . . . coincides with eternal and universal truth.32 Solovyov and Scriabin worked actively towards achieving their utopian goals. It is a characteristic feature of Russian philosophy to move beyond passive commentary and attempt the realization of ideas a project science.33 In this respect, Scriabins creative activity reflects some of the ideas found in Solovyovs works. In his essay The Meaning of Art, Solovyov writes: The final task of perfect art is to realize the absolute ideal not in imagination only but in very deed to spiritualize and transfigure our actual life. If it be said that such a task

30 31

Schloezer, 62. Ibid., 59-60. 32 Vladimir Solovyov, from The History and Future of Theocracy; quoted in Zenkovsky, 490. 33 Fedor Stepun (1884-1965), Mystische Weltschau: Fnf Gestalten des russischen Symbolismus (Munich: Carl Hanser, 1964), 63.

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transcends the limits of art, the question may well be asked, who has laid down those limits?34 In his attempt to create his final work, Mysterium, Scriabin was defying any set limits. Both men died early deaths, however, leaving their dreams of unity unfulfilled. Scriabin, who had continually rejected the Christian-dominated parameters of Solovyovs philosophy, began in his later years to read and absorb some of the latters eschatological ideas, applying them to the Mysterium.35 In the last few years before his death, Solovyov had distanced himself from his earlier hopes of universal theocracy and concerned himself with an apocalyptic end to the world.36 This position now resonated with Scriabin and his vision of a dematerialization process leading back to the complete wholeness, the ultimate goal of the Mysterium.37 As fantastic as this may seem, the concept was not unique or peculiar to Scriabin. The Russian philosopher Lev Karsavin (1882-1952) dealt with dematerialization extensively in his metaphysical theory of dynamic ontology describing the three stages: 1. primal unity, 2. disjoining, and 3. reunification.38 The material philosophers George Plekhanov and Vladimir Lenin were also familiar with these contemporaneous theories. Here, science, philosophy, and religion came tangentially close to one another. In attempting to reconcile philosophy and religion, Sergei Trubetskoi provided a link between the ideas of Solovyov and Scriabin. Advocating the goal of all-unity and continuing to develop the theory of sobornost, he was a disciple of Solovyov. The latter

34

Vladimir Solovyov, The Meaning of Art, in Frank, S. L., ed., A Solovyov Anthology (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1974; originally published London: SCM Press Ltd., 1950), 149. 35 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 318. 36 Zenkovsky, 478. 37 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 278. 38 Zenkovsky, 845-46.

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had pleaded already for a universal synthesis of science, philosophy and religion in his Crisis of Western Philosophy.39 In contrast to Solovyov, however, Trubetskoi did not dismiss completely the abstract theories of knowledge as laid out by the German philosopher Immanuel Kant; instead, the latters mixture of transcendental and critical thought provided a foundation for the further development of Trubetskois own ideas and those of contemporaneous Russian philosophers. Communality and brotherly love also proved to be defining features of his philosophy, which he applied practically in daily life.40 As with Solovyov, though, his religious convictions presented an obstacle between him and Scriabin. For Trubetskoi, the Christian God was necessary in order to achieve wholeness.41 Scriabin acknowledged a higher being, but would seldom refer to it as God, using instead terms such as the eternal and the infinite.42 Further, Scriabin and Solovyov had difficulty admitting rationalism into their metaphysical constructs of all-unity, but Trubetskoi recognized its importance. Under the prevailing influence of Kant and as a Russian neoidealist, he applied rationalist thinking to one of his most important works, The Foundations of Idealism: If authentic being is knowable even in part, it accords with the laws of our reason the general logical laws of our thought; consequently, these general logical forms, the categories to which our thought is subject, are at the same time the inner laws, forms, and categories of authentic being. The logical principle of our knowledge is at the same time the universal principle of the authentic being which we know.43
39 40

Zenkovsky, 487. Bohachevsky-Chomiak, 42. 41 Ibid., 27. 42 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 140-41. 43 Sergei Trubetskoi, quoted in Zenkovsky, 800.

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Trubetskois neo-idealism, therefore, did not dismiss bluntly all aspects of positivism. But it did recognize limitations in positivist theory; these should be addressed by a philosophy of consciousness in which the personal, the collective, and the absolute are all interconnected.44 In his essay On the Nature of Human Consciousness (1889), Trubetskoi states, The question of the nature of consciousness is the principal question of philosophy, not only of psychology; for in consciousness we know everything that we know. This general line of reasoning was typical for Trubetskoi, who attempted to reconcile and unify the scientific methods with ideas of religion. For him there were three ways of knowing reality: empirically, rationally, and through faith.45 Scriabin, too, attempted to justify his personal philosophy using a scientific method; beyond this was the refuge of faith to accept that without metaphysics there are facts that cannot be explained with empirical evidence. Recently, one philosophy scholar, Randall Poole, has pointed out that Transcendental idealism corroborates one of Trubetskois central ideas, that being in itself must be taken on faith since it cannot be theoretically proved.46 Without faith and for Trubetskoi this meant Orthodoxy the concept of the universal whole based on inner consciousness could not exist. Here, too, one can perceive the characteristic ambiguity in Scriabins reasoning that later would help to preserve his posthumous cultural fame in Russian-Soviet society. On the one hand, he rejected rationalism as incompatible with understanding his theories of dematerialization; on the other hand, he sought to apply rationalism to explain and justify his fantastic ideas. The

44

Randall A. Poole, The Neo-Idealist Reception of Kant in the Moscow Psychological Society, Journal of the History of Ideas, 60, no.2 (April 1999): 320. 45 L. J. Schein, S. N. Trubetskois Weltanschauung, Russian Review, 24, no. 2 (April, 1965): 128-37. 46 Poole, 325.

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near fanaticism and obsession with which the composer would pursue these ideas came years after the death of Trubetskoi. In the meantime and under the influence of the prince, Scriabin continued to attend the meetings of the Moscow Psychological Society, expanding his knowledge of the history and techniques of philosophical inquiry. In addition, Trubetskois musical interests he and his wife Praskovya were amateur pianists also provided a basis for an intimate friendship in which ideas could be actively exchanged.47 From this period, too, proceeds Scriabins knowledge of Kant, whose influence on the Russian neo-idealists is now an undisputed fact. Discussing this subject, Randall Poole states: Trubetskois emphasis on the necessary autonomy and equal rights of the relative and absolute spheres is a distinctly Kantian insight which deeply informed not only theoretical but also social philosophy among neo-idealists in the Moscow Psychological Society.48 Scriabins initial fascination with Kants transcendental idealism led the composer to attempt proselytizing his less informed friends. In a letter dated April 3 (16), 1904 to his wealthy student and patroness, Margarita Morozova (1873-1958), Scriabin advised: You must become acquainted with Kant as soon as possible as well as some Fichte, Schelling and Hegel, at least through a general book on the history of philosophy. The Fouille text book is not very good. German philosophy is not presented well in it. Get ahold of the History of Modern Philosophy by berweg-Heinze. Although this work is somewhat clumsy, it is complete and easy to take in at first glance, which for the time being is the most important thing for you. Using the Kuno Fischer book, you can become acquainted with Kant.

47

Scriabins aunt Lyubov recalled in her memoirs, Trubetskoi would always place his chair near to the piano and listen two or three hours at a time while Sasha [Alexander] would be working on a new piece or preparing a recital. And of course, this would in no way hinder them from carrying on long conversations afterwards. Quoted in Belsa, 114. 48 Poole, 330.

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When you know all that, it will be easier for me to work with you and then you will soon understand my theory.49 The above comments indicate that Scriabin attached much importance to Kant at this time and attempted at least to assimilate some of the philosopher's ideas into his creativity.50 The degree to which Trubetskoi played a role here cannot be determined exactly. Gradually, though, Scriabin distanced himself from Kant as he became more familiar with the mystical ideas associated with Theosophy and then through his acquaintance with the ideas of other German philosophers, particularly Johann Fichte (1762-1814).51 The testimony (1941) of the philosopher Boris Focht (1875-1946), a student of Sergei Trubetskoi and a lifelong friend of Scriabin, provides evidence of the composers later aversion to Kant and enthusiasm for Fichte.52 After several years apart, the two men came together again in Moscow in 1910. They engaged in heated discussion concerning ontological questions and the function of the musical genius. Scriabin informed Focht immediately, I have a high regard for Fichte, whose ideas seem to me decisive and reformative. I have given musical expression to the main principle of the
49

Alexander Scriabin, in A. Kashperov., ed., A Scriabin: Pisma [Letters] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1965), 307. The theory to which Scriabin referred in the last sentence concerned his orchestral composition Pome de lextase (1904-7). The philosophical idea in this work was again the return to unity, here through a confluence of the masculine and feminine elements, i.e., leading back to an androgynous whole. Solovyov, too, had treated the topic of androgyny extensively in his essay The Meaning of Love (18924), a work that would have significant impact on the two generations of Russian Symbolist thinkers. 50 Scriabin does not discuss the application of Kantian theories to his work. It may be inferred, however, that he drew on Kants methods of rationalism and empiricism to legitimize his own creative efforts. 51 In September, 1904, Scriabin attended the Geneva International Congress of Philosophy, where he became familiar with the works of Fichte. Sigfried Schibli has demonstrated the influence of Fichte on Scriabin during this period. See Schibli, Alexander Skrjabin und seine Musik (Munich: Piper, 1983), 28586. 52 Boris Focht, Filosofia Muziki A. N. Skriabin [The Philosophy of the Music of A. N. Scriabin], in Skriabin: Chelovyek, Khudozhnik, Mislitel [Scriabin: Man, Artist, Thinker] (Moscow: The Scriabin State Memorial Museum, 1994), 201-25. In this essay (202), Focht flatters himself in recalling the following remark by Scriabin: As for Sergei Nikolaevich Trubetskoi, what a loss! I decided that after his death [1905] I could discuss only with you the larger philosophical issues. The fact that the name Boris Focht is not found in any other primary sources of Scriabin literature leads one to valuate such a comment written 25 years after the composers own death with a certain caution.

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Fichtean philosophy: the I. 53 In regard to Fichtes predecessor, Scriabin now believed that Kantian transcendental idealism with a closed system of categories posed a clear hindrance for the understanding of universal being.54 In other words, according to Scriabin the teachings of Kant prevented achieving the wholeness, or sobornost, which represented not only to the composer, but generations of Russian thinkers before and after him, the ultimate goal.

Vladimir Solovyov and Vladimir Ivanov Religion and Symbolism. The attempts to achieve unity sobornost in Russia took place on different levels. This utopian ideal came to be referred to as the Russian Idea and is found in the writings of, among others, Dostoevsky, Solovyov, Ivanov, and Berdyayev. The diverse interpretations of the concept religious, nationalist, political, and mystic-eroticsymbolist united the Russian thinkers in a way that reflects the original Orthodox definition of sobornost freedom and unity in diversity. In practice, however, the diversity was less apparent; this was exhibited in the contentious argumentation among Russian clerics, philosophers, and political figures in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Still, there was an overall sense that Russia had a special mission to fulfill in the world, for which Dostoevsky coined the phrase universal panhuman unification.55 As mentioned above, Solovyov aspired towards a universal theocracy. Russian philosophy was driven steadily by the varying ideas of unification in a determined effort

53 54

Ibid., 202. Ibid., 211. 55 James Scanlan, Dostoevsky the Thinker (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2004), 198.

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to reach the final objective wholeness. The messianic role that Russia was to perform also found cultural expression in the form of mystic symbolism in poetry, art, and music. Another link connecting the ideas of Solovyov to Scriabin was formed by the Russian poet and philosopher Viacheslav Ivanov (1866-1949). Ivanov belonged to the second generation of Russian Symbolist poets. This group distinguished itself from the first in the application of art as a means to an end beyond mere pleasure; in other words it dissociated itself from the French aesthetic principle lart pour lart, which was the identifying trait of the first generation of Russian Symbolists. This latter group embodied the Russian version of the phenomenon known as dcadence during the fin de sicle. Ivanov described decadence as The feeling of an underlying oneness with the central tradition of a high culture coupled with an arrogant and burdensome sense of being the last of a line. In other words, decadence is an enervated memory, its promotive capacity gone, without the power to enable us to partake in our forefathers creative experience, no longer able to encourage creativity.56 These lines explain Ivanovs reluctance to accept the French Symbolists, with whom, he states, we have neither an historical nor an ideological reason for joining forces.57 For Ivanov, culture is not only monumental but initiatory in character.58 In this respect, his position was close to that of Scriabin. Art was more than beauty; it served a higher purpose.

56

Viacheslav Ivanov, in a letter (July 4, 1920) to Mikhail Gershenzon, Correspondence Across a Room (Marlboro, VT: The Marlboro Press, 1984; originally published, St. Petersburg, 1920), 27. 57 Vyacheslav Ivanov, Thoughts on Symbolism, Russian Literature Triquarterly, ed. Carl and Ellendea Proffer, trans. Samuel D. Cioran (1972): 151-58. 58 Ibid.

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Ivanov and Scriabin had met each other in St. Petersburg in 1909,59 but became exceptionally close friends during the last two years of the composers life, as both men were then living in Moscow. As evidence of his devotion to the composer, Ivanov was among those who assisted watching over Scriabin during the days leading up to his death in 1915. Subsequently, the poet-philosopher wrote a sonnet in memory of the composer: Music has been orphaned. And with her Poetry, her sister, has been orphaned. The magic flower was extinguished at the border Of their contiguous kingdoms and night fell darker Onto the shore where the mysterious ark Of new-created days flamed up. The robe of the body Has smoldered from the spirits fine lightning, Giving up its fire to the Source of fires. Did Fate, hovering as a vigilant eagle, seize The holy possession from audacious Prometheus? Or was the earth inflamed by the tongue of heaven? Who can say: conqueror or conquered Is he for whom mute with the graveyard of wonders The palace of the Muses mourns with the whisper of laurels.60 Scriabin had already adopted Ivanovs rhythmic and structural style of verse while developing a text for his last work, The Preparatory Act.61 Scriabin also remarked on the similarity between the structural form of the sonnet and various preludes he had composed.62 Simultaneously, however, he rejected the recurrent saturation of symbols present in Ivanovs poetry.

59 60

Scriabin was in St. Petersburg in January of 1909 for that citys premiere of his Pome de lextase. The sonnet was shortly afterward incorporated into Ivanovs essay Scriabins View of Art. This is included in Selected Essays: Viacheslav Ivanov, trans. Robert Bird (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2001), 211-28. See also Michael Wachtel, The Responsive Poetics of Vjaeslav Ivanov, Russian Literature: Special Issue: Vjaeslav Ivanov, ed. W. G. Weststeijn, 44, no. 3 (October 1, 1998): 303-15. 61 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 332. 62 Ibid.

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The use of artistic pictures should be reduced to a minimum. Such an accumulation of symbols and images that one finds, for example, in the work of Viacheslav Ivanov are to me unacceptable; they weigh down too heavily on the senses.63 It is, in fact, a turgid style that informs the writings of most Russia Symbolist poets. The difficulty lies in understanding words which may sound pleasant, but whose symbolic meaning is unclear. One finds this style in other writings of Ivanov, including the triptych Scriabins View of Art (1915), Scriabin as a National Composer (1916), and Scriabin and the Spirit of Revolution (1917). He delivered these as speeches at various meetings of the first Scriabin Society, of which he was a founding member.64 In all three essays, Ivanov establishes the importance of Scriabin in both the contemporary and future context of Russia and the world. In the first essay, Scriabins View of Art, Ivanov repudiates all the negative judgments characterizing the composer as a neurotic egotistical megalomaniac. Quite the contrary, he portrays Scriabin in altruistic terms as an artist-hero and theurgist ordained to lead mankind back to the primal unity. In defense of the composer he writes: The ambition of hungry pride and lustful arrogance clouds the soul and is unable to coexist with the childlike clarity, the joyful trust in life and people, that I observed in Scriabin and that I recognize as the distinctive and captivating mark of all true genius, of a spirit that is divinely abundant and consoled by its own plenitude.65 In his assessment of Scriabin, he recognizes humility, benevolence, and musical genius as the defining qualities that could enable the composer to achieve his ultimate goal of
63 64

Ibid., 333. Ivanov wrote several other texts on Scriabin that were not published during the poets lifetime. According to Marina Kostalevsky, these have been included recently in Pamjatniki Kultury [Monuments of Culture], ed. I. A. Mylnikova (Leningrad: Nauka, 1985), 88-119. See Marina Kostalevsky, The Birth of Poetry from the Spirit of Criticism: Ivanov on Scriabin, Russian Literature, Special Issue: Vjaeslav Ivanov, W. G. Weststeijn, ed., 44, no. 3 (October 1, 1998): 317-29. 65 Selected Essays, 212.

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returning to the state of divine wholeness. In this sense, the artist becomes a means to an end, and artistic creativity leads to the higher reality. Here, Ivanov formulated the Latin phrase a realibus ad realiora (from the real to the more real) as one cornerstone of his Symbolist rhetoric.66 This ascent to God spiritual reality or divinity he termed evolution, the opposite of involution, which he explains as immersion into the depths of matter.67 It is significant that these exact words found an echo in the vocabulary that Scriabin used to describe his own creative endeavors. For example, in a conversation with his confidant Leonid Sabaneyev in the autumn of 1914, he stated: In the Preparatory Act there will be a very complex system of movements with upward and downward processions that should symbolize the involution and the evolution; in other words, the descent of the spirit into matter followed by renewed unification.68 It was Ivanov, too, who reinforced the idea of sobornost in the mind of Scriabin. Ivanov along with Trubetskoi and others had been disciples of Vladimir Solovyov. The latter had disseminated the concept of all-unity (vsyo-edinstvo) into an entire generation of Russian religious philosophers and symbolist poets. It was the utopian idea of a community of mankind which found general appeal among the contemporaneous and subsequent generations in Russia. The word sobornost, for which there is no exact equivalent in the English language, can be variously interpreted as collectivity and community, and it has been applied according to the needs of the speaker or writer. Ivanov distinguishes emphatically between a spiritual community, sobornost, and a secular popular community, narodnost. He defines sobornost as a collective assertion of the ultimate

66 67

Ivanov, On the Limits of Art, in Selected Essays, 78-79. Selected Essays, 226. 68 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 333.

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freedom.69 In other words, this represents a communal action with the goal of attaining absolute unity. This theory influenced Scriabin as he worked towards developing his concept of the final mystery, a liturgical act to reunite mankind with divinity, the absolute. Ivanov writes, . . . for art is in truth a sacred thing and collectivity

[sobornost].70 A transition was occurring in the world perception of the composer who had a few years before composed the Prometheus, an apotheosis of self-aggrandizement, individualism, following the path of involution. Scriabin became more focused now on evolution, i.e., the spiritualization aspect. Ironic is the fact that Ivanov, a noted scholar of Hellenic studies, initially had become fascinated with Scriabin based on the composers Promethean spirit; at the time, the poet-philosopher had been working on his own play Prometheus, published later in 1916. Meanwhile, Leonid Sabaneyev witnessed the power of Ivanovs erudition and its steady influence on Scriabin. In reference to his final project, Sabaneyev noted: Moreover, I had the impression that under Vyacheslav Ivanovs influence Scriabin had begun to assume a position that was more mystical and less naturalistic. From about January 1913, I noticed in him a different attitude towards the entire Mysterium project and the concept of the creative world spirit. Earlier, everything had been clear; this spirit had been none other than he himself; the Mysterium had been his own highly personal affair. Now, this was no longer so unequivocal. It was as though Scriabin had extended his personality and would think hereafter in terms beyond the limits and framework of human existence.71 The artists previous solipsism, in part the product of his earlier preoccupation with the theories of Fichte, had now yielded to the theurgic visions of the leading theorist of

Ivanov, Po zvezdam [By the Stars, 1909], excerpt quoted in James West, Russian Symbolism: A Study of Vyacheslav Ivanov and the Russian Symbolist Aesthetic (London: Methuen & Co. Ltd.: 1970), 70. 70 Ivanov, Thoughts on Symbolism, 157. 71 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 251.

69

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Russian Symbolism. Indeed, the composer could conceive, design, and provide the creative framework for implementing the Mysterium; its realization, however, leading to the transfiguration of the world, would require an act of sobornost. In this, Scriabin gradually became aware of his own limitations. And yet, I simply cannot produce it alone. I need others, who will experience it together with me; otherwise, no Mysterium is possible. With the help of music there must arise a creative act of spiritual community [sobornoe tvorchestvo].72 But Scriabin continued to view himself in the position of the designated one, the prophet, the Messiah, the conductor to whom Fate had revealed the conditions for further evolution and the act of reunification. Involution increasingly assumed a very negative connotation in the mind of the composer. It was no longer the dispersion of golden rays emanating from an absolute source. For him it represented everything repugnant in the material world. Most shocking in this regard are his opinions concerning Jewry in music. In the dialectical relationship between involution and evolution, Scriabin stated: All Jews live in their sensory perception. They have no true sense of mysticism and cannot have it at all. For them, everything essential exists in that which is material: material well-being, material sensuality, and physical ecstasy. The purpose of their role is to preserve and expand this side of the organism of humanity. During the present process of involution, the role they are playing must be inevitably quite large; one perceives neither anything peculiar or bad yet. When then later the process of evolution commences leading toward dematerialization, their role will terminate. . . By the way, in music they represent the idea of materialism: their creativity is reduced to a minimum. Among Jews, there are hardly any composers; instead, though, there are numerous interpreters and a materialistic approach to art in the most varied

72

Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 315.

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directions. This expresses itself among them in a sensual, physiologically passionate tone-production, in a certain art-mercantilism. Yet, without Jews music would not survive. You know yourself, Leonid Leonidovich, that an orchestra in which there are no Jews always sounds terrible dry. . . somehow lacking interest. A good orchestral sound develops first then when at least 15 percent of the string and wind players are Jews.73 Such comments regarding materialism were not directed solely against Jews. In many cases, Scriabin protested vehemently against composers and performers, deeming their artistry materialistic if it did not conform to his personal taste and philosophical vision. Repulsed by the work of the young Prokofiev, Scriabin raged: What filth! . . . The sad thing about it is that this music, in fact, reflects a certain something quite well; but this something is simply awful. Here, the materialization of sound has actually already occurred.74 Further, Scriabin found that the majority of fellow pianists performing his works failed to comprehend and produce the necessary tone quality required for a proper and convincing interpretation. Disheartened, Scriabin queried: Why do they all play my pieces with this material-like, lyrical tone as though these had been written by Tchaikovsky or Rachmaninov? Here, there should be at the very most a minimum of material essence. These pianists understand nothing of the intensity and intoxication of tone, though already present then begins to change through some stirring of emotion or sentiment.75 For Scriabin, nineteenth-century Russian Romanticism reflected the materialistic world.

73 74

Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 281-82. Ibid., 288. 75 Ibid., 298.

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The burgeoning individualism of that era had now spent itself and mankind was floundering in a period of decadence. In the move away from individualism dematerialization Scriabin had found in Ivanov a close friend and a comrade in arms. Ivanov played a decisive role in affirming Scriabins ambitions towards the Mysterium. To achieve this act of sobornost, one would need to overcome individualism. Ivanov had discussed this issue already in his essay The Crisis of Individualism (1905).76 In this essay, Ivanov traces the intensification of individualism from the Renaissance through towards its hyperexpression in the work of Nietzsche. Never before has the primacy of the individual been propagated with such enthusiasm as in our times.77 Ivanov repudiates Nietzschean Superman-individualism in favor of collective solidarity. Individualism is aristocratism; but aristocracy has become obsolete.78 Ivanov perceives a transformation in progress, one moving from Faustian individualism towards a Beethovenian celebration of collectivity.79 He assesses the contemporaneous situation in the world as part of an ongoing process. In its contemporary, involuntary, and unconscious metamorphosis, individualism has assimilated the features of collectivity; it is a sign that a certain synthesis of the personal and the collective principles is being worked out in the laboratory of life.80 Ivanov wrote these words during the year of the first Russian Revolution, 1905. They would find broad appeal in both religious-philosophical as well as politically liberal

76

Vyachslav Ivanov, The Crisis of Individualism, ed. Bernice Glatzer-Rosenthal and Martha Bohachevsky-Chomiak, trans. Marian Schwartz A Revolution of the Spirit: Crisis of Value in Russia, 18901924 (New York: Fordham University Press, 1990), 163-73; originally published in Voprosy Zhizni [Problems of Life], 9 (1905); later pub. in Ivanov collection, Po Zvezdam [By the Stars] (St. Petersburg: Izdatelstvo Ory, 1909). 77 Ibid., 169. 78 Ibid., 170. 79 Ibid., 171. 80 Ibid.

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circles of that generation and the ones to follow. The book in which this essay on individualism appeared, Po Zvezdam (By the Stars, 1909), is one of two that Ivanov had autographed and presented to Scriabin.81 The composer read this on his famous 1910 Volga concert tour arranged by Koussevitzky.82 In retrospect, Ivanov would emphasize the communal aspect of Scriabins work; the strength of his will to be able to renounce his own and submit to the will of the absolute all-unity. During the period of the 1917 Russian Revolution, Ivanov sought to draw parallels between the creative nature of the composer and the present turmoil in the country. On October 24, 1917, he delivered a speech to the Scriabin Society in Moscow, later published as Scriabin and the Spirit of the Revolution. In this work, he states: In a solemn affirmation of his penetration into the world beyond, Scriabin did not speak the language of the individual will, rather with the choral sound of the all-unity that he had elevated from the depths.83 Ivanov proclaims Scriabin to be a truly national composer following in the peculiarly Russian tradition of community. He is a democrat and a patriot and is duly aware of his position as a creator of the Russian Idea, i.e., the universal community for which the Russians had seen themselves in a messianic role. Ivanov predicts: Should the revolution that we are now experiencing prove itself to be truly a great Russian revolution a suffering and painful birth of the independent Russian Idea the future historian will acknowledge Scriabin to be one of its spiritual progenitors; and in this very revolution perhaps the first measures of his unwritten Mysterium.84
81 82

The other book was Cor Ardens, now property of the Scriabin Memorial Library. Ellen von Tiedebhl, correspondent for the Stuttgart Neue Musikzeitung, testifies that Scriabin had recommended and loaned the book to her while on the Volga trip in 1910. See Memories of Scriabins Volga Tour, Monthly Musical Record 56 (June, 1926): 168-69. 83 Vyacheslav Ivanov, Skriabin i duch revolutsii [Scriabin and the Spirit of the Revolution], in Viacheslav Ivanov: Sobranie Sochinenii [Vyacheslav Ivanov: Collected Works], vol. 3 (Brussels: Foyer Oriental Chrtien, 1979), 190-94.

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The Russian Idea mentioned above is closely related to sobornost; it can possess a both secular and spiritual connotation, a humanist as well as mystic purpose. Solovyov had demonstrated this already in a brochure written in French, titled Lide russe (1888), in which he proposed a triumvirate of God, the Pope, and the Tsar, which would unite and rule the world. The idea, though, was not intended to impose a nationalist will on the rest of the world, but rather to deliver it from its present state of strife and disunity. The notion of Moscow and therefore Russia as a Third Rome had simmered already in the minds of clergy and state officials since the fifteenth century. It is therefore not surprising that the concept would be expressed in the writings of the Slavophiles and religious philosophers of the nineteenth century, and in particular among the followers of Solovyov. The messianic visions were developed further by Ivanov, who directly influenced Scriabin. The composer incorporated these ideas into his own scheme; they reinforced his commitment towards a unifying communal art and defined him as a truly Russian artist. This perception of Scriabin, the artist-philosopher, found its way then into the contemporaneous and posthumous attitudes towards the composer in Russia. The unifying purpose of art, poetry, and music reflected the principles of late Russian Symbolism and bonded the two men together. Ivanov considered this in retrospect as he wrote: It transpired that his theoretical postulates concerning sobornost, the choral rite, and the calling of art grew organically out of basic intuitions similar to my own: we found a common language. I recall with reverent gratitude the intensification of our friendship, which became one of the significant facets of my life.85
84 85

Ibid., 194. Ivanov, Essays, 222.

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During the last two years of Scriabins life, Ivanov had been a frequent visitor at the composers home in Moscow. Scriabin was profoundly inspired by his interpretation of the world. He claimed, He stands as close to me and my ideas as no one else!86 The two men agreed that unity among the art-forms should form the basis for a final mystery. The reunification of man and transfiguration of the world would result from this ritual act; what Ivanov termed vsyo-iskusstvo [all-art] would play a decisive role in the return to vsyo-edinstvo [all-unity]. Here, the two men found a precedent in the choral rites of ancient Greece and in the related idea of the Gesamtkunstwerk of Richard Wagner. In spite of his fascination with the German composer, Scriabin took issue with the theatrical aspect of his creative work. Problematic for him was the separation between the performers and the audience which blocked the unifying element and purpose. He claimed: Theatre and stage materialize art; they are an expression for the splitting up of unity into polarities. Due to the stage, the spectators and listeners become separated from what is taking place instead of being drawn into the action. In my work there will be no theatre! Even Wagner, in spite of his genius, could not surmount the theatrical aspect and stage because he did not understand what was at stake. He did not know that the whole problem lies in this division. It prevents unity and ensures that not an experience, but a mere performance is possible. . . . Only in the Mysterium will the stage be eliminated. In the Mysterium there will be neither spectators, nor listeners.87 Nevertheless, Scriabin highly esteemed Wagner, who, among all composers, came closest to the formers concept of sobornost art. Speaking with Sabaneyev about the positions of Beethoven and Wagner, Scriabin exclaimed:

86 87

Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 189. Ibid., 186.

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Wagner stands much closer to us because he is already not so classical. Moreover, he possesses much more magic, much more mysticism. . . . 88 Scriabins preoccupation with the Mysterium, an act to promote unification, was not unique in the Russian artistic-literary circles of the time. Some of the great contemporaneous theatre directors were experimenting with new ways to overcome the stagnant presentational form of stage productions that predominated in nineteenthcentury Russia. The means to achieve this goal differed greatly, though. Here, as with Wagner, unification of the arts did not necessarily lead to the unity of mankind. Early pioneers pursuing the revolutionary experiments in theatre were prominent figures such as Konstantin Stanislavski (1863-1938), Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko (1858-1943) founders of the realist Moscow Art Theater in 1898, Vsyevolod Meyerhold (1874-1940) founder of the Meyerhold Theater, and Alexander Tairov (1885-1950) founder of the Moscow Chamber Theater. All were familiar with the theoretical writings of Ivanov and tried to incorporate in various ways a spiritual idealism into their work. In spite of being an advocate of realism, even Stanislavski stated, ninetenths of the labor of an actor, nine-tenths of everything lies in beginning to live and feel the role spiritually.89 Meyerhold and Tairov were respected close friends of Scriabin. Although artistically at odds with one another one a Bolshevist, the other an elitist they rejected the realist approach associated with Stanislavski and Nemirovich-Danchenko, which saw
Ibid., 190. Quoted in William Kuhlke, Introduction to Alexander Tairov, Notes of a Director (Coral Gables, FL: University of Miami Press, 1969; originally published as Zapiski rezhissyora, Moscow: Publication of the Chamber Theater, 1921; first German translation as Das entfesselte Theater. Aufzeichnungen eines Regisseurs, Potsdam: Verlag Gustav Kiepenheuer, 1923), 23. Kuhlke designates Tairovs book one of the major documents in the history of modern theatre. See Supra, 38.
89 88

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art merely as an imitation of nature and not as a part of life itself. Moreover, stage art according to this philosophy still kept the audience separated from the action on stage. During his trip to St. Petersburg in November 1913, Scriabin attended Meyerholds Studio Theater and was fascinated by the communal aspect of the directors presentations of Greek tragedy.90 An autographed copy of Meyerholds book On Theater (1913) is also in the personal library at the composers home, now the Scriabin State Museum. For his part, Tairov was able to juxtapose and explain clearly Scriabins position in the context of developments in the Russian avant-garde theater. Tairov rejected the intrusion of the spectator as an untrained dilettante in a communal (sobornoe) action a theatrical style that was characteristic of Meyerhold. But Tairov did respect Scriabins version of a prerehearsed mass participation. Referring back to the composer in his 1921 book Notes of a Director, Tairov writes: In my view the famous concept of preparatory action, which the genius Scriabin was working on, is on a completely different plane. He also dreamed of the communal participation of the spectator, but with that insight of the genuine artist which was so intrinsic a part of his nature, he gave to it a precisely ordered character. In order to be admitted to the action, the spectator had to be a specially prepared initiate, he had to be robed in special dress, etc., etc. . . . . If you examine Scriabins artistic goals, refracting them through the prism of pure theatrical art, you will see that in the end there was to have been achieved not an action with the active participation of the spectator, but action with the orderly, previously rehearsed participation of the masses without any elements of chance whatever masses which, in fact, had ceased to be spectators and had become participants in the action, just as they had to a lesser degree in productions with large mass scenes (for instance Reinhardts Oedipus Rex).91
90

M. P. Pryashnikova and O. M. Tompakova, eds., Letopis Zhizni i Tvorchestva A. N. Skriabin [Chronicle of the Life and Creative Work of A. N. Scriabin] (Moscow: Muzyka, 1985), 221-22. 91 Alexander Tairov, Notes of a Director (Coral Gables, Florida: University of Miami Press, 1969; originally published as Zapiski rezhissyora, Moscow: Publication of the Chamber Theater, 1921; first

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Tairov was highly critical of the experiments involving communal action, which he identified as the basic element of socialist theater.92 In spite of his own desire to produce a new synthetic theater, he states, That communal participation of the spectator, about which the ideologists of the socialist theatre dream, is possible not in the theatre but in folk festivals, which, of course, are also characterized to a greater or lesser degree by an element of theatricalism.93 It was in this respect that he and Meyerhold differed most significantly. In an effort to create a communal action, the latter abandoned the stage proscenium, a technique that would have appealed indeed to the sobornost ideas of Ivanov and Scriabin. Meyerholds experiments, but which carried certain political overtones that stood in marked contrast to the reasoning of the philosopher and composer. In an extensive analysis of Russian theatre in the early twentieth century, William Kuhlke observes that Stanislavski and Meyerhold stood at opposite ends of the spectrum realism and symbolism, respectively.94 For the one, art is imitation; for the other, art is symbol. Tairov found a path down the middle that he termed synthetic and later neorealism. Kuhlke explains: Tairov recognized that theatrical art takes place neither solely on the stage, as was the premise of the realistic theatre, nor solely in the mind of the audience, as was the symbolist-oriented premise of the stylized theatre, but in the dynamic interaction between the spectator and the perceived work of art. In order to successfully achieve such interaction, in order to accomplish the necessary affective communication, neither aesthetically pleasing empty forms nor moving but formless emotionalizing was fully competent.
German translation as Das Entfesselte Theater. Aufzeichnungen eines Regisseurs, Potsdam: Verlag Gustav Keipenheuer, 1923), 139. 92 Ibid., 136. 93 Ibid., 139. 94 William Kuhlke, Introduction, supra, 25.

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Only both together, form and emotion, emotionally saturated form, could achieve fully this dynamic contact which was the secret of theatrical art. . . This, then was that synthesis which Tairov thought could lead the theatre out of the bog of realistic soul-searching, around the nettle trap of empty formalism, and onto the path toward a joyfully creative true art of the theatre.95 In contrast, Tairov repudiated all attempts by the innovators of contemporary theatre, and especially Meyerhold, to create not communal action, but rather nonsense and chaos.96 He clearly rejects the position taken by Ivanov in this matter: Among ideologists and theoreticians of the theatre, Vyacheslav Ivanov attaches the greatest significance to the participation of the spectator. He considers that the essential element of the theatre is its communal nature, that theatrical activity is essentially communal action, and that the decline of the contemporary theatre is to be explained chiefly by the absence of communion that the spectator, separated from the stage by the footlights, has become anemic, acting only as a witness to the action being carried out. . . I say no. I suggest that the communal aspect of theatre has never been the distinguishing feature of its being to such an extent. . . . While being unquestionably characteristic of a whole line of phenomena of the human spirit, communal action is at the same time least of all characteristic of theatre. On the contrary, when it does appear, it is a destructive rather than constructive element.97 Tairov continues his examination of the state of Russian theater by criticizing his contemporaries for their antiquarian urge to resurrect the theater of the past. For Tairov, theater should continue to evolve as an independent art form. He finishes with the exclamation, Long live the footlights!98 It was indeed the footlights, however, that Scriabin condemned as a hindrance towards realizing his final project, the Mysterium.

95 96

Ibid., 29. Tairov, 141. 97 Ibid., 132-34. 98 Ibid., 142.

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Notwithstanding this significant objection, the composer remained intrigued by the direction Tairov was taking in developing his synthetic theater and praised his avoidance of naturalist tendencies. According to Sabaneyev, the composer and his wife, Tatiana, attended enthusiastically all the premieres at Tairovs Chamber Theatre.99 But this contradicts the recollections of the composers brother-in-law, Boris de Schloezer, who cites an ostensible aversion, intolerance, and hostility on the part of Scriabin towards stage productions.100 Schloezer states, He rarely went to the theater even as a young man, and toward the end of his life he almost ceased to attend any theatrical performances.101 Ironically, Scriabin found that certain aspects of Tairovs theater productions were somehow and definitely in a positive sense not theatrical.102 The choreography fascinated him and in this respect the excellent work of Tairovs wife, Alisa Koonen; she was cast in the title role of Shakuntala, an old Indian drama.103 This appealed to Scriabin, especially on account of his evolving attraction toward Eastern cultures and religions, which arose from his contacts with the Theosophists at home and abroad. Ultimately, he considered India to be the ideal place for the Mysterium. Sabaneyev recounts one evening in 1912 together with Scriabin when the composer played a planned bell passage from the Mysterium. Scriabin explained: You know, that is a summons which sounds from the bells and is directed towards all of mankind. Upon this call, everyone will travel to India to the temple. They will be drawn to India because there lies the cradle of humanity
Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 278. Schloezer, 186. 101 Ibid. 102 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 278. 103 Written in Sanskrit by the Hindu poet Kalidasa (dates unknown; possibly fourth century A.D.); translated into Russian by the Symbolist poet Konstantin Balmont (1867-1942); later, it became the subject of the opera La leggenda di Sakuntala (1921) by Franco Alfano (1875-1954), the Italian composer who completed Puccinis Turandot.
100 99

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and from there they had taken their leave. In India therefore they will also end their journey. The construction of the Temple will be likewise part of the Mysterium.104 At this point, it should be mentioned that Indian culture, by virtue of its spiritual foundations, was exerting a strong influence on literary-theatrical circles in Moscow. For example, Stanislavsky, although he was working at the other end of the spectrum, employed Yogic elements into his realist approach to theater, thereby lending it a spiritual aspect.105 The founder and spiritual leader of Universal Sufism, Hazrat Inayat Khan (1882-1927), was living and lecturing in Moscow during the years 1913-14.106 He was introduced to Scriabin at the home of Viacheslav Ivanov.107 The two men encountered each other on several subsequent occasions, during which they had the opportunity to exchange and contrast their respective viewpoints. Referring later to the Inayat Khan, Scriabin exclaimed, He radiates such magnanimity and calmness! That is exactly what is missing here in our shallow, hectic culture.108 Recalling one discussion with Scriabin, the Inayat Khan quotes the composer: Something is missing in our music; it has become so mechanical. The whole process of composition nowadays is mechanical. How can we introduce a spirit into it?109 Pondering the legacy of Scriabin, the Inayat Khan states, I have often thought that if Scriabin, with his fine character and beautiful personality, had lived longer, he could have introduced a new strain of music into the

104 105

Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 95. See R. Andrew White, Stanislavsky and Ramacharaka: The Influence of Yoga and Turn-of-the-Century Occultism on the System 47, no. 1 Theatre Survey (May 2006): 73-92. 106 See Hazrat Inayat Khan, Biography, Autobiography, Journal and Anecdotes, http://wahiduddin.net/mv2/bio/Autobiography_4.htm . 107 Ibid. 108 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 200. 109 Hazrat Inayat Khan, The Music of Life (New Lebanon, NY: Omega Publications, 1988; originally published 1983; compiled from previously published and unpublished material), 341.

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modern world . . . . Will someone else try to do what Scriabin wanted? When there is a need, if there is a real desire for its fulfillment, that fulfillment must come.110 Aside from the mystic element, the composer ultimately lost interest in the Inayet Khan because the latters music and the connection between Sufism and Islam did not appeal to him.111 Nevertheless, Scriabin retained his enthusiasm for the mystic India, where he had hoped to produce the future Mysterium. Later, though, in conversation with Sabaneyev, Scriabin stated, It is not the real India that I need, Leonid Leonidovich. I need an impulse that drives me forward. India is not just a geographical concept; it exists rather as a certain idea.112 Sabaneyev also states that during the summer of 1913, Scriabin, embracing further aspects of Hindu culture, pursued enthusiastically a regimen of Yoga breathing exercises according to the instruction manuals of Yogi Ramacharaka.113 This physical training and the spirituality associated with Eastern religion and culture, along with its connection to the avant-garde theater in Russia, were to help lead Scriabin on the path towards his final project, Mysterium. Sabaneyev, who witnessed these developments firsthand, remained skeptical. Shortly thereafter, his skepticism was confirmed. He writes, As I expected, these experiments did not last long. Alexander Nikolaevich was simply not able to occupy himself with anything for a longer period of time aside from his compositional work. Already in the autumn [1913], as I saw him in Moscow again, there was no more talk of Yoga. . .114 In a rare moment of concurrence with his frequent adversary Sabaneyev, Boris de Schloezer recounts another relative story indicative of
Ibid., 342. Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 201. 112 Ibid., 342. 113 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 273. Yogi Ramacharaka is the pseudonym of the American attorney, author, and publisher William Walker Atkinson (1862-1932). 114 Ibid.
111 110

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Scriabins lack of perseverance. Looking for further means to unite the celebrants of the Mysterium, Scriabin selected Sanskrit, the liturgical language of Hindu. Schloezer writes, He even purchased a Sanskrit grammar and began to study it, but soon gave it up when he realized that it would take too much time.115 The preconditions and logistical problems of producing the Mysterium in India or anywhere were clearly insurmountable even if Scriabin did not want to concede this fact. The composer was convinced that he alone had been chosen to fulfill this task. He classified himself among the outstanding men of history who were preordained to create noble works of art. In one of many recorded conversations with Sabaneyev [1911], the composer questioned: I ask myself why this idea should have been revealed to me if I am not the one to carry it out? And I feel as though I have the strength to do it. An exact idea always reveals itself to that person for whom it has been destined: The idea of the Ninth Symphony was revealed to Beethoven and the idea of the Nibelungen was revealed to Wagner. I have substantial reasons for this opinion, but I cannot and should not discuss everything.116 In the following years, Scriabin remained firm in his intentions. He was unyielding towards any implied opposition, but nevertheless sought reassurance. In 1914, he stated to Sabaneyev, Of course, the Mysterium is my task because it was revealed to me. That alone proves that it must be carried out by me.117 This insecurity is reconfirmed in a similar passage in Schloezers biography of the composer: Does not the fact that this mystery was revealed to me prove conclusively that I, and no one else, have the power to bring about this fulfillment? It is unthinkable that another person would be able
115 116

Schloezer, 259. Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 175. 117 Ibid., 335.

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to follow my design, to understand my central purpose! I was the first to behold the ultimate vision, and I must be the one to reveal it!118 Interpreting Scriabins Mysterium concept, Schloezer cites its role as the overthrow of theater, to destroy theatricality, externally and internally.119 In its duality actor performing for spectator theater stood diametrically opposed to that principle of unity, which informed Scriabins creative thought. The Mysterium would re-establish this unity. The universal union was synonymous with universal ecstasy, which would lead to absolute freedom. Schloezer explains this further, But the idea of a cosmic ecstasy must by necessity exclude the roles of actor and spectator.120 The Mysterium was to be a religious act, but theater for Scriabin represented something antireligious and thus sinful.121 Schloezer quotes Scriabin, who sharply criticized the state of modern society: Our entire society is being converted into a theatrical production.122 The statement agrees with the position of Tairov mentioned above. Both he and Scriabin opposed the theatricalization of the world.123 Referring to this particular phenomenon, Schloezer employs the phrase, surrogate of life.124 He writes: The function of theater is to offer us solace, to provide distraction, to delude us, poor prisoners of life, and intoxicate us with stimulants in order to create an artificial, illusory paradise on earth.125 Scriabin abhorred this aspect of theater and sought to liberate the poor prisoners of life.

118 119

Schloezer, 146. Ibid., 189-90. 120 Ibid., 184. 121 Ibid., 188. 122 Ibid. 123 Tairov, 139. 124 Ibid., 187. 125 Ibid.

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But in contrast, Sabaneyev wrote, Scriabin had, in fact, a rather strong and profound sensitivity for the theater and everything theatrical regardless of his overall repudiation. He could actually be enthusiastic about the achievements of the theater art.126 In particular, the expression of pantomime and ballet was inspiring to him.127 Sabaneyev suspected that possibly Scriabin had somehow imagined his orchestral works Pome de lextase and Prometheus as ballet compositions.128 In any case, he writes, The rejection of the theater was nothing other than his own extreme theoretical construct, while in reality he felt associated with the theater; merely some contingencies had prompted him to avoid contacts with this sphere/area.129 Theater dialogue, for example, represented the material phenomenal world he endeavored to overcome, whereas the Russian Symbolist poetry reflected the noumenal world beyond hence the latters planned incorporation into the concept of the Mysterium. Dance, too, and its sister component pantomime were also aspects of the theater that Scriabin viewed as suitable for the final project. This, too, explains his infatuation with certain celebrated dancers of the day, such as the above mentioned Alisa Koonen (1889-1974), the ballerina Sofia Feodorova (1879-1963), and the American sensation Isadora Duncan (1877-1927), who spent some time in Russia. In his Reminiscences of Scriabin, Sabaneyev recounts numerous anecdotes of Scriabin regarding the composers Mysterium project, but always remained a detached observer. Sabaneyev describes himself as a friend of Scriabin and observer of his life.130 Schloezer, on the other hand, gives the impression of being an enthusiastic analyst and

126 127

Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 187. Ibid. 128 Ibid., 188. John Cranko (1927-1973) choreographed Pome de lextase for the Stuttgart Ballet in 1970. 129 Ibid. 130 Ibid., 299.

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disseminator of the composers religious mystic views and ready to participate in the final act. Indeed, he devotes more than one hundred pages of his biography on the composer to the Mysterium project. Confessing his own limited interest in the Mysterium project, Sabaneyev acknowledges the difference between his own position and that of Schloezer. He writes: Boris Schloezer dealt seriously in detail with this project of Scriabin. Probably that is why there is more material from him on this subject. He found out more about this quite simply because he was more interested in it. For me it was fully adequate to become acquainted with some of the essential issues and to comprehend the fundamental psychology of the whole thing. That was then all.131 Sabaneyevs observations led him to the conclusion that the composers obsessive behavior regarding his project was rooted in some mental disorder. He wondered, Could it not be that this grandiose Mysterium ultimately represents merely the material to be placed in the hands of a psychiatrist?132 During winter 1912-13 the discussion shifted to the more realistic project of Lacte pralable, a kind of prelude to the Mysterium. Scriabins circle of friends dubbed this alternative the innocuous Mysterium.133 Sabaneyev assumes that the new project a retreat resulted from the many conversations Scriabin had had with him, Schloezer, and other mystic friends including Vyacheslav Ivanov and a certain Dr. Vladimir Bogorodski.134

131 132

Ibid., 248. Ibid. 133 Ibid., 250. 134 Ibid., 251.

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Scriabins Biographers: Leonid Sabaneyev and Boris de Schloezer. Two of the early leading biographers of Scriabin were Leonid Sabaneyev and Boris de Schloezer. The intertwined relationships between the two men and the composer stemmed originally from Moscow academic music circles. In the case of Boris de Schloezer, family connections were involved. His sister Tatiana later became the second wife of Scriabin. Their uncle Paul Schloezer (1840-1898) had been a piano professor at the Moscow Conservatory and coincidentally was the teacher of Leonid Sabaneyev and his brother Boris Sabaneyev (1880-1918).135 Earlier, the mothers of Scriabin and Boris Schloezer had studied piano with Theodor Leschetizky (1830-1915) in St. Petersburg.136 Leonid Sabaneyev and Boris de Schloezer made the acquaintance of Scriabin already during the 1890s. Yet it wasnt until many years later that the two men had the opportunity to observe the composer on a more intimate level. During the first decade of the new century, contact had been sporadic; Scriabin was either frequently on tour or living abroad mainly in Switzerland. The very few preserved letters existing between Scriabin and these men suggests that their contacts were sparse. These letters nevertheless prove incontrovertibly the high esteem in which the composer held the two men. In particular, the correspondence with Schloezer attests to an early harmony of minds. In the summer of 1903 Scriabin wrote, If you only knew how much I need to speak with you sometimes about musical as well as philosophical issues!137 Similarly, in

135 136

Boris Sabaneyev became an organist and professor at the Moscow Conservatory. Gun-Britt Kohler, Boris de Schloezer (1881-1969). Wege aus der russischen Emigration (Cologne: Bhlau Verlag, 2003), 8. Leschetizky taught at the St. Petersburg Conservatory from 1852 to 1878. 137 A. Kasperov, ed., A. Scriabin: Pisma [Letters] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1965): 289.

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the summer of 1911, Scriabin wrote to Sabaneyev, How much I would enjoy speaking with you; there is so much to discuss!138 It was after Scriabins final return to Moscow in 1910 that his later biographers would have the opportunity to interact with him regularly. In the case of Sabaneyev, this was nearly on a daily basis; he was a permanent fixture in the Scriabin household, accepted almost as part of the family. Indeed, he emphasizes this fact variously in an apparent later effort to establish his position as the most expertly informed pundit among the Scriabinists. He writes, I was completely at home in the Scriabin circle and firmly considered one of them.139 Schloezer was already integrated into the family by virtue of his sisters common-law relationship to the composer, which had solidified in 1904. Both men had nearly unrestrained access to Scriabin during the last five years of his life. It was their posthumous characterizations of the composer and interpretations of his ideas that became a source of conflict and irreconcilable differences between them. Following the death of Scriabin on April 27, 1915, the artistic intellectual community in Russia, and especially in Moscow, was in mourning over the unexpected tragedy. Tributes in the form of poems, articles, and monographs appeared eulogizing the composer and the dreams and accomplishments of his short life. In 1916, on the first anniversary of Scriabins death, Sabaneyevs extended monograph was presented. He described it not as a traditional biography, but rather an expression of my personal attitude towards his thinking and work.140 Received initially with grace, the book encountered negative criticism shortly afterwards. It had revealed itself to be inconsistent

138 139

Ibid., 574. Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 143. 140 Sabaneyev, Scriabin (Moscow: Skorpion, 1916), viii.

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with the mystical views of the composer and the newly formed Scriabin Society, of which Sabaneyev had been a founding member. In the version of events later retold by its author, those in authority in the Society including the composers wife Tatiana de Schloezer (1883-1922) and the first chairperson Princess Marina Gagarina (1877-1924, sister of Prince Sergei Trubetskoi) damned Sabaneyev as a heretic.141 In spite of this, a second printing of the book the same in content but slightly reworked appeared in 1923. This reprint is not to be confused with the Reminiscences of Scriabin that he published two years later, in 1925. This latter book is structured in a Boswellian style;142 it unfolds sectionally as annotated conversation interspersed with extensive commentary. In consequence of the negative reaction following the earlier monograph, Sabaneyev exposes here methodically a personal dialogue with the composer in an effort to redeem and present himself as an objective witness and hence reliable authority on the composers life, ideas, and creativity. To solidify this position, Sabaneyev resorts to personal attacks on his would-be rivals, and in particular Boris de Schloezer. The latters own book on the composer had been published abroad in the immigrant press in Berlin, also in 1923.143 It was in part critical of Sabaneyevs depiction of Scriabin; this led to the conflict between the two men discussed below. Sabaneyevs 1916 monograph appears to be that of a somewhat reserved and detached analytical observer. It does not venture into a discussion of Scriabins personal contacts. Neither does it draw on any extra-musical issues, for example political views; these latter were incorporated into Sabaneyevs second book (1925), which dwells on the
Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 368. After James Boswell (1740-1795), whose 1791 biography on Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) was unique at the time for its inclusion of personal conversations that the author had previously had with his subject. 143 Boris de Schloezer, Scriabin (Berlin: Grani, 1923).
142 141

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composers eschatological ideas, i.e., his apocalyptic visions relating to the Mysterium. The 1916 document traces more Scriabins artistic development and describes his creative processes and historical position within the Russian musical establishment. In this work, Sabaneyev acknowledges Scriabin as a great man and outstanding artist. . . . whose imagination was directed at something grandiose of which no one had previously dreamed.144 He rejects, however, the suggestion that Scriabin was a revolutionary artist; this opinion was stressed recurrently in the writings of other contemporaneous thinkers, especially political ideologues, to justify the composers legacy during a period of national upheaval. Elsewhere, the non-political Boris de Schloezer presented in his numerous writings an image of Scriabin as a revolutionary. Scriabin believed in the disparate nature of the historical process, a view typical of his revolutionary state of mind; he sensed gaping chasms in the fabric of reality that had to be spanned by leaps and bounds.145 On the contrary, Sabaneyev perceives Scriabin as a profoundly organic and evolutionary phenomenon.146 In the last pages of the book, however, the author summarizes the essence of Scriabin, portraying him as a maverick, an iconoclast who revered neither those composers who preceded him preparing his way, nor his contemporaries.147 According to Sabaneyev, Scriabin detested the bourgeois pessimism of Tchaikovsky, could not tolerate Richard Strauss, assailed Schoenberg and his disciples for their lack of intuition and laborious tinkering, and in spite of the impressive orchestral color, he faulted the new French composers for their distance from mysticism,
Sabaneyev, Scriabin, 66. Schloezer, Scriabin, Eng. trans., Nicholas Slonimsky (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 96. 146 Ibid., 248. 147 The Russian-Soviet musicologist speaks of Sabaneyevs sharp paradoxical thinking. See B. V. Asafev (Igor Glebov), Russian Music. From the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century, trans. Alfred J. Swan (Ann Arbor: J. W. Edwards, 1953; originally published, Moscow-Leningrad: Academia Press, 1930), 274.
145 144

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lack of form, and plagiarizing of Russian works.148 The old music was for him irretrievably dead. His interest in it was of purely historical nature.149 An exception could be found still in the music and person of Richard Wagner. Scriabin took issue with his theatrical productions, but Wagners ideas regarding synthesis of the arts and the incorporation of mysticism and mythology as a basis for creativity appealed to him. According to Sabaneyev, Wagners Feuerzauber from Die Walkre (Act III) served as a major inspiration for the creation of Scriabins last orchestral work, the Light Symphony, i.e., Prometheus.150 Certain sections of Sabaneyevs 1916 book prompted a stern rebuttal by Schloezer. The subject matter dealt with Scriabins notion of the magic power of art and various ideas concerning Orphism and theurgy. Both men admit in their writings to the importance of these concepts in the composers development. Sabaneyev writes that sometime between 1899 and 1901 Scriabin became conscious of the fact that his own path in art would be the Orphic path, i.e., one upon which he, the artist, would exercise magical powers.151 Schloezer writes: The myth of Orpheus was Scriabins favorite legend; to him it represented the vestigial remembrance of a historic man who once wielded great power, the true nature and significance of which has been lost . . . . Scriabin believed that he was the first to rescue this magic from the long night of oblivion and restore its power . . . . Indeed, he regarded himself as Orpheus, wielding power through his art over both the psychic and physical worlds. . . . It was thanks to this self-identification with Orpheus that Scriabin was able to form the idea of the Mysterium.152
148 149

Sabaneyev, Scriabin, 252-53. Ibid., 251. 150 Ibid., 255. 151 Ibid., 68 152 Schloezer, 234-35.

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Sabaneyev devoted two extensive chapters of his 1916 book to this material, which Schloezer subsequently viewed as a misrepresentation of Scriabins concept of art. In particular, Sabaneyevs emphasis on the satanic element in the composers world became controversial. Schloezer maintains that Scriabin was an altruistic person whose sole inspiration was the divine. He cites the following passage from Sabaneyevs book and proceeds to deconstruct it and expose its supposed fallacies: Art is a sorcerer, possessing a magical power over the human mind, acting by means of a mysterious, incantatory, rhythmic force manifested in it and transmitted directly from the substance of the creators will. This rhythmic force enhances immeasurably the magical power of art. Just as regular beats, however weak, can set in motion a huge bell; just as the periodic vibrations of a sounding body are capable of destroying solid objects by a steadily increasing amplitude, so psychic vibrations, set in motion by an interplay of sounds, lights, and other sensory impressions, can be reinforced so enormously as to precipitate a veritable psychic storm. The power of art is immense in this respect. The impact of art on the psyche may be of a purely aesthetic nature, but it may be powerful enough to induce a catharsis, inner illumination, and purification; in its most extreme manifestations it will generate a state of artistic ecstasy. Just as there are two types of magic, white and black, so the magic power of art may be psychically benign or malignant. If it results in an inner illumination, the effect of such an art becomes theurgic. Once we accept the principle of effective action on the psychic plane, each performance of a work of art becomes an act of magic, a sacrament. Both the creator of a work of art and its performer become magicians, or votaries, who stir psychological storms and cast spells upon the souls of men. Such a theurgic art, leading toward a catharsis and ecstasy, may become either a liturgical act or an act of Satanism, according to the direction taken by its effective action.153 Schloezer dismisses unequivocally the thesis that the magic power of art can be alternately benign and malignant.154 He states that it is impossible to imagine that
153

Ibid., 237.

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Scriabin could describe any art as an act of Satanism, for in Scriabins belief a work of art is inherently incapable of serving the forces of darkness. Schloezer here imputes negative qualities into Satanism. He rejects the suggestion that the polarity of good and evil as a construct played a role in the creative mind of Scriabin. He cannot accept the idea that the composers Ninth Sonata, nicknamed The Black Mass, could have been inspired by any dark forces active in the composers mind.155 Unyielding, he claims: No aesthetically valid work of art can ever be likened to a Black Mass, even one that reveals obvious demoniac or satanic traits, as Liszts Mephisto Waltz. In the alembic of art, a Black Mass is inevitably converted into a White Mass . . . . [The music of Scriabins Ninth Piano Sonata] transfigures man by introducing harmony, order, and form into the deepest recesses of his soul; it exorcises the dark and evil forces which to Scriabin possessed an objective existence and compels them to assume an image of divinity, thus divesting them of malevolent power and elevating them to a superior state of being.156 In contrast, Sabaneyev submits that the satanic element is present in much of the Scriabins creative output. He claims to hear, and more specifically, to recognize, even among the liturgical sounds of the Seventh Sonata, nicknamed The White Mass, the physiognomy of Satan.157 According to Sabaneyev, Scriabin viewed Satan, or the diabolical, as the source of active creativity. In his 1925 book, he quotes the composer: Satan is the yeast of the universe through which all idleness stasis is prevented. He embodies the principle of activity, the principle of movement.158 The words of the composer prove a convincing means to disqualify the opinion of Schloezer. Scriabin

154 155

Ibid., 239. Ibid. 156 Ibid., 248. 157 Sabaneyev, Scriabin, 63. 158 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 141.

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ventures so far as to identify himself with the devil. Referring back to his youth, he reminisced, Even back then there was something devilish about me!159 A penchant for the diabolical not only strongly informed the period in which Scriabin lived, but also belonged to the Russian cultural legacy of the nineteenth century. The national poets Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837) and Mikhail Lermontov (1814-1841) wrote poetry using the subject matter of demons. The latters poem The Demon provided the basis for Anton Rubinsteins opera of the same name (1875). It is only logical that this very long tradition would carry over into the period of Russian Symbolism in both art and literature. For example, one finds this in the works of Fedor Sologub (The Petty Demon, 1907) and Andrei Bely (Chapter 5 of The Silver Dove, titled Demons 1909). Alexander Blok writes in his book Spirit of Music, Every promoter of culture is a demon, cursing the earth and devising wings in order to fly away from it.160 As a Symbolist composer, Scriabin transferred this metaphorical imagery into sound in many of his works. Sabaneyev relates how Scriabin proudly demonstrated the speed of the second movement of the Fourth Sonata. The composer exclaimed, I wish to play it even faster, at maximum tempo, at the limit of what is possible . . . . so that it appears to be a flight at the speed of light, like a flight directly into the sun!161 Flight, i.e., the winged element, finds itself frequently as a point of discussion in the writings of many eminent Scriabin scholars. Elsewhere, in the Russian visual arts of that period, winged demons are themes in the works of many famous painters, most notably Mikhail Vrubel (1856-1910). Vrubels works appeared in the first issue of the Russian symbolist journal
Ibid., 241. Alexander Blok, The Spirit of Music, trans. I. Freiman (Westport, CT: Hyperion Press, Inc., 1973; First English pub. London: Lindsay Drummond Ltd., 1946; Orig. Russian, St. Petersburg: 1918), 51. 161 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 297.
160 159

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Golden Fleece. This Moscow journal was sponsored and edited by the wealthy financier Nikolai Riabushinsky (1876-1951) who also promoted the 1907 painting competition for the best depiction of the devil.162 In summation, the periods fascination with the diabolical informed to a significant degree areas of Russian Symbolism and doubtlessly impacted Scriabins artistic thinking and creativity. In his response to Sabaneyevs analyses, Schloezer seems not to want to acknowledge the fact that the diabolical had indeed played a decisive role in Scriabins creative mind. His bias leads him to view Scriabin as consummately benevolent an untenable position when considering the ever-surfacing appearance of the devil in the composers music, accompanied by textual support. In opposition to Sabaneyev, Schloezer attempts to weaken the argument for the presence of the satanic in Scriabins creative work. He cites the following lines from Sabaneyev: In diabolism, I find the solution to many puzzles in Scriabins life and in his spiritual tragedy . . . . Undoubtedly, the entire spiritual and creative physiognomy of Scriabins consciousness was conditioned by Satanism . . . . Considering the entire aggregate of Scriabins spiritual elements, as reflected in his philosophy and his art, we are astounded and shocked to behold the visage of Satan, born of the confluence of all constituent parts of Scriabins nature.163 Schloezer deems Sabaneyevs line of thinking preposterous and assigns to him the misapprehension of the true meaning of the creative effort in art.164 He cautiously admits that there is an occasional presence of the diabolical in Scriabins works, but insists emphatically that its appearance forms merely a contrasting ingredient within an

John Bowlt, The Silver Age.Russian Art of the Early Twentieth Century and the World of Art Group (Newtonville, MA: Oriental Research Partners, 1979), 265. 163 Quoted in Schloezer, Scriabin. Artist and Mystic, p. 138; extracted from Sabaneyev, Scriabin, 72-73. 164 Ibid., 138-39.

162

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otherwise benign context. In defense of Sabaneyev, though, one does not sense this in the quite well-known examples of the Pome satanique or the Black Mass. Writing about these two works in his Reminiscences (1925), Sabaneyev once again lets the composer speak for himself: In the Ninth Sonata, I ventured much farther than previously into the Satanic realm . . . . Here one encounters the truly sinister . . . . In the Pome, I didnt have an actual Satan, but one of the lesser demons. . . . Now things have become serious.165 Sabaneyev continues to explain that Scriabins musical portrayal of Satan represented above all the idea of insincerity.166 A rebuttal by Schloezer to this report is not recorded. Associated with the diabolism in Scriabin, according to Sabaneyev, is the erotic element. He views this along with the exotic, bizarre, unusual, and the morbid, too as a further extension of the ideas of Franz Liszt, whom he labels the satanic abbot.167 Sabaneyev compared Scriabin and Liszt in an essay in 1911. He states: As for the spirit of the great composer of The Mephisto Waltz, it found its legacy in the music of Scriabin. . . . One does not need to be insightful to see characteristic similarities between the Mephisto Waltz and the Pome satanique. Eroticism and some vivid, truly satanic insincerity (not in the bad sense in this case, but in the good sense so as it must be) is heard in both works. Mephisto consists of a more primitive, simply constructed material, incomparably more ordinary but their spirit is the same a spirit or orgiastic satanity, the one that already in more primitive forms is embodied in Liszts rhapsodies, and which in Scriabin evolved into the idea of the gigantic dimensions of Prometheus the creative-destructive principles of the universe. 168 In their erotic moments, both Liszt and Scriabin demonstrate extremely pronounced artistic individualism, a defining trait of Satanism the source of creative energy. As
Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 163. Ibid. 167 Sabaneyev, Scriabin, 71. 168 Sabaneyev, Liszt and Scriabin, Muzyka 45 (Moscow, October 8, 1911; repr. Journal of the Scriabin Society of America, winter 2001-2): 86-93. See appendix for the complete translation.
166 165

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elsewhere, Schloezer understates in this case the intensity of Scriabins preoccupation with sexuality. In the most positive terms he states: Scriabin relished the free interplay of his senses, colored by a subtle but profound eroticism. . . but his sensuality was never coarse; it was marked by the same winged quality that characterized his longings, feelings, and creative impulses. Despite its strength and intensity, his sensuality was free of carnal materialism; it was indeed infused with a spiritual quality.169 His eroticism was imbued with sexuality without absorbing external elements; it seemed to probe deeper into itself, so that sexual gratification gradually assumed the character of altruistic love. A creator, Scriabin reasoned, does not limit himself to sensual delights in the act of creation; he also loves his creatures. He not only enjoys taking possession of another life, as one picks a flower, but overflowing with abundance, he enjoys giving life to his creations, impregnating them with the joy of being.170 In his 1925 Reminiscences, Sabaneyev describes in more explicit terms Scriabins penchant for the erotic element and reacts defiantly against his adversary Schloezer. In defense of his position he states the following: He [Scriabin] liked bizarre, extravagant moods and especially prickling eroticism. . . . A psychological inflection of the Satanic was present in Scriabin and at the same time dominant. The objections brought forward by Scriabinists of various coloring under the leadership of by Boris Schloezer are completely insubstantial. Of course, I never thought for a moment that Scriabin in composing the Ninth Sonata was letting living devils leap around the room; this accusation of Schloezer led the Scriabinists in 1916 to believe I had committed an affront against their master. At no time did I ever go so far with my statements. That he [Scriabin], though, found himself altogether under the power of satanic fantasies and medieval ideas is for me an absolutely indisputable fact.171

169 170

Schloezer, Scriabin, 131. Ibid., 212-13. 171 Scriabin, Vospominaniya, 142.

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Sabaneyev emphasizes his position throughout the book, with corroborating evidence from discussions he had had with Scriabin. He recounts, for example, Scriabins frequent demonstrations at the composers home at the piano. He played passages out of the Seventh Sonata and fragments of the forthcoming Mysterium, commenting explicitly on the similarities between the works and the human act of love. According to Sabaneyev, Scriabin stated, Our sexual act is nothing other than the prefiguration of the Mysterium, the same process, but tossed about in billions of reflections of individual small polarities.172 Scriabin recognized in himself the parallels between creative energy and male virility. This is the subject once again towards the end of Sabaneyevs Reminiscences. The year is 1914. Here Scriabin states, I have been convinced for a long time that there is a close connection between the creative act and eroticism. I know that my own drive towards creating is a consequence of the physiological traits of sexual arousal.173 The artist is therefore an individual stimulated towards creation physically and intellectually. The artistic stimulus desire, will, and resolve finds its source of energy in the satanic sphere, according to Sabaneyev. Yet it is here that he identified an inner conflict in the personality of Scriabin. According to this, the composer as an artistic individual is by nature satanic. But in order to unite with the Divine, the artist needs to overcome his own individuality solipsism. It is somehow paradoxical that the satanic force by nature rebellious is the required energy necessary to consummate a relationship of oneness with the Divine, also referred to as the Unique or the Absolute. Sabaneyev writes, In him began an eternal struggle between the artist as Satanist and the spiritual
172 173

Ibid., 124. Ibid., 337.

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desire to subjugate Satan and the need for unification.174 Ironically, the resulting unity can only be achieved through the prior dynamic action of the individual, the one capable of carrying out the ritual of dematerialisation. For Scriabin, this ritual was his planned Mysterium, an act of sobornost. The exact indivisible moment was ecstasy the confluence of individual beings rejoining the Divine Being. For all his writing about altruism and reciprocal love in Scriabins ideology, Schloezer makes it clear to the reader that the composer never could overcome his individuality.175 It appears that the composer could not reconcile selflessness with selfishness, a subject area in which Schloezer himself was quite knowledgeable.176 Of Scriabins initial sentiments he writes: Ecstasy was for him an act of individual self-assertion; it comes to pass in a realm where individuality reigns supreme. Rather than accept liberation through dissolution in chaos or fusion with the Deity, Scriabin proclaimed the deification of individuality, which legislates for itself, limits itself by sportive play, and builds and destroys its own norms, obeying only the momentary whims that dictate its sovereign laws.177 Sabaneyev dismissed much of what Schloezer had to say as the convoluted speech of a self-indulgent, pretentious sage. In his 1925 book he speaks of Schloezers unbelievably stilted language, stilted words, chaotic erudition, and plagiarism.178 He gloats

Sabaneyev, Scriabin, 73. Russian Symbolists considered overcoming individuality in the form of extended love relationships an ethical goal in modern society. In the early years of the twentieth century in Russia, numerous love triangles developed among famous literary figures, artists, and musicians. To name a few: Dmitri MerezhkovskiZinaida GippiusDmitri Filosofov; Alexander BlokAndrei BelyLiubov MedeleyevaBlok; Viacheslav IvanovLidia Zinoveva-AnnibalSergei Gorodetski; Nikolai MedtnerEmil Medtner Anna Mikhailovna-Bratenskaya.. See M. Lobanova, op. cit., 179. Valery Bryusovs The Fiery Angel, after which Prokofiev composed his opera, is based on the love triangle of Bryusov-Andrei Bely-Nina Petrovskaya. See Harlow Robinson, Flirting with Decadence, Opera Quarterly 8 (1991): 1-7. 176 Schloezer received his Ph.D. in 1901 from the University of Brussels. His dissertation topic: Egoisme. 177 Schloezer, 224. 178 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 31, 35, 139, 196. The author relates a story according to which Sergei Taneyev discovered passages in Friedrich Schillers letters that Schloezer had plagiarized in program notes for a performance of Scriabins Pome de lextase. But this exposure was not as damaging as Sabaneyevs own experience in December 1916. According to a famous anecdote, he wrote a devastating review of
175

174

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over Schloezers apparent loss of prestige when Viacheslav Ivanov began to visit Scriabin more frequently. Meanwhile, I soon had the impression that the emergence of Viacheslav Ivanov with his contrived argumentation was damaging the reputation of Boris Schloezer in the eyes of Scriabin. Ivanov knew quite well how to express everything in an appealing manner from a literary standpoint, scientifically correct, and with taste.179 For Sabaneyev, the music of Scriabin remained the foremost issue. As a positivist, he could not indulge the Symbolist rhetoric. He states emphatically, Scriabin as an artist and composer speaks much too much for itself that it would be necessary to augment his importance with dubious values from whatever source.180 The reasons for this statement in the introduction to his 1925 book could be twofold. Sabaneyev was, of course, a cultivated man firmly grounded in mathematics and the natural sciences who felt compelled to distance himself from mystic Symbolism. At the same time, though, he had to be politically cautious in order to protect his positions in the various cultural institutions of the new communist government. Up to the Revolution, both Sabaneyev and Schloezer continued to endorse the legacy of Scriabin in Russia. In 1919 Schloezer immigrated to France, where he found work as a journalist. Sabaneyev, who had made countless enemies in Russia through his caustic style of writing, immigrated to France in 1926. Both found it difficult to promote the music of Scriabin in a country that was then attuned to Neoclassicism and wanted

Prokofievs Scythian Suite, which had been withdrawn from the program at the last moment. Sabaneyev did not know this because he had not bothered to attend the concert. His lack of judgment compromised his integrity for years to come. See Nicholas Slonimsky, Lexicon of Musical Invective (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1994, originally published 1953), 129; and Sergei Prokofiev Diaries. 1915-1923. Behind the Mask, trans. Anthony Phillips (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008), 172. Quite likely, Sabaneyev included the plagiarism anecdote in order to preempt any future counter-assaults from Schloezer. 179 Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, 197. 180 Ibid., 6.

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little to do with the perceived neuroses of a pre-revolutionary world. Russia continued to appreciate and learn from Scriabins music, but his two staunchest advocates were declared enemies of the people and the authorities removed their books from the state libraries. Following official ideology, even prominent music personalities were compelled to denounce them. Heinrich Neuhaus states, Such mystics and obscurantists like L. Sabaneyev and B. F. Schloezer have done Scriabin enormous damage.181

181

Quoted in M. Lobanova, op. cit., 15.

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Chapter 4

Boris Asafyev and Arthur Louri Composer-Musicologists and their Contribution to the Legacy of Scriabin

Alexander Scriabins death in 1915 precipitated an outpouring of eulogies from prominent Russian musicians and critics. Among these was the relatively young gifted pianist and composer Boris Vladimirovich Asafyev (1884-1949).1 Comparatively speaking, he had not written much music criticism up to this time. Nor was Asafyev associated with the Scriabin clique in Moscow; he was based in St. Petersburg (Leningrad) for much of his life. His reputation as an eminent Russian-Soviet musicologist was established only in the 1920s.2 In 1918, though, Asafyev published already an essay titled Pathways into the Future in which he included a discussion of the position of Scriabin in Russian music history; here he attempted to evaluate and contextualize his works amid those of other Russian composers.3 He does not mention the name Sabaneyev or Schloezer (both Moscovites), but contradicts their positions in this essay. Conversely, they do not mention Asafyev in their writings before or after Scriabins death. Sabaneyev and Schloezer, regardless of their diverging views were intrigued by Scriabins late style and ambitions. For Asafyev, however, Scriabins later
Asafyev worked as a rehearsal pianist at the Maryinsky Theater in St. Petersburg from 1910. He is well known in Russia for the numerous ballet suites he composed from this period to the end of his life. 2 Some have compared his position as a musicologist to that of Theodor Adorno in the West. See Detlef Gojowy, Zum Bild und Vermchtnis von Boris Assafjew, introductory essay in the German edition of Boris Asafyev, Die Musik in Ruland. Von 1800 bis zur Oktoberrevolution 1917; series: Musik Konkret 9 (Berlin: Verlag Ernst Kuhn, 1998; orig. Russian, Leningrad: Muzyka), XI. 3 Boris Asafyev, Pathways into the Future, in Boris Asafyev (1884-1949) and Petr Souvchinskii (18921985), Melos. Kniga o muzyke [Melos. Book on Music], (St. Petersburg, 1918), 50-96; trans. Stuart Campbell in Russians on Russian music. 1880-1917, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 23458.
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aspirations in life rendered the composer artistically impotent. Scriabins priesthood led him to passivity of will and instability of symphonism:4 continuity of musical consciousness is unthinkable where there is no tireless aspiration towards self-will (awareness of oneself as a centre) and where creativity is reduced to a ritual.5 This is clearly an assault on the concept of the Mysterium where the composer must sacrifice his will in a liturgical act of sobornost (spiritual community) in order to re-establish unity with the Divine. Asafyev, as a composer with a solid understanding of music theory, finds this stasis manifested already in Scriabins 1910 symphonic poem Prometheus. He points out that the foundational chord robs the work of any truly dynamic quality. He writes, It is interesting that his symphonic intensity weakens along the path towards the spectral, and that the extremity of his creative audacities Prometheus is a static composition without development or fluency. The new sonority, the heightened harmonic sphere, initially led to error and created an illusion of movement. But there is almost no movement. Only the piano part hits at impulses of the will, but everything else round about resounds in the immobility of a swirling fog.6 Asafyev hears a continual weakening of intensity from Scriabins first symphonic works through to Prometheus. In a comparison, he finds the opposite to have occurred in the works of Tchaikovsky the composer he admired most. He states, . . . on the contrary, in Tchaikovsky that tension rises and is concentrated in the Sixth Symphony with tremendous power.7 Asafyev had

Asafyev writes, It is pointless to define symphonism, just as it is impossible to define the concept of the picturesque, of the truly poetic, of musical sound, etc. in Asafyev, Temptations and Triumph (1917), quoted in David Haas, Leningrads Modernists. Studies in Composition and Musical Thought. 1917-1932, American University Studies, Series 20: Fine Arts, 31 (New York: Peter Lang, 1998), 75. 5 Asafyev, Pathways, op. cit., 248. 6 Ibid., 240. 7 Ibid., 248.

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the highest praise for Tchaikovskys last symphony; it is the sole genuine symphony after Beethoven and the sole symphony of the Russian intelligentsia.8 In spite of this polarity, i.e., the contrary development of tension throughout their respective orchestral works, Asafyev finds a point of communality between the two composers: They are [so] enclosed, unrepeatable and undevelopable, that their individuality does not even allow a school.9 He identifies similarities in their emotional chemistry, i.e., how they experience and process various stimuli. He states, It is not without reason that there is a parallel to the music of Tchaikovsky as regards rhythmic, dynamic and thematic linearity in the most symphonic moments of Scriabins music. In contrast, though, Asafyev cites Tchaikovskys sustained connection to the human element, whereas Scriabin in his opinion, apparently surmounted the barriers of human consciousness.10 Most of all, Asafyev hears much of the music of the two composers as subjective, which he identifies as positive expression of the individual will. In the case of Scriabin, however, this gradually transformed into a distinctive objectivism.11 This he contrasts with the passionless objectivism of Rimsky-Korsakov (Asafyevs former teacher!) and Alexander Glazunov (Borodins heir), whose music he could not tolerate.12 For him these composers were the epitome of the Belyayevite aesthetic which he describes in disparaging terms; for him, this musical style of Rimsky-Korsakov is a
Ibid., 240. Further, in reference to Asafyevs fondness of this work and position of musicologist in a socialist state, Nicolas Slonimsky writes, A lover of Tchaikovskys music, he had to resort to tortured dialectics in order to justify his high opinion of the Pathtique: there is no more dramatically powerful work, in which the tragedy of a sensitive, creatively gifted personality, choking in the unhealthy social atmosphere and transferring the drama of life into his inner world, is bared so strikingly. In Nicolas Slonimsky, review of Russian Music from the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century, by Boris Asafyev, Musical Quarterly 40, no. 3 (July 1954): 425-30; 426. 9 Asafyev, Pathways, 242. 10 Ibid., 241. 11 Ibid., 249. 12 Ibid.
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mere stencil from which all others can trace. Asafyev condemns Rimsky-Korsakov stating, He is the inculcator and educator of the cult of static sonority where formulas take the place of living fabric and where music is thought of exclusively as if confined to two dimensions.13 Correspondingly, Scriabin found also the musical style of the St. Petersburg composer and professor as well as his imitators tedious. As one example, both Asafyev and Scriabin faulted early works of Stravinsky, a student of Rimsky-Korsakov, for their apparent stylistic residue of the master. In derogatory terms, Scriabin referred to Stravinskys early work as the usual Rimsky-Korsakstvo.14 This commentary of Scriabin followed several years after the death Rimsky-Korsakov. Formerly, Scriabin had been on excellent terms with Rimsky-Korsakov and visited him at his home in St. Petersburg.15 The latter conducted the premiere of Scriabins Rverie in St. Petersburg and was ostensibly a fellow synaesthete. Elsewhere, as a board member he reviewed Scriabins works for publication through the M. P. Belyayev Endowment.16 As for Asafyev, he had always hoped to study composition with Rimsky-Korsakov and the latters death in 1908 prompted him to leave the St. Petersburg Conservatory without finishing his course of studies. It appears that Asafyev and Scriabin shared a peculiar ambivalence concerning Russian Romanticism and Modernism. On the other hand, their respective aspirations followed different paths. Where Scriabin sought recognition as a

13 14

Ibid., 246. Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 288. 15 Ibid., 289. 16 Documented in the Scriabin correspondence.

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thinker beyond the mere occupation of a composer, Asafyev wished to become the latter and questioned his own competence as a technical writer on music.17 It is quite likely that Asafyev would have met Scriabin in St. Petersburg through Rimsky-Korsakov, but there is no indication of that this happened in the available documents.18 Another possibility for meeting would have been through the art historian and critic Vladimir Stasov (1824-1906), with whom Asafyev worked and learned the library and archival sciences at the St. Petersburg Public Library during a period starting in 1904.19 During the previous ten years, Stasov had become an increasingly enthusiastic supporter of Scriabin and was in regular contact with the composer.20 In any case, Asafyev would have had the opportunity to hear all of Scriabins orchestral works and most of the piano pieces in St. Petersburg, the city of the composers maecenas and publisher, Mitrofan Belyayev (1836-1904). By the time Asafyev began critical writing in 1914, he was completely familiar with the music and ideas of Scriabin. He could analyze the composers position in the national as well as international context. His principal interest, however, lay in the

Nicolas Slonimsky writes, As a composer, Asafyev totally lacked individuality. Not even his most ardent admirers in Russia would seriously claim distinction for his music. It is as a scholar and critic that Asafyev is to be evaluated. He was not sure of his place in musical scholarship and regarded himself as a musical observer. I am not a musicologist, he wrote to Kabalevsky from Leningrad in August 1942; My so-called discoveries are made by the creative mind of a musician. Op. cit., 425. Elsewhere, Sergei Prokofiev writes in his diary (February 3, 1908), Arenskys Nal and Damayanti (1904) is a thoroughly bad opera! . . Worse than Asafyev! in Sergei Prokofiev. Diaries. 1907-1914. Prodigious Youth, trans. Anthony Phillips (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006), 39. 18 Asafyev began his music studies at the St. Petersburg Conservatory through the personal suggestion and encouragement of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. See Andreas Wehrmeyer, Einige Anmerkungen zu Boris Assafjews Buch Die Musik in Russland, in Boris Assafyev, Die Musik in Russland, ed. and trans. Ernst Kuhn, Musik Konkret 9 (Berlin: Verlag Ernst Kuhn, 1998), 396. 19 Ibid. 20 In the earliest of several letters to Stasov dated Paris, December 1 (13), 1897, Scriabin thanks Stasov profusely for the award notification of the monetary Glinka Prize and requests to know who the secret benefactor is, who turns out to be Mitrofan Belyayev (1836-1904). In Skriabin. Pisma [Letters], ed. A. Kashperov (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1965), 186.

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musical culture of his native country. Slonimsky writes, the explanation of Asafyevs great renown as a writer . . . lies in his complete absorption in the subject of Russian music, his passionate desire to communicate his own deep feeling to the reader.21 In this commitment, he sought to maintain his integrity during the 1920s conflicts between the ACM22 and RAPM,23 and then later during the severe era of Stalinism and Zhdanovshchina.24 In somewhat emotional rhetoric, the Russian migr-musician-writer Andrei Olkhovsky offers the following assessment: During the twenties Asafyev as a leading adherent, inspirer and director of contemporary music was subjected to such fierce attacks from the leaders of RAPM [Russian Association of Proletarian Musicians] that it is hard to understand how this extremely sensitive man could have endured it. To anyone who was connected in any way with Asafyev or who had carefully read his works it was unmistakably clear that his world outlook and his musical aesthetic conceptions, those which he professed himself and which he persistently implanted in his pupils, did not change one iota during his entire career of almost half a century, half of it under the harsh conditions of Soviet reality.25 Asafyevs monograph Scriabin (1921) appears to contradict these sentiments. For example, his reappraisal of the composers symphonic poem Prometheus, subtitled Poem of Fire, is at odds with what he had written in the article of 1918. Now, in the monograph, he praises the dynamic nature of the orchestral work identifying Scriabin with the title hero as a symbol of rebirth.26 Asafyev perceives the work in one sense as an extension of Wagners Ring des Nibelungen with opposing symbolic meanings of fire. Wagners fire
Nicolas Slonimsky, review of Asafyev: Russian Music, 427. Association of Contemporary Music, Moscow; LACM, Leningrad affiliation of same. 23 Russian Association of Proletarian Musicians, Moscow; founded originally by students in 1923 and existed until 1932. 24 Repressive cultural doctrine named after Andrei Zhdanov (1896-1948), hardline politician under Stalin. 25 Andrey Olkhovsky (1900 - ?), Music under the Soviet: The Agony of an Art (New York: Frederick A. Praeger, 1955), 81-82. 26 Boris Asafyev, Skriabin. Opyt Kharakteristiki [Scriabin. Characteristics of his Works], (St. Petersburg: Svetozar, 1921, rep., 1923), 44.
21 22

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signifies destruction and downfall. Scriabins fire is rebirth and re-creation. Wagners fire is ultimately the result of evolution. Scriabins fire represents a beginning, a point of departure, the creation of the world beyond that of mankind. . . .27 Here, Asafyev has departed from his earlier criticism of the works static harmony. He now writes, Having created Prometheus and with it a new world of sound, Scriabin crossed over into a sphere of endless possibilities. And how much music will appear in the future based on it!28 Another aspect of the monograph distinguishing it from the earlier article is the assessment of Scriabins spiritual development and its impact on his creativity. The earlier work intentionally avoids discussion of his religious and philosophical ideology. There, Asafyev writes, the Scriabin Societies take sufficient trouble over it. In the monograph, however, Asafyev acknowledges Scriabin as a musician-philosopher and incorporates the spiritual topics into the discussion. His philosophy is a philosophy of a musician-creator, endeavoring to understand in the imagery of words the nature of musical creation.29 Asafyev elaborates extensively on Scriabins ideological development using a metaphorical language that some observers have found excessive.30 The authors purpose here is to make the material accessible to a broader audience in a manner it can understand. He writes, I will try to explain this without using the language of a specialist or technical terms.31 While avoiding technical parlance, he offers instead to the reader a somewhat aureate version of Scriabins intentions. For example, in illustrating the essence of the composers music, he claims, Neither depression nor
27 28

Ibid., 45-46. Ibid., 48. 29 Ibid., 22. 30 Asafyev was a master of luxuriant prose and was too often entangled in his own metaphors. See Nicolas Slonimsky, op. cit., 426. 31 Asafyev, Skriabin, 26.

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despair is found in this music. Scriabin believes in the sun and no matter how many clouds or fog would obscure the rays of light, Scriabin knows the path to them; it is the path to ecstasy, the path to joy, to intoxicating intellect and to the unbridled spirit.32 Asafyev himself was aware of the difficulties in expressing his ideas clearly.33 More noteworthy here, though, is the revision of his earlier ideas about Scriabin that appeared in 1918.34 There, he speaks of Scriabins submission to a higher power, of the composers flight to the unknown.35 In general, he warns of the dangers of relinquishing ones own will towards subservience to religious feebleness (theosophy).36 In the earlier script, he states, Scriabin has no will; therefore there is no symphonism, no continuity of musical consciousness, though there is all the same an impersonal, insane dissolution in the sphere which to him is concrete and ideal.37 Later, in 1921 he conveys a message of the strength of Scriabins convictions and the nobleness of his aspirations: Scriabins proud idea about a man-god placed the human spirit in the center of the world, as the sun of the universe. Scriabin went to the sun not in order to worship it as did sorcerors of the East. He went to merge with the sun, to become the sun himself. The philosophy of Scriabin is a line of transfigurations, sublimations of the spirit (evolution of consciousness) from one center towards a new center, a tireless creation of worlds and the aspiration from them to ecstasy, towards merging with the universe. Scriabin dreamed about a mighty individual, who would know all, and having endured all would through his own will direct the course of the worlds.38

Ibid., 14. I am greatly aggrieved by my inability to develop a fine literary style, and I am fully aware of the turgidity of my writing. From the preface to the second volume of his book Musical Form as a Process, quoted in Slonimsky, op. cit., 425. 34 Detlef Gojowy speaks of Asafyevs numerous transformations [mannigfache Umwandlungen] throughout the latters writing career. See Gojowy, op. cit., p. XIV. 35 Asafyev, Pathways, op. cit., 249. 36 Ibid., 256. 37 Ibid., 241. 38 Asafyev, Skriabin, 8.
33

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In the 1918 article, he comments on the poetic quality of Scriabins music and of its potential as one redeeming factor. He predicts, The concretization of Scriabins musical inheritance can even lead in the direction of turning poetic quality into symphonism, that is to the return to the dominance of the personal element asserting ones own will far above anything else.39 In 1921, there is no longer any doubt expressed about the strength of Scriabins will. Here, Asafyev invokes the name of Russias greatest literary figure, Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), in order to corroborate his claims. Quoting a section from Pushkins drama Mozart and Salieri, he writes: Hearing the music of Mozart, Salieri says What profoundness! What boldness and what harmony! You, Mozart, are God and dont know it yourself; I know it, I! . . . Scriabin heeds the secret confession that escaped the lips of Pushkin. He confirmed the divinity of the creative mind of man and boldly set off on pre-planned pathways telling himself: I know that I am God. The summits of creative ascent are accessible to me. I will experience the creative ecstasy, the most sublime joy of confluence with the universe, created by me, my understanding and experience, by my will. That is how Scriabin would have the right to speak about himself. And the meaning of his diary entries contains these ideas. I am the sun.40 Asafyev demonstrates here Scriabins self-appraisal as God incarnate, establishing the power of his will and his unique and outstanding position among composers. The strong, assertive will, so important to artistic individuality, is also essential to Asafyevs understanding of symphonism, which requires dynamic struggle of forces. Here, he no longer speaks of weak immobility or of a static vertical nature of Scriabins harmony.
39 40

Ibid., 249. Asafyev, Skriabin, op. cit., 38.

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In citing the differences between Russian and West European music, Asafyev names the horizontal importance found in his countrys folk melodies. He condemns the weak-willed vertical petrification41 which he associates with Western harmony and the established forms such as sonata which he says stifles free musical speech.42 In the 1918 article, he does not yet acknowledge Scriabins achievements in liberating himself from these traditional confinements; this he does in a more technical discussion mentioned below. Asafyev views Russias earlier reliance on imported fixed forms as a hindrance towards internal musical development and at some level a suppression of national identity. The essential dependence of Russian music on classical German music, whose disciple and foster-child she is, consists in cultivating obsolete formal schemes.43 He insists that form should be a living continual synthesis.44 On this point, Asafyev remains consistent in his music theoretical judgment throughout his life. In spite of the outside factors influencing the music of Russia, Asafyev maintains that the works of its great composers retain the natural flexibility present in the countrys folksongs. He identifies their lyricism (napevnost) and song-like character (pesennost) which have found the way into Russian art music.45 Here, Asafyev does not stop short of including the music of Scriabin, although the latter composed no noteworthy songs and, in general, was not interested in his countrys folksong heritage. An influence is still present, though, according to Asafyev. In his book Russian Music from the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century (1928), he writes the following:

41 42

Asafyev, Pathways, op. cit., 252. Ibid., 245. 43 Ibid., 256. 44 Ibid. 45 Ibid., 254.

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There is also something of Russia, and of Moscow, that the piano music of Rachmaninov, Medtner, and Scriabin has in common something that we also find in Tchaikovsky, Taneyev, and Arensky. In spite of a careful cultivation of the vertical, i.e. harmonic texture, their music is largely directed by melody emotionally expressive and pianistically plastic. Melody builds up and sets their music in motion, since otherwise, without this stimulus, it would turn into harmonic improvisations on a tonal basis, and nothing more.46 The independent melodic element, therefore, marks the dynamic forward movement in music that Asafyev views as one particularly identifiable feature of truly Russian music. Scriabin and the other above-named composers to whom he attributes this quality are associated with the Moscow Conservatory. Therefore, it is peculiar that Asafyev in the previous year, 1927, in an article titled Ten Years of Russian Symphonic Music,47 juxtaposes the elements cited above as traits of the Leningrad aesthetic direction with the less indigenous, more derivative style which he finds characteristic of Moscow. He writes, Melos and linearism [linearnost] are the basis for the creative work of Leningrads new composers.48 Asafyevs ambivalence towards Moscow is apparent in his varying assessments of its composers, and in particular Scriabin. In spite of his monograph celebrating the composer, he displays his personal disapproval in lesser-known documents. For example, in an official report to the Repertoire Commission of the Leningrad Theater on May 30, 1929, he extols the accomplishments of the eminent Moscovite composer Alexander

Boris Asafyev, Russkaya muzyka ot nachala XIX stoletiya [Russian Music from the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century], trans. Alfred J. Swan (Ann Arbor: J. W. Edwards, 1953; orig. Moscow-Leningrad: Academia, 1930), 250. In his introduction, Swan calls Asafyev the Russian counterpart of Ernest Newman (p. vii) and of the book states, This is musical criticism of the highest type, without the slightest amateurishness, or attempt at popularization. (p. viii). 47 Igor Glebov [Boris Asafyev] , Russkaya simfonicheskaya muzyka za 10 let [Ten Years of Russian Symphonic Music], Muzyka i revoliutsiya, 11 (1927): 20-29; quoted in Haas, op. cit., 40. 48 Ibid.
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Mosolov in a way that denigrates the legacy of Scriabin. He writes, Alexander Mosolov is one of the few musicians in Moscow who do not swim along in the unhealthy Scriabinist aesthetics.49 Based in Leningrad, Asafyev had been able to observe the musical activities there closely and was inclined to view that city as the center and driving force of Russian modernism. He was, indeed, aware of musical developments in Moscow, but as in other areas of art and literature, a certain rivalry continued to exist between the two cities and this becomes apparent occasionally in his writings.50 In the article of 1918, Asafyev claims that the extreme individuality of Scriabin would not permit the development of a school.51 Later, in 1928 he acknowledges his impact on numerous outstanding composers of the older and younger generations. He speaks of the Scriabinisms in the music of Reinhold Glire (1874-1956).52 In the late works of Anatoly Lyadov (1855-1914) and the middle period of Alexei Stanchinsky (1888-1914), he cites Scriabins influence. In the earlier article, he speaks of Scriabins lack of symphonism; now, he emphasizes its positive presence in the composers piano works. In 1918, he writes about limitations and nave symmetricality of sonata form that does not withstand individual violations.53 By contrast, in 1928 Asafyev praises Scriabins achievements in this genre; he does this in a superlative manner that is reminiscent of the esoteric dimensions of Russian Symbolism:

Quoted in Gojowy, op. cit., XVII. In 1943, Asafyev moved to Moscow, where he became director of the music research division of the Conservatory and later president of the composers union of the USSR. 51 Viacheslav Karatygin (1875-1925), a St. Petersburg critic whom Asafyev held in high esteem he writes positively of him in Russian Music (pp. 274-75) observes the situation oppositely; Karatygin discusses this in an article published a few years earlier. Of several named Russian composers he writes, Not one has so far established a school. Scriabin represents a relative exception. See The most recent trends in Russian Music, Northern Notes 6-7 (1914): 141-53; repr. in Stuart Campbell, op. cit., 224-33, here: 232. 52 Asafyev, Russian Music, 319. 53 Asafyev, Pathways, 245.
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The highest point in the evolution of the Russian sonata between 1893 and 1913 are the ten piano sonatas of Scriabin, in which the composer steadily rose in his creative development, and contemplated more and more decisively a complete dematerialization of the musical tissue, in the sense of turning it into a transmissive medium as movable as air and as intangible as human thought.54 Where earlier Asafyev speaks of Scriabins weakness of will and stagnancy of the Promethean harmony pervasive in his later works, he now claims that Scriabins Sonatas six through ten (1911-13) represent the ultimate perfection of his classic style with a complete freedom from any influences alien to his spiritualized musical perception and his heightened aural keenness.55 In Scriabins music, Asafyev perceives a fusion of the vertical and horizontal elements. The melodic design grew more and more capricious, breakable or zigzag-like, while the verticals (harmonies) were either cemented more firmly, or became more transparent and aerial.56 And notwithstanding Scriabins ostensibly irrational philosophical world of thought, Asafyev commends the composers logical system of a combination of sounds;57 this he attributes partly to the traditions that developed in the composers hometown and which were grounded in the teaching methods of Sergei Taneyev (1856-1915) whose rationally built-up system of thought derived from the evolution of music, and the forms in which musical creation manifested itself.58 Asafyev states, It will not appear too exaggerated to say that in the rationalistic tendencies of the Moscow musical culture of the pre-revolutionary epoch a

Asafyev, Russian Music, 254. Ibid. 56 Ibid., 257. 57 Ibid., 262. 58 Ibid., 260.
54 55

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firm basis was set for its further organizationally powerful evolution.59 Asafyev no longer dwells on the strictures of sonata form; it is no longer an obsolete structure that has reached an impasse. He elaborates rather on its potential for further unfolding. Consequently, he views Scriabins work in the genre as an important contribution towards this forward-moving organic process. The further construction of the sonata in the Moscow musical culture did not stop at Scriabin, but continues to break through in various directions with various composers up to our times, as one of the characteristic signs of chamber music creation.60 Here, Asafyev names the composers Nikolai Myaskovsky (1881-1950)61 and Samuil Feinberg (1890-1962).62 One may find traces of Scriabin in their works, but in this respect, particularly those in the piano compositions of Feinberg are noteworthy.63 Recognizing this influence in his works, Asafyev writes, The cycle of the ecstatic sonatas (six) of Feinberg64 sonatas that make a deep impression by their pianistically breathtaking lyrical improvisationalism shows how brilliantly one could still vary the prerequisites set by Scriabin. . .65 The later opinions of Asafyev mentioned above indicate a re-assessment of Scriabins position as a Russian composer. It appears, though, that he sought to make certain adjustments that harmonized more accurately with the political and cultural transformations taking place during the early years of the Soviet Union. This was perhaps
59 60

Ibid., 262-63. Ibid. 61 Student of Anatoli Lyadov and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov in St. Petersburg. Myaskovsky later taught at Moscow Conservatory and was a member of the ACM. 62 Student of Nikolai Zhilyayev (1881-1938) a friend of Scriabin at Moscow Conservatory. Feinberg later taught there, too. 63 Significant is the fact that these two composers were recipients of the Stalin Prize which testifies not only to their contributions in musical composition, but also indirectly to the enduring influence and respect of Scriabin during that period. 64 Feinberg composed 12 piano sonatas by the end of his life. 65 Asafyev, Russian Music, op. cit., 265.

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unavoidable, but at the same time could not have presented any major obstacle in view of the authors own tendentious attitude towards revolutionary philosophy. In 1934 he admits, For the straightening out of my mental processes, after a long period of romantically Utopian formalistic meanderings, I am obligated exclusively to my study of dialectical and historical materialism, and above all to the creative administrative building of our country by the All-Union Communist Party and its leaders of genius.66 In his writings on Scriabin, Asafyev accounts for the social aspects of the composers creative work. In Pathways into the Future, written in the year after the Revolution, the author interprets the appearance of Scriabin at one level as a beacon of hope for mankind, seemingly comparable to that of the major socialist philosophers. He reflects on the significance of the composers arrival at this juncture in time and poses several rhetorical questions about the future: The phenomenon of Scriabin is a historic wonder; can it really be possible to understand his whole biography in the midst of grey, tedious Russian ordinariness? Or is it only in conditions of such reality that aspirations to such themes as Scriabin raised up can be born? But what path leads on from them?67 For these questions he offers no immediate answers. In the 1921 monograph, Asafyev traces Scriabins artistic development as a steady movement towards revolution which he claims is the essence of Scriabins final dream. The depth of the revolution, to which Scriabin was heading in his ultimate goal, was based on a solid and stable conviction of the musician that the power of music is infinite and that a mighty personality having created new music will shake the world and

66 67

Quoted in Nicolas Slonimsky, op. cit., 425. Asafyev, Pathways, 241.

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will accomplish in it a spontaneous shift of calamitous nature.68 This, Asafyev explains, was the driving force behind Scriabins creativity; but the dream remained unfulfilled. The author draws comparisons between it and the social political circumstances in Russia during that period. In reference to Scriabins final ambition he writes, The Mysterium is a worldly revolution, the end of the visible world, but in the trembling of joyous renewal, and not in the trembling of horror.69 In this study of the characteristics of Scriabins work, its modern nature, Asafyev admonishes the contemporaneous society for its lack of recognition of the important relevance that Scriabins late works have for the future of humanity. At this time and in defense of Scriabin, Asafyev is revealing himself as a fierce advocate of Modernism. He does not use the term symphonism, but explains Scriabins music in a compelling manner using a cogent language designed for the psyche of the revolutionary audience. He writes, In struggle and division is the essence of life. Without them there is stagnation and inertia. From this comes the passionate tension in the music of Scriabin, the trembling and nervousness of it and a seeming fear of standstill, a fear of rigidity. Even purely contemplative moments of this music are full of an inexpressible gravitation upwards. If one deeply experiences and feels its expressiveness, one can compare the internal uplift and rapture stimulated by it with an internal feeling of the process of growth a blossoming forth.70 According to Asafyev, Scriabin was ahead of his own contemporaries and therefore was in essence, more contemporary than the rest of us.71 He stresses the importance for all Russians to learn to appreciate Scriabins music and not to treat it as some sort of dessert. . . . It is important to understand that in our times the spiritual power and
Asafyev, Skriabin, 31. Ibid., 47. 70 Ibid., 23-24. 71 Ibid., 44.
68 69

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influence of music on our psyche is many more times stronger than that of the word.72 The sense of urgency pervasive in the writing style of the 1921 monograph reflects the spirit of the initial years following the Revolution. In contrast, the character of the 1928 book is perhaps more tempered, though in no way less passionate. Still, one senses in the writing style here a less liberal and more cautious approach in the presentation of material. Careful not to dampen the legacy of Scriabin, Asafyev is nevertheless highly critical of the pre-revolutionary period in which the composer lived and of which he, too, is a product. He speaks of an intellectual milieu that surrounded Scriabin73 without including him directly. He implies that a decadent atmosphere prevailed during that period without using the term decadent. At the same time, he indicates that it was exactly this atmosphere that provided Scriabin the stimuli necessary for his creativity. In summary, Asafyev praises Scriabins musical achievements using fashionable rhetoric consonant with the social ideology of the period. Speaking of Scriabins music, he writes, It knew no repose, conventionality, vulgarity, inert attitude to life. The music of Scriabin is an irresistible and deeply human desire for freedom, joy, enjoyment of life. In it there is a mutual co-existence of an everlasting discontent and an exertion of the utmost powers and it continues to live as a witness of the best aspirations of the epoch, in which it was an explosive and turbulent element of culture.74 The description above is indicative of the dynamic nature of Scriabins music the ingredient that Asafyev finds to be an essential element true symphonism.

72 73

Ibid. Asafyev, Russian Music, 177. 74 Ibid.

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Asafyevs appreciation of Scriabins music and his ability to place it in a historically and socially relevant context align him with other contemporaneous music critics and certain political ideologues. They will be discussed in the following section.

Arthur Louri and his Contribution to the Legacy of Scriabin: Arthur Sergeyevich Vincent Louri (Naum Israilevich Lurye, 1892-1966),75 as in the case of Boris Asafyev, was a composer and critic active in St. Petersburg. Likewise, he was a firm advocate of Russian Modernism, including the music of Scriabin. At the same time, both Louri and Asafyev shared a common appreciation of the musical heritage of the past. Louri emphasizes this in his 1941 article Musings on Music when he claims, In music the past and the future are held together by the present, thanks to our memory.76 Concerning the personal relationship between Louri and Asafyev, the assessments have varied. The German musicologist Detlef Gojowy characterizes the professional rapport between the two men as close but guarded: According to various sources, Louri and Asafyev followed similar paths. There were even signs of mutual esteem; yet all the more apparent were their personal differences. Between the two composers and music aestheticians, a rapport of suspicious rivalry seems to have prevailed.77 Louris close personal friend and biographer Irina Graham recalls a warmer connection between the two:

Most sources list Louris birth year as 1892. An exception to this is the Grove Dictionary of Music article (2001) by Giovanni Camajani and Detlef Gojowy who give 1891. Arthur and Vincent were added in 1913 upon his conversion from Judaism to Christianity for his admiration of the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer and for his love of the painter Vincent van Gogh. His original Jewish given name with patronimic was Naum Israilevich. 76 Arthur Louri, Musings on Music, Musical Quarterly 27, no. 2 (April, 1941): 235-42; 242. 77 Detlef Gojowy, Zum Bild und Vermchtnis von Boris Assafjew, introductory essay in Boris Assafjew, Die Musik in Ruland, Musik-Konkret 9 (Berlin: Verlag Ernst Kuhn, 1998; orig. Russian pub., Leningrad: Academia Press, 1930), XVII.
75

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He was a close friend of Asafyev. Louri admired very much his musicological works. And Asafyev dedicated to him his first publication with the inscription: To Arthur Sergeyevich Louri, who has shown me my way. 78 Louri is better known than Asafyev internationally because, following the example of many fellow countrymen, he defected to the West; he did this in 1922, five years after the October Revolution. His later association with Stravinsky also contributed significantly to his international recognition. Though not as prolific as Asafyev, the author and composer Louri was successful in having many of his own articles, books, and musical works published in Europe and the United States.79 Some important concepts of Asafyev concerning the essence of musical expression find a resonance in Louris essays.80 Asafyev, for example, describes symphonism (simfonizm) not in reference to genre or medium, but in the following terms: a stream of musical consciousness [nepreryvnost muzykalnogo soznaniya] within the sphere of sounds yet to come.81 In a lecture on Scriabin shortly before his emigration, Louri similarly emphasizes the Asafyevian symphonism in the work of Scriabin in the context of the composers active religious experience.82 Here, Louri states, Scriabin, the only Symbolist of Russian music, was also nearly the only symphonist. . . The symphonic element is

Irina Graham, Arthur Sergeevic Louri Biographische Notizen, Hindemith Jahrbuch 8 (Mainz: Schott, 1979): 186-207; 199. 79 Very few of Asafyevs musical compositions were ever published. They remain archived in St. Petersburg. See Tatyana Dmitryeva-Mey, Chronological Index of Asafyevs Works in Boris Asafyev, Izbrannye trudy [Selected works], Vol. 5 (Moscow: State Publishing House, 1957), 350-79. 80 For a summary explanation of Asafyevs most notable ideas intonatsiya, melos, polyphony, linearism, and symphonism consult David Haas, Leningrads Modernists. Studies in Composition and Musical Thought, 1917-1932, American University Studies, Series 20, Fine Arts, vol. 31 (New York: Peter Lang. 1998), 53-80. 81 Ibid., 75-76. 82 Arthur Louri, At the Crossroads:2 Culture and Music, excerpt from a lecture before the St. Petersburg Free Philosophical Association in November, 1921; repr. in Strelets 3 (St. Petersburg, 1922): 170-74; German trans., Karla Hielscher, Musik-Konzepte 32/33 (Munich: Edition Text + Kritik, 1983), 123-26; 124.
78

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unthinkable without his development in the sphere of active religious thinking.83 Here, the appreciation of religious mysticism as a connecting factor between the two composers is apparent. Louri proceeds to discuss also the song element (pesennost) he does not yet use Asafyevs term melos84 in Scriabins earlier works such as the First Symphony and the Piano Concerto. He speaks of the composers subsequent painstaking liberation from this pseudo-tradition of Russian music,85 and summarizes Asafyevs concepts with the following statement: The path that began with Scriabin, when one considers his powerful achievements, is the path towards pure symphonism, built upon the song-like and instrumental foundations of the primal element of Russia music upon the essence of musical experience and evocation.86 The assimilation and appropriation of the philosophical and creative ideas of other individuals seems to have been an extraordinary and life-long talent of Louri. He possessed an uncanny ability to adapt to his surroundings and reinvent himself in such ways that always served his immediate interests in both the professional and private spheres.87 Ultimately, Louri became an intriguing and extremely controversial personality. Leonid Sabaneyev, a historian not known for his integrity, eloquently characterizes Louri as opportunist, as that restless musician whose biography is almost more interesting than his compositions. An exquisite aesthete, a highly cultured and

83 84

Ibid., 124. In 1929, Louri distinguishes between melody and melos with definitions that appear to be taken (borrowed?) from Asafyev. Louri writes, Melody is a progression in which the function of the interval disappears. . . Melos is the sonorous whole, the circulation in the musical organism. . . See Louri, An Inquiry into Melody, Modern Music 7 (Dec. 1929 Jan. 1930): 3-11; 10. 85 Louri, Crossroads, 125. 86 Ibid., 126. 87 Examining his relationship with Stravinsky, Stephen Walsh refers to Louri as an intellectual opportunist. See Walsh, Stravinsky. A Creative Spring. Russia and France, 1882-1932 (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1999), 461.

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extremely clever man, he possesses that quality of moral anarchism which in Russia so often overtakes even men of standing. . . The life of no other Russian composer is so fantastic, so full of the element of adventure.88 Still, Sabaneyev expressed gratitude, depicting Louri as a hero of the Revolution. Sabaneyev praises him as the appointed head of MUZO89 for his untiring and determined efforts to secure and protect Russian modern music during the period of civil war following the Bolshevik takeover. At the same time, Sabaneyev is also perceptive enough to recognize Louris expedient methods. With a restrained touch of sarcasm, he writes, Lourier brought order into the musical life of Russia, being guided by the incisive politics of the musical left wing it was the period when the political views of the left were mixed up with artistic ideas, together forming one touching chord of misunderstanding. However, let us be just to Lourier, who at least did a great deal to preserve a number of musical treasures which otherwise would have perished in the storms of the revolution; and let us forgive him for having published, at the expense of the State, too many, perhaps, of his own compositions, ultra-left, futuristic in their very approach to music, and sometimes adventurously attempting to establish some sort of connection with the revolution.90
Sabaneyev, Three Russian Composers in Paris, Musical Times 68, no. 1016 (October 1, 1927): 882-84. Louri had numerous love affairs with highly celebrated married women including both wives of the famous Russian painter Sergei Sudeikin, Olga and Vera (the latter was later the wife of Stravinsky). Most notorious was his affair with the Soul of the Silver Age, Anna Akhmatova, who left her husband, the poet Nikolai Gumilov, to cohabitate in a love triangle with Louri and Olga. For his part in this relationship, Louri separated from his first wife, the Polish pianist Jadwiga Ciblska with whom he had a daughter, Anne. Probably to finance his life abroad, Louri married in Paris in 1924, his second wife, the wealthy expublisher Tamara Persitz, a Russian Jewess to whom he later explained the advantages of conversion. Finally, in 1939, Louri took as his third and last wife the widowed Elizabeta Alekseyevna, Countess Belevsky-Zhukovsky (Moscow 1896 Princeton 1975) securing himself a position of nobility in the House of Romanov. Yet, his love for Anna Akhmatova, whom he never saw again, apparently never ceased. For more information on Louris personal life, consult Elaine Feinstein, Anna of All the Russias. The Life of Anna Akhmatova (New York: Knopf, 2006; orig. pub. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 2005) and Caryl Emerson, Artur Vincent Louris The Black Moor of Peter the Great: Exotic Ancestor as Twentieth Century Opera, in Catharine Theimer Nepomnyashchy, Nicole Svobodny, and Ludmilla A. Trigos, eds., Under the Sky of My Africa. Alexander Pushkin and Blackness (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2006), 332-67. 89 Music Division of the State Commissariat of the Enlightenment. 90 Sabaneyev, Three Composers, 883.
88

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The fellow migr Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953) was less forgiving towards Louri; he would not speak with him when the two were students at the St. Petersburg Conservatory and later denounced him as a scoundrel and a swine.91 The thirteen-year personal relationship and professional collaboration between Louri and Stravinsky in Paris (192437) also soured to the point where Stravinsky would not even mention his name, even in his 1936 autobiography.92 Nicolas Slonimsky characterizes Louri as a musician of great culture, but totally lacking in integrity of purpose.93 In his diary, he questions Louris forthrightness because of the latters disavowal of Judaism.94 Furthermore, he criticizes Louris dilettantism in the area of philosophy an aspect in common with Scriabin.95

In a diary entry from December 16, 1922, Prokofiev implies that Louri had lied to him in Berlin about having secured Prokofievs manuscripts and documents from the latters abandoned St. Petersburg apartment. He writes, I was in rage: at Asafyev, for not having rescued and preserved the papers in time; at that scoundrel Louri for not giving him permission to do so when he, Louri, had the power In a footnote to this diary entry is a reference to a letter dated February 6, 1923 from Prokofiev to Nikolai Mayaskovsky: The score of my Second Concerto perished in the looting of my Petersburg apartment, because that swine whom you so courteously refer to as Artur Sergeyevich would not, at the time he had the power to do so, provide Asafyev with the official documents he needed to remove my manuscripts from the apartment and keep them safe. From Sergei Prokofiev: Diaries 1915-1923. Behind the Mask, trans. Anthony Phillips (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008), 691-4. The circumstances surrounding this incident are not clear. Factual is the disappearance of many Prokofiev manuscripts including the early 1903 opera The Feast in the Time of the Plague after Pushkin. Csar Cui had also composed an opera in 1902 under the same title. Curiously, an opera (1935) under the same title is listed among the works of Louri. Concerning the Second Piano Concerto, Prokofiev adds in the same diary entry, This does not matter greatly, because Mama brought the piano score with her from Kislovodsk, in addition to which I wanted in any case to revise and re-orchestrate it, the only problem being that this will now take much longer. 92 On a professional level, Louri was not always convinced of Stravinskys directions of creativity. For example, in 1929 Louri wrote that, Les Noces is so constructed as to prevent the hearing of the music itself. . . the listener is held under the constant physical influence of rhythm. . . melody is totally submerged. (An Inquiry into Melody, Modern Music 7 [Dec. 1929 Jan. 1930]: 3-11; 7). Elsewhere, Felix Roziner states, Later in life, Louri commented that he regarded Stravinsky as a man of great talent, but not as a genius. See Felix Roziner, The Slender Lyre. Artur Louri and His Music, Bostonia (Fall 1992): 24-41, 86-87: 38. On a personal level, a severe and irreconcilable conflict arose when Louri sided with Stravinskys children from the latters first marriage in their position against their fathers pending marriage to Vera von Bosse (de Bosset) Sudeikina. See Roziner, 38. 93 Nicolas Slonimsky, Writings on Music, 2, Ch. 15 (New York: Routledge, 2004; Ch. 15 orig. pub., Research Bulletin on the Soviet Union, New York, April 30, 1937): 128. 94 In his autobiography, Nicolas Slonimsky refers to Arthur Louri as a Russian Jew who for some unfathomable reason described himself as of a Catholic family for many generations. See Nicolas Slonimsky, Perfect Pitch. A Life Story (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 99. 95 Ibid. Being a philosopher by inclination, if not by academic training, Louri filled his book [the Koussevitzky biography of 1931] with nebulous speculations about matters metaphysical.

91

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Coming from various corners, the numerous testimonies against Louris moral character suffice to be admitted as credible evidence; it appears the composer-musician indeed on occasion succumbed to vice and lapses of good judgment. Whether or not the harsh criticisms aimed against Louri and his moral character are justified, his commitment towards the legacy of Scriabin deserves praise. In his position as commissar of MUZO, he was instrumental in elevating Scriabin to the status of a national icon. Louris admiration of Scriabins work is already apparent in the formers own compositions. His early Cinq prludes fragiles, Op. 1 (1908-10), are an example. They reflect a style in harmony more akin to Debussy (use of whole-tone and static in nature), but the gesture of flight found in many of Scriabins compositions is clearly present here. Louris Deux pomes [Two poems], op. 8 (1912), are another case in point. Stylistically, they represent a cross between Scriabin and French Impressionism, but, additionally, Louri has chosen here typically Scriabinesque titles: 1. Essor [Soaring] and 2. Ivresse [Intoxication]. These recall the indications frequently marked in the musical scores of Scriabin. For example, in the latters Seventh Sonata one finds the following expressive markings: ail [winged] and vol joyeux [joyous flight]. Describing Louris piano music, Oskar von Riesemann hears it as lisping and stammering in Scriabins manner.96 Carl Engel contradicts this position; in defense of Louris music he states, I believe that of all these Soviet composers he is among the two or three whose work is least slavishly aping the later formulas of Scriabin, which make so much of this music simple

96

Quoted in Carl Engel, Views and Reviews, Musical Quarterly 10, no. 4 (October, 1924): 622-33; 627.

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decalcomania.97 The differing perceptions here cannot disguise the fact that there are certain similarities between the musical works of Scriabin and those of Louri that one cannot overlook. The works that Scriabin composed from the early twentieth century to his death in 1915 coincided with the second wave of Russian Symbolism. This movement overlapped with the beginnings of Russian Futurism of which Louri was to become a leading exponent.98 Personally, he considered himself the Russian Pratella.99 In part, Louri possessed an affinity towards Scriabin based on their common forward-looking attitude towards art. Both were attracted to the new expanded tonal and coloristic resources in music including set harmony and vocal effects.100 For example, Louri employs a wordless chorus in Symphonic Cantata (text by Alexander Blok), in a manner similar to Scriabins symphonic poem Prometheus, where syllables similarly replace words.101 It should be noted that Russian poets of Symbolism and Futurism often used words and syllables purely for their acoustic beauty rather than any intended meaning.102 Worthy of

Ibid. From circa 1912, Louri had come under the influence of Nikolai Kulbin (1868-1917), the Father of Russian Futurism. This title is often assigned to the painter David Burliuk (1882-1967). In his memoirs, Nash Marsh (Our March), Louri writes, Nikolai Ivanovich loved me and took me everywhere. Quoted in Detlef Gojowy, Arthur Louri und der russische Futurismus (Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 1993), 34, 55; memoirs orig. pub., Novyi Zhurnal [The New Review, New York] 94 (1969): 127-42. 99 See Larry Sitsky, Music of the Repressed Russian Avant-Garde (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1994), 101. Francesco Pratella (1880-1955) was an Italian Futurist, composer, and musicologist. 100 Louri experimented with twelve-tone music as early as 1912 and wrote about quarter-tone music in the Futurist journal Strelets [The Archer] 1 (March 1915). 101 There is a possible connection here to Russian Futurist poetry in which the technique referred to as Zaumism (za + um = beyond reason) is employed. Syllables and neologisms replace established words such that the listener perceives meaning through intuition as opposed to rational thought. Mikhail Matyushins Futurist opera Victory over the Sun (1913) is constructed on such a libretto by Aleksei Kruchenykh (1886-1968), who coined the word Zaum. See Vladimir Markov, Russian Futurism: A History (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1968). 102 Notwithstanding this similarity, one scholar in this field, Vahan Barooshian observes, Unlike the Russian Symbolists, who valued the poetic word for its suggestive powers, ideas and the creation of myths, the Russian Futurists saw the poetic word as an end in itself, without any reference to either meaning or
98

97

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mention in this context are the names of the second generation Symbolist poets Andrei Bely (1880-1934), Alexander Blok (1880-1921), and the Futurist poets Velimir Khlebnikov (1885-1922) and Alexei Kruchenykh (1886-1968). For these poets, Sound makes the word alive.103 Indeed the two schools, Symbolism and Futurism, intersected each other most intensely in the years 1908-1912; and this was to have a significant impact on Scriabins creativity.104 The composer was quite aware of developments in the realm of Futurist poetry and assimilated some of these ideas into his own philosophy which would liberate man from the shackles of convention. In this, he was a musical Symbolist-Futurist. The composer found the creation of new words in Russian Futurist poetry, Zaumism,105 to be parallel to the development of new harmonies. As evidenced in the following statement, the syllables and neologisms in the works of Khlebnikov were especially appealing to Scriabin and it became the latters intention to create new words for his Lacte pralable [Prefatory Act]. In a 1914 conversation with Sabaneyev, Scriabin commented, One can invent new words the way we find new harmonies and forms in music. The word must become much more flexible than it is today. Languages have become petrified; they no longer move and have no life. There is nothing worse than the language of our intelligentsia. . . . Language must regain its earlier freedom, when still every individual was a creator of words. I would like to introduce many new words into my Lacte pralable. . . . In language just as in music, there exist developmental laws. The word, comparable to a chord, becomes increasingly more complex through the assimilation
reality. See Barooshian, Futurism, Handbook of Russian Literature, ed. Victor Terras (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), 161-64; 161. 103 Markov, 127. 104 Markov writes, Those who were to call themselves futurists could not withstand the impact of their symbolist fathers; individual futurists and whole futurist groups made their debuts as imitators of symbolism or as neo-symbolists (or decadents). Ibid. 2. 105 Scriabin may have known this term, but this is not documented in his discussions or writings.

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of more and more overtones. I have the impression that each individual word is similar to a harmonic construction. . .106 The Futurists linguistic experiments have relevance to Dadaism and Italian Futurism in the West, but the Russians developed along their own separate and distinctive lines. Khlebnikov emphasized that the Russians were the true originators of such ideas: Weve been jumping into the future since 1905!107 According to Sabaneyev, Scriabin was already familiar with the 1912 Russian Futurist manifesto-almanac, A Slap in the Face of Public Taste.108 He found the document entertaining and relevant to his own developing project and even memorized some texts contained in it.109 By the spring of 1914, Scriabin had been experimenting with new words for more than two years. To Sabaneyev, he admits: These are completely new words. . . I believe I have accomplished the task; I have created my new language. . . It will soon be ready. By the summer I will have concluded this part and by the autumn everything else. The Prefatory Act should be completely ready by next season.110 For Scriabin as evidenced in his remarks to Sabaneyev, and likewise for the Russian Futurists, the idea of creating new words signified liberation and a move towards the development of a universal language. This in turn would unify mankind and lead to the establishment of a new world order based on the legacy of Sobornost.
Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 290. Quoted in Markov, 157. The reference is to the First Revolution in Russia. The Italian Futurist manifesto, written in 1908, appeared in Le Figaro on February 20, 1909. 108 Authored by Futurist literary friends of Louri: David Burliuk (The Father of Russian Futurism, 18821967), Velimir Khlebnikov (1885-1922), Alexei Kruchenykh (1886-1968), and Vladimir Mayakovsky (1893-1930). These men would gather at the Stray Dog Caf, probably the most famous meeting place in St. Petersburg for avant-garde artists and poets. It was here, too, that Louri first met Anna Akhmatova. Sergei Sudeikin painted the interior and it was here in 1914 that Marinetti made his presentations on Italian Futurism. The venue existed from 1912 to 1915 when the authorities shut it down following the outbreak of World War I. See Catherine Ciepiela, Introduction, The Stray Dog Cabaret. A Book of Russian Poems, trans. Paul Schmidt (New York: New York Review of Books, 2007), 7-23 of Intro. 109 Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 290. 110 Ibid., 294. At the time of Scriabins death in April 1915, no part of The Prefatory Act was complete.
106 107

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The mystic element provides a link between Russian Symbolism and Futurism and it connects Scriabin to both movements. Russian mysticism also distinguishes these movements from French Symbolism and Italian Futurism. This becomes particularly clear in one of several Russian Futurist manifestos, of which Louri was a signatory. In a backlash following the visit to Russia in 1914 of the Italian Futurist Filippo Marinetti (1876-1944)111, several Russians including Louri held a protest forum in which they read their new manifesto, We and the West. In this address, the Russian Futurists sought forcefully to distance themselves from the positions of Marinetti and in general to distinguish and separate themselves from all of Western Europe. Instead, the Russians were identifying themselves with the East in the sense that they sought a future utopia based on the values of spiritual community and universality.112 Reflecting on this Russian attitude, the historian Vladimir Markov describes a situation of irreconcilable differences.113 The following lines from the manifesto support this evaluation: The West is unable to understand the East, having lost the idea of the precise limits of art (philosophical and aesthetic issues are mixed up with methods of artistic representation). The European art is archaic. In Europe, there is no new art; and there can be no new art because the latter is built upon cosmic elements. In contrast, all art in the West is territorial []. Until now, the only country that has no territorial art is Russia. . .114 The puzzling contradiction here lies in the fact that the Russian groups would reject the immediate past while constructing a future on traditional foundations (legacies) of the
111

Marinetti later became politically involved with Italian Fascism. According to some sources, Marinettis next visit to Russia was in an Italian military division during the WW II at Stalingrad, where he was taken prisoner. See Markov, 158 and 401. 112 One difference between Russian and Italian Futurists was the fact that only the former rejected war and any form of violence as a means towards achieving their goals. 113 Markov, 156. 114 My i Zapad [We and the West], facsimile and German translation in Gojowy, Louri, 96-97.

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distant past. For example, the Russian Symbolists and Futurists accepted aspects of mysticism that had long been a part of their culture. They respected the members of some older religious sects in Russia in whose ecstatic rituals believers would speak in tongues, in a language understood only by the Divine Being.115 Here, the enigmatic sounds of communication are parallel to zaum the transrational poetry of Russian Futurism. Their desire to connect with the beyond and become an integral part of the cosmos was the same idea of reunification with the Divine that Scriabin sought to achieve in his final opus, the Mysterium. The Russian literary historian Boris Eichenbaum (1886-1959) states that Symbolism and Futurism form no simple antithesis, but rather a complicated interconnection in which the latter assimilated quite a lot from the former.116 Within this complex fabric of Russian avant-garde movements, the various constituent groups felt a moral obligation to guide humanity down a path of enlightenment in an act of Messianism an idea imbedded in the Russian psyche for centuries and echoing one of the fundamental precepts of Slavophilism described above. This moral sense of a spiritual mission soon adapted itself easily into the role of a political mission. It was in front of this socio-cultural backdrop an amalgamation of the artistic ideals of Russian Symbolism and Russian Futurism followed by auspicious political conditions that Louri assumed his role of music commissioner among the Bolsheviks. He had welcomed the October Revolution and was on favorable terms with prominent figures of the new system, including Anatoly Lunacharsky (1875-1933), the first Soviet Commissar of the Enlightenment. In this capacity, Louri promoted young composers,
Markov, 127 and 398. Boris Eichenbaum, O pozii [On Poetry] (Leningrad: State Publishing House, 1969), 83; cited in Marina Lobanova, Mystiker. Magier. Theosoph. Theurg. Alexander Skrjabin und seine Zeit (Hamburg: Von Bockel Verlag, 2004), 262-63.
116 115

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advanced the cause of Modernism, helped to install a network of music schools, and created the orchestra that would later become known as the Leningrad Philharmonic.117 During this early post-Revolutionary period, Louri penned two significant documents devoted to Scriabin. They were written a year and a half apart from one another, in 1920 and 1921 respectively. Each is a testament to Louris shrewd ability to assess the tenor of his surroundings at any time and under any circumstances. He presents his views and arguments in a manner both compelling and acceptable to his respective audiences. Stephen Walsh speaks of Louris clever skills in the craft of tendentious exegesis.118 The method of presenting material in the two Scriabin essays provides evidence of his style. The first essay, Scriabin and Russian Music, had its origin as a speech delivered by Louri in Moscow in April, 1920 commemorating the fifth anniversary of the composers death. It was subsequently published in 1921 by the State Publishing House of the Soviet Union in St. Petersburg. Louri describes Scriabin as a Russian composer who, in spite of an assimilation of Western European musical influences, never abandons that hereditary emotional element of his Eastern ancestry. The author proclaims Scriabin a national cultural icon comparable to Tchaikovsky in his greatness and significance as a composer. Notwithstanding all the past controversies during Scriabins lifetime regarding his music and philosophy, Scriabin has become the cultural property of Russian art.119 Louri discusses Scriabin as a unique phenomenon. He stresses the importance of Scriabins origins in Moscow a city that traditionally nurtures artistic individualism and
Feinstein, Anna, 93. Walsh, Stravinsky, 459. 119 Artur Lurye, Skriabin i russkaya muzyka [Scriabin and Russian Music], (St. Petersburg: State Publishing House, 1921), 4. See appendix.
118 117

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has produced Tchaikovsky, Taneyev, Rachmaninov, and Medtner as well. Not one of them is constrained by the other in any way or by any basic Russian school.120 This situation he contrasts with St. Petersburg the former capital and home to the national School which began with Mikhail Glinka (1804-1857).121 Louri further explains that Scriabin made an unconscious break with the Russian national school. . . . and with the unrestrained impulse of an innovator, was striving toward new shores and new paths.122 The apparent tendency here is to associate Scriabins ambitions and efforts with those of the ideologues of the Revolution. The composer does not liberate himself entirely from his musical heritage, though. Louri hails Scriabin, for example, as one who healed a decaying Western European music by infusing into it the fresh blood of the enormous, spontaneous temperament of a Russian musician.123 Again, one can observe in Louris essay the underlying sense of mission to assist and guide the rest of the world onto the correct path. Louri praises the beauty of Scriabins musical compositions, but minimizes the importance of the accompanying programs. The intrinsic value alone has been their salvation. Although himself fundamentally a mystic, Louri realized that the philosophy of Scriabin could not be acceptable to the new Soviet ideology, which sought to free itself from religious mysticism and suppress any other concepts associated with the former bourgeois society. In his defense of Scriabin, Louri states: All those indictments that could have been aimed at Scriabins ideology hardly concerned his music. Scriabin was and is above all a musician. His world outlook is to a considerable extent a reflection of the trends in some sections of philosophical, literary and artistic circles
120 121

Ibid., 6. Ibid. 122 Ibid., 7-8. 123 Ibid., 8.

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of his time, which he only condensed and brought to a certain persistence and intensity. His work lives on outside the circle of those ideas, which proved to be fatal for most of his contemporaries whose works faded together with the bogged-down artistic trends of their times. This did not apply to him, though. In the perceptions of his work, his music can also be in a narrow sense non-programmatic, just as the music of any one of the great masters of the past.124 Louri attempts to align Scriabin and his creative path with the directions of the new Soviet society. He establishes Scriabins sense of purpose and tenacity as qualities consonant with the ideals of the new world. His persistent effort to move forward towards his final goal, the Mysterium, is compatible with the revolutionary dynamics and the idea of unity among the Soviet peoples. In developing this point of view, Louri states, Scriabin claimed that his symphonies were national [the source is not cited] and he regarded them as steps ascending towards the final completion of his idea of the Mysterium, a national collective action.125 Just as the Soviet people had overcome Tsarism and the former bourgeois society, so too had Scriabin overcome the scholastic stagnation, conventional schematicism of musical forms, and emotional atrophy of obsolete sound material.126 To accomplish this task, it was necessary for the artist to be endowed with a bold Spirit. Comparing the composer to contemporary revolutionaries, Louri summarizes: The rebelliousness of Scriabin and his audacious idea, which lighted up his work with Luciferian fire and inflamed his life, will perhaps in the future serve as a threshold and key to understanding our own days. It will be established that the symphonies of Scriabin

124 125

Ibid., 11. Ibid., 12. It should be noted that the Russian word translated here as collective is [soborniy], an adjective that can also imply a spiritual community. 126 Ibid.

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are prophetic harbingers of music, the sound of which has filled all our lives.127 With these lines Louri combines mystic religious Symbolism with Futurism, and simultaneously offers an appeal to the revolutionary minds of that epoch. During 1921, the year in which the above essay was written, the pressure on Louri from Proletkult a non-governmental organization opposed to Modernism and artistic freedom in general had increased significantly. Although he continued to enjoy the support of Lunacharsky, Louri encountered opposition from various factions involved in music performance and pedagogy. Ultimately, this situation became so acute that Lunacharsky had to intervene and negotiate an agreement.128 In her memoirs of Louri, Irina Graham retells the following incident: The innovations of Louri drew opposition from all sides, particularly among older musicians at the Moscow Conservatory. Ippolitov-Ivanov129 and Goldenweiser130 were especially annoyed. Both sent a complaint directly to Lenin. Louri later recalled, I received a summons from Lenin. He stood up from his desk and came towards me. He said nothing about the Moscow slander. Lenin wanted to know about my work and plans in general. I was thrilled and spent nearly two hours there explaining to him all facets of my work. Upon departure, he said, if you ever need anything, contact me directly. Write a simple note; it will reach me. . . After this meeting with Lenin, the old men stopped pestering Louri. Instead, conflicts arose with the unions.131 The older guard sought to retain its freedom and resented heavy-handed bureaucracy. The younger generation tended to support a democratization of the arts, dismantle an elitist structure, and move towards a de-intellectualization. Under these circumstances, the
Ibid., 19. See Boris Schwarz, Music and Musical Life in Soviet Russia, enlarged edition: 1917-81, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983), 25-26. 129 Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov (1859-1935), composer, conductor, and professor at Moscow Conservatory. 130 Alexander Goldenweiser (1875-1961), pianist, composer, and professor at Moscow Conservatory. 131 Graham, Louri, 205-6.
128 127

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music commissar Louri found it increasingly difficult to support a Modernist musical culture that could not entirely break with the past. In this atmosphere, he composed his next essay on Scriabin. In November, 1921, Louri held a lecture before the St. Petersburg Free Philosophical Association. The printed version appeared in the following year, 1922, in the Futurist journal Strelets [Archer]132 under the title At the Crossroads: Culture and Music. An extended passage of the presentation deals with Scriabins position in the contemporaneous setting. Later Louri wrote, I read a paper in which I tried to formulate the problems of musical art in their historical aspect, so far as a historical estimate in regard to the heritage bequeathed by Scriabin and Debussy was then possible. The period during which they had been the leaders of the new movement in music had only just come to an end, and their creative work was still a living force.133 Again here Louri expresses an opinion similar to that of Asafyev; namely that Scriabins creativity is so complete in itself that there exists no possibility for a further organic unfolding. . . .134 Acknowledging Scriabins important achievements, he simultaneously criticizes recent and futile attempts to emulate him. He makes the following observation: The young generation of Russian musicians is intoxicated with the influence of Scriabin; and for most of them this influence is quite damaging. Through todays fascination with the music of Scriabin, most of the young musicians have succumb to a blind and hopeless imitation of Scriabin, whereby they are not at all in the position to recognize his achievements in sound painting and the principles of his musical forms. On the contrary, they understand him either

132 133

Russian Futurist almanac, serial, 1915-22. Louri, Sergei Koussevitzky and His Epoch (New York: Knopf, 1931), 132. 134 Louri, Crossroads, 125.

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in a narrow sense or not at all. For them, he embodies the entire world of music.135 On the one hand, Louri presents here the positive image of Scriabin as a cultural asset; the composer and his contributions should be revered. On the other hand, Louri feels compelled within the new revolutionary world to admonish the younger musicians; he must lead them onto a path that conforms to the contemporaneous ideology of the socialist state. In this regard, he had to act cautiously himself in order not to expose his personal and deeply held religious beliefs within a system that would not tolerate them.136 Viewed from this angle, it was also necessary for Louri to distance himself from the mystic aspects of Scriabins creativity although he most likely shared some of these beliefs as evidenced from his own earlier and later compositional work.137 It was above all the religious aspect that Louri found appealing in Scriabin and Russian music in general. Ten years into exile, Louri perceived all the more acutely those features that seem to distinguish the East from the West. In an article that he wrote in 1932, Louri offered the following summary: Brotherly cooperation and an inward sense of responsibility to one another have always been the watchwords of the Russian school; spiritual solidarity, and not the disintegration and indifference so characteristic of the Western Europe of today. So long as this principle of national cohesion not for self but for Russia exists, so long will the school endure.138 Conciliarity within the arts and society would ultimately prevail. Yet, in the meantime, the inability to reconcile the political and cultural trends in Russia inevitably drove
135 136

Ibid. Larry Sitsky has written, It becomes clearer now why Louri left Russia at the height of his influence and success. . . . He could not feel any sympathy for the machine age, or for the antireligious movement of the Soviet government. See Sitsky, Russian Avant-garde, 105. 137 Noteworthy here is Louris Concerto Spirituale, 1928-9; premiered in New York City, 1930. 138 Louri, The Russian School, Musical Quarterly 18, no. 4 (October 1932): 519-29; 529.

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Louri into exile. The expanded political control over the arts, for which Louri had significant responsibility, resulted in the loss of artistic freedom and initiated a tendency towards banality. Individual expression had to forfeit its position of primary importance. Artificially controlled and monitored, creativity became subordinate to the needs of the state. In retrospect many years later, Louri could see that Russian Futurism had detached itself partially from the past only to become the temporary tool exploited by an inhumane system of government. Under these conditions, though, Futurism could not sustain itself permanently because it was indeed connected to the cultural heritage of Russia. Explaining the interconnection of cultural movements within his country, Louri states, The birth of a new psychology in Russia does not break the bonds between the past of the nation and its present, in spite of appearances; and, at the end of the tale, the new will find itself indissolubly linked to the old. 139 Indirectly, he provides here an argument for the enduring legacy of Scriabin in Russia and the Soviet Union. In spite of Scriabins questionable mystic affiliations, Louri cites the importance of religion as a necessity for moral guidance in all aspects social and artistic culture. Within this framework he states, The indispensability of a work of art depends solely on its spiritual content.140 Louri thus contends that a significant part of the success of Scriabins work is its spirituality and its continuity. It is linked to a long tradition of humanity in Russia stemming from its religious origins. Speaking of Scriabins historical position in music, Louri claims, The vestiges of the ardour and enthusiasm of his soul will forever remain

Louri, review of Eight Soviet Composers, by Gerald Abraham, Musical Quarterly 31, no. 1 (January 1945): 127-29; 129. 140 Louri, The Crisis of Form, Music and Letters 14, no. 2 (April, 1933): 95-103; 101.
139

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indelible. Scriabin was one of the last of those artists for whom the spirit of music was the spirit of humanistic culture.141 After his departure in 1922, Louri never again returned to Russia. As in the case of Sabaneyev, the Soviet government considered him a traitor. Its meticulous machinery successfully expunged his name and accomplishments from the annals of Russian music history.142 In the West, Louri was able to rely for many years on the assistance of colleagues such as Stravinsky and Koussevitzky. After the latters death in 1951, Louri, unable alone to promote himself successfully in the United States, fell into obscurity up until his own death.143 During his time in exile, Louri never completely renounced the utopian idealistic side of Socialism or Modernism, but he became increasingly more critical of trends in contemporary music which he understood to be a reflection of dehumanization in society.144 In Louris perception of music history, Scriabin represented a bulwark against such developments because he embodied true spirituality. One could sense this in the man as well as his music. Louri writes, The power of his charm was veritably unlimited. This, the true Orphic enchantment, will never be forgotten by those who heard

Louri, Koussevitzky, 131. Soviet publications into the 1980s do not mention Louri. The purge extended into the Soviet satellite countries as well. For example, Karl Laux does not discuss Louri in his book Die Musik in Ruland und in der Sowjetunion (Berlin, GDR: Henschelverlag, 1958). 143 During the ten years following the death of Koussevitzky, Louri and his third wife Elizaveta lived in extreme poverty in New York City. This was a stark contrast to the privileged childhood that Louri had enjoyed in St. Petersburg, where his father had been a wealthy timber merchant. Thanks to a trust fund established in 1961 by the French Catholic philosopher Jacques Maritain (1882-1973) and his wife Raissa (1883-1960, a Ukrainian mystic), the Louris were able to come live in Princeton, NJ in a house owned by Maritain. There, they no longer suffered want of material needs. Louri and his wife are buried in the cemetery near St. Pauls Church in Princeton, where the couple had been devout parish members. For a detailed discussion, see Roziner, Slender Lyre, 86-87. 144 Louri, The De-Humanization of Music, Ramparts (New York, January 1965): 39.
141 142

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him.145 Elsewhere, among the last publications of Louri was a French book printed in 1966 the year of his death. It contains a collection of essays he had written throughout his life.146 Included here is an undated short reflection titled Une Vision de Scriabine. In this writing, Louri reminisces on the unique beauty of Scriabins playing its otherworldly sound. He also comments that The problem with performing Scriabin could be explained by the fact that it is born out of improvisation rather than composing. Music represented for him an act of magic and his piano playing was pure inspiration.147 From these last observations, one can see that Louri definitely found a spiritual dynamic in Scriabins creativity that, in his opinion (as explained above), both validated the artists work and secured his enduring appeal.

Louri, Koussevitzky, 131. Louri, Profanation et Sanctification du Temps. Journal Musical. Saint-Ptersbourg Paris New York 1910 - 1960 (Paris : Descle de Brouwer, 1966). 147 Ibid., 152-53.
145 146

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Chapter 5

Georgiy Plekhanov and Anatoly Lunacharsky Marxist Writers on Aesthetics and Scriabins Significance

Russia in the early years of the twentieth century witnessed the development of an economic theory that Karl Marx (1818-1883) and Friedrich Engels (1820-1895) had called Historical Materialism.1 As a socio-political thinker analyzing problems of class struggle, though, Marx did not develop an aesthetic theory per se.2 In the opening pages of his anthology Marxism and Arts, Maynard Solomon establishes this point unequivocally: There is no original Marxist aesthetics for later Marxists to apply. The history of Marxist aesthetics has been the history of the unfolding of the possible applications of Marxist ideas and categories to the arts and to the theory of art.3 But Marxs scattered comments and remarks indicate that he was an advocate of creative freedom and opposed any form of censorship.4 In other words, art should not be controlled or manipulated for any purpose. Solomon observes, Nowhere in Marx or Engels is there a demand that art create artificial exemplary models or serve purely utilitarian ends. On the contrary, Engels specifically opposed tendentiousness in art and

The study of economics in social development culminating in the inevitable collapse of capitalism. The exact designation Historical Materialism is attributed to the philosopher Friedrich Engels. 2 Victor Terras, Marxism in Russian Literary theory and Criticism, Handbook of Russian Literature (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), 275-76. Marxs ideas were further developed and incorporated into the aesthetic theories of many other philosophers such as Gyrgy Lukcs (1885-1971), Theodor Adorno (1903-1969), and Georgiy Plekhanov (1856-1918). 3 Maynard Solomon, ed., General Introduction: Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Marxism and Art: Essays Classic and Contemporary (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1979), 5. 4 Vladimir Lenin would later adopt a similar position under which the liberal post-Revolutionary artistic life in Russia continued to flourish initially. This was in part a reaction against the repressive and widespread censorship in Tsarist Russia.

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Marx believed that bias interferes with the pursuit of truth.5 In the generations of Marxist thinkers that followed, these positions would give rise to much political and cultural controversy. Already during the years prior to the Revolution, Russian philosophers attempted to develop and apply an aesthetic direction based on Marxs theories. Among them were two of the most eminent critical thinkers of the time, Georgiy Plekhanov (1856-1918) and Anatoly Lunacharsky (1875-1933). Their admiration for Scriabin and ability to interpret his creative output within a Marxist context would have a significant impact on the enduring legacy of the composer. These contributions are described below. During his life, Marxs philosophical teachings were virtually unknown in Russia. Contemporaneous conditions did not permit the free exchange of ideas across borders. Moreover, at that time, the autocratic system of government under the Tsar was confronting severe internal crises that were threatening to destabilize the country. The mid-1850s saw the Crimean War, which revealed Russias military incompetence; in the 1860s, under increasing pressure from the countrys socialist intellectuals, serfdom was abolished; in the 1870s, populism, inspired by goals of an agrarian form of socialism, emerged as a movement among the peasantry. Simultaneously, positivism, a movement rooted in scientific developments and industrialization, was leading to a new kind of slavery that of the urban working class. Many Russian intellectuals who supported extended rights of the peasantry and opposed the growing enslavement of the urban factory workers found themselves at odds with the imperial government and sought refuge abroad.
5

Solomon, 237.

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Those migrs belonging to the enlightened Russian intelligentsia remained an active intellectual force outside of their country. They interacted with like-minded thinkers in Western Europe and under the less oppressive conditions there became better informed about the various directions of socio-political philosophy. It was under these circumstances during the last two decades of the nineteenth century that a community of Russian Marxists developed outside of their own country. The leading exponent of this group was Georgiy Plekhanov (1856-1918), considered the The Father of Russian Marxism. It was his emphatic statements in 1889 at the fourth congress of the Second International6 held in London that caused Western Europe to take notice of the new and serious social tendencies that were developing in Russia. In his speech, Plekhanov prophesized, The revolution in Russia will triumph as a working-class movement or not at all.7 From 1880 onward, Plekhanov spent nearly the rest of his life exiled in Western Europe, mainly in Switzerland.8 During this period, he assimilated the ideas of Marx and sought to apply them to the situation in contemporaneous Russia. The historian Samuel Baron writes, In Plekhanovs person the best traditions of the Russian intelligentsia fused with the broader stream of European Marxism to produce both a vigorous political movement and a strikingly impressive intellectual output.9 According to Marx and his disciple Plekhanov, the immorality of the exploitation of the working class akin to
Socialist organization founded 1886 in Paris; disbanded 1916. It replaced the IWA (International Workingmens Association, also known as the First International), which had existed 1864-76. 7 Quoted in Samuel H. Baron, Plekhanov. The Father of Russian Marxism (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), 163; originally published in Plekhanov, Sochineniia [Works], 2nd ed., D. Riazanov, ed., 24 vols. (Moscow: State Publishing House, 1923-27; vol. 24, 320. 8 Not until the overthrow of Tsarist government in 1917 did Plekhanov return to Russia. 9 Samuel Baron, Between Marx and Lenin: Georgy Plekhanov, in Samuel H. Baron, Plekhanov in Russian History and Soviet Historiography (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1995), 3-16; 3; first published in Soviet Survey 32 (April-June, 1960): 1-8.
6

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slavery would in time lead internally to the collapse of capitalism; this in turn would open the door towards a utopian kingdom of freedom.10 Plekhanov sought universal equality achieved through a moral awareness. Just equality would lead to the replacement of world capitalism with communism as defined by Marx. This, however, would not and should not occur forcibly, but gradually and non-violently. Plekhanov abhorred violence as a means to an end; for this reason, he distanced himself from the earlier Populists and later both the Mensheviks and Bolsheviks, all of whom on various occasions had resorted to terrorist activities. Plekhanov was a revolutionary, albeit a peaceful one. Plekhanovs long sojourn in Western Europe intersected the period when Scriabin and his family were living abroad. During the years 1906 and 1907 the two men were neighbors in Geneva, though they had already met one another in Bogliasco, Italy, a small coastal village near Genoa. They became close friends, engaging in cordial, but many times also heated discussions relevant to politics and aesthetics. Plekhanov and Scriabin were both altruists, but the former in relation to the visible world and the latter in relation to the world beyond. They learned much from each other, but they were also equally unyielding when it came to defending their respective positions. According to Sabaneyev, During this time, he [Scriabin] discussed with Plekhanov methods of argumentation and he [Scriabin] believed now that he could comprehend the thought processes of his opponents and destroy their arguments with the help of logic.11 For his part, Plekhanov also praised Scriabins perceptiveness in debates: With Alexander Nikolaevich, there was much pleasure in argumentation because he had a capacity for the

Vasily Zenkovsky, A History of Russian Philosophy, vol. 2 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1953), 739. 11 Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 200.

10

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astonishingly quick and complete assimilation of the thoughts of his opponent.12 Plekhanov also introduced Scriabin to the ideas of socialism. Recalling this period some years later, Scriabin, according to Sabaneyev, claimed, I have studied these issues extensively. I have even read the Capital of Marx in its entirety. In former times, I even believed in such a possibility of organizing human society. Even today, I still believe in it, but realize that that cannot be the final goal; it represents rather merely an intermediate stage. . . .13 Plekhanov admitted years later that Scriabin had indeed grasped certain ideas of Marxism even more thoroughly than some of its most convinced advocates. He had succeeded so well in understanding its essence that he was able to handle this doctrine far better than many of the staunch Marxists in Russia as well as abroad.14 In contrast however, Plekhanov could not accept any of Scriabins ideas that concerned the sphere of the supernatural. Sabaneyev recalled Plekhanov making light of Scriabins mystic religiosity: Plekhanov, of all people, was the very first to hear this out of the mouth of Scriabin. The famous leader of social democracy upon hearing this information from Scriabin developed the habit of expressing his thanks in a taunting ironic manner every time the two would meet. Thank you today, Alexander Nikolaevich! What for, Georgy Valentinovich? Yesterday you prepared for us such wonderful weather15

Such playful sarcasm did not adversely affect the friendly relationship between the two men; yet neither man could influence the other to such a degree that he would capitulate and be willing to alter his opinion. One was grounded solidly in the realm of materialism,

12

Georgiy Plekhanov, Letter to Dr. Vladimir Vasilevich Bogorodski, dated San Remo, Italy, May 9, 1916; reprinted in G. V. Plekhanov Literary Criticism (Moscow: Zhurnalno-Gazetnoye Obedineniye [Magazine-Press Union], 1933), 163-69; 164. 13 Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 192. 14 Plekhanov, letter, 165. 15 Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 195.

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the other in the spiritual; this would not change. In his biography on the composer, Boris de Schloezer writes, Despite the fact that they formed a close acquaintance almost a friendship despite the respect and admiration that Scriabin had for Plekhanov, the latter remained spiritually alien to him. Scriabin was antagonistic to Plekhanovs materialistic philosophy, which he regarded as a peculiarly crude and rudimentary form of realism and substantialism. His ideas were repugnant to him, for they constricted, in his opinion, the free flight of his creative imagination. . . . Economic and political upheavals, however spectacular, had for Scriabin only a secondary importance, for he posited the supremacy of the spiritual life, in opposition to Plekhanovs basic thesis that consciousness is determined by environment.16 Plekhanov influenced Scriabin nevertheless in such a way that the latter who always attempted to apply the ideas of others to his own world vision could reinterpret the formers ideas to correspond to his own concept of involution and evolution, one signifying the descending materialization, the other ascending spiritualization. In these terms, Scriabin reviewed the situation of the world in 1914 after the outbreak of WW I in a conversation with Sabaneyev: We are standing before a terrible period that is bringing with it the victory of the prosaic, the reign of materialism and the total loss of the spiritual. A time is confronting us where machines will come into the home, a century of electricity, and mercantile interests, a time where there will be space for nothing else; it will be a time that falls chronologically together with the victory of socialism. . . . I already spoke about this in 1905 with Plekhanov and he agreed with me wholeheartedly.17 Scriabin viewed the world as headed in a negative direction towards the nadir of materialism which he thought was a necessary stage before evolution, i.e., the inverse
16

Boris de Schloezer, Scriabin. Artist and Mystic, trans. from the Russian by Nicolas Slonimsky (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987; originally published Berlin: Grani, 1923), 66. 17 Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 318. Here, however, Sabaneyev claims to know from other un-named sources that Plekhanov was not altogether in agreement with Scriabin.

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movement towards the spiritual, or the divine, could commence. Plekhanov, a positivist who had studied earth science at the Mining Institute in St. Petersburg,18 could not accept such a fantastic representation of events. In spite of their differences, though, that which united the two men was a profound sense of optimism and desire to lead mankind towards a utopian state. From a moral standpoint, the Slavic notion of sobornost (variously interpreted as conciliarity, collectivity, synaxis, but perhaps most accurately as a spiritual community of mankind) played an equally important role in the world outlooks of both men. The idea of social solidarity, long imbedded in the Russian traditions both pagan and Christian was likewise firmly entrenched in the minds of the countrys citizens. This rendered the entire society, and in particular the intelligentsia, susceptible to the ideas of socialism, populism, and later communism. Inevitably, this sense of community found expression in the aesthetic views of Plekhanov and Scriabin. Both men were brought up in the Russian Orthodox faith; and although they departed from the official church, its teachings concerning mans responsibility towards his fellow man would remain with them.19 This moral commitment is documented in their various writings. Notwithstanding his interest in the Marxist theories of economic materialist development, religious influence does pervade certain areas of Plekhanovs writing. The concept of the spiritual community, or sobornost, receives special attention in what is perhaps Plekhanovs best-known essay

18

Baron, Plekhanov. The Father of Russian Marxism, 9-10. Explaining Plekhanovs choice to study mining engineering, the author writes, Science appeared to be one of the most likely ways to improve the popular welfare. 19 Baron (op. cit., 6-8) states that Plekhanovs break with traditional religion coincided with his entry into the Voronezh Military Academy that he attended from 1866 to 1873.

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concerning aesthetics, Art and Society (Iskusstvo i obshchestvennaya zhizny, 1912-13). In this extended essay, the author states: Only that which promotes communion between men can be the basis of a work of art. . . . Art is a means of spiritual communion among men, and the nobler the sentiment it conveys, the better will it fulfill its mission of spiritual communion.20 This position of thought is not far removed from Scriabins vision of the Mysterium, which was to be a monumental act of sobornost. A fundamental goal of unity informs the aspirations of both men; yet the desired means and results diverge from one another significantly. The difference here lies in the fact that Plekhanov envisioned a future utopia on earth a classless society in the Marxist sense whereas Scriabins final objective was a reunification of mankind with the Divine. Both speak of liberation from the fetters of human unrest, a topic portrayed vividly in their respective works. For example, in Scriabins Third Symphony, Le pome divin, the title of the first movement, Luttes (Struggle), refers to the trials of the human soul in liberating itself from the material sphere and returning to the Absolute. For his part, Plekhanov was concerned with the liberation of the oppressed working class, the proletariat. He attempted to interweave this subject matter into his aesthetic theories. Plekhanov views the function of art not only as a reflection of a particular society, but as an energizing element in that societys development. The literary scholar Victor Terras states that Plekhanov thus deals with art as a superstructure of the socio-economic base.21 Plekhanov was an adherent of the utilitarian concept of art, which he describes as the tendency to regard

20

Georgiy Plekhanov, Art and Society (1912), trans. Granville Hicks, Art and Society (New York: Critics Group, 1936), 54, 65. The essay appears in a book titled the same. The latter is a collection of essays. 21 Terras, Plekhanov, in Handbook of Russian Literature, 343.

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the function of art as a judgment on the phenomena of life and a readiness to participate in social struggles.22 He sees purposefulness in all art and rejects any imputed status of absolute. In his essay Plekhanov reaffirms the thesis of the Russian literary critic Vissarion Belinsky (1811-1848), which states that pure art, or, as the philosophers say, absolute art, never existed.23 Plekhanov also leans on Darwinian theories when he emphasizes that pure art cannot exist; here in his materialistic view, Plekhanov believes that all art and aesthetic ideals are products of biological and historical conditioning.24 Most important here, though, is the authors assertion that art in all its manifestations stems from ideas generated from that artists physical environment. This particular line of reasoning clearly placed him at odds with Scriabin. For the latter, art was also produced through those ideas generated from the artists environment, albeit, the intangible spiritual one a world in which the composer had immersed himself. Still, on one level, Plekhanovs materialistic views can be interpreted also spiritually; he was a humanist whose lifes work was infused with the moral decency codified in the teachings of Christianity. Conversely, Scriabin attempted to corroborate his spiritualist views with material science. For example, he analogized his concept of dematerialization the ascent to the Divine to the disintegration of atoms in scientific theory. Notwithstanding his hostility towards Positivism and its foundations in logical science, he manipulated its ideas to his advantage. In a conversation around 1911, Scriabin presented the following speculations to Sabaneyev:

22

Plekhanov, Art and Society, 48. Plekhanov attributes the phrase judgment on the phenomena of life to the dissertation, Life and Aesthetics by Nikolay Chernyshevsky (1828-1889); 38. 23 Ibid., 56. 24 Ibid., 57. Plekhanov discusses in detail Darwin in relation to aesthetics also in an earlier essay titled Historical Materialism and the Arts (1899).

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The disintegration of atoms was from the standpoint of earlier science an absurdity, was it not? Meanwhile, it is a generally accepted fact that atoms can return to something immaterial. . . From here, it is just a step further towards recognition of the possibility of dematerialization. There are substances much finer than that of gas. And beyond this lies the spiritual realm.25 Applying scientific analysis to transcendental concepts was unacceptable to Plekhanov. The spiritual realm here, if it indeed existed, would belong to the world of infinity. Such a vision of the universe was opposed to the theories of Plekhanov, who said, In science we deal only with the finite. 26 That which conjoined the respective positions of Plekhanov and Scriabin if only tangentially was a mutual belief in the positive utilitarian feature of art. Both men resolutely dismissed the idea of lart pour lart. In fact, this is the primary thesis of Plekhanovs essay Art and Society. For him, art is functional; it is intimately wed with social development and class struggle.27 Plekhanov acknowledges the existence of art for arts sake as a phenomenon; yet, for him it is nothing more than a malady of bourgeois social conditions; it is a manifestation of the artists despair. Following these observations, he concludes, The tendency towards art for arts sake arises when discord exists between the artist and his social environment. . . . Whenever artists are in conflict with the society in which they live, they incline to the theory of art for arts sake. 28 The artist becomes isolated and hence produces something with no social

Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 176. Plekhanov, The Role of the Individual in History (London: Lawrence and Wishart, Ltd., 1976; first English edition 1940), 39. 27 To assign a utilitarian purpose to art is therefore compatible with the later concept of socialist realism advocated by the Soviet politician Andrei Zhdanov (1896-1948); yet, it contradicts Karl Marxs earlier defense of creative freedom. This incongruity was a source of internal conflict regarding the cultural policies of the Soviet Union. 28 Plekhanov, Art and Society, 43, 47.
26

25

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function; it has therefore no value and forfeits its legitimacy as a work of art. Plekhanov believed that in the future this mode of conflict would cease to exist. Under socialism, the theory of art for arts sake will be logically impossible.29 For Scriabin, the value and legitimacy of genuine art lay in its capacity to lead mankind not only into such interim conditions as Plekhanovs material socialism, but also to a world more real; to invoke Viacheslav Ivanovs phrase: a realibus ad realiora. It is therefore ironic that Scriabin, for all his desire and conscious efforts to identify himself with his fellow men as common reflections of the world Spirit, would simultaneously alienate himself from the larger part of society. Yet, immersed in his fantastic symbolic designs in search of sobornost, he gradually became withdrawn from his environment. It is perhaps this noble struggle to overcome individualism and to seek unity that made the composer so appealing to Plekhanov as a socialist philosopher. In one passage of Art and Society, the latter discusses the incongruity: We find, then, that under present social conditions the theory of art for arts sake does not yield very luscious fruits. The extreme individualism of the epoch of bourgeois decadence shuts artists off from the sources of true inspiration. It sets up a barrier, screening tumultuous social events and condemning them to endless confusion over their petty personal experiences and morbid fantasies. The net result of such rumination is art which not only bears no relation to any kind of beauty, but which is obviously absurd, and justifiable only through a sophistic distortion of the idealist theory of knowledge.30 Art if it may still be called such under these circumstances is therefore void according to Plekhanov because it lacks social purpose by virtue of its isolation. Scriabin, too, was

29 30

Ibid., 90. Plekhanov, Art and Society, 87-88.

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sequestered in his visionary world to a certain degree, but he was not unaware of or entirely detached from his surroundings. His interpretation of them, though, was strongly influenced by mystic symbolists because their theories provided reinforcement for his own ambitious projects. On the other hand, the practical materialist Plekhanov did not acknowledge mysticism or the second-generation Symbolists subscribing to it. Yet, through them, Scriabin had learned to disengage himself to a certain degree from the selfaggrandizement that had characterized his middle years. Foremost among these later Symbolist friends was Viacheslav Ivanov, discussed above. Ivanovs further development of Solovyovs all-unity concept permitted little room for any valid theory of individualism. Ivanovs ideas were well-suited to the Revolutionary cause in Russia. According to these ideas, the single man should suppress personal desire for the collective good. Further, Scriabin counted among his intimates Sergei Bulgakov (18711944); according to this Symbolist, all-unity could be achieved only through overcoming individualism.31 The ideas of Bulgakov had a profound impact on Scriabin, as witnessed once again by Sabaneyev: Bulgakov was an absolute specialist in the area of sobornost, which was intended to play such an important role in Scriabins theoretical constructs. As a former social democrat who had converted to mysticism, Bulgakov was especially dear to Scriabin. For in the person of Bulgakov, Scriabin believed he could recognize the embodiment of his ideas and visions. These amounted to the following: the material, i.e, socialist level, constitutes an interim stage to pass through on the way to a higher, mystic level.32
31

Bulgakov presents this theory in his trilogy, O Bogocheloviechestvie [On Godmanhood] (Paris: YMCA Press, 1933). A brief discussion of Bulgakovs concepts and their influence on Scriabin can be found also in Marina Lobanova, Mystiker, Magiker, Theosoph, Theurg. Alexander Skrjabin und seine Zeit (Hamburg: von Bockel Verlag, 2004) 56-57. 32 Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 192.

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Plekhanov associated all these men of Symbolism with bourgeois decadence. And yet, although they decried individualism and advanced the cause of unity, their ultimate goals were in harmony with certain aspects of his socialist theory above all, that of sobornost. Ambiguous and problematic for Plekhanov, though, was their grounding in religious mysticism, against which he vehemently protested. For all his humanist notions of sobornost and aspirations of social equality, he was a man of sound logic; he was a theorist who relied on the empirical scientific method and would accept nothing less than proven facts. Consequently and unequivocally, Plekhanov rejected mysticism; it lacked form because its content was vague. He states, Mysticism, too, is an idea, but dark and formless, like a fog, ever in mortal enmity with reason.33 Interestingly, Scriabin used the same terminology in musical descriptions. For example, explaining the program of the Seventh Sonata, he speaks of pure mysticism, in describing the entrance of the second theme, and then of mystic fog before the face of the sun in another passage.34 In the opinion of Plekhanov, the mystics confidently based theses and goals upon the vagueness of their ideas. He observes, The mystic is not only ready to make statements, but to offer proofs. But his statements are incomplete and his proofs have as a point of departure the denial of common sense.35 For Plekhanov, the advancement of society can function solely on the basis of sound reason, the faculty of which can sense the utility of an object and be it in the form of a beautiful work of art. He states, Utility is perceived by reason; beauty by intuition. . . . And yet there is utility in the beautiful. It lies, however, at

33 34

Plekhanov, Art and Society, 63. Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 158. 35 Plekhanov, Art and Society, 63.

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the basis of esthetic enjoyment. . . . 36 Still, Plekhanov could not recognize any profound social purpose in the creations of the Mystic Symbolists. In his view, these belonged to the waning era of decadence; they advocated false ideas and what they produced was inferior as a result of their erroneous dogma. He underscores in his essay, When a work of art is based upon a fallacious idea, inherent contradictions inevitably cause a degeneration of its esthetic quality.37 This does not account, of course, for his assessment of Scriabins music, which he found to be extraordinary. Plekhanov could identify with various attributes of the musical work of Scriabin. During the period of their friendship, the composer was working diligently on his Pome de lextase. Plekhanov found the music grandiose in its dimension.38 In his judgment, Scriabins music is a reflection of our revolutionary age expressed through the temperament and world outlook of an idealist-mystic.39 In reference to Plekhanovs perception here, the Swiss musicologist Sigfried Schibli notes that the textless, nonpolitical programs of Scriabins music allow for an interpretation suitable to the revolutionary context.40 Plekhanov had difficulties, though, in reconciling the beauty and purpose of Scriabins music with the direction of the composers mystic philosophy of the world. Plekhanovs wife, Rosalie Markovna (1856-1949), would later recall this dissonance in a memorial essay presented on the occasion of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the

Plekhanov, French Drama and Painting of the Eighteenth Century, in Art and Society, 34. Plekhanov, Art and Society, 66. 38 Quoted in Ye. Rudakova and A. I. Kandinsky, Scriabin, trans. Tatyana Chistyakova (Neptune City, NJ: Paganiniana Publications, Inc., 1984), 88. 39 Quoted in Arnold Alshwang, Zhizny i tvorchestvo A. N. Skriabina [The Life and Work of A. N. Scriabin], in A. N. Skriabin: Sbornik Statey [A. N. Scriabin: Collection of Articles] (Moscow: Sovyetskiy Kompozitor, 1973), 61-159; 100. 40 Sigfried Schibli, Alexander Skrjabin und seine Musik (Munich: Piper, 1983), 274.
37

36

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composers death. Recounting an evening together in 1906 with Scriabin in Geneva, she wrote: We all listened to him [Scriabin] with interest. . . . Plekhanov had his eyes fixed on him, listening attentively to the evolving ideas of this genius composer. When Alexander Nikolaevich finished his explanations, Georgiy Valentinovich said Thank you and politely stated, Alexander Nikolayevich, what you have unraveled here before us is pure, unadulterated mysticism. You have read, even studied, and discussed over and over Marx and Marxism. How unfortunate that this reading did not an effect upon you. You have remained the same incorrigible mystic that you were in Bogliasco.41 At that time in 1906, Scriabin was convinced still of his unique role in the evolution of mankind. He was overtaken and possessed by a sense of self-importance. Such egoism was an anathema to Plekhanov. Scriabin viewed the entire world as nothing more than a construct of his own mind. Such ideas were quite typical, though, of his time; they exemplified an extension of the Nietzschean influence that had penetrated and found its niche in Russian intellectual thought during the fin de sicle.42 The epitome of this ideology found its expression in the egotistical concept of self-sacrifice for the sake of the future, to which Scriabin had subscribed. During this period, the composer fancied himself a sverkhchelovek (superman) the Russian version of Nietzsches bermensch. Scriabins credo was: We construct the world through our creative spirit and through our will.43 From the materialist standpoint, Plekhanov could only reject this idealist fog that he sensed had robbed the periods art and literature of their clarity. He advocated a

41

Rosalie M. Plekhanova, Vospominania o Skriabina [Reminiscences about Scriabin] in Alexandr Nikolayevich Skriabin. Sbornik k 25-Letiyu so Dnya Smerti [Alexander Nikolaevich Scriabin. Anthology for the 25th Anniversary of his Death] (Moscow: State Music Publishing House, 1940), 65-75; 75. 42 Bernice Glatzer Rosenthal, ed., Nietzsche in Russia (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986). 43 R. Plekhanova, Vospominania, 69.

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transparent awareness of and interaction with ones environment in order to produce works of genuine social value. In obvious defiance of Nietzschean philosophy, he writes: He whose relation to the world is such that he considers his own ego the sole reality must inevitably become ideologically impoverished, lacking not only ideas, but the means of acquiring them. Just as starving men stifle their hunger pangs with grass and weeds, so do those in want of clear ideas satisfy themselves with obscure substitutes for ideas, substitutes drawn from mysticism, symbolism, and other isms characteristic of epochs of decay. . . . The idea that our ego is the sole reality has always been the basis of subjective idealism; but it required the unbounded individualism of the period of decline of the bourgeoisie to convert this idea, not only into an egoistic rule of conduct, governing the relations between men, each of whom loves himself like God (the bourgeoisie has never been distinguished for excessive altruism), but also into a theoretical basis for the new aesthetics.44 Therefore, in the mind of Scriabin, Mystic Symbolism was providing a path into the future; but for Plekhanov, it was already the end of one path of development, representing the erosion of bourgeois society. Still, it furnished the composer the stimulus to create the works of art that Plekhanov nevertheless found appealing and relevant to social evolution and improvement. After the death of Scriabin, he would write, Only those who knew the deceased more closely could explain exactly the kind of psychological channels of influence through which Scriabins philosophical views spread into his artistic work. But the fact of this influence is for me beyond the slightest doubt.45 As antipodes Plekhanov a materialist, Scriabin an idealist both men were nevertheless united in their search for the emancipation of mankind. There is no evidence to support any disagreement between them regarding the need for political reform in
44 45

Plekhanov, Art and Society, 85. Plekhanov, Letter, 166.

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Russia. Both welcomed the pending revolution in their mother country. They collaborated in organizing a benefit concert for Russian political exiles living in Western Europe, thus actively putting art in the service of mankind. For this occasion, Scriabin performed a piano recital of his own works in the concert hall of the Geneva Conservatory.46 He later wrote to his patroness in Moscow, Margarita Morozova, that the recital was an enormous success.47 Meanwhile, Scriabin demonstrated to Plekhanov that his musical works of art possessed revolutionary ideological content, regardless whether the latter was in agreement with it. In writing about Scriabins intentions, Plekhanov states: Scriabin wanted to express in his music not this or that mood, rather an entire world outlook that he sought to cultivate on all sides. It would be absolutely irrelevant here to raise again the old question whether music could be in general an art able to express abstract concepts. Suffice it to say that even in this case our opinions diverged and that from here a lot of disputes arose between us as well.48 The fact that the letter of 1916 from which the above passage is drawn was reprinted and cited several times throughout the Soviet era is highly indicative; it is a testament to the importance the authorities laid on the association of Scriabin with the leading Russian Marxist philosopher Plekhanov. The composer lived and worked during the period of political instability leading up to the Revolution. And Plekhanov honors his legacy here when he emphasizes in the same letter: Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin was a son of his times. Modifying the well-known expression of Hegel concerning
46

The concert took place on Saturday, June 30, 1906. A facsimile of the program is included in the 1940 commemorative anthology cited above, 71. 47 Scriabin, Letter to Margarita Morozova, August 27, 1906 in A. Kashperov, ed., A. Skriabin. Pisma [A. Scriabin. Letters] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka [Music Publishing House], 1965), 426-28. 48 Plekhanov, Letter, 166.

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philosophy, one can say that Scriabins work was his time expressed in sounds.49 A contemporary and fellow countryman of Plekhanov, some twenty years his junior, was the Marxist philosopher Anatoly Lunacharsky (1875-1933). Both men were members of the exile community of Russian socialists living in Western Europe. Initially, Lunacharsky came to Zurich as a student. He had read Plekhanov already and held him in the highest esteem. In Zurich, he sought contact with the latter through a mutual Russian Revolutionary comrade, Pavel Axelrod (1850-1928).50 Later, in a short essay in his book Revolutionary Silhouettes, Lunacharsky would use superlatives in his characterization of Plekhanov. Plekhanov was an absolutely incomparable conversationalist in the brilliance of his wit, the wealth of his knowledge, the ease with which he could mobilize the most enormous concentration of mental power on any subject. The Germans have a word geistreich rich of mind. It exactly describes Plekhanov.51 This is how he remembered the latter, although the two men had become politically estranged on the path towards the Revolution. Near the end of his essay, Lunacharsky writes: After Plekhanov defected from the revolutionary cause, after his deviation into social-patriotism, I never saw him again. . . In the final analysis even our great differences, as they are transmuted into the stuff of history, largely drop from the scales whilst the brilliant aspects of Plekhanovs character will endure forever.52

49 50

Ibid., 167. Russian Marxist revolutionary; member of the Mensheviks. 51 Anatoly Lunacharsky, Plekhanov, Revolutionary Silhouettes (New York: Hill and Wang, 1968; repr. from Penguin Press, 1967; originally published in the USSR in 1923; other Soviet editions: 1919, 1924, 1965), 87. It should be noted that the omission of any mention of Josef Stalin among the profiles contained in this book was perceived by many in the Soviet Union as an affront and led to a ban on publication of this and other writings of Lunacharsky for nearly forty years. 52 Ibid., 95.

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Both men, in spite of their political differences, remained united in their appreciation of the Russian and European cultural heritage. In the spring of 1917, the year of the Revolution, the two returned to their homeland, where Plekhanov died during the following year. In commemoration, Lunacharsky wrote the following lines: I remember with enthusiasm our long conversations and arguments on philosophical and literary themes, in the course of which I often forgot the problem. . . as, charmed, I listened to this artistic speech, full of quotations, reminiscences, metaphors, in a word, adorned like some many-colored, invaluable incrustation. Georgii Valentinovichs memory was vast, resourceful, amazing, and every conversation with him always enriched you while at the same time giving absorbing pleasure.53 Like Plekhanov, Lunacharsky wrote extensively on matters concerning literature, art, and music. It is noteworthy that many of his essays are devoted to composers of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Like much of his writing, these relate to social progress and, in particular, the revolutionary cause in Russia. They include profiles of leading Russian, German, Austrian, and French composers: Beethoven, Schubert, Berlioz, Wagner, Strauss, Mussorgsky, and Scriabin, among others. One of the later essays is a commemorative piece honoring Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908), whose musical style as mentioned before Scriabin had rejected as bromidic and outdated. Here it is especially remarkable that Lunacharsky is able to present an image of a notably and academically conservative composer from a progressive angle. The St. Petersburg Conservatory Professor Rimsky-Korsakov, indeed, contributed little to the development of music in the early twentieth century; nevertheless, he did apply subject
53

Quoted in Baron, Plekhanov. The Father of Russian Marxism (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1963), 258; originally published in Lunacharsky, Pamiati G. V. Plekhanova [Memories of G. V. Plekhanov], Plamia [Flames] 7 (1918): 3.

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material and melodic and stylistic elements to his works drawn from and reflecting the life of the narod (common people). Here, emphasis on the importance of musical culture among the broad masses in contrast to that of the bourgeois aristocracy indicated for Lunacharsky a significant step forward towards reconciling social differences and simultaneously a move towards the final goal of a classless society. Perhaps more than any other revolutionary writer Lunacharsky underscored the importance of music as an element in the overall conditioning and formation of a given societal structure. Similar to Plekhanov, he stood under Darwinian influence; this is apparent in his essay The Experience of Positive Aesthetics (1903). One observer writes, In his treatise on aesthetics, he not only tried to combine empirio-criticism with dialectical materialism, but he strongly emphasized the biological and physiological basis of aesthetic sensitivity.54 After the October Revolution in 1917, Vladimir Lenin assigned to Lunacharsky the position of Commissar of the Prosveshcheniye (Enlightenment), the department for which was designated Narkompros (Peoples Commissariat of the Enlightenment).55 For all activists involved in the Revolution, there was little question that the enormously cultivated philosopher Lunacharsky should assume this role; although Lenin personally harbored initial misgivings about his competence as an administrator.56 From another angle, it is perhaps surprising that Lenin would so readily choose Lunacharsky for a position in the government because the two had become politically and philosophically alienated as early as 1908. Shortly after the Revolution, though, Lunacharsky wrote, Of course there was a great discord between myself and
54 55

Isaac Deutscher, Introduction to Lunacharsky, Revolutionary Silhouettes, 12. The designation ministry for all governmental departments was abolished because it smacked of forerevolutionary imperialism. 56 See Isaac Deutscher, Introduction, 18.

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Lenin. He approached all issues as a man of political action with an immense audacity of spirit, as a tactician and indeed as a political leader of genius, whereas my approach was that of the philosopher, or, to put it more accurately, the poet of the revolution.57 Nevertheless, Lunacharsky conscientiously assumed his new role in the government. The daunting task he immediately set before himself was the elevation of the Russian peasantry in matters of general education as well as artistic cultivation. One way in which Lunacharsky sought to educate the population in the culture of serious music was to promote lecture concerts throughout the country. In these activities he set an example through frequent personal participation. Here was the purpose of the first of three exceptional essays that Lunacharsky dedicated to the subject of Scriabin. The work titled On Scriabin appeared in the journal Kultura Teatra on May 20, 1921. The article had its origin as a speech that Lunacharsky had delivered in Moscows Bolshoi Theatre on May 8, 1921; the occasion was a cycle of concerts dedicated to the symphonic works of Scriabin, under the direction of Emil Albertovich Cooper.58 And although the Bolshoi Theatre was no longer a venue frequented exclusively by cultivated members of the Russian aristocracy, Lunacharskys speech on Scriabin still tends to address a more sophisticated group of listeners. The speech reveals an advanced analytical style in describing Scriabin and his music; and this formal style was more than likely incomprehensible to the uneducated members of the proletariat, the group to whom in part the talk was directed. Lunacharsky begins his presentation by identifying himself as a poet and philosopher who naturally is attracted to music. He states, The musical creative work is
57 58

Ibid., 13. Russian conductor, born in Kherson, 1877; died in New York, 1960.

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first and foremost poetry in that profound sense to which points the very etymology of this word.59 Then, establishing a further connection between himself, music, and Scriabin, he claims that every musical work is philosophical in the sense that it is reacting to greater feelings more or less related to a mans thoughts about the world.60 Lunacharsky also attempts to create a rapport with his audience, identifying himself with them as a fellow revolutionary in order to guide them into the music of Scriabin and explain its social significance. In his speech, Lunacharsky compares Scriabin to three great German minds of the nineteenth century: Beethoven, Schopenhauer, and Wagner. According to Lunacharsky, the Russian composer possesses the most outstanding virtues of these men an aspiration towards brotherhood and unity and the will to achieve this goal. In particular, Lunacharsky explains how Scriabin was able to go beyond the pessimistic pantheism that he, Lunacharsky, finds characteristic of Schopenhauer and Wagner. Of Scriabin he says, His pessimism transforms itself gradually into exultant optimism.61 Speaking of the visible world, Lunacharsky alludes to Schopenhauer: All this is great unhappiness and horror, something from which one needs to escape.62 In sharp contrast to this statement, he then quotes from Scriabin: It is wonderful; it is fascinating; for I sense with my entire heart that I am one from among the offspring of the complete spirit. . . .63 Lunacharsky cites these positions in an effort to inspire the audience to listen to the music in a certain way; to instill social values in the audience. The concerts were not merely for listening
59

Lunacharsky, O Skriabine [On Scriabin] in Lunacharsky, V Mire Muzyki [In the World of Music] (Moscow: Sovyetskiy Kompozitor, 1971; originally published in Teatra kultura, May, 1921), 89-95; 89. 60 Ibid. 61 Ibid., 90. 62 Ibid., 91. 63 Ibid.

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pleasure: there was also a didactic purpose. Lunacharsky portrays Scriabin as an artist who in the last years of his life was overcoming the Romantic idealism typical of the subjective individual; he was ultimately on the path towards objective realism. Looking through notebooks of the composer, he found the following statement regarding the Mysterium: So, I realized that I was mistaken. If I recognize that the spirit created the whole world and he lives in all Is, then I am not alone. We all see one and the same world. It is necessary to change everybodys view of the world in order for it to be changed.64 Lunacharskys selective insertion of Scriabins own words is intentional, with the goal of corroborating the tenets of communism according to which one needs to sacrifice his position of individuality for the good of the community. Following the long period of violent civil war in Russia, it was urgently necessary to reconcile all opposing social sectors for the sake of political and economical stability.65 Lunacharsky cites Scriabins process of intellectual development as an example in order to motivate these various groups towards cooperation. He states: According to Scriabins deep conviction, even when two people with different ideas confront one another as enemies, each believing identically that he holds the truth, there is a kind of plane where they are still brothers and are able to respect each other. They are the expression of ideas and wills of humans striving towards a harmonious world. But, if each of us possesses a belief, sincerity, and conviction, then even in struggle we are the constructors of what represents human culture or history of the spirit.66

64 65

Ibid., 93. Lunacharskys efforts here coincide with the implementation of the NEP (New Economic Policy), an interim attempt to counteract growing discontent in Soviet society through the liberalization of government market and trade policies. 66 Lunacharsky, O Skriabine, 94.

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Lunacharsky continues to draw a line from Beethovens ambitions of universal brotherhood through Scriabins envisioned act of sobornost the Mysterium to the Bolshevik designs of world communism. He fashions Beethoven and Scriabin as heroes of mankind and prophets of a future peace and harmony;67 and subsequently, the Bolsheviks are to proceed onward as executors of this will. Citing an earlier concert lecture, Lunacharsky states: I employed, speaking about Scriabin, almost those very expressions in speaking about Beethoven, which one hundred years ago also called for joy, enlightenment, and harmonization, so that the hearts of millions would beat together. If I said that Beethoven, a teacher of life, is absolutely necessary for us, especially in a time such as ours so full of turbulence and contradiction, and in particular for that architect of his own happiness who in torments is creating a new world for the laboring people, then Scriabin is also extremely necessary for us.68 Lunacharsky indicates to his audience that Scriabins spiritual imagination guided him onto a path of social conscience and helped him to forge ideas in his mind that would result in a world unity. For Lunacharsky, the new Soviet citizens should not become constricted in present adversity, but should remain focused on attaining social equality. He tried to make clear to his audience that these goals are what Scriabin intended to achieve through his creative work; that the composer found music the most suitable means of expression to convey such ideas; that Scriabins internal view of the world and prophetic wisdom was not simply ahead of, but twice beyond the rest of Russian music of

67 68

Ibid., 92. Ibid., 94.

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his time.69 Lunacharskys audience should listen to Scriabin as a herald of the Revolution. The topics of revolution and socialism once again inform the content of Lunacharskys second essay concerning the composer, Taneyev and Scriabin. It is a commemorative work written for the tenth anniversary of the deaths of the two Russian composers; both died in 1915.70 It originally appeared in the journal Novyi mir (New World), issue number six, June, 1925. This particular article was reprinted later numerous times from 1958 onwards. Its importance for the Soviet authorities as a historical cultural document is also underscored by the fact that it was reissued also in English and German versions for circulation abroad.71 Here, Lunacharsky contrasts the lives, natures, and music of two of the most revered composers in Russia during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The essay Taneyev and Scriabin reveals itself as a tract on socialist thought. It is more profoundly philosophical than his first essay on Scriabin. Here, Lunacharsky indulges the reader in an intensely socio-aesthetic analytical work in which he presents and contrasts both composers from a revolutionary standpoint. He endeavors to explain how two seemingly different composers can be viewed as socially active creative artists. Tracing their respective developments, Lunacharsky draws a parallel between Taneyev and Scriabin, supplying evidence on how each represents an opposite end of the same

Ibid. Various sources report that Taneyev (1856-1915) caught a severe cold while attending Scriabins funeral in April, 1915 and ultimately died from the resulting complications two months later in June. 71 The English version used here appears in the book A. Lunacharsky. On Literature and Art (Moscow: Progress State Publishing House, 1965; repr. 1973), 107-25. The German version appears in Lunacharsky. Musik und Revolution (Leipzig: Verlag Philipp Reclam, 1985), 93-113; also available in the series MusikKonzepte, vol. 32/33, Aleksandr Skrjabin und die Skrjabinisten (Munich: Edition Text + Kritik, GmbH, 1983), 26-41.
70

69

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spectrum. We are faced with two streams of music: the objectively-architectural (epic would be more correct) and the emotionally-sensuous, or lyric.72 These represent Taneyev and Scriabin, respectively. Lunacharsky states that although music is the expression of human emotions, Taneyev applies careful restraint in his musical style.73 His work is a dignified expression of these human emotions a result of his gentlemanly background.74 In this respect, he chastises those who commit the error of misjudging Taneyev;75 the latter is in no way a man devoid of passion.76 Lunacharsky explains that Taneyev as an architect of music understands his craft so well that he can draw on and convey the entire spectrum of human emotions in his creative work without resorting to vulgarity or banality. His knowledge and skill permit him to create a beautiful, convincing, logical and shining structure.77 Lunacharsky classifies Taneyev as a formalist, but a particular kind not to be confused with the common variety. Lunacharsky loathes this latter type, which he describes in the following lines: The individual formalism of an artist-competitor in an era of the decay of the ruling classes takes on the nature of a mad race for originality, ostentation and affectation. This race for originality is all the more disgusting, because the eccentrics are not after originality of thought or emotion, but solely after originality of form, i.e., after a bizarre effect, shock value and sometimes even sensational nonsense.78

72 73

Lunacharsky, Taneyev and Scriabin, 111. Ibid., 120. 74 Taneyev, a student of Tchaikovsky, was well-known and beloved for his dignity and kindness, but also his candid judgment. He was a teacher of Scriabin, Rachmaninov, Medtner, Glire, and also Sabaneyev. The latter wrote a book of reminiscences about his teacher recently republished: Vospominania o Taneeve [Reminiscences about Taneyev] (Moscow: Klassika 21, 2003). 75 Lunacharsky, Taneyev and Scriabin, 107. 76 Ibid., 110. 77 Ibid., 120. 78 Ibid., 122.

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Lunacharsky describes the formalism of Taneyev as part of a historic and, above all, organic evolution. Adhering to a socialist ideology founded in sobornost, Lunacharsky states that Taneyev regards music as a product of the collective creative effort of a people, then of generations of skilled masters, of entire guilds, and, finally, of a number of brilliant individuals who lived, however, in an organic era, who did not jump from place to place, but derived their logical conclusions from the work of their predecessors in a gigantic, collective, objective undertaking.79 Lunacharsky observes that in the architectural music of Taneyev, form and content interpenetrate one another to such a degree that the musical form itself possesses meaning and therefore also social significance. It is here that Lunacharsky finds a common link to Scriabin. Each composer in his artistic creativity demonstrated social conscience. Lunacharsky sees a social force reflected in the works of Scriabin.80 He rejects allegations that the composer suffered from an internal mental disorder that revealed itself in his artistic creativity. Essentially, he was a very sane and intelligent man.81 Further, Lunacharsky emphasizes that Scriabin had liberated himself from the extremes of individualism and was subsequently on the path towards socialism. Through this process he developed a personal philosophy, which he then translated into musical expression. Lunacharsky writes, He imbued this subjective music, owing to the peculiarities of his philosophy, with social and even universal force.82 Lunacharsky perceives Scriabin as having existed in an environment of decay in which individualism thrives as a refuge. He proposes that the composer himself had recognized the situation as
79 80

Ibid., 123. Ibid., 118. 81 Ibid. 82 Ibid., 119.

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such; Scriabin realized that in order to overcome this state of hopelessness, he must first overcome the individualism to which he had submitted himself. Lunacharsky did not have the opportunity as did Plekhanov to discuss any such issues with Scriabin personally. And so in this sense, he writes: Naturally, I do not have direct proof of this, but I think that Scriabin, channeling his thoughts towards a healthy outlook on life (from subjectivity to objectivity, which could have later taken him from idealism to materialism), was forced once again to translate his hopes and plans from the language of mood into social language.83 In this context, Lunacharsky views the Russian Revolution of 1905 as the major catalyst that spurred forth the socialist thought processes in the composers mind. It did not matter that Scriabin was no longer living in Russia at that time; many of the Russian revolutionaries were living abroad. Lunacharsky writes: Scriabin was possessed by a tremendous desire for social, national and even cosmic dimensions, which came of his belonging to a nation which had gone through the great revolution of 1905 and was now on the way towards the greatest of all revolutions. Indeed, the events at that time left an indelible mark in his psyche. In the words of Scriabin: This revolution is bringing the arrival of the desired moment ever closer.84 According to Lunacharsky, Scriabin found the contemporaneous upheaval necessary in order to move forward and achieve universal calm and order.85 He views Scriabin as a

83 84

Ibid. Letter dated Geneva, April 18 (May 1), 1906 to Scriabins patroness, Margarita Morozova. In Kashperov, ed., Skriabin. Pisma [Scriabin. Letters], (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1965), 422-23. 85 Lunacharsky, Taneyev and Scriabin, 117.

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great revolutionary in his music and world outlook, representing the tradition of Beethoven, and following the path of Lenin the worlds greatest revolutionary.86 Lunacharsky does not discuss Scriabins negative relationship to the music of Beethoven and perhaps he was not even aware of it. For Scriabin, Beethoven was already an anachronism.87 Important for Lunacharsky, though, was the fact that at another level the two composers were kindred spirits in their quest for a community of mankind, sobornost, in which freedom and justice prevailed. In summarizing the social contributions of Taneyev and Scriabin, Lunarcharsky implies that the former was a stable composer the product of gradual artistic evolution who understood and further developed the rational forms because these belonged to some higher unity.88 In contrast, Scriabin possesses volatility and a desire for accelerated development, and above all revolutionary passion.89 In a panegyric towards the end of his essay, Lunacharsky claims: For the present, we will not find a more passionate musical language, not only in Russian music, but perhaps in all of world music, than the language of Scriabin in such of his works as Prometheus and others similar to it.90 Finally, Lunacharsky challenges his readership as enemies of the pseudo-democratic chaos of capitalism to recognize the social significance of Taneyev and Scriabin and to uphold their legacy.91

86 87

Ibid., 123. During the same year, 1925, as Lunacharskys essay Taneyev and Scriabin appeared, Leonid Sabaneyev published his Reminiscences on Scriabin. In the latter work, the author notes Scriabins negative assessment of Beethovens work and Classical music in general: What is the reason for it? It almost makes me sick. All this tonic and dominant . . . See Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 119. 88 Lunacharsky, Taneyev and Scriabin, 124. 89 Ibid. 90 Ibid. 91 Ibid., 125.

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Lunacharsky wrote his third essay on Scriabin in 1930 as he was nearing the end of his own life.92 One of his last works devoted to music, it was titled The Significance of Scriabin for our Times. It appeared in the small thirty-six-page booklet, Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin and His Museum.93 For the most part, it develops further the ideas upon which he previously had expounded in the first two essays discussed above. Lunacharsky explains that an artist has the capacity to react with more heightened sensitivity to his surroundings, once again relying on Darwinian theories of environmental impact. Praising Scriabin, Lunacharsky claims that the composer possessed keen artistic perception an attribute that allowed him to react positively to the events occurring around him during the pre-Revolutionary period. The exposure to these events were processed mentally and found expression in his creative work. Lunacharsky states: Scriabin was extraordinarily brilliant in his marked individuality. The art historians of the old school would say that his creative work could be dictated only by his artistic nature. We are of another opinion. We believe that the artistic nature signifies first of all an immense keenness towards what is happening all around and that it [nature] increases and not decreases the dependency of a personality on society. The artistic nature signifies an organic necessity of perception of the surroundings. The artistic nature strives towards converting this into a certain (in this case since the discussion is about a musician into a musical) creative form, and to communicate in this special form ones experiences to the whole world.94
Although Lunacharsky had written most of his larger philosophical works well before the Russian Revolution of 1917, he composed the majority of his essays on music during the following period. 93 Lunacharsky, Znacheniye Skriabina dlya nachego vremeni [The Significance of Scriabin for our Times], in A. V. Lunacharskiy. V mire muzyki [A. V. Lunacharsky. The World of Music], 2nd ed. only (Moscow: Sovietskiy Kompositor, 1971; not in 1958 ed.), 396-401; originally published in D. G. Pershin, ed., Aleksandr Nikolayevich Skriabin i ego muzey [Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin and His Museum] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo MONO, 1930), 8-14. Also included in the 1930 booklet: Nikolai Zhilyayev, Short Biography of A. N. Scriabin. 94 Ibid., 396.
92

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Assessing Scriabins acute awareness of his environment, Lunacharsky compares the composer to a storm petrel; he was one of those artists who feel the approaching storm, the accumulation of electricity in the atmosphere, and react to these alarming symptoms.95 From 1905 onward, according to Lunacharsky, Scriabin developed an increasingly pronounced social conscience determined by the era in which he lived. In this essay, Lunacharsky traces again the impact of the events and ideas of the early twentieth century on the formation of Scriabins revolutionary philosophy. Here, however, his comparison of the Russian composer with Beethoven receives more scrutiny. Lunacharsky believes that the proletariat is strongly attracted to the expression of virility in the Germans work; Scriabins music, however, although an expression of an effete and high-strung composer, reflected strongly the volatility in the atmosphere of pre-Revolutionary Russia. Therefore, his music could be clearly viewed as relevant to the contemporaneous social conditions. According to Lunacharsky, Scriabin let himself be driven by his impulses to even greater revolutionary flight than did Beethoven.96 Both men were musical innovators, but, in the opinion of Lunacharsky, Scriabin would constitute the ideal model for future composers of the twentieth century. He formulates this in the following terms: We will understand then that Scriabin is very close and related to us and that musicians who will create new music music in an era of movement towards socialism; in an era
95 96

Ibid. Besides including recurring references to Beethoven in his numerous essays, Lunacharsky wrote at least five essays exclusively devoted to the German composer. Especially noteworthy is the 1927 essay on the centenary of Beethovens death in which he discusses the composers relevance to contemporaneous Soviet culture. Betkhoven i sovremennost (Beethoven and Contemporaneity) was originally published in Krasnoy Gazete (Red Gazette) 63 (Leningrad: March 8, 1927): 4; repr. in Lunacharskiy. V Mire Muzyki, 329-31.

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of realization of socialism will be able to study and learn an extraordinary amount from Scriabin.97 In summary, Lunacharsky suggests that future composers of the Soviet Union use the State Scriabin Museum, the composers former home, as a center for research. They should find here a place in which to familiarize themselves with the socialist ideals of the revolutionary composer Alexander Scriabin and to seek inspiration for the further development of socialist-oriented music in the twentieth century. The importance of the emphasis that Lunacharsky placed on the relationship between music and revolution cannot be overstated. He contends that the two are inalienably related. They are analogous to one another. This is in fact the thesis of his 1926 essay Music and Revolution.98 Here, Lunacharsky says that one must view revolution as one hears a symphony; its beauty can be understood only in its entirety.99 For him the struggle in revolution is comparable to the tensions between dissonance and consonance in music; both are seeking an end to conflict some final resolution in unity. With impetuous tempo, the Revolution is pressing forward towards a solution to the crucial problem of social existence. Herein lies its unsurpassable musicality.100 And for Lunacharsky, therein lay the revolutionary spirit of Scriabins music.

97 98

Ibid., 104 Lunacharsky, Muzyka i revolutsiya [Music and Revolution], originally published as Velikiye sestry [Great Sisters] in the periodical of the same name, Musika i revolutsiya 1 (Moscow: January, 1926): 14-19; repr. Lunacharskiy. V mire muzyki, 121-28. 99 Ibid., 122. 100 Ibid., 124.

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Chapter 6

Scriabins Legacy in the Post-Revolutionary Era

The political instability in Russia following the October Revolution and the end of World War I the period known as war communism and more accurately characterized as a civil war permitted the stabilization of the cultural community. Art and music at this time did not represent an immanent threat to society. On the contrary, cultural contributions had quite a palliative effect in a time of upheaval. They were also not the immediate and urgent concerns of Lenin, and for this reason it was not necessary for him to intervene directly or indirectly during the initial formation of Narkompros under Commissar Lunacharsky. The latter enjoyed the unwavering support of the party chairman and could proceed with his liberal policies; these in turn allowed him to consolidate his departmental power and unite the cultural community in the sense of mutual acceptance and in the spirit of sobornost. Under these conditions, the legacy of Scriabin could continue to flourish without any threat of exclusion based on new cultural doctrines. Scriabins position as a composer who followed new revolutionary paths lent itself well to the new social context. His early death contributed to the perception of him as a national hero worthy of highest respect. Those who rejoiced in the overthrow of Tsarism and welcomed the Revolution could easily present Scriabin as a legendary figure for the younger generation of musicians to emulate. The composers association with the former bourgeois society played here less a role than did his artistic creations, which

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many Soviet citizens now viewed as pointing towards the utopian future. Those who knew and revered Scriabin during his lifetime and remained in Russia after the Revolution felt at liberty to uphold his legacy in music; they did so regardless of how they judged his philosophical doctrines of unity, although the latter ideas were not so far out of line with those of world communism. Pianists who had known Scriabin continued to play his music in their recitals; composers created new works influenced by his style; conductors who had premiered his works included Scriabins symphonic works on their programs; musicologists who had known the composer personally sought to analyze Scriabins position in history and in contemporaneous Russia. All of this was possible during the first twelve years following the Revolution. The liberal policies deemed necessary to further unity sobornost during this time of revolution simultaneously created a favorable atmosphere conducive to artistic freedom. These circumstances served to strengthen the memory of Scriabin and contributed to the composers posthumous influence. Among the leading Russian pianists who promoted Scriabins music during this period, Alexander Goldenweiser (1875-1961) deserves mention. Three years younger than Scriabin, he was also a composer and studied composition with the same professors at the Moscow conservatory, Sergei Taneyev and Anton Arensky. In 1907, he gave the first public performance of Scriabins Fantasie, op. 28, six years after its composition. In 1909, he was among the founding members of the Circle of Scriabinists. In a letter dated Brussels, November 2 (15), 1909, Scriabin expressed his joy over the fact that Goldenweiser had helped to establish the new group.

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I am taking this opportunity, dear Alexander Borisovich, to thank you most warmly for your participation and to express my joy that you have joined the circle. I embrace you heartily and ask that you convey my warm regards to Anna Alexeyevna.1 Following the death of the composer in 1915, he was once again a founding member this time as vice-president of the new Moscow Scriabin Society.2 During the 1920s and 1930s, he acted as president of the group. According to the official biographical information supplied by the Soviet government, Goldenweiser appears to have welcomed the Revolution or at least reconciled himself to cooperating with the new regime: In the first years following the October Revolution, Goldenweiser concertized along with other performing artists in factories, schools, and for units of the Red Army. He composed a number of new works. As member of the Music Council of the City of Moscow, he played an active role in the preparation and direction of the musical propaganda activities in the capital. From the years 1918 to 1921 and 1932 to 1934 he was president of the Conservatory.3 Although he wrote no extended essays or books on the composer, Goldenweiser kept the memory of Scriabin alive through performance and the presentation of shorter speeches and articles on commemorative occasions. For example, in 1925 Goldenweiser wrote an article for the tenth anniversary of Scriabins death. It appeared under the title Aleksandr Nikolayevich Skriabin in the journal Iskusstvo Trudyashchimsya [Art of the Working People] and then a short time later in translation under the title Scriabin as
In Kasperov, ed., A. Skriabin. Pisma [Alexander Scriabin. Letters] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1965), 536-37. Anna Alexeyevna (1881-1929), pianist and translator, was the wife of Alexander Goldenweiser. 2 According to Leonid Sabaneyev, Princess Marina Gagarina (1877-1924) was the first president of the Scriabin Society. She was the sister of the Russian philosopher Prince Sergei Trubetskoi (1862-1905). See Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 367. 3 Herbert Sahling, ed., Notate zur Pianistik. Aufstze sowjetischer Klavierpdagogen und Interpreten [Notes on Pianism. Essays of Soviet Piano Pedagogues and Performers] German trans., Christof Rger (Leipzig: VEB Deutscher Verlag fr Musik, 1976), 206; orig., Voprosy fortepiannogo ispolnitelstva [Issues of Piano Performance] (Moscow: Muzyka, 1965-73) and Masterstvo muzykanta-ispolnitelya [The Skill of the Performing Musician] (Moscow: Sovietski Kompositor, 1972).
1

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Innovator: An Anniversary Estimate in Musical America.4 Goldenweisers assessment of Scriabin ten years after the composers death reflects the general sentiments in Russia at the time. He writes, The judgment of history, already recorded in the case of Scriabin, has unreservedly allocated to him a place in the first ranks of the musical Olympus.5 Goldenweiser counts Scriabin among the musical innovators, who were perfect masters of the technical achievements of that very past which they wanted to overcome.6 Goldenweiser emphasizes the revolutionary aspect in Scriabins creativity, which he locates in the domain of harmony. Yet very importantly, he explains that the composer himself realized the limitations of his Promethean chord. Goldenweiser states, The Ninth and particularly the Tenth Sonata constitute the most valuable attempts [of Scriabin] at finding a synthesis between the new chords and the old language of harmony.7 Goldenweiser relegates Scriabins mystical phantasmagoria to a position if not irrelevant, at least of lesser consequence.8 More importantly, he perceives the composers life work as belonging universally to the most progressive, forward-looking

Goldenweiser, Aleksandr Nikolayevich Skriabin in Iskusstvo Trudyashchimsya [Art of the Working People] 22 (April 26, 1925): 2-3; Scriabin as Innovator: An Anniversary Estimate in Musical America 42, no. 12 (July 11, 1925): 12. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid. 8 The trend in Soviet Russias appreciation of Scriabin was marked by a gradual dissociation of the composers musical achievements from the pervasive mystical ideas of pre-Revolutionary society. Additionally, it should be noted that throughout their life-long friendship, Goldenweiser never fully subscribed to Scriabins mystic ideology. On the contrary, as far as any noumenal ideas were concerned, Goldenweiser adhered to the more traditional religious sentiments of Tolstoy, with whom he was also very closely associated for several years leading up to the latters death in 1910. In 1922-23, Goldenweiser published his two-volume work of reminiscences about Tolstoy, Vblizi Tolstogo [Near Tolstoy]. This affection towards Tolstoy was a point of contention between Goldenweiser and Scriabin. According to Sabaneyev, Goldenweiser was ideologically far removed from the world of Scriabin in that he was an enthusiastic follower of Leo Tolstoys teachings. Scriabin, on the other hand, was a staunch opponent to these teachings. See Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 185. In contrast, Tolstoy was a great admirer of Scriabin. See Goldenweiser, Vblizi Tolstogo, vol. 2 (Moscow: Kooperativnoye Izdatelstvo, 1923), 255; also, Lyev Tolstoy i muzyka [Leo Tolstoy and Music] in Literaturnoye Nasledstvo [Literary Heritage] 37-38 (Moscow: Akademiya nauk SSSR [Academy of Sciences of the USSR], 1939), 591-94.

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tendencies in twentieth-century music. He writes, On the day of the tenth anniversary of his death, April 27, the world, nevertheless, confidently honored Scriabins memory as not only one of the greatest composers of Russia, but also as one of the most noted creators in modern musical art in any country.9 Goldenweiser remained convinced that Scriabin as a forerunner of the musical avant-garde would continue to influence the younger generation of composers and all listeners of serious music. According to documentation preserved at the Scriabin State Museum in Moscow, Goldenweiser stated, Scriabins music has such brilliant power, such truly revolutionary audacity, that its impact on a contemporary audience cannot be anything but fruitful.10 Among the many celebrated pianists who studied with Goldenweiser, the one who became most conspicuous in his advocacy of Scriabin was Samuil Feinberg (1890-1962). Regarded as one of the founders of the modern Russian school of piano performance, he was an excellent interpreter of Scriabins works, approaching the composers own style of playing. An unnamed Soviet critic writes, As a performer and composer, Feinberg was a very distinct musical personality. Characteristic of his playing was an emotionally convincing style of interpretation, filled with strong contrasts. His command of the instrument was marked by extraordinary tonal refinement, subtle and very sensitive rhythmic agogic formation of the musical work. Feinberg was a highly individual performer and his playing was filled with great artistic sincerity. As a composer, his work was linked to Scriabin and Medtner and most regarded him as one of the best interpreters of Scriabins piano music.11

Goldenweiser, 12. Goldenweiser, quoted in Ye. Rudakova and A. I. Kandinsky, eds., Scriabin, trans. Tatyana Chistyakova (Neptune City, NJ, Paganiniana Publications, Inc., 1984), 125; see VAAP, Copyright Agency of the Soviet Union, for the original Russian language manuscript. 11 Notate zur Pianistik, 207.
10

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Feinbergs book Pianism as Art belongs to the most important documents of piano performance of the twentieth century.12 In this analytical book, Feinberg deals extensively with the interpretation of Scriabins piano compositions, indicating the stylistic levels to which young apprentice pianists should aspire when approaching the works of the composer. In particular, Feinberg emphasizes Scriabins skillful control of the pedal: He refined methods of composition to such a degree of perfection and exquisiteness that his creative work touches extreme boundaries, beyond which there is a mystery of sound that has not yet been discovered . . . a creative non-existence. Scriabin approached this border by such devices as complicated polyrhythm, hidden thematicism, and an exquisite use of the pedal so delicate and subtle that a simple pedal change may appear primitive or even rough. Accuracy in notating pedal marks already difficult with Chopins style is thus almost inconceivable to achieve Scriabins sound properly. As a result, he largely refused to enter pedal markings in his manuscripts.13 Feinberg understood well the intentions of Scriabin. And indeed, Feinberg was among the few pianists of whose performances Scriabin approved.14 Feinbergs own piano compositions demonstrate a further development of Scriabins style especially apparent in the sonatas; they are often single movements based on monothematicism and technically very demanding for the performer. Leonid Sabaneyev points out some distinguishing features between the two composers. He observes that
Samuil Feinberg, Pianizm kak iskusstvo [Pianism as Art] (Moscow: State Publishing House, 1965; 2nd ed., 1969). Recently, this work has been the subject of a DMA dissertation with English translation by Maxim Anikushin at the Manhattan School of Music, 2008. 13 Feinberg, Pianizm, 107-8; quoted in Robert Rimm, The Composer-Pianists. Hamelin and The Eight (Portland: Amadeus Press, 2002), 109-10. 14 Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 298.
12

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Feinbergs exaltation is not the joyousness of Scriabin, but a nightmare frenzy, a whirlwind of weird hallucinations forged into images of sound. It is something akin to Schumann, that first romantic seer in music, and through Feinbergs compositions flashes the Schumann of Kreisleriana, and Nachtstcke, the Schumann who in the depths of his spirit and creative art was psychopathic. . . The similarity to Scriabin upon closer examination proves perhaps to be no more than the little something which Scriabin himself drew from Schumann.15 Additionally, Sabaneyev points out that the depth of feeling present in the music of Feinberg is indeed frequently philosophical, and not merely philosophically decorated16 as in the case of Scriabin. In common, the two composers expressed an affinity towards the otherworldly atmosphere and mystic states. Here, Feinberg carries Scriabins experiments a step further. Sabaneyev credits Feinberg with being the creator of the original theory of unintoned sounds, or sounds imagined, which the performer merely thinks of in addition to what he plays, coloring whatever is to be heard into entirely different tones.17 This concept did not escape the most eminent critics of the period. The renowned Russian musicologist Victor Belyayev (1888-1968) he was not directly related to Scriabins former mecaenas, the publisher Mitrofan Belyayev wrote about a similar phenomenon in his 1925 article on Feinberg. Claiming the composer to be the legitimate heir to Scriabin and the most outstanding of modern Russian composers for the pianoforte, he wrote: Feinbergs capacity of dematerializing sound is one of his most remarkable peculiarities, for in playing over the keyboard he seems to produce tones from the instrument not so much with the help of his fingers,
15

Leonid Sabaneyev, Modern Russian Composers, trans., Judah A. Joffe (Freeport, NY: Books for Libraries Press, 1971; first pub. 1927), 164-65. 16 Ibid., 166. 17 Ibid., 167.

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as by some hypnotic aid, having no relation to any material method of producing sounds from the piano. In this connection he proves himself a master, in that he knows how to sound the overtones without touching them, as he has shown in his Prelude for piano, Op. 15, No. 3 (published by the Universal Edition, Vienna).18 Belyayev, in contrast to other critics such as Asafyev, was convinced that Scriabins compositional style was not restricted to the composer; he believed it could be further developed and that exactly Feinberg was on such a path. Belyayev refers to this tendency in Russian music as Scriabinismus. He states: The chief representative of Scriabinismus is, undoubtedly, that highly gifted and fine composer Samuel Feinberg. It is very difficult to develop the creative principles of great genius, which Scriabin was, further. And Feinberg does it, and does it, not as a simple follower of Scriabin, but as the very developer of his creative and harmonical ideas.19 Feinberg was an acclaimed pianist noted for his technique, infallible memory and stamina. He performed on various occasions the entire set of Scriabins piano sonatas. It was not, however, until Scriabins last year that Feinberg himself began composing his own piano sonatas, of which there would be twelve. According to Belyayev, the initial inspiration towards composition came in 1909 when Feinberg heard Scriabins Fifth Piano Sonata and the Pome de lextase for the first time.20 In fact, Feinbergs early sonatas reflect the style of these middle-period works of Scriabin. Here, the prevailing stylistic feature in composition that seems to interconnect Feinberg and Scriabin as well as most other Russian composers of this period is an enduring Romanticism. This is not

18 19

Victor Belyayev, Samuel Feinberg, The Sackbut 5 (1924-5): 326-29; 327. Victor Belyayev, Russia: Present Tendencies, The Sackbut 6 (1925-6): 46-49; 48-49. 20 Belyayev, Feinberg, 326.

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to say, though, that Russia was lagging behind the trends in Western Europe, according to a 1927 study by Sabaneyev. Here, he writes: Formalism and estheticism, which desire to create the fashionable taste of the epoch, are in reality observed chiefly in certain German and French composers, and there only. As regards Russia, it is beyond doubt that the eradication of Romanticism in music is well-nigh impossible. . . In the realm of art, whatever survives is right.21 As a composer, Feinberg continued on the path of Scriabin; yet, his works proved to be so extremely challenging both in their technical and expressive demands that in spite of their attractiveness they were not immediately accessible to other performers. Feinberg was also according to Sabaneyev a typically Russian composer in that he loathed selfadvertising.22 Still, in a writing style no less elevated than that of Victor Belyayev, Sabaneyev claims that Feinberg is one of the great possessed, an integral and original type, who stands out like a peak in contemporary Russian music. Finally, it should be noted that along with his piano studies with Goldenweiser, Feinberg also pursued composition at the Moscow Conservatory with a close friend of Scriabin, the pianist and composer Nikolai Zhilyayev (1881-1938). It is most likely that through these contacts Feinberg as a young man had the opportunity to perform for Scriabin, about which Sabaneyev writes in his memoirs. Following his six-year sojourn in Western Europe primarily in Switzerland Scriabin returned to Russia in 1910 as an internationally renowned composer. It was
21

Sabaneyev, Modern Russian Composers, 169. Peculiar here is the fact that Sabaneyev devotes another chapter of this book to Nikolai Roslavets (1881-1944), in which he discusses early formalism in the musical arts in Russia. For example, he writes, Roslavets is in his essence an esthetic formalist, an inventor of bizarre tonal designs behind which he does not wish any other substance to be seen, priding himself on his anti-emotionalism and formalism. Ibid., 203. 22 Ibid., 170.

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during this latter period of his life that he cultivated the friendship of the extraordinarily versatile Zhilyayev. Recalling the year 1911, Sabaneyev writes that Zhilyayev was one of the truly sincere admirers of Scriabin and his work.23 Although two years prior, in 1909, Zhilyayev wrote a scathing review of the Moscow premiere of the Pome de lextase. Having stated earlier in his article that A. N. Scriabin possesses an enormous and original gift, he brusquely dismissed the symphonic poem as chaos, . . . a picture of morbid fantasy.24 His candid assessments, though, did not prevent Zhilyayev from developing a respect for Scriabin and a genuine affinity towards his music. As Sabaneyev states, Zhilyayev was a balanced observer and could be honest and very direct when expressing his opinions to Scriabin.25 Like Scriabin, Zhilyayev was a pianist who had also studied composition at the Moscow Conservatory with the venerable professor Sergei Taneyev. And like Scriabin, he too taught for some time at the Conservatory.26 Zhilyayev is also well remembered for his scholarly activities as a musicologist and was a founding member of the Moscow Scriabin Society. During the 1920s, he was an editor at Musgiz, the state publishing house. In 1929, he reconstructed and arranged Scriabins first work intended for orchestra, the Symphonic Allegro in D minor dating from the year 1896 (also known as the Pome symphonique and listed by Universal Edition as WoO 24).27 Zhilyayev was

23 24

Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 123. Zhilyayev, A. N. Skriabin i ego tvorchestvo [A. N. Scriabin and His Creative Work], 1909 concert review from Moscow reprinted in N. S. Zhilyayev. Literaturno-muzykalnoye naslediye [N. S. Zhilyayev. Literary-Musical Legacy] (Moscow: Muzyka, 1984), 114-16. 25 Sabaneyev, Vospominania, 316. 26 Several of Zhilyayevs students became prominent Soviet composers. Besides Samuil Feinberg, noteworthy are Alexei Stanchinsky (1888-1914) and Anatoly Alexandrov (1888-1982), all of whom showed influences of Scriabin in their work. 27 Previously, in 1926, Sabaneyev and Zhilyayev collaborated in preparing a two-hand piano reduction version (pub. 1927 by Bessel Verlag, 1929 by the State Publishing House of the USSR; pub. also in 1929 in

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also actively involved during the 1920s in editing the first official Soviet edition of Scriabins complete works for piano. In summation, Zhilyayevs appreciation of Scriabin and recognition of the latters important role in Russian music history was undoubtedly based on his own varied talents as a pianist, composer, pedagogue, critic, and editor. In turn, this versatility can be traced further back to Zhilyayevs training with another member of the Moscow Conservatory staff, Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov (1859-1935); he too had the opportunity to observe and analyze Scriabins artistic development and rise to celebrity. As a composition professor at the Moscow Conservatory from 1893 and as the director of the institution from 1905 to 1924, Ippolitov-Ivanov was one of the most distinguished figures in the music community in Russia during his lifetime. A former pupil of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, he later belonged to the conservative wing of musicians at the Moscow Conservatory. His grace, prudence, and diplomacy were notable traits of his character; these surely served him well in weathering the post-Revolutionary era and maneuvering through the new governmental bureaucracy.28 From this standpoint, he evaluated Scriabins artistic creativity and position in Russian music history.

Vienna by Universal Edition as Sinfonische Dichtung fr Orchester d-moll). Later, the Russian-Soviet conductor Alexander Gauk (1893-1963) was the the editor of the revised 1949 Moscow publication of this now well-known orchestral work. The date 1949 is here also significant; it indicates that Soviet authorities under the worst terror circumstances of Zhdanovshchina approved of the continued promotion of Scriabins work. Noteworthy is also the fact that Scriabin had incorporated thematic material from the Pome symphonique into his Third Symphony, Le pome divin. 28 Relevant here is the fact that his father was in the employ of the Imperial Palace in St. Petersburg. Ippolitov-Ivanov interacted closely with Narkompros. From the mid-1920s through the early years of Stalin, he was conductor of the Bolshoi Theater in Moscow.

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In the year before his death, Ippolitov-Ivanov published his memoirs, Fifty Years of Russian Music in my Recollections (1934).29 In this book, he devotes an entire chapter to the phenomenon of Scriabin. Initially, he presents a candid perception of the composer and his music, citing attributes that one finds mentioned elsewhere in various biographies and articles. For example, Ippolitov-Ivanov discusses Scriabins disregard for certain opinions of Conservatory composition professors Sergei Taneyev and Anton Arensky. These teachers reflected the academic conservatism advocated by Ippolitov-Ivanov and which Scriabin repudiated.30 Elsewhere, Ippolitov-Ivanov finds that a highly-charged emotional element is present in all the work of Scriabin; and that the composer himself is the embodiment of this strong emotion through his restless forward ambitions.31 According to Ippolitov-Ivanov, it was above all this forward-driving aspect of Scriabins creativity that had such an immense impact on the younger generation of Russian composers. He writes, Upon the death of Scriabin, his name became a downright symbol for the forward momentum of the youth: By all means forward; and only forward! 32 As a conservative reared in the music traditions of the nineteenth century, IppolitovIvanov cautions against the dangers of innovation as advocated in the saying above. He states: Slogans of this kind, however, are not a driving force for art, but rather a restraint. Progress in art is always based on the unshakable laws of continuity, such that it [art] retains its universal intelligibility for everyone. If its intelligibility is lost just one single time, this
29

Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov, 50 Let russkoi muzyki v moikh vospominaniyakh [50 Years of Russian Music in my Recollections] (Moscow: State Music Publishers, 1934), 114-16; German trans.: Meine Erinnerungen an 50 Jahre russischer Musik [My Recollections of 50 Years of Russian Music] (Berlin: Verlag Ernst Kuhn, 1993), 189-91. 30 Ibid., 189. 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid., 191.

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signifies the end of its impact and hence a dead-end for its further development. For this reason, the musical works of innovators are of general interest always only within certain boundaries those in which they are intelligible for everyone. The decision to what extent such works will have lasting endurance is an issue of time itself the final judge of men and creations.33 Reading between the lines, Ippolitov-Ivanov on the one hand appears to be providing a plausible explanation for the enduring impact of Scriabin; on the other hand, he appears to be appeasing a state whose cultural ideology viewed it increasingly necessary to make art and music accessible and comprehensible to all people of the new classless Soviet society.34 For the most part, Ippolitov-Ivanov was opposed to the proletarianization of art, but advocated a national music based on folksong.35 In this sense, he could not identify himself as a composer with the later-period works of Scriabin; he nevertheless acknowledged the latter as a great musical genius and pioneer in the continuing development of Russian music. It should be noted here that a common feature exists among the state-sponsored music for the proletariat, Ippolitov-Ivanovs conservative promotion of national folk-music, and Scriabins last compositions founded on singlechord harmony. One perceives a continual search for unification of mankind among these diverse aesthetic directions. The reasons for this phenomenon are historically linked to

Ibid. State cultural ideology was already an issue addressed by Ippolitov-Ivanov in an earlier article, Muzyka dlya vsekh [Music for Everyone] in the monthly proletarian journal Zemlya i fabrika [Earth and factory] (Moscow: 1928). 35 See Dorothea Redepenning, Ippolitow-Ivanow ein Konservativer zwischen Tradition und Anpassung in Ippolitov-Ivanov, Meine Erinnerungen an 50 Jahre russischer Musik (Berlin: Verlag Ernst Kuhn, 1993), 13-34. Here, Redepenning quotes Ippolitov-Ivanov who says, The masses are demanding not short, wornout phrases and trendy outcries, but rather the broad melodies that inform the essence of folk-music. Ibid., 32. Regarding Ippolitov-Ivanovs own vocal compositions, Leonid Sabaneyev attacks the formers nave conservativism and writes in his customarily disparaging tone, He remains ever faithful to his inexacting but melodious style which is within the grasp of wide circles of the public. See Sabaneyev, Modern Russian Composers, 220.
34

33

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the Russian psyche; the yearning for spiritual community Sobornost and the moral sense of mission to attain this goal are inherent in all these trends. The desire to reconcile inflexible conservative and liberal progressive tendencies became a defining characteristic of the music community during the 1920s in Russia. Also, the political turmoil created new circumstances that some artists welcomed while others loathed them. Working under the new conditions was in any case difficult for most artists and musicians. The musicologist Andrei Rimsky-Korsakov, son of the composer, gives a frank assessment of the situation in an article written in 1924. Without referring to the government division by name, his comments appear to be a nearly direct assault on the organization of Narkompros under the leadership of Lunacharsky. In his evaluation, Andrei Rimsky-Korsakov states: The years of the great Revolution have had such a disastrous effect on the musical culture in Russia . . . The position of most Russian composers of today is most deplorable . . . The tendency to popularize music and to render it accessible to all classes of the people . . . . had no definite plan, no reliable personality to carry this through, and again, the shortage of money hampered these originally well-meant aspirations, and made them degenerate very soon. Fortunately, this period of enforced enlightenment is over now, and we are beginning to carry through the above-mentioned aspirations more carefully, with more feeling of responsibility, special attention being attributed to questions of musical education, and the part music is to have at the schools, boarding houses and numerous educational institutions for children.36 Between the time of Scriabins death and the October Revolution, Andrei RimskyKorsakov was the editor of the magazine Muzykalniy sovremennik (Musical Contemporary) in St. Petersburg. To honor the first anniversary of Scriabins death, he

36

Andrei Rimsky-Korsakov, Comments on Contemporary Musical Life in Soviet-Russia, The Sackbut 5 (London: 1924-5): 83-85.

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compiled an issue dedicated to the composer; it included contributions of biographical and aesthetic content by noted Scriabin scholars Sabaneyev, Schloezer, and Engel among others. As a critic, Andrei Rimsky-Korsakov had been an enthusiastic supporter of Scriabin and modern music in general.37 His periodical then folded in the wake of the Revolution and subsequent government take-over of cultural and journalistic institutions. Andrei Rimsky-Korsakov was compelled to take a position as an archivist at the same Leningrad Public Library where Stasov had worked earlier. It is possible that his personal fate played a role here in presenting such a bleak portrait of the cultural situation in postRevolutionary Russia. On the whole, however, modernism among the artists and musicians was receiving support from the government because it was particularly that cultural group in society that connected with the radical utopian ideology of communism; the modern artists welcomed the new situation as long as a certain level of autonomy could be preserved for themselves.38 Other notable scholars of music offered a positive interpretation of the postRevolutionary cultural situation. Among these was the musicologist Yevgeny Braudo (1882-1939). According to biographical information supplied by the periodical Modern Music, Braudo was also a prominent Russian art critic and lecturer on aesthetics at Moscow University.39 In an article published in 1925, Braudo emphasizes the enormous strides in theory and research that Russian musicology ostensibly has made just since the

37

Among other music modernists, Andrei Rimsky-Korsakov was also a friend of Stravinsky; he was also the dedicatee of the composers Firebird. 38 See Sheila Fitzpatrick, The Commissariat of Enlightenment (London: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 120. 39 Modern Music (January-February, 1933): front matter; no page number.

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October Revolution.40 He proudly advertises here his recently published two-volume General History of Music.41 A champion of modernism in music, he was especially devoted to the music of Roslavets and Scriabin. An equal interest in music and painting drew him especially to Scriabins preoccupation with the correlations between tones and colors.42 Braudo reports that among the most recent projects during the mid-1920s was the decipherment and analysis of the available sound recordings of Scriabin; the goal of the research was to advance the understanding of performance practice and to understand what the composers specific intentions were regarding the interpretation of his works. Braudo also announces that the correspondence of several Russian composers, including Scriabin, had recently been published in cooperation with the Petersburg Philharmonic.43 In general, Braudo finds that music research and education has improved significantly at all levels and views this as a positive indication of future developments. In agreement with the above prognosis is the internationally renowned Russian musicologist Victor Belyayev (1888-1968). He dismisses the notion of a lasting negative impact of the Revolution on Russian musical life as unfounded and presumptuous. Primarily active in the field of ethnomusicology, Belyayev conducted research in other areas of music as well. From 1908 to 1914 he studied composition with Glazunov and Lyadov at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, where he too later became a professor of music theory. From 1922 he was in Moscow interacting with government agencies and
Yevgeny Braudo, Musikwissenschaft und Musikbildung in Sowjet-Russland, Melos 4, no. 9 (April 1, 1925): 438-45. 41 Braudo, Vseobshchaya istoriya muzyki [General History of Music] in two volumes (Leningrad: State Publishing House, 1922 and 1925). 42 See Marina Lobanova, Mystiker, Magier, Theosoph, Theurg. Alexander Skrjabin und seine Zeit (Hamburg: von Bockel Verlag, 2004), 259-60. 43 Braudo, Musikwissenschaft, 443. The author is referring to Perepiska A. N. Skriabina i M. P. Belyayeva. 1894 1903 [Correspondence between A. N. Scriabin and M. P. Belyayev] (Petrograd: State Academic Philharmoniya, 1922).
40

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holding various positions in music; there, for example, he became a founding member of the Association for Contemporary Music (ACM). Belyayev was also a prolific writer and throughout his life contributed articles to many of the most prestigious international periodicals on music. For these he wrote mainly about contemporary music and composers in the Soviet Union.44 On one occasion, he submitted an article (discussed below) characterizing the enduring impact of Scriabin on the new generation of RussianSoviet composers. In March, 1925, the Austrian music periodical Musikbltter des Anbruch released a special issue devoted entirely to aspects of musical life in Russia. Belyayev contributed four articles to this edition, one of which was titled Skrjabin und die moderne russische Musik.45 This article contains some of the points expressed by Belyayev already in his 1923 article Skriabin i budushcheye russkoy muziki [Scriabin and the Future of Russian Music]. In the Anbruch article, though, he presents them in a somewhat condensed form and directs them towards a foreign German-speaking audience. In the Russian version, Belyayev explains in more detail the evolution of harmony leading up to Scriabin. In the German article, Belyayev appears more concerned about convincing his readership of the overwhelming significance of Scriabin for the future of Russian music and that of the entire world. In spite of an imposed isolation from the rest of the world since the Revolution, Russian musical life has continued to flourish; it has done so to a great extent due to the innovative paths laid down by Scriabin, according to Belyayev.46

44 45

Barbara Krader, Viktor Mikhailovich Beliaev, Ethnomusicology 12, no. 1 (January 1968): 86-100. Belyayev, Skrjabin und die moderne russische Musik, Musikbltter des Anbruch (March, 1925):13843. 46 In another article of the same 1925 issue of Anbruch, Die Moskauer Vereinigung fr moderne Musik, Belyayev places the blame for this cultural and political isolation of Russia clearly with the Western

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Belyayev devotes the opening paragraphs of his Scriabin article to an acknowledgment of the historical achievements of Western Europe in the area of music theory and composition. Specifically, he praises the harmonic developments manifested in the works of Scarlatti, Beethoven, and Wagner. Belyayev then proceeds to make a case for modern Russia, which in his opinion is now assuming the leading role in the world as far as music theory and composition are concerned. For example, he credits the German theorist Hugo Riemann (1849-1919) with having developed insights into tonal functions; he then asserts that Riemanns method was inadequate and recently surpassed by the more clearly defined results produced of the Russian theorist Boleslav Yavorsky.47 Belyayev perceives Scriabin to be the greatest composer of the world since Wagner.48 He states: After Wagner, Scriabin was the first who climbed upwards on the ladder of harmonic language. His progress was daring and determined by history. Scriabin, an absolute genius, placed Russian music through his discoveries at least in relation to the development of musical language on the same level with the Germans, who up until then undoubtedly held the dominant role. This condition appears to be the decisive factor regarding the evaluation of Scriabins influence on modern Russian music and the appraisal of him in general.49 According to Belyayev, the fact that Scriabin was a genius prevented the composer from having established a school. For Belyayev, true genius cannot be imitated.50 He states,
European countries that have been less than well-disposed in their attitude towards the new domestic situation in Russia since the October Revolution. Ibid., 129. 47 Ibid., 139. Belyayev does not explain his position. He states, Unfortunately, I cannot elaborate on this in detail here. Ibid. For detailed information on Boleslav Yavorskys music theories, see Gordon McQuere, Russian Theoretical Thought in Music (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1983). 48 Belyayev skirts past the developments of Igor Stravinsky and Arnold Schoenberg in this context. He states, I will need to bypass these for the time being, because they do not fall within the scope of my topic here. Ibid., 141. 49 Ibid., 140.

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Geniuses have no epigones and cannot have them. He explains further that the actual influence exerted by Scriabin on his contemporaries and subsequent generation has been indirect in its nature. In this context, Belyayev relates an amusing anecdote by his earlier composition professor at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. Alexander Glazunov (18651936), a member of the Romantic conservative New Russian School, ostensibly told Belyayev that he [Glazunov] had inserted the Scriabin [mystic] chord into his work in such a way that no one could ever recognize it. 51 Among other Romantic composers whose exemplary works Belyayev mentions are Lyadov (Grimace, op. 64 and other later works) and Rachmaninov (the last Romances, op. 38). Belyayev explains further that literally none of the recent composers in Russia whether prominent or lesser known has managed to elude the almighty impact of Scriabins style. He lists their names and cites the specific works where the influence is most apparent. In his opinion, the stylistic development in both Stravinsky and Prokofiev would be unimaginable without the force of Scriabin. In the case of Stravinsky, Belyayev clarifies that this influence now appears considerably reprocessed and is no longer as unadulterated as it was previously.52 In the music of Prokofiev, Belyayev identifies an amalgamation of styles in which Scriabin coexists prominently alongside of Mussorgsky and Rimsky-Korsakov. He cites the opera The Love for Three Oranges as an example. Belyayev also names Nikolai Myaskovsky (1881-1950), a composer who in his opinion has emancipated himself from the influence of Scriabin; however, upon closer scrutiny for example in the Seventh Symphony one can hear concealed points of contact
50

Belyayevs colleagues Vyacheslav Karatygin (1875-1925) and Boris Asafyev (1884-1949) already had expressed similar opinions about Scriabin in 1914 and 1918 respectively. See above. 51 Op. cit., 141. 52 Ibid., 142.

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between the two artists.53 Among composers affected by Scriabin but lesser known outside of Russia, Belyayev writes about Vladimir Kryukov (1902-1960).54 In his opera The King on the Square (based on the play by the Russian Symbolist poet Alexander Blok), Belyayev identifies Scriabins refinement with Wagners thematic treatment.55 Further, a composer about whom Belyayev often has written is Samuil Feinberg (discussed above). The author emphasizes here that Feinberg is assimilating and developing further the stylistic achievements of Scriabin. Consequently, he stands in the best sense under the influence of Scriabin.56 Belyayev cites the above examples as proof that Scriabin has left an indelible mark on Russian musical culture. He interprets the Scriabin phenomenon as an organic development that will endure unabated. The composers influence will continue to thrive as though planted on new and virgin soil.57 According to Belyayev, Scriabin was part of the musical progress in Russia and now has become synonymous with this progress. Belyayev draws attention to the fact that the majority of Russias talented artists had by no means departed from their country. Uninformed writers abroad, according to him, have propagated a false impression of the domestic cultural landscape of Russia since the Revolution. Belyayev writes, The reports in the foreign press about the musical activity [in Russia] are incomplete, inexact, and sometimes even fantastical and in no way contribute to a correct representation [of the facts]. Furthermore, the famous Russian composers active in [Western] Europe are diverting attention from the situation at

53 54

Ibid. Not the former KGB chief of similar name and spelling. 55 Op. cit., 143. 56 Ibid., 142. 57 Ibid., 143.

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home.58 This is a significant observation in that the musicians in the areas of performance and scholarship who remained in Russia were able to and did indeed contribute to stabilizing the legacy of Scriabin. Many performing musicians remaining in Russia had known Scriabin personally and premiered the composers works. Among these contemporaries, for example, was the conductor Felix Blumenfeld (1863-1931) who led the Russian premiere of Symphony No. 3, Le pome divin (St. Petersburg, February 23, 1906). Several letters provide evidence that Scriabin held him in the highest esteem. Following the Petersburg performance mentioned above, which Scriabin could not attend, the composer wrote from Geneva, Switzerland to Blumenfeld, Please accept my sincere and deep gratitude for the excellent performance of my symphony about which I have read in several newspapers and letters from friends. You accomplished a miracle having performed it after merely two rehearsals an almost incredible feat!59 The two men remained on good terms to the end of Scriabins life. Following the Revolution, Blumenfeld continued to conduct, contributing to the establishment of a Scriabin tradition in addition to his teaching duties as professor at the Kiev Conservatory (1918-22) and Moscow Conservatory (1922-31). Following in this Scriabin tradition were the notable conductors Nikolai Golovanov (1891-1953) and Alexander Gauk (1893-1963).60

58 59

Belyayev, Musikschaffen in Russland, Musikbltter des Anbruch (June-July, 1923): 118. Scriabin, Letter to F. M. Blumenfeld dated Geneva, March 15 [28], 1906; in A. Kashperov, ed., Pisma Skriabina [Letters of Scriabin] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Muzyka, 1965), 416-17. 60 Nikolai Golovanov, director of the Moscow Radio Orchestra (1937-53) and Bolshoi Theater (1948-53), is remembered through his recordings of the complete Scriabin Symphonies and Piano Concerto with the acclaimed pianist and pedagogue Heinrich Neuhaus (1888-1964). Alexander Gauk was Golovanovs successor at the Moscow Radio Orchestra and recorded the Scriabin Piano Concerto with Samuil Feinberg. He also edited in 1949 a new publication of Scriabins early Symphonic Poem in D Minor (1896-99).

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Pianists closely associated with Scriabin during his lifetime and whose playing the composer revered continued performing and teaching his music. Especially noteworthy are three pianists who were among the co-founders in 1909 of the first society promoting the music and ideas of the composer, the so-called Scriabin Circle: Maria Nemenova-Lunz (1879-1954), student of Scriabin at the Moscow Conservatory and later professor there; Yelena Bekman-Shcherbina (1882-1951), later professor at the Moscow Conservatory; and Mark Meychik (1880-1950), famous for having given the premiere of Scriabins Piano Sonata No. 5 (Moscow, November 18, 1908). Subsequently, they were members of the Moscow Scriabin Society which established itself immediately following the death of the composer.61 During commemorative years, the three pianists wrote short memoirs about their encounters with Scriabin.62 These were among the many testimonies that performers and research scholars continued to write about the composer. Although Scriabins two internationally famous biographers, Schloezer and Sabaneyev, followed the path of emigration, 1920 and 1926 respectively, many other writers remained. The eminent critics and editors Nikolai Findeisen (1868-1928) and Vladimir Derzhanovsky (1881-1942), who had interacted with Scriabin during his lifetime, continued to promote interest in the composers music after 1915. Findeisen, founding editor-in-chief of the Russian Musical Gazette (St. Petersburg, 1894-1918),

Nemenova-Lunz and Bekman-Shcherbina held advisory positions. See D. G. Pershin, ed., Aleksandr Nikolayevich i ego muzey [Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin and his Museum] (Moscow: Izdaniye Mono, 1930), 38. 62 Nemenova-Lunz, (tenth anniversary of Scriabins death) in the journal Iskusstvo Trudyashchimsya [Art for the Workers] (1922): 3-4; Meychik, (twentieth anniversary) Skriabin. Ocherk zhizni i tvorchestvo [Scriabin. An Essay on his Life and Work] (Moscow: Muzgiz, 1935); Bekman-Shcherbina, (twenty-fifth anniversary) Aleksandr Nikolayevich Skriabin. Sbornik k 25-letiyu so dnya smerty [Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin. A Collection of Articles on the 25th Anniversary of his Death] (Moscow: State Music Publishers, 1940), 62-64.

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published two special issues in 1915 containing autobiographical notes of Scriabin.63 Derzhanovsky was among the original members of the Scriabin Circle and in 1909 had helped to establish the Evenings of Contemporary Music.64 Additionally, he was the founding editor-in-chief of Muzyka (Moscow, 1910-16) to which Sabaneyev contributed numerous articles on Scriabin. It was this periodical that produced the most significant collection of memorial writings following the composers death.65 Further, the notable music critic from this period Vyacheslav Karatygin (1875-1925), who initially had written skeptically about Scriabin, came to be one of his greatest admirers towards the end of the composers life. By 1915 he had drawn the following comparison between Scriabin, Stravinsky, and Prokofiev: Which of the Russian composer-innovators mentioned should be assigned first place? Which of them is the dominant musical influence over the young generation of Russian composers? Scriabin, of course! His exceptional natural creative gift borders on genius and he usually comes before us as a composer and an artist of the utmost sincerity, profundity and uncommon originality of harmonic thought.66

Russian Musical Gazette 17-18 (1915): 327-; Scriabin had corresponded earlier with Findeisen in December, 1907 from Lausanne, Switzerland. In the two letters, he had supplied autobiographical information to date along with a photograph and brief notes to a few of his musical compositions. Perhaps most important, though, is Scriabins explanation for his sojourn in Western Europe: I preferred to move abroad because life in Russia, and particularly Moscow, was not conducive to the fulfillment of my task with our [Russian] inability to adjust to the times and to develop the necessary discipline. See Kashperov, Letters, 486-87, 492-93. 64 Based on the successful model established in St. Petersburg (1901-12), the Moscow society also sought to introduce recent music by Western European composers Debussy, Ravel, Strauss, and Schoenberg, among others as well as Russian composers, notably Stravinsky, to the local audiences. Derzhanovsky and co-founder Konstantin Saradzhev (conductor and member of the first Scriabin Circle, 1877-1954) were both champions of Scriabins music. It is quite possible that one heard the latters music at the Moscow Evenings, although documentation is not readily available to confirm this. 65 Muzyka, Nos. 220 and 221 (1915). Among the authors are Leonid Sabaneyev, Boris Asafyev, Yevgeny Gunst, Vyacheslav Ivanov, and Boheslav Yavorsky. 66 Vyacheslav Karatygin, Noveshchiya teshcheniya v russkoy muzyke [The Most Recent Trends in Russian Music], Severnye Zapiski [Northern Notes] 4, no. 2 (1915): 99-109; repr. and trans. in Stuart Campbell, ed. and trans., Russians on Russian Music, 1880-1917. An Anthology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 224-33; 225.

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Immediately following the death of Scriabin, Karatygin composed a monograph on him, outlining his creative path and praising the composer as the most interesting figure in the history of Russian music.67 Russian Music has known no other name that calls forth greater passion and intense interest than the name of Scriabin!68 The enthusiastic support that Scriabins music continued to draw from the majority of professional musicians and critics in Russia as well as from the general public increased during the 1920s to a level against which no opposition could prevail. His music spoke to a people whose social aspirations and futurist intentions were grounded in a long tradition of searching for spiritual unity and equality among men. Most Russian composers of the younger generation shared this tradition and viewed Scriabin as a genius worth emulating. Through his music, they could connect with the past and at the same time look forward into the future. Even those who initially out of a competitive spirit Stravinsky or out of a justifiable fear Shostakovich had spoken derogatorily about Scriabin later revised their opinions and conceded his importance for the further development of Russian music.69 Nor did the unstable political situation at the time prevent this evolution. On the contrary, official policy welcomed progressive tendencies in the arts, and music in particular. Under the prevailing conditions in Russia during the 1920s, Scriabins music not only became less controversial, but strengthened its position as an integral part of Russian-Soviet culture.

Karatygin, Skriabin. Ocherk [Scriabin. An Essay] (St. Petersburg: Izdaniya N. Y. Butkovskoy, 1915). Ibid. 69 Richard Taruskin explains that Stravinskys antipathy towards Scriabin had come from a feeling of inferiority. This was based on the fact that he had not received recognition in his native Russia comparable to that Scriabin had enjoyed. The frustration finally subsided when he [Stravinsky] belatedly experienced a Russian triumph of his own in 1962. Taruskin, Stravinsky and the Russian Traditions, vol. 1 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 799.
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Indeed, although proletarianization under Soviet rule affected musical culture, it did not have a negative impact on the interest in or appreciation of Scriabins music. A case in point is the article Nuzhen li nam Skriabin? [Do we need Scriabin?], by the anti-modernist Soviet music critic Nikolai Malkov (1882-1942, pseudonym: Islamey) that appeared in 1930 in the proletarian cultural journal Rabochiy i teatr [Workers and Art] (1924-1937).70 In his commentary, Malkov decidedly rejects Scriabins interest in mysticism and the theosophical teachings of Helene Blavatsky, but praises his music for its social aspects and association with the revolutionary cause of the Soviet people. Elsewhere, during the course of its existence, the official music journal of the Soviet Union, Sovyetskaya Muzyka (1933-1991), published approximately seventy articles concerning Scriabins music and his position in Soviet culture; more than twenty of these appeared during the Stalinist era. This situation was unique to Russia and presents a stark contrast to the waning interest in Scriabin during the same period in Western Europe. In an article appearing 1932 in the English music periodical The Chesterian, Terence White observes, The taste of the musical world is the most treacherous of all passing charms, and Scriabin, whose art excited once its critical interest, is now, by artist and layman alike, almost entirely neglected.71 As demonstrated above, this was definitely not the case in Russia. There, the musical establishment had nearly canonized Scriabin; at least to the degree that as a national cultural hero he had become unimpeachable.

Nikolai Malkov (1882-1942) not to be confused with the Russian conductor and Scriabin enthusiast Nikolai Malko (1883-1961) had been the senior music critic of the Narkompros journal Zhizn Iskusstva [Art Life] (1918-1929). During the 1920s, he was a major opponent of the progressive, open-minded Soviet musicologist Boris Asafyev. Malkov died of starvation in the siege of Leningrad during WW II. 71 Terence White, Alexander Scriabin, The Chesterian 13, no. 104 (July, 1932): 213-17.

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The now solid and transparent support of Scriabin in Russia was nowhere more manifest than in the composer community. This demonstrated itself overtly during the period of cultural oppression led by Andrei Zhdanov (1896-1948) and known as Zhdanovshchina (1946-53). In his book Musical Uproar in Moscow (1949), Alexander Worth describes how the leading members of the Composers Union repelled an attempted assault on the legacy of Scriabin. During 1948, Soviet cultural policy under Josef Stalin (1878-1953) and Andrey Zhdanov intensified its attack on the modernist socalled formalism of leading Soviet composers. The reputation of Scriabin, the modernist national hero who was no longer alive, had remained for the most part unscathed during this repressive campaign. Still, in his report of the events of 1948, Worth relates the following episode: If ever there was a composer who suffered from all the vices which Zhdanov attributed to Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Khachaturian, and Miaskovsky, it was surely Skriabin . . . But no! Skriabin was sacrosanct a classic . . . But when somebody called Steinpress very reasonably pointed out in an article in Soviet Literature, at the height of the controversy, that if ever there was a degenerate formalist of the worst sort, it was Skriabin and that Soviet listeners should be saved from the degrading experience of having to listen to him, the low-brow pundits of the Composers Union rose like one man to the defense of Skriabin, and publicly called the ludicrously consistent and over-zealous Mr. Steinpress an ass.72 This act of solidarity on the part of the most eminent contemporaneous composers of the Soviet Union further solidified Scriabins inviolable position as the leading figure in modern Russian music history.

72

Alexander Worth, Musical Uproar in Moscow (London: Turnstile Press, 1949), 32.

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The Soviet states growing positive attitude towards Scriabin manifested itself in remarkable fashion again after the period of Stalins repression. In 1961, the government permitted the choice of the composers symphonic work Pome de lextase to accompany the first manned space flight. The state authorities viewed it appropriate to pair the achievements of the cultural hero Scriabin with those of the cosmonaut hero Yuri Gagarin (1934-1968). The state radio broadcast the music of Scriabin during the onehour-and-forty-eight-minute flight and according to official sources even transmitted the music into the orbiting spacecraft.73 By 1972 the centennial year of the composers birth Scriabins music was experiencing a world-wide renaissance.74 It was, however, in Russia, and in particular in Moscow the composers hometown that the celebrations were most significant. There, the 1971-1972 concert season was dedicated to the music of Scriabin. On January 6, 1972, a gala evening commemorating the composers one-hundredth birthday (Gregorian calendar) was held in The Great Hall of the Moscow Conservatory. Among those in attendance were the countrys most prominent musical artists. Dmitri Shostakovich, who decades earlier in a conformist mode had branded Scriabin our bitterest musical enemy,75 was chairman of the events organizing committee. Now nearing the end of his

73

Harlow Robinson, Music, in Nicholas Rzhevsky, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Modern Russian Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 236-63; 257. 74 See Martin Cooper, Aleksandr Skryabin and the Russian Renaissance, Studi Musicali 1, no. 2 (1972): 327-56; E. Rubbra, The Resurgence of Scriabin, The Listener 83, no. 26 (1970): 289; Gsta Neuwirth, Zur Alexander-Skrjabin-Renaissance, sterreichische Musikzeitschrift 33, no. 9 (1978): 421-35. 75 Quoted in Rose Lee, Dmitri Szostakovitch. Young Russian Composer Tells of Linking Politics with Creative Work, New York Times (December 20, 1931): X8. Today, a clinical analyst might identify Shostakovichs statements as a symptom of Stockholm Syndrome in which the victim identifies with his tormentors in this case, the Stalinist regime.

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own life, Shostakovich had prepared the opening speech for the celebratory occasion.76 In the address, he made the following remarks indicating a complete reversal of his earlier statements: Scriabin is close to us today not only as a herald of the purifying revolutionary storm but also as a musical innovator who strove to open up new sources of musical expression, new ways of influencing the audience. And he succeeded in creating an exceptionally original musical language, a unique world of sound images. His contemporaries were shaken by the boldness of his harmonies, the whimsicality of his rhythms, the beauty of his melodies, imbued now with enchanting lyricism, now with vibrant strength. But today, after several decades, we clearly see that his innovation was deeply rooted in tradition, in the best sense of the word, in the achievements of the great classics of Russian and world music. That is why we realize now what a deep trace Scriabins quests and discoveries have left, what an influence he had even on those composers whose development took a very different course. We are grateful to Scriabin for extending the boundaries of our art by his inexhaustible fantasy and his brilliant talent. We also cherish him for his faith in the transformative power of art, in its ability to ennoble the human soul, to bring harmony to peoples lives. Of course, in the harsh conditions of the early years of his century, his faith remained an unattainable, although radiant, dream. It was the Great Revolution that not only brought freedom to the people but also liberated Art and enabled it to fulfill the glorious mission that was the dream and the passionate belief of the great Russian musician Alexander Scriabin!77 The speech is tainted with political dogma and pandering to the communist regime, but the basic tenor of the writing is clear: Scriabins creativity reflected not only the cultural

76

The composer Rodion Shchedrin (b. 1932) read the address of Shostakovich, who could not attend because of illness. See Rudakova, Scriabin, 131. 77 Excerpt from the original typewritten copy of Shostakovichs speech located in the archives of the Mikhail Glinka State Central Museum of Musical Culture in Moscow. It has been translated and printed in its entirety in Rudakova, Scriabin, 131-34.

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traditions of Russias past; it continued them as part of an organic evolution in music and, not least, its message was consonant with the revolutionary and social mindset of the contemporaneous situation in the Soviet Union. In Scriabins music resonated the century-old cultural values of a society and simultaneously its aspirations for the future. Above all, the quest for unity in various forms was a fundamental aspect of Russian, and later Soviet, culture. It manifested itself in religion, philosophy, politics, and art. For centuries, sensitivity for the value of cohesiveness in Russian society had contributed to the stability of the country. As explained earlier, the triangular constellation of orthodoxy, autocracy, and nationality became the structural foundation unifying the Russian territories during the Tsarist period. Later, during the nineteenth century, the sense of spiritual unity sobornost found its way into the newly developing area of Russian philosophy and, by extension, further into the artistic sectors of society defining the directions of these respective fields. The idea of human brotherhood a concept that has contributed significantly to the enormous appreciation of Beethoven among all Russians became a cultural standard in Russian intellectual circles. This explains to a certain degree the penetration of Russian philosophical ideas dealing with unity into the musical creativity of Scriabin. Scriabins music was Russian in its core, expressing the will and soul of a nation. Leading Russian figures in the most diverse fields religion, philosophy, science, art, literature, music, and politics realized the national and universal significance of this phenomenal composer. Indeed, they contributed toward establishing his legacy as a national cultural hero through numerous testimonies in speech and writing and actively promoting his music in concert performances. And yet, as demonstrated earlier, the 246

ambiguous nature of Scriabins music rendered it susceptible to very diverse interpretations. This was perhaps most apparent in the diverging views of the composers two most notable biographers, Leonid Sabaneyev and Boris de Schloezer. Ironically, as explained earlier, another Scriabin proponent, the pianist and pedagogue Heinrich Neuhaus, dismissed both of these men as damaging figures in the history of Scriabin scholarship: Such mystics and obscurantists as L. Sabaneyev and B. F. Schloezer have done enormous damage to Scriabin.78 This indicates how even the most informed individuals could be at odds in their perceptions of the composer. This played out well over time in the preservation of Scriabins legacy as one of the greatest of all Russian composers. In the speech he prepared for the Scriabin Centennial, Dmitri Shostakovich addresses this very issue. He writes, It seems to me extremely appropriate to apply to Scriabin, to his contradictory and complicated character, the famous lines of his contemporary, Alexander Blok: Forgive his gloom, his desolation, For that is not his hidden might. He is a child of good and light, He is the joy of liberation!79

78

Heinrich Neuhaus, Zametki o Skriabina (k 40-letiyu so dnya smerty) [Notes on Scriabin (on the 40th anniversary of his death)] in Heinrich Neuhaus, Razmysleniya, vospominania, dnevniki. Pisma k roditelyam [Thoughts, Memoirs, Diaries. Letters to my Parents] (Moscow: State Publishers, 1983). 204-8; rep. Marina Lobanova, Mystiker, Magier, Theosoph, Theurg. Alexander Skrjabin unde seine Zeit (Hamburg: von Bockel Verlag, 2004), 15. 79 Quoted in Rudakova, 134.

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Louri, Arthur. An Inquiry into Melody. Modern Music 7 (December 1929January 1930): 3-11. _______. At the Crossroads: Culture and Music (1921). Translated by Karla Hielscher. In Musik-Konzepte 32-33, 123-26. Munich: Edition Text + Kritik, 1983. _______. Profanation et Sanctification du Temps : Journal Musical, Saint-Ptersbourg Paris New York, 19101960. Paris: Descle de Brouwer, 1966. _______. Sergei Koussevitzky and His Epoch. New York: Alfred Knopf, 1931. _______. Scriabin and Russian Music (1921). Translated by D. L. Wetzel. Journal of the Scriabin Society of America 10, no. 1 (winter 2005-06): 57-64. _______. The De-Humanization of Music. Ramparts (January 1965): 39. _______. The Russian School. Musical Quarterly 18, no. 4 (October 1932): 519-29. Lunacharsky, Anatoly. Muzyka i revolutsiya [Music and Revolution] (1926). In A. N. Lunacharskiy: V mire muzyki [A. N. Lunacharsky: In the World of Music], 121-28. Moscow: Sovietskiy Kompozitor, 1971. _______. On Scriabin (1921). Translated by D. L. Wetzel. Journal of the Scriabin Society of America 8, no. 1 (winter 2003-04): 37-43. _______. Revolutionary Silhouettes. Translated from the Russian and edited by Michael Glenny. New York: Hill and Wang, 1967. _______. Taneyev and Scriabin (1925). In A. Lunacharsky: On Literature and Art, 107-25. Moscow: Progress State Publishing House, 1965. Reprint, 1973. _______. The Significance of Scriabin for Our Times (1930). In A. V. Lunacharskiy: V mire muzyki [A. N. Lunacharsky: In the World of Music], 396-401. Moscow: Sovietskiy Kompozitor, 1971. MacDonald, Hugh. Scriabin. London: Oxford University Press, 1978. _______. Words and Music by A. Scriabin. Musical Times 6 (1972): 22-29. MacKay, John. The Analysis of Phrase Structure and Tonal Centering in Early Twentieth-Century Tonalities. Ph.D. Diss., University of California, 1983. Maes, Francis. A History of Russian Music. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002. 259

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Tompakova, O. M. Skryabin v Khudozhestvennom Mirye Moskvy. Konza 19 Nachala 20 Vyeka: Novye Techenya [Scriabin in the Artistic World of Moscow from the End 266

of the 19th to the Beginning of the 20th Century: New Tendencies]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1997. _______. Sobushchiy k svyetu: Aleksandr Skriabin v Anglii [Calling to Light: Alexander Scriabin in England]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1999. Tsenova, Valeria, ed. Underground Music from the Former USSR. Translated by Romela Kohanovskaya. Amsterdam: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1997. Walicki, Andrzej. The Slavophile Controversy: History of a Conservative Utopia in Nineteenth-Century Russian Thought. Trans. Hilda Andrews-Rusiecka. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975. Walsh, Stephen. Stravinsky: A Creative Spring. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1999. Watson, Peter. The Modern Mind. New York: Harper Collins, 2001. West, James. Russian Symbolism: A Study of Vyacheslav Ivanov and the Russian Symbolist Aesthetic. London: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1970. White, Andrew. Stanislavsky and Ramacharaka: The Influence of Yoga and Turn-ofthe-Century Occultism on the System. Theatre Survey 47, no. 1 (May 2006): 73-92. White, Terence. Alexander Scriabin. The Chesterian 13, no. 104 (July 1932): 213-17.

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Zhdanov, Andrei. Essays on Literature, Philosophy, and Music. New York: International Publishers, 1950. Zhilyayev, Nikolai. A. N. Scriabin and his Creative Work (1909). Translated by D. L. Wetzel. Journal of The Scriabin Society of America 11, no. 1 (winter 2006-07): 8287. Zouboff, Peter. Godmanhood as the Main Idea of the Philosophy of Vladimir Solovyov. Poughkeepsie: Harmon Printing House, 1944.

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Appendix A

Prince Sergei Nikolaevich Trubetskoi (18621905) On the Occasion of Scriabins Concert Moscow Courier no. 63 (1902)

Please permit me, a layman in the field of music, to say a few words on the occasion of the upcoming concert of Mr. Scriabin, the young Russian composer. His already large body of work, possessing quite a lot of different, highly outstanding virtues, has still not found appropriate appreciation either among the inveterate connoisseurs of art or among the majority of our audience. In Moscow, there are more than a few so-called Moscow Celebrities in all areas of art, literature and science. Among such celebrities there are some veritable talents who not uncommonly and systematically become corrupted by their admirers and patrons. These are the talents and imaginary geniuses serving the hopes of small circles; they end up being flowers without blossoms. Ultimately, there are simply people who confuse eccentrics with talent. That is how it has always been here in Russia the stifling social atmosphere of narrow-mindedness and ill-bred taste of the patrons who set the tone. There are many other reasons for this not even worth mentioning. One notices among Moscovites genuine talents who are not part of the Moscow Celebrities. This always serves as a sign of the freshness, the originality of talent, its worthiness, and seriousness. Such talent is undoubtedly present in Mr. Scriabin. In spite of his young age, he has been publishing his piano works for many years now. These 269

have revealed from year to year that his musical creativity is maturing and developing. The larger part of his work is written for piano and based on its outstanding value it could spread to broader circles if our public were more open-minded and their tastes not defined by prejudice and routine. The works of Mr. Scriabin distinguish themselves namely in that they do not follow a pattern and are free from all those vain pursuits of outward success. One has to listen carefully in order to understand this peculiar and intimate lyricism with which they are imbued; to appreciate the elegance, richness of harmony, and decorative skill informing the works. Consequently, one can reconcile these qualities with the unusual complexity of some of the works. This complexity is not artificial or affected; it does not serve as a mask for some lack of substance, but is a logical result of musical thought, which endeavors to put into form and express authentic complex material. The originality of Mr. Scriabin is sincere. He has his own definitive artistic physiognomy. His manner and style manifest themselves as individual traits, which through closer scrutiny become more immediately apparent. His works, in spite of their complexity, are entirely sincere; the composer has written them without considering the opinions of any particular group of people and not knowing any other court of judgment than his own artistic conscience. He is not conforming to the demands of the public, but is bringing forward in these compositions his own new and highly demanding set of requirements. In our times, it is heard often that everything truly beautiful must be simple and nice. But, first of all, concepts of simplicity and clarity are quite relative, and in music as everywhere else, the saying is justified: some simplicity is worse than thievery. Second of all, in music as in other areas of art, there exist many wonderful, though highly 270

complex works that are complete in themselves as far as their design and intricacy are concerned. The aspiration to master new complex material and to embody it in a specific artistic form is the inherent desire of every thinking artist. The contemporary symphony, a musical poem, and a musical drama, have an equal right to existence, just as do previous simpler forms, even if the new music still has not said its final word. Even if this modern music has not yet attained the well-balanced completeness the kind that attracts us to classical works it will still reveal to us new, vast areas of harmony, and new possibilities of musical architectonics. The tasks of the contemporary composer, having dared to blaze a new path, are becoming endlessly more complicated. Must one be astonished at that which in the new musical outlook is taking shape? Should one be amazed that in this new musical consciousness not all is clear and serene, that not all fits into the customary formulas, that one bears the imprint of struggle and anxiety? But why could this not be a true echo of the mood experienced by us in this critical age? The music of Scriabin is contemporary to the highest degree. Moreover, it is contemporary in the truly best sense of the word. In spite of this, and maybe partly because of this, so little of it is known and it is insufficiently appreciated particularly in Russia. In the German and French press, earlier than with us, notice was taken of the appearance of this outstanding talent. Here, it was quite insulting to read the absolutely unfavorable reviews by the Petersburg critics that showed the entire incomprehension of the First and especially the Second Symphonies of Scriabin. Perhaps, these reviews could be justified in part by the critics having listened to an extremely unsatisfactory performance. Or perhaps one would have needed more time to understand the extraordinarily complex compositions and to appreciate the splendid sound of both 271

symphonies the amazing richness and succulence of their orchestral colors. However, in Moscow one year ago, the first of them was performed frankly quite outstandingly. All the critics themselves recognized that they seldom had had the occasion to hear a performance more perfect. And that is why then we were able to expect that in Russia this musical work should have been welcomed with a more positive appraisal. It is not our intention to deny some of the shortcomings in the First Symphony of our young composer this dithyramb to art conceived so boldly and on a large scale. Not all parts of it are equal in value, in spite of the wholeness of the general design. Magnificent are the first two movements. The melodic introduction breathing with such an immediate freshness fanned by poetry, it appears to us simple and transparent, despite all the refined and highly sophisticated harmony. Still more powerful is the dramatic dark allegro written in a grand style, far-reaching in its development. It remains clear in spite of the very elaborate working-out; this owes much to the unusual skill of orchestration which strikingly profiles all the lines of the composition. Beautiful are also the following three movements: an elegiac andante, the main charm of which is formed by the richness of harmony and the sensual beauty of the orchestral coloring; a gracious intermezzo; and a second allegro carried away by its somber flight. The last movement concludes the symphony in a solemn hymn of praise to art. No matter how striking it sounds or how well-incorporated it is into the whole of the composition, it nevertheless seems to us less significant and weak in comparison with the foregoing. In the Second Symphony of our composer, between the opening and final movements there also exists a tight organic link; this is conveyed by means of developing the same theme in various keys and throughout the consecutive movements. Thus, it 272

solves the task of unification far more successfully. In general, this symphony represents a significant step forward. We should be thankful to Mr. Scriabin for providing us the possibility once again to hear through particularly the First Symphony, which by the richness of its content could hardly be entirely grasped after the first hearing. Undoubtedly, it will have growing success at each new performance. A similar fate is awaiting the Sonata in F-sharp minor,1 so skillfully performed last year by Mr. Buyukli at one of the quartet gatherings of the Musical Society.2 This sonata, constituting the second major work on the upcoming program of Mr. Scriabin, is among the most powerful and emotional of his compositions. It is a finished lyrical poem, the musical echo of an entire world philosophy. Alongside this sonata, the concert program includes some smaller pieces of Mr. Scriabin, many of which appear to be true pearls of the contemporary piano literature. In addition, the rather small poetic Rverie for orchestra will be performed. From our souls now, let us wish success not necessarily for the music of Mr. Scriabin, which will conquer its rightful place by itself, but rather for the performance! It would be a shame if our concert-going public did not heed this call and missed the opportunity to become better acquainted with our composers works. Let us not wait for his fame abroad to find its way back to us!

1 2

Sonata No. 3 in F-sharp minor, op. 23 in four movements was composed during the years 1897 and 1898. Vsevolod Buyukli (1873-1920), Russian pianist.

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Appendix B

Leonid Sabaneyev (1881-1968)

Liszt and Scriabin Muzyka 45 (Moscow, October 8, 1911)

Liszt is in the true sense of the word the father of Russian music; not a single outstanding musical phenomenon in Russia has escaped his influence. In the wake of Liszts genius, the Russian School was created, following him in principles of appearance, form (symphonic poems, program music) and methods of scoring (orchestration). As for the spirit of the great composer of The Mephisto Waltz, it found its legacy in the music of Scriabin. This spirit was far ahead of its century. Of course, it was not understood then: the demonism of Liszt, his mystical orgiasm, his eternal grandiose pose, which was natural and legitimate to him. Only now, penetrating deep through the crust of the outdated materials, from which he created the structures of his works, we are able to understand what he meant for art. This strange artist-monk, with the soul of a demon, improvised his life as a great artistic epoch, making out of it a work of art. It was the most ingenious work among his compositions and included all of them. Liszt himself was the theater in which he played and lived out the leading role. Scriabins creative work will explain to us those potentials which are hidden in

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the Lisztian mystical orgiasm of the rhapsody Mephisto. From Liszts mood of elevation heard in his sonata and rhapsodies, Scriabins ecstasy is born not as a composition, but as a mood, predominant in Scriabin from a certain time on. Out of the eroticism of the Mephisto Waltz, the refined mood, which fills the last works of out composer, was born. Here it is possible to follow the harmonic genealogy: the lowered sixth step in major, occurring, for example, in the Mephisto Waltz repeats itself in more refined harmonic surroundings in nearly all the melodic themes of Scriabin. This is not an accidental form resemblance, but a proximity of mood, expression itself in the similarity of harmonic structures. The era of Liszts influence on Scriabin begins with the opus numbers in the 30s and coincides exactly with the beginning of the second Period of his creative work. If we take an attentive look at all the composers preceding Scriabin, then we will inevitably stop at Liszt as the closest influence during this era [1903-8]. There is nothing to say about an influence of Chopin here; it came to an end entirely with the first period of Scriabins work and further manifested itself only perhaps in the pianistic style, and even there it was radically transformed by the individuality of the composer. In any case, Chopin as well as Schumann and all other piano composers had neither mysticism, nor orgiasticism, nor eros in their works. These principles appear only in Liszt. But, it is noteworthy that it was precisely by spirit, and not by form or external features that Liszt was an influence on Scriabin. In vain would we look in Liszts works for even the seeds of characteristically Scriabinesque harmonies. Besides the already mentioned lowered sixths, there is not a single outward sign of similarity between these two composers. And, nevertheless, a similarity obviously makes itself felt. 275

It sounds from the first notes of the solemnly rising theme of the Pome tragique, which needs to be played with the pose of that external meaningfulness that is necessary while performing Liszt. One does not need to be insightful to see characteristic similarities between the Mephisto Waltz and the Pome satanique. Eroticism and some vivid, truly satanic insincerity (not in the bad sense in this case, but in the good sense so as it must be) is heard in both works. Mephisto consists of a more primitive, simply constructed material, incomparably more ordinary but their spirit is the same a spirit or orgiastic satanity, the one that already in more primitive forms is embodied in Liszts rhapsodies, and which in Scriabin evolved into the idea of the gigantic dimensions of Prometheus the creative-destructive principles of the universe. This orgiasm of Liszt already bore in itself a mystical embryo again not by chance, but by organic interrelationship of Dionysian principle with the general ideas of mysticism. Liszt was striving for a world synthesis, but he expected the embodiments of his mystical aspirations in Catholicism, in exhausted esoteric rites of a militant religion, where form replaced content, and primitive legend lost its profound link to the world revealed only in symbols. With all his vast intellect and great intuition, he still did not perceive all the minor character [decline], if it can be expressed in this wayk of such a conclusion to his work as a composer. Satan was appeased, Prometheus reconciled with the god of Olympus what a bitter end after a brilliant beginning! Would it not be easier to admit that Liszt was abandoned by the aspiration of his doubtful spirit and that he played out, became tired, and his individuality following already the path of mystical intuition remained at 276

the first stage of mystical achievement that of Catholic ecclesiastical mysticism. In any case, in his musics outward appearance, church ritual prevailed over true mystical sensation, pure Apollonian form over ideas of religious power, and it is necessary to recognize that the culmination of a truer mystique is found more in his Mephisto Waltz, than in the church compositions of the last years. In the same way, the mystical eros of Wagners Tristan is, by comparison, higher than the [also] religious contemplation of Parsifal. This did not happen to Scriabin, for, having also started with orgiasm, he regarded the issue of mysticism more broadly and not in connection with clerical religion. Unlike Liszt, Scriabin did not become a spiritual composer, but was a composer of the spirit; he went down the path of conscious theurgy. Here the difference lies in the consequences. That which put an end to Liszts work ecclesiasticism inspired Scriabin to special exploits. It paralyzed the soaring inspiration of Liszt and was replaced in Scriabin with a profound mysticism, a synthetic religion, which gave to the world the best of his creation and promises to give it an even more grandiose work, unprecedented in its design, exceeding the framework of pure music, pure, art, concurring in its ideas with religion itself the Mysterium, with the writing of which he is presently occupied.

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Appendix C

Arthur Louri (1892-1966)

Alexander Scriabin and Russian Music (Moscow, 1920)

Scriabin was such a significant event in Russian artistic life, that on this fifth anniversary following his death we should allow ourselves a moment to stop and concentrate our social attention on the vertiginous maelstrom of events of our days. For the past five years, from the time of Scriabins death up until now, everything attached to his life and work has belonged to the past. Yet, that period of Russian art connected with the name of Scriabin constitutes the closest pages out of the history of Russian music. Perhaps, not a single figure among the pillars of Russian music has provoked such discordance in opinions and evaluations as Scriabin did during his lifetime. We all remember and understand those years during which bitter discussions took place following the performances of his new works. It was a time when the enthusiasm of friends collided with depressed, shrugged shoulders and the stubborn denial of enemies. All of this is now in the past. Much was written and told about Scriabin, but nearly all of this occurred in a prevailing atmosphere of tension impassioned by the relationship to him of friends and enemies. This nearly always involved the appearance of one or the other of his new works. Now, the cries of his passion have faded and calmed down and the work of Scriabin has become the cultural property of Russian art. In rejecting that 278

which serves as commonplace in relation to his work, perhaps there has emerged to some extent now a possibility to approach his work objectively and to establish criteria of artistic evaluation in terms of musical-historical criticism. I do not intend to give detailed, exhaustive answers to the proposed topic or the role of Scriabin in Russian music; this subject matter is much too complicated and extensive for this format and could take place only in a thorough, separate work. I will attempt, though, to introduce and discuss some basic questions drawn from the given topic and find some solutions in terms of at least an approximate historical evaluation. The history of Russian music does not exist in scholarly thought. It exists only in the individual mind of musicians and in their immediate work. This is a profoundly significant fact. It is impossible to conceive of any significant event in Russian artistic society or in any genre of Russian art, which could stand alone, removed from its links to the past. One can easily trace a single and uninterrupted line in the artistic literature, poetry and paintings irrespective of methods and directions for the writer, the artist, or the poet, and especially the poet. They constitute the infinite link of one and the same chain. In the phenomena of musical work in Russia, though, we run across non-integrated elements that are not connected and exist separately in artistic life. In the fundamentals of Russian musical culture as well as in the critical realization of the Russian musical work, an experience in the establishment of historical continuity as well as common goals and artistic ideals appears to us in two fundamental directions. Indeed, they represent two paths, independent and yet parallel in the history of Russian musical science and culture and in the evolution of musically creative work. These paths were predetermined by the entire course of Russian music in the social life and the 279

creative life beginning with Glinka. Extraordinarily curious is the fact that these two basic directions, these two paths, penetrating very distinctly through all Russian musical life, are situated in opposite relationship, on the one hand, towards the phenomenon of musical science and culture, and on the other hand, towards artistic work. The two paths were founded respectively in two national centers of Russia, in Moscow and St. Petersburg. That which appears to be the true essence of Russian music in its profound, harmonious, and organic link to folk-singing is connected with the Petersburg national school. It began with Glinka and was followed by an entire Pleiad of names: Mussorgsky, Dargominsky, Borodin, Balakirev, Korsakov, Glazunov, and even one belonging to the present, Stravinsky. Parallel to this, Moscow is linked to a row of great Russian masters marked by profound individualism in their work and artistic vision of the world. Not one of them is constrained by the other in any way or by any basic Russian school. These composers are Tchaikovsky, Taneyev, Rachmaninov, Scriabin, and in our time Medtner, who represents his very own curious phenomenon in the background of Russian music. This disconnection had a profound effect on the future of Russian musical life. During his time, Tchaikovsky tried to establish contact with the Balakirev group, but did not succeed. Here, it is not my goal to concentrate on this phenomenon, which appears to be an absolute historical fact. However, an indication of the basic paths in Russian music is essential towards a clarification of that position taken by Scriabin along those paths. He belongs absolutely to the group of Moscow musicians. This connection, of course, is by no means territorial. Here, it does not play any role that Scriabin spent a considerable part of his life in Moscow. Essential is that Scriabin throughout his entire life and activities never sought for himself the establishment of contacts with the basic 280

paths of Russian music. All that was considered ideal in the Russian national school, including those behests which were given by Glinka, remained profoundly alien to him. A folk-like nature was never a part of the artistic fabric in Scriabins works. We know very little about his attitude towards Russian culture in general or towards the Russian public, for his compositions provide us no information regarding that. From the very first conscious steps in his creative work, he was absorbing into himself quite avidly the artistic culture of Western Europe and having taken these achievements as the basis for his art, he placed before himself from the beginning in his monumental tasks immediately those problems common to all mankind and nations. The acute subjectivism of Scriabin is, of course, to a strong degree, located in the dependency on the dominant individualist ideas in the artistic circles of his times. Clearly, it depended on the epoch in which he lived. Although true, that is not the main issue here. The fundamental causes predetermining his artistic world outlook and his entire artistic path arose in consequence of his unconscious break with the Russian national school, which he was not focused on, and subsequently out of his attempts to establish direct connections with the West. Scriabin was the first Russian musician who took as the basis for his work exclusively Western musical culture in its contemporary manifestation. This reflects the novelty of his position as a Russian musician. Indeed, in that structure of artistic continuity, which can be traced in his works, there is not a single indication of Russian musical influence upon him. On the other hand, though, there is apparently the influence of all the later achievements of Romanticism: Chopin, Liszt and Wagner. Into the basic work of Scriabin came all that which

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characterizes the high flourishing of Western European music in the 19th century up until the beginning of Scriabins period in Russia, i.e., the 1880s. Once again a highly significant event took place. While Scriabin, with the unrestrained impulse of an innovator, was striving toward new shores and new paths, and absorbing into himself Western European music, at the same time in the West the opposite was occurring. A new school headed by Debussy was arising a school which not in the distant future was fated to become a school representing the national birthday of French music. Its activity carried with it a decisive reaction against the music of the 19th century, mainly against the hegemony of Wagnerian ideas. Most all the foremost musicians of Western Europe together with Debussy were turning to the East, i.e., to Russia. Thus, at the cost of a break with the paths of Russian music and sacrificing them, Scriabin healed a decaying Western European music by infusing into it the fresh blood of the enormous, spontaneous temperament of a Russian musician. The paths taken by Scriabin, were completely new for Russian music, unknown to its past. But for reasons I mentioned above, on the one side the break with Russian music in the sense of its primordial paths and goals was not understood by him. On the other side, a decided turning point occurred in the most advanced circles of European musicians; they were overcoming the decrepit culture of European music by concentrating on the barbarian freshness of the East, i.e., the immersion mainly into Russian music and its spontaneous emotional directness in song, into the wild variegation of color and elasticity of rhythm. Here are the reasons and causes which created for Scriabin the tragic solitude and predetermined his extreme individualism. 282

The apologia of individualism and subjectivism having reached the extreme outer limits became the basis for the world view of Scriabin from the first moments of his artistic self-awareness and defined completely the whole of his creative path. It was an art appreciated first by an exclusive circle of the initiated and selected few, though by its active, magical influence, should have become accessible to all. At the foundation of his work Scriabin laid down his distinctive aesthetic philosophical system to which he attached enormous significance. He prefaced all his large-scale works the symphonies and several sonatas with essay texts which served as program supplements to the music. In those instances where he did not write particular program texts, he permeated his compositions to such a degree with literary terminology specifying directions for performance that this would always provide a program towards understanding his conceptual design. Now, when we listen to Scriabin, we perceive his work in its purely musical meaning and the attempt to link it to program texts deprives us considerably of that spontaneity of perception and of that influence which is derived from music. In this, the main virtue of Scriabin rests in the fact that he was above all a musician, one who spoke amazingly about his own language of sound. All the programs written by him, though, need not be binding for those who do not wish to accept them. At the same time, his symphonies have lived and will continue to live a striking life. Scriabin in some ways fashioned a circle in the space around himself. All his creative work was found exclusively within his own self. This provides an explanation for all the external passion which boiled up around him in the assessment of his work.

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Breaking away from all that which could possibly connect him with the past, he created his own internally and externally complete world of ideas and form. An original semi-aesthetic and semi-philosophical collection of ideas became the foundation for his work and formed his artistic world outlook. Impulsively making use of these occult semi-philosophical and semi-aesthetic programs, he created astonishing musical works in a process of ecstatic excitement. Now, five years later quite a long period considering the pace of our time we recognize that the artistic value of his work, in the purely musical sense, fortunately does not depend on his literary program premises. And all those indictments, which could have been targeted at Scriabins ideology, hardly concerned his music. Scriabin was and is above all a musician. His world outlook is to a considerable extent a reflection of the trends in some sections of philosophical, literary and artistic circles of his time and which he only condensed and brought to an exclusive persistence and intensity. His work lives on outside the circle of those ideas, which proved to be fatal for most of his contemporaries whose works faded together with the bogged-down artistic trends of their times. This did not concern him, though. In the perceptions of his work, his music can also be in a narrow sense non-programmatic, just as the music of any one of the great masters of the past. Scriabins philosophy is very important, however, for the scholarly research of his work. Studying the chronological continuity of his work, we can observe both a kind of striking and straightforward connection between his work and his ideology. Scriabin directed his enormous artistic temperament according to a path chosen and determined in advance and never deviated from it. The idea of the Mysterium was for him a great chimera, towards the mastery and embodiment of which he was striving 284

throughout his life. His works were merely the musical projections of this one enormous chimeric idea. Here, the creative work process took shape in him at once. The extremely individual formation and crystallization of subjective experiences in all varieties of musical forms in his works for piano found its final affirmation by the result achieved in monumental symphonic form. He claimed that his symphonies were national and he regarded them as steps ascending towards the final completion of his idea of the Mysterium, a national collective action. Scriabin relied on his ideology, in which he intuitively and unconditionally believed. This inner creative experience and active sense of religion was necessary for him on his path towards overcoming the scholastic stagnation, conventional schematicism of musical forms, and emotional atrophy of obsolete sound material. In conquering the schematicism of musical forms of the past, he asserted ecstasy in a new form. It was a well thought-out creative process keenly felt by him from the moment of inception to the moment of affirmation. This form of creative ecstasy recurring in him from one work to another, changed only in the direction of ever broadening horizons. In the sphere of his influence, it involved an ever increasing strength and altering of intense and excited passion. This is like a crystallization of ecstatic form, a cleansing fire of ecstasy which the ancients would have called cathartic. The recurrence of this in Scriabin may be observed in almost all his works, even in the rather small forms where it manifested itself somehow as small crystalizations of one and the same formal mold. Scriabin, in essence, was writing down his entire life as one and the same repetition. A central place in Scriabins work occupies his striving towards a synthesis of the arts. At this point, it is necessary to stop a moment. The search for a system was 285

fundamental to Scriabins work. For him it was the perfectly aesthetic result of his idea about the Mysterium as well as about a synthetic, national, collective action. The attraction towards a synthesis of arts prevailed during the second half of the 19th century through the beginning of the 20th century right up until our own times. The evolution of music and Wagnerian dramas were already headed in the direction of synthetic action. Wagnerian theater brought with it a mechanical, conventional combination of heterogeneous arts, and not merely their organizational interaction. But, with the last quarter of the 19th century, beginning mainly with Cezanne in painting, a synthetic direction began to assert itself which became the predominant and most powerful force in all areas of the arts painting, literature, poetry, and music. Synthetic art, indeed, became an issue during the period extending from the end of the 19th century through the beginning of the 20th century right up into our days. But, of course, synthetic art and synthesis of arts are completely different concepts. Scriabin approached the question about a synthesis of the arts as a matter of form and his experiments were unsuccessful. In essence, though, his creative work was profoundly synthetic, both in the artistic material and in the method of embodiment. And it is here that we now approach the significance of Scriabin as interpreter. As a performer of his works, he was an absolutely amazing artist. All the mysterious charm and fascination of his interpretation consisted of that which in his reproduction was exceptionally synthetic. He possessed a strikingly rare gift of pathos in improvisation, one almost lost among contemporaries. At the moment of reproduction, he created his compositions anew. What remained to him in his sketchbooks served only as a code for his artistic pieces, a key which served that indescribable and inexplicable which is called tempo rubato. This 286

divinely free rhythm, the teaching of which is absolutely impossible, is possessed by only the exclusively selected ones. This rhythm arises for the first time in Chopin and runs throughout all his works. Organically connected with the harmonic style, this rhythm occurs in the works of Schumann and rather loosely in those of Liszt, where it almost disappears and crosses over into instrumental recitative. In the works of Scriabin, however, this rhythm is again regenerated and finds its exceptional embodiment. Tempo rubato in music is genuine lyrical pathos which in poetry they call the voice of the poet. It is the inner freedom of the artistic temperament, which allows arbitrarily to shift measures inside the musical work while not destroying the architecture of the form and not disturbing the proportions. For those who do not sense this, the piano works of Scriabin are dead and without soul. Perhaps, namely that explains why after his death up until now, not even an approximately correct approach towards the interpretation of his works exists. This is utterly tragic, especially for those who heard Scriabin in person. Scriabins performances may be regarded as a synthetic phenomenon. The thesis for him presented itself as a more external perception of the world of ideas, of feeling and form, an immediate sensation of life. The antithesis he conceived as an overcoming of his individual Too human. The synthesis appeared as a form, an embodiment of the whole. This organizational process was in exceptional measure characteristic of Scriabin in his creative work and in his performance. The synthesis of the material he understood completely. He was acquainted with the organic harmony and interaction of rhythms, namely rhythms, and not meter, which in his works played almost no role. He incorporated rhythms not only as temporal and special figures, but as rhythms of dynamics, timbre, and melody. And his form always represented a synthetic interaction 287

of these rhythms captured together. Often within the schematic, academic forms of an outwardly conventional construction, he created ones that are organically synthetic. His approach to a synthesis was unsuccessful, though, and undoubtedly erroneous because it was premature for that epoch. In our days, where organic, synthetic material is formed and cleansed of all impurity and the questions regarding methodology have become selfsufficient for each one of the arts, only now has the synthetic interaction of the heterogeneous arts acquired a somewhat more precise outline. Scriabins work, during that period of time which separates us from his life, is already to a fair degree, dusty with theories even with new theories and this fact is not changing. The achievements of Scriabin in the realm of harmony, embodied by him in his compositions, served as a cause for the creation of an entire row of schemes and abstract inventions. In particular, his notorious ultra-chromaticism gave birth to a literature perhaps important for the theoreticians, but for art this played no special role. The artistic practice of the present really is not indicative of any evolution of Scriabinesque harmonic principles, but on the contrary points at curious deviations onto other paths. In particular, a curious phenomenon involved one of the earliest followers of Scriabinesque harmonies. In one of his early periods of his creativity, Igor Stravinsky, imitated the mysticized sounds of Scriabins Prometheus almost spontaneously following the appearance of this symphonic poem. The work of Stravinsky progressed otherwise to a certain extent as a reaction against that refined mysticism with which Scriabin had filled the Russian music in the first decade of the 20th century. Stravinsky turned to the folk culture which he then programmatically represented in Petrushka.

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Scriabin stands on the borderline between two periods in the history of Russian music. The achievements attained by him are enormous, but they are only the first step on the road towards those tasks which are confronting Russian music. Scriabin does not and cannot represent a school; the last five years have demonstrated this. It is possible to imitate him, but it is impossible to proceed from him because he was too complete in his own self. In this one discovers his similarity to Tchaikovsky, who also created only imitators, but not successors. In spite of the polarity, Scriabin is among all Russian musicians closest of all to Tchaikovsky. The history of Russian music must arrive at this conclusion with unquestionable obviousness, if ultimately it is to maintain itself at all. Neither Tchaikovsky nor Scriabin placed before themselves outside tasks characteristic of Russian music. The music of Scriabin is in reality not coloristic and any opinions supporting this are mistaken. This is all a process of softening and opening sonorities. It is a boiling and melting of metal which he then pours through an abundance of copper instruments creating a dazzling wall of sonority. It is the decorative device which he used to construct the shaking power in the Poem of Ecstasy. All of this is not created by colorings per se, but through that which is exclusively characteristic for Scriabin: an enormous emotional element which distinguishes him chiefly and, yet, stands in defiance of all his ideology as a Russian musician. In spite of Scriabins break with Russian music and those first steps of his creative work, he stubbornly overcame the song beginning which was for him profoundly characteristic and organically laid down in his musical nature. The song beginning represents the fundamental origins of Russian music, to which are devoted for example Scriabins First Symphony a genuinely Russian Symphony in spite of the world 289

aspiration and his Piano Concerto. Scriabin stubbornly conquered within himself the song element in Russian music and broke decidedly with both the Russian word and speech. He wrote nothing for voice, and even there, where chorus was necessary for him, he did it through a dispensing with words as in Prometheus. In spite of all this, Scriabin remained a profoundly Russian musician, tragically doomed and still a great artist. Tchaikovsky and Scriabin represent two stages of Russian symphonism, diametrically opposed in their temperaments and world outlook. One of them led selflessness to ecstatic rapture and to the limits of audacity; the other led selflessness to melancholic depression and self-destruction. Yet, both of them are poles of the profoundly characteristic nature of Russian artistic temperament. Both are in equal measure exponents of the Russian Intelligentsia. To the same extent that Tchaikovsky expressed the Russian Intelligentsia in the 1860s-70s, Scriabin was a spokesperson for the artistic ideals of the Russian Intelligentsia during his time. Perhaps, through this can be explained the spontaneous, emotional influence of Scriabin on a crowd of listeners. Even at that time when he was unrecognized and surrounded by the acute, hostile attitudes of the majority of so-called specialists, the Russian Intelligentsia accepted him unconditionally and quite fervently. History provides unexpected parallels where learned critics at times do make mistakes. Disgracefully, now is the time to remember this still quite recent period, when the creative work of such a great Russian artist as Tchaikovsky was subjected to the persecution and to disparagement of modernist circles whose thoughts were very far removed from the possibilities of such a historic parallel between Tchaikovsky whose name is synonymous with backwardness and reaction and Scriabin. 290

The creative work of Scriabin, like that of any great artist, was saturated with the spirit of his epoch. His rhythms were the rhythms of his times, just like the creative work of Tchaikovsky in his epoch. Both of them stand in equal measure and in our times are canonized in Russian music. Both of them are ranked among the files of great masters of the past. In this regard, it no longer appears that anyone questions the affirmation of one of them, nor any longer requires the destruction of the other. The rebelliousness of Scriabin and his audacious idea which lighted up his work with Luciferian fire and inflamed his life will, perhaps, in the future serve as a threshold and key to understanding our own days. It will be established that the symphonies of Scriabin are prophetic harbingers of music, the sound of which has filled all our lives.

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Appendix D

Georgiy Plekhanov (1857-1918) Letter to Dr. Vladimir Vasilyevich Bogorodski [Doctor of medicine and friend of Alexander Scriabin] (San Remo, Italy May 9, 1916)

Dear Vladimir Vasilyevich, I was extraordinarily pleased to find out from your kind letter that Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin had retained such fond memories about me. Please accept my sincere gratitude for conveying this message to me which is so precious. My lifes path was so far removed from the path that Alexander Nikolayevich followed with such success although unfortunately a short one. My meetings with him date only from the years 19061907, ones among those that he spent abroad. And to tell the truth, there were a lot of grounds after the very first meetings to separate from one another for ever, almost as enemies. We both were very much interested in theory and had the habit of disputing our viewpoints with a persistency boiling over into heated passion one that amazes and partly even frightens Western people. Meanwhile, our world outlooks were diametrically opposed: he stubbornly adhered to idealism; and I with exactly the same stubbornness argued the materialistic point of view. This complete antithesis of the two viewpoints naturally roused disagreements on many other issues, for example aesthetic and political issues. One should note that at that point in his life, Alexander Nikolayevich was keenly interested in the social life of the present-day 292

civilized world in general and Russia in particular. He had a wonderful habit of trying to look at it, too, from a theoretical point of view. His view of the historic advancement of mankind was close to that of Carlyle, who always emphasized the defining significance of the work of heroes. I considered that this view does not address the more profound causes of the stated advancement. However, already this (I am not even referring to fundamental disagreements named above in the area of the first issues) was quite enough to trigger passionate debates between us. And indeed, we began to argue almost immediately right after having been introduced to each other in Bogliasco (near Genoa) in the Kobyliansky Villa. This first clash was by far not the last; we argued then at every subsequent meeting. But it brought me the greatest pleasure to realize that such debates not only did not alienate us from one another, but rather contributed quite positively to our mutual closeness as friends. There are people who, disputing the idea of an adversary, do not understand at all either the issue or the arguments brought forth in its defense. Debates with such people are worse than a toothache. In contrast, it was a pleasure to argue with Alexander Nikolayevich, because he had a capacity for the astonishingly quick and complete assimilation of the thoughts of his opponent. Thanks to this precious and it is necessary to add extremely rare ability, he not only spared his interlocutor from the dismal necessity of boring repetitions; it was as though he himself took an active part in his attempts to utilize all the strong sides of his interlocutors position. Where work is combined with the intellect, sympathy will surely arise towards each party. Hence it follows, probably, that the more we became good friends with Scriabin, the more the endless number of our differences became apparent. Anytime there was a prospect of 293

seeing him, I anticipated already that we would argue. Furthermore, I knew in advance that he himself would be the first to challenge me. Also, I knew firmly in advance that it would definitely be impossible for us to reach an agreement. At the same time, though, I foresaw that out of the argument with him I would derive not some fruitless aggravation the most frequent result of a verbal tournament but rather an intellectual stimulation that would be both pleasing and wholesome for me. The following example gives a clear demonstration how quickly Alexander Nikolayevich grasped theoretical subject matter that was new to him. When I met him in Bogliasco, he was completely unfamiliar with Marxs and Engels materialistic view of history. I drew his attention to the important philosophical meaning of these views. Several months later, having met him again in Switzerland, I saw that he, by no means having yielded to becoming an advocate of historical materialism, had succeeded so well in understanding its essence, that he was able to handle this doctrine far better than many staunch Marxists in Russia as well as abroad. You Marxists cannot deny the importance of ideologies, he would say to me; you account only in a limited way for the course of their development. This was the sacred truth; alas, I knew that by far not every Marxist took the trouble to understand and master the sacred truth. Scriabin wanted to express in his music not this or that mood, but rather an entire world outlook that he sought to cultivate on all sides. It would be absolutely irrelevant to raise again here the old question of whether music in general could be an art capable of expressing abstract notions. Suffice it to say that even in this case our opinions diverged and that here a lot of disputes arose between us as well. And although I consider that Scriabin placed before art an unrealizable task, it seems to me that this mistake of his was 294

of great benefit to him; widening powerfully the circle of his spiritual interests so very significantly, it expanded his already tremendous artistic talent. I recalled the Greek painter Pamphilus, who required of his students a knowledge of philosophy, mathematics, and history. I said to myself: Apelles went through the school of Pamphilus. Only those who knew the deceased more closely could explain exactly the psychological channels of influence through which Scriabins philosophical views spread into his artistic creativity. But, the fact of this influence is for me beyond the slightest doubt. And it seems to me that if Scriabins music so fully expressed the mood of that highly significant part of our intelligentsia in a certain period of its history, then this resulted precisely from the fact that he was the very flesh and bones of history not only in the area of emotion, but also in the area of philosophical demands and possible achievements determined by the conditions of the times and surroundings. Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin was a son of his times. Modifying slightly the well-known expression of Hegel concerning philosophy, one can say that Scriabins work was his time expressed in sounds. But when the temporal, the more transient finds its expression in the creative work of a great artist, it acquires a permanent meaning and becomes intransient. Maybe, having returned to the homeland, Alexander Nikolayevich would not have refused from time to time an exchange of ideas with me in writing. But, by the will of fate, I belong to the number of those Russians with whom for fellow countrymen it is not always convenient to stay in touch. As it were, I did nothing on my part to initiate correspondence with him; and he, too, did not write to me once. This was a great loss for me. Aside from speaking about my personal attachment, I understood that everything 295

relevant to the course of development of this remarkable person has the meaning of a highly instructive human document.

Please convey my sincere regards to Tatiana Federovna.

Sincerely,

G. Plekhanov

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Appendix E

Anatoly Lunacharsky (1875-1933) On Scriabin Kultura Teatra no. 66 (1921)

Comrades and citizens! Throughout this year, I have appeared several times in this theatre with introductory words to talk about a number of great musicians. I agreed with pleasure to the request of the organizer of these concerts to say a few words at this first one dedicated to the works of Scriabin, especially since quite by chance there is a common element unifying the series in its basic purpose. Personally, I have always had a special interest in those aspects of musical creativity that may be called poetical and philosophical. The musical creative work is first and foremost poetry in that profound sense to which points the very etymology of this word. This is creativity, and human creativity has always existed and will continue to exist through the revelation of the human personality and human spirit in general. From this point of view, every true musician and outstanding composer is a poet. And every musical composition is, of course, a work of poetryand to some degree philosophicalin the sense that it is reacting to greater feelings more or less related to a mans thoughts about the world. We are all quite aware that philosophy by itself is not only observation and analysis of what has been examined according to the laws of logic; it is also the intuitive perception of the world. The majority of philosophers are poets who wrote their poems about the world. However, in music it is possible to draw a line, on one side of which there can be

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found so-called pure [absolute] music, where the author sets an exclusively acoustical, tonal goal and thinks less about re-creating some kind of feeling. On the other side, there will be a music saturated by mood, feeling, passion, and sometimes by that which can be called an idea if we understand this word not in the sense of an expressed concept, but rather as something intuitively sensed; it is a kind of approach, perception, or experience not corresponding to any kind of concrete human emotion, but presenting a reflection in this emotion of the whole world or of this or that colossal world phenomenon. All the musicians whom I have discussed belong to the poets and philosophers of music. I even referred to some respected European critics in order to emphasize that this opinion is more or less generally accepted. Undoubtedly, Beethoven himself estimated his work in this way. Nobody denies, as we have discussed before in this series of symphonic and chamber concerts, that a special redemptive ethic of great importance and depth is inherent in Beethoven. In this series, we have also had presented such musicians as Berlioz and Strauss. These musicians appear in programs as poets; their music has an absolutely precise content. They wrote poems sometimes directly corresponding to words. One of them was a top poet-musician of Romanticism; the other was one of Modernism. I also had an opportunity to talk about Wagner. He, undoubtedly, was just as much a poet as he was a musician. In his works, the orchestral part was accompanied by dramatic action, which in Nietzsches opinion is a concrete example [of this duality]. It is a separate embodiment of those common phenomena of a metaphysical character, one which corresponds to a well-known concept about the destiny of the world, which Wagner depicts in his orchestra. 298

Scriabin was a poet, philosopher, and musician. In this respect, there exists between him and Wagner an extremely important link. I am not going to talk about Scriabin as a musician in the strict sense of this word, or about the role he may have played in the expansion of boundaries that were seen as musically permissible. This link to the innovation of Wagner interests me less here. I am interested in the fact that Wagner totally shared Schopenhauers view of the world [Weltsanschauung], that pessimistic pantheism, which in both Schopenhauer and Wagner corresponded then to the prevailing social emotional experience. Scriabin was initially also a pessimist as well as a pantheist. However, if the pantheistic experiences of Scriabin almost coincide with Schopenhauers ideas, then later his pessimism transforms itself gradually into exultant optimism. I am insufficiently familiar with the inner world of Scriabin and I cannot assert that Nietzsche had a great influence upon Scriabin, but I think that he read him, or was in an atmosphere in which Nietzschean emanations could not help but affect his life. I will very briefly formulate how Schopenhauer views the world. It is for him a stream of the will. It is blind and senseless; it torments itself, smashing itself into separate waves and entities, which mutually break the principle of each individual part so that chaos is created. At the foundation of the world, which is chaos, which is suffering, lies the single will. But, it came to be split up through its fatuity and blindness, and by its deaf passion. Schopenhauer, though, did not allow this pessimism to remain hopeless; he said that mankind could take leave of this world to enter Nirvana. But, as soon as these or those parts of the will escape from this chaos and become harmonized, they arrive in a state without conflict; as soon as they attain it, they exceed the boundary of their existence. And this is the end of the will. Therefore, this is Buddhism expressed quite 299

clearly in modern language. Lets see how Scriabin views the world. Recently, his notes and a remarkable poem containing the entire literary part of the so-called Prefatory Act were published in the latest book of Russian Propylaea.1 With this work, he replaced his grand idea of the Mysterium, about which I will have to say a few words. So just how did Scriabin view the world? With almost pedantic scrupulousness, he endeavored to approach that mysterious perception of the world taking more and more possession of his soul, which he as a poet and musician fancied. The world revealed itself to him through creativity of the spirit. As with Wagner, it is the spirit that thirsts for adventure. It is exactly through all kinds of emotional experience that the will creates a world. For its very sake, the world disintegrates into billions of pieces, into innumerable sorts of nuances. For its sake, grief, feebleness, and passions are created. The spirit succumbs to the whole scale of self-torment and does so with just the same voluptuousness with which it succumbs to pleasure. At one moment, it falls into an abyss; at another, it attempts to scale high peaks. There exists some kind of large game of ascents and descents. And, in order to take this game seriously, so that the spirit may enter into its role, it is necessary that it forget its divinity and its wholeness, and that it vanish into a billion masses in which it exists and in which we observe its existence. This is exactly what is contained in Schopenhauer. Only, Schopenhauer says, all this is great unhappiness and horror, something from which one needs to escape. And Scriabin says, it is wonderful; it is fascinating; for I sense with my entire heart that I am

The Russian Propylaea were a series of books introduced in 1915 by the Sabashnikov Publishing House in Moscow (est. 1891). They presented never before published materials on the history of Russian thought and literature.

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one from among the offspring of the complete spirit. I understand why the spirit wanted this and why it broke into these suffering existences; and I bless it. Scriabin pictured some gigantic pulsation that was transpiring in the spheres of the spirit, sometimes breaking into fragments, sometimes gathering into a single focal point and discovering its existence. This is not the absence of life peaceful Nirvana but rather is a resurrection of the omnipotent in which each individual I receives respite. Then, rest bores and wearies the spirit that no longer wants to remain in this condition. The spirit disturbs its equilibrium and, once again, a period of existence begins. This is, in general, how Scriabin himself views the world. This is why he says that music is the art that is capable of expressing this world in its essence. In other words, it expresses directly its inner condition a thirst to suffer, a thirst to take pleasure, a thirst for struggle and for life. No other art form besides music is able to express with such infinite diversity what appears to be the genuine essence of the world. But there were moments of great inner confusion and temptation in the soul of this amazing person. During one phase of his spiritual development, it seemed to us all the majority of whom were not more intimately acquainted with him in his later years that in the last phase of his mission, he, Scriabin, had arrived at an idea we could call paradoxical or even insane. On the one side, this lunacy is expressed in the fact that he began to confuse the will of the spirit with his own soul and began to say: You, any brother of mine, are not the spirit; but only I am the spirit, I, Scriabin, and only I alone. All the rest is my creation, and you cannot take me away from it through any philosophical argument. I feel only what I feel. Consequently, the whole world is within me and all people are within me. They are a moment of my existence. I represent all the 301

diversity of the world. And you my suffering brother coming to my concerts you are nothing else other than the essence living through me and thanks to me, Scriabin. And, I, myself, am something like the true expression of the god-spirit. I exist in the world in order to permit the world to enter Nirvana. And, I will achieve it through music. I will transform the world into music. I will melt the world into music. I will create just such a Mysterium, which, continuing for several days with breath-taking ceremonies and accompanied by unprecedented music, will force all human souls to pour into mine and to realize their union with me. This will become the return of the worlds to the bosom of peace and harmony the bosom of Pan. Of course, the strangeness of these ideas immediately becomes apparent. This is a pathological perversion. This is already megalomania. This is a mad idea. But, if this is a mad idea, an even madder idea is that of the Mysterium, which by no means is a simple concert somewhere in the world, such as in Paris or wherever else it might be performed. After this event, the whole world shall change. And, here, we strangers who have little to do with Scriabin and who are not close to him see the following picture. The ingenious musician and powerful poet places before himself an unattainable task. Through a false overestimation of his endlessly rich life on the path of its diffusion throughout the whole world thanks to a brilliant sensitivity, with which he feels everything that happens with the sea, the stars, the people, the wild animals and so forth he expands the concept of his soul to a concept of the whole world. He thinks that what transpires in his soul is a world event; it is a law, which is binding for all worlds.

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And, at this moment, the person who has touched the skies with his head and in his own imagination sees himself as a demiurge that created the universe now prepares to destroy it as if he were a god, to whom the world belongs. Then, however, at the moment of this arrogance one of the most splendid and awe-inspiring pictures of self-praise an insignificant event, that of a simple scratch, turns everything around and results in death. The person, whom we objectively recognize as a genius and the hope of Russian music and who considers himself the creator, ruler, redeemer of the world, perishes because of an incidental trifle in the most pathetic way.2 The tragedy of it is so great that our thought unwittingly runs into the idea that some kind of power may have intervened here. Which of the ancient myths could you compare with this? It is as if some kind of Satan, who governs the world with his incredible malice, has said, this person thinks he is a god, but I will show him that he is under my power. And look at that, people, what your idealist dreams are. But that is how we have imagined this tragedy, since we were not part of Scriabins inner life. Nowadays, with his notes published, we are aware of the torment with which he was breaking away from this Mysterium, changing it to the Prefatory Act. as though having clearly understood in his soul that only a Prefatory Act was given to him to write (and even this wasnt given to him). We comprehend the torment with which he approached this and realize his gigantic self-sacrifice. Everything is changing. He senses that he alone is unable to create this Mysterium, that only masses of people can bring it forth out of themselves. And so, this is a wise man that lived in ever increasing egoism, and reached beyond his limits. He says, the Prefatory Act! But,
The reference here is to a bacterial infection on Scriabins upper lip that led to blood poisoning and ultimately his death on April 14, 1915.
2

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it is not given to a single person in the world to write that Mysterium, about which Scriabin had dreamed. And he understands that he can only write the introduction to it. I can say that I was really shocked when, having looked through his notes, I suddenly encountered at the very end an extraordinarily clear, crystalline transparent observation of Scriabin about himself. So, I realized that I was mistaken. If I recognize that the spirit created the whole world and he lives in all Is, I am therefore not alone. We all see one and the same world. It is necessary to change everybodys view of the world in order for it to be changed. I am not able, he says, to do something that will make stones break away from the roadway and fly into the air, although I have power over my fantasy. Therefore, the world is not I. In this plexus of atoms that constitutes my imagination, my strengths are very limited. Moreover, I affect the external world in a different way than I affect my fantasy. The pictures within my fantasy I can destroy quickly, but the picture that I see out on the street I can destroy only through physical action. And, so now, we have a different concept about the end of Scriabin, maybe one even more terrible. We see a man who rounded this cape of pride, who sees that he is only able to create the Prefatory Act in order to say to all people that life is wonderful, that creativity and even struggle, suffering and hatred are acts, which great souls will accept as colors of an infinitely diverse poem. One must think this over. According to Scriabins deep conviction, even when two people with different ideas confront one another as enemies, each believing identically that he holds the truth, there is a kind of plane where they are still brothers and 304

are able to respect each other. They are the expression of ideas and wills of humans striving towards a harmonious world. It is possible that you are a protector of past values, and that I am a protector of todays world. But, if each of us possesses a belief, sincerity, and conviction, then even in struggle we are the constructors of what represents human culture or history of the spirit. And so, a musician must always be an advocate of world acceptance in his struggle and creative work. He must be a prophet who never dares to disclaim the petty sides of life or force people to avoid grief, for they are just as necessary as a moment of beauty. I need only to think about how to cease those sufferings that are base and vulgar. And so this world reflects itself in music. I employed, speaking about Scriabin, almost those very expressions in speaking about Beethoven, which one hundred years ago also called for joy, enlightenment, and harmonization, so that the hearts of millions would beat together. If I said that Beethoven, a teacher of life, is absolutely necessary for us, especially in a time such as ours so full of turbulence and contradiction, and in particular for that architect of his own happiness who in torments is creating a new world for the laboring people, then Scriabin is also extremely necessary for us. The tragic element here becomes more terrible still when you consider that this person, not only through his own talent, but also an internal view of the world and prophetic wisdom, was not simply ahead of, but twice beyond the rest of Russian music of his time. This man, in spite of all the horrors of that earthquake and disruption of our chaotic age, would have appreciated it completely. He would have understood the greatness of our days, in contrast to all his brothers and little brothers who were frightened by the terrible face of reality. This man, after he had de-throned himself from the position of messiah and 305

became a simple hero, had to perish then at the threshold of our times. Here, one could truly cry tears of blood. But having felt regret and sighed about what Scriabin left unfulfilled, it is better now to appeal to his legacy and to touch, as one would a precious stone or sacred token, that which he did give to us. For he became a prophet and herald who stands at the doors of a genuine Mysterium, one to which the whole history of mankind has been only a prelude. He teaches not to fear suffering, not to fear death, but to believe in the triumphant life of the spirit.

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Appendix F

Nikolai Sergeyevich Zhilyayev (1891-1938)

Alexander Nikolaevich Scriabin and His Creative Work Concert Review (Moscow, 1909)

The ninth symphonic concert of the Music Society [February 1909], dedicated to the works of Scriabin was extraordinarily interesting. The composers Third Symphony, The Divine Poem, was performed here for the first time.1 In addition, the Fifth Sonata for Piano and the Poem of Ecstasy for orchestra were presentedthe latter also for the first time here.2 The participation of Scriabin in the concert attracted a large number of listeners. One clearly felt that A. N. Scriabin possesses an enormous and original gift. Regarding such works as The Divine Poem and, in particular, The Poem of Ecstasy, it is possible to be partial in one direction or the other. And, indeed, some musicians reacted altogether negatively towards Scriabin and the exotic nature of his work. Others in their enthusiasm hailed him a genius, a prophet of the future in music, the herald of a new era and a new culture. Among these was Boris de Schloezer.

The world premiere of The Divine Poem had taken place in Paris on May 29, 1905 under the direction of Arthur Nikisch. 2 The world premiere of The Poem of Ecstasy had taken place in New York City on December 10, 1908 under the direction of Modest Altschuler. The Russian premiere took place in St. Petersburg on January 19, 1909 under the direction of Hugo Warlich.

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As it turned out, those who found themselves in a middle position in their relationship towards Scriabin, reacted negatively towards his exaggerated style, but regarded him nevertheless as a profoundly talented innovator and disciple of Wagner. The Divine Poem consists of an introduction in which the trumpet sounds proudly and audaciously proclaims the basic idea of the symphony: I am! It is followed by three movements. In the first movement Allegro (Luttes Struggles), the Spirit battles with ghosts of the past; there is alarm and terror. In the second movement Andante (Volupts Pleasures), the Spirit sings of its free creative work. In the violin solo one hears sensuality and a thirst for pleasure. Blissful forms awaken. The Spirit is conquered by a magical aura. Through its strong will-power the Spirit rises above pleasure. This it experiences as its creation. Then begins the third movement Allegro (Jeu divin Divine Game). The Spirit, having attained absolute freedom, consciously dives into the joy of free, aimless creativity. This is the Divine game. This is the content of the symphony according to the explanatory text in the program. And such is apparently the explanation which the author himself provides. It appears to us that this musical fantasy would gain by not being accompanied by such subjectively philosophical commentaries. A more powerful, free, immediate impression would be produced. Music and philosophy are two areas that are completely different; they are not in harmony with one another. Music is a sphere of senses, moods, and uncertain emotions. Philosophy is a sphere of abstractions and logical disciplines. In any case, The Divine Poem is an outstanding poetic work, bringing together all the glories of its author. The performance of it by Mr. Cooper3 deserves much praise.
3

Emil Cooper (1877-1960), Russian conductor.

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Regarding The Poem of Ecstasy several comments may be made. Once again, the music is accompanied by a text, according to which the universe (Spirit) represents the eternal creative work, the joy of free action crossing over into ecstasy. The Poem of Ecstasy seems to be of less interest to us, although it is written very colorfully and in some places with touches of astonishingly tender melody and strikingly refined harmonization. Nevertheless, this wild orgy of colors, this un-human scream erupts out of the earth as though underground volcanoes were tearing it apart into pieces. This is the soul, full of ghosts. All this taken together creates a haunting impression. This is chaos; this is a picture of morbid fantasy. The Fifth Piano Sonata sounded rather pale. On the other hand, a strong impression was produced by the small works themselves which Scriabin performed as encores. It appeared that the soul of Chopin had been reborn in front of our eyes, in forms more delicate, however, corresponding to the exhausted spirit of our times. Indeed, the forms of his small piano works are related to the music of Chopin: preludes, etudes, mazurkas. Unwittingly, one draws a comparison between the character of Scriabins work and that of the Polish writer Pryzsbyszewski.4 One finds the same eroticism. There is the same aspiration to build an altar to ones love and ones strength. Also, there exists the same attempt to link ones soul through bonds with eternity, with God, with a selfsufficing will that beyond life and death fills in the chasm between today and tomorrow.

Stanislaw Przybyszewski (1868-1927), Polish decadent writer. Dubbed the Polish Satanist, he was the author of numerous books including De Profundis (1895), Homo Sapiens (1896), Satans Children (1897), Androgyne (1900), and The Scream (1918).

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Appendix G

Viktor Belyayev (1888 1968) Scriabin and Modern Russian Music Musikbltter des Anbruch (March 1925)

In consequence of the great political transformations that Russia has undergone, a large part of the talented Russian composers has lived and worked abroad. Because of this, many musicians now are asking the question whether the further development of Russian music will take place in Russia itself or in other countries. Personally, I find this question highly peculiar because I dont think it ever possible that the temporary sojourn abroad of Russian composers will have any effect on the further development of Russian music. I sooner compare this fact with the rule of the popes in Avignon, who had practically no influence over the fate of nations. It is more likely that this circumstance will impact the entire musical life of Europe. In this regard, mainly one historical fact encourages me: the creativity of Scriabin and its aftereffects. Based on objective observations, the enormous fate-determining significance of Scriabins emergence for the future of Russian music has become apparent to me. Based on personal experiences, I have become convinced that these observations are not wrong and that a partial effect is now already noticeable in the creative work of the known and unknown modern Russian composers. In order to corroborate this assertion, I would have to deal not only with the Russian music history, but with that of the entire world; mainly though with the development of harmonic analysis, or more precisely stated, with the history of the 310

development of harmonic expression in tonal art. The paths of our European music are determined by strict laws. They are governed by the changing sequence of tones and harmonies. Up until now, these laws have not yet been established in an exact and objective form. Only just now and for the first time have people acknowledged the necessity of studying these laws. Up until our time, this principle question has not been an issue, and harmonic analysis, in as much as one can label it a science, concerns itself exclusively with practical application, this most important branch of music theory. Harmonic analysis constitutes the grammar and the syntax of musical language, and is yet at the same time also the logic of tonal art. On the basis of this interaction of musical grammar and logic, the laws of harmony have more in common than the guiding principles of usual grammar. For the initial generalizations in this area we owe our thanks to Hugo Riemann, who developed the theory of tonal function of chords. In some respects I am not in agreement with the Riemanns theories; I give him credit, though, for setting up this law of tonal function. Indeed, he did not draw the necessary conclusions from this tabulation; in explaining modulation, he considered only the development section, but not the goals of the modulation process that determine the thing as a whole. This was achieved by the first Russian theoretician Boleslav Yavorsky; he wrote down an extraordinary and at the same time original theory of harmony. Unfortunately, I cannot elaborate on this in detail here. Among the guiding principles of Yavorskys theory, though, one must include his assertion that each fundamental tone whether one considers it [i.e., the fundamental tone] either the goal of the modulation or the goal of the construction and formation of the tonality is the result of a line-up of those chords that have tonal and harmonic 311

functions determining the individual instance and final outcome. Undoubtedly, the simple layout of different kinds [of chords] is in methodological and scientific respect much less valuable than the indication of the means of reaching certain goals. In the latter case, the logic of musical thought becomes operative; in the former, however, it is the musical grammar that is operative, the rules of which are not yet sufficiently defined. The logic of musical thought reduces the entire diverse phenomena of harmonic language to several typical kinds; musical grammar only ascertains the presence of phenomena without referencing these to general laws. If not in command of the general laws governing musical expression, we are today at least to a certain degree in possession of musical knowledge. Now, we can arrive at some basic conclusions concerning the area of historic musical development in as much as this development is determined by the power of musical expression. The musical language of the present is, as already mentioned, a harmonic one and its history is definitely not so distant from our own time. In Italy, it reached a formulation (Domenico Scarlatti); then it proceeded further in Germany, where it reached its point of culmination in the creative work of Wagner. After Wagner, Scriabin was the first who climbed upwards on the ladder of harmonic language. His progress was daring and determined by history. Scriabin, an absolute genius, placed Russian music through his discoveries at least in relation to the development of musical language on the same level with the Germans, who up until then undoubtedly held the dominant role. This condition appears to be the decisive factor regarding the evaluation of Scriabins influence on modern Russian music and the appraisal of him in general.

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Russian music, compared to that of other nations, has undeniable advantages and already played a considerable role in the history of music before the appearance of Scriabin. One only needs to remember Mussorgsky and the so-called New Russian School, the broad circulation in Europe of works by Russian composers and their effect on the works of Debussy and Ravel. Without a doubt, all these composers contributed their part to the development of the harmonic language, but this contribution was not large and not definitive enough to influence the tonal material of the harmonic language in the sense of a reform the tonal material, if one may say so, that is subject to the eternal laws of logic in musical thought. Just as Wagner grew out of the soil conditioned throughout the period of Romanticism (Through his creativity, he transformed the language of Beethoven), Scriabin can also be viewed as the result of a preparatory period in Russian music (regarding the adaptation and further development of musical expression). And just as Wagner through his creativity transformed the musical language of Beethoven, Scriabin transformed not only Wagnerian, but also Russian music. In relation to Wagner, Scriabin elevated music to a higher level no less than Wagner himself had done in relation to Beethoven. Aspects of the reform in musical language express themselves on the one hand in the harmonic work of Stravinsky; and on the other hand they can be observed in the work of Schoenberg. I will need to bypass these for the time being, because they do not fall within the scope of my topic here; I wish to limit myself at this time to writing down my observations concerning the effect of Scriabin on modern Russian music. There are composers who found new schools. These composers are usually not geniuses in the true sense of the word; rather they possess in their nature something that identifies them with 313

the spirit of the period, but at the same time prevents them from being ahead of it. Among these composers I wish to mention as an example Rimsky-Korsakov, who just like so many other composers, whom epigones have followed, established his own school. Geniuses have no epigones and cannot have them. Additionally, this expresses itself in much more highly sophisticated forms that already possess something imaginative; they do not represent merely imitation or the continuation of the principles of some strange new creation. Accordingly, all significant composers who are not geniuses themselves are epigones of geniuses and simultaneously the precursors of future geniuses. Scriabin founded no school, had no pupils, and also had no epigones in the true sense of the word. Yet, his influence upon his contemporaries and especially upon his successors is significant. This influence was indirect; they shaped their style in a more complicated manner. This was a consequence of their endeavors to satisfy the demands of the spirit of the period one which for them seemed to be embodied in Scriabin. We see that in the work of Rachmaninoff (the last Romances, op. 38), in the work of Glazunov (who told me that he had inserted the Scriabin chord into his work in such a way that no one could ever recognize it) and especially in the works of Lyadov (Grimace, op. 64 and other later works). Concerning the younger composers amenable to the new currents, as for example Nikolai Tcherepnin and others, one senses in them the influence of Scriabin even more crassly and directly. The creative work of the actually modern Russian composers, starting with Scriabin, in many respects is caused by the Scriabin phenomenon, without which the present style of their work would be unthinkable. This last fact is so important that I must dwell on the subject a while. Thinking about Stravinsky, who takes the trouble to trace the beginnings of his present style? Who 314

has noticed that he, a pupil of Rimsky-Korsakov, has copied in his First ]Symphony the form of Glazunovs Fifth Symphony and at the same time betrayed the influence of Tchaikovsky in the Andante movement? Whoever has not observed this is not thoroughly acquainted with Stravinsky and cannot know that his present style was engendered out of the struggle of many mutually opposing trends. Among these, Scriabins influence was undoubtedly the most significant. The fact that this influence appears now considerably reprocessed and no longer so unadulterated as before is quite clear. Herein lies the value of Scriabins influence. He has a double effect; he was a composer and also a genius that discovered new areas of musical creativity in this latter regard most significantly, but least perceptibly. I will go even further; Scriabin is to the composer upon whom he has an effect less attached. The area of musical creativity discovered by Scriabin is so extensive and so promising that one can work within ones own realm without noticing Scriabins influence. One can even deny this influence although one is affected by it. The effect of Scriabin on Prokofiev is not to be disclaimed. Prokofiev is musically an extraordinarily talented Nature; his creative fantasies are absolutely identical with the ideals of the New Russian School; Next to Mussorgskys influence there also exists that of Rimsky-Korsakov (March from the opera The Love for Three Oranges). All these influences manifest themselves in an innovative harmonic dimension that would be unthinkable without the person of Scriabin. Here, there exists a psychological foundation determined altogether by Scriabin; it departs from the principles of the New Russian School and is reconciling tendencies of worldwide significance that have their origin in Russian music. At the beginning of his artistic work, Myaskovsky stood under the direct 315

influence of Scriabin. His further activity, though, can and must be viewed as an absolute emancipation from Scriabin; on the one hand moving towards other psychological dimensions, on the other hand towards another radical and individual harmonic world. Still, this world, in spite of all its differences from the world of Scriabin, has in it undeniable even if they are concealed points of contact; they express themselves in the seventh symphony of Myaskovsky and in other works of his later periods. Among the composers in the generation of Prokofiev and Myaskovsky, we still need to consider Feinberg. In his work, he stands not only completely and in the best sense under the influence of Scriabin; he appears to us a creator to whom it is destined to assimilate and overcome these influences; to develop them further logically and creatively as Scriabin had done this. His entire work means the further development of Scriabins world of harmonic ideas. In spite of this, it differs greatly from Scriabins work and is entirely unlike the work of other Russian composers (predecessors and contemporaries). With regard to the composers of the younger generation who are standing at the beginning of their creative careers (in the preceding paragraphs of my article, I intentionally omitted a long list of names of less significant composers who came under the direct influence of Scriabin more strongly), the starting point of their work is determined by the Scriabin phenomenon no one can escape it. With it, a marked diversity makes itself noticeable in the individual perception of the creative idea and singularity of characteristic traits. Among these composers, I would like to mention here Vladimir Kryukov who has united in his works (as in the opera based on the play by Alexander Blok: The King on the Square) Scriabins refinement with Wagners thematic

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treatment. Further, I would like to mention Leonid Polovinkin with his refined intelligence and creative power, and Vassily Shirinsky with his elegant lyrical talent. I believe that the number of examples cited above is enough to provide the reader with a clear picture of the exceedingly diverse influence of Scriabin in modern Russian music and of his extraordinary intensity. The reason for this is that Scriabins work is an organic development of the worldwide harmonic power of expression that is planted on new and still virgin soil. The growth promises to be exceptionally fruitful because it is carried out in a way that the roots of music representing the laws of musical logic remain completely intact. To this I ascribe great meaning because I hold these laws to be set in stone and eternal to the same degree as music itself. Harmonic expression is only then an enclosed phenomenon if through the unified principle of logic in musical thought it [the phenomenon] is determined by laws [that is, those laws] that are inherent in the essence of harmonic expression as a reasonable and structured phenomenon. Scriabins music adheres to the same principles as the music of Beethoven and Wagner in its purist form. Therefore, it is and will be trend-setting for the progress of music in the country; for a progress in which Scriabin himself participated; for a progress that inevitably in the country must and will go forward on its own; that means in Russia itself, but not beyond its borders.

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