Anton Rubinstein, Alexander Serov, and Vladimir Stasov: The struggle for a national musical identity in nineteenth-century Russia.

Ewell, Philip

Introduction

When compared to its tumultuous twentieth-century existence, nineteenth-century Russia seems somewhat docile. In the twentieth, the words Russia and revolution seemed to go hand in hand; some say it is simply the Russians' nature. The roots of the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution, however, a revolution carried out by Russians over what was perceived to be a corrupt Western-European influenced monarchy, clearly lie in the nineteenth century. In fact, many of the problems concerning national identity that Russia faces today can be traced back to that time.

The doctrine that came to represent the struggle for national identity in nineteenth-century Russia was realism. Though as a notion it was born in the West, realism took firm hold in Russia as a medium through which Russian artists could express a style that they considered to be uniquely their own, in contrast to more popular Western-European styles. Interestingly, some commentators hold that realism in music is impossible. Carl Dahlhaus writes:

 In the nineteenth century it was generally held that music was "of
 its nature" romantic. Composers like Ferruccio Busoni, Arnold
 Schoenberg and Kurt Weill ... all held the opinion that music is a
 fundamentally unrealistic art, and that therefore the concept of
 musical realism represents an error either in the thing so
 designated or in the judgment formed of it. (Realism 10)

The nineteenth-century Russian realists would have emphatically disagreed with this notion: they believed music to be the perfect venue for realist doctrine. Even Carl Dahlhaus realized the distinct relationship between music and realism for Russia in quoting Dargomizhsky: "It was Dargomizhsky ... who formulated the credo of Russian realism embraced so wholeheartedly by Mussorgsky: 'I want the note to express the word, I want the truth,' he wrote in a letter in 1857, evidently inspired by Nikolai Chernyshevsky" (Realism 73).

Whereas nationalism in most parts of Western Europe manifested itself in political and economic change, nationalism in Slavic Russia manifested itself in cultural institutions. Hans Kohn writes, "[A]mong the Slavic peoples, nationalism found its expression predominantly in the cultural field" (Kohn 4). Thus artists, not political figures, acted as the main instigators of nationalism in Russia. The realists, weaned on positivism and scientific empiricism, completely rejected Hegelian idealism and its notion that true beauty does not exist in objective reality. For them true beauty was reality. The realists' doctrines, which lasted well into the twentieth century in the form of Socialist Realism, were in a sense a lashing out at what was considered the dominant western aesthetic of the time.

By mid-century two clear camps emerged in the debate on Russian nationalism in music: the westerners (philosophically idealist) and the realists. The westerners were more cosmopolitan in thought and the realists were fervently nationalistic. Of the three figures central to my discussion, Anton Rubinstein is usually counted among the westerners; Vladimir Stasov is usually counted among the nationalists; and Alexander Serov, who died much earlier than the other two, is often thought of as being outside the fray, usually expressing nationalist views, yet often turning to the West for inspiration in his own compositional activity. In this paper I take issue with these well-established beliefs concerning Rubinstein, Stasov, and Serov. I will show how all three, to a certain extent, can be related to both camps in the oft-heated debate on nationalism in nineteenth-century musical Russia.

Nineteenth-Century Russian Music and Music Institutions

Mikhail Glinka (1804-57) is generally acknowledged as the founding father of Russian national music (sometimes Alexander Dargomizhsky [1813-69] is mentioned in the same breath). Glinka's opera A Life for the Czar (1836)--in Russia known by the name of its main character, Ivan Susanin--is considered the first true Russian opera. In present-day Russia Glinka is revered as one of the greatest composers of all time, and Anton Rubinstein placed him above Mozart and Haydn, alongside Beethoven and Chopin (A Conversation 3). Significantly, Glinka himself realized the significance of Western Europe for his own music. In a letter to his mother he wrote:

 Art, this joy given to me by heaven, perishes here [in Russia] from
 the murderous indifference to everything that is beautiful. Had I
 not spent several years abroad, I would not have written A Life for
 the Czar. Now I am completely convinced that Ruslan can only be
 completed in Germany or France. (Cited in Olkhovsky 56)

Here Glinka, in a sense, admits the supremacy of Western-European music over Russian, indicative of the fact that the roots of Russian music essentially lie in its Western-European counterparts. Notably, this "father of Russian music," as he was called by the Russian nationalists, was clearly a product of Western-European tradition, a fact that Russian realist composers found hard to accept. Nevertheless, the Kuchka composers were happy to call Glinka--such a crucial figure in the history of Russian music--one of their own, once all was said and done. (1)

With regard to music-education institutions, Russia was quite a small entity: Moscow and St. Petersburg. In the early part of the nineteenth century, such institutions, along with musical societies, became quite common in these two cities. In his "Musical Societies in St. Petersburg," Modest Rezvoy (1807-53) speaks of the lack of concerts during the season, and the starting of societies: "In order to avoid this deficiency [in the number of concerts given in any particular season], societies for lovers of music have been formed repeatedly in St. Petersburg" (Campbell 41). (2) Most of the societies mentioned by Rezvoy are amateur in nature. Although there was much music in mid-nineteenth-century Russia, truly substantive societies and institutions were few. With them, however, arose the awareness of the necessity for a state-sponsored concrete institution dedicated wholly to musical training, that is, a conservatory of music.

Anion Rubinstein

 Russians call me German, Germans call me Russian, Jews call me a
 Christian, Christians a Jew. Pianists call me a composer, composers
 call me a pianist. The classicists think me a futurist, and the
 futurists a reactionary. My conclusion is that I am neither fish,
 flesh, nor good red herring--a pitiful individual. (Rubinstein,
 "Mysli i Aforizmy," cited in Sitsky I)

In many ways this oft-quoted passage catches the essence of Anton Rubinstein (1829-94). A virtuosic pianist, he was one of the most influential figures in the history of nineteenth-century Russian music. Though born Jewish, his family converted to Christianity when he was only two. The decision to convert was that of his grandfather, Roman Rubinstein. Under Czar Nicholas I, life for Jews was particularly harsh, and for some, conversion to Christianity was the only way out. Nevertheless, nationalist composers would always consider Rubinstein to be Jewish.

His mother, German born, was his first piano instructor. His only piano teacher after that was Alexander Villoing, one of the most well-respected Moscow pedagogues. At the age of II, Rubinstein accompanied Villoing on an extended stay (of more than two years) in Paris. An impressive list of composers heard the wunderkind play: Liszt, Chopin, and Mendelssohn, to name but three, who all acclaimed his playing. Having spent many years back in Russia, the 25-year-old Rubinstein went to Germany, namely Berlin and Weimar, for a four-year period (1854-58). During this time he had quite close and constant personal contact with the great composer and pianist Franz Liszt, who was to have a large impact on the young Rubinstein. This was a prolific time in terms of Rubinstein's compositional output. More important, during his time abroad, in Paris, Vienna, and Berlin, he had the chance to observe musical training in these cities. Other influences on Rubinstein during this period were the composers Hector Berlioz, Clara Schumann, and Johannes Brahms, the pianist Hans von Billow, and the violinist Joseph Joachim.

Back in St. Petersburg, on Rubinstein's initiative, the Russian Musical Society was founded in 1859. It enjoyed great success in the areas of both concert performances and pedagogical activities. Though this society served a worthy function in promoting concerts for the Russian public, its pedagogical activities were seriously lacking. The need for something even more substantial was obvious, and on September 8, 1862, the first conservatory in Russia, the St. Petersburg Conservatory of Music, was founded. Although Rubinstein was the founder of the conservatory, his work would not have been possible without the help of the Russian Imperial Court and, specifically, the Grand Duchess Elena Paviovna. Born Princess Charlotte May of Wurttemberg in Stuttgart, Germany, she converted to Russian Eastern Orthodoxy on her betrothal to the Russian-born Grand Duke Michael Pavlovich on December 6, 1823 and received the name Elena Pavlovna. Her subsequent marriage made her sister-in-law to the Czar. In short time she became a quite influential figure in nineteenth-century Russian cultural institutions. She and Rubinstein were first acquainted in 1852, and remained close, if at times at odds, until her death in 1873. Her involvement with the foundation of the conservatory should never be understated. Among other things, she secured generous funding for it, and at times allowed conservatory activities to be conducted in royal venues.

The court was excited that Russia, like most of Europe, now offered a place to nurture musical talent. Rubinstein worked hard to ensure that the conservatory would prosper, and prosper it did. Nevertheless, many commoners felt excluded by the conservatory (the nominal annual fee of 100 silver rubles was still out of the reach of many) and it was not long before those who were opposed to Rubinstein's western-fashioned conservatory acted. Later in the same year, 1862, Gavril Lomakin (1812-85) and Mily Balakirev (1837-1910) opened the "Free School of Music," a school that catered to all whom the conservatory would not have. It essentially became known as a school that was strong in vocal training, but weak in most other areas. In an article on the teaching of music in St. Petersburg, Cesar Cui (1835-1918), who was decidedly Russian nationalist, unwittingly alludes to the inferior quality of the Free School. He speaks of the Conservatory's music-literacy requirement: "[T]he requirement to be able to read music before entry is rather inhibiting" (Campbell 87), suggesting that most Free School attendees could not even read music upon entrance. Clearly, the level of musicianship at the Free School was a notch below the conservatory. The Free School flourished in the 1860s, but after Lomakin stepped down as director in 1868, to be succeeded by Balakirev, the School began to wane until its dissolution in 1917.

Moscow, Imperial Russia's second city, lagged behind St. Petersburg, but not by much. On September 4; 1866, the Moscow Conservatory opened, under the directorship of Anton Rubinstein's younger brother, Nikolai (1835-81). (3) Though not as famous as its twin in St. Petersburg until the twentieth century, the Moscow Conservatory advanced specifically Russian music, and it became a favorite venue for the nationalist composers of the time.

As mentioned earlier, the Free School of Music was a direct response to the conservatory for those not able to attend. Rubinstein founded the conservatory partly because he felt that music and the study of music were poorly represented in Russia. In an article about the state of music in Russia from 1861, he begins with a quote from Goethe:

"Who never ate his bread in sorrow, who never spent the darksome hours, weeping and watching for the morrow, he knows ye not, you heavenly powers." These words of Goethe, imbued with such deep truth for all those involved in the arts and hence also in music, do not hold the same meaning in Russia as elsewhere because in our country it is only amateurs who are involved in music--that is those who, because of their birth or social position, do not depend on music to earn their daily bread, but whose involvement in music is only for their own personal enjoyment. The words of that great poet which I have just quoted cannot in any way be applied to Russia. (Campbell 65)

Rubinstein was, to a large extent, correct. Even the most accomplished of the Russian nationalist composers--Rimsky-Korsakov, Balakirev, Borodin, Cui--were something other than musicians by profession. What Rubinstein fails to mention is that it was impossible for a Russian to "earn his daily bread" as a musician in Russia at this time: the few important posts in which one could earn a living, from teachers to performers, were occupied by foreigners. This was a major concern for the nationalists. They wanted recognition for their art at the highest ranks, and they felt that Rubinstein and his allies neglected or, at best, undervalued them. In other words, the nationalists felt that Rubinstein was calling them amateurs. Rubinstein's beliefs, not surprisingly, touched off a heated debate between the nationalists and the westerners.

Vladimir Stasov

The response to Rubinstein's article was swift and severe. Vladimir Stasov (1824-1906), strongly in the nationalist camp, could not resist replying. He was an extremely prolific art and music critic, and was profoundly influenced by the Russian realist philosopher, Nikolai Chernyshevsky. He vehemently opposed Rubinstein and all he represented. Stasov himself spent the better part of three years (1851-54) abroad in Europe, chiefly in Florence, so a first-hand knowledge of foreign issues informed his commentaries. He came to represent the views of the nationalists, and defended their every move, in speech or in prose. Days after Rubinstein's article appeared, a reply by Vladimir Stasov appeared in The Northern Bee (Feb. 24, 1861):

 Mr. Rubinstein is a foreigner with nothing in common either with
 our national character or our art (although some musical papers
 abroad sometimes number him among Russian composers), a foreigner
 with no understanding either of the demands of our national
 character or of the historical course of our art ... Surely we must
 now emphatically stop obeying and automatically copying everything
 that exists elsewhere only for the pleasure of boasting about the
 huge complement of teachers and classes, the futile distribution of
 awards and prizes, the volumes of worthless compositions and the
 crowds of worthless musicians? If there is any threat to music it
 comes from the things i have mentioned, not from the amateurs.
 (Campbell 74-80)

Stasov calls Rubinstein a foreigner despite the fact that he was born in Russia, and had converted to Christianity. Being German-trained, with a German name, and being born Jewish made Rubinstein a foreigner in many people's eyes. Further, not only was his mother German-born, but so was his most significant ally at the court, the Grand Duchess Elena Pavlovna. Surely this vexed Stasov, and one can think directly of Germany when he writes "Surely we must now emphatically stop obeying and automatically copying everything that exists elsewhere." Lastly, the fact that Rubinstein had quoted the great German poet Goethe must have been, for Stasov, insufferable.

One would think by looking at the quotation above that Stasov stood firmly against all that was German. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. The following excerpt is from his Preface to the first published Russian translation of Robert Schumann's Musikalische Haus- und Lebens-Regeln, (4) from 1857, a few years earlier than Rubinstein's article. (5)

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 PREFACE TO THE FIRST RUSSIAN PUBLICATION OF RULES AND MAXIMS FOR
 THE YOUNG MUSICIAN BY R. SCHUMANN

 (To M.A. Balakirev)

 Schumann's critical and esthetical writings on music, which stand
 out among the general mass of similar works, are as brilliant as
 his musical compositions. Both are imbued with the new spirit of
 our era and, at the same time, touch our inner souls, as his most
 recent works do ... Schumann best of all proved by his own example
 what he once said in the press that only artists and true artistic
 personalities can and should write about art ... Having found out
 about and fallen in love with this little musical codex, you will
 never forget it and you will never stop loving it. (Stat'i o
 Muzyke, trans. P. Ewell, 1: 358)

One can hardly believe that this is Stasov writing, praising so highly a German and, perhaps even more astounding, his pedagogical text! Interestingly, Stasov dedicates his translation of this work to his nationalist composer friend, Mily Balakirev. Surely Stasov was aware of the importance of German culture in music, a fact that he often neglected when attacking Rubinstein; yet he was also keenly aware of the nationalist group around him, and he made sure not to ostracize its members. In a similar vein, Stasov praised German musical culture in an open letter to Franz Liszt and Adolph Bernhard Marx entitled "On Several New Forms of Today's Music":

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 ON SEVERAL NEW FORMS OF TODAY'S MUSIC

 (Letter to Franz Liszt in Weimar and to Professor Adolph Bernhard
 Marx in Berlin)

 Dear Sirs:

 Your names are associated with the deepest, most refined, and most
 poetic aspects of musical understanding that have ever appeared.
 Any true admirer of music must carry the same limitless respect for
 the brilliant author of the writings on Chopin and Robert Schumann,
 on the Intermissions of Beethoven's Egmont, on Mendelssohn's A
 Midsummer Night's Dream, and on The Flying Dutchman of Wagner ...
 The same respect must be paid to the inspired biographer of Bach,
 Gluck, and Handel and the author of the highly talented Study of
 Composition and Music of the Nineteenth Century, etc. (Stat'i o
 Muzyke, trans. P. Ewell, 1: 359) (6)

Clearly, no one who holds German music, musicians, and writers in such high regard could fail to see their significance for Russia and Russian musical institutions. Thus, here Stasov appears to contradict his rebuttal to Rubinstein's article of 1861. In retrospect, it would surely be better to interpret that rebuttal as a personal diatribe against Rubinstein, and not against all that is foreign or German. Stasov's praise of Adolf Bernhard Marx (1795-1866) in this letter is also striking. Like Rubinstein, Marx was of German-Jewish origin, and he too converted to Christianity (Protestantism) in his youth. A gifted music theorist, critic, and pedagogue, Marx was at the focal point of music instruction in Germany in the mid-nineteenth century. Indeed, Rubinstein, who knew Marx from his time spent in Germany, wished to impart precisely the concepts from Marx's writings to the Russian people. Though Stasov is always thought of as being clearly in the nationalist camp, his affection for the Germans and what they represented in music should never be understated. Indeed, this is one area of research--Stasov's deep-seated love for German music coupled with his fervent espousal of Russian nationalism--that is sorely underdeveloped.

Alexander Serov

The Russian composer and critic Alexander Serov (1820-71) had convictions similar to Stasov about Rubinstein and his conservatory. Serov is considered to be the father of Russian musicology. He was a close friend and law-school classmate of Stasov, although later in life they parted ways because of differences in musical taste. (7) After completing law school in 1840, Serov worked in the civil service until 1851, when he gave up his post to devote his life entirely to music composition and criticism, a career path unheard of in Russia until that time. Fortunately he, like Rubinstein, enjoyed the patronage of the Grand Duchess Elena Pavlovna. He was one of the few champions of Wagner in Russia with some nationalist sympathies and was the most popular Russian opera composer of the 1860s. At odds with both the nationalists and westerners in the debate on Russian nationalism, Serov expressed opinions representative of both sides. In 1862 he wrote:

 Of course, we are led on like meek little lambs. But we ought to
 understand that there is no reason why Russia, with its deep-seated
 flair for music, its musical feeling and sense, should be led in
 musical matters along the narrow and well-trodden paths chosen by
 dimwitted French and German teachers of notes [music]. We ought to
 be fully aware that if a foreign virtuoso pianist, having
 ingratiated himself into the protection of our art patrons and
 winning some influence for himself, founds a musical institution,
 at the head of which he places persons who are not known to the
 public or even to the pianist himself for their musical prowess,
 then the founding of such an institution may of course benefit that
 same pianist's reputation superficially, and ... help line the
 pockets of some of his nonmusical sponsors. However, Russia itself
 cannot expect anything but positive harm from this institution, as
 from everything built upon lies, deceit, ignorance,
 narrow-mindedness and selfishness ... They [the Jews] keep all
 musical activity in both St. Petersburg and Moscow under continual
 siege. Soon, with the founding of the conservatoire they desired for
 themselves as the future breeding-ground for talentless musical
 civil servants, they begin to throw their weight around in the
 province they have acquired in a thoroughly despotic manner, trying
 to crush any musical talent in Russia that does not spring from
 within their own Yankel ranks. Out of a hatred of all that is
 Russian, they are doing all they can to nip in the bud any true and
 natural development of Russian musical talent. (Campbell 81-82) (8)

Clearly, Serov is speaking of Rubinstein in the above quotation, and argues that the conservatory was founded in order to "line the pockets" of Rubinstein and his "nonmusical" sponsors (namely, Elena Pavlovna). Though this may have been, to some degree, what resulted, it was certainly not Rubinstein's main goal in founding the conservatory; after all, its very location in Russia suggests that it aimed, in some capacity, to serve Russia. History, of course, proved Serov wrong. The conservatory did not bring about "positive harm" to Russia, but rather, to this day, serves as one of the great music conservatories of the world (though perhaps Serov would have thought that the communist revolution gave the conservatory back to the people of Russia, thus negating his previous comments). His anti-Semitic comments are all the more suspect in light of the fact that Serov's mother was of German-Jewish origin; its seems that he too was attacking Rubinstein personally. From this quotation we understand how Serov can be clearly be counted among the nationalists.

Strikingly, Serov had at one time expressed quite contradictory views to the preceding quotation, views similar to Rubinstein's, about the inferiority of musical Russia. Eleven years earlier, in an 1851 article, "Concerts in St. Petersburg," he speaks about the typical Russian concertgoer:

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 In St. Petersburg everybody loves music. It would be interesting to
 find out, however, who loves exactly what! Then begins a genuine
 chaos of opinions ... "With all due respect, I don't understand
 anything in your Beethoven. In my opinion it's boring, drowsy,
 dull! ... Call me an ignoramus, or whatever you wish, but I demand
 from music one line, one melody, which pampers my ears: and all of
 this knowledge, and abstruse subtleties with which you are so
 obsessed, for mc are meaningless; music should clearly and directly
 speak to the senses, to the heart, and not be some kind of Hegelian
 philosophy put to an orchestra by the rules of counterpoint." Thus
 offered one concertgoer on the event of ... what? The Pastoral
 Symphony [Beethoven's Sixth]! (And that's a fact!) Another admirer
 of the so-called German Music listens to the Italians and the music
 of their repertoire with a certain contempt, but is then in ecstasy
 over one name, Mendelssohn: every sound of his favorite composer he
 greedily absorbs in himself, a composer he considers, deep in his
 soul (while not admitting it to anyone), better than Mozart,
 Beethoven, or anyone else in the world. With a third concertgoer,
 finally, the matter is not even at this level. He doesn't want to
 know anything except nationalism. For him a Romance by Alyabyov or
 a song by Varlamov is better than a symphony by Beethoven or an
 oratorio by Handel. But this is just the beginning; after such
 dilettantes of a patriotic inclination follow more dilettantes,
 exclusively partial to the songs of Moscow gypsies ... that is to
 such amusements which have nothing to do with music, that it
 therefore does us no good to even talk about them. (Stat'i o
 Muzyke, trans. P. Ewell, 1:42-43) (9)

This is of course a radically different view from the one Serov expressed eleven years later. He had certainly gone out on a limb by speaking out against nationalism. By discussing the low level of musical awareness in Russia at the time, Serov was admitting the supremacy of Western-European musical culture over Russian in this excerpt.

Had Serov changed over the years? In all likelihood, he had not, but had merely expressed different views of his somewhat complex personality. His advocacy of Wagner did not earn him the favor of the nationalist crowd. As mentioned above, the nationalist composers of the Kuchka believed in realism. They considered Russian themes and topics to be the apex of the operatic genre. The type of opera-drama extolled in Wagner's Oper und Drama of 1850-51, which had so enchanted Serov, was repulsive to the Kuchka composers. Indeed, Serov's unique opinions on music, as well as his provocative prose, gained him a firm place in the history of Russian music.

In the ongoing quarrels among Rubinstein, Stasov, and Serov, Rubinstein always endeavored to remain outside of the debate. He wrote much less prose than the other two critics, and his writings generally lack the same amount of vitriol. In his autobiography (1890), he discusses Serov, who had so scathingly inveighed against Rubinstein years earlier:

 A word about Serov. He was undeniably a talented man; he had a
 thorough knowledge of the stage, and of everything appertaining to
 it. Possessed of a certain kind of instinct, he might have gone
 very far in the composition of operas; but unfortunately, the want
 of aesthetic training was only too evident; his productions lack
 refinement, and give but slight evidence of artistic feeling ... I
 do not know what ideals of art he may have cherished in youth, but
 he was consumed by a morbid self-esteem and ambition ... Carried
 away by his desire to be conspicuous, what surprising statements
 has he not made in his essays on music and in his lectures on art!
 He even went so far as to protest against music schools ... Out of
 the great mass of his writings I have read but very little, and
 even this little seemed absurd to me ... This remarkable man was an
 extremist. At times he hardly seemed to realize the full
 significance of what he was doing and saying; as for instance when
 he denied the advantage of conservatories, and of musical education
 in general. (Autobiography 99-100)

Even with the tirades Serov had launched at him years earlier, Rubinstein still had the respect to address his counterpart politely. Moreover, one is more likely to believe what Rubinstein writes inasmuch as it is less personal, and more objective. When reading this passage one gets a good idea of Rubinstein the man, above the fray, with respect for those who, at times, even hated him for things over which he had little or no control.

First Concert of the Russian Concert Society

In yet another of his articles, Serov speaks of the first concert of the Russian Concert Society in 1856. The repertoire for the concert was Beethoven's Fourth Symphony and the Egmont overture, a scene from a Gluck opera, and a Handel oratorio. His review was emphatically positive:

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 Here, only the best of the best in the musical world perform, and
 they perform the most remarkable and greatest creations of the
 "original" masters, with the greatest care possible. The orchestra
 is comprised of the best virtuosos of our theatrical orchestras, so
 rich in virtuosic talent ... Here is a concert as concerts should
 be, for a select public. (Stat'i o Muzyke, trans. P. Ewell, 2A:
 204-6)

In his review for the very same concert, Stasov, while being basically positive about the concert, was already expressing his concern over how Russia was viewed in comparison with Europe:

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 It seems to me that despite the high opinion about the concerts of
 the Concert Society, and despite the unconditional respect for them
 by our musical public, they [the public] understand and value them
 not as much as they should, because in the majority of cases almost
 all of the listeners have the secret notion that these concerts,
 though good, even excellent, are, nevertheless, not as good as the
 concerts abroad, in France or Germany.

 I find that in such an opinion is a gross injustice (this
 opinion is nested in the heads of those who heard that foreign
 concerts are better, completely ignorant of the actual truth) if
 people who have supplied us this example of unattainable models,
 not having had the chance themselves to be present at the concerts,
 think in this fashion. (Stat'i o Muzyke, Trans. P. Ewell, 1: 70)

Interestingly, on the event of the same concert, Stasov begins the article with his concern over how the Russian Concert Society is viewed. This indicates the main difference between Serov and Stasov as critics. Serov often wrote scathing critique, but in that critique he concentrated more on musical elements, somewhat unmindful to political situations. Stasov, on the other hand, was a fervent nationalist and his work often concentrated largely on political issues. His career as critic spanned many disciplines yet, although he had a firm grasp of the fundamentals of music, his music criticism was certainly flimsier than Serov's. It is clear in this excerpt that Stasov, yet again, sees deficiencies in Russian musical culture. Perhaps most remarkably, neither Stasov nor Serov take issue with the fact that the repertory for the concert was entirely German. Rubinstein, on the other hand, was happy to champion Russian composers.

Rubinstein the Nationalist?

Rubinstein himself, later in life, also took a pro-Russian stance on certain issues. In response to what must have been a staunchly anti-conservatory article in Novoe Vremia, Rubinstein says in a letter to the editor:

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 You talk about "the complete lack of results in our
 conservatories"; this completely amazes me. Composers: Tchaikovsky,
 Solovyov, Lyadov, Arensky. Theorists: Gubert, Larosh, Sakkeni,
 Rubets, Marenich ... You say that "our conservatories are copies of
 the French." I cannot agree with this, as the program of study in
 our conservatories is much more serious and demanding than not only
 the French, but all foreign conservatories ... In conclusion I
 cannot even begin to express my complete amazement with the tone of
 ill-will or, at least, irony, taken by the press when there is
 discussion of our conservatories or our Imperial Russian Musical
 Society. Alas, the saying, "Nul n'est prophete en son pays" is
 truly justified. (Lituraturnoye ..., trans. P. Ewell, 1: 108-10)
 (10)

Thus, in the face of severe criticism, Rubinstein himself sounded a bit xenophobic, as well as pro-Russian. He preferred most of all to remain outside the debate on nationalism, owing to his cosmopolitan character. He was, in the nineteenth century, regarded as one of the greats, and his influence on the course of music in Russia was unequaled.

Conclusion

In this paper I have shown what I consider to be an interesting new take on three of the most important figures in nineteenth-century musical Russia. Anton Rubinstein, having spent many years abroad in Europe (and even having made a much-acclaimed North American tour as pianist in 1872-73), was intent on bringing Russia out of the depths of musical ineptitude. That said, he was, especially toward the end of his life, a strong defender of all things Russian in music. One cannot help but feel a bit sorry for Rubinstein for having to suffer so much discrimination based on what we would consider today to be ridiculous and groundless reasons. He truly only wanted what was best for music in Russia, and he fought tirelessly to that end. Alexander Serov, somewhat of a fence-sitter in the debate on nationalism, had many positive things to say about non-Russian music. He would surely have had more to add to the debate had he not died at the relatively young age of 51, in 1871. Vladimir Stasov is unequivocally associated with the composers of the Kuchka, and Russian nationalism. However, an in-depth look at his writings reveals what is clearly respect, and even a deep admiration, for Western-European musical models, especially German. It seems that of the three, only Rubinstein was able to rise above the petty invective and contribute most significantly to the musical development of Russia, letting actions speak louder than words.

The problems with national identity that Western Europe, in a sense, solved in the late-eighteenth century (and more specifically in 1789 with the French Revolution, to a large extent) remained unsolved in Russia until the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917. Sadly, the problems that that revolution purported to resolve remain unresolved today: the lack of national identity in twenty-first century Russia has never been greater. What system did the Bolsheviks choose to represent the triumph of Russia over the West? A system contrived by two Germans, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels (the former of Jewish origin, no less).

Though the debate in the nineteenth century polarized all spheres of creativity, it did produce fertile ground for artistic thought and, through the different organizations formed, truly great art did thrive. Before the nineteenth century, Russian music, for all intents and purposes, was not known anywhere outside of the country. During the nineteenth century, the great controversies and struggles in Russia brought the country to the forefront of a worldwide musical consciousness, a consciousness that, presently, is inextricably linked with the enigmatic essence that is Russia.

Selected List of Works Consulted

Abraham, Gerald. Slavonic and Romantic Music. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1968.

--. Studies in Russian Music. London: New Temple Press, 1936.

Campbell, Stuart, ed. Russians on Russian Music, 1830-1880. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994.

Dahlhaus, Carl. Between Romanticism and Modernism. Trans. Mary Whittall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980.

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PHILIP EWELL

University of Tennessee-Knoxville

Notes

(1) The term Kuchka refers to "Moguchaia Kuchka" (the mighty bunch), which is the Russian variant of what is often rendered in English as "The Five," and was coined by Stasov in a article of 1867: Balakirev, Borodin, Cut, Mussorgsky, and Rimsky.

(2) Rezvoy, a cellist and composer, as well as a talented portraitist, did much for the advancement of music in Russia. His was the field of language, through which he standardized the Russian musical lexicon. In 1843 he was elected to the Russian Academy of Sciences for his work.

(3) Considered by some to be the equal of his brother as pianist, Nikolai Rubinstein was not as controversial a figure. For this reason he was able to keep the Moscow Conservatory away from the debate on nationalism and, therefore, it remained a more truly "Russian" institution.

(4) Often rendered in translation as "Rules and Maxims for Young Musicians."

(5) The English translation of the original Russian quotation follows the Russian version.

(6) On this list of writings, those until "The Flying Dutchman of Wagner" were by Liszt, and the rest were by Marx. This letter by Stasov first appeared as "Uber einige neue Form der heutigen Musik" in Neue Zeitschrift fur Musik, vol. 49, 1858: 1-4. Notably, the Russian translation of this letter appeared in Russia for the first time only in 1894. It may be that Stasov was hiding a secret admiration for the Germans.

(7) The dispute was over two Glinka operas, A Life for the Czar and Ruslan and Ludmila. Stasov upheld Ruslan, based on Russian folklore, as the ideal for Russian opera, while Serov preferred the more dramatic A Life ... (Stasov's brief amorous affair with Serov's sister surely did not help matters either.)

(8) "Yankel" is a typical diminutive of the popular Jewish name Yakov (Jacob).

(9) Alexander Alyabyov (1787-1851) and Alexander Varlamov (1801-48) were popular Russian composers in the early-mid nineteenth century.

(10) Nul n'est prophete en son pays = No one is a prophet in his own country.