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YOU  WILL  ALSO  BE  INTERESTED  IN 

Masters  of  Russian  Music 

By  M.  D.  Calvocoressi  and  Gerald  Abraham 

Lively,  scholarly,  and  authoritative  portraits  of  fourteen 
Russian  composers  from  Glinka  and  Dargomyjsky  to  Glazunof 
and  Scriabin. 

My  Musical  Life 

By  Nikolay  Andreyevich  Rimsky-Korsakov 

A  completely  revised,  re-edited,  and  reset  edition  of  one 
of  the  most  revealing  and  fruitful  of  composers'  autobiographies. 

Dmitri  Shostakovich 

By  Victor  Seroff 

The  first  biography  in  English  of  the  world-famed  young 
Soviet  composer:  personal,  detailed,  and  authentic. 

Tchaikovsky 

By  Herbert  Weinstock 

The  first  complete  biography  of  the  Russian  composer, 
based  on  new  and  revealing  material. 

BORZOI  BOOKS 

PUBLISHED  IN  NEW  YORK  BY  ALFRED  A.  KNOPF 


Sergei  Prokofiev 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Boston  Library  Consortium  Member  Libraries 


http://archive.org/details/sergeiprokofievh1946nest 


SERGEI 
PROKOFIEV 


His  Musical  Life 


(31 


eif) 


els 


BY 


ISRAEL  V.  NESTYEV 

Translated  from  the  Russian  by  ROSE  PROKOFIEVA 
Introduction  by  SERGEI  EISENSTEIN 


ALFRED  A.  KNOPF  :  NEW  YORK 
1946 


ft]L    HlO 

239034 


Copyright  1946  by  Alfred  A.  Knopf,  Inc.  All  rights  reserved.  No  part  of 
this  book  may  be  reproduced  in  any  form  without  permission  in  writing 
from  the  publisher,  except  by  a  reviewer  who  may  quote  brief  passages 
or  reproduce  not  more  than  three  illustrations  in  a  review  to  be  printed 
in  a  magazine  or  newspaper. 

Manufactured  in  the  United  States  of  America 

FIRST    AMERICAN    EDITION 


Preface 


i, 


.N  writing  this  brief  review  of  the  life  and  work  of  Sergei 
Prokofiev,  I  have  set  myself  the  task  not  so  much  of  making 
an  exhaustive  analysis  of  his  music  as  of  briefly  reviewing  the 
most  significant  of  his  works  and  of  making  a  few  cursory  re- 
marks concerning  the  principal  features  of  his  style. 

The  bulk  of  this  book  was  written  in  1941  to  mark  Proko- 
fiev's fiftieth  birthday.  After  spending  a  year  at  the  front  I  re- 
turned to  Moscow  on  leave.  During  the  time  I  spent  in  Mos- 
cow I  was  able  to  make  a  few  additions  dealing  with  Prokofiev's 
work  during  the  war. 

I  have  freely  drawn  on  the  composer's  Autobiography,  writ- 
ten in  1941  for  Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  on  my  own  personal  meet- 
ings with  him,  and  on  a  large  number  of  reviews  published 
both  in  Russia  and  abroad.  My  acknowledgments  are  due  to 
Nikolai  Miaskovsky,  Boris  Asafyev  (Igor  Glebov),  Konstantin 
S.  Saradzhev,  V.  V.  Derzhanovsky,  V.  M.  Morolev,  L.  V.  Niko- 
layev,  N.  E.  Dobychina,  Reinhold  Gliere,  and  Abraham  Spi- 
vakovsky,  who  have  assisted  me  on  a  number  of  points  of  in- 
formation. My  thanks  are  also  due  to  Grigori  Shneerson,  who 
has  helped  me  in  going  through  the  foreign  press,  and  N.  P. 
Shastin,  who  has  provided  me  with  some  unpublished  mate- 
rials. 

I.  V.  N. 


Contents 


Index  of  Prokofiev  Compositions 
mentioned  in  text 


PACE 


Introduction  by  Sergei  Eisenstein:  P-R-K-F-V  ix 

Introduction  by  the  author  xxi 


BOOK      I.  Early  Years 

1.  Childhood 

3 

2.  Years  of  Study 

8 

3.  Recognition 

22 

4.  Sturm  und  Drang 

34 

5.  Style 

59 

BOOK    II.  Years  of  Wandering 

6.  Inertia  of  the  Past 

76 

7.  The  Crisis 

96 

BOOK  III.  Soviet  Artist 

8.  New  Views 

122 

9.  Composition 

126 

10.  Maturity 

H3 

11.  The  War  Years 

164 

Catalogue  of  Prokofiev's  Works 

189 

General  Index 

FOLLOWS   PAGE      193 

Vll 


P-R-K-F-V 


Yc 


OU'LL  have  the  music  by  noon. 

We  leave  the  small  projection-room.  Although  it  is  now 
midnight,  I  feel  quite  calm.  At  exactly  11.55  a.m.  a  small,  dark 
blue  automobile  will  come  through  the  gate  of  the  film  studio. 

Sergei  Prokofiev  will  emerge  from  the  car. 

In  his  hands  will  be  the  necessarv  piece  of  music. 

At  night  we  look  at  the  new  sequence  of  film. 

By  morning  the  new  sequence  of  music  will  be  ready  for  it. 

This  is  what  happened  recentlv  when  we  worked  on  Alex- 
ander 'Se^'skx. 

And  this  happens  now.  as  we  work  together  on  Ivan  the 
Terrible. 

1. 

Prokofiev  works  like  a  clock. 

This  clock  neither  gains  nor  loses  time. 

Like  a  sniper,  it  hits  the  verv  heart  of  punctualitv.  Proko- 
fiev's punctuality  is  not  a  matter  of  business  pedantry. 

His  exactness  in  time  is  a  by-product  of  creative  exactness. 

Of  absolute  exactness  in  musical  imagerv. 

Of  absolute  exactness  in  transposing  this  imagerv  into  a 
mathematically  exact  means  of  expression,  which  Prokofiev 
has  harnessed  behind  a  bridle  of  hard  steel. 

This  is  the  exactness  of  Stendhal's  laconic  stvle  translated 
into  music. 

In  crystal  purity  of  expressive  language  Prokofiev  is  equaled 
only  by  Stendhal. 

Clarity  of  idea  and  purity  of  image,  however,  are  not  always 
sufficient  to  achieve  the  popular  accessibility  of  a  worn  penny. 

A  centurv  ago  Stendhal  said:  *7C  mets  un  bUlet  dans  unc 
loterie  dont  le  gros  lot  se  reduit  a  ccci:  ctrv  lu  en  io;>";  al- 
though it  is  hard  for  us  now  to  believe  that  there  was  once  an 

ix 


P-R-K-F-V 

age  that  did  not  understand  the  transparency  of  Stendhal's 
style. 

Prokofiev  is  luckier. 

His  works  are  not  obliged  to  wait  a  hundred  years. 

For  many  years  he  was  not  understood. 

Then  he  was  accepted  —  as  a  curiosity. 

And  only  recently  have  they  ceased  to  look  askance  at  him. 

Now,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  Prokofiev  has  moved  onto 
the  broadest  road  of  popular  recognition. 

This  process  has  been  speeded  by  his  contact  with  the 
cinema.  Not  merely  because  this  contact  popularized  his  crea- 
tive work  through  the  subjects,  the  large  number  of  prints,  or 
the  wide  accessibility  of  the  screen. 

But  because  Prokofiev's  being  consists  in  something  below 
the  surface  appearance  of  the  film  medium  —  something  simi- 
lar to  that  which  an  event  must  undergo  in  being  broken  up 
for  its  passage  through  the  film  process. 

First,  the  event  must  pass  through  the  lens,  in  order  that, 
in  the  aspect  of  a  film  image,  pierced  by  the  blinding  beam  of 
the  projection-machine,  it  may  begin  to  lead  a  new  and  magic 
life  of  its  own  on  the  white  surface  of  the  screen. 


One  can  see  the  early  Prokofiev  in  the  pictures  produced  by 
the  most  extreme  tendencies  of  modern  painting. 

Occasionally  he  reminds  one  of  the  elegantly  audacious 
Matisse. 

More  often  —  of  the  early  Picasso's  harsh  arrogance. 

Less  often  —  of  Rouault's  frank  coarseness. 

At  the  same  time  there  is  often  something  in  him  resembling 
the  sculptured  texture  of  a  bas-relief. 

Fugitive  Visions.  Sarcasms.  The  Buffoon. 

Here,  a  jagged  edge  of  tin;  there,  the  oily  coating  on  the 
lacquer  of  asphalt;  here,  the  agonizing  twists  of  a  spiral,  bounc- 
ing like  a  spring  toward  the  observer. 

In  their  own  various  ways  the  "modern"  painters  sought, 

x 


P-R-K-F-V 

not  a  reflection  of  events,  but  a  bared  solution  for  the  riddle 
of  the  structure  of  phenomena. 

They  had  to  pay  for  their  solution  —  with  the  sacrifice  of  the 
perceptible  likeness  of  the  object:  all  anecdotal  quality  in  the 
object  and  all  "integrated  fact"  gave  way  to  the  elements  and 
their  component  parts,  made  tangible. 

The  "city  theme"  is  no  longer  an  impressionist  weaving  of 
street  sensations  —  now  it  becomes  a  conglomerate  of  citv  ele- 
ments: iron,  a  newspaper  page,  black  letters,  glass. 

And  this  was  young  Prokofiev's  road. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Henri  Monnet  in  Cahiers  dart  waxed 
ironical  over  the  music  of  Le  Pas  deader:  "It  evokes  thunder 
with  thunder,  a  hammer-blow  with  a  hammer-blow:  fine  stvli- 
zation!" 

It  was  the  verv  lies  of  stvlization  from  which  Prokofiev  was 
consciously  fleeing,  as  he  sought  the  objectivitv  of  actual 
sounds. 

But  alongside  that  irony,  in  the  same  issue  of  Cahiers  dart 
(1927,  No.  6),  there  is  this  comment  on  Picasso:  "For  Picasso 
painting  is  the  skull  of  Yorick.  He  revolves  it  constantly  in  his 
hands,  with  intent  curiosity"  (Christian  Zervos). 

Isn't  Prokofiev  doing  the  same  thing?  Though  perhaps  with 
this  difference,  that  in  his  long  hands  he  revolves,  with  no  less 
curiosity,  not  the  form  of  music,  but  its  object. 

Not  a  skull,  but  a  living  face. 

At  first,  simple  objects  —  "things"  —  looked  at  from  the 
viewpoints  of  their  texture,  material,  materialitv.  structure. 

These  become  faces,  which  can  be  identified  by  their  eye- 
lids, cheek-bones,  crania. 

Later  these  grow  into  human  images,  composed  of  emotions 
(Romeo  and  Juliet),  and,  finally,  thev  develop  into  images 
that  embodv  pages  of  historv.  images  of  phenomena,  of  social 
systems  —  collective  images  of  the  people. 

Thus  the  hoof-beats  of  the  Teutonic  knights  in  Alexander 
N ex sky  do  not  merelv  "hammer  for  the  sake  of  hammering." 
but  out  of  this  "hammer  for  hammer"  and  "gallop  for  gallop" 

xi 


P-R-K-F-V 

there  is  evolved  a  universal  image,  galloping  across  the  thir- 
teenth century  to  the  twentieth  —  toward  the  unmasking  of 
fascism. 

In  this  inner  revelation  of  the  spirit  and  nature  of  fascism, 
in  this  objectivization  via  fixed  elements  of  tonal  imagery,  there 
is  something  akin  to  that  period  of  modem  painting  when 
painters  searched  for  the  way  to  reveal  the  actuality  of  phe- 
nomena, through  the  physical  composition  of  their  materials 
—  glass,  wire,  tin,  or  cardboard. 

This  is  another  level.  A  difference  in  degree.  In  theme. 

For  these  solutions  are  no  longer  possible  without  social  aim 
or  without  passion. 

3- 

The  Prokofiev  of  our  time  is  a  man  of  the  screen. 

And  he  is  related  to  the  young  Prokofiev  very  much  as  the 
motion-picture  screen  is  related  to  the  extreme  searches  of 
modem  painting. 

One  of  those  extreme  seekers  said  cleverly:  "Modem  art  has 
finally  achieved  suprematism  —  a  black  square  and  a  white 
quadrangle."  All  that  remained  was  for  the  quadrangle  to  be- 
come a  screen.  And  racing  across  this  screen  is  the  optical  phe- 
nomenon of  cinematic  chiaroscuro. 

The  new  Prokofiev  can  be  sensed  through  the  screen. 

Prokofiev  is  a  man  of  the  screen  in  that  special  sense  which 
makes  it  possible  for  the  screen  to  reveal  not  only  the  appear- 
ance and  substance  of  objects,  but  also,  and  particularly,  their 
peculiar  inner  structure. 

The  logic  of  their  existence.  The  dynamics  of  their  develop- 
ment. 

We  have  seen  how  for  decades  the  "modern"  experiments 
in  painting  sought,  at  an  immeasurable  cost  in  effort,  to  resolve 
those  difficulties  which  the  screen  has  solved  with  the  ease  of  a 
child.  Dynamics,  movement,  chiaroscuro,  transitions  from 
form  to  form,  rhythm,  plastic  repetition,  etc.,  etc. 

Unable  to  achieve  this  to  perfection,  the  painters  neverthc- 

xii 


P-R-K-F-V 

less  paid  for  their  search  at  the  cost  of  the  representation  and 
objectivity  of  the  imaged  thing. 

Among  all  the  plastic  arts  the  cinema  alone,  with  no  loss  of 
expressive  objectivity,  and  with  complete  ease,  resolves  all 
these  problems  of  painting,  but  at  the  same  time  the  cinema 
is  able  to  communicate  much  more.  It  alone  is  able  to  recon- 
struct so  profoundly  and  fullv  the  inner  movement  of  phe- 
nomena, as  we  see  it  on  the  screen. 

The  camera-angle  reveals  the  innermost  being  of  na- 
ture. .  .  . 

The  juxtaposition  of  various  camera  viewpoints  reveals  the 
artist's  viewpoint  on  the  phenomenon. 

Montage  structure  unites  the  objective  existence  of  the  phe- 
nomenon with  the  artist's  subjective  relation  to  it. 

None  of  the  severe  standards  set  for  itself  by  modern  paint- 
ing are  relinquished.  At  the  same  time  everything  lives  with 
the  full  vitality  of  the  phenomenon. 

It  is  in  this  particular  sense  that  Prokofiev's  music  is  amaz- 
ingly plastic.  It  is  never  content  to  remain  an  illustration,  but 
everywhere,  gleaming  with  triumphant  imagerv,  it  wonderfully 
reveals  the  inner  movement  of  the  phenomenon  and  its  dy- 
namic structure,  in  which  is  embodied  the  emotion  and  mean- 
ing of  the  event. 

Whether  it  be  the  March  from  the  fantastic  Lore  for  Three 
Oranges,  the  duel  between  Mercutio  and  Tybalt,  the  gallop  of 
the  Teutonic  knights  in  Alexander  Nevsky,  or  the  entrance  of 
Kutuzov  in  the  finale  of  War  and  Peace  —  everywhere,  in  the 
very  nature  of  phenomena,  Prokofiev  grasps  the  structural  se- 
cret that,  before  all  else,  conveys  the  broad  meaning  of  the 
phenomenon. 

Having  grasped  this  structural  secret  of  all  phenomena,  he 
clothes  it  in  the  tonal  camera-angles  of  instrumentation,  com- 
pelling it  to  gleam  with  shifts  in  timbre,  and  forces  the  whole 
inflexible  structure  to  blossom  into  the  emotional  fullness  of 
orchestration. 

The  moving  graphic  outlines  of  his  musical  images,  which 

xiii 


P-R-K-F— V 

thus  rise,  are  thrown  by  him  onto  our  consciousness  just  as, 
through  the  blinding  beam  of  the  projector,  moving  images 
are  flung  onto  the  white  plane  of  the  screen. 

This  is  not  an  engraved  impression  in  paint  of  a  phenome- 
non, but  a  light  that  pierces  the  phenomenon  by  means  of 
tonal  chiaroscuro. 

4- 

I  am  not  speaking  of  Prokofiev's  musical  technique,  or  of 
his  method  of  composition. 

Nor  do  I  speak  of  the  path  toward  the  achievement  of  this 
impression,  but  of  the  nature  of  the  achieved  sensation. 

And  in  the  nature  of  Prokofiev's  expressive  speech  the  first 
thing  I  notice  is  the  "steel  step"  of  drumming  consonants, 
which,  above  all,  beat  out  the  clarity  of  thought  in  those  places 
where  many  others  would  have  been  tempted  to  use  indis- 
tinctly modulated  nuances,  equivalent  to  the  candied  fluency 
of  the  vowel  elements. 

The  frenzied  conscience  of  Rimbaud,  carried  in  his  "bateau 
ivre"  along  the  flowing  lava  of  diffuse  and  drunken  images, 
dictated  to  him  that  litany  of  praise  to  the  vowels  —  Le  Sonnet 
des  voyelles. 

If  Prokofiev  had  written  this  sonnet,  he  would  have  dedi- 
cated it  to  the  sensible  supports  of  language  —  to  the  Conso- 
nants. 

In  the  same  way  that  he  writes  operas,  leaning  not  on  the 
melody  of  rhymes,  but  on  the  bony  angularity  of  unrhythmic 
prose. 

.  .  .  He  would  have  written  his  sonnet  to  the  Conso- 
nants. .  .  . 

But  stop  —what's  this? 

Under  the  cunning  clauses  of  contracts  —  in  the  polite  in- 
scriptions on  photographs  for  friends  and  admirers  —  in  the 
upper  right-hand  comer  of  the  music-paper  of  a  new  piece  — 

—  we  see,  always  —  the  harsh  tap-dance  of  consonants: 
-P-R-K-F-V- 

xiv 


P-R-K-F-V 

This  is  the  usual  signature  of  the  composer! 

He  even  spells  his  name  with  nothing  but  consonants! 

5- 

Once  Bach  found  a  divine  melodic  pattern  in  the  very  out- 
lines of  the  letters  in  his  name. 

Read  as  notes,  these  letters  —  BACH  —  arranged  them- 
selves in  a  musical  line,  which  became  the  melodic  base  for 
one  of  his  works. 

The  consonants  with  which  Prokofiev  signs  his  name  could 
be  read  as  a  symbol  of  the  undeviating  consistency  of  his  en- 
tire talent. 

From  the  composer's  creative  work  —  as  from  his  signature 
—  everything  unstable,  transient,  accidental,  or  capricious  has 
been  expelled. 

This  is  how  they  wrote  on  ancient  icons : 

Gospod  (Lord)  was  written  "Gd,"  and  Tzar  "Tzr," 

and  "Rzhstvo  Btzy"  stood  for  Rozhdestvo  Bogoroditzy 
(Birth  of  the  Mother  of  God) . 

The  strict  spirit  of  the  old  Slavonic  canon  is  reflected  in 
these  eliminations  of  everything  accidental,  transient,  mun- 
dane. 

In  teaching,  the  canon  leaned  on  the  eternal,  over  the 
transient. 

In  painting  —  on  the  existent,  rather  than  on  the  ephemeral. 

In  inscriptions  —  on  the  consonants,  apparently  symbols  of 
the  eternal,  as  opposed  to  the  accidental. 

This  is  what  we  find  in  the  ascetic  drum-beat  of  those  five 
consonants  —  P,  R,  K,  F,  V  —  sensed  through  the  dazzling 
radiation  of  Prokofiev's  musical  chiaroscuro. 

And  it  is  thus  that  the  black-lacquered  letters  flash  over  the 
rhythmic  conflict  of  sharp-edged  planes  on  the  canvases  of 
Picasso. 

And  thus  the  gold  letters  burn  dimly  on  the  frescoes  of 
Spaso-Nereditzkaya. 

Or  they  echo  with  the  abbot's  stern  call  through  the  floods 

xv 


P-R-K-F-V 


of  sepia  and  the  celestial  azure  of  cobalt  in  the  murals  of 
Feofan  the  Greek  on  the  vaults  of  the  Fyodor  Stratilat  Church 


in  Novgorod. 


Equal  to  the  inflexible  severity  of  Prokofiev's  writing  is  the 
magnificence  of  his  lyricism,  which  blossoms  in  that  miracle 
of  Prokofiev  orchestration  —  the  "Aaron's  rod"  of  his  struc- 
tural logic. 


Prokofiev  is  profoundly  nationalistic. 

But  not  in  the  kvas  and  shchi  manner  of  the  conventionally 
Russian  pseudo-realists. 

Nor  is  he  nationalistic  in  the  "holy  water"  detail  and  genre 
of  Perov's  or  Repin's  brush. 

Prokofiev  is  nationalistic  in  the  severely  traditional  sense 
that  dates  back  to  the  savage  Scythian  and  the  unsurpassed  per- 
fection of  the  thirteenth-centurv  stone  carvings  on  the  cathe- 
drals of  Vladimir  and  Suzdal. 

His  nationalism  springs  from  the  very  sources  that  shaped 
the  national  consciousness  of  the  Russian  people,  the  source 
that  is  reflected  in  the  folk-wisdom  of  our  old  frescoes  or  the 
icon-craftsmanship  of  Rublev. 

That  is  why  antiquity  resounds  so  wonderfully  in  Proko- 
fiev's music  —  not  by  archaic  or  stylized  means,  but  by  the 
most  extreme  and  hazardous  twists  of  ultra-modern  musical 
composition. 

Here,  within  Prokofiev  himself,  we  find  the  same  paradoxi- 
cal synchronization  as  when  we  juxtapose  an  icon  with  a  cubist 
painting  —  Piscasso  with  the  frescoes  of  Spaso-Nereditzkaya. 

Through  this  true  (in  a  Hegelian  sense)  originality,  through 
tin's  "firstness"  of  his,  Prokofiev  is,  at  the  same  time,  both 
profoundly  national  —  and  international. 

Just  as  international  and  ultra-modern  as  an  icon  painted  on 
sandalwood  hanging  among  the  canvases  of  a  New  York  art 
j.illcry. 

xvi 


P-R-K-F-V 

7- 

But  it  is  not  only  in  this  way  that  Prokofiev  is  international. 

He  also  is  international  in  the  active  variety  of  his  expressive 
speech. 

In  this  the  canon  of  his  musical  mentality  is  again  similar  to 
a  canon  of  antiquity,  but  in  this  case  to  the  canon  of  Byzantine 
tradition,  which  has  the  faculty  of  shining  through  any  en- 
vironment it  finds  itself  in,  ever  fresh  and  unexpected. 

On  Italian  soil  it  shines  through  the  Madonnas  of  Cim- 
abue. 

On  Spanish  soil  —  through  the  works  of  Domenikos  Theo- 
tokopoulos,  called  El  Greco. 

In  the  state  of  Novgorod  —  through  the  murals  of  anony- 
mous masters,  murals  barbarically  trampled  underfoot  by  the 
brutish  hordes  of  invading  Teutons.  .  .  . 

Thus  the  art  of  Prokofiev  can  be  fired  by  more  than  purely- 
national,  historical,  or  patriotic  themes,  such  as  the  heroic 
events  of  the  nineteenth,  sixteenth,  or  thirteenth  centuries 
(the  triad  of  War  and  Peace,  Ivan  the  Terrible,  and  Alexander 
Nevsky) . 

The  pungent  talent  of  Prokofiev,  attracted  by  the  passionate 
environment  of  Shakespearean  Italy  of  the  Renaissance,  flares 
up  in  a  ballet  on  the  theme  of  that  great  dramatist's  most  lyri- 
cal tragedy. 

In  the  magic  environment  of  Gozzi's  phantasmagoria,  from 
Prokofiev  there  issues  forth  an  amazing  cascade  of  fantasy,  a 
quintessence  of  Italy  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

In  the  nursery  —  the  scrawny  neck  of  Andersen's  Ugly  Duck- 
ling or  Peter  and  the  Wolf. 

In  the  environment  of  the  bestialities  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury —  the  unforgettable  image  of  the  blunted  iron  "wedge" 
of  Teutonic  knights,  galloping  forward  with  the  same  "irre- 
sistibility" as  did  the  tank  columns  of  their  loathsome  descend- 
ants. 

xvii 


P-R-K-F-V 

8. 

Everywhere  — search:  severe,  methodical.  This  makes  Pro- 
kofiev kin  to  the  masters  of  the  early  Renaissance,  when  a 
painter  —  simultaneously  philosopher  and  sculptor  —  would 
inevitably  be  a  mathematician  as  well. 

Everywhere  freedom  from  an  impressionistic  "generality," 
from  the  mask  of  "approximation,"  and  from  the  smeared 
color  of  "blobs." 

In  his  hands  one  senses  not  an  arbitrary  brush,  but  a  respon- 
sible camera-lens. 

Once  in  an  article  on  Degas,  Paul  Valery  wrote  about  the 
art  of  the  future.  Far  from  the  mess  of  paint-pots,  the  smell  of 
glue  and  kerosene  and  turpentine,  from  dirty  brushes  and 
dusty  easels,  Paul  Valery  displays  for  us  not  a  studio,  but  some- 
thing closer  to  a  laboratory  —  something  between  an  operating- 
room  and  a  dynamo  station.  Among  the  exact  movements 
of  people  clad  in  sanitary  gowns,  in  rubber  gloves,  amid  the 
steely  glitter  of  the  prepared  instruments  —  new  works  of 
painting  would  be  born. 

Valery's  dream  came  true  —  by  the  end  of  Degas's  life  the 
cinema  had  appeared. 

The  ideal  in  painting,  in  Valery's  view,  is  embodied  in 
music,  it  seems  to  me,  in  the  work  of  Prokofiev. 

And  that  is  why  his  work  is  so  brilliantly  organic  especially 
amid  the  microphones,  flashing  photo-elements,  celluloid  spi- 
rals of  film,  the  faultless  accuracy  of  meshing  sprockets  in  the 
motion-picture  camera,  the  millimetric  exactness  of  synchroni- 
zation, and  the  mathematical  calculations  of  length  in  film 
montage.  .  .  . 

The  blinding  beam  of  the  projection-machine  is  shut  off. 

The  ceiling  lights  of  the  projection-room  are  turned  on. 

Prokofiev  wraps  his  scarf  around  him. 

I  may  sleep  calmly. 

At  exactly  11.55  a.m.  tomorrow  morning  his  small  blue 
automobile  will  come  through  the  gate  of  the  film  studio. 

xviii 


P-R-K-F-V 

Five  minutes  later  the  score  will  lie  on  my  desk. 

On  it  will  be  the  symbolic  letters: 

P_R_K-F-V. 

Nothing  ephemeral,  nothing  accidental. 

All  is  distinct,  exact,  perfect. 

That  is  why  Prokofiev  is  not  only  one  of  the  greatest  com- 
posers of  our  time,  but  also,  in  my  opinion,  the  most  wonder- 
ful film  composer. 

Sergei  Eisenstein  1 
Alma  Ata,  November  1942 
Moscow,  November  1944 

1  Translated  by  Jay  Leyda. 


XIX 


Introduction 


S, 


'ERGEI  PROKOFIEV  is  well  known  throughout 
the  world  as  one  of  the  leading  and  most  distinguished  of  mod- 
ern composers.  Few  composers  in  either  hemisphere  can  rival 
the  power  and  originality  of  his  talent,  his  wide  popularity,  or 
the  scope  and  fertility  of  his  genius. 

All  that  he  has  written  during  the  long  years  of  his  career, 
and  especially  his  music  for  the  piano,  has  long  since  won  a 
lasting  place  for  itself  in  the  repertory  of  Soviet  and  foreign 
musicians.  With  more  than  thirty  vears  of  independent  activ- 
ity' behind  him,  Prokofiev  has  preserved  all  his  indefatigable 
creative  energy,  his  keen  imagination  and  ingenuity,  and  his 
inexhaustible  \italitv.  He  is  a  stranger  to  academic  compla- 
cency, to  the  smug  self-satisfaction  of  those  who  have  achieved 
a  certain  professional  mastery,  to  saccharine  prettiness,  and  to 
petty*  self-adulation.  He  is  always  striving  for  perfection,  re- 
newing the  range  of  his  artistic  media,  and  absorbing  the  new 
trends  in  the  ever  changing  life  around  him.  Yet  he  has  re- 
mained true  to  himself. 

It  is  edifying  to  observe  how  tirelessly  Prokofiev  fights  for 
his  artistic  principles,  never  succumbing  to  the  inertia  of  the 
stereotyped.  This  was  true  of  him  thirty  vears  ago.  when  he 
threw  down  the  gauntlet  to  the  academic  musical  world  of 
pie-Revolutionary  Russia.  It  was  true  of  him  during  his  wan- 
derings through  America  and  Europe,  when  he  hungrily  pur- 
sued his  quest  of  the  new.  notwithstanding  the  furious  attacks 
of  the  critics.  It  is  still  true  of  him  at  the  present  day.  During 
the  past  decade  Sergei  Prokofiev  has  been  li\ing  and  working 
with  us  as  one  of  the  most  interesting  masters  of  Soviet  music. 
Soviet  reality  is  exercising  a  more  and  more  tangible  and 
beneficent  influence  on  his  work:  after  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Alex- 
ander Nevsky,  Zdraritsa.  and  Scmvon  Kotko  one  can  speak 
quite  definitely  of  a  new  phase  in  Prokofiev's  music,  what  one 

xxi 


INTRODUCTION 

might  term  the  creative  synthesis  of  the  whole  of  his  thirty- 
five  years  of  mature  work  as  a  composer.  His  brilliant  inven- 
tiveness and  inexhaustible  virtuosity  have  been  directed  more 
and  more  confidently  toward  the  solution  of  the  social  prob- 
lems facing  Soviet  art.  It  is  precisely  with  this  phase  that  the 
social  trend  of  his  art  has  become  more  clearly  defined,  more 
conscious  and  purposeful. 

A  diligent  and  systematic  worker,  Prokofiev  never  allows 
himself  to  be  guided  by  the  whims  of  inspiration.  There  is 
nothing  of  the  egocentric  manner  of  the  romantics  in  his 
method.  He  works  at  times  like  a  talented  architect  capable  of 
placing  the  whole  of  his  knowledge  and  artistic  ability  at  the 
service  of  one  or  another  productive  task.  And  when  a  produc- 
tive task  is  not  warmed  by  the  breath  of  poetic  feeling,  when 
it  is  not  touched  bv  the  inner  world  of  the  artist  and  is  not  in 
harmony  with  his  sharply  individual  style,  the  music  is  bound 
to  seem  cold,  superficial,  and  artificial. 

A  passion  for  exploring  new  pastures,  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  experimenter,  the  avidity  of  the  traveler,  a  constant  striv- 
ing to  discover  new  musical  fields,  have  been  Prokofiev's  out- 
standing traits  since  his  student  days  in  the  Conservatory.  New 
methods  of  orchestration,  original  harmonies,  new,  unexplored 
dramatic  situations  in  opera,  unique  unorthodox  uses  of  the 
libretto  —  all  these  have  attracted  Prokofiev  from  his  very 
childhood.  It  is  not  surprising  that  not  all  of  his  discoveries 
have  withstood  the  test  of  time,  that  not  all  of  them  are  com- 
prehensible to  the  average  concert-goer  or  suitable  for  further 
development. 

But  whenever  a  new  discovery  retains  its  ties  with  the  musi- 
cal past,  when  it  is  destined  to  unfold  some  page  of  living 
truth,  when  it  reveals  the  keen  and  sensitive  eye  of  the  observer, 
the  humor  of  the  narrator,  the  skill  of  the  virtuoso,  then  the 
experiment  crosses  the  boundary  into  the  realm  of  living  art 
and  becomes  a  true  expression  of  the  epoch. 

Need  it  be  pointed  out  that  innovation  and  the  restless 
search  for  new  modes  of  expression  are  precisely  the  qualities 

xxii 


INTRODUCTION 

most  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  our  times?  Without  them 
Soviet  music  could  not  advance.  Even  when  innovation  is 
limited  to  the  sphere  of  laboratory  experimentation,  it  is  far 
more  valuable  than  placid  unimaginative  composition  along 
the  beaten  track. 

However  conflicting  Prokofiev's  searchings  of  recent  years 
may  be,  whatever  the  effect  on  them  of  rational,  cold-blooded 
experimentation,  of  that  regrettable  abuse  of  the  primitive, 
that  artificial  simplicity,  one  thing  is  quite  clear:  Prokofiev  is 
undoubtedly  approaching  that  summit  of  true  art  which  has 
beckoned  to  him  from  the  earliest  years  of  his  career  as  a  com- 
poser. 

Sergei  Prokofiev's  advent  in  the  world  of  Russian  music 
coincided  with  a  grave  crisis  in  Russian  art.  Those  were  the 
troublous  times  that  preceded  the  First  World  War  and  the 
October  Revolution,  when  the  decay  and  inevitable  collapse 
of  the  culture  of  the  Russian  bourgeoisie  and  nobility  became 
most  apparent.  Fashions  in  art  in  that  period  changed  with 
fantastic  rapiditv:  imperialist  Russia,  keeping  pace  with  the 
West,  produced  an  ever  increasing  number  of  new  and  ex- 
treme schools  and  trends  in  art,  each  of  which  denounced  the 
art  of  its  predecessors.  In  the  domain  of  painting,  for  instance, 
the  exquisite  stylization  and  decorative  retrospection  of  the 
Wrorld  of  Art '  were  replaced  bv  the  rude  earthiness,  solid 
color  effects,  and  formalistic  objectivism  of  the  Russian 
Cezanne  school  ("Jack  of  Diamonds'").  In  their  turn,  the 
young  futurist  groupings  ("Ass's  Tail"  and  "Target")  rebelled 
against  the  French  orientation  of  the  "Jack  of  Diamonds," 
proclaimed  the  cult  of  the  primitive  and  simplified,  and 
pointed  the  wav  to  abstract,  subjectless.  "black  square"  designs. 

In  poetry  the  shortlived  domination  of  symbolism  had 
ended.  The  archaeology  and  mvsticism  of  the  older  generation 
of  svmbolists  alreadv  sounded  old-fashioned.  The  cleverest  of 
the  symbolist  poets,  such  as  Alexander  Blok.  themselves  ad- 
mitted that  the  school  had  collapsed.  Onto  the  poetic  arena 

1  See  p.  xxv,  note  3. 

xxiii 


INTRODUCTION 

emerged  the  acmeists  or  Adamists,  with  their  cult  of  the  con- 
crete, their  material,  mundane  system  of  symbols  and  affected 
Scvthianism.  "The  band  of  Adams  with  partings  in  their  hair/' 
Mayakovsky  aptly  christened  them.  And  in  the  midst  of  the 
group  of  ultra-Lefts,  the  anarchistic  and  rebellious  Moscow 
cubo-futurists,  alongside  the  out-and-out  formalists  of  the 
nihilist  variety,  rose  the  young  Mayakovsky,  who  flayed  with 
equal  passion  the  "castrated  psychology"  of  the  naturalists, 
the  passive  sestheticism  of  the  symbolists,  and  the  "perfumed 
pornography"  of  Igor  Severyanin. 

The  very  same  process  of  feverish  change  of  different, 
sometimes  mutually  exclusive  schools  and  trends  was  taking 
place  in  Russian  music.  The  representatives  of  the  great  tradi- 
tion of  Russian  music,  the  direct  proponents  of  Five  and 
Tchaikovsky  schools,  were  still  living  and  occupying  a  leading 
position  in  the  musical  life  of  the  country.  But  in  modernist 
circles  these  traditions  were  already  considered  as  shamefully 
out  of  date  as  the  realistic  traditions  of  the  Peredvizhniki 2  in 
the  circles  of  the  young  painters.  A  conscious  anti-Tchaikov- 
skyism  became  the  credo  of  the  modern  musicians.  Serge 
Rachmaninoff  and  Nikolai  Medtner,  so  recently  associated 
with  modernistic  trends,  found  themselves  in  the  second  dec- 
ade of  the  twentieth  century  in  the  camp  of  the  moderate 
Rights.  Amazinglv  rapid  was  the  evolution  of  the  brilliant 
Scriabin  from  Chopinism  and  neo-romantic  sympathies  to  ex- 
tremely subjective,  expressionist  art,  to  the  assertion  of  his 
super-individualistic  aspirations  in  forms  that  grew  more  and 
more  complex,  more  and  more  remote  from  accepted  musical 
genres  and  standards. 

Similarly  rapid  were  the  rise  and  decline  of  trends  emulat- 
ing French  impressionism.  Vladimir  Rebikov,  the  first  Russian 
impressionist,  faded  into  obscurity  before  his  grandiose  proj- 
ects were  realized;  the  experiments  of  Nikolai  Tcherepnin  and 
the  young  Sergei  Vassilcnko,  followers  of  the  World  of  Art 

-  Peredvizhniki  —  the  name  given  to  a  group  of  painters  of  a  decidedly  real- 
istic and  democratic  trend  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

xxiv 


INTRODUCTION 

school,  the  effective  stylization  of  the  Diaghilev s  ballet 
(Scheherazade,  The  Firebird)  were  ousted  by  the  cubist  bar- 
barism of  Stravinsky's  Le  Sacre  du  printemps.  Analogous 
processes  were  at  work  in  the  Russian  theater:  from  the  sym- 
bolist experiments  of  the  Moscow  Art  Theater  and  the  Komis- 
sarzhevskaya  Theater,  through  the  leanings  toward  the  gro- 
tesque and  the  masque,  the  tendency  ran  toward  the  purely 
formalistic  futurist  extravaganzas  of  Meyerhold;  and  alongside 
it  was  the  repudiation  in  principle  of  all  operatic  art  as  having 
allegedly  outlived  its  purpose,  and  the  striving  to  replace  it 
with  a  semi-acrobatic  pantomime. 

All  branches  of  art  in  this  period  passed  from  the  elaborate 
beauty  of  symbolism  and  impressionism  to  crude  simplifica- 
tion and  cynical  primitivization:  to  cubism  and  absence  of 
subject  in  painting,  to  a  studied  abracadabra  and  verbal  ca- 
cophony in  poetry,  to  a  constructivism  devoid  of  both  meaning 
and  emotion  in  music,  and  in  the  theater  to  the  "stunts"  and 
arbitrary  eccentricities  of  the  producer. 

And,  of  course,  Lenin,  Plekhanov,  Gorky,  and  Tolstoy  were 
right  when  they  voiced  so  many  sharp  protests  against  the 
decadence  of  art,  against  its  deliberate  negation  of  the  idea. 
They  correctly  pointed  out  that  the  exalted  ideal  of  great  art 
which  could  "sear  the  hearts  of  men  with  a  word"  does  not 
tolerate  the  worship  of  form  per  se. 

However  much  we  may  value  the  outstanding  examples  of 
Russian  modernism,  however  highly  we  may  appraise  its  vivid- 
ness of  form,  its  culture,  taste,  inventiveness,  and  originality, 
it  is  quite  clear  to  us  today  that  the  World  of  Art  group,  Bal- 
mont,  the  young  Stravinsky,  the  masters  of  the  "Jack  of  Dia- 
monds," and  the  Diaghilev  troupe,  all  represented  an  ivory- 
tower  art  that  shut  itself  off  from  Russian  life  on  the  eve  of  the 

3  Sergei  Pavlovich  Diaghilev  (1872-1929),  distinguished  Russian  art 
scholar,  musician,  and  lawyer  by  education.  In  the  late  nineties  of  last  century 
led  the  struggle  of  the  young  Russian  innovators  against  academism  and  the 
followers  of  the  Peredvizhniki.  Organizer  of  the  World  of  Art  group,  which 
rallied  around  the  magazine  of  the  same  name.  From  1909  organized  the  Rus- 
sian modernist  ballet  abroad.  While  in  Paris  Diaghilev  produced  most  of  the 
ballets  of  Stravinsky,  Prokofiev,  Debussy,  Ravel,  Poulenc,  Milhaud,  and  Auric. 

XXV 


INTRODUCTION 

Revolution,  displaying  a  total  indifference  to  the  vital  inter- 
ests and  passions  of  the  world  around  them. 

It  was  only  in  spite  of  principles  of  modernism,  as  a  repudia- 
tion of  these  principles,  that  artists  who  were  sensitive  to  the 
pulse  of  the  Russia  of  their  day  rose  from  the  morass  of  de- 
cadence. Such  were  Blok  and  Bryusov  in  symbolist  poetry,  and 
Scriabin  and  Miaskovsky  in  the  new  Russian  music.  Blok, 
Bryusov,  and  Miaskovsky  were  subsequently  among  the  first 
to  embrace  in  their  own  way  the  October  Revolution. 

The  music  of  the  young  Prokofiev  had  a  dual  quality. 
On  the  one  hand  it  cannot  be  considered  apart  from  the  kalei- 
doscopic change  of  styles  and  schools  occurring  in  all  spheres 
of  Russian  art  at  that  time.  Prokofiev  is  undoubtedly  a  genu- 
ine product  of  Russian  modernism.  His  talent  was  inspired 
and  nurtured  by  the  proponents  of  the  new  modernistic  trends 
with  Diaghilev  at  their  head.  Their  credo  was  originality,  in- 
vention, formal  novelty  at  all  costs;  the  meaning  of  art,  they 
held,  lay  in  the  inimitable  personality  of  the  artist  himself. 
The  social  struggle,  great  human  ideals  —  all  this  was  no  con- 
cern of  the  artist.4  A  product  of  modernism,  bound  to  it  by  a 
thousand  threads  and  to  a  considerable  extent  infected  by 
many  of  its  prejudices,  the  young  Prokofiev  at  the  same  time 
rebelled  against  conventional,  academic  art  and  decadent  sym- 
bolist art.  Like  Mayakovsky  in  poetry,  he  swept  the  outmoded 
rubbish  and  the  rotten  scum  of  decadence  out  of  the  Augean 
stables  of  Russian  music,  directing  music  along  the  road  of 
simplicity,  concreteness,  and  accessibility. 

As  Mayakovsky  wrote  in  his  Order  of  the  Day  for  the  Army 
of  Art: 

Drag  the  pianos  into  the  street, 

fish  the  drums  out  of  the  window. 

Piano  the  drums 

and  drum  on  the  pianos  to  beat 

the  band,  till  they  lighten 

and  thunder. 

4  "An  artist  should  love  beauty  alone,"  wrote  Diaghilev.  "The  reactions  of 
art  to  worldly  cares  and  worries  arc  unworthy  of  this  smile  of  the  divinity." 
(Quoted  by  N.  Sokolova  in  The  World  of  Art.) 

xxvi 


INTRODUCTION 

The  fierce  nihilism  of  the  rebel  musician,  notwithstanding 
his  revolutionary  tendencies,  was  fraught  with  danger;  his  very 
rebellion,  unless  there  were  positive  ideals  to  counterbalance 
it,  might  have  degenerated  into  something  akin  to  the  "ultra- 
Left"  variety  of  modernism.  In  that  case  the  spirit  of  rebellion 
would  have  led  Prokofiev  to  a  negation  of  the  very  foundations 
of  art  and  to  an  anarchic  repudiation  of  all  its  standards  and 
canons,  as  in  the  case  of  the  "Left"  painters,  or  to  a  cold  "im- 
passe of  perversion,"  as  with  Stravinsky  and  Schonberg.  Then 
Prokofiev  would  have  perished  for  us  in  the  bog  of  formalism. 
But  fortunately  his  rebellion  was  always  combined  with  an 
intuitive  striving  toward  exalted  human  ideals,  with  positive 
artistic  aspirations.  And  if  he  did  not  reach  out  toward  his  own 
truth  in  art  as  clearly  and  confidently  as  did  the  young  Maya- 
kovsky,  that  truth  has  triumphed  for  him  too  in  the  final  analy- 
sis and  returned  him  to  the  fold  of  Soviet  art.  In  the  present 
review  of  his  artistic  development  I  shall  endeavor  to  trace  the 
path  by  which,  after  overcoming  many  obstacles,  the  composer 
arrived  at  the  realization  of  his  true  goal. 

I.  N. 


XXVll 


Sergei  Prokofiev 


Book  I 

Early  Years 


GTS 

els 


1  :  Childhood 

k^ERGEI  SERGEYEVICH  PROKOFIEV  was  born 
on  April  23,  1891  in  the  village  of  Sontsovka,  near  what  is  now 
the  town  of  Stalino  in  the  Donbas.  His  father,  Sergei  Alexey- 
evich  Prokofiev  (1846-1910),  managed  the  estate  of  Sontsov, 
a  local  landowner,  for  thirty  years.  A  first-class  agronomist,  a 
graduate  of  the  Petrovsko-Razumovskoye  Agricultural  Acad- 
emy in  Moscow,  the  composer's  father  built  up  in  Sontsovka  a 
model  economy  complete  with  imported  machinery,  a  stud 
farm,  and  so  on. 

In  his  youth  Sergei  Alexeyevich,  who  came  from  a  family  of 
Moscow  commoners,  participated  in  student  disturbances  and 
paid  the  price  of  his  convictions.  Although  he  subsequently 
retired  from  politics,  he  preserved  his  progressive  views  to  the 
end  of  his  life  and  devoted  much  time  and  effort  to  organizing 
schools  in  the  district  and  helping  the  peasants  with  their 
farming.  In  his  home  at  Sontsovka  he  possessed  a  large  library, 
to  which  he  was  always  adding.  Faith  in  the  progress  of  human 
culture  was  the  foundation  of  Sergei  Alexeyevich's  liberal  out- 
look. 

The  mother  of  the  future  composer,  Marya  Grigoryevna 
Zhitkova  (1855-1924),  was  born  in  St.  Petersburg  in  a  middle- 

3 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

class  family.  She  was  an  excellent  pianist  and  an  intelligent 
teacher.  Together  with  her  husband  she  took  an  active  part  in 
the  life  of  the  village,  teaching  in  the  local  school. 

When,  after  the  death  of  two  small  daughters,  a  son  was 
born  to  the  Prokofievs,  it  was  perhaps  natural  that  he  should 
become  the  object  of  particular  love  and  attention.  The  par- 
ents took  great  pains  with  his  education.  They  did  not  send 
him  to  school,  but  taught  him  themselves,  "torturing"  him, 
as  Prokofiev  now  recalls,  for  six  hours  a  day. 

It  is  to  his  mother  that  he  owes  his  early  musical  training. 
From  the  first  years  of  his  life  little  Seryozha  heard  classical 
music,  chiefly  Beethoven  and  Chopin,  as  played  by  his  mother. 
She  introduced  the  boy  to  music  with  infinite  pedagogical  tact. 
At  first  she  allowed  him  to  describe  his  own  impressions  of  the 
music  he  heard;  then,  on  his  own  initiative,  to  "help"  her  play 
scales  and  exercises,  tapping  out  his  own  baby  version  in  the 
upper  register  until  gradually  he  began  to  pick  out  the  melody 
by  himself.  At  the  age  of  five  and  a  half  he  composed  his  first 
piece  of  music,  a  Hindu  Gallop,  the  result  of  his  impressions 
after  listening  to  stories  about  the  Hindus.  The  piece,  which 
was  written  down  by  his  mother,  was  in  F  major,  but  without 
the  B  flat,  for  the  budding  composer  still  fought  shy  of  the 
black  notes. 

At  the  age  of  six  he  had  already  written  a  waltz,  a  march, 
and  a  rondo,  and  at  seven,  a  march  for  four  hands.  His  mother 
led  him  imperceptibly  into  the  world  of  music,  gradually  en- 
riching his  knowledge  and  striving  to  develop  his  independent 
judgment  and  a  sincere  love  for  music. 

In  Sontsovka,  Seryozha  spent  much  time  in  the  society  of 
the  village  children.  One  of  their  favorite  pastimes  was  to 
stage  improvised  versions  of  stories  heard  or  read.  The  sce- 
narios for  these  juvenile  commedie  dell'arte  were  usually  com- 
posed by  the  young  Prokofiev  himself. 

Ukrainian  and  Russian  folk-mclodics  were  often  sung  in 
the  village,  and  though  Seryozha  had  little  taste  for  any  but 
serious  music,  there  can  nevertheless  be  little  doubt  that  his 


EARLY    YEARS 

feeling  for  Russian  national  melody  can  be  traced  to  his  child- 
hood years  in  the  village. 

In  the  year  1899,  when  Seryozha  was  eight,  his  parents  took 
him  with  them  on  a  visit  to  Moscow.  The  trip  made  a  lasting 
impression  on  the  lad.  He  was  taken  to  the  Grand  Opera  to 
see  The  Sleeping  Beauty,  and  heard  Faust  and  Prince  Igor  at 
the  Solodovnikov  Theater.  This  served  as  the  stimulus  for  his 
first  independent  attempts  at  opera.  In  June  of  the  following 
year  he  had  completed  a  three-act  opera,  The  Giant,  written  in 
a  piano  arrangement  without  the  vocal  parts.1  Then  came  an- 
other opera,  Desert  Islands,  based  on  a  plot  of  thrilling  adven- 
ture complete  with  storms  and  shipwrecks.  "The  story  didn't 
hang  together  very  well,"  Prokofiev  recalls,  "but  there  were 
definite  attempts  to  depict  the  elements  —  rain  and  storm." 

In  the  summer  of  1901,  when  the  young  composer  was  visit- 
ing at  the  estate  of  the  Rayevskys,  wealthy  relatives  of  his 
mother  (Marya  Prokofieva's  sister  was  married  to  the  land- 
owner Rayevsky,  a  descendant  of  Pushkin's  friends  of  the 
same  name),  The  Giant  was  performed2  under  the  author's 
own  direction  with  great  success.  His  uncle  was  delighted. 
"When  your  operas  are  produced  in  an  imperial  theater,"  he 
said  jovially,  "don't  forget  that  the  first  performance  of  your 
work  was  given  in  my  house." 

The  following  year  Seryozha  was  taken  to  Moscow  again, 
where  Y.  Pomerantsev,  who  later  became  conductor  of  the 
Moscow  Grand  Opera,  introduced  him  to  Sergei  Taneyev. 
After  hearing  the  overture  to  Desert  Islands,  Taneyev  formed 
a  high  opinion  of  the  boy's  talent.  He  advised  the  mother  to 
"cherish  the  boy's  gifts,"  and  recommended  his  pupil  Pomer- 
antsev as  a  tutor  for  the  lad.  But  the  traditional  studies  in 
harmony  frightened  and  repelled  Seryozha.  "I  wanted  to  com- 
pose operas  with  marches,  storms  and  blood-curdling  scenes 
and  instead  they  saddled  me  with  tiresome  exercises."  3 

1  The  text  was  inserted  above  the  treble-clef  part.  —  Editor. 

2  With  a  cast  made  up  of  the  boy's  relatives.  —  Editor. 

3  This  quotation,  like  all  others  given  subsequently  without  reference  to  the 
source,  is  taken  from  Prokofiev's  Autobiography,  the  first  section  of  which  was 

5 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

Pomerantsev  was  succeeded  by  Reinhold  Gliere,  who,  at 
the  invitation  of  the  Prokofievs,  spent  the  summers  of  1902 
and  1903  at  Sontsovka,  teaching  the  boy  the  rudiments  of 
harmony,  analysis  of  form,  and  instrumentation.  Study  of  the 
three-part  song  form  resulted  in  pianoforte  pieces  that  the 
voung  composer  called  Ditties,  of  which  he  composed  whole 
series  in  the  years  that  followed.  Gliere,  who  proved  to  be  a 
pedagogue  of  unusual  ability  and  intelligence,  found  the  cor- 
rect approach  to  the  psychology  of  the  talented  lad.  Lessons 
in  instrumentation  and  composition  were  followed  by  a  game 
of  croquet  or  chess.  The  elements  of  form  and  instrumenta- 
tion were  taught,  not  abstractly,  but  on  the  basis  of  a  concrete 
analysis  of  familiar  works.  Gliere  had  the  greatest  respect  for 
the  strictly  regulated  regimen  of  work  that  existed  in  the  Pro- 
kofiev household.  Each  day  had  to  bring  some  tangible  sign 
of  progress  in  Seryozha's  studies.  Every  year  the  mother  would 
bring  from  Moscow  heaps  of  studies  and  exercises  for  the 
piano,  which  the  boy  zealously  practiced.  This  habit  of  regu- 
lar and  organized  work,  inculcated  in  him  by  his  parents,  has 
remained.  In  contrast  to  the  bohemian  lack  of  discipline  of  so 
many  musicians,  his  regimen  is  always  exact,  assiduous,  and 
systematic. 

Many  of  the  Ditties  composed  under  Gliere's  guidance  have 
remained  in  Prokofiev's  files  to  this  day.  They  afford  an  in- 
sight into  the  musical  predilections  of  the  eleven-year-old 
composer.  In  them  one  can  catch  echoes  of  Schubert's  ErZ- 
konig,  Schumann's  syncopated  rhythms,  melodies  in  the  spirit 
of  Bellini  and  Verdi,  side  by  side  with  specimens  of  more 
common  genres  —  marches,  waltzes,  and  mazurkas.  There  is 
among  them  a  most  amusing  sentimental  waltz  written  "for 
Aunt  Tancchka's  birthday." 

Nevertheless,  the  individuality  of  the  composer  was  already 
asserting  itself  in  these  childish  pieces  with  their  sharply  ac- 
cented rhythms,  their  predilection  for  dance  measures,  their 

published  in  Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  No.  4  (1941),  while  the  rest  remains  in 
manuscript. 

6 


EARLY     YEARS 
Examples 


dolce 


tpvesa 


l.  Ditty  No.  10,  ist  Series.  Dedicated  to  Aunt  Tanechka,  Decem- 
ber 25  (O.S.),  1902. 

striving  after  hyperboles  and  unexpectedness  (for  example, 
Ditty  No.  7,  1st  series,  with  the  forte-forte-fortissimo  climax 
and  the  peculiar  chord  accompaniment  in  the  recapitulation) . 

By  the  end  of  the  summer  of  1902,  Prokofiev's  studies  with 
Gliere  culminated  in  the  composition  of  a  four-movement 
Symphony  in  G  major  for  full  orchestra.  This  score  has  also 
been  preserved.  The  opening  presto  bears  traces  of  the  author's 
leanings  toward  the  classics,  with  certain  echoes  of  the  Italian 
operatic  overture.  In  November  the  symphony  was  shown  to 
Taneyev,  who  indiscreetly  laughed  at  its  "crude"  harmony. 
Prokofiev  was  wounded  to  the  quick  by  Taneyev's  criticism, 
which  nevertheless  had  the  effect  of  inducing  him  to  experi- 
ment in  harmony.4 

Following  a  violin  sonata  (the  main  theme  of  which  was 
used  by  Prokofiev  ten  years  later  for  his  cello  Ballad,  Op.  1 5 ) 
the  young  composer  tried  his  hand  at  opera  once  more.  This 

4  Eight  years  later  the  same  Taneyev,  on  hearing  the  Etudes,  Op.  2,  which 
abounded  in  "false  notes,"  as  he  put  it,  was  much  put  out  at  the  thought  that 
it  was  he  who  had  been  responsible  for  launching  Prokofiev  "on  such  a  slippery 
path." 

7 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

was  during  Gliere's  second  visit  to  Sontsovka,  in  the  summer 
of  1903.  Based  on  the  text  of  Pushkin's  Feast  during  the 
Plague,  the  opera  was  quite  a  professional  job,  complete  with 
vocal  parts  and  orchestral  score.  True,  the  Overture  was  dis- 
proportionately long,  comprising  almost  half  of  the  opera. 
Nevertheless,  the  young  composer  was  inordinately  proud  of 
his  opera,  and  even  compared  it  to  one  on  the  same  subject 
by  Cesar  Cui  that  appeared  about  the  same  time.  Six  years 
later,  when  graduating  from  the  composition  department  of 
the  Conservatory,  Prokofiev  returned  to  the  Feast  during  the 
Plague  and  rewrote  it- completely. 

Early  in  1904  Seryozha  was  introduced  to  Glazunov,  who 
advised  sending  him  at  once  to  the  St.  Petersburg  Conserva- 
tory. "There  is  every  chance  of  his  becoming  a  real  artist," 
said  Glazunov. 


A  :  Years  of  Study 


The  last  duckling  was  very  ugly.  It  had  no 
feathers,  and  its  legs  were  long  and  gawky. 
"What  if  it's  a  turkey!"  exclaimed  the 
mother  duck  in  horror. 

Andersen:  The  Ugly  Duckling 


I, 


_N  the  autumn  of  1904,  after  a  Sontsovka  summer 
spent  in  composing  the  first  act  of  a  new  opera,  Undine  (after 
La  Motte-Fouque  and  Zhukovsky),  Prokofiev,  now  turned 
thirteen,  entered  the  St.  Petersburg  Conservatory.  His  mother 
moved  with  him  to  St.  Petersburg,  while  his  father  remained 
in  Sontsovka.  The  young  composer  came  to  the  entrance  ex- 
aminations armed  with  his  four  operas,  two  sonatas,  a  sym- 
phony, and  a  number  of  pieces  for  the  piano.  The  examining 
board,  which  included  such  eminent  musicians  as  Rimsky- 
Korsakov,  Glazunov,  and  Anatoly  Lyadov,  was  impressed. 

8 


EARLY    YEARS 

Rimsky-Korsakov  was  delighted  with  the  lad's  talent.  "Here 
is  a  pupil  after  my  own  heart,"  he  said. 

Thus  began  Prokofiev's  ten  years  in  the  St.  Petersburg  Con- 
servatory, ten  years  of  rapid  development  of  his  original  talent, 
ten  years  of  ceaseless,  stubborn  struggle  with  his  professors 
for  the  assertion  of  his  own  individual  style. 

The  trouble  began  almost  at  once  in  Lyadov's  class;  the  dry, 
traditional  methods  of  training  irked  the  young  composer. 
Although  a  fine  and  intelligent  musician  himself,  Lyadov  had 
never  liked  the  teaching  profession  and  took  little  interest 
in  the  creative  aspirations  of  his  pupils.  Undine  remained  un- 
finished and  no  one  in  the  Conservatory  appeared  interested 
in  the  work.  On  the  other  hand,  Lyadov  laid  particular  em- 
phasis on  purity  in  voice-leading  and  on  strict  observance  of 
the  rules  in  harmony  exercises.  Prokofiev  frequently  failed  to 
measure  up  to  these  requirements,  and  his  notebooks  were 
often  criss-crossed  with  the  nervous  lines  drawn  by  the  pen  of 
his  infuriated  professor. 

Then  came  the  1905  Revolution,  with  its  student  meetings 
and  disturbances,  the  disgraceful  dismissal  of  Rimsky-Korsa- 
kov, and  the  resignation  of  Lyadov  and  Glazunov.  The  young 
Prokofiev  was  caught  up  in  the  vortex  of  events  without  un- 
derstanding what  was  happening.  "I  also  signed  a  protest  in 
which  we  threatened  to  leave  the  Conservatory,  much  to  the 
horror  of  my  father."  With  Lyadov's  departure  the  harmony 
lessons  were  suspended.  Prokofiev  spent  the  1905-6  school 
year  studying  the  piano  with  Alexander  Winkler  and  working 
with  Lyadov  at  the  latter's  home  on  the  second  act  of  Undine 
and  some  pieces  for  the  piano. 

His  summers  were  invariably  spent  at  Sontsovka,  where  the 
earnest  young  Conservatory  student  from  St.  Petersburg  be- 
came a  happy  carefree  boy  again,  full  of  fun  and  mischief.  His 
daily  quota  of  piano  practice  over,  he  would  run  outside  to 
romp  and  play  with  the  village  lads.  During  these  summer 
visits  home  Prokofiev  met  a  sincere  admirer  of  his  gifts,  V.  M. 
Morolev,  a  young  veterinary  surgeon.  Morolev  took  a  great 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

interest  in  the  lad's  compositions  and  often  played  duets  with 
him  on  the  piano,  treating  him  as  though  he  were  his  equal  in 
years.  Later  Prokofiev  dedicated  to  Morolev  his  First  Sonata, 
Op.  1,  his  March  in  F  minor,  Op.  12,  and  several  unpublished 
pieces  for  the  piano,  including  Reproach. 


2.  Reproach,  unpublished  piano  piece,  January  1907. 

The  year  1906-7  saw  the  beginning  of  the  molding  of  Pro- 
kofiev's talent  as  a  composer.  Lyadov  and  Rimsky-Korsakov 
had  returned  to  the  Conservatory,  and  the  classes  in  the  com- 
position department  were  resumed.  A  number  of  talented 
young  men  who  later  rose  to  prominence  —  Boris  Asafyev, 
Nikolai  Miaskovsky,  Y.  Akimenko-Stepovy,  and  Lazare  Samin- 
sky  — were  studying  counterpoint  under  Lyadov  during  this 
period.  Prokofiev's  lifelong  friendship  with  Miaskovsky  began 
at  this  time.  They  seemed  an  ill-assorted  pair,  sixteen-year-old 
Seryozha  Prokofiev,  who  often  tried  the  patience  of  Lyadov 
and  Rimsky-Korsakov  with  his  mischievous  taunting,  and 
serious-minded,  level-headed  Nikolai  Miaskovsky,  a  sapper  offi- 
cer with  definite  views  on  most  subjects.  But  this  friendship 
with  Miaskovsky  served  to  broaden  Prokofiev's  musical  out- 
look and  prompted  him  to  take  a  more  serious  interest  in  new 

10 


EARLY    YEARS 

music.  Gradually  his  preference  for  Grieg,  Rimsky-Korsakov, 
and  Wagner  gave  way  to  an  avid  interest  in  Richard  Strauss, 
Reger,  and  Debussy.  These  latter  were,  of  course,  regarded  in 
the  Conservatory  as  forbidden  fruit.  When  Lyadov  lectured 
his  pupils  for  taking  liberties  with  harmony,  he  would  say  in- 
dignantly: "I  don't  understand  why  you  study  with  me.  Why 
don't  you  go  to  Richard  Strauss  or  to  Debussy?" 

Max  Reger's  visit  to  St.  Petersburg  in  1907  marked  the  be- 
ginning of  Prokofiev's  systematic  study  of  the  new  music  of 
the  West.  A  closer  intimacy  with  Miaskovsky  on  the  grounds 
of  joint  music-making  began  with  Reger's  Serenade  in  G 
major  for  four  hands.  Later  the  two  were  joined  by  the  pianist 
B.  Zakharov.  They  played  four-hand  arrangements  of  Strauss 
(Don  Juan,  Till  Eulenspiegel,  Also  sprach  Zarathustra,  Tod 
und  Verklarung),  Reger,  and  Schumann.  They  spent  many 
enjoyable  evenings  discussing,  arguing,  and  demonstrating 
their  own  compositions.  They  sometimes  held  impromptu 
composition  contests;  a  group  of  young  composers  would  un- 
dertake to  write  songs  on  one  and  the  same  text,  or  someone 
would  conceive  the  idea  of  depicting  snow  in  musical  images 
(Miaskovsky  wrote  the  music  of  a  "most  disagreeable  storm," 
Prokofiev's  snow  was  "soft  and  gentle,  falling  in  large  flakes") . 
Prokofiev's  passion  for  Reger  (the  violin  sonatas  in  C  major 
and  F-sharp  minor,  From  a  Diary,  Variations  on  a  Bach 
Theme)  suggested  many  harmonic  novelties  to  Prokofiev 
(complicated  discords  and  transition  chords)  and  a  tendency 
to  restless,  agitated  melody.  At  the  same  time  Prokofiev  was 
intensely  interested  in  the  music  of  Scriabin,  whose  Third 
Symphony  impressed  him  profoundly.  He  was  very  proud  of 
a  two-hand  pianoforte  arrangement  of  the  first  movement  of 
the  Divine  Poem  that  he  had  written,  and  intended  to  show 
it  to  Scriabin. 

A  lively  correspondence  sprang  up  between  Miaskovsky 
and  Prokofiev  during  the  latter's  stay  at  Sontsovka  in  the  sum- 
mers of  1907  and  1908.  In  their  letters  they  discussed  their 
compositions  in  detail  and  offered  each  other  advice.  Proko- 

11 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

fiev's  Symphony  in  E  minor  (not  included  in  his  catalogued 
works)  was  composed  in  this  way  in  1908,  as  was  Miaskovsky's 
First  Symphony,  in  C  minor,  Op.  3.  "I  derived  much  more 
benefit  from  this  correspondence  than  from  Lyadov's  dry  les- 
sons," notes  Prokofiev  himself.  During  the  1906-7  and  1907- 
8  school  years  he  worked  hard  in  the  classes  of  Lyadov  and 
Rimsky-Korsakov,  but  his  studies  satisfied  neither  himself  nor 
his  teachers.  His  exercises  in  counterpoint,  a  subject  in  which 
he  was  intensely  interested,  were  too  original  and  unusual  to 
be  appreciated  by  Lyadov,  who  considered  them  harsh  and 
crude.  Lyadov  was  inclined  to  lose  his  temper  on  such  occa- 
sions. Rimsky-Korsakov,  on  the  other  hand,  was  coldly  ironic, 
and  often  ridiculed  what  he  considered  to  be  the  unevenness 
and  incoherence  of  his  pupil's  exercises  in  instrumentation. 

Besides  his  class  work  Prokofiev  was  required  to  bring  some 
small  piano  pieces  in  the  simplest  forms  to  Lyadov's  lessons. 
The  G  minor  Gavotte  (subsequently  included  in  Op.  12),  the 
Scherzo  of  the  future  Second  Sonata,  and  other  piano  minia- 
tures came  into  being  in  this  manner.  At  the  same  time  he  in- 
dependently undertook  a  number  of  larger  works,  among  them 
the  initial  versions  of  his  future  First,  Third,  and  Fourth  Piano 
Sonatas.  Some  of  them  (for  example,  the  Third  Sonata,  1907) 
already  bore  the  stamp  of  real  genius. 

Although  Prokofiev  is  to  this  day  rather  skeptical  of  the 
pedagogical  tact  of  his  distinguished  teachers,  he  nevertheless 
unconsciously  learned  a  great  deal  from  their  works.  Each  new 
opera  by  Rimsky-Korsakov,  for  example,  aroused  his  eager  in- 
terest (Kitezh,  The  Golden  Cockerel).  He  made  a  point  of 
acquiring  and  making  a  detailed  study  of  every  new  piano 
score  of  Rimsky's  operas  with  the  enthusiasm  he  had  applied 
to  the  study  of  all  four  operas  of  Der  Ring  des  Nibelungen  and 
their  complex  system  of  leitmotivs.  In  October  1908  he  first 
heard  his  own  orchestral  music  played  when,  through  the  of- 
fices of  Glazunov,  the  E  minor  Symphony  was  performed  at  a 
private  rehearsal  of  the  court  orchestra  conducted  by  Hugo 
Warlich.   "The  orchestration  of  the  symphony  was  rather 

12 


EARLY    YEARS 

poor,"  Prokofiev  now  recalls,  "and  the  general  impression  was 
rather  hazy."  Glazunov  was  actually  shocked  by  some  of  the 
harmonic  liberties  (for  example,  parallel  seconds)  the  com- 
poser had  taken.  Prokofiev  kept  the  symphony  in  his  archives, 
using  its  Andante  later  on  for  the  middle  part  of  his  Fourth 
Piano  Sonata. 

An  important  role  in  the  molding  of  Prokofiev's  talent  as  a 
composer  was  played  by  the  Evenings  of  Modern  Music,  a  so- 
ciety he  joined  in  1908.  He  was  introduced  to  the  society  by 
Mikhail  Tchernov,  pianist  and  composer,  who  taught  at  the 
Conservatory.  His  visits  to  the  Evenings,  where  the  latest  Rus- 
sian and  western  European  music  was  played,  developed  Pro- 
kofiev's taste  for  novel  musical  trends. 

The  Evenings  of  Modern  Music,  held  in  the  first  decade  of 
the  twentieth  century,  constituted  the  backbone  of  Russian 
modernism  in  music.  Beginning  as  an  offshoot  of  the  World 
of  Art  group,  and  constituting  a  sort  of  musical  branch  of  that 
society,  the  Evenings  played  in  the  history  of  Russian  music 
of  that  period  a  role  that  is  worth  a  special  study  in  itself. 
While  coming  out  in  opposition  to  the  dreary  professionalism 
of  the  followers  of  the  Five  and  Tchaikovsky,  the  group  of 
musical  innovators  banded  together  in  the  Evenings  of  Mod- 
ern Music  at  the  same  time  upheld  many  of  the  modernistic 
principles  of  the  bourgeois  aesthetes.  Two  of  the  active  mem- 
bers of  the  Evenings,  Alfred  Nurok  and  Walter  Nuvel,1  were 
the  ideologists  of  the  World  of  Art  group  and  supporters  of 
the  Diaghilev  school  of  thought.  Diaghilev's  art  principles,  an 
orientation  toward  the  modern  West  (the  French  impression- 
ists and  Reger),  emphasis  on  original  and  non-repetitive 
forms,  and  a  rejection  of  the  social  and  educational  implica- 

1  Alfred  Pavlovich  Nurok,  admiralty  official  and  art  critic,  wrote  for  the 
World  of  Art  magazine  under  the  pen-name  of  Silenus.  Walter  Fedorovich 
Nuvel,  official  of  the  Russian  Foreign  Office,  lover  of  music  and  painting,  was 
a  close  friend  of  K.  Somov  and  other  World  of  Art  artists.  Nurok  and  Nuvel 
subsequently  played  a  significant  role  in  the  life  of  Prokofiev  (his  acquaintance 
with  Diaghilev,  the  order  for  the  ballet  Ala  and  Lolli,  etc.).  The  Diaghilev 
influence  on  Prokofiev's  work  can  be  traced  directly  to  both  these  men. 

*3 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

tions  of  art  —  such  were  the  leading  principles  of  this  group. 
Tchaikovsky's  music  was  regarded  by  them  as  banal,  philis- 
tine,  and  hopelessly  out  of  date.  On  the  other  hand,  every- 
thing interesting  and  fresh  produced  by  the  young  musicians 
was  sought  out  and  encouraged.  Before  every  concert  hundreds 
of  new  works  received  from  abroad  or  composed  in  Russia 
were  tried  out.  Due  credit  must  be  given  to'  the  organizers  of 
the  Evenings  for  their  tremendous  enthusiasm  and  their  sin- 
cere devotion  to  their  art.  The  soul  of  the  Evenings,  their  ar- 
dent champion  and  inspirer,  was  Vyacheslav  Gavrilovich 
Karatygin  (1875-1925).  The  name  of  this  eminent  and  in- 
telligent musician,  critic,  and  distinguished  scholar,  who  later 
invested  no  little  effort  in  building  up  Soviet  musical  culture 
as  well,  deserves  to  take  its  place  beside  the  classics  of  Russian 
musical  criticism.  Other  prominent  members  of  the  Evenings 
society  were  Ignatz  Kryzhanovsky,  composer  and  physician 
(one  of  Miaskovsky's  first  teachers),  A.  D.  Medem,  pianist 
and  composer,  who  taught  at  the  Conservatory,  and  I.  V.  Po- 
krovsky,  pianist  and  closest  friend  of  the  young  Stravinsky. 

The  programs  of  the  Evenings  included  the  chamber  music 
of  Debussy,  Dukas,  Faure,  Chausson,  Roussel,  d'Indy,  Schon- 
berg,  Reger,  Wolf,  Richard  Strauss,  and  the  modern  Russian 
composers  —  Scriabin,  Stravinsky,  Medtner,  Rachmaninoff, 
Rebikov,  Senilov,  Tcherepnin,  Gnessin,  and  Steinberg.  Of 
works  by  the  established  Russian  composers,  only  the  freshest 
and  most  attractive  from  the  standpoint  of  modernistic  tastes 
(Mldda  by  Rimsky-Korsakov,  Sunless  by  Mussorgsky)  were 
chosen.  The  leading  vocalists  and  pianists  of  the  day  —  the 
singers  I.  Alchevsky,  M.  Lunacharsky,  N.  Zabela,  A.  Zherebt- 
sova,  and  the  pianists  L.  Nikolayev,  M.  Barinova,  and  S.  Polot- 
skaya-Yemtsova  —  performed  willingly  and,  of  course,  gratis 
at  the  Evenings.  The  societv  barely  maintained  itself  on  the 
modest  membership  fees  and  the  negligible  entrance  fee. 
Nevertheless  the  Evenings  were  invariably  noted  by  the  critics 
and  amply  supplied  with  programs,  posters,  and  the  like.  Alex- 
ander Bcnois,  K.  Somov,  E.  Lancere  and  M.  Dobuzhinsky 

H 


EARLY    YEARS 

of  the  World  of  Art  rendered  every  assistance  in  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  Evenings.  Beginning  in  1901-2,  the  Evenings  con- 
tinued until  1912  in  the  form  of  monthly  chamber  concerts 
held  usually  in  the  period  between  October  and  April  in  var- 
ious concert  halls  of  St.  Petersburg. 

It  was  from  this  circle  that  the  most  distinguished  repre- 
sentatives of  the  musical  modernism  of  the  post-Scriabin  gen- 
eration —  Stravinsky  and  Prokofiev  —  sprang.  Miaskovsky, 
too,  received  his  first  solid  support  from  the  society. 

In  December  1908  the  young  Prokofiev  made  his  first  pub- 
lic appearance  at  a  public  concert  arranged  by  the  Evenings 
of  Modern  Music  (Miaskovsky  also  made  his  debut  that  eve- 
ning with  four  songs ) .  Prokofiev  played  seven  pieces  for  the 
piano:  Story,  Snowflakes,  Reminiscence,  Elan,  Prayer,  De- 
spair, and  Diabolic  Suggestions.  The  last  piece  impressed  the 


?RE3rc.S3ino  sotastico 


3.  Diabolic  Suggestions,  Opus  4,  No.  4. 

audience  profoundly  by  its  powerful,  irrepressible  dynamism. 
"The  whole  hall  seemed  suddenly  to  be  filled  with  sound," 
wrote  V.  M.  Morolev,  who  was  present  at  the  concert.  "  'Now 
that  is  real  music!'  was  the  comment  heard  on  all  sides."  Pro- 
kofiev's first  appearance  was  mentioned  in  the  St.  Petersburg 

15 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

press  (Slovo,  Rech,  Peterburgsky  Listok,  and  the  Zolotoye 
Runo  chronicle). 

In  the  meantime  Prokofiev  was  finishing  the  composition 
course  at  the  Conservatory.  His  studies  under  Joseph  Wihtol 
(Vitols),  while  rather  less  turbulent  than  those  with  Lyadov, 
had  been  dull  and  uninteresting.  At  this  period  Prokofiev  took 
a  great  interest  in  piano-playing  and  had  studied  with  Winkler 
Rubinstein's  extremely  difficult  C  major  Etude.2  Encouraged 
by  the  modernists,  Prokofiev  had  been  bringing  to  Wihtol's 
class  compositions  of  an  increasingly  audacious  nature  (the 
Sixth  Sonata,  subsequently  lost,3  and  scenes  from  his  new  ver- 
sion of  the  music  for  the  Feast  during  the  Plague).  Wihtol 
did  not  discourage  the  bold  departures  made  by  his  pupil  from 
the  established  canons,  with  the  result  that  when  the  final  ex- 
aminations came  round  in  the  spring  of  1909,  the  examiners 
were  scandalized.  What  shocked  them  most  was  a  scene  from 
the  Feast  during  the  Plague:  the  monologue  of  the  priest  who 
sternly  upbraids  the  drunken  revelers  was  written  in  a  free  and 
harsh-sounding  recitative  with  extremely  vivid  and  dramatic 
use  of  the  chorus.  Lyadov  especially  was  deeply  shocked  by  the 
musical  audacitv  of  Prokofiev.  "They  are  all  trying  to  ape 
Scriabin,"  he  said  bitterly. 

Nevertheless,  at  the  age  of  eighteen  Prokofiev  was  granted 
the  title  of  Free  Artist,4  though  his  ratings  were  far  from  bril- 
liant (4-plus  out  of  5  for  analysis  of  form,  4-plus  for  fugue  com- 
position, and  4  for  instrumentation).  The  Conservatory  pro- 
fessors were  evidentlv  onlv  too  glad  to  be  rid  of  such  a  restless 
and  troublesome  pupil.  Thus  ended  Prokofiev's  education  in 
composition. 


2  This  £tude,  as  well  as  Schumann's  C  major  Toccata  at  a  somewhat  later 
date,  evidently  served  as  the  point  of  departure  for  some  of  the  finger-work 
passages  in  Prokofiev's  music  for  the  piano  (viz.,  the  First  and  Third  Con- 
certos). 

3  Of  the  six  sonatas  written  during  the  Conservatory  period,  the  First, 
Fourth,  and  Sixth  have  been  lost;  the  Second  was  used  partly  for  the  First 
Sonata,  Op.  i,  the  Third  formed  the  basis  of  the  Third  Sonata,  Op.  28,  and  the 
Fifth  was  incorporated  in  part  in  the  Fourth  Sonata,  Op.  29. 

4  Free  Artist  was  a  title  formerly  granted  to  a  graduate  of  a  conservatory. 

l6 


EARLY     YEARS 

His  friends  Miaskovsky  and  Zakharov  urged  him  to  con- 
tinue his  pianoforte  studies  by  enrolling  in  the  class  of  Annette 
Essipova,  the  leading  piano  tutor  in  the  Conservatory.  Under 
the  tutelage  of  Winkler,  who  was  somewhat  dry  and  pedantic, 
Prokofiev's  performance  on  the  piano  was  beginning  to  lose 
color.  Essipova  was  glad  to  accept  a  pupil  already  famous  for 
his  own  compositions  and  endowed  with  unusual  pianistic  tal- 
ents (the  performance  of  Rubinstein's  C  major  Etude  had  not 
passed  unnoticed; .  At  the  same  time  Prokofiev  began  to  studv 
conducting  under  Nikolai  Nikolayevich  Tcherepnin. 

The  five  years  between  1909  and  1914  passed  in  diligent 
study  combined  with  unceasing  and  bv  now  completelv  inde- 
pendent composition.  Incidentally,  while  at  Sontsovka  in  the 
summer  of  1909  he  composed  his  remarkable  Etudes,  Op.  2 
(D  minor,  E  minor,  C  minor,  C  minor),  fruits  of  a  rich  and 
perfectly  mature  pianistic  manner.  Only  in  the  E  minor  Etude 
is  the  influence  of  Medtner  strongly  evident. 

Before  he  had  studied  many  months  in  Essipova's  class, 
Prokofiev  was  rebelling  again.  He  refused  to  conform  to  the 
standards  set  by  his  distinguished  tutor.  Nevertheless,  Essi- 
pova, who  had  inherited  the  brilliant  traditions  of  the  Lesche- 
tizky  school,  undoubtedly  had  a  very  strong  influence  on  Pro- 
kofiev's playing,  giving  it  an  exceptional  freedom  of  wrist 
movement  and  purity  of  finger  technique.  It  was  under  her 
tutelage  that  he  learned  to  play  Schumann  (Sonata  in  F-sharp 
minor  and  Toccata  in  C  major)  and  Liszt  (Sonata  in  B  minor, 
a  transcription  from  Tannhauser) .  Medtner's  Fairy-tales. 
Glazunov's  Sonata  in  E  minor,  and  pieces  bv  Tchaikovskv. 
Rachmaninoff,  and  Chopin. 

In  this  period,  however,  Prokofiev,  deeplv  imbued  with 
ultra-modemistic  ideals,  was  stronglv  opposed  to  classical  and 
romantic  music.  He  scoffed  at  the  prevailing  idea  that  no  piano 
recital  program  was  complete  without  Chopin.  "I  shall  prove 
that  one  can  do  quite  well  without  Chopin,"  he  said.  His  atti- 
tude to  Mozart  was  similarly  scornful  ("What  harmony  — 
the  tonic,  fourth,  and  fifth!").  Essipova  made  her  pupils  play 

*7 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

Mozart,  Schubert,  and  Chopin  and  demanded  accurate  and 
finely  polished  execution.  But  Prokofiev  did  not  want  to  give 
up  his  grand,  careless  manner  of  playing  and  his  fondness  for 
taking  liberties  with  the  score.5  This  was  the  cause  of  constant 
friction  between  him  and  his  tutor,  which  lasted  throughout 
his  Conservatory  career. 

His  relations  with  Tcherepnin  were  much  better.  Tcherep- 
nin  proved  to  be  the  most  influential  and  tactful  of  all  the 
Conservatory  professors  with  whom  Prokofiev  had  come  in 
contact.  This  may  have  been  due  to  the  fact  that  Tcherepnin 
was  the  most  modern  of  the  academic  group  of  St.  Petersburg 
composers.  The  encouragement  he  gave  to  the  modernistic 
tastes  of  his  pupils  could  not  fail  to  win  Prokofiev's  respect. 
Besides  learning  orchestration  in  Tcherepnin's  class,  he  re- 
ceived encouragement  and  valuable  advice  in  his  experiments 
in  composition.  "I  have  great  faith  in  your  talent  as  a  com- 
poser," Tcherepnin  assured  him  on  more  than  one  occasion. 
And  though  he  did  not  have  the  same  high  regard  for  his  pu- 
pil's ability  as  a  conductor,  he  nevertheless  directed  his  studies 
with  much  intelligence  and  tact.  By  1913  Prokofiev  conducted 
five  out  of  eight  symphony  numbers  at  a  Conservatory  recital. 
Thanks  to  Tcherepnin,  Prokofiev  conducted  a  great  deal  in  the 
opera  class  of  Palecek,  with  the  result  that  he  was  able  in 
March  1914  to  conduct  a  public  performance  of  Mozart's  Le 
Nozze  di  Figaro  and  a  fragment  of  Verdi's  Aida.  Prokofiev's 
conducting  was  the  subject  of  wide  comment  (mostly  unfa- 
vorable) in  the  St.  Petersburg  press. 

While  supporting  his  pupil's  predilection  for  the  new  in 
music,  Tcherepnin  at  the  same  time  succeeded  in  imbuing 
him  with  respect  for  the  classic  tradition,  for  old  operatic  cul- 
ture, and  for  the  music  of  Haydn  and  Mozart.  These,  for 
Prokofiev,  new  "neo-classical"  tendencies  made  themselves  felt 

8  V.  M.  Morolcv  placed  at  my  disposal  a  copy  of  Scherzo  a  la  russe  by 
Tchaikovsky,  with  notes  in  Prokofiev's  handwriting.  The  voung  pianist  merci- 
lessly scored  out  "superfluous"  notes,  added  octaves  in  the  bass,  introduced 
Staccatos  and  accelerandos,  and  went  so  far  as  to  introduce  difficult  leaps  by 
transposing  chords  to  a  higher  octave. 

l8 


EARLY    YEARS 

partly  in  his  Sinfonietta,  Op.  5,  and  some  pieces  of  Op.  12, 
and  with  particular  force  in  his  Classical  Symphony, 
Op.  25. 

Study  under  Tchcrepnin  stimulated  Prokofiev's  waning  in- 
terest in  symphonic  music.  His  unsuccessful  E  minor  Sym- 
phony was  followed  in  1909  by  a  five-part  Sinfonietta  in  A 
major  dedicated  to  Tcherepnin,  and  in  1910  by  two  orchestral 
pieces,  Dreams  and  Autumnal  Sketch.  Dreams,  dedicated  to 
Scriabin,  was,  with  Tcherepnin's  aid,  performed  at  a  student 
symphony  recital  (November  22,  1910)  and  conducted  by 
Prokofiev  himself.  Two  pieces  for  female  chorus  with  orchestra 
written  the  same  year  to  Balmont's  poems  Swan  and  Wave 
were  also  performed  at  a  private  Conservatory  rehearsal  be- 
cause the  choruses  were  difficult  and  the  Conservatory  singers 
were  unable  to  master  them  for  public  performance.  The  com- 
poser himself  considers  these  works  immature,  mentioning  the 
rather  flaccid  passiveness  of  Dreams  and  the  marked  Rachma- 
ninoff influence  in  the  Autumnal  Sketch,  which  echoes  the  lat- 
ter's  Isle  of  the  Dead  and  Second  Symphony.6  Evidently  the  de- 
cadent cult  of  symbolism  with  its  passive  contemplation  and 
morbid  revelations  had  an  influence  on  the  young  Prokofiev. 
This  made  itself  felt  also  in  his  interest  in  Balmont,  the  whole 
mood  and  style  of  whose  poetry  might  have  been  expected  to 
be  utterly  alien  to  the  healthy,  realistic  outlook  of  Prokofiev. 
Yet  for  a  long  while  Prokofiev  was  enchanted  by  the  musical 
quality  of  Balmont's  language  and  by  certain  cosmic  and  bar- 
barously exotic  images.  This  "illicit  liaison"  with  poetry  of  a 
trend  so  foreign  to  his  nature  was  undoubtedly  one  manifesta- 
tion of  the  conflicting  tendencies  in  Prokofiev's  musical  de- 
velopment.7 

6  Nevertheless,  Prokofiev  returned  to  his  early  symphonic  works  more  than 
once.  He  revised  the  Sinfonietta  on  two  occasions  — in  1914  and  in  19-9,  on 
the  latter  occasion  in  the  form  of  a  new  opus  — Op.  48.  In  1930  the  Autumnal 
Sketch  was  reorchestrated. 

7  Balmont's  poetry  inspired,  in  addition  to  Op.  7,  one  of  the  songs  in  Op. 
9  (There  Are  Other  Planets),  one  of  the  songs  in  Op.  23  (In  My  Garden), 
the  cantata  Seven,  They  Are  Seven,  and  five  poems,  Op.  36.  From  Balmont 
he  borrowed  the  title  of  his  piano  cycle  Furtive  Visions: 

*9 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

In  February  1910,  Moscow  musicians  heard  Prokofiev  for 
the  first  time  when  he  played  his  First  Sonata  in  F  minor  and 
four  Etudes,  Op.  2,  at  one  of  the  musical  recitals  arranged 
regularly  by  the  singer  M.  Deisha-Sionitskaya  (February  21, 
thirteenth  recital).  The  composer  was  accorded  a  warm  re- 
ception by  the  distinguished  Nikolai  Kashkin,  who  mentioned 
his  "giftedness  and  his  earnest  attitude  to  his  work"  and 
"youthful  courage"  (Russkoye  Slovo,  February  23). 

Prokofiev  continued  to  appear  at  the  concerts  of  the  St. 
Petersburg  Evenings  of  Modern  Music;  during  the  1910-11 
season  he  played  his  Etudes,  Op.  2,  and  some  pieces  from  Op. 
3,  and  in  a  concert  held  on  March  28,  1911  gave  the  first  per- 
formance in  Russia  of  piano  works  by  Schonberg  (Klavier- 
stiicke,  Op.  11). 

In  the  period  up  to  191 1  Prokofiev  may  be  said  to  have  been 
bracing  himself  for  the  large  and  unexpected  leap  toward  the 
full  unfolding  of  his  artistic  individuality.  Some  of  his  com- 
positions relating  to  this  period  still  bore  the  imprint  of  im- 
maturity and  imitativeness.  Such  was  the  First  Sonata  in  F 
minor,  written  in  1907  and  revised  in  1909,  when  the  Adagio 
and  Finale  were  deleted  and  only  the  Allegro  remained.  Hack- 
neyed figuration,  pathetic  minor  themes  in  the  spirit  of  Rach- 
maninoff and  Medtner,  touches  reminiscent  of  Schumann 
(subordinate  theme,  reminiscent  of  one  of  the  themes  of  the 
F-sharp  minor  Sonata)  clearly  dominated  in  this  sonata  over 
the  few  flashes  of  Prokofiev's  own  personality.  The  same  re- 
spectful tribute  to  his  older  contemporaries  was  felt  also  in  his 
first  symphonic  works,  in  which  the  author  himself  detects 
echoes  of  Rachmaninoff. 

Nevertheless,  even  his  early  piano  miniatures  of  1907-9  re- 
veal the  restless,  inquiring  mind  of  the  young  composer,  ever 
in  quest  of  new  harmonies  and  rhythms.  His  pieces  for  the 

In  every  fugitive  vision  I  see  worlds, 

Full  of  the  changing  play  of  rainbow  hues. 

In  his  turn  Balmont  wrote  several  verses  in  Prokofiev's  honor  in  1921 
(Create  Thou  Sounds,  Third  Concerto).  Prokofiev's  Third  Piano  Concerto  is 
dedicated  to  Balmont. 

20 


EARLY    YEARS 

piano  were  to  Prokofiev  the  same  "laboratory"  of  new  musical 
images  as  were,  let  us  say,  the  Fantasiestiicke  for  Schumann 
and  the  piano  preludes  for  Chopin,  Scriabin,  and  Shostakovich. 
Apart  from  the  early  versions  of  the  Third  (1907)  and  Fourth 
(1908)  Sonatas,  mention  should  be  made  here  of  such  com- 
positions as  the  Etudes,  Op.  2,  Four  Pieces,  Op.  3  (Story, 
Badinage,  March,  and  Phantom),  and  especially  of  the  Four 
Pieces,  Op.  4  (Reminiscence,  Elan,  Despair,  and  Diabolic 
Suggestions) . 

In  these  small  sketches  for  future  large  canvases  the  artistic 
individuality  of  Prokofiev  revealed  itself  to  the  full:  his  fond- 
ness for  pensive  day-dreaming  and  romantic  narrative  (Story, 
Reminiscence,  Etude  in  E  minor),  his  loud  bovish  laughter 
(Badinage,  the  middle  of  the  D  minor  Etude),  his  tense  the- 
atrical dramatism  (Etude  No.  4,  Phantom,  Despair).  Such 
pieces  as  Diabolic  Suggestions  or  the  Etudes  Nos.  4  and  1 
might  to  this  day  serve  as  a  perfect  test  of  the  artistic  and  tech- 
nical maturity  of  a  pianist.  The  highly  expressive  polytonal 
complexities  and  the  refreshing  harmonic  discoveries  of  Dia- 
bolic Suggestions,  the  original  polyrhythmic  passages  in  the 
D  minor  Etude,  the  characteristic  ostinato  effects  (continually 
recurring  figures )  in  Phantom  and  Despair  —  all  these  were 
for  Prokofiev  bright  flashes  of  insight  into  the  future. 

In  1910  the  composer's  father  died  at  the  age  of  sixty-four. 
The  visits  to  Sontsovka  ceased.  But  his  mother,  who  had  pro- 
found faith  in  her  son's  talent,  possessed  the  means  and  the 
energy  to  provide  him  with  the  wherewithal  to  continue  his 
studies. 


21 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 


<J  :  Recognition 


And  suddenly  he  grew  a  lion's  mane, 
A  lion's  pointed  claw, 
And  skittishly  the  art  did  demonstrate 
Of  touching  with  one's  paw. 

V.  Khlebnikov 


T„ 


.HE  year  1911  was  an  important  landmark  in  the  life 
of  Prokofiev.  That  year  he  appeared  for  the  first  time  on  the  pro- 
gram of  a  large  public  symphony  concert,  his  work  began  to  be 
published,  and  he  wrote  his  First  Piano  Concerto,  a  major 
composition  that  crowned  his  youthful  efforts. 

The  first  two  events  took  place  in  Moscow.  It  was  Konstan- 
tin  Solomonovich  Saradzhev,  a  progressive  Moscow  conduc- 
tor, then  chairman  of  the  society  of  orchestra  musicians,  who 
introduced  Prokofiev  (and,  incidentally,  Miaskovsky)  to  Mos- 
cow through  the  medium  of  the  concerts  given  in  the  Sokolniki 
Park  in  the  summer  of  1911.  Closely  associated  with  Moscow's 
modernistic  circles,  Saradzhev  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of 
the  new  music.  It  was  thanks  to  him  that,  beginning  in  1908, 
all  the  latest  achievements  of  the  French  school  of  composi- 
tion were  played  at  the  Sokolniki  concerts.  It  was  here  that  the 
works  of  Debussy,  Ravel,  Satie,  Dukas,  Florent  Schmitt,  as 
well  as  the  modern  Russian  composers  Vassilenko,  Yurasov- 
sky,  Krein,  Gliere,  Senilov,  and  others,  were  first  performed. 
Here,  too,  young  and  as  yet  unrecognized  performers,  such  as 
Samuel  Fcinberg,  Alexander  Borovsky,  N.  Orlov,  and  Nina 
Koshetz,  made  their  debuts. 

When  Saradzhev  went  to  St.  Petersburg  to  find  new  works 
by  young  modern  composers  to  add  to  his  programs,  I.  I.  Kry- 
zhanovsky  introduced  him  to  two  promising  young  authors  — 
Miaskovsky  and  Prokofiev.  Both  were  received  with  interest 
into  Moscow's  musical  circles  and  before  long  Miaskovsky's 

22 


EARLY    YEARS 

Silence  and  Prokofiev's  Dreams  and  Autumnal  Sketch  were 
given  their  first  hearing  from  the  Sokolniki  concert  stage. 
True,  neither  of  Prokofiev's  pieces  made  much  of  an  impres- 
sion on  the  critics.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  in  Moscow  that 
Prokofiev  found  his  bitterest  opponent  —  Leonid  Sabaneyev, 
an  ardent  admirer  of  Scriabin  and  a  confirmed  modernist 
theoretician.  "It  seems  to  me,"  Sabaneyev  wrote  in  Golos 
Moskvy,  "that  this  callow  musical  fledgling  is  receiving  far 
too  much  attention.  In  scope  Mr.  Prokofiev's  talent  approxi- 
mates that  of  Kalinnikov;  I  believe  he  would  write  in  much 
the  same  vein  were  he  as  sincere  as  Borodin  and  other  St. 
Petersburgites.  But  he  is  too  affected,  too  anxious  to  be  mod- 
ern at  all  costs,  although  modernism  becomes  him  ill." 

Incidentally,  while  criticizing  the  young  Prokofiev  from  his 
ultra-subjective  Scriabinist  standpoint,  Sabaneyev  nevertheless 
described  the  real,  earthy  foundation  of  the  composer's  art, 
utterly  unshackled  by  morbid,  unhealthy  mysticism.  "It  seems 
to  me/'  Sabaneyev  wrote  about  Dreams  (Golos  Moskvy, 
July  3,  1911),  "that  his  'modernism'  is  far  too  obvious.  He  is 
not  at  all  'modernistic'  at  heart,  he  has  none  of  that  intensity 
of  emotion,  nothing  of  the  'exposed  nerves'  required  by  the 
aesthetics  of  discordant  harmonies.  I  would  say  that  his  soul 
is  foreign  to  the  hyperaesthetic  ecstasy,  the  nightmarish  hor- 
ror, love  of  suffering,  and  everything  else  upon  which  the  spirit 
of  modernism  is  based.  He  swims  benignly  upon  the  physical 
surface  of  things.  .  .  ." 

But  what  Sabaneyev  the  aesthete  regarded  as  a  defect  in 
Prokofiev's  music  was  in  reality  its  greatest  virtue,  that  funda- 
mentally healthy  quality  which  distinguished  it  from  the  de- 
cadent tendencies  of  his  time. 

In  July  1911  Prokofiev  made  his  debut  in  St.  Petersburg  as 
a  symphonic  composer  when  his  Dreams  was  included  in  the 
program  of  a  concert  conducted  by  A.  Kankarovich  at  the  Pav- 
lovsk  Vauxhall. 

For  a  long  time  Prokofiev  had  been  endeavoring  unsuccess- 
fully to  have  his  first  compositions  published.  In  1910  two  of 

23 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

his  early  works  had  been  rejected  by  the  Russian  Musical  Pub- 
lishers. His  efforts  to  persuade  Bessel  and  Jurgenson  to  publish 
any  of  his  works  likewise  ended  in  failure,  notwithstanding 
Taneyev's  recommendations.  At  last,  after  he  had  applied  to 
Jurgenson  a  second  time  armed  with  a  long  and  insistent  letter 
from  A.  V.  Ossovsky,  his  first  four  opera  were  accepted  for 
publication  on  extremely  unfavorable  terms  for  the  author 
(one  hundred  rubles  for  a  sonata  and  twelve  pieces  for  the 
piano,  or,  as  Prokofiev  put  it  in  one  of  his  letters,  "a  kopeck  a 
bushel").  The  year  1911  marked  the  beginning  of  a  long  and 
furious  struggle  with  a  crafty  and  excessively  cautious  pub- 
lisher, a  struggle  from  which  the  composer  in  most  cases 
emerged  the  victor.1 

In  the  autumn  of  1911  Prokofiev  completed  a  new  one-act 
opera,  Magdalene,  after  the  text  by  Baroness  Lieven.  Accord- 
ing to  the  critics,  the  opera  was  "akin  to  Richard  Strauss  in 
intensity  of  style,  but  minus  the  'banal  lyricism'  of  the  latter" 
(Muzyka,  November  1,  1911,  No.  44.  Notes).  The  text  of 
Magdalene  possesses  no  great  poetical  merit.  Its  main  interest 
for  the  composer  lay  in  its  wealth  of  action  and  dramatic  ef- 
fects, as  well  as  its  guignol  plot  borrowed  from  the  epoch  of 
the  risorgimento.  It  was  the  story  of  a  Venetian  beauty,  Mag- 
dalene, and  her  two  lovers,  Gennaro  and  Stenio,  who  meet  in 
the  home  of  their  perfidious  mistress  and  slay  each  other  in 
mortal  combat  to  the  accompaniment  of  ominous  flashes  of 
lightning.  The  text  was  written  in  the  cheapest  decadent  style, 
and  supplies  another  instance  —  after  Balmont  —  of  the  effect 
of  the  modernist  environment  on  the  young  composer.  Proko- 
fiev, however,  was  not  much  interested  in  the  "profound" 
philosophy  of  Baroness  Lieven's  play.  To  him  Magdalene  was 
no  more  than  an  experiment  in  recitative-writing,  a  test  for 
his  pen,  a  sketch  for  future  operatic  compositions.  The  whole 
opera  was  based  on  harsh,  tense,  declamatory  singing,  with  a 


1  For  confirmation  sec  Prokofiev's  letters  (1913-16)  preserved  in  Jurgcn- 
son's  files.  In  1916  Prokofiev  broke  with  Jurgenson  and  found  another  pub- 
lisher (Russian  Musical  Publishers,  managed  by  Serge  Kousscvitzky ) . 


EARLY    YEARS 

single  melodious  episode  at  the  end  (chorus  of  boatmen  off- 
stage). Prokofiev  added  Magdalene  to  his  list  of  works  as  Op. 
13,  but  did  not  succeed  in  having  it  produced  cither  in  the 
opera  class  of  the  Conservatory,  for  which  it  had  originally 
been  intended,  or  in  K.  Marzhanov's  Free  Theater,  where, 
with  the  assistance  of  Saradzhev,  it  was  heard  out  with  con- 
siderable interest  in  the  summer  of  1913.  After  a  few  changes 
made  in  1913  Magdalene  remained  both  unproduced  and  un- 
published. 

Magdalene  was  followed  by  the  First  Piano  Concerto  in 
D-flat  major,  originally  conceived  as  a  concertino.  This  was 
the  composer's  first  mature  work,  something  in  the  nature  of 
a  declaration  of  his  coming  of  age.  It  was  the  performance 
of  this  concerto  in  Moscow  and  St.  Petersburg  2  that  brought 
real  fame  to  Prokofiev  and  revealed  his  original  artistic  per- 
sonality. The  power  and  originality  of  Prokofiev's  pianistic 
conceptions  were  demonstrated  to  the  full  for  the  first  time  in 
this  composition  constructed  on  the  lines  of  Liszt's  symphonic 
poems  in  one  movement.  For  the  first  time  the  sharply  con- 
trasting forms  typical  of  Prokofiev's  music  were  united  in  a 
single  dramatic  conception  —  the  athletic  suppleness  and  the 
stiffness  of  the  motor  and  dance  themes  (introduction  and 
main  theme),  pure,  pensive  lyricism  (central  episode  in  G- 
sharp  minor),  and  nervous,  tragic,  tense  statement  (subordi- 
nate theme). 

The  performance  of  the  First  Concerto  gave  rise  to  a  heated 
controversy  in  the  press.  Criticism  was  divided  into  two  sharply 
opposing  camps,  one  wildly  enthusiastic,  the  other  definitely 
hostile.  "This  energetic,  rhythmic,  harsh,  coarse,  primitive  ca- 
cophony hardly  deserves  to  be  called  music,"  cried  Sabaneyev 
in  Golos  Moskvy.  "In  his  desperate  search  for  'novelty'  utterly 
foreign  to  his  nature  the  author  has  definitely  overreached 
himself.  Such  things  do  not  happen  with  real  talent."  Sabane- 
yev was  echoed  in  the  Peterburgskaya  Gazeta  by  the  second- 

2  July  25,  1912,  in  the  Moscow  People's  House  (conducted  by  Saradzhev) 
and  August  3,  1912,  in  Pavlovsk  (conducted  by  Aslanov). 

25 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

rate  critic  N.  Bernstein,  who  suggested  that  what  Prokofiev 
needed  was  a  strait-jacket. 

On  the  other  hand  Karatygin  in  Rech  and  Florestan  (Der- 
zhanovsky)  in  Utro  Rossii  paid  glowing  tribute  to  the  com- 
poser's talent.  They  spoke  of  the  brilliance,  the  humor,  the  wit, 
and  the  rich  imagination  of  Prokofiev's  music,  its  "freedom 
from  the  mildew  of  decadence"  (Vecherneye  Vremya,  August 
4,  1912).  One  reviewer  went  so  far  as  to  speak  — albeit  hesi- 
tantly and  naively  —  of  the  historic  role  of  Prokofiev's  music: 
"Prokofiev  might  even  mark  a  stage  in  Russian  musical  devel- 
opment, Glinka  and  Rubinstein  being  the  first,  Tchaikovsky 
and  Rimsky-Korsakov  the  second,  Glazunov  and  Arensky  the 
third,  and  Scriabin  and  Prokofiev  the  fourth.  Why  not?" 
(Peterburgsky  Listok,  No.  213,  August  5, 1912). 

Most  symptomatic  was  the  fact  that,  despite  the  malicious 
hissing  of  the  retrogrades  and  aesthetic  snobs,  Prokofiev's  ap- 
pearances were  invariably  a  success  as  far  as  the  general  public 
was  concerned.  The  convincing  power  of  his  graphic  piano 
music  could  only  have  a  direct  appeal  for  the  concert  audience. 
"He  played  .  .  .  with  amazing  assurance  and  freedom,"  re- 
marked one  reviewer.  "Under  his  fingers  the  piano  does  not  so 
much  sing  and  vibrate. as  speak  in  the  stern  and  convincing 
tone  of  a  percussion  instrument,  the  tone  of  the  old-fashioned 
harpsichord.  Yet  it  was  precisely  this  convincing  freedom  of 
execution  and  these  clear-cut  rhythms  that  won  the  author 
such  enthusiastic  applause  from  the  public"  (Russkiye  Vedo- 
mosti,  No.  173,  1912). 

In  Moscow  Prokofiev  gained  reliable  public  support  in  the 
magazine  Muzyka,  organ  of  the  Moscow  modernist  circles. 
The  magazine's  following  (Derzhanovsky,  Saradzhev,  Belya- 
yev,  Miaskovsky,  and  subsequently  Igor  Glebov3)  held  the 
same  creed  as  the  St.  Petersburg  Evenings  of  Modern  Music 
society.  Orientation  toward  progressive  trends  in  the  West 
and  a  certain  narrow  exclusiveness  and  aloofness  from  the  big 
social  problems  of  art  were  combined  here  with  a  courageous 

8  Pseudonym  of  Boris  Asafycv.  —  Editor. 

26 


EARLY     YEARS 

defense  of  everything  new  and  fresh  and  with  genuine  lack  of 
self-interest  on  the  part  of  the  organizers  and  contributors  to 
the  magazine.  (None  of  the  contributors  was  paid  for  his 
work.  V.  Derzhanovsky,  editor  and  publisher,  barely  managed 
to  make  both  ends  meet  by  taking  paid  advertisements  and  by 
occasional  donations  from  wealthy  patrons.)  Miaskovsky's 
brief  but  extremely  fruitful  career  as  music  critic  began  in 
Muzyka  in  1911.  He  was  one  of  the  first  to  discern  in  Proko- 
fiev the  new  and  healthy  quality  that  distinguished  his  art  in 
principle  from  bourgeois  decadence.  "What  pleasure  and  sur- 
prise," he  wrote,  "it  affords  one  to  come  across  this  vivid  and 
wholesome  phenomenon  amid  the  morass  of  effeminacy,  spine- 
lessness,  and  anemia  of  today!"  (Muzyka,  No.  94,  September 
8,  1912,  review  of  Four  Etudes,  Op.  2,  signed  "M.").  Proko- 
fiev's music  "by  its  freshness  and  power  .  .  .  and  its  unusual 
robustness  should  enliven  the  flaccid  and  often  stagnant  at- 
mosphere of  our  concert  life,"  Miaskovsky  wrote  in  another 
review  (Muzyka,  No.  151,  September  12,  1913,  bibliographi- 
cal note  signed  "N.  M.") . 

Two  or  three  years  later  this  idea  was  developed  in  the  col- 
umns of  the  same  magazine  by  the  discerning  Igor  Glebov,  an- 
other bold  and  tireless  proponent  of  Prokofiev's  music:  "Can 
it  be  our  life,  our  times  that  are  reflected  in  his  music?"  wrote 
Glebov.  "We  are  so  much  obsessed,  on  the  one  hand,  by  a 
hysterical  fear  of  the  malignant  power  of  destiny,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  have  attuned  ourselves  to  such  an  extent  to  lan- 
guid delicacy  and  fragility  —  that  is,  to  an  art  of  shrinking  vio- 
lets" (Muzyka,  No.  249,  1916,  article  entitled  "Recent  Im- 
pressions"). "It  seems  to  me,"  he  maintained,  "that  Prokofiev 
has  the  right  not  only  to  dislike  but  actually  to  loathe  the  old 
culture.  .  .  .  Let  him  appear  a  wild  and  terrible  creature  to 
those  who  tremble  for  their  'ancient'  beauty,  to  which  they 
cling  in  mortal  fear  lest  it  should  die,  lest  some  new  world  out- 
look should  come  and  take  its  place"  (Muzyka,  December  27, 
1914). 

The  struggle  waged  by  the  progressive  elements  of  Muzyka 

27 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

(Miaskovsky,  Glebov)  for  public  recognition  of  Prokofiev's 
talent  and  against  the  fading  culture  of  the  decadence  was  an 
expression  of  the  militant  outpost  of  the  new  Russian  art,  blaz- 
ing the  trail,  however  intuitively  and  gropingly,  toward  the 
aesthetics  of  our  day.  The  bold  polemics  and  active,  aggressive 
policy  pursued  by  these  progressive  men  recall  the  most  illus- 
trious pages  in  the  militant  past  of  Russian  music  —  namely, 
the  struggle  waged  by  Stasov  and  Cui  for  the  recognition  of 
the  young  musicians  of  the  Five.  From  this  standpoint  the  per- 
sistent efforts  of  Miaskovsky  in  the  columns  of  Muzyka  to  se- 
cure the  inclusion  of  Prokofiev's  works  in  the  programs  of  the 
big  symphony  concerts  (the  Belyayev  and  Siloti  concerts)  is 
extremely  symptomatic  (Muzyka,  No.  125, 1913,  and  No.  178, 
April  19,  1914). 

Particularly  impressive  was  an  article  by  Miaskovsky  (pub- 
lished under  a  pseudonym)  entitled  "St.  Petersburg  Fogs." 
This  ridiculed  Siloti  and  charged  him  with  conservatism  and 
indifference  to  the  fate  of  the  new  generation  of  composers.4 
This  struggle  ended  with  the  complete  victory  of  Prokofiev 
and  his  comrades-in-arms  and  the  defeat  of  the  over-cautious 
leaders  of  the  concert  life  of  the  time. 

The  editor  of  Muzyka  tried  to  persuade  Prokofiev  to  try  his 
hand  at  music  reviews  and  criticism,  but  after  a  few  minor 
bibliographical  items  on  the  chamber  music  of  Stanchinsky, 
Miaskovsky,  and  Stravinsky  and  one  or  two  analyses  of  his  own 
early  works  he  abandoned  his  attempts  at  journalism. 

Encouraged  by  the  success  of  his  First  Concerto  and  the  rec- 
ognition of  his  experiments  in  new  fields,  Prokofiev  produced 
in  1912  and  191 3  music  that  was  still  more  audacious  and  vivid 
in  idiom.  In  1912  he  wrote  his  Toccata,  Op.  11,  with  its  swift 
machine-like  rhythm  and  its  curious  polytonal  and  constructi- 
vist  effects.  In  August  of  the  same  year  he  completed  his  Sec- 
ond Sonata,  Op.  14,  a  remarkable  piece  of  music  built  on 


*  Siloti  refused  to  include  Prokofiev's  music  in  the  programs  of  his  sym- 
phony concerts  on  the  grounds  that  Prokofiev  "had  not  yet  found  himself"  (this 
was  after  his  Second  Concerto  for  the  piano). 

28 


EARLY    YEARS 

sharply  contrasting  moods,  shifting  with  startling  suddenness 
from  romantic  yearning  to  malicious  satire.  His  Ballad  for  the 
cello,  Op.  15,  written  at  the  request  of  the  wealthy  amateur 
cellist  N.  P.  Ruzsky,  the  dynamic  Scherzo  in  A  minor,  Op.  12, 
and  the  first  of  the  pieces  later  to  be  called  Sarcasms  relate  to 
the  same  period. 

Even  more  "Left"  in  musical  language  was  his  output  in 
1913  (the  Second  Piano  Concerto,  second  and  third  Sar- 
casms, Scherzo  for  four  bassoons).  In  the  Second,  G  minor, 
Concerto  for  the  piano,  begun  in  the  latter  part  of  1912,  the 
composer  strove  for  greater  depth  of  content  in  contrast  to  the 
somewhat  superficial  bravura  or  "football"  touch  in  the  D-flat 
major  Concerto  that  immediately  preceded  it.5 

The  same  touch  of  seriousness  and  restrained  lyricism  made 
itself  felt  in  some  of  the  pieces  of  Op.  12  written  that  year 
(Legend,  Caprice,  Allemande) .  Here,  too  (Prelude  in  C  major 
for  harp  or  piano),  there  were  flashes  of  that  neo-classicism 
which  was  to  declare  itself  four  years  later  in  the  Classical 
Symphony. 

The  pianoforte  cycle,  Op.  12,  was  a  collection  of  compo- 
sitions of  different  periods  and  styles,  partly  revised.6  Some  of 
them  bore  traces  of  the  young  Prokofiev's  predilection,  subse- 
quently pointed  out  by  Lunacharsky,  for  the  "nursery."  It  is 
curious  to  note  the  youthful  circle  of  friends  and  acquaintances 
reflected  in  the  numerous  dedications  of  this  opus.  Here  we 
find  Tcherepnin  and  "Kolyechka  [Nikolai]  Miaskovsky," 
"Vasyusha  [Vassili]  Morolev,"  his  old  Sontsovo  chum,  V. 
Deshevov  and  M.  Schmithof,  his  Conservatory  friends,  and 
Eleonora  Damskaya,  the  harpist,  side  by  side  with  quaint 

5  The  athletic,  "football"  quality  of  the  First  Concerto  had  been  mentioned 
more  than  once  by  hostile  critics.  Curiously  enough,  the  young  composer  actu- 
ally did  take  an  interest  in  sports  at  that  period.  He  attended  gymnastic  drill 
in  an  athletic  society,  and  even  wrote  a  sports  march  that  was  published  by 
the  society. 

6  A  comparison  between  the  original  version  of  the  march  composed  in 
Sontsovka  in  1906  and  the  final  version  written  in  1913  will  reveal  the  inter- 
esting development  of  harmonic  modernization  and  tone  color  this  simple 
childish  piece  underwent. 

29 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

childish  nicknames  such  as  "Boryusya"  (Boris  Zakharov)  and 
others.  The  young  composer's  circle  of  acquaintances  was  ex- 
tremely wide.  It  included  half-starved  Conservatory  students 
as  well  as  mature  and  adult  musicians,  old  friends  from  his  na- 
tive village,  and  fashionable  young  men  of  the  world.7 

Prokofiev  at  that  time  was  a  curious  combination  of  the  dili- 
gent, hard-working  musician  and  the  spoiled,  capricious  child. 
Many  of  his  ill-wishers  could  not  forgive  him  for  what  they 
termed  his  impudent  behavior.  He  had  no  respect  for  author- 
ity and  did  not  hesitate  to  voice  his  opinions,  however  ex- 
treme. His  first  meeting  with  the  already  famous  Igor  Stravin- 
sky was  marred  in  this  way.  After  hearing  the  author  play  his 
Firebird  in  piano  arrangement  at  one  of  the  modernist  con- 
certs, Prokofiev  bluntly  told  him  that  he  didn't  like  the  music: 
"Nothing  interesting,  rather  like  Sadkol"  Stravinsky  was 
deeply  offended.  True,  this  lack  of  understanding  changed 
later  to  a  keen  interest  and  respect  for  the  work  of  this  legisla- 
tor of  new  musical  tastes. 

In  the  summer  of  1913  Prokofiev  went  abroad  for  the  first 
time,  visiting  Paris  and  London  and  spending  part  of  his  sum- 
mer vacationing  in  the  Auvergne. 

That  same  summer  his  name  resounded  once  again  in  the 
musical  world  of  St.  Petersburg.  On  August  23  his  Second 
Piano  Concerto  was  performed  for  the  first  time  at  Pavlovsk 
under  the  baton  of  Aslanov.  This  time  the  young  composer 
won  the  attention  of  the  general  public. 

"The  debut  of  this  pianoforte  cubist  and  futurist  has 
aroused  universal  interest,"  said  the  Peterburgskaya  Gazeta. 
"Already  in  the  train  to  Pavlovsk  one  heard  on  all  sides  'Pro- 
kofiev, Prokofiev,  Prokofiev.'  A  new  piano  star!" 

"On  the  platform  appears  a  lad  with  the  face  of  a  Peter- 
schule 8  student.  It  is  Sergei  Prokofiev,"  one  newspaper  feature 

7  One  of  his  best  friends  at  that  period  was  Maximilian  Schmithof,  the 
pianist  with  whom  he  had  studied  at  the  Conservatory.  Schmithof  subsequently 
committed  suicide.  The  Second  Sonata,  Second  Piano  Concerto,  Fourth  So- 
nata, and  Allemande  from  Op.  12  arc  dedicated  to  him. 

s  An  exclusive  German  school  in  St.  Petersburg. 

3° 


EARLY    YEARS 

writer  glibly  described  the  event.  "He  takes  his  seat  at  the 
piano  and  appears  to  be  either  dusting  the  keys  or  trying  out 
the  notes  with  a  sharp,  dry  touch.  The  audience  does  not  know 
what  to  make  of  it.  Some  indignant  murmurs  are  audible.  One 
couple  gets  up  and  runs  toward  the  exit.  'Such  music  is  enough 
to  drive  you  crazy!'  is  the  general  comment.  The  hall  empties. 
The  young  artist  ends  his  concerto  with  a  relentlessly  discord- 
ant combination  of  brasses.  The  audience  is  scandalized.  The 
majority  hisses.  With  a  mocking  bow  Prokofiev  resumes  his 
seat  and  plays  an  encore.  The  audience  flies,  with  exclamations 
of:  'To  the  devil  with  all  this  futurist  music!  We  came  here 
for  enjoyment.  The  cats  on  our  roof  make  better  music  than 
this!'  "  (Peterburgskaya  Gazeta,  August  25,  1913). 

Most  of  the  critics  could  not  find  words  to  express  the  full 
measure  of  their  indignation  at  this  gross  violation  of  musical 
dogma.  Y.  Kurdyumov  referred  to  the  concerto  as  a  "babel  of 
insane  sounds  without  form  or  harmony  heaped  one  upon  an- 
other" (Peterburgsky  Listok,  August  24,  1913).  N.  Bernstein 
called  it  "a  cacophony  of  sounds  having  nothing  whatever  in 
common  with  genuine  music.  .  .  .  Prokofiev's  cadenzas,  for 
example,  are  unbearable;  they  are  such  a  musical  mess  that  one 
might  think  them  the  result  of  an  inkwell  spilt  on  the  paper" 
(Peterburgskaya  Gazeta,  August  25,  1913).  Not  far  behind  in 
vituperative  criticism  was  M.  Ivanov  of  the  Black  Hundred 
Novoye  Vremya. 

What  a  bold  challenge  to  this  malignant  chorus  were  the 
prophetic  words  uttered  by  V.  G.  Karatygin,  the  only  critic 
who  took  up  the  cudgels  in  unreserved  defense  of  Prokofiev's 
new  concerto!  "The  fact  that  the  public  hissed  means  noth- 
ing," he  wrote.  "Ten  years  from  now  it  will  atone  for  last 
night's  catcalls  by  unanimous  applause  for  this  new  composer 
with  a  European  reputation"  (Rech,  March  25,  1913). 

Curiously  enough,  Prokofiev's  sensational  appearance  in 
Pavlovsk  almost  coincided  in  time  with  the  famous  tour  of 
Russian  cities  made  by  the  Russian  futurists  —  Mayakovsky, 
Kamensky,  and  Burlyuk.  The  audacious,  shocking  utterances 

31 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

of  the  young  Mayakovsky  and  his  friends  evoked  exactly  the 
same  reaction  from  the  public  and  the  critics  as  Prokofiev's 
piano  performances.  It  is  not  surprising  that  three  years  later 
one  of  the  critics,  in  an  effort  to  sting  Prokofiev  for  his  non- 
conformism,  accused  him  of  aping  Mayakovsky  (N.  Shebuyev 
in  Zritel,  December  2,  1916). 

In  November  1913  Prokofiev  met  Debussy,  who  had  come 
to  Russia  at  the  invitation  of  Koussevitzky.  In  honor  of  De- 
bussy's arrival  in  St.  Petersburg  the  magazine  Apollon  arranged 
a  concert  on  November  28,  at  which  Prokofiev  played  his 
Legend,  Op.  12,  and  one  of  the  etudes  of  his  Op.  2.  Debussy 
displayed  interest  in  his  work.  Prokofiev  in  his  turn  attended 
the  concert  given  by  the  celebrated  leader  of  musical  impres- 
sionism, but  found  Debussy's  music  "not  sufficiently  meaty." 
It  was  only  much  later,  when  he  lived  in  Paris,  that  Prokofiev 
began  to  appreciate  the  new  French  music  to  the  full. 

The  year  1913-14  was  Prokofiev's  last  year  at  the  Conserva- 
tory. He  conducted  at  public  concerts  frequently  during  this 
period.  Pending  the  final  examinations  Prokofiev  concentrated 
on  the  piano.  At  the  same  time  he  continued  to  give  recitals 
of  his  latest  compositions  in  both  Moscow  and  St.  Petersburg. 
His  prestige  as  a  composer  was  notably  increasing.  On  Febru- 
ary 7,  1914  the  Evenings  of  Modern  Music  allotted  him  the 
entire  second  half  of  their  program  for  the  performance  of  his 
Second  Sonata,  Ballad  for  the  cello,  and  a  number  of  piano 
pieces,  Op.  12.  His  Moscow  opponents  (Sabaneyev  and 
others)  again  poured  vials  of  abuse  on  the  composer's  head. 
The  Second  Sonata  was  their  pet  anathema.  During  that  same 
winter  Prokofiev  was  at  last  included  in  the  program  of  a  large 
symphony  concert  (Koussevitzky's  symphony  matinee  in  Mos- 
cow, February  16,  1914). 

The  composer's  fight  for  the  first  prize  when  graduating 
from  the  Conservatory  is  an  interesting  episode  in  his  Auto- 
biography. "While  I  did  not  especially  mind  the  poor  rating 
I  received  for  composition,"  he  recalls,  "this  time  ambition 
got  the  better  of  me  and  I  resolved  to  win  a  first  for  the  piano." 

32 


EARLY     YEARS 

The  sportsman  in  him  was  aroused  by  the  excitement  of  the 
contest,  the  spirit  that  was  so  vividly  depicted  a  year  later  in 
his  Gambler.  Not  that  there  was  anything  of  the  gambler's 
fatalism  in  his  make-up:  his  "game"  was  founded  on  cool  cal- 
culation. Instead  of  the  customary  fugue  from  Das  wohltem- 
periertes  Klavier  he  chose  one  of  the  lesser-known  fugues  from 
Die  Kunst  der  Fuge;  instead  of  the  classic  concerto  he  included 
his  own  D-flat  major  Concerto.  But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  cir- 
cumvent the  old  established  Conservatory  regulations.  The 
examining  board  demanded  that  each  examiner  be  provided 
with  a  copy  of  the  "terrible"  concerto  one  week  before  the 
examinations.  This  hurdle,  however,  was  also  overcome.  At 
the  composer's  request  furgenson  printed  the  piano  score  in 
time  for  the  examination  so  that  each  of  the  twenty  examiners 
received  his  copy  in  good  time.  "When  I  mounted  the  plat- 
form the  first  thing  I  saw  was  my  concerto  spread  out  on 
twenty  laps.  What  a  sight  for  a  composer  who  had  just  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  some  of  his  work  published!" 

The  First  Concerto,  brilliantly  played  by  the  composer, 
staggered  the  Conservatory  professors.  The  jury  split  into  two 
sharply  opposed  camps:  Essipova's  group  and  a  number  of 
young  professors  (Kalantarova,  Drozdov,  Vengerova,  Lemba, 
and  Medem)  were  in  favor,  the  powerful  academic  group 
headed  by  Glazunov  (Lyapunov,  Lavrov,  and  Dubasov)  was 
against.  The  most  vehement  protest  and  expression  of  indig- 
nation were  voiced  by  Dubasov.  Nevertheless,  the  Conserva- 
tory was  forced  to  recognize  the  talent  of  its  unruly  graduate. 
By  a  majority  of  votes  the  Rubinstein  first  prize  for  the  piano 
was  awarded  to  Prokofiev.9  Glazunov,  the  director  of  the  Con- 
servatory, who  had  just  voted  against  what  he  called  the 
"harmful  tendencies"  reflected  in  Prokofiev's  work,  was 
obliged  personally  to  announce  the  results  of  the  contest.  On 
May  11,  at  the  graduation  exercises,  the  First  Concerto  was 


9  Seven  pianists  contested  for  the  prize,  Prokofiev's  closest  rival  being  N. 
Golubovskaya  (now  professor  at  the  Leningrad  Conservatory),  a  pupil  of 
Lyapunov. 

33 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

played  again  with  great  success  by  the  orchestra  under  Tche- 
repnin's  direction.  The  entire  press  of  St.  Petersburg  reported 
the  event,  carrying  photographs  of  the  prize-winner  and  even 
interviews  with  him.  As  far  as  the  musical  press  as  a  whole 
was  concerned,  Prokofiev  had  arrived.  Even  his  enemies  were 
now  compelled  to  recognize  that  an  outstanding  musician  had 
entered  the  arena. 


4  :  Sturm  und  Drang 


Then  I  told  him  that  I  was  a  heretic  and 
a  barbarian  .  .  .  and  that  I  did  not  care 
a  fig  for  all  these  archbishops,  cardinals, 
monseigneurs,  etc. 

Dostoyevsky:  The  Gambler 


B 


'Y  1914  Prokofiev  was  firmly  established  in  the  world 
of  music.  This  erstwhile  enfant  terrible,  this  prankish,  mis- 
chievous lad,  had  won  universal  recognition.  His  name  was 
mentioned  more  and  more  often  in  the  press  of  the  capital. 
He  was  received  in  the  art  salons  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  theatri- 
cal circles  began  to  display  an  interest  in  his  work. 

The  composer,  who  had  made  such  a  brilliant  showing  as  a 
concert  virtuoso,  was  now  passionately  interested  in  the  musi- 
cal theater,  a  sphere  that  had  fascinated  him  since  early  child- 
hood. Even  during  their  Conservatory  years  Prokofiev  and 
Miaskovsky  had  toyed  with  the  idea  of  using  Dostoyevsky 's 
novels  for  librettos.  Prokofiev's  imagination  had  been  captured 
by  the  dramatic,  gripping  plot  of  The  Gambler,  and  Miaskov- 
sky had  planned  an  opera  based  on  The  Idiot. 

But  1914  brought  new  ideas  and  subjects  to  the  composer. 
A  tremendous  role  in  the  subsequent  development  of  Proko- 
fiev as  an  artist  was  played  by  his  friendship  with  Diaghilcv, 
the  master  mind  of  the  rising  generation  of  painters  and  musi- 

34 


EARLY    YEARS 

cians.  On  the  eve  of  the  war  Diaghilev's  ballet  seasons  abroad 
were  among  the  most  fashionable  and  sensational  artistic  at- 
tractions in  Europe.  The  daring  and  novelty  of  his  media  and 
his  brilliance  of  form  were  indisputable.  The  latest  sensation, 
following  Stravinsky's  Firebird  and  Petrouchka,  had  been 
he  Sacre  du  printemps,  the  barbaric  brutality  of  which  was 
absolutely  without  precedent.  With  all  its  technical  brilliance 
this  music,  nevertheless,  pointed  the  way  to  many  anarchic 
extremes  in  postwar  European  music.  Yet  this  was  the  last 
word  in  modernism  and  could  not  but  interest  the  young  Pro- 
kofiev, with  his  avid  thirst  for  everything  new. 

In  June  1914  Prokofiev  made  a  special  trip  to  London  for 
the  opening  of  the  Diaghilev  season.  The  trip  was  in  the  na- 
ture of  a  reward  from  his  mother  for  his  successful  graduation 
from  the  Conservatory.  The  young  composer  heard  Stravin- 
sky's Firebird  and  Petrouchka  and  Ravel's  Daphnis  et  Chloe 
for  the  first  time.  He  heard  Chaliapin  and  Richard  Strauss  as 
well.  Prokofiev,  however,  did  not  unreservedly  embrace  the 
new  music  in  all  cases.  "Their  verve,  inventiveness,  and 
'trickiness'  interested  me  immensely,  but  I  found  them  lack- 
ing in  subject  matter." 

Walter  Nuvel,  who  accompanied  Prokofiev,  introduced 
him  to  Diaghilev,  who  condescended  to  listen  to  the  Second 
Piano  Concerto.  There  was  talk  of  Prokofiev's  participating  in 
the  Diaghilev  programs.  The  composer  mentioned  his  plan  to 
write  an  opera  after  Dostoyevsky's  Gambler,  but  Diaghilev  re- 
jected the  idea  at  once  on  the  grounds  that  opera  was  out  of 
date  and  was  being  completely  ousted  by  ballet  and  panto- 
mime.1 The  negotiations  ended  with  Prokofiev  receiving  an 
order  for  a  new  ballet  "on  Russian  fairy-tale  or  prehistoric 
themes."  Diaghilev  advised  Nuvel  and  Karatygin  to  introduce 

1  In  his  denunciation  of  opera  Diaghilev  is  known  to  have  gone  to  the  most 
absurd  extremes.  He  gave  a  new  interpretation  to  Rimsky-Korsakov's  Golden 
Cockerel,  making  a  ballet  of  it  by  shifting  the  singers  to  the  orchestra  and  leav- 
ing the  dancers  in  full  possession  of  the  stage.  On  hearing  Prokofiev's  Second 
Concerto  Diaghilev  also  proposed  producing  it  in  the  form  of  a  ballet,  but  the 
idea  never  materialized. 

35 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

the  composer  to  some  of  the  young  poets,  including  Sergei 
Gorodetsky. 

Diaghilev's  word  was  law.  On  returning  to  his  native  land, 
Prokofiev  laid  aside  his  plans  for  The  Gambler  and  com 
menced  work  on  a  Scythian  ballet  entitled  Ala  and  holli. 
WTiile  Gorodetsky  was  finding  suitable  images  for  a  Scvthian 
plot,  Prokofiev  occupied  himself  by  revising  the  orchestration 
of  his  Sinfonietta,  Op.  5,  which  he  intended  for  inclusion  in 
the  program  of  Siloti's  concerts.2 

This  Scythian,  prehistoric  "barbarian"  subject  matter  was 
actuallv  foreign  to  Prokofiev's  nature  and  inner  conviction.  He 
had  essentially  no  sympathy  for  the  "Scythianism"  adopted 
by  the  Russian  bourgeois  poets,  who  were  bored  with  languid 
yearnings  and  parlor  mvsticism  and  were  seeking  solace  in  the 
instinctive  animal  wisdom  of  primitive  man.  Nor  had  he  any 
wish,  like  the  symbolists,  to  glorify  the  "future  Hun,"  the 
plebeian  barbarian  who  was  to  shatter  and  destroy  all  bour- 
geois civilization.  For  Stravinsky,  Le  Sacre  du  printemps  was  in 
the  nature  of  an  ideological  declaration,  a  glorification  of  the 
primordial  elemental  forces  of  nature,  a  revival  of  savage, 
pagan  instincts  as  an  antidote  against  the  morbid  atmosphere 
of  decadence.  Prokofiev,  on  the  other  hand,  regarded  such 
subject  matter  far  more  simply  and  soberly,  without  any 
"philosophical  soul-searching"  whatever.  For  him  the  ballet 
Ala  and  Lolli  was  merelv  a  convenient  opportunity  to  give  full 
rein  to  his  daring  harmonic  idiom  —  which  had  been  seeking 
an  outlet  in  the  Sarcasms  and  in  the  Second  Concerto  —  to 
"try  his  hand  at  something  big,"  something  monumental  and 
sweeping. 

After  a  long  tussle  with  the  ponderous  and  static  material  of 
Scythian  mythology,  Prokofiev  and  Gorodetsky  together  de- 
vised a  plot.  It  was  briefly  as  follows:  The  Scythians  are  wor- 
shipping their  favorite  gods,  Veles,  the  sun  god,  and  Ala,  a 
wooden  idol,  when  one  night  a  cunning  stranger,  Chuzhbog, 

2  The  Sinfonietta  was  first  performed  at  Siloti's  concerts  on  October  24, 
1915. 

36 


EARLY    YEARS 

aided  and  abetted  by  the  dark  forces  of  evil,  tries  to  steal  Ala. 
His  spell,  however,  works  only  in  the  darkness;  under  the  pale 
light  of  the  moon  he  is  powerless.  To  Ala's  rescue  comes  Lolli, 
the  warrior.  Chuzhbog  would  slay  him,  but  in  a  timely  inter- 
vention the  sun  god  smites  Chuzhbog  with  his  blinding  rays. 

By  the  autumn  of  1914  the  piano  score  of  Ala  and  Lolli  was 
ready  in  the  rough.  To  compensate  for  the  dramatic  short- 
comings of  the  plot,  Prokofiev  directed  the  whole  of  his  com- 
poser's genius  to  inventing  the  crisp,  acrid  chords,  the  savage, 
archaic  melodies  and  crude  rhythms  most  suited  to  the  nature 
of  the  subject,  Le  Sacre  du  printemps,  which  Prokofiev  had 
heard  in  concert  performance  but  "had  not  understood,"  may 
have  subconsciously  influenced  him  in  this  work. 

In  the  meantime  the  war  had  broken  out  and  the  conse- 
quent high  cost  of  living  inevitably  affected  the  material  well- 
being  of  the  Prokofiev  familv.  The  composer  was  obliged  to 
apply  more  and  more  frequently  to  his  publisher  for  advances. 

In  his  correspondence  with  Jurgenson,  Prokofiev  insisted 
on  his  rights.  "You  want  to  pav  me  little  more  than  the  few 
rubles  you  will  receive  in  your  shops  for  the  sale  of  one  or  two 
piano  scores  so  that  in  a  few  years'  time  my  ballet  will  be  yours 
for  all  time"  (letter  dated  May  1,  1915). 

His  first  encounter  with  life's  hardships  brought  the  young 
artist  closer  to  earth,  opening  his  eves  to  the  reality  around 
him. 

While  working  on  Ala  and  Lolli  the  composer  laid  aside 
the  ballet  a  number  of  times  to  bring  some  of  his  own  ideas  to 
life.  This  was  something  of  a  relaxation  from  the  strain  of  his 
quest  for  new  forms.  It  resulted  at  the  end  of  1914  in  that 
splendid  specimen  of  Prokofiev's  vocal  lyrical  music.  The  Ugly 
Duckling,  after  the  Andersen  fairy-tale.  While  in  his  work 
on  the  ballet  the  predominant  features  were  decorative  design, 
the  wild  exoticism  of  ritual  scenes,  and  violently  colorful  sound 
effects,  in  The  Ugly  Duckling  we  find  the  warm  human  note 
confidently  asserting  itself  against  a  cleverly  conceived  fain- 
tale  background.  In  the  lyrics  of  The  Ugly  Duckling  the  deep 

37 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

inner  content  was  tangibly  felt;  in  Prokofiev's  interpretation 
the  fairy-tale  was  a  sincere,  if  allegorical,  story  of  true  man 
contrasted  with  the  ugly  world  of  narrow-minded  philistinism 
and  hidebound  routine.  This  was  how  the  music  struck  Maxim 
Gorky,  who  attended  several  of  Prokofiev's  recitals.  "Why, 
he  has  written  that  story  about  himself,"  exclaimed  Gorky 
after  hearing  The  Ugly  Duckling.3 

After  an  extremely  successful  performance  of  his  Second 
Concerto  played  at  the  RMO  (Russian  Musical  Society)  on 
January  24,  1915,  Prokofiev  left  for  Italy  on  February  6  at  the 
invitation  of  Diaghilev.  After  looking  over  the  outline  for  Ala 
and  Lolli  Diaghilev  rejected  the  ballet  on  the  grounds  that  the 
plot  was  stilted  and  the  music  dull  "a  la  Tcherepnin."  By  way 
of  compensation  the  all-powerful  entrepreneur  arranged  for 
Prokofiev  to  appear  at  a  symphony  concert  in  the  Augusteo  in 
Rome.  The  concert,  held  on  March  7,  1915  —  Prokofiev's  first 
appearance  on  a  foreign  concert  platform  —  was  widely  adver- 
tised and  had  good  publicity.  While  few  of  the  Italian  papers 
were  able  to  grasp  all  the  complexities  of  the  Second  Piano 
Concerto,  all  paid  tribute  to  the  brilliant  performance  of  the 
composer. 

At  Diaghilev's  home  Prokofiev  met  Stravinsky  and  such 
leading  Italian  futurists  as  Marinetti  and  Balla,  who  had  been 
invited  to  discuss  the  current  ballet  production  based  on  Nea- 
politan carnivals.  A  complete  reconciliation  was  effected  with 
Stravinsky,  and  the  two  composers  at  their  host's  request 
played  a  four-hand  arrangement  of  Petrouchka  for  his  Italian 
guests.4  The  long  and  rather  unstable  friendship  between  Pro- 
kofiev and  Stravinsky,  interrupted  time  and  again  by  various 
disagreements  in  principle,  dated  from  this  time.  The  futurists 
did  not  particularly  impress  Prokofiev.  Their  urbanist  ideas 


8  The  music  was  first  performed  on  January  17,  1915  at  a  concert  of  the 
Evenings  of  Modern  Music.  A.  Zhercbtsova-Andrcycva  was  the  singer. 

1  For  details  of  this  meeting  between  Prokofiev  and  Stravinsky  sec  the  hit- 
ter's About  My  Life:  "At  last  I  had  an  opportunity  to  enter  into  closer  con- 
t.if  t  with  this  fine  musician  whose  value  has  hcen  recognized  by  the  whole 
modern  musical  world"  (p.  123). 

58 


EARLY     YEARS 

were  foreign  to  him,  as  can  be  seen  from  the  matter-of-fact 
tone  of  his  article  entitled  "The  Musical  Instruments  of  the 
Futurists/'  published  in  the  magazine  Muzyka  (April  8,  191 5) 
on  his  return  to  his  native  land. 

His  second  meeting  with  Diaghilev  played  what  might  be 
termed  a  historic  role  in  Prokofiev's  career  as  a  composer. 
When  he  rejected  Ala  and  Lolli,  Diaghilev  asked  Prokofiev  to 
write  a  new  ballet  on  Russian  folk-tale  themes.  The  music  of 
the  Second  Concerto  (the  subordinate  theme  of  the  finale) 


4.  Second  Piano  Concerto,  subordinate  theme  of  finale. 

showed  that  Prokofiev  was  no  stranger  to  Russian  national 
melody.  Diaghilev  felt  this.  "Write  music  that  will  be  truly 
Russian,"  he  told  the  composer.  "They've  forgotten  how  to 
write  Russian  music  in  that  rotten  St.  Petersburg  of  yours." 
Looking  through  Afanasyev's  collection  of  Russian  folk  tales,5 
they  selected  two  amusing  stories  about  a  jester,  and  together 
worked  out  a  ballet  libretto.  The  stories,  collected  in  the  Perm 
Government,  were  about  a  jolly  village  wag  of  the  type  of 
Pushkin's  Balda  who  outwits  the  village  priest,  the  priest's 
wife,  the  rich  merchant,  and  seven  jesters.  The  libretto  of  the 
future  ballet  was  given  a  rather  long-winded  title:  The  Tale  of 
the  Buffoon  Who  Outwitted  Seven  Buffoons.  It  is  characteris- 
tic that  the  priest  and  his  wife,  the  principal  comic  characters 

5  Collection  of  Fairy-tales  by  A.  N.  Afanasyev  (State  Literary  Publishing 
House,  1940),  Vol.  Ill,  p.  206. 

39 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

in  the  story,  were  deleted  by  Diaghilev,  who  was  not  interested 
in  anticlerical  satire. 

Of  course,  the  Russian  style  embraced  by  Diaghilev  had 
nothing  in  common  with  the  progressive  national  aspirations 
that  had  distinguished  the  work  of  the  Five  or  the  Peredvizh- 
niki.  In  the  present  case  it  was  merely  used  as  an  excuse  for 
original,  ingenious  stylization,  for  aestheticizing  the  primitive 
simplicity  of  the  old-fashioned  village  folk-tale.  Such,  for  ex- 
ample, were  the  deliberately  simplified  "Russian"  paintings  bv 
the  artists  of  the  "Ass's  Tail"  group  (Goncharova  and  Lario- 
nov)  who  copied  the  crude  style  of  village  prints  and  sign- 
boards. Stravinsky's  Renard  and  Histoire  du  soldat,  composed 
two  or  three  years  later,  were  done  in  the  same  manner.  Al- 
though The  Buffoon 6  essentially  belongs  in  this  category  as 
well,  notes  of  a  live,  warm  lyricism  and  a  keen  folk  humor  break 
through  the  otherwise  stylized  music  of  the  ballet. 

The  Buffoon  and  the  quest  for  a  national  style  involved  in 
this  work  absorbed  Prokofiev  completely.  He  composed  the 
first  draft  of  all  six  scenes  during  the  summer  of  1915.  The 
work  went  easily  and  pleasantly.  The  whimsicality  of  the  tale 
lent  itself  to  pungent  musical  caricature,  and,  what  was  most 
important,  while  working  on  the  ballet  the  composer  discov- 
ered the  world  of  Russian  song  melody  which  he  freely  repro- 
duced without  quotations  or  ethnographical  research. 

His  second  return  from  abroad  and  his  contract  with  Di- 
aghilev boosted  Prokofiev's  prestige  considerably  in  the  busi- 
ness circles  of  Russian  music.  Concert  organizations  that  had 
ignored  him  now  began  to  shower  him  with  invitations.  In 
1915  his  name  figured  on  the  symphony  programs  of  Siloti, 
Koussevitzky,  the  court  orchestra,  and  the  summer  symphony 
seasons  in  Sestroretsk  and  Pavlovsk.  The  additude  of  the  pub- 
lic was  likewise  markedly  changed.  "Only  three  years  ago," 
wrote  Karatygin,  "most  of  our  music-lovers  saw  in  Prokofiev's 
compositions  merely  the  excesses  of  a  mischievous  anarchism 
that  threatened  to  upset  the  whole  of  Russian  music.  Now 

6  Usually  known  in  the  United  States  as  Chout.  —  Editor. 

4° 


EARLY     YEARS 

they  won't  let  him  leave  the  stage  before  he  has  played  innu- 
merable encores"  (Rech,  No.  186,  1915). 

By  the  end  of  the  summer  the  piano  score  of  The  Buffoon 
was  ready.  Prokofiev  sent  it  to  Diaghilev  by  post,  being  unable 
to  go  to  Italy  himself  owing  to  the  war  in  the  Balkans.  In  the 
meantime  he  had  been  working  on  the  orchestration  of  the 
rejected  music  of  Ala  and  Lolli,  which  he  had  decided  to  re- 
write as  a  symphonic  suite.  This  was  his  first  large-scale  and 
fully  mature  orchestral  work,  as  until  then  he  had  written 
small  and  essentially  juvenile  symphonic  pieces  and  accom- 
paniments to  concertos.  The  four  movements  of  the  Scythian 
Suite  combined  most  of  the  material  of  the  ballet  (first  move- 
ment, "Worship  of  Ala  and  Veles";  second  movement, 
"Chuzhbog  and  the  Dance  of  the  Evil  Spirits";  third  move- 
ment, "Night";  fourth  movement,  "Lolli's  March  and  the 
Sun  Procession").  The  composer  wrote  for  a  huge  orchestra 
with  eight  French  horns,  five  trumpets,  additional  woodwinds, 
piano,  and  a  complicated  selection  of  nine  percussion  instru- 
ments not  counting  the  kettle-drum.  Prokofiev's  scope  and 
originality  made  themselves  most  strongly  felt  in  the  two  last 
movements  of  the  suite,  particularly  in  the  grand  and  powerful 
finale  depicting  the  powerful  elemental  beaut}'  of  the  rising 
sun. 

That  same  year,  in  the  intervals  between  the  more  impor- 
tant commissioned  works,  the  composer  found  time  to  give 
outlet  to  his  own  purely  lyrical  musical  inclinations.  Early 
in  1915  he  conceived  the  idea  for  a  violin  concertino,  but  after 
composing  a  delightfully  serene  and  lovely  melody  (the  fu- 
ture leitmotiv  of  the  D  major  Violin  Concerto)  he  laid  the 
work  aside  to  await  better  times.  The  same  year  saw  the  advent 
of  a  number  of  colorful  and  charming  piano  pieces,  something 
in  the  nature  of  pages  from  a  diarv,  a  record  of  the  emotions 
of  the  composer,  passing  impressions  of  the  outer  world.  These 
pieces  were  later  entitled  Fugitive  Visions.  (Nos.  5,  6,  10,  16, 
and  17  were  composed  in  1915). 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  1915  too  that  Prokofiev  composed 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

his  cycle  of  songs,  Op.  23,  which  included  such  notable  items 
as  the  Wizard  (words  by  Agnivtsev)  and  Under  the  Roof 
(words  by  Valentine  Goryansky).  In  the  autumn  he  turned 
his  attention  to  The  Gambler.  Recalling  this  period,  Prokofiev 
says  that  "the  Russian  outweighed  the  foreign  in  the  scales  of 
my  personal  interests." 

And  if  we  compare  these  Russian  interests  with  the  prob- 
lems in  stylization  set  him  by  Diaghilev  during  his  stay  in 
Italy,  we  find  that  the  composer's  personal  creative  ideas  had 
far  greater  depth  and  meaning.  True,  these  ideas  were  not  yet 
properly  grasped  and  digested.  Nevertheless  he  was  intuitively 
groping  toward  the  bigger  human  themes  in  art  and  serious 
problems  of  a  social  nature  that  Diaghilev  and  the  modernists 
studiously  eschewed. 

The  last  of  the  Sarcasms  already  contained  not  only  clever 
harmony  and  rhythms  but  also  a  compact  philosophy  akin  to 
the  "laughter  through  tears"  theme  of  Gogol's  Cloak  and 
Dead  Souls:  "Sometimes  we  laugh  maliciously  at  someone  or 
something,  but  when  we  look  closer,  we  see  how  pitiful  and 
wretched  is  the  object  of  our  laughter,  and  then  we  grow 
ashamed  and  the  laughter  rings  in  our  ears,  but  now  the  laugh 
is  on  us.  .  .  ."  This  program  was  not  declared.  Nevertheless, 
its  existence  showed  that  besides  laughing  and  scoffing  (as, 
for  instance,  in  the  caricature  Scherzo  (or  four  bassoons)  the 
composer  had  a  searching  mind  and  a  desire  to  perceive  and 
feel  life  in  his  own  way. 

It  was  no  accident,  either,  that  the  verses  of  Valentine 
Goryansky,  who  contributed  to  the  radical  satiric  magazine 
Novy  Satirikon,  should  appeal  to  Prokofiev.  In  this  period  the 
Novy  Satirikon  published  the  verses  of  Mayakovsky,  his  bit- 
ingly  sarcastic  "hymns"  (Hymn  to  Dinner,  Hymn  to  the 
Judge,  etc.).  Some  of  the  poets  of  the  Novy  Satirikon,  as 
V.  Shklovsky  put  it,  "resembled  Mayakovsky,  but  the  resem- 
blance was  not  apparent  until  much  later."  Goryansky's  urban, 
extremely  prosaic  and  mundane  lyricism  expressed  his  sympa- 
thies for  the  world  of  city  slums  and  the  common  folk  crushed 

42 


EARLY     YEARS 

by  the  soullessness  and  brutal  exploitation  of  the  "machine 
age." 

The  song  Under  the  Roof,  written  to  Goryansky's  text, 
gives  a  curious  insight  into  the  essence  of  the  young  Prokofiev's 
lyricism  —  his  genuine  love  for  life  and  nature  in  spite  of  the 
oppressive  atmosphere  of  the  capitalist  city. 

...  It  was  a  week  ago  that  someone  told  me 

I  was  blind  and  knew  not  life's  joys, 

That  I  was  all  sunk  in  working  and  sweating, 

That  my  children  were  sin's  ugly  toys.  .  .  . 

But  that's  not  so,  now!  Really  not  so! 

My  children  have  all  the  graces! 

But  I'm  poor,  and  that's  why  they  starve  and  are  famished, 

What  gives  them  such  pinched  little  faces. 

I  see  the  wide  world  through  my  one  tiny  window, 

My  soul  is  not  blinded  to  light. 

Oh,  I  see  the  sun  climbing  higher  and  higher, 

Through  banks  of  clouds  and  the  night. 

And  at  the  end  the  calm  and  serene  conclusion: 

Who  said  that  I  live  not  knowing  nature 
Affronted  me,  spoke  in  vain. 
No!  I  have  felt  fair  nature's  glad  smile! 
Never  mind  that  we  are  beggars  in  town.  .  .  . 
My  children  are  not  uglv  and  full  of  guile  — 
Only  wan  and  weak,  and  pressed  down. 

Prokofiev  took  this  particular  song  very  seriously,  giving  it 
a  great  deal  of  thought  and  "taking  great  pains  to  convey  in 
the  music  every  shade  of  feeling  contained  in  the  text."  And 
only  a  certain  mechanical  quality  in  the  accompaniment,  a 
preponderance  of  automatic  ostinato  figures,  somewhat  de- 
tracted from  the  impression  of  the  song  as  a  whole. 

A  unique  phenomenon  among  the  Russian  vocal  lyrics  of 
that  period  was  the  Wizard,  a  bold  challenge  to  rose-colored, 
philistine  complacency,  a  specimen  of  bitter  musical  carica- 
ture, a  sphere  unexplored  in  Russian  vocal  music  since  the 
days  of  Mussorgsky's  Classic  and  He-Goat. 

43 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

These  songs  were  direct  stepping-stones  to  The  Gambler, 
which  Prokofiev  began  to  compose  in  the  autumn  of  1915, 
notwithstanding  Diaghilev's  vehement  disapproval.  And  this 
stubborn  striving  to  continue  his  own  work  on  the  opera  in  the 
face  of  the  "anti-operatic"  tendencies  of  the  leading  modern- 
ist circles  was  evidence  of  the  progressiveness  of  Prokofiev,  of 
his  disagreement  in  principle  with  the  empty  formalism  of  the 
Diaghilev  school. 

The  Gambler  had  been  conceived  as  a  realistic,  lifelike  per- 
formance. The  composer  wrote  the  libretto  himself,  striving  to 
retain  the  Dostoyevsky  dialogues  intact  (with  the  fourth  act 
only  was  he  assisted  by  his  intimate  friend  B.  N.  Demchinsky) . 
Lively  and  dynamic  action  and  flexibility  of  the  recitatives, 
which  were  based  on  the  actual  intonation  of  ordinary  speech 
—  such  were  the  aims  Prokofiev  strove  to  achieve  in  his  opera 
in  obvious  continuation  of  the  operatic  traditions  of  Mussorg- 
sky, particularly  in  Marriage. 

As  distinct  from  the  stylization  and  decorative  problems  of 
Ala  and  Lolli  and  The  Buffoon,  The  Gambler  was  a  problem  in 
character-portrayal  and  social  protest.  The  characters  in  The 
Gambler  —  the  stupid,  fatuous  General,  the  shameless  hussy 
Mademoiselle  Blanche,  the  Marquis,  the  crowd  of  half-crazed 
gamblers  poisoned  by  their  passion  for  gain  —  are  wretched  and 
disgusting  in  their  cynical  frankness.  The  gambling  den,  with 
its  merciless  hold  on  the  destiny  of  people,  ruining  some  and 
enriching  others,  presented  as  a  terrible  symbol  of  fate,  an  em- 
bodiment of  the  soulless  force  of  the  bourgeois  "hard  cash" 
principle,  is  a  theme  quite  often  chosen  by  Russian  writers  and 
composers  (Lermontov's  Masquerade,  The  Queen  of  Spades 
by  Pushkin  and  Tchaikovsky).  What  obviously  attracted  Pro- 
kofiev was  the  opportunity  to  create  characters  in  striking  con- 
trast to  this  repulsive  world  —  Alexei  with  his  sardonic  humor 
and  provocative  behavior,  Babulenka  (Granny),  straightfor- 
ward and  outspoken,  and  Pauline,  impulsive,  passionate,  and 
nervously  exalted.  The  composer  has  laid  particular  emphasis 
on  all  those  scenes  in  which  Alcxci  shocks  and  scandalizes  the 

44 


EARLY     YEARS 

society  around  him.  It  is  no  accident  that  Prokofiev  begins  his 
opera  with  the  monologue  of  "the  virtuous  father,"  in  which 
Alexei  exposes  the  cheeseparing  avarice  of  the  bourgeois  familv 
with  its  blind  worship  of  all-powerful  gold.7 

In  the  music  of  The  Gambler  one  is  struck  by  a  number  of 
finely  wrought  details  revealing  the  keen  eye  of  the  composer, 
his  remarkable  gift  for  clever,  laconic  character  portrayal:  the 
foolish  remarks  of  the  General,  the  false,  hypocritical  coquetry 
of  Mademoiselle  Blanche,  the  broad  Russian  melodies  of 


5.  The  Gambler,  Act  II,  theme  of  Babulenka. 

Babulenka,  and  the  feverish  dynamic  effect  of  the  scene  in  the 
gambling  house. 

Nevertheless,  in  his  desire  to  turn  his  back  completely  on  the 

7  Here  is  the  text  of  this  monologue:  "The  virtuous  father,  the  obedient 
family,  a  stork  on  the  roof,  flowers  in  front  of  the  house.  All  work  like  oxen 
and  save  money:  money,  money,  money  is  the  motto.  The  daughter  is  an  old 
maid.  She  was  given  no  dowry.  The  youngest  son  was  sold  into  servitude  and 
the  money  added  to  the  capital.  At  last  sufficient  wealth  had  been  accumulated 
to  enable  the  oldest  son  of  forty  to  man}'.  The  father  blesses  him,  weeps, 
moralizes,  hands  over  his  capital,  and  dies.  And  so  on  until  six  generations  later 
there  is  the  solid  respectable  firm  of  Hoppe  &  Co."  Prokofiev  reworked  the  text 
himself,  leaving  it  brief  and  pithy. 

45 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

old  operatic  aria  the  composer  went  to  the  other  extreme,  with 
the  result  that  the  unnatural,  caricaturesque  quality  of  the  reci- 
tative, the  fragmentary  nature  and  deliberate  dissonance  of 
the  orchestral  accompaniment,  are  clearly  overdone.  From  the 
standpoint  of  pure  form,  this  opera  anticipated  many  of  the 
modernistic  operas  of  the  thirties.  The  subject  matter  of  The 
Gambler,  however,  bore  witness  to  some  interesting  processes 
at  work  in  the  mind  of  the  young  composer  in  1915-16.  The 
challenging,  provocative  tone  of  the  opera,  its  malicious  gro- 
tesqueness  at  that  time,  undoubtedly  bore  an  affinity  to  the 
scourging  satire  of  the  young  Mayakovsky. 

The  bulk  of  The  Gambler  was  written  in  five  and  a  half 
months,  from  October  1915  to  March  1916.  The  "Left"  ex- 
tremes indulged  in  by  the  young  composer  in  his  search  for 
harsh  and  unaccustomed  harmony  puzzled  even  his  well-wish- 
ers. "Do  you  really  understand  what  you  are  pounding  out  of 
that  piano  of  yours?"  was  the  remark  made  to  him  once  by  his 
irritated  mother,  who  until  then  had  patiently  endured  all  the 
excesses  of  her  talented  son.  "We  didn't  speak  to  each  other 
for  two  days  after  that,"  Prokofiev  recalls. 

Work  on  The  Gambler  was  stimulated  by  Prokofiev's  intro- 
duction to  Albert  Coates,  who  had  promised  to  produce  the 
opera  on  the  stage  of  the  Maryinsky  Theater.  At  that  time 
Telyakovsky,  the  manager  of  the  imperial  theatres,  not  wishing 
to  lag  behind  Diaghilev,  permitted  the  introduction  of  many- 
modernistic  novelties  in  the  Maryinsky.  "Left"  producers  were 
invited  and  numerous  interesting  novelties  staged,  or  at  least 
rehearsed  (for  example,  Strauss's  Elektra).  This  policy  was  ac- 
tively supported  by  Albert  Coates,  who  was  gradually  taking 
over  the  reins  of  management  from  the  aged  Napravnik. 

It  is  surprising  that,  notwithstanding  the  militant  principles 
expressed  in  his  music,  particularly  in  such  novel  compositions 
as  the  Scythian  Suite,  The  Gambler,  and  the  Sarcasms,  Proko- 
fiev was  not  given  to  propounding  his  views  in  the  kind  of  pub- 
lic declarations  made  by  his  contemporaries  in  other  fields  of 
art.  While  most  of  the  "Left"  poets  and  painters  of  his  genera- 

46 


EARLY     YEARS 

tion  were  constantly  indulging  in  loud  declarations  of  their 
opinions,  delivering  "slaps  in  the  face  of  public  taste,"  and 
mercilessly  flaying  their  opponents,  he  preferred  to  act  exclu- 
sively through  the  medium  of  art  itself.  Only  from  his  letters 
and  his  few  attempts  at  criticism  is  it  possible  to  form  an  idea 
of  his  aesthetic  views  at  that  period.  They  were,  briefly,  a  pas- 
sionate defense  of  anything  new  and  a  violent  distaste  for  all 
that  was  stereotyped  and  passively  imitative. 

"When  I  drew  the  attention  of  a  certain  pianist  to  the  new 
sonata,"  he  wrote  in  a  review  of  a  new  piano  sonata  by  Mias- 
kovsky,  "he  said.  'What?  No,  thank  you.  I  had  better  learn  to 
play  all  of  Beethoven's  sonatas  before  tackling  something  new.' 
A  weighty  argument,  of  course,  but  how  utterly  hopeless!" 
(Muzyka,  No.  210,  February  14, 191 5) .  At  the  end  of  the  same 
article  the  reviewer  bitterly  condemned  those  who  "fear  the 
mob  taste  and  are  too  lazy  to  tackle  new  things."  Elsewhere  he 
sharply  criticized  a  young  "Frenchified"  composer  for  allowing 
himself  to  lose  his  national  identity  for  the  sake  of  aping  the 
French  impressionists.  A  letter  to  Jurgenson  (May  1,  1915), 
criticizing  the  Moscow  publisher  for  his  niggardly  methods,  is 
annihilating  in  its  frankness: 

"You  have  published  scarcely  a  single  genuine  composer 
since  Tchaikovsky,"  wrote  Prokofiev.  "All  the  best  names  are 
invariably  to  be  found  somewhere  else,  while  hundreds  of  scrib- 
blers whose  names  figure  neither  on  programs  nor  even  in  the 
musical  calendar  are  firmly  established  on  your  shelves.  True, 
you  can  pay  them  in  small  change,  but,  after  all,  you  head  a 
first-class  publishing  firm  and  not  an  asylum  for  failures." 

While  working  on  The  Gambler  Prokofiev  had  experienced 
the  satisfaction  of  the  sensational  success  of  his  Scythian  Suite, 
performed  for  the  first  time  at  a  Siloti  concert  held  on  January 
16, 1916.  Once  again  Prokofiev's  music  evoked  a  storm  of  min- 
gled enthusiasm  and  indignation. 

"The  first  movement  of  the  suite,"  reported  one  reviewer, 
"was  received  in  puzzled  silence,  the  second  and  third  move- 
ments were  applauded,  the  finale  caused  a  heated  skirmish 

47 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

between  two  camps,  the  one  applauding  wildly,  the  other  vio- 
lently hissing"  (Dzbanovsky  in  the  Vecherneye  Vremya,  Janu- 
ary 17,  1916).  The  daring  music  put  Glazunov  to  flight;  he 
could  not  endure  the  dazzling  power  of  the  sunrise  finale.  The 
yellow  press  pounced  on  this  fact  with  malicious  glee.  "One 
cannot  but  sympathize  with  A.  K.  Glazunov,"  said  the  Petro- 
gradskaya  Gazeta,  "who,  notwithstanding  his  notorious  good 
nature,  got  up  during  the  performance  of  Prokofiev's  'music' 
and  demonstratively  left  the  hall.  ...  In  appraising  the  new 
composition  .  .  .  the  director  of  the  Conservatory  did  not 
mince  words"  (Petrogradskaya  Gazeta,  January  17,  1916,  re- 
view by  N.  Bernstein  entitled:  "A  Siloti  Concert,  or  the  Inci- 
dent in  the  Maryinsky  Theater" ) . 

"Hair-raising  musical  rowdyism,"  "a  new  way  of  smudging 
musical  score  sheets,"  "the  super-music  of  the  future,"  "horse- 
racing,"  and  "cacophony"  were  some  of  the  stinging  comments 
of  the  music  critics.  Even  the  progressive  Muzykalny  Sovre- 
mennik,  organ  of  the  St.  Petersburg  modernist  circles,  which 
had  taken  the  place  of  the  defunct  Evenings  of  Modern  Music, 
devoted  an  extremely  ambiguous  article,  full  of  reservations 
and  contradictions,  in  its  issue  No.  15  for  1916  to  Prokofiev's 
suite. 

Differences  of  opinion  with  regard  to  the  music  of  Prokofiev 
and  Stravinsky  led  shortly  afterward  to  a  split  in  the  editorial 
board  of  the  Muzykalny  Sovremennik.  The  more  radical  Igor 
Glebov  and  P.  Suvchinsky,  unable  to  agree  with  Rimsky- 
Korsakov,  Y.  Weisberg,  and  other  leading  lights  of  the  maga- 
zine, resigned. 

It  was,  incidentally,  in  connection  with  the  Scythian  Suite 
that  Sabaneyev  disgraced  himself.  On  December  13,  1916  the 
Moscow  magazine  Nevosti  Sezona  appeared  with  one  of  his 
customary  condemnatory  articles  reviewing  an  alleged  premiere 
performance  in  Moscow  of  the  Scythian  Suite.  The  article, 
which  was  the  usual  passionate  tirade  against  Prokofiev's  "bar- 
barous" music,  ended  with  the  remark  that  "the  composer  him- 
self conducted  with  barbaric  zeal"  (Novosti  Sezona,  No.  333^ 

48 


EARLY     YEARS 

December  13,  1916).  A  few  days  later  the  newspaper  Rech 
carried  a  coldly  formal  letter  from  Prokofiev  to  the  effect  that 
the  Scythian  Suite  had  not  been  performed  in  Moscow  at  all 
and  that  the  only  copy  of  the  score  could  not  have  been  in  the 
possession  of  any  of  the  critics.  This  was  fitting  revenge  on 
Sabaneyev  for  his  persistent  nagging  of  Prokofiev. 

The  public  controversy  in  the  musical  press  regarding  Pro- 
kofiev's work  merely  fanned  public  interest  in  the  Scythian 
Suite.  In  the  early  part  of  the  following  season  (October  29, 
1916)  it  was  performed  again  at  one  of  Siloti's  special  concerts, 
and  henceforth  became  a  popular  feature  on  concert  programs 
both  in  Russia  and  abroad. 

V.  Karatygin  in  the  Rech  and  Igor  Glebov  in  Muzyka  paid 
glowing  tribute  to  the  new  composition.  "The  freshness  of  har- 
monic effects,  originality  of  theme,  and  elemental  force  that 
permeate  the  Scythian  Suite  make  it  undoubtedly  one  of  the 
most  significant  and  valuable  examples  of  Russian  musical 
'modernism,'  "  wrote  Karatygin.  "Not  since  the  death  of  Boro- 
din have  we  heard  a  voice  singing  so  appealingly  of  the  rich 
bounty  of  life,"  claimed  Glebov.  "Prokofiev  is  one  of  ourselves, 
a  contemporary.  It  would  be  a  sad  mistake  to  relegate  him  to 
the  unknown  future,  to  label  him  with  the  vulgarized  title  of 
'futurist.' " 

Unlike  the  modernists,  particularly  Nurok  and  Nuvel,  who 
laid  emphasis  on  Prokofiev's  experiments  in  harmony  and  mod- 
ernistic coloring,  Glebov,  and  Karatygin  as  well,  drew  atten- 
tion to  the  intrinsic  lyricism  latent  in  many  of  his  works.  The 
sober  strength  and  exalted  humanity  of  Prokofiev's  lyricism 
made  themselves  most  strongly  felt  in  five  songs  written  to 
verses  by  Anna  Akhmatova  in  five  days  during  November  1916. 

On  April  7, 1916  a  private  audition  of  The  Gambler  was  ar- 
ranged at  the  home  of  Telyakovsky.  Among  those  present  were 
Siloti,  Coates,  and  Tartakov,  chief  producer.  In  order  to  avoid 
unpleasantness,  Coates  managed  things  so  that  Glazunov,  Cui, 
and  other  conservative-minded  members  of  the  jury  were  ab- 
sent. Telyakovsky  did  not  approve  of  the  opera,  but  succumbed 

49 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

to  the  arguments  of  the  young  conductors  and  signed  the  con- 
tract. The  opera  was  included  in  the  repertory  for  1916-17. 
Prokofiev  devoted  the  entire  summer  of  1916  to  the  orchestra- 
tion of  The  Gambler.  He  worked  hard  on  the  score,  doing  as 
much  as  eighteen  pages  a  day. 

By  autumn  the  press  announced  that  The  Gambler  had 
been  included  in  the  repertory  of  the  Maryinsky  and  that  re- 
hearsals had  begun.  The  leading  roles  were  to  be  sung  by  the 
cream  of  the  Maryinsky  opera  company  —  I.  Yershov  and  I. 
Alchevsky  (Alexei),  Bosse  (the  General),  Zbruyeva  (Babu- 
lenka). 

The  hostile  press  attacked  Prokofiev's  latest  composition  in 
advance.  "One  can  merely  pity  the  poor  subscribers  who  will 
be  forced  willy-nilly  to  listen  to  a  futuristic  opera,"  bemoaned 
the  critic  of  the  Petrogradskaya  Gazeta  (April  15,  1916).  It 
was  sensationally  reported  that  Dostoyevsky's  widow  had 
claimed  royalties  for  the  operatic  version  of  The  Gambler,  but 
this  incipient  scandal  was  nipped  in  the  bud.  It  was  rumored 
likewise  that  the  signers  of  the  Maryinsky  cast  were  driven  to 
despair  by  the  insuperable  difficulties  of  this  "Left"  opera.  This 
as  a  matter  of  fact  was  indeed  one  of  the  main  reasons  why  the 
opera  was  taken  out  of  the  repertory  immediately  after  the 
February  Revolution,  before  it  was  ever  produced  on  the  Rus- 
sian opera  stage. 

During  the  war  Prokofiev  re-entered  the  St.  Petersburg  Con- 
servatory to  study  the  organ.  This  marked  a  revival  of  the  clas- 
sical tendencies  in  him  dating  back  to  his  student  days  in 
Tcherepnin's  class.  At  the  end  of  1916  he  conceived  the  idea 
of  a  symphony  in  the  classical  manner,  "as  Haydn  might  have 
written  it  had  he  lived  in  our  day."  He  decided  to  compose  for 
the  first  time  without  the  piano  —  on  the  basis  of  the  inner 
car.  "The  orchestral  color  in  a  piece  of  music  like  this  must 
be  purer." 

The  themes  for  the  new  symphony  were  conceived  "be- 
tween whiles,"  occasionally  on  his  way  home  from  the  Con- 
servatory. The  first  was  the  Gavotte  (the  third  movement  of 

5° 


EARLY    YEARS 

the  symphony),  later  to  become  one  of  the  most  popular  of 
Prokofiev's  miniatures.  Then  came  the  material  for  the  Allegro 
and  the  slow  movement.  The  symphony  was  completed  in  the 
summer  of  1917.  This  subtle  and  original  stylization  of  the 
musical  idiom  and  orchestration  of  an  eighteenth-century 
symphony  was  called  the  Classical  Symphony.  Without  resort- 
ing to  the  method  of  museum  research,  the  composer  created 
a  piece  of  music  that  was  delightfully  fresh  and  clever,  full  of 
an  exquisite  charm  and  touched  with  a  faint,  barely  percepti- 
ble irony. 

Russian  local  color,  reminiscent  of  one  of  the  themes  of 
Rimsky-Korsakov's  Snow  Maiden,  breaks  through  rather  star- 
tlingly  in  the  concluding  A  major  finale,  giving  the  effect  of 
the  eighteenth  century  seen  through  the  prism  of  Russian  na- 
tional melody.  The  Classical  Symphony  was  dedicated  to 
Boris  Asafyev  (Igor  Glebov),  with  whom  Prokofiev  had 
formed  a  close  friendship  since  the  death  of  M.  Schmithof 
and  Miaskovsky's  departure  for  the  front.  At  this  period  Pro- 
kofiev toyed  with  the  idea  of  writing  a  miniature  Russian  sym- 
phony in  a  similar  vein  and  dedicating  it  to  Diaghilev.  But  the 
idea  never  materialized. 

Coming  after  the  extremes  of  The  Gambler  and  the  Scyth- 
ian Suite,  most  of  the  works  composed  in  1916-17  —  the  Akh- 
matova songs,  the  Violin  Concerto,  the  Classical  Symphony, 
the  Fugitive  Visions,  and  the  sonatas  for  the  piano  —  indicated 
a  definite  turn  toward  quiet  lyricism  and  a  marked  "softening 
of  mood."  For  Prokofiev  this  unexpected  turn  toward  lyri- 
cism, to  gentle,  dreamy  moods,  signified  the  broadening  of  his 
artistic  diapason,  the  maturity  of  his  versatile  talent. 

Came  1917,  the  historic  year  of  the  October  Revolution. 
The  young  composer,  wholly  absorbed  in  his  music,  was  hardly 
aware  of  the  revolutionary  storm-cloud  that  was  gathering. 
The  utter  disregard  for  politics  characteristic  of  the  modernist 
and  Conservatory  circles  in  which  he  had  moved  all  these  years 
had  not  helped  to  awaken  his  social  consciousness.  His  life 
flowed  on  as  before.  He  continued  to  appear  at  symphony  con- 

51 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

certs  and  piano  recitals:  on  November  27,  1916  he  gave  a  re- 
cital at  one  of  Siloti's  chamber  concerts;  on  January  14,  1917 
he  played  his  First  Concerto  with  the  RMO  symphony  orches- 
tra; 8  on  February  2  he  gave  a  piano  recital  in  Saratov,  and  on 
February  5  appeared  at  an  Evening  of  Modern  Music  in  Mos- 
cow (first  performance  of  the  Akhmatova  songs,  Op.  27) .  This 
last  concert  was  attended  by  Medtner  and  Rachmaninoff,  who 
were  rather  unfavorably  disposed  toward  Prokofiev's  music. 
It  was  on  this  occasion  that  Medtner  uttered  the  phrase  that 
was  immediately  snatched  up  by  the  critics:  "If  that  is  music, 
then  I  am  no  musician."  On  February  12,  1917  Prokofiev  ap- 
peared at  a  literary  and  musical  evening  held  in  Petrograd  at 
an  exhibition  of  paintings  arranged  by  N.  E.  Dobychina.  Be- 
sides Prokofiev,  who  played  a  number  of  his  compositions,  the 
program  included  readings  by  Maxim  Gorky  of  excerpts  from 
My  Childhood,  and  violin  selections  by  Jascha  Heifetz  (his 
last  appearance  before  departing  for  America).  Gorky  showed 
great  interest  in  Prokofiev.  He  laughed  heartily  over  the  Bas- 
soon Scherzo  and  listened  carefully  to  The  Ugly  Duckling  and 
the  Sarcasms.  'Tampered  art,"  remarked  the  great  writer,  "but 
good,  very  good."  Prokofiev's  contact  with  Maxim  Gorky 
lasted  for  many  years. 

The  February  days  saw  Prokofiev  on  the  streets  of  Petro- 
grad watching  events  with  an  eager  interest  and  "hiding  be- 
hind house  corners  when  the  shooting  became  too  hot."  He 
welcomed  the  Revolution,  but  failed  to  comprehend  its  full 
meaning.  He  saw  it  as  some  grand  but  incomprehensible  up- 
heaval, the  expression  of  a  mighty  but  chaotic  primordial 
force.9  For  example,  the  February  battles  inspired  Fugitive 

8  The  program  included  Stravinsky's  Petrouchka  and  Miaskovsky's  Second 
Symphony.  An  interesting  feuilleton  by  Alexander  Amfitcatrov  about  this  con- 
cert was  published  in  Russkaya  Volya,  January  18,  1917. 

9  Tins  reaction  to  the  Revolution  was  typical  of  many  other  Russian  artists 
and  intellectuals,  who  sincerely  strove  to  comprehend  what  was  happening. 
Suffice  it  to  recall  Blok's  The  Twelve  or  Miaskovsky's  Sixth  Symphony.  Echoes 
of  these  moods  are  to  be  found  in  Prokofiev's  Cantata  for  the  Twentieth  Anni- 
versary of  the  October  Revolution  (Op.  74),  where  the  revolutionary  events 
arc  likewise  treated  in  the  form  of  grand  cosmic  upheavals. 

S2 


EARLY     YEARS 


Vision  No.  19  —  presto  agitatissimo  —  restless  chaotic  music 
that,  according  to  the  composer,  depicts  "the  agitation  of  the 
crowd  rather  than  the  inner  essence  of  revolution."  Later,  in 


TRtblb     AfclTATIJSlMO    £    tlcOo   AccEKTUWro 

> 


6.  Fugitive  Vision  No.  19. 

response  to  the  revolutionary  upheavals,  came  the  cantata 
Seven,  They  Are  Seven  after  the  poem  by  Balmont.  Both  these 
works  afforded  clear  evidence  of  the  composer's  failure  to 
grasp  the  true  significance  of  the  events.  The  cantata  Seven, 
They  Are  Seven  for  solo  tenor,  chorus,  and  orchestra  was  writ- 
ten toward  the  end  of  the  summer  of  1917  to  the  text  of  Bal- 
mont's  version  of  a  "Chaldean  invocation"  engraved  in  cunei- 
form characters  on  the  walls  of  an  ancient  Akkadian  temple. 
"The  revolutionary  events  that  stirred  Russia,"  Prokofiev  re- 
calls, "subconsciously  affected  me  and  demanded  expression. 
I  did  not  know  how  to  do  it  and  hence  turned  to  ancient 
themes  that  have  been  preserved  through  the  ages." 

The  music  of  the  cantata  to  a  certain  extent  continued  the 
"barbaric"  tendencies  of  the  Scythian  Suite,  but  with  this  dif- 
ference: that  whereas  a  healthy,  radiant  spirit  predominated 
in  the  suite,  terrible  destructive  forces  stormed  and  raged  in 
the  cantata,  gloomy  portents  of  fearsome  cosmic  upheavals 
and  calamities.  The  weird  and  frightful  Chaldean  monsters 
that  ruled  the  world  seemed  to  symbolize  some  dread,  uncon- 
querable force  that  had  plunged  mankind  into  the  chasm  of 
war  and  hunger: 

53 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

Charity  they  know  not, 

Shame  they  have  none, 

Prayers  they  heed  not,  to  entreaties  they  are  deaf. 

Earth  and  heaven  shrink  before  them, 

They  clamp  down  whole  countries  as  behind  prison  gates, 

They  grind  nations,  as  nations  grind  grain. 

They  are  seven!  Seven!  Seven! 

But  what  had  the  composer  to  oppose  to  this  diabolical 
force  that  held  the  world  in  thrall?  Naught  but  savage  heathen 
invocation,  the  witch-doctor's  mumblings,  the  mystic  male- 
diction: "Telal,  telal,  curse,  curse,  curse!"  The  cantata  ends 
on  this  despairing  note  to  the  furious  glissando  shrieking  of 
the  horns  and  trombones,  the  thunder  of  kettle-drums  and 
tom-toms.  Such  music  could  only  leave  the  annihilating  and 
morbid  impression  of  some  incredible  nightmare.10  Thus,  while 
striving  intuitively  to  give  musical  expression  to  his  presenti- 
ment of  the  titantic  social  upheavals  that  were  about  to  shake 
the  world,  the  composer  became  entangled  in  the  ugly  web  of 
symbolic  mysticism. 

Nevertheless,  certain  of  his  contemporaries  believed  that 
Prokofiev,  with  his  healthy,  earthy  art  and  his  joyous  assertion 
of  life,  was  the  musical  spokesman  of  the  revolutionary  storm 
that  was  about  to  break.  This  was  the  subject  of  a  symptomatic 
article  by  Igor  Glebov  entitled  "The  Path  to  Joy,"  published 
in  July  1917  in  the  newspaper  Novaya  Zhizn.11  Viewing  the 
conception  of  Revolution  as  an  abstract  idea  of  universal  joy 
and  freedom  of  creative  expression,  Glebov  found  all  these 
qualities  in  Prokofiev's  music.  "Joy  as  the  consciousness  of 
one's  creative  powers,  as  faith  in  a  better  future,  as  a  true  mo- 
tive force,  blossomed  out  in  Prokofiev's  music  in  the  final 
movement  of  his  suite  Ala  and  Lolli.  .  .  ."  In  this  suite,  ac- 
cording to  Glebov,  "one  feels  the  first  intimation  in  Russian 

10  Seven,  They  Are  Seven  was  first  performed  as  late  as  May  1924  in 
Kousscvitzky's  concerts  in  Paris.  In  1933  the  cantata  was  revised  by  the  com- 
poser and  its  piano  score  published. 

11  No.  73,  July  13  (26),  1917.  According  to  Glebov  himself,  this  article 
bad  been  ordered  by  Maxim  Gorky  and  A.  N.  Tikhonov,  who  wished  to  publish 
a  study  on  the  subject  of  the  Russian  Revolution  as  reflected  in  music. 

54 


EARLY    YEARS 

music  that  the  path  to  the  sun  has  been  found,  the  path  to  that 
radiant  joy  and  unclouded  happiness  man  experiences  at  the 
discovery  of  the  limitless  fund  of  his  creative  energy.  .  .  . 
Contemporary  Russian  music  has  anticipated  the  coming  of 
this  turning-point,  and  of  the  advance  that  has  taken  place  in 
the  country  today  in  the  direction  of  the  assertion  of  the  pri- 
ority of  will  and  the  striving  for  free  creative  being."  12 

Even  his  antagonists  —  not  without  venom,  of  course  — 
noted  in  Prokofiev's  work  the  reflection  of  the  new  mass  and 
democratic  art  principles.  Sabaneyev  had  written  on  this  sub- 
ject a  few  years  before,  accusing  the  composer  of  pandering  to 
the  tastes  of  the  "uninitiated"  and  of  indulging  the  "mob 
psychology"  (Golos  Moskvy,  February  18,  1914).  One  bour- 
geois Eesthete  took  advantage  of  the  new  terminology  of  the 
time  openly  to  accuse  Prokofiev's  music  of  "Bolshevik  acces- 
sibility" (Novy  Den,  April  19,  1918,  article  by  Kolomyitsev). 

Paradoxically  enough,  however,  while  being  objectively 
bound  by  his  art  to  the  revolutionary  changes  that  were  taking 
place  throughout  Russian  culture,  and  being  regarded  by  some 
of  his  contemporaries  as  one  of  the  "stormy  petrels"  of  the 
Revolution,  Prokofiev  still  remained  inwardly  almost  indiffer- 
ent to  it. 

He  spent  the  summer  of  1917  in  the  country  near  Petrograd, 
studying  the  philosophy  of  Kant  and  Schopenhauer  and  work- 
ing with  more  than  his  usual  zeal.13  This  was  an  extremely 
productive  year:  in  the  spring  he  composed  his  remarkable 
Third  Sonata,  Op.  28,  rewritten  "from  old  folios"  preserved 
from  the  Conservatory  days  (1907) .  At  the  same  time  he  gath- 
ered material  for  a  violin  concerto,  a  new  pianoforte  concerto, 
and  a  string  quartet  conceived  on  the  basis  of  strictly  diatonic 

12  "Roads  to  the  Future,"  another  brilliant  critical  analysis  of  Prokofiev's 
music  by  Glebov,  was  printed  somewhat  later  in  the  magazine  Melos  for  1918. 
In  this  article  Glebov  again  speaks  of  Prokofiev's  ties  with  the  revolutionary 
epoch:  "In  him  alone  we  have  the  sole  genuine  representative  of  the  age.  one 
in  whom  life  is  perceived  as  creative  endeavor,  and  creative  endeavor  as  life." 

13  In  Schopenhauer's  philosophy,  as  Prokofiev  himself  tells  us.  it  was  the 
maxim  of  practical  behavior  rather  than  the  passive  and  despondent  elements 
that  attracted  his  attention. 

55 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

melody  ("on  the  white  keys").  In  his  summer  retreat  the 
composer  finished  the  orchestration  of  his  Violin  Concerto, 
completed  the  Classical  Symphony,  and  sketched  the  outlines 
of  Seven,  They  Are  Seven. 

The  Violin  Concerto,  Op.  19,  and  the  Third  Sonata  in  one 
movement  were  perhaps  the  best  things  written  by  Prokofiev 
in  the  period  prior  to  his  stay  abroad,  the  "pre-foreign  period," 
as  it  has  been  called.  One  is  struck  by  the  unity  of  conception, 
the  swiftness  of  development,  and  the  vivid  feeling  of  the 
Third  Sonata,  which  combines  a  serene  and  gentle  lyricism 
(subordinate  theme)  with  fiery  bursts  of  passion. 

The  broad  gamut  of  human  emotions  is  reflected  also  in  the 
poetic  Violin  Concerto  with  its  dreamy  melodiousness,  the 
wicked,  satanic  skepticism  of  the  Scherzo,  and  the  joyous  em- 
bracing of  nature  in  the  finale. 

In  the  autumn  Prokofiev  went  to  Essentuki  in  the  Caucasus, 
and  thence  to  Kislovodsk,  where  his  mother  was  taking  the 
waters.  Here  he  completed  the  Classical  Symphony  and  Seveny 
They  Are  Seven.  Here  too  the  Fourth  Sonata,  Op.  29,  com- 
pounded of  old  fragments  written  in  1908  (the  Allegro  and 
part  of  the  finale,  plus  the  wise,  meditative  Andante  borrowed 
from  the  youthful  E  minor  Symphony),  came  into  being. 

At  that  time  the  country  was  in  the  throes  of  revolution; 
only  faint  echoes  of  the  October  events  reached  Kislovodsk. 
"The  news  was  most  exciting,"  Prokofiev  recalls,  "but  so  con- 
tradictory that  it  was  absolutely  impossible  to  make  head  or 
tail  of  it."  Before  long  the  North  Caucasus  was  cut  off  from 
the  center  of  the  country  by  the  Kaledin  uprising  on  the  Don. 
Prokofiev  was  stranded  in  Kislovodsk.  "Well-wishers"  whis- 
pered in  his  ear  that  there  would  not  be  much  room  for  music 
in  Russia  now  and  advised  him  to  go  to  America.  "Immersed 
as  I  was  in  art,  I  did  not  have  a  clear  idea  of  the  scope  and  sig- 
nificance of  the  October  Revolution  and  hence  the  idea  about 
America  took  root  in  my  mind." 

Not  until  the  spring  of  1918,  when  the  Kaledin  front  col- 
lapsed, did  Prokofiev  succeed  in  leaving  Mineralniye  Vody 

56 


EARLY     YEARS 

armed  with  a  pass  issued  him  by  the  Kislovodsk  Soviet  of 
Workers'  Deputies.  In  Moscow  he  got  in  contact  with  Kousse- 
vitzky's  publishing  house  and  sold  them  his  outstanding  com- 
positions of  the  last  few  years  (Scythian  Suite,  The  Buffoon, 
and  The  Gambler). 

In  April  1918  Prokofiev  became  associated  with  a  group  of 
futurist  poets  that  included  Vladimir  Mayakovsky,  Vassili 
Kamensky,  and  David  Burlyuk.  He  had  already  heard  Maya- 
kovsky at  a  literary  evening  a  year  before  and  had  been  much 
impressed  by  his  verse.  A  friendship  founded  on  mutual  ar- 
tistic sympathies  now  sprang  up  between  Prokofiev  and  Maya- 
kovsky. Prokofiev  played  some  of  his  pieces  in  the  futurist 
"Poets'  Cafe"  in  Nastasyinsky  Pereulok  and  had  long  talks 
with  Mayakovsky.  On  one  such  occasion  the  poet  drew  a  pen- 
cil portrait  of  Prokofiev  playing  his  Diabolic  Suggestions,  with 
the  inscription:  "Sergei  Sergeyevich  playing  on  the  tenderest 
nerves  of  Vladimir  Vladimirovich."  14  It  was  in  this  period  that 
Mayakovsky  presented  Prokofiev  with  his  poem  "War  and  the 
Universe,"  with  the  amusing  inscription:  "To  the  World 
President  for  Music  from  the  World  President  for  Poetry.  To 
Prokofiev  from  Mayakovsky." 

Prokofiev  met  Mayakovsky  subsequently  both  in  Moscow 
and  abroad.  Mentioning  his  antipathy  to  Stravinsky's  music 
in  one  of  his  articles  from  abroad  written  in  1922,  Mayakovsky 
observed:  "I  much  prefer  the  Prokofiev  of  the  pre-foreign  pe- 
riod, the  Prokofiev  of  the  crude,  dashing  marches"  (V.  Maya- 
kovsky: Collected  Works,  Vol.  VII,  p.  258).  This  is  perhaps 
the  only  positive  allusion  to  music  to  be  found  in  all  of  Maya- 
kovsky's  writings. 

Soon  afterward  Prokofiev  returned  to  Petrograd  after  an 
absence  of  nine  months.  In  April  1918  he  was  able  to  arrange 
three  consecutive  concerts  of  his  own  music.  In  two  piano  re- 
citals held  in  the  hall  of  the  Tenishev  School  on  April  1 5  and 
April  17,  the  Third  and  Fourth  Sonatas  and  the  Fugitive  Vi- 
sions were  played  for  the  first  time.  On  April  21,  the  premiere 

14  See  V.  Kamensky's  book  Life  with  Mayakovsky  (Moscow,  1940),  p.  200. 

57 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

of  the  Classical  Symphony,  conducted  by  Prokofiev  himself, 
was  given  by  the  former  court  orchestra. 

The  concerts  of  this  "Prokofiev  Week/'  as  the  press  called 
it,  were  a  huge  success.  That  held  in  the  Tenishev  School  was 
attended  by  numerous  scientists,  artists,  and  writers,  who  were 
most  enthusiastic  (Noviye  Vedomosti,  April  16,  1918;  re- 
viewer A.  Koptyayev) .  The  tranquillity  and  clarity  of  the  new 
compositions,  particularly  the  Classical  Symphony,  reconciled 
Prokofiev  with  his  bitterest  opponents.  "No  more  grimacing, 
no  more  outrageous  discords,"  the  Vecherneye  Slovo  com- 
mented with  satisfaction.  "The  whole  music  is  chaste  and 
pure,  clear,  simple,  and  reminiscent  of  the  youthful  inspiration 
of  Haydn  and  Mozart"  (Dzbanovsky  on  the  Classical  Sym- 
phony in  the  Vecherneye  Slovo,  April  22,  1918). 

The  premiere  of  the  Classical  Symphony  was  attended  by 
A.  V.  Lunacharsky,  People's  Commisar  of  Education,  who  was 
much  impressed  by  Prokofiev's  talent.  When,  a  few  days  later, 
Gorky  and  Benois  introduced  Prokofiev  to  Lunacharsky,  Pro- 
kofiev mentioned  his  desire  to  go  to  America.  "You  are  a  revo- 
lutionary in  music,"  replied  the  People's  Commissar,  "we  are 
revolutionaries  in  life.  We  ought  to  work  together.  But  if  you 
wish  to  go  I  shall  place  no  obstacles  in  your  way." 

Prokofiev  was  sent  to  the  United  States  on  a  trip  on  which 
he  was  to  combine  "matters  pertaining  to  art"  with  care  of  his 
personal  health.  He  left  Petrograd  on  May  7,  1918,  bound  for 
Vladivostok.  His  baggage  consisted  mainly  of  sheafs  of  music, 
including  the  scores  of  the  Scythian  Suite,  the  First  Concerto, 
the  Classical  Symphony,  and  several  piano  pieces.  Moreover, 
he  took  with  him  a  number  of  ideas  for  a  new  piano  concerto 
and  the  scenario  of  his  future  opera  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges,  the  name  given  to  a  magazine  published  during  the 
war  by  a  group  of  theatrical  modernists  who  upheld  the  con- 
ventionalized parody  theater  of  Carlo  Gozzi.  A  scenario  based 
on  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  by  Gozzi,  published  in  one 
of  the  issues  of  this  magazine,  had  been  recommended  to  Pro- 
kofiev as  a  subject  for  an  opera. 

58 


EARLY    YEARS 


5  :  Style1 

T 

AHE  SPRING  of  1918,  as  we  have  seen,  marked  the  di- 
viding line  between  the  early  period  in  Prokofiev's  career  and 
the  subsequent  period  of  his  travels  abroad.  The  early  period, 
represented  by  thirty  opera  for  the  piano,  symphony  orchestra, 
and  theater,  constitutes  a  truly  classic  period,  one  of  the  last 
brilliant  pages  of  the  Russian  pre-Revolutionary  musical  clas- 
sics. It  was  in  these  years  (1908-18)  that  the  musical  style  of 
the  composer  became  clearly  defined.  The  musical  interests 
of  the  young  Prokofiev  were  focused  on  two  main  spheres. 

The  first  was  the  theater,  the  art  of  concrete  images  and 
situations,  the  striving  to  reproduce  in  theatrical  forms  ob- 
jects and  phenomena  taken  either  from  life  or  from  books. 
To  this  category  belong  the  early  operatic  experiments  and  the 
subsequent  work  on  ballets  and  operas,  as  well  as  the  largest 
and  best  part  of  his  symphonic  music  —  likewise  generated  to 
a  lesser  or  greater  degree  by  the  theater  —  and  even  many  of 
his  piano  compositions,  which  constituted  something  in  the 
nature  of  sketches  for  future  theatrical  scenes  (the  numerous 
marches,  gavottes,  and  scherzos,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  Phan- 
tom, Despair,  and  Diabolic  Suggestions). 

Secondly,  the  piano,  which  from  Prokofiev's  childhood  had 
been  his  favorite  medium.  The  piano,  treated  not  on  the  inti- 
mate, contemplative  "drawing-room"  plane  (the  pianoforte 
style  of  the  impressionists  and  Scriabin  had  always  been  alien 
to  Prokofiev),  but  as  a  means  of  delivering  thunderous  ora- 


1  In  this  chapter  I  have  endeavored  to  outline  my  observations  of  the  musi- 
cal style  of  the  young  Prokofiev.  However,  since  even  in  these  years  the  com- 
poser's style  was  quite  mature,  the  evaluation  given  here  applies  to  a  consid- 
erable extent  also  to  the  outstanding  compositions  of  his  subsequent  period, 
particularly  of  the  last  few  years.  From  this  standpoint  I  have  touched  upon 
some  works  of  the  more  recent  period  in  the  present  chapter. 

59 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

tions  from  the  concert  platform,  for  holding  mass  "concert 
meetings"  as  it  were. 

The  peculiar  stylistic  features  that  make  it  possible  to  recog- 
nize Prokofiev's  music  from  the  first  few  bars,  just  as  we  recog- 
nize the  music  of  Liszt,  Grieg,  Borodin,  or  Scriabin,  asserted 
themselves  at  an  early  date.  "The  combination  of  the  simple 
and  the  intricate,  the  complexity  of  the  whole  with  the  schema- 
tization  and  simplification  of  the  particular,"  such  is  the  gen- 
eral definition  of  Prokofiev's  style  given  by  V.  Karatygin.2 

The  simplest  and  most  classical  features  in  Prokofiev's  music 
are  its  forms,  rhythm,  and  pianoforte  texture.  The  complex 
and  unusual  are  to  be  found  in  the  harmonic  idiom,  the  poly- 
phonic methods,  and  sometimes  the  melody.  Deliberately 
simplifying  the  piece,  stripping  it  down  to  the  bare,  clear-cut 
rhythmic  framework,  Prokofiev  combines  this  with  an  unusual 
vividness  of  harmony  and  melody.  At  times  his  music  is  almost 
schematic  in  form,  but  it  is  invariably  enlivened  with  fresh 
and  original  modulation. 

Perhaps  the  most  powerful  of  the  expressive  media  of  the 
young  musician  are  his  peculiar  rhythms.  He  turns  from  the 
delicate  ultra-refined,  wavy  rhythms  of  Debussy  and  Scriabin 
to  clear  and  concrete  outlines.  His  predilection  for  common 
time  (marches  and  gavottes) ,  6/8  time,3  and  the  basic  rhythms 
is  common  knowledge.  Prokofiev's  gravitation  toward  old  and 
established  chiseled  dance  patterns  or  the  ceaseless  tattoo  of 
perpetuum  mobile  is  clearly  a  return  to  the  stable  canons  of 
seventeenth-  and  eighteenth-century  classical  music.  But  his 
rhythms  as  well  as  other  elements  of  his  style  are  at  times  a 


2  Article  entitled  "Prokofiev's  Music,"  published  in  No.  1  of  Iskusstvo 
(1917).  Other  valuable  observations  pertaining  to  the  musical  style  of  Proko- 
fiev are  to  be  found  in  a  number  of  reviews  by  Karatygin  (sec  his  Collected 
Works,  pp.  194-204),  in  the  works  of  Igor  Glcbov  (Melos,  No.  2,  1918,  and 
Russkaya  Muzyka),  in  the  article  by  Y.  Ekgcl  (Russkiye  Vedomosti,  February 
10,  1917),  and,  more  lately,  in  the  writings  of  V.  Zuckermann  (article  on  the 
Soviet  opera  in  Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  No.  12,  1940)  and  in  the  lectures  deliv- 
ered by  B.  L.  Yavorsky. 

3  Wc  find  triplets  in  the  First,  Second,  and  Third  Sonatas,  in  the  First  and 
Second  Concertos,  in  the  Violin  Concerto  and  many  pianoforte  pieces. 

60 


EARLY    YEARS 

combination  of  the  most  far-fetched  extremes:  over-simplified 
designs  of  crude  and  archaic  form  (Ala  and  Lolli),  childish 
primitive  playfulness  (The  Buffoon),  and  sharply  accentu- 
ated, tense  rhythmic  effects  abounding  in  convulsive,  spas- 
modic tirades  and  sudden  bursts  of  movement  (see  Sarcasms 
Nos.  1  and  5,  or  the  subordinate  theme  of  the  First  Piano 
Concerto). 

Prokofiev's  harmonic  idiom  is  characterized  by  a  simple 
clarity  in  his  basic  chords  combined  with  extreme  daring  in 
his  use  of  incidental  and  transition  chords.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  rarely  emerges  from  the  realistic  sphere  of  the  stable  major- 
minor  harmonic  relationships.  On  the  contrary,  after  the 
modal  extravaganza  of  impressionism,  he  demonstratively 
brings  his  hearers  back  to  the  more  earthy  and  "plebeian"  to- 
nalities, to  the  accustomed  C  major  (one  of  the  keys  that  oc- 
cur most  frequently  in  Prokofiev's  music),4  to  G  major,  D 
major,  and  the  commonest  minor  keys  (A  minor,  D  minor, 
and  G  minor);  yet  with  Prokofiev  the  familiar  C  major  is  apt 
to  perform  jsuch  unexpected  tricks,  such  sudden  transitions 
to  distant  tonalities,  such  fresh  chord  combinations,  as  to 
make  it  appear  an  entirely  new  key  with  unsuspected  possibili- 
ties (see,  for  example,  the  main  theme  of  Zdravitsa).  The 
composer  is  very  fond  of  stringing  together  long  chains  of 
parallel  or  diverging  chords,  each  of  which  is  more  or  less  or- 
dinary and  common,  but  which  are  combined  in  such  a  way 
as  to  produce  sound  effects  that  are  both  new  and  original  (for 
example,  the  finale  of  the  March  from  the  Three  Oranges) . 

All  these  deliberate  dissonances,  including  the  weird  effects 
produced  by  chance  combinations  of  non-harmonic  sounds, 
are  employed  by  Prokofiev  chiefly  for  descriptive  purposes.  He 
is  not  afraid  of  unusual  chord  combinations,  however  poly- 
tonal  the  effect  may  sometimes  be,  for  these  are  merely  inci- 
dental features  of  polytonality  and  are  nearly  always  compen- 

4  The  Third  Concerto,  the  Fifth  and  Eighth  Sonatas,  the  finale  of  the 
Fourth,  the  Prelude,  Op.  12,  The  Ugly  Duckling,  much  of  The  Buffoon,  and, 
most  recently,  the  Russian  Overture,  Zdravitsa,  Peter  and  the  Wolf,  and  a 
great  deal  of  Semyon  Kotko  are  written  in  C  major. 

6l 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

sated  for  by  a  clear  and  sober  tonal  conclusion.5  Sustained 
ostinato  figures,  which  lend  themselves  to  the  most  pungent 
combinations  of  developing  melody  with  a  constantly  repeated 
bass,  are  a  favorite  method  of  the  composer.  An  important  ele- 
ment in  Prokofiev's  harmonic  style  is  the  linear  principle:  many 
angular  chords  emerge  as  a  result  of  the  crossing  of  two  or 
more  horizontal  lines,  and  sometimes  even  of  two  different 
chord  progressions.  This  trick  of  superimposing  parallel  and 
apparently  independent  melodic  figures  is  most  strikingly  rep- 
resented in  the  Scythian  Suite;  Karatygin  has  compared  this 
method  with  Greek  heterophony.6  And  side  by  side  with 
crudely  decorative,  blatant  harmonic  blotches  like  the  favorite 
C— F-sharp  chord  or  the  simultaneous  combination  of  the  D- 
major  and  A-major  triads  at  the  opening  of  the  gambling  scene 
in  The  Gambler,  we  find  pure  diatonic  melody  and  harmony, 
alternating  modes  emanating  from  the  Russian  folk-song  and 
used  with  amazing  flexibility  —  the  clear  unblemished  world 
of  white  keys,  almost  totally  devoid  of  chromatic  effects,  that 
is  so  typical  of  Prokofiev. 

Prokofiev's  music  is  famous  for  its  rich  abundance  of  mel- 
ody. And  here,  too,  the  composer  strives  primarily  to  bring 
musical  style  back  to  the  clear-cut  melody  of  the  classics,  a 
reaction  from  the  pernicious  "absorption  of  melody  by  har- 
mony" of  which  the  impressionists  and  Scriabin  in  the  latter 
period  were  guilty.  In  the  foreground  of  most  of  Prokofiev's 
longer  instrumental  works  we  find  clearly  defined,  lapidary 
melodic  lines,  built  up,  like  the  classics,  on  the  essential  major 
or  minor  triads  (the  principal  themes  of  the  Second,  Third, 

5  Characteristic  in  this  concction  is  the  bi-tonal  Sarcasm  No.  3;  ostensibly 
written  in  a  simultaneous  combination  of  B-flat  minor  (bass)  with  F-sharp 
minor  (melody),  it  is  actually  a  complicated  B-flat  minor. 

8  It  would  be  most  illuminating  to  compare  some  of  the  harmonic  and 
orchestral  methods  of  the  young  Prokofiev  with  the  emphatically  earthy,  con- 
structivist  methods  of  the  Russian  painters,  the  followers  of  Cezanne  and 
Matisse,  the  "Jack  of  Diamonds"  group.  V.  G.  Karatvgin  cleverly  pointed  to 
this  analogy  in  his  reviews.  Prokofiev  himself  tells  us  that  as  early  as  1913  he 
took  an  interest  in  the  paintings  of  P.  Konchalovsky,  attracted  to  them  by  the 
deliberately  lapidary  quality  of  their  line  and  color. 

62 


EARLY    YEARS 

and  Sixth  Sonatas,  the  First  and  Second  Concertos,  the  First 
and  Second  Violin  Concertos,  the  String  Quartet,  and  Peter 
and  the  Wolf),  or  else  on  the  simplest  scale  movement.  A 
characteristic  example  of  the  diatonic  movement  is  the  theme 
of  Juliet  from  Romeo  and  Juliet  and  of  the  chromatic  move- 
ment of  the  Scherzo  of  the  First  Violin  Concerto. 

It  is  true  that,  while  outwardly  classical  in  form,  these 
themes  almost  invariably  tend  to  sprout  the  startling,  unex- 
pected effects  that  are  so  unmistakably  Prokofiev.  In  melody  — 
in  rhythm  and  harmonic  idiom,  for  that  matter  — the  com- 
poser frequently  indulges  in  curious  juxtapositions  of  the  sim- 
plest and  most  firmly  established  classical  effects  with  the 
most  unusual  and  startling  angularities.  Who  does  not  know 
those  deliberately  broken  themes  with  the  incrediblv  wide 
skips  in  melody?  Distortion  and  shifting  of  melodic  lines  are 
used  for  ridicule,  for  caricature,  or  for  powerful  emotional  em- 
phasis. The  particularly  uncanny,  jarring  interval  of  the  ninth, 
for  example,  is  employed  in  many  themes  associated  with  grief 
and  despair  (death  theme  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  funeral  theme 
in  Semyon  Kotko,  subordinate  theme  in  the  First  Concerto, 
etc.). 

At  times  this  fantastic  distortion  of  chromatic  melodic  de- 
sign seems  artificial,  and  in  such  cases  the  striving  for  origi- 
nality clearly  takes  the  upper  hand  over  the  natural  and  logical. 
It  is  symptomatic  that  while  such  melodies  were  relatively  rare 
in  the  Prokofiev  of  the  period  prior  to  his  foreign  tour  (the 
theme  of  Sarcasm  No.  4,  and  here  and  there  in  The  Gambler) , 
they  occur  much  more  frequently  between  opera  40  and  60. 
A  true  master  of  long  instrumental  melodies  of  the  vocal  type 
(first  movement  of  the  Violin  Concerto,  Andante  of  the 
Fourth  Sonata,  introduction  to  the  first  movement  and  the 
theme  for  the  variations  in  the  Third  Concerto ) ,  he  neverthe- 
less frequently  cultivates  pettv  melodic  nuclei,  leitmotiv  melo- 
dies, the  embryos  of  thematic  development;  his  rejection  of 
broad  and  sweeping  melodic  forms  is  particularly  irritating  in 
his  opera  music,  where  keen  and  pointed  declamatory  detail 

63 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

nearly  always  predominates  over  the  vocal  cantilena.  It  is  grati- 
fying, however,  to  observe  that  in  recent  years  Prokofiev  has 
been  showing  marked  tendencies  toward  clarity  and  melodi- 
ousness employing  unmistakable  cantilena  forms  in  choral  and 
solo  singing. 

The  classical  quality  of  Prokofiev's  music  is  perhaps  most 
strongly  felt  in  his  choice  of  form:  the  most  universal  classical 
forms  —  the  sonata,  the  one-movement  symphonic  poem  in 
the  Liszt  manner,  rondo,  variations,  three-part  forms,  etc.  — 
are  to  be  found  in  his  instrumental  music.  Preserving  the  basic 
attributes  of  classical  forms,  he  frequently  violates  one  or  an- 
other essential  element.  Such,  for  example,  are  the  methods 
almost  invariably  employed  by  Prokofiev  for  modifying  the  re- 
capitulation. The  latter  may  be  conceived  as  a  continuation  of 
the  development  (Third  Sonata)  or  the  themes  may  be  com- 
bined in  contrapuntal  manner  (Andante  of  the  Fourth  So- 
nata, finale  of  the  Violin  Concerto);  in  other  cases  the  re- 
capitulation is  entirely  deprived  of  a  subordinate  theme,  or  is 
reduced  to  the  minimum,  taking  the  form  of  a  sort  of  repeat 
and  coda  rolled  in  one.  With  Prokofiev  some  violation  of  the 
principles  of  the  sonata  form  is  almost  invariably  the  rule. 

Sometimes  he  follows  the  example  of  the  romanticists,  now 
narrowing  down  the  classical  sonata  to  a  one-movement  form 
(First  Concerto),  now  employing  the  leitmotiv  development 
of  theme  (echoes  of  themes  from  the  first  movement  in  the 
finales  of  the  Second  and  Sixth  Sonatas).  When,  however,  the 
sonata  form  is  consistently  preserved,  he  uses  unusual  tonal 
relationships  to  offset  the  classical  form:  instead  of  the  gener- 
ally accepted  tonic  and  dominant  keys,  Prokofiev  prefers  an 
augmented  fourth  or  second  up  or  down  the  scale.  Novelty  of 
form  in  Prokofiev's  music  is  frequently  determined  by  new 
and  original  treatment  of  some  part  of  the  form  from  the  stand- 
point of  expression  and  ideas;  for  example,  the  development 
of  his  sonatas  and  concertos  sometimes  gives  rise  to  a  curious 
distortion,  a  shifting  of  image  cither  toward  the  grotesque  or 
toward  an  exaggerated  condensation  of  expression,  instead  of 

64 


EARLY     YEARS 

the  customary  dramatization  of  the  main  images  or  their  re- 
production in  a  new  color.  The  range  of  emotions  revealed  in 
the  diverse  parts  of  the  variations  (the  second  movement  of 
the  Third  Concerto)  becomes  extremely  broad. 

Except  in  instrumental  concertos  and  sonatas,  Prokofiev 
rarely  uses  the  grand  sonata  or  symphonic  forms.  The  sphere 
of  purely  philosophical  symphonic  music  has  but  little  attrac- 
tion for  him.7  In  the  sphere  of  orchestral  music,  the  program 
suite,  which  has  concrete  theatrical  associations,  is  his  pre- 
dominating form.  There  are  great  freedom  and  absence  of 
constraint  in  his  large  vocal  forms;  here  the  text  is  the  princi- 
pal factor,  with  rare  attempts  to  impart  a  formal  polish  by 
means  of  instrumental  refrains  (The  Wizard  and  The  Ugly 
Duckling) . 

Characteristically,  it  is  in  the  earliest  of  Prokofiev's  instru- 
mental compositions  (First,  Third,  and  Fourth  Sonatas)  that 
unity  and  completeness  of  thematic  development  are  most 
strongly  defined.  Even  in  such  pieces  as  the  First  Concerto  and 
the  Second  Sonata,  however,  one  can  discern  a  tendency  to 
string  together  separate  small  contrasting  episodes  —  sound 
pictures.  This  cinematographic  development  makes  itself  most 
strongly  felt  in  the  instrumental  works  having  theatrical  asso- 
ciations (for  example,  the  suite  from  The  Buffoon  or  the 
"Battle  on  the  Ice"  from  Alexander  Nevsky) .  The  regrettable 
mosaic  quality  of  the  form  in  works  of  this  kind,  its  excessive 
dependence  upon  the  program,  are  in  some  measure  compen- 
sated for  by  the  brilliance  of  the  musical  description  and  the 
dynamic  cascade  of  sounds.  The  integrity  and  symphonic 
breadth  of  form  perceived  as  a  developing  entity  and  not  as  a 
mechanical  juxtaposition  of  contrasting  fragments  appear 
again  in  some  of  the  later  compositions  (Second  Violin  Con- 
certo, Sixth  Sonata ) . 


7  Two  of  his  five  symphonic  compositions  (the  four  symphonies  and  one 
Sinfonietta)  are  stylized  (the  Classical  Symphony  and  to  a  lesser  degree  the 
Sinfonietta) ,  while  two  others  are  associated  in  some  way  with  theatrical  images 
(Third  and  Fourth  Symphonies). 

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SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

A  few  words  should  be  said  about  the  technical  methods  of 
Prokofiev's  music,  about  the  principal  features  of  his  orches- 
tral and  piano  style. 

The  most  daring  and  original  of  Prokofiev's  early  scores  are 
the  Scythian  Suite  and  The  Buffoon.  In  them  he  most  ve- 
hemently rejects  the  academic  manner  of  the  composers  of  the 
St.  Petersburg  school,  with  its  accurately  poised  orchestral 
groups  and  smooth  voice-leading.  Prokofiev's  music,  on  the 
contrary,  is  distinguished  by  its  unusual  hypertrophy  of  or- 
chestral tone  color  —  strident,  crudely  material,  and  almost 
invariably  subordinated  to  some  descriptive  purpose.  The  rich 
intricacies  of  these  scores,  their  innumerable  pedal  effects,  the 
abundant  use  of  sostenuto,  insistently  recurring  phrases,  and 
all  manner  of  sound  effects  lend  them  a  similarity  to  some  of 
the  orchestral  traditions  of  Wagner  and  particularly  of  Strauss. 
Prokofiev's  scores  are  as  colorful  as  his  harmonic  texture.  His 
orchestration  abounds  in  harsh  daubs  of  tone  color,  unex- 
pected, pungent  combinations  of  instruments  to  bring  out 
some  bizarre  dramatic  effect.  "What  difference  does  it  make 
how  the  composer  produces  the  effect  of  horror,  whether  by 
two  beats  of  the  drum  and  three  notes  on  the  clarinet  or  by  a 
prolonged  melody  on  the  violins?  If  the  result  is  horror,  then 
he  has  achieved  his  purpose,"  one  American  critic  wrote  about 
Prokofiev's  orchestration. 

In  contrast  to  the  ethereal  water-color  imagery  of  the  im- 
pressionist orchestra,  Prokofiev  often  deliberately  resorts  to 
the  use  of  crude,  earthy  orchestration.  The  sharp  timbres  of 
the  brasses  (the  unforgettable  high  pitch  of  the  brasses  in  the 
finale  of  the  Scythian  Suite),  the  complex  system  of  the 
percussion  instruments,  the  dry,  brittle  sting  of  the  piano,  pe- 
culiarly descriptive  uses  of  the  strings  (con  legno,  sul  ponti- 
cello,  pizzicato)  —these  are  some  of  the  effects  most  com- 
monly employed  in  his  orchestra. 

Sharp  contrasts  are  as  inherent  in  Prokofiev's  orchestration 
as  in  the  other  elements  of  his  musical  style.  Side  by  side  with 
the  vertiginous  complexities  of  Ala  and  Lolli  we  have  the  trans- 

66 


EARLY     YEARS 

lucent  score  of  the  Classical  Symphony,  built  almost  exclu- 
sively on  pure  solo  timbres.  Prokofiev's  tendency  toward  pure 
timbres  and  greater  economy  of  orchestral  coloring  has  be- 
come more  marked  in  his  latest  works,  Alexander  Nevsky,  with 
its  amazing  wealth  and  abundance  of  tone  color,  being  an  ex- 
ception. 

While  on  the  subject  of  Prokofiev's  orchestral  style,  I  might 
mention  one  curious  trait  of  the  composer's  personality:  his 
persistent  striving  for  rationalization  and  efficiency  in  the  prac- 
tical technique  of  music-writing.  While  still  in  the  Conserva- 
tory (1914),  he  revised  the  generally  accepted  system  of 
score-writing  by  discarding  the  complicated  practice  of  transpo- 
sition, and  by  writing  all  the  instruments  in  his  scores  in  the 
tonic  key  —  that  is,  just  as  they  sound  on  the  piano.  The  work 
of  transposing  the  corresponding  parts  (French  horn,  clarinet, 
English  horn,  etc.)  is  left  to  the  copyist.  The  only  clef  remain- 
ing apart  from  the  treble  and  bass  is  the  alto  (for  viola,  trom- 
bone, and  English  horn);  the  tenor  clef  is  dispensed  with  alto- 
gether (the  treble  and  bass  clefs  serving  for  the  bassoons  and 
cellos  as  well).  All  of  Prokofiev's  scores  are  written  according 
to  this  simplified  system.  They  are  extremely  easy  to  read,  and 
it  is  to  be  regretted  that  other  composers,  from  a  reluctance 
either  to  violate  traditions  or  to  trust  the  transposition  to  the 
copyist,  have  failed  to  follow  his  example. 

Another  interesting  labor-saving  device  introduced  by  Pro- 
kofiev in  the  sphere  of  orchestration  dates  from  the  period  of 
his  foreign  tour.  Commencing  with  he  Pas  d'acier  (1925),  he 
began  to  outline  the  whole  plan  of  each  future  work,  down  to 
the  minutest  details,  in  the  piano  score.  Having  allocated  all 
the  sounds  to  the  various  instruments,  marked  all  the  details, 
and  written  on  a  separate  staff  all  the  additional  voices  or  com- 
plex divisi,  he  considers  the  orchestration  complete.  All  that 
remains  is  to  transfer  all  the  orchestral  voices  marked  in  pencil 
on  the  piano  score,  a  purely  technical  job  that  can  be  entrusted 
to  any  intelligent  assistant.  In  this  way  the  composer  saves  a 
tremendous  amount  of  time  and  labor.  Most  of  his  scores  writ- 

67 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

ten  in  the  course  of  the  past  fifteen  years,  with  the  exception  of 
Alexander  Nevsky,  were  done  by  this  method. 

In  the  sphere  of  the  piano  as  well,  Prokofiev's  early  work 
marked  a  violent  reaction  from  the  ultra-refinement  of  impres- 
sionism. From  the  cloying  sweetness  and  spirituality  of  Scria- 
bin  and  Debussy  he  returned  demonstratively  to  the  piano  of 
the  classical  epoch,  strongly  accentuating  its  hammer-like 
quality.  Prokofiev's  construction  —  two  voices  or  three  voices, 
with  a  parallel  movement  in  octaves  —  is  pre-eminently  simple 
and  unadorned.  The  technique  of  skips  and  hand-crossings  in 
his  pieces  is  strongly  reminiscent  of  Domenico  Scarlatti;  the 
technique  of  scale  runs  springs  from  the  piano  style  of  Haydn 
and  the  early  works  of  Beethoven.  Common  features  of  Proko- 
fiev's piano  works  are  the  toccata  effects  consisting  of  alter- 
nating chords  in  the  right  and  left  hands  (a  method  used  by 
Liszt  and  Balakirev),  of  emphasized  non  legato,  and  so  on. 
Offsetting  these  dominant  features  we  find  a  few  echoes  of 
impressionistic  style  in  blurred,  mellow  passages  and  vibrant 
chords  of  rich  sonority,  and  at  times  —  especially  in  the  slow 
movements  of  his  sonatas  and  concertos  — a  striving  toward 
complexity  of  structure  and  complex  polyphonic  development 
(the  central  episode  of  the  First  Concerto,  the  third  move- 
ment of  the  Second  Sonata,  much  of  the  Second  Concerto). 

The  declamatory  style  peculiar  to  Prokofiev's  vocal  music 
as  well  as  his  musical  dramaturgy  are  likewise  of  considerable 
interest.  The  student  of  Prokofiev's  style  might  be  recom- 
mended to  trace  the  continuation  and  development  of  some 
of  his  trends  in  Soviet  music,  especially  in  the  music  of  Dmitri 
Shostakovich.  But  this  is  a  subject  for  special  research. 

The  scope  of  the  living  phenomena  reproduced  by  Prokofiev 
—  as  clearly  defined  as  they  are  multiform  —  reveals  several 
distinct  parallel  trends  in  his  musical  style. 

For  example,  there  is  Prokofiev  the  classic,  the  Prokofiev  of 
imposing  sonatas,  who  knows  the  secret  of  impeccable  form, 

68 


EARLY    YEARS 

who  is  capable  of  developing  his  theme  in  the  grand  classical 
manner  with  the  convincing  power  of  a  Beethoven.  This  is  the 
Prokofiev  of  the  first  piano  concertos,  of  the  Violin  Concerto, 
the  Third  and  Fourth  Sonatas.  At  times  his  neo-classicism  ac- 
quires the  character  of  subtle  stylization,  a  deliberate  revival  of 
the  old  through  the  medium  of  the  new  (the  Classical  Sym- 
phony, partly  the  Sinfonietta,  Op.  5,  much  in  Op.  12,  later  in 
the  music  of  Lieutenant  Kije  and  Romeo  and  Juliet) .  With  his 
tongue  in  his  cheek,  the  composer  revives  the  dance  patterns 
of  the  eighteenth  century  —  gavotte,  rigaudon,  and  minuet  — 
the  graceful,  courteous  world  of  absurd  ceremonies  and  con- 
ventions. In  this  predilection  for  the  forms  of  the  old,  pre- 
romantic  music  his  work  bears  a  certain  affinity  (while  at  the 
same  time  retaining  its  essential  difference)  to  the  neo-classi- 
cism of  Reger,  Brahms,  and  Taneyev.8 

To  this  same  "classical  line"  belong  the  toccata  effects,  the 
impelling  dynamic  runs  that  are  to  be  found  chiefly  in  his 
music  for  the  piano;  for  example,  the  deliberately  simplified 
passages  in  the  form  of  five-finger  exercises  (First  and  Third 
Piano  Concertos),  patterns  of  mechanical  motion,  perpetuum 
mobile  (Scherzo  of  the  Second  Concerto,  Scherzo  in  A  minor, 
Op.  12,  Toccata,  Op.  11).  Incidentally,  these  violently  dy- 
namic, high-pressure  figures  not  only  bring  us  back  to  classical 
piano  technique,  but  at  times  acquire  a  modern  and  somewhat 
machine-like  form.  Thus,  the  line  runs  from  the  rigid,  loco- 
motive rhythms  of  the  Toccata,  Op.  11,  to  the  harsh  images 
expressive  of  modern  city  life  in  Le  Pas  d'acier  and  the  Toccata 
of  the  Fifth  Concerto.  "This  line,"  the  composer  himself  has 
observed,  "is  perhaps  the  least  significant." 

Secondly,  an  important  role  in  the  work  of  Prokofiev  is 
played  by  the  expressionist  guignol  —  theatrically  tragic  bat- 


8  In  this  respect  he  has  undoubtedly  anticipated  many  of  the  neo-classical 
tendencies  of  Shostakovich,  particularly  his  scherzo  and  minuet  images  (scher- 
zos of  the  Fifth  Symphony  and  the  Piano  Quintet,  finale  of  the  Sixth  Sym- 
phony). 

69 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

ages  of  horrific  fantasy  or  nervous,  spasmodic  emotions. 
These  images  are  almost  invariably  associated  with  the  quest 
for  new  harmonies,  new  timbre  and  polyphonic  media.  Some- 
times the  new  harmonic  devices  engendered  by  the  compos- 
er's rich  imagination,  the  fantastic,  brittle  melodic  effects,  the 
bizarre  and  barbaric  harmonies,  sought  an  outlet  in  blood- 
curdling or  primitive,  archaic  subjects.  And  while  in  some 
cases  these  guignol  forms  remained  within  the  sphere  of  in- 
strumental music  (Phantom,  Despair,  Diabolic  Suggestions, 
the  subordinate  theme  of  the  First  Concerto,  the  cadenza  in 
the  first  movement  and  the  Intermezzo  of  the  Second  Con- 
certo, the  development  of  the  Third  Sonata,  and  much  of  the 
Sarcasms),  in  other  cases  they  were  embodied  in  the  descrip- 
tive sphere  of  the  theater  or  in  sound  pictures:  in  the  cruel 
visions  of  Magdalene  and  The  Flaming  Angel,  in  the  symboli- 
cally decorative  satanism  of  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges,  in 
the  savage  atavistic  archaicism  of  the  Scythian  Suite  and  Seven, 
They  are  Seven. 

To  this  same  line  belong  the  most  mocking  of  Prokofiev's 
grotesques,  in  which  laughter  becomes  malicious  and  diaboli- 
cal (Sarcasms,  The  Wizard,  the  Scherzo  from  the  First  Violin 
Concerto,  and  much  of  The  Gambler). 

The  third  significant  line  in  Prokofiev's  music  is  that  of  pure 
lyricism,  now  pensive  (as  in  Reminiscence,  the  unpublished 
miniature  Reproach,  the  subordinate  theme  in  the  Third  So- 
nata, Fugitive  Visions  Nos.  1,  7,  16,  20,  the  slow  movement  of 
the  First  Concerto  and  the  Second  and  Fourth  Sonatas,  songs, 
Op.  9,  Dreams,  main  theme  of  the  First  Violin  Concerto), 
now  associated  with  the  patriarchal  world  of  old  fireside  leg- 
ends, "grandmothers'  tales"  (Story,  Op.  3,  Legend,  Op.  12, 
subordinate  themes  in  the  first  movements  of  the  Violin  Con- 
certo and  the  Third  Concerto,  in  the  finale  of  the  Second  Con- 
certo, Tales  of  the  Old  Grandmother,  chief  refrain  of  The 
Buffoon).  The  composer's  lyricism  is  most  originally  blended 
with  the  influences  of  Western  romantic  art  (Schumann)  and 
with  the  Russian  traditions  emanating  primarily  from  Mus- 

70 


EARLY    YEARS 

sorgsky  (slow  passages  of  the  Pictures  at  an  Exposition,  songs 
of  the  type  of  Sunless,  etc.),  or  directly  from  the  Russian  folk- 
song. 

There  are  lyrical  pages  in  almost  all  of  the  larger  composi- 
tions of  the  young  Prokofiev,  even  in  the  most  daring  and  bar- 
baric (for  example,  the  beginning  of  the  third  movement  in 
the  Scythian  Suite,  the  central  part  of  the  first  and  third  Sar- 
casms, or  the  lyrical  passages  from  The  Gambler) .  This  lyri- 
cism is  nearly  always  expressed  by  the  typically  Prokofiev  dia- 
tonic line— "the  white  keys"  (the  most  typical  examples  are 
the  introduction  to  the  Third  Concerto,  the  Akhmatova  songs, 
the  subordinate  theme  in  the  Third  Sonata ) .  It  is  rather  sur- 
prising that  the  majority  of  his  early  contemporaries  failed  to 
give  the  young  Prokofiev  any  credit  for  lyrical  talent,  perceiv- 
ing merely  the  crude  impulses  and  cruel  mockery  in  his  music. 
"Tender  lyricism  is  foreign  to  Prokofiev's  nature,"  wrote  A. 
Koptyayev,  "and  when  he  attempts  any  allusion  to  it  I  discern 
the  hideous  grin  of  malice"  (Birzheviye  Vedomosti,  July  23, 
1915). 

And,  finally,  the  fourth  of  the  basic  lines  that  run  through 
the  work  of  Sergei  Prokofiev  is  humor,  humor  in  all  its  grada- 
tions, from  the  good-natured  smile  to  withering  mockery. 
Prokofiev's  humor  is  part  of  a  long  tradition  that  began  with 
the  experiments  of  Dargomizhsky  and  Mussorgsky  and  was 
later  so  brilliantly  developed  in  his  own  works  and  those  of 
Shostakovich.  This  tradition  is  one  of  the  most  characteristic 
features  of  Russian  music.  It  is  a  clear  sign  of  a  striving  to 
broaden  the  sphere  of  musical  expression  to  the  utmost,  to 
embrace  the  whole  gamut  of  human  emotions  and  feelings. 
Prokofiev's  humor  is  expressed  diversely,  now  in  the  form  of 
boisterous  and  gay  whimsies  (the  Badinage,  Op.  3,  Scherzo 
for  four  bassoons,  Scherzo  from  the  Second  Sonata,  much  from 
The  Buffoon,  and  The  hove  for  Three  Oranges),  now  coming 
as  a  result  of  ridicule  or  caricature,  or  as  a  negation  of  some 
lyrical  theme  (development  of  the  First  Violin  Concerto, 
much  in  the  Second  Sonata  and  the  First  Piano  Concerto). 

71 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

There  is  also  a  faint  touch  of  mockery  in  the  neo-classical  pages 
of  Prokofiev's  music  (the  Classical  Symphony);  and  there  are 
bitterly  ironic  notes  even  in  his  love  lyrics  (the  Akhmatova 
songs.  Gray  Dress,  etc. ) . 

In  the  best  instrumental  compositions  of  the  young  Proko- 
fiev —  the  Second  Piano  Concerto,  the  Third  and  Fourth  So- 
natas, and  the  First  Violin  Concerto  —  the  composer  resorts 
to  dramatic  contrasts,  making  radiant  dreams  and  romantic 
impulses  clash  with  brutal  fury  or  with  waggish  buffoonery. 
Adopting  a  method  once  used  by  the  romanticists,  the  com- 
poser often  lampoons,  distorts,  and  derides  his  own  lyrical 
ideals.  In  such  cases  the  lyricism  is  either  eliminated  suddenly 
or  effaced  by  a  wicked  grimace,  an  amusing  impish  movement 
(the  first  part  of  the  Second  Sonata,  the  First  Piano  Concerto) , 
or  is  distorted  in  the  course  of  the  development  (Violin  Con- 
certo) or  variations  (Third  Concerto).  In  a  number  of  works 
written  toward  the  end  of  this  period  (Sarcasms,  The  Gam- 
bler, The  Buffoon,  The  Wizard)  it  is  the  horrific,  the  malevo- 
lently caricatured  reflection  of  reality  that  predominates.  In 
these  works  the  composer  laughs  bitterly  at  the  ugliness  and 
loathsomeness  of  existence.  In  this  self-flagellation,  this  tend- 
ency to  scoff  at  one's  own  emotions  or  at  external  phenomena, 
one  can  discern  the  skepticism  of  the  young  artist  who  has 
little  faith  in  the  purity  and  sincerity  of  human  ideals. 

At  the  same  time,  however,  a  wholesome  perception  of  na- 
ture and  faith  in  the  triumph  of  human  energy  have  taken  the 
upper  hand  over  skepticism  and  sarcasm  in  many  bright  pages 
of  Prokofiev's  music.  This  is  apparent  in  the  First  Piano  Con- 
certo, in  the  Classical  Symphony,  in  the  finales  of  the  Scythian 
Suite,  the  First  Violin  Concerto,  and  the  Fourth  Sonata,  and 
later  in  his  magnificent  Third  Piano  Concerto. 

In  his  striving  to  mock  at  all  that  was  smooth  and  pretty  in 
the  old  art,  in  his  extensive  use  of  deliberate  prosaisms  (rigid 
rhythms  and  stark,  trenchant  emotionalism),  in  his  restless 
dissatisfaction  and  lack  of  faith  in  accepted  ideals,  the  young 
Prokofiev  bore  a  marked  resemblance  to  the  young  Mayakov- 

72 


EARLY    YEARS 

sky.  But  the  difference  between  the  two  was  that,  while  Maya- 
kovsky  succeeded  in  finding  the  path  to  real  truth,  to  the  as- 
sertion of  positive  ideals,  subsequently  turning  from  sneering 
skepticism  and  desperate  explosions  of  feeling  to  conscious 
service  in  the  cause  of  the  Socialist  Revolution,  Prokofiev,  in 
his  gropings  toward  truth,  was  to  a  considerable  extent  bound 
by  his  stagnant,  non-political  musical  environment,  as  well  as 
by  certain  influences  emanating  from  the  modernist  and  Dia- 
ghilev  circles. 

The  temptations  of  the  Diaghilev-modernist  trend,  with  its 
cult  of  form  and  brilliant  inventiveness,  its  total  indifference 
to  man,  and  its  repudiation  of  the  idea  in  art  —  this  was  the 
force  that  diverted  the  young  Prokofiev  from  the  true  path  of 
his  artistic  development. 

While  Prokofiev  himself  9  from  his  early  years  intuitively 
strove  for  an  art  that  would  carry  on  the  traditions  of  the  ro- 
manticists and  the  Russian  school  (Schumann,  Grieg,  and 
Mussorgsky)  toward  an  art  founded  on  a  profound  love  for 
man  and  nature,  on  keen  observation  of  human  speech,  into- 
nation, and  gesture,  the  Diaghilev  trend,  on  the  other  hand, 
impelled  him  in  a  different  direction,  toward  the  poetization 
of  Scythian,  atavistic  savagery,  to  the  cult  of  rollicking  buf- 
foonery, stylization,  and  witty  decorative  invention,  away  from 
the  lofty  purpose  of  art  and  serious  positive  ideals.10 

The  sphere  of  his  own  humanistic  tendencies  and  the  sphere 
of  the  modernist  influences  were  by  no  means  mechanically 
divided  in  Prokofiev's  music.  In  his  instrumental  works  or  his 
operas,  which  were  the  fruit  of  his  own  artistic  quests,  one 
finds  elements  of  mechanical,  constructivist,  cold  and  rational 
art,  limiting  the  vibrant  human  qualities  in  his  music.  Such, 


9  In  his  own  artistic  experiments  he  was  always  supported  by  the  best  and 
most  discerning  of  the  critics  —  Miaskovsky,  Karatygin,  and  Igor  Glebov.  The 
latter  two  frequently  drew  attention  to  the  lyrical  aspect  of  his  talent. 

10  We  recall  again  Prokofiev's  differences  of  opinion  with  Diaghilev  and 
Stravinsky  on  the  question  of  the  development  of  opera.  Advancing  the  modern- 
ist ballet,  a  semi-acrobatic  performance,  as  a  substitute  for  opera,  they  rejected 
opera  in  principle  as  much  too  realistic  and  democratic  a  genre. 

73 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

for  example,  is  the  mechanical  and  exaggerated  caricature  of 
many  scenes  in  The  Gambler. 

And  on  the  other  hand  in  the  Diaghilev  type  of  composi- 
tions, written  to  order,  the  warm  pulse  of  life  made  itself  felt 
time  and  again,  side  by  side  with  the  cult  of  the  inanimate, 
the  amusing  quirk,  or  original  decoration.  Such,  for  instance, 
is  the  lyricism  and  humor  of  The  Buffoon,  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges;  the  perception  of  the  elemental  force  of  nature,  the 
titanic  energy  of  the  sun  in  the  Scythian  Suite;  the  vivid  and 
original  refraction  of  Russian  folk-melody  in  The  Buffoon. 

The  search  for  the  human  and  realistic  elements  in  the  art 
of  the  young  Prokofiev  is  closely  interwoven  with  healthy  and, 
at  first,  intuitive  manifestations  of  the  Russian  national  style. 
The  lyricism  of  the  Third  Sonata  and  the  Third  Concerto,  the 
patriarchal  lullaby  forms  in  the  finale  of  the  Second  Concerto, 
the  profoundly  national  portrait  of  Babulenka  in  The  Gam- 
bler, and,  finally,  The  Buffoon  and  much  of  the  Fugitive  Vi- 
sions and  Tales  of  the  Old  Grandmother  reveal  a  strong  leaven 
of  the  national  in  the  artist,  his  unusual  feeling  for  the  melody 
and  harmony  of  the  Russian  song.  How  typical  of  Russian 
folk-music,  for  example,  is  Prokofiev's  favorite  harmonic 
idiom,  with  its  clear,  translucent,  diatonic  harmony  and  its 
characteristic  vacillations  between  the  major  and  minor! 

It  was  precisely  these  humanistic  tendencies  in  Prokofiev's 
music,  least  of  all  discerned  by  his  contemporaries,  that  dis- 
tinguished his  music  from  the  openly  bourgeois  trends  of 
Diaghilev  and  Stravinsky  and  brought  him  finally  onto  the 
path  of  Soviet  art.  What  was  it,  then,  that  predominated  in 
his  music  of  the  pre-foreign  period  —  the  concentration  of  ec- 
centric and  decorative  music,  the  world  of  mechanical  dolls, 
the  fantastic  creatures  of  his  imagination,  or  the  poetry  of  the 
human  soul,  the  art  of  living  emotions  and  exalted  social 
ideas? 

It  is  obvious  that,  had  this  second  tendency,  which  clearly 
existed  in  the  best  of  Prokofiev's  compositions,  been  predomi- 
nant, had  it  been  fully  comprehended  by  him  as  a  principle, 

74 


EARLY     YEARS 


had  the  sarcasm  and  force  of  negation  been  offset  by  strong 
positive  ideals,  he  would  inevitably  have  been  one  of  the  first 
to  join  the  camp  of  the  artists  of  the  Revolution.  But  unfor- 
tunately this  did  not  happen.  The  foreign  period  cut  him  off 
from  his  Soviet  homeland  for  almost  fifteen  years. 


75 


Book  II 

Years  of  Wandering 


6  :  Inertia  of  the  Past 


"Whither,  madmen?" 

"To  search  for  the  three  oranges."' 

"But  they  are  in  Creonta's  castle!" 

"I  do  not  fear  Creonta." 

Gozzi:  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges 


T„ 


HE  THIRST  for  new  keen  impressions,  the  desire  to 
breathe  "the  fresh,  invigorating  air  of  seas  and  oceans,"  a  per- 
sistent and  confident  striving  for  world  renown  prompted 
Prokofiev  to  launch  upon  the  risky  adventure  of  going  abroad. 
These  motives  must  indeed  have  amounted  to  an  obsessionr 
for  to  have  left  seething,  revolutionary  Petrograd  and  set  off 
on  a  voyage  round  the  world,  across  a  country  in  the  throes  of 
social  upheaval  and  civil  war  was  a  hazardous  proposition. 

The  journey  from  Petrograd  to  Vladivostok  took  eighteen 
days,  for  the  Trans-Siberian  line  was  jammed  with  Czecho- 
slovakian  troop  trains.  Fighting  had  flared  up  between  Red 
Guard  detachments  and  Ataman  Semyonov's  bands.  Proko- 
fiev's train  was  the  last  to  get  through  before  the  Czechoslo- 
vakian  front  was  formed.  "It  was  only  in  retrospect  that  I 
appreciated  the  dangers  to  which  I  had  been  exposed,"  re- 
called Prokofiev. 

76 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

On  June  1  he  was  in  Japan,  where  he  stayed  for  two  months. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  he  arrived  in  Japan  shortly  after  the 
publication  of  a  book  on  modern  European  music  by  M.  Ota- 
guro,  one  of  the  chapters  of  which  was  devoted  to  Prokofiev.1 
The  Japanese  were  much  interested  in  the  young  Russian 
musician  and  arranged  three  recitals  of  his  works,  two  in 
Tokyo's  Imperial  Theater  and  one  in  Yokohama.  Many  Tokyo 
newspapers  reviewed  the  concerts.  In  Tokyo  the  bulk  of  the 
audience  was  Japanese,  in  Yokohama  European. 

Early  in  August  Prokofiev  left  Yokohama  bound  for  New 
York  via  Honolulu  and  San  Francisco.  His  long  trip  through 
Siberia,  across  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  the  entire  American 
continent,  his  acquaintance  with  new,  exotic  countries,  and 
his  contacts  with  new  people  did  not  interfere  with  his  work. 
In  the  course  of  his  four  months'  travels  he  composed  the 
themes  for  the  White  Quartet,  conceived  in  Russia,  and 
worked  on  the  plan  for  the  opera  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges. 

Arriving  in  New  York  in  September,  he  discovered  that  the 
conquest  of  America  of  which  he  had  dreamed  would  not  be 
so  easy  as  he  had  expected.  American  concert  audiences  at  that 
time  did  not  manifest  much  interest  in  musical  novelties. 
What  new  music  was  accepted  had  to  bear  the  stamp  of  Euro- 
pean approval.  Penniless  and  friendless,  Prokofiev  found  him- 
self up  against  the  American  music-business  machine. 

His  first  piano  recital,  held  in  New  York  on  November  20, 
1918,  was  fairly  successful,  however,  and  evoked  a  host  of  arti- 
cles under  glaring  headlines.  Savage,  furious,  new,  weird,  and 
Russian  were  some  of  the  adjectives  used  by  the  reviewer  in 
Musical  America.  "A  piano  titan,"  "His  fingers  are  made  of 
steel,"  "Russian  chaos  in  music,"  "Godless  Russia,"  "Bolshe- 
vism in  art,"  "ultra-modern,"  "a  carnival  of  cacophony,"  com- 
mented the  American  reviewers,  taking  advantage  of  the  strong 
public  interest  in  revolutionary  Russia. 


1  The  data  for  this  chapter  have  in  part  been  borrowed  by  the  author  from 
Montagu-Nathan's  comprehensive  article  which  appeared  in  the  London  Musi- 
cal  Times  in  October  1916  (the  first  monographic  work  on  Prokofiev). 

77 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

Both  reviewers  and  newspaper  reporters  gave  detailed  de- 
scriptions of  his  appearance  ("the  blond  Slavic  rather  than 
the  Turco-Slavic  type") ,  spoke  of  his  virile  rendition,  his  primi- 
tive forcefulness  "a  la  Jack  London,"  and  his  fantastic  imagi- 
nation "akin  to  Edgar  Allan  Poe's."  Most  of  the  critics  did  not 
take  the  trouble  to  make  any  serious  detailed  analysis  of  his 
style.  One  found  influences  of  Chopin,  Wagner,  and  Bee- 
thoven in  Prokofiev's  music,  others  maintained  that  "Proko- 
fiev originates  from  Scriabin,"  another  dubbed  him  "Men- 
delssohn played  on  the  wrong  notes." 

"Take  one  Schonberg,  two  Ornsteins,  add  a  little  Satie,  mix 
all  these  with  Medtner,  put  in  a  drop  of  Schumann,  add  some 
Scriabin  and  Stravinsky,  and  the  result  will  be  something  like 
Prokofiev,"  wrote  the  reviewer  in  Musical  America  (November 
30,  1918).  One  prominent  critic  said  that  the  finale  of  the 
Second  Sonata  "reminds  one  of  a  herd  of  mammoths  charging 
across  an  Asiatic  plateau  .  .  .  when  the  dinosaur's  daughter 
graduated  from  the  Conservatory  of  that  epoch  her  repertory 
must  have  included  Prokofiev."  His  music  was  regarded  as 
something  extremely  savage  and  exotically  Asiatic. 

The  first  piano  recital,  in  Aeolian  Hall,  barely  covered  ex- 
penses. But  Prokofiev  had  attracted  public  attention.  One  firm 
invited  him  to  record  some  of  his  compositions  for  the  player 
piano.  Two  publishing  firms  ordered  several  piano  pieces  from 
him.  This  resulted  in  the  Four  Pieces,  Op.  32,  Dance,  Minuet, 
Gavotte,  and  Waltz,  and  the  excellent  Tales  of  the  Old  Grand- 
mother, Op.  31.  Who  would  have  thought  that  these  enchant- 
ing lyrical  pieces,  so  full  of  the  flavor  of  old  Russia,  could  have 
been  written  to  order  in  the  bustling  American  metropolis? 

Dissatisfied  with  the  publishers'  offers,  Prokofiev  finally 
preferred  not  to  sell  his  manuscripts.2 

On  December  10  Prokofiev  appeared  for  the  first  time  at  a 
symphony  concert  with  Modest  Altshuler,  a  Russian  con- 
ductor who  had  at  one  time  invited  Scriabin  to  America.  The 


2  These  pieces  were  later  published  by  Gutheil.  The  first  performance  of 
Tales  of  the  Old  Grandmother  was  given  on  January  7,  1919  in  New  York. 

78 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

concerto  (First  Piano  Concerto)  evoked  a  storm  of  abusive- 
articles.  ''If  this  is  music  I  am  inclined  to  prefer  agriculture," 
was  the  sarcastic  comment  of  one  reviewer.  "The  composer 
wreaks  havoc  with  the  keyboard.  The  duel  between  his  steel 
fingers  and  the  keys  led  to  the  slaughter  of  harmony"  (New 
York  Times,  December  n).  "He  is  the  Cossack  Chopin  of 
future  generations.  A  musical  agitator/'  predicted  Huneker. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  a  protracted  war  between  Prokofiev 
and  the  New  York  music  critics. 

His  longer  works  had  a  much  better  reception  in  Chicago, 
where  they  were  performed  by  one  of  America's  leading  sym- 
phony orchestras,  conducted  by  Frederick  Stock.  His  Chicago 
debut  with  the  First  Concerto  and  the  Scythian  Suite  was  a 
success.  The  leading  Chicago  critics  correctly  appraised  the 
historical  mission  of  Prokofiev's  music.  "Russia,  it  appears,  is 
giving  us  the  long-awaited  antidote  to  French  musical  impres- 
sionism, to  the  fragrant  delicate  twilight  that  pervades  the 
music  of  pre-war  Europe,"  said  the  Chicago  Daily  News  (De- 
cember 7,  1918).  Nearly  all  the  critics  persisted  with  naive  as- 
surance in  speaking  of  the  "Bolshevist"  nature  of  the  Scythian 
Suite.  "The  red  flag  of  anarchy  waved  tempestuously  over  the 
old  Orchestra  Hall  yesterday  as  Bolshevist  melodies  floated 
over  the  waves  of  a  sea  of  sound  in  breath-taking  cacophony," 
said  the  Chicago  Herald  and  Examiner  on  December  7,  1918. 
The  New  Majority  (October  25,  1919),  a  labor  paper,  enthu- 
siastically hailed  Prokofiev  as  a  representative  of  revolutionary 
Russia. 

Before  long  Prokofiev  was  approached  by  Cleofonte  Cam- 
panini,  chief  conductor  of  the  Chicago  Opera  Company,  who 
proposed  producing  one  of  his  operas.  Prokofiev  had  only  the 
piano  score  of  The  Gambler  to  offer,  the  orchestral  score  hav- 
ing been  left  behind  in  the  library  of  the  Maryinsky  Theater. 
When  he  mentioned  his  plans  to  write  a  new  opera,  The  Lore 
for  Three  Oranges,  Campanini  was  delighted  by  the  idea  of 
a  light  opera  on  a  classic  Italian  theme.  A  contract  was  signed 
in  January  1919,  and  the  new  opera  was  to  be  submitted  for 

79 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

rehearsals  by  autumn.  Work  on  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges 
proceeded  at  great  speed.  Notwithstanding  a  bout  of  illness 
(scarlet  fever  and  diphtheria)  lasting  for  six  weeks,  the  com- 
poser completed  the  piano  score  of  the  opera  by  June  1919, 
and  by  October  1,  according  to  agreement,  the  orchestral  score 
was  submitted. 

"The  mixture  of  fairy-tale,  humor,  and  satire  in  Gozzi's 
play,  and  especially  its  theatrical  qualities,  had  a  strong  appeal 
for  me,"  Prokofiev  recalls.  Conceived  when  the  composer  was 
still  in  Russia,  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  was  connected 
with  the  new  trends  in  the  theater  directed  against  the  natu- 
ralism and  backwardness  of  the  pre-Revolutionary  theater. 
These  were  the  same  tendencies  that  in  1922  gave  rise  to  one 
of  the  most  striking  productions  of  the  new  Soviet  theater, 
Princess  Turandot,  staged  by  E.  Vakhtangov.  Like  Prokofiev, 
Vakhtangov  chose  a  Gozzi  theme  because  of  the  splendid  ma- 
terial it  afforded  for  gay  and  sparkling  fun  and  ingenuous  ex- 
position of  theatrical  methods.  In  this  sense  there  is  a  close 
affinity  between  Princess  Turandot  and  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges. 

In  contrast  to  the  stark  realism  of  The  Gambler,  everything 
in  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  is  presented  in  an  ironic  tone 
with  deliberately  accentuated  parody  and  make-believe.  The 
Prince  is  not  a  real,  living  character,  but  a  comedian  with  a 
gift  for  expressive  singing  and,  more  important  still,  the  ability 
to  move,  dance,  and  gesticulate  to  music.  We  admire  the  ac- 
tor's skill  and  follow  the  development  of  the  plot  without  for 
a  moment  believing  that  it  is  all  true.  A  light  musical  perform- 
ance, remarkably  laconic  and  dynamic,  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges  is  at  the  same  time  a  subtle  parody  of  the  old  romantic 
opera  with  its  false  pathos  and  sham  fantasy. 

The  music  is  much  less  harsh  and  exaggerated  than  that  of 
The  Gambler.  In  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  the  composer 
revealed  the  finest  aspects  of  his  talent:  natural,  vivacious  dec- 
lamation, spicy,  exuberant  humor  (the  jolly  Truffaldino  and 
the  Odd  Fellows;  the  laughter  scene,  the  gay  music  of  the 

80 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

March  and  Scherzo),  brilliant  harmony  and  tone  color  in  the 
decorative  descriptions  and  mass  scenes  (the  magician  Celio, 
Fata  Morgana,  the  festivities,  etc.),  and,  last  but  not  least, 
enchanting  although  transient  lyrical  moments  (love  of  the 
Prince  and  Ninetta) . 


7.  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges,  theme  of  Truffaldino. 

The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  proved  to  be  the  most  popular 
of  Prokofiev's  operas.  The  March  from  this  opera  has  been 
played  all  over  the  world  and  has  moved  the  most  indifferent 
and  skeptical  of  concert-goers. 

The  new  opera  was  followed  shortly  afterward  by  the  Over- 
ture on  Hebrew  Themes,  Op.  34,  for  string  quartet,  clarinet, 
and  piano.  This  composition,  too,  was  called  forth  by  Proko- 
fiev's old  associations.  In  New  York  he  had  met  a  group  of 
former  fellow  students  from  the  St.  Petersburg  Conservatory 
who  had  formed  a  Jewish  chamber  ensemble  known  as  the 
Zimro  (I.  Mestechkin,  G.  Bezrodny,  Karl  Moldavan,  I.  Cher- 
nyavsky,  Simeon  Bellison,  and  L.  Berdichevsky) .  At  their  in- 
sistent request  he  wrote,  in  the  space  of  two  days,  an  excellent 
short  overture  based  on  genuine  folk  motivs  suggested  by  the 
ensemble.  The  rhythmic  forcefulness  and  scherzo  character  of 

81 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

the  Jewish  dance  melody  of  the  freilachtanz  type  cleverly  off- 
set the  slow  and  mournful  cantabile  melody.3 

When  the  time  came  for  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  to  be 
produced  (the  settings  had  already  been  ordered  from  the  Rus- 
sian artist  Boris  Anisfeld) ,  Campanini  suddenly  died.  The  pro- 
duction was  postponed  until  the  following  season.  "This  put 
me  in  a  most  awkward  position,"  the  composer  recalls.  "I  had 
been  engaged  on  the  opera  for  almost  a  year  and  had  com- 
pletely neglected  my  concerts."  Indeed,  after  the  brief  sensa- 
tion occasioned  by  his  initial  appearances,  Prokofiev's  name 
had  been  forgotten  by  the  concert  world.  It  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  succeeded  in  arranging  a  number  of  recitals.  He  was 
obliged  to  submit  when  the  managers  demanded  that  his  own 
compositions  be  kept  to  the  minimum  because  the  American 
public  could  not  understand  them.  And  so  Prokofiev's  piano 
recitals  included  Mussorgsky's  Pictures  at  an  Exposition,  Schu- 
mann's Carnaval,  and  even  pieces  as  foreign  to  his  nature  as 
Rachmaninoff's  preludes,  Scriabin's  etudes,  and  Chopin's  ma- 
zurkas. Only  at  the  end  of  the  program  did  he  play  two  or 
three  of  his  own  pieces,  usually  his  early  piano  miniatures 
(Gavotte,  Op.  12,  Diabolic  Suggestions).  Prokofiev  gave  sev- 
eral unsuccessful  recitals  with  this  program,  including  those 
on  his  tour  of  Canada  in  the  early  part  of  1920. 

"Out  of  sheer  despair"  Prokofiev  started  another  big  opera 
in  December  1919.  This  time  it  was  the  plot  of  Valery  Bryu- 
sov's  The  Flaming  Angel  that  attracted  him.  "As  a  matter  of 
fact,  my  interest  was  not  altogether  timely,"  the  author  admits. 

The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  like  The  Gambler  was  already 
shelved.  To  write  a  new  opera  with  no  prospects  of  its  produc- 
tion meant  working  purely  for  personal  satisfaction.  But  Pro- 
kofiev's passion  for  the  musical  theater  and  his  keen  interest 
in  Bryusov's  characters  outweighed  all  practical  considerations. 

3  The  Overture  had  its  premidre  in  New  York  in  January  1920.  Later  it 
was  orchestrated  for  a  small  symphony  orchestra,  but  some  of  the  specific  flavor 
of  the  national  ensemble  was  lost  thereby. 

82 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

The  libretto  and  the  first  two  acts  of  the  opera  were  written 
in  an  amazingly  short  time.  While  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges 
was  to  a  considerable  extent  a  synthesis  of  the  humor,  parody, 
and  decorative  fantasy  characteristic  of  Prokofiev's  work  (the 
world  of  the  gay  scherzos,  festive  marches,  and  fantastic  Dia- 
bolic Suggestions) ,  in  The  Flaming  Angel  the  composer  gave 
full  rein  to  his  gift  for  tragic  expression,  his  interest  in  the  cruel 
and  revolting  sides  of  life,  in  horrific  theatrical  phantasma- 
goria and  the  guignol. 

Valery  Bryusov's  story,  with  its  subtle  imitation  of  the  Ger- 
man humanistic  art  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  epoch  of 
Diirer  and  the  Counter-Reformation,  its  blood-curdling  scenes 
of  the  Inquisition,  religious  mania  and  hysteria,  and  inter- 
weaving of  sober  historical  narrative  with  gloomy  and  power- 
ful fantasy,  could  not  have  been  better  suited  to  Prokofiev's 
purposes.  In  the  music  of  this  opera  Prokofiev  discarded  gro- 
tesquerie  and  humor  in  order  to  depict  dramatic  emotions  and 
oppose  two  contrasting  worlds:  that  of  clear  and  sober  ra- 
tionalism' (Ruprecht,  his  friends,  and  Agrippa,  the  philoso- 
pher) and  the  morbid  religiously  erotic  ecstasy  of  Renata. 

The  composer  gave  battle,  as  it  were,  to  mysticism  and 
medieval  obscurantism,  depicting  these  survivals  of  the  past 
in  all  their  repulsive  nakedness  and  gloomy  grandeur.  The 
scenes  of  Renata 's  religious  paroxysms,  her  frightful  impreca- 
tions and  hysterical  outcries,  are  produced  with  fearsome,  al- 
most pathological  expressiveness.4  The  music  is  based  on  the 
principle  of  complex  symphonic  development,  utilizing  a 
number  of  clearly  delineated  leitmotivs.  Some  of  the  latter 
were  taken  from  the  sketches  of  the  unfinished  quartet  "on 
the  white  keys"  ( Renata 's  love  theme  and  the  monaster}' 
theme) .  These  same  melodies  later  returned  to  the  domain  of 
pure  instrumental  music  when  the  composer  used  them  as 
thematic  material  for  his  Third  Symphony  (1928).  The  pro- 

4  A  reflection  of  these  expressionist  trends  can  be  found  later  in  certain 
scenes  of  Semyon  Kotko  (the  scene  of  Lyuba's  insanity)  and  partly  in  the 
music  of  Alexander  Nevsky  ("Crusaders  in  Pskov") . 

83 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 


8.  The  Flaming  Angel,  Act  I,  Renata's  love  theme. 

duction  of  this  opera  was  seriously  hampered  subsequently  by 
its  excess  of  musical  and  dramatic  material,  its  pathological 
effects,  and  a  few  rather  serious  violations  of  the  rules  of 
dramaturgy.  Prolonged  negotiations  for  the  production  of 
The  Flaming  Angel  with  a  number  of  American  and  European 
theaters  ended  in  failure. 

By  the  spring  of  1920  the  composer  became  finally  con- 
vinced that  America  had  nothing  more  to  offer  him.  "I  wan- 
dered through  the  enormous  park  in  the  center  of  New  York 
and,  looking  up  at  the  skyscrapers  bordering  it,  thought  with 
cold  fury  of  the  marvelous  American  orchestras  that  cared 
nothing  for  my  music  and  of  the  critics  who  reiterated  what 
had  been  said  a  hundred  times  before  .  .  .  and  who  balked 
so  violently  at  anything  new,  of  the  managers  who  arranged 
long  tours  for  artists  playing  the  same  old  hackneyed  programs 
fifty  times  over." 

He  thought  of  returning  to  his  homeland,  but  Russia  at  that 
time  was  blocked  on  all  sides  by  White  Guard  fronts.  More- 
over, his  youthful  pride  was  as  strong  as  ever:  he  could  not 
think  of  returning  to  Russia  without  having  won  world  rec- 
ognition. The  grandeur  of  the  revolutionary  struggle  that  was 
raging  in  his  native  land  in  those  years  was  still  uncompre- 
hended  by  him. 

In  April  1920  Prokofiev  went  to  Europe.  In  Paris  and  later 

84 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

in  London  he  met  Diaghilev  and  Stravinsky.  And  again  he  fell 
under  the  spell  of  Diaghilev's  personality,  his  energy,  enter- 
prise, limitless  fund  of  ideas,  and  ability  to  mold  the  artist  to 
his  will.  Diaghilev  proposed  to  produce  The  Buffoon,  ( Chout ) 
the  piano  score  of  which  he  had  carefully  preserved  for  five 
years.  At  his  suggestion  Prokofiev  altered  a  few  ballet  numbers, 
added  five  entr'actes  (so  that  all  six  scenes  could  proceed  with- 
out a  break),  and  rewrote  the  final  dance.  Stravinsky  took  a 
keen  interest  in  the  work  and  offered  a  number  of  suggestions, 
chiefly  concerning  orchestration.  The  final  touches  to  The 
Buffoon  were  completed  in  Mantes,  near  Paris,  where  the 
composer  took  up  his  residence  for  the  summer.  The  ballet 
was  scheduled  for  the  opening  of  Diaghilev's  season  in  1921. 
In  this  period  the  composer  completed  several  piano  tran- 
scriptions: the  arrangement  of  an  organ  fugue  by  Buxtehude 
and  a  series  of  Schubert  waltzes  and  handler  forming  a  com- 
plete suite.5  Both  these  pieces  were  intended  for  future  Ameri- 
can tours. 

His  return  to  America  in  the  autumn  of  1920  was  another 
disappointment  for  the  composer.  The  production  of  The 
Love  for  Three  Oranges  again  failed  to  materialize,  this  time 
because  the  composer  demanded  compensation  from  the  Chi- 
cago Opera  for  breach  of  contract.  "I  preferred  to  sacrifice  the 
production  rather  than  allow  them  to  wipe  their  boots  on  me." 
His  demands  were  rejected  and  Prokofiev  had  to  limit  himself 
to  concert  tours,  including  a  most  pleasant  six  weeks'  tour  of 
California.  The  programs  of  his  concerts  again  included  a 
large  amount  of  classical  music:  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  A 
major,  Op.  101,  Chopin's  etudes,  his  own  arrangement  of 
Schubert's  waltzes,  pieces  by  Lyadov  and  Rimsky-Korsakov. 
But  these  concerts  lacked  the  exciting,  sensational  atmosphere 
of  his  initial  appearances.  Prokofiev  was  obliged  to  appear  on 
the  same  program  with  other  touring  artists,  mainly  singers. 

5  The  idea  of  using  Schubert's  waltzes  was  Stravinsky's.  Later,  in  19-4, 
Prokofiev  revised  this  suite  in  a  two-piano  arrangement  ( this  time  with  changes 
in  harmony  and  counterpoint ) . 

85 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

The  American  newspapers  now  mentioned  him  merely  as  a 
pianist,  forgetting  him  as  a  composer:  the  caption  of  a  photo- 
graph in  the  Musical  Courier  read:  "Composer  Stravinsky  and 
Pianist  Prokofiev." 

During  his  Californian  tour  Prokofiev  wrote  five  songs  with- 
out words  for  voice  and  piano  in  a  refined  lyrical  manner, 
something  in  the  style  of  the  Akhmatova  songs.  These  songs, 
first  performed  in  March  1921  by  Nina  Koshetz,  were  not  es- 
pecially successful  owing  to  the  absence  of  text;  later  (1925) 
the  composer  rewrote  them  for  the  violin  on  the  advice  of 
Paul  Kochanski,  the  violinist.6 

It  was  not  until  the  spring  of  1921,  when  the  management 
of  the  Chicago  Opera  Company  was  changed,  that  the  ques- 
tion of  the  production  of  the  Three  Oranges  was  finally  set- 
tled. The  new  director,  the  progressive-minded  singer  Mary 
Garden,  celebrated  for  her  performance  of  the  roles  of  Meli- 
sande  and  Salome  among  others,  finally  included  the  opera  in 
the  repertory  of  the  following  season. 

Much  pleased  with  his  victory,  Prokofiev  went  off  to  Europe 
again  to  supervise  the  production  of  his  Buffoon.  His  debut  in 
Paris  with  the  Scythian  Suite,  on  April  29,  1921,  before  the 
ballet  had  its  premiere,  was  given  an  enthusiastic  reception  by 
the  press.  "It  is  impossible  to  resist  such  a  happy  combination 
of  skill  and  freshness,"  L'Eclair  commented  (May  19). 
Shortly  afterward  Diaghilev  opened  his  season  with  the  pre- 
miere of  The  Buffoon.  The  famous  producer  had  taken  great 
pains  with  this  ballet.  The  settings  and  costumes  by  Larionov 
were  executed  in  the  style  of  exaggeratedly  primitive  signboard 
drawing  and  futurist  show-booth  manner.  The  composer  him- 
self conducted.  The  premiere  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
whole  musical  world  of  Paris.  The  bulk  of  the  press  comment 
was  extremely  laudatory:  "A  veritable  cascade  of  ideas,  inex- 
haustible fund  of  color,  rhythms,  melody.  .  .  ."  For  the  Pa- 

6  This  writing  of  a  whole  scries  of  extremely  emotional  vocal  miniatures 
without  text  is  extremely  symptomatic.  It  was  a  sign  that  Prokofiev  could  not 
find  adequate  textual  material  with  which  to  express  the  rich  fund  of  ideas  he 
possessed. 

86 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

risian  gourmets,  long  since  sated  with  hothouse  impressionist 
culture,  this  music  coming  after  the  Stravinsky  ballets  was  but 
one  more  specimen  of  barbarous  Russian  exoticism,  so  deli- 
riously titillating  to  their  jaded  appetites. 

The  Buffoon  is  an  extremely  contradictory  phenomenon  in 
Prokofiev's  music.  In  the  very  conception  of  the  ballet,  to  say 
nothing  of  its  stage  reproduction,  Diaghilev's  influence  was 
clearly  evident  in  the  tendency  to  "  work  for  export"  —  that  is, 
to  display  for  the  benefit  of  the  Parisian  bourgeois  everything 
fantastic  and  eccentric  that  could  be  found  in  Russian  art  and 
life.  The  grotesque  in  The  Buffoon  is  exaggerated  to  the  limit, 
and  is  essentially  an  end  in  itself.  It  has  neither  the  social  satire 
of  The  Gambler  nor  the  bitter  philosophical  skepticism  of 
Sarcasms.  Hence  its  humor  is  deceptive,  the  underlying  spirit 
of  the  music  being  infinitely  pessimistic.  The  careful  empha- 
sis laid  on  the  crude  and  cynical  scenes,  the  accentuated  me- 
chanical rhythms,  and  the  predominance  of  sharply  exagger- 
ated, mercilessly  caricatured  masks  would  have  had  the  most 
depressing  effect  on  the  modern  Soviet  audience.7 

Nevertheless,  the  composer's  amazing  gift  for  musical  nar- 
rative, his  ability  to  give  the  most  accurate  and  laconic  expres- 
sion to  his  ideas,  reached  a  high-water  mark  in  The  Buffoon. 
The  orchestration,  spare,  stinging,  sharply  graphic,  with  abun- 
dant use  of  the  piano  and  percussion  instruments  (no  doubt 
the  influence  of  Stravinsky's  Noces  made  itself  felt  here) ,  with 
subtle  and  ingenious  employment  of  diverse  string  effects,  is 
extremely  striking.  There  is  a  host  of  brilliant  new  harmonic 
and  tone-color  effects  in  the  music:  the  cries  of  Molodukha 
when  beaten,  the  amusing  pranks  of  the  Buffoon,  the  confu- 
sion and  horror  of  Stryapka,  the  cook,  the  mock  funeral  of  the 
seven  wives  of  the  buffoons.  It  is  difficult  to  enumerate  all 
the  details  and  nuances  revealing  the  author's  keen  powers  of 

7  The  ballet  is  a  long  succession  of  brutal  jests,  violence,  and  murder:  in  the 
first  scene  the  Buffoon  beats  his  partner  with  a  whip,  in  the  second  scene  the 
seven  buffoons  kill  their  seven  wives,  in  the  third  the  buffoons  beat  up  Molo- 
dukha, in  the  fourth  they  attempt  to  thrash  the  go-betweens.  The  fifth  dem- 
onstrates the  brutal  treatment  of  Kozlukha,  etc.,  etc. 

87 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

observation,  his  ability  to  depict  human  gestures,  movements, 
and  emotions  with  the  swift,  sharp  lines  of  the  cartoonist.  But 
what  is  most  appealing  about  The  Buffoon  is  the  Russian 
lyrical  quality,  which  now  and  then  sounds  sincere  and  almost 
serious,  despite  the  mocking  irony  implicit  in  the  staging  by 
Diaghilev  and  Larionov  (the  theme  of  the  Merchant's  love, 
Molodukha's  theme,  the  main  theme  of  the  Buffoon  himself, 


9.  The  Buffoon  (Chout),  Scene  I,  central  theme. 

which  runs  through  the  whole  ballet  in  a  manner  similar  to 
the  famous  Promenades  in  Mussorgsky's  Pictures  at  an  Expo- 
sition). It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  "Left"  critics  who 
demanded  exotic  show-booth  clowning  from  the  Diaghilev 
ballet  were  not  altogether  satisfied  with  The  Buffoon,  some  of 
whose  elements  struck  them  as  being  too  realistic.  "The  pro- 
duction is  not  quite  consistent,  the  grotesque  and  doll  move- 
ments are  not  sustained  throughout:  two  figures  —  the  young 
Buffoon  and  the  Merchant  —  strike  a  jarring  note  because  of 
their  realism"  (review  by  N.  Zborovsky  in  Posledniye  Novosti, 
May  1921). 

The  Buffoon  proved  to  be  the  last  grimace  of  the  Prokofiev 

88 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

grotesque,  the  wickedest  and  most  malicious  of  them  all.8  It 
is  not  surprising  that  soon  after  The  Buffoon  Prokofiev  him- 
self, as  if  sensing  the  danger  to  his  future  development,  began 
to  depart  more  and  more  from  the  grotesque  as  an  end  in  itself, 
endeavoring  to  grope  his  way  toward  a  more  serious  and  intel- 
ligent art.  Thus  began  the  long  quest  that  was  crowned  with 
success  only  upon  the  composer's  return  to  his  native  land. 

If  The  Buffoon  was  given  a  warm  reception  in  Paris,  where 
Diaghilev's  excesses  were  taken  as  a  matter  of  course,  its  Lon- 
don premiere  caused  quite  a  scandal.  Nearly  all  the  English 
papers  attacked  the  authors  of  The  Buffoon  with  frank  abuse. 
It  was  in  almost  every  respect  a  repetition  of  the  reception  ac- 
corded the  Scythian  Suite  in  Petrograd  five  years  before.  One 
of  the  critics  called  The  Buffoon  a  ballet  absurdity;  another, 
stupid  and  puerile  music;  whereas  a  third,  on  the  other  hand, 
considered  it  a  "revelation  of  musical  genius"  (Daily  Graphic, 
June  16,  1921).  One  of  the  reviewers  in  all  seriousness  advised 
ballet-goers  to  "stuff  their  ears  in  order  not  to  hear  the  music." 
Most  rabid  of  all  was  Ernest  Newman  in  the  Sunday  Times. 
"Few  composers,"  he  wrote,  "would  venture  to  write  long 
scores  so  poor  in  ideas  or  so  primitive  in  technique  as  Proko- 
fiev in  The  Buffoon." 

Diaghilev  in  a  fury  replied  to  the  English  critics  in  a  long 
and  strongly  worded  letter  to  the  editor  of  the  Daily  Telegraph 
(July  16,  1921).  "Man  has  invented  air  navigation  and  tele- 
phones, and  yet  people  still  use  these  telephones  to  exchange 
the  same  imbecile  remarks  about  any  new  idea,  any  new  phe- 
nomenon," he  wrote.  "When  I  was  sixteen,  I  heard  someone 
say  that  Wagner  had  not  composed  a  single  melody;  at  twenty 
I  was  assured  that  the  music  of  Rimsky-Korsakov  was  nothing 
but  mathematics,  at  twenty-five  that  Cezanne  and  Gauguin 
were  merely  buffoons.  And  Debussy!  And  Strauss!  And  Rous- 

8  A  rather  clever  explanation  of  Prokofiev's  "buffoonery"  was  once  given 
by  Lunacharsky.  "His  rich  personality,  confined  within  the  environment  of  a 
mechanized  world,  feels  lost.  This  explains  why  buffoonery  plays  so  large  a 
role  in  his  music.  The  buffoon  after  all  is  the  plaything  of  society"  (Zhizn 
Iskusstva,  No.  88,  1926). 

89 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

seau!  And  Matisse!  For  fifteen  years  people  have  been  sneering 
at  them  without  suspecting  how  stupid  they  looked  as  they 
did  so.  It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  how  stupid  and  banal  all 
the  abuse  the  learned  critics  are  leveling  at  Stravinsky,  Picasso, 
Prokofiev,  and  Larionov  sounds.  .  .  ." 

The  London  hullabaloo  over  The  Buffoon  was  evidence  of 
the  fact  that  Prokofiev's  music  had  preserved  its  challenging, 
iconoclastic  force  under  European  conditions,  exciting  — as  it 
had  done  before  in  St.  Petersburg  —  the  fury  and  malice  of 
those  critics  who  clung  to  the  old  traditions.9 

After  the  premiere  of  The  Buffoon,  Prokofiev  moved  in  the 
summer  of  1921  to  the  coast  of  Brittany  and  applied  himself 
with  enthusiasm  to  his  work  on  the  Third  Piano  Concerto, 
begun  in  Russia.  Most  of  the  themes  for  this  concerto  had 
been  accumulated  over  a  long  period  of  time:  the  lovely  E- 
minor  theme  of  the  variations  (second  movement)  dates  back 
to  1913,  the  first  two  themes  in  the  first  movement  and  two 
variations  to  1916-17;  the  first  and  second  themes  of  the 
finale  are  taken  from  the  White  Quartet,  conceived  in  1918  10 
Even  the  difficult  passage  of  parallel  triads  in  the  recapitula- 
tion of  the  first  movement  had  been  preserved  from  the  youth- 
ful sketches  of  1911,  when,  besides  a  D-flat  major  Concertino, 
Prokofiev  had  projected  a  large  concerto  full  of  virtuoso  pas- 
sages. 

Adding  a  few  themes  that  were  still  missing  (the  subordi- 
nate theme  of  the  first  movement  and  the  third  theme  of  the 
finale)  and  combining  all  into  a  harmonious  three-movement 
design,  Prokofiev  created  one  of  his  finest  works,  the  result  of 
many  years  of  experimentation  in  the  field  of  piano  music. 


0  Subsequent  performances  of  The  Buffoon  abroad  —  for  instance,  in  Co- 
logne in  1928  — likewise  provoked  bostile  comment.  "Tbis  Soviet  music  de- 
clares war  on  all  the  laws,  ignores  all  tbc  rules,  overthrows  all  methods  .  .  . 
plunges  us  into  a  morass  of  dissonances,  into  a  vertigo  of  harsh,  disconnected, 
savage  shrieking  sounds.  It  is  like  a  lunatic  asylum!"  (La  Gazette  de  Liege). 

10  The  quartet  was  originally  conceived  in  two  parts.  Fearing  lest  sustained 
diatonic  style  should  prove  monotonous,  Prokofiev  in  1921  dispersed  the  the- 
matic material  of  the  quartet,  including  part  in  The  Flaming  Angel  and  part 
in  the  Third  Piano  Concerto. 

90 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

Prokofiev's  favorite  world  of  juxtapositions  and  contrasts  is 
presented  with  classic  coherence  in  the  Third  Concerto,  with 
its  soulful  Russian  lyrical  touches  (introductory  theme  to  the 
first  movement),  its  virile  dynamic  forcefulncss  (main  themes 
of  the  first  movement  and  finale),  and  its  elegant  dance  qual- 
ity (theme  of  the  variations).  The  multiformity  of  Prokofiev's 
music  made  itself  most  strongly  felt  in  the  remarkable  varia- 
tions (second  movement),  where  the  theme  is  now  "mechan- 
ized," subjected  to  spiteful  caricature  distortions  reminiscent 
of  The  Buffoon,  now  floating  away  into  the  realm  of  pure  fan- 
tasy, now  again  changing  to  the  powerful  springy  movement 
of  the  piano  runs.  The  finale  of  the  concerto,  like  that  of  the 
First  Piano  Concerto,  is  a  hymn  to  the  triumph  of  human  will 
and  energy.  Here  is  a  composition  that  deserves  a  place  along- 
side the  concertos  of  Liszt,  Tchaikovsky,  and  Rachmaninoff 
on  our  concert  programs. 

Simultaneously  Prokofiev  composed  five  songs,  Op.  36,  to 
the  pretentious  and  morbidly  mystical  poetry  of  Balmont. 
These  songs  (particularly  the  last  of  them,  Pillars),  depress- 
ingly  gloomy  and  despondent  in  mood,  possess  features  of 
over-refined  chromatic  style  and  elements  of  exoticism  in  the 
spirit  of  Gauguin's  vivid  canvases  not  at  all  in  keeping  with 
Prokofiev.11  • 

At  last  the  long-awaited  premiere  of  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges  was  due.  In  October  1921  Prokofiev  made  his  third 
trip  to  America,  to  participate  in  the  preparations  for  the 
premiere.  He  supervised  the  direction  of  the  performance  and 
gave  instructions  to  the  solo  singers  and  the  chorus,  ignoring 
the  presence  of  the  stage  director.  The  role  of  Fata  Morgana 
was  played  by  Nina  Koshetz.12  The  premiere  of  The  Love  for 


11  When  Prokofiev  wrote  music  to  the  poetry  of  the  symbolists  he  almost 
invariably  began  to  speak  in  a  "foreign  language,"  as  it  were,  searching  for  all 
manner  of  palate-tickling  harmonies  and  refined  contemplation:  for  example, 
the  "symbolist"  songs  In  My  Garden  and  Trust  Me  in  Op.  23.  There  is  an 
eery  mystical  flavor,  not  without  a  shade  of  sarcasm,  in  the  Gray  Dress,  song 
to  words  by  Z.  Hippius  (Op.  23,  1915). 

12  The  Prince  was  sung  by  Jos6  Mojica.  —  Editor. 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

Three  Oranges,  on  December  30,  1921,  was  warmly  received 
by  the  Chicago  public.  The  press  too  was  extremely  favorable. 
In  New  York,  on  the  other  hand,  where  the  Chicago  com- 
panv  presented  the  opera  in  Februarv  1922,  the  reception  was 
definitely  hostile.  The  critics  again  foamed  at  the  mouth.  "The 
cost  of  the  production  is  1 30,000  dollars,  which  is  43,000  dol- 
lars for  each  orange,"  was  the  facetious  comment  of  one  of  the 
reviewers,  "but  the  opera  fell  so  flat  that  its  repetition  would 
spell  financial  ruin." 

A  similar  fate  awaited  the  first  American  performance  of 
the  Third  Piano  Concerto:  Chicago,  where  it  was  played  on 
December  16  and  17  under  the  baton  of  Frederick  Stock,  gave 
it  a  warm  reception,  while  New  York  (December  26  and  27, 
under  the  direction  of  Coates)  condemned  it. 

Prokofiev's  hopes  that  Mary  Garden  would  produce  The 
Flaming  Angel  at  the  Chicago  Opera  fell  through  when  she 
unexpectedly  resigned  her  post.  "The  American  season,  which 
had  begun  so  promisingly,  fizzled  out  completely  for  me.  .  .  . 
I  was  left  with  a  thousand  dollars  in  my  pocket  and  an  ache  in 
my  head,  to  say  nothing  of  a  fervent  desire  to  get  away  to  some 
place  where  I  could  work  in  peace." 

Prokofiev  left  America  and  in  March  1922  settled  in  Ettalr 
a  small,  picturesque  hamlet  in  Bavaria,  two  miles  from  Ober- 
ammergau.  After  four  years  of  incessant  wandering  and  tense 
struggle,  the  composer  felt  an  urgent  need  of  a  change  of  en- 
vironment in  order  to  review  his  work  over  a  period  of  many 
years.  He  staved  in  Ettal  for  a  year  and  a  half,  making  occa- 
sional trips  to  various  European  centers  for  concerts  and  pre- 
mieres.13 The  Flaming  Angel,  begun  in  America,  finally  took 
definite  shape  in  Ettal.  Oberammergau  was  famed  for  its  medi- 

13  In  April  1922  the  premiere  of  his  Third  Concerto  was  held  in  Paris 
(Koussevitzky)  and  in  London  (Coates).  In  June  The  Buffoon  was  revived  in 
Paris.  In  January  1923  the  Sc\'thian  Suite  caused  a  sensation  in  Brussels,  where 
the  two  hostile  camps  into  which  the  audience  divided  almost  came  to  blows. 
In  the  spring  of  1923  Prokofiev  made  concert  tours  to  Barcelona,  Paris,  Ant- 
werp, Brussels,  and  London.  Germany  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
the  war  and  took  little  interest  in  new  Russian  music:  the  performance  of  the 
Hebrew  Overture  and  fragments  from  the  Three  Oranges  passed  unnoticed. 


YEARS     OF    WANDERING 

eval  Passion  Play  and  it  occurred  to  the  composer  that  the 
witches'  Sabbaths  described  in  Bryusov's  story  must  have  taken 
place  somewhere  in  the  vicinity.  Here  too  he  wrote  the  Fifth 
Piano  Sonata  (1923),  prepared  the  piano  scores  of  The  Buf- 
foon and  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  for  publication,  made 
a  symphonic  suite  out  of  The  Buffoon,  and  rewrote  the  Second 
Piano  Concerto,  the  score  of  which  had  been  lost  in  Petrograd. 

In  the  course  of  1922  and  1923  the  Gutheil  and  Kousse- 
vitzky  firm  published  nearly  all  of  Prokofiev's  works  written  in 
that  period.  Koussevitzky,  with  his  extensive  opportunities  as 
publisher  and  concert  manager,  was,  with  Diaghilev,  the  main 
force  that  kept  Prokofiev  abroad  by  tempting  him  with  the 
prospects  of  world  renown. 

In  the  summer  of  1922  after  the  revival  of  The  Buffoon 
Prokofiev  met  Stravinsky  again.  The  latter  sharply  criticized 
the  Three  Oranges,  refusing  to  listen  to  more  than  one  act.  The 
result  was  a  conflict  between  the  two  composers.  In  his  turn 
Prokofiev  told  Stravinsky  of  his  antipathy  to  the  latter's  recent 
work.  The  two  collaborators  in  the  Diaghilev  ballet  were  thus 
estranged  for  several  years.  Diaghilev,  disappointed  in  The 
Love  for  Three  Oranges,  also  lost  interest  in  Prokofiev's  work. 

On  the  other  hand,  Prokofiev  had  resumed  contact  with  the 
Soviet  Union.  In  May  1923  the  Moscow  magazine  K  Novym 
Beregam  published  a  report  by  Prokofiev  on  his  work  abroad. 
His  Soviet  friends  Miaskovsky  and  Asafyev,  with  whom  he 
corresponded,  kept  him  well  informed  about  the  musical  ac- 
tivities that  had  been  revived  in  Moscow  and  Petrograd  with 
the  termination  of  civil  war.  Beginning  with  1923,  a  growing 
interest  in  Prokofiev's  music  arose  in  the  U.S.S.R.  A  series 
of  Musical  Exhibitions  arranged  by  the  International  Book 
Society  in  Moscow  and  several  Evenings  of  New  Music  held 
somewhat  later  in  Leningrad  were  largely  responsible  for  this. 
About  this  time  the  Music  Department  of  the  State  Publish- 
ing House  began  to  put  out  some  of  Prokofiev's  compositions, 
the  first  to  appear  being  the  score  of  Seven,  They  Are  Seven, 
in  1922. 

93 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

The  leading  article  in  the  1924  New  Year's  issue  of  the 
Leningrad  magazine  Zhizn  Iskusstva  mentioned  Prokofiev  as 
an  eminent  Russian  composer  who  had  been  stranded  abroad. 
"However  wide  we  have  thrown  open  the  'window  into  Eu- 
rope,' nothing  will  compensate  us  for  the  protracted  absence 
from  Russia  of  some  of  her  finest  musicians.  In  the  coming 
year  we  shall  await  news  of  the  repatriation  of  our  'foreign' 
composers." 

But  the  Soviet  journal's  appeal  never  reached  Prokofiev.  "I 
had  not  at  that  time  fully  grasped  the  significance  of  what  was 
happening  in  the  U.S.S.R.,"  Prokofiev  explained  later.  "I  did 
not  realize  that  the  events  there  demanded  the  collaboration 
of  all  citizens  —  not  only  men  of  politics,  as  I  had  thought,  but 
men  of  art  as  well.  Moreover,  I  was  tied  down  by  the  routine 
of  the  life  I  was  leading:  publishing  compositions,  correcting 
proofs,  attending  concerts,  endeavoring  to  prove  my  point  in 
arguments  with  other  composers  representing  different  musi- 
cal trends.  Family  affairs  too  played  no  small  part:  the  long 
illness  of  my  mother,  ending  in  her  death,  my  marriage,  and 
the  birth  of  my  son." 

The  brief  pause  in  Prokofiev's  activities  during  his  sojourn 
in  Bavaria  was  something  in  the  nature  of  a  summing  up  of 
his  creative  endeavors  over  the  past  period.  The  Fifth  Sonata, 
Op.  38,  the  only  new  thing  he  wrote  here,  excluding  his  work 
on  The  Flaming  Angel,  was  on  the  borderline  between  the 
former  Prokofiev  style  relating  to  the  Petrograd  period  and 
the  new  "foreign"  Prokofiev.  While  in  the  C-major  first  move- 
ment the  classical  clarity  of  idea,  the  characteristic  emphasis 
on  fresh  harmonic  juxtapositions  and  unity  of  development 
(in  the  spirit  of  the  Third  and  Fourth  Sonatas)  still  predomi- 
nate, we  find  in  the  main  theme  of  the  finale  an  intricate 
chromatic  style,  an  unnatural  complexity  of  melody,  with  in- 
vention clearly  taking  the  upper  hand  over  genuine  feeling. 
Similar  themes  are  thenceforward  quite  common  in  Proko- 
fiev's music. 

I  lis  departure  for  Paris  from  Ettal  in  October  1923  marked 

94 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

a  new  period  in  Prokofiev's  work,  perhaps  the  least  significant 
of  all. 

What  can  we  say  about  the  five  years  (1918  to  1923)  that 
mark  the  first  stage  of  Prokofiev's  "foreign  period"?  From  the 
the  standpoint  of  his  career  as  a  composer,  the  first  five  years 
spent  abroad  marked  the  culmination  of  all  he  had  achieved 
until  then:  the  enormous  running  start  he  had  taken  in  the 
years  1916  and  1917,  the  powerful  creative  impulse,  had  con- 
tinued to  operate  under  foreign  conditions,  giving  rise  to  such 
significant  works  as  the  Third  Concerto,  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges,  the  Hebrew  Overture,  the  piano  pieces,  Op.  31  and 
32,  songs,  Op.  35  and  36,  and,  last  but  not  least,  The  Flaming 
Angel.  It  is  noteworthy  that  the  best  of  these  compositions, 
which  are  inseparably  bound  up  with  Russian  art  trends  of  the 
pre-Revolutionary  times,  had  been  conceived  before  the  com- 
poser left  Russia  (the  Three  Oranges,  the  themes  for  the  Third 
Concerto  and  The  Flaming  Angel) .  Op.  31  and  32  are  directly 
associated  with  the  style  of  the  Fugitive  Visions  and  other 
piano  pieces  of  the  "pre-foreign"  period.  The  Flaming  Angel 
was  likewise  an  expression  of  the  composer's  former  interests, 
the  expressionistic  guignol  tastes  that  had  made  themselves 
felt  in  Magdalene  and  such  of  the  earlier  piano  pieces  as 
Phantom  and  Despair. 

During  these  years  Prokofiev  had  completed,  revised,  and 
prepared  for  production  or  publication  a  number  of  composi- 
tions that  had  likewise  originated  in  Russia  (The  Buffoon, 
Violin  Concerto,  Second  Concerto  for  piano,  etc. ) . 

His  numerous  appearances  as  a  conductor,  and  especially  as 
a  pianist,  consolidated  abroad  the  renown  he  had  won  by  his 
attainments  while  in  Russia.  The  excesses  begun  in  St.  Peters- 
burg and  Moscow  were  continued  in  approximately  the  same 
forms  in  the  concert  halls  of  New  York,  London,  and  Chicago. 
The  powerful  oratorical  nature  of  Prokofiev's  piano  style  as- 
tounded, shocked,  and  frightened  the  academic  audiences  of 
the  West.  Regardless  of  his  personal  intentions  and  convic- 
tions, Prokofiev  the  composer  and  pianist  was  in  the  eyes  of 

95 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

the  Western  public  a  bearer  of  the  new  Russian  culture,  the 
artistic  expression  of  the  revolutionary  processes  that  were  at 
work  in  Russia. 

But  the  inertia  of  the  past  could  not  last  forever.  Having 
broken  away  from  the  national  and  social  sources  that  had 
nourished  him  for  so  long  even  at  such  a  distance  from  his 
homeland,  Prokofiev  had  found  no  new  potent  creative  stimuli 
for  himself  in  the  West.  From  1924  on,  his  absence  from  his 
native  land  began  to  exercise  an  increasingly  negative  influ- 
ence on  his  work. 


/  :  The  Crisis 


How  could  I  have  failed  to  emerge  for  a 
quarter  of  a  year  from  the  thrall  of  de- 
mons and  devils  —  I  who  am  so  accus- 
tomed to  the  clear  and  distinct  world  of 
ships'  rigging  and  military  maneuvers? 
Valery  Bryusov:  The  Flaming  Angel, 
Chapter  vi,  p.  1 37 


XARIS,  where  Prokofiev  took  up  his  residence  in  Oc- 
tober 1923,  became  his  chief  headquarters  for  the  next  ten 
years.  He  had  already  made  a  name  for  himself  in  Parisian 
music  circles  with  the  Scythian  Suite,  The  Buffoon,  and  the 
Third  Concerto.  His  removal  to  the  French  capital  coincided 
with  the  premiere  of  his  Violin  Concerto,  played  on  October 
18  by  Darrieux  under  the  direction  of  Koussevitzky.  The  serene 
lyrical  quality  of  the  concerto  had  but  little  attraction  for  the 
Paris  public,  with  its  insatiable  desire  for  new  thrills.  The 
more  celebrated  violinists,  including  Hubermann,  refused  to 
play  it.  Incidentally,  this  remarkable  piece  of  music  was  first 
played  by  an  ordinary  concert-master.1  The  Paris  critics  gave 

1  During  the  summer  of  1924  the  concerto  was  performed  at  a  musical 
festival  of  new  productions  in  Prague  by  Joseph  Szigcti,  thanks  to  whom  it  sub- 
sequently won  world  recognition. 

96 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

the  concerto  a  rather  cold  reception.  For  the  first  time  Proko- 
fiev found  himself  criticized  from  the  Left  for  writing  music 
that  was  too  lucid  and  not  sufficiently  intricate  in  pattern. 
Among  those  who  disapproved  of  the  concerto  were  the  com- 
posers Nadia  Boulanger,  Georges  Auric,  and  the  White  emigre 
Scriabinite  critic  Boris  de  Schloezer.  Auric  found  traces  of 
artificiality  and  what  he  called  Mendelssohnism  in  the  con- 
certo. 

The  living  and  human  quality  in  Prokofiev,  that  quality 
which  was  stubbornly  breaking  through  all  his  modernistic 
formalist  Leftism,  could  not  find  favor  with  the  sophisticated 
public  of  the  French  capital.  Hence,  from  the  very  beginning 
of  his  stay  in  Paris,  Prokofiev  felt  strong  hostile  pressure  from 
the  Left  formalistic  art  circles.  Somewhat  later  this  attitude  to 
Prokofiev's  art  was  expressed  with  brutal  frankness  by  Stravin- 
sky in  a  conversation.  Praising  Prokofiev  for  his  talents,  the 
Paris  maitre  admitted  that  there  was  "something  he  did  not 
like"  about  Prokofiev's  music:  "A  certain  instability  of  his  cul- 
ture, some  indefinable  quality  in  his  musical  gift,  precisely 
that  quality,  incidentally,  which  is  now  making  him  such  a 
success  in  Russia"  (Zhizn  Iskusstva,  June  14, 1927,  Leningrad, 
"A  Conversation  with  Stravinsky"). 

The  art  world  of  Paris  in  the  twenties  fundamentally  dif- 
fered but  little  from  that  noisy,  blatant  market-place,  with  its 
essential  indifference  to  genuine  art,  so  vividly  described  by 
Romain  Rolland  in  Jean-Christophe.  The  names  alone  had 
changed:  the  cult  of  Debussy  was  replaced  by  the  cult  of  Stra- 
vinsky. A  new  sextet  of  composers  was  being  strenuously 
pushed  to  the  fore  (Milhaud,  Honegger,  Poulenc,  Auric,  etc.), 
proclaiming  the  principles  of  constructivism  and  polytonality, 
the  cult  of  urbanist,  machine-like  art.  France  in  those  years 
was  jealously  striving  to  promote  her  own  national  youth,  a 
group  of  arrogant  young  musicians  totally  indifferent  to  tra- 
dition. 

Essentially,  however,  musical  life  remained  the  same  as  that 
described  in  Rolland's  La  Voire  sur  la  place:  "Composers 

97 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

searched  assiduously  for  new  chord  combinations  in  order  to 
express  —  does  it  matter  what?  New  expression.  Just  as  the  or- 
gan, it  is  said,  creates  the  need,  so  also  will  expression  finally 
generate  thought;  the  important  thing  is  that  it  be  new.  Nov- 
elty at  any  price!  They  lived  in  morbid  dread  of  anything  that 
had  been  'said  before.'  Even  the  most  talented  of  them  were 
paralyzed  by  this  dread." 

This  tendency  toward  pseudo-innovation  made  itself  most 
strongly  felt  in  the  art  of  postwar  France,  where  Left  artists  of 
all  shades  and  descriptions  vied  desperately  with  one  another 
in  upsetting  every  known  aesthetic  canon.  Impressionist  art, 
in  which  the  artist's  subjectivity  had  nevertheless  sprung  from 
some  perception  of  reality,  was  replaced  by  a  whole  series  of 
new  and  more  Left  trends  in  which  subjectivity  in  art  was 
carried  to  the  extreme.2  Reality  ceased  to  exist  for  the  artist; 
indeed,  nothing  mattered  except  subjective  impulse,  the  un- 
trammeled  license  of  the  artist  himself.  Turning  his  back  on 
living  nature,  the  artist  gave  expression  exclusively  to  his  own 
ideas,  concocting  things  and  splitting  them  up  into  their  com- 
ponent parts,  distorting  them  in  any  way  he  pleased.  Imagin- 
ing himself  a  superman,  capable  at  will  of  solving  and  explain- 
ing the  riddle  of  the  universe,  the  artist  depicted  an  object  not 
as  he  saw  it  in  life  but  as  he  knew  or  sensed  it.  The  result  was 
that  his  work  not  only  lost  all  reality,  but  carried  no  message. 
Its  value  was  measured  solely  by  the  ingenuity  and  originality 
of  the  artist,  whose  perception  of  life  was  governed  by  laws 
known  to  him  alone. 

Such  were  the  canons  of  the  new  art  that  flourished  in  west- 
ern Europe  during  the  period  of  the  First  World  War.3  This 

2  To  this  category  belonged  such  varied  trends  as  cubism  and  constructivism, 
with  their  cult  of  pure  form  and  business-like  lack  of  feeling,  or,  on  the  other 
hand,  German  expressionism,  with  its  mystical  symbolism  and  morbid  high- 
pitched  emotions. 

3  I  do  not  intend  to  touch  here  upon  the  question  of  the  great  internal 
contradictions  in  this  art,  its  rebellious  tendencies  reflecting  the  protest  of  the 
artistic  intelligentsia  against  the  antiquated  standards  of  academic  art.  It  is  no 
accident  that  many  artists  brought  up  on  expressionism  or  constructivism  sub- 
sequently took  the  road  of  revolutionary  social  art  (the  German  painters  George 
Grosz  and  others,  and  Hans  Eislcr  and  Honcggcr  in  music). 

98 


YEARS     OF    WANDERING 


was  the  atmosphere  in  which  Prokofiev's  music  developed 
during  his  years  in  Paris.  Finding  no  support  for  the  best  and 
healthiest  tendencies  in  him  manifested  in  the  past,  the  com- 
poser was  gradually  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  the  Paris  art 
world,  enticed  by  ultra-radical  advisers  from  the  Left. 

In  the  spring  of  1924  Kousseviteky  again  presented  Proko- 
fiev to  the  Paris  public.  On  May  8  the  composer  appeared  with 
a  new  version  of  his  Second  Concerto  and  on  May  29  the  can- 
tata Seven,  They  Are  Seven  was  performed  for  the  first  time. 
Both  compositions,  particularly  the  savagely  mystical  Chal- 
dean invocation,  suited  the  tastes  of  the  Paris  musical  world. 
This  time,  however,  Prokofiev  was  accused  of  using  old  com- 
positions to  win  new  success.  Determined  to  show  the  Pari- 
sians that  he  could  write  music  no  less  modernistic  than  the 
fashionable  Six,  he  conceived  a  plan  for  a  new  symphonic  work 
"made  of  iron  and  steel."  The  Second  Symphony  in  D  minor, 
Op.  40,  which  took  him  all  of  1924  to  compose,  is  one  of  the 
least  successful  of  Prokofiev's  works.  Employing  the  sharp  cu- 
bistic  methods  of  the  Scythian  Suite  (simultaneous  movement 
of  continually  recurring  figures  at  various  levels  of  the  orches- 
tra), and  using  a  huge  orchestra,  the  composer  created  an  edi- 
fice of  sound  that  was  extremely  complicated  and  overloaded, 
whose  barbaric  savage  noises  were  this  time  not  justified  bv  the 
subject.  Most  of  the  themes,  especially  the  principal  theme  of 
the  first  movement,  are  strikingly  artificial,  angular,  zigzagged, 
and  almost  geometrical  as  to  melody.  Borrowing  the  outline  of 
the  symphony  from  one  of  Beethoven's  later  works  (two-part 
structure  of  the  sonata  Op.  1 1 1  —  a  long  Allegro  followed  by  a 
theme  with  variations),  the  composer  was  unable  to  find  ade- 
quate ideas  and  emotions  to  inspire  it.  The  development  of  its 


10.  Second  Symphony,  1st  movement,  main  theme. 

99 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

idea  was  sacrificed  to  noise  effects  and  contrapuntal  intrica- 
cies, and  the  variations  seemed  artificial  and  lacking  in  that 
rich  multiformity  in  genre  which  was  so  enchanting  in  the 
variations  of  the  Third  Concerto.  On  the  whole,  the  symphony 
is  a  queer  cross  between  chaotic  primitive  barbarism  and  the 
ultra-modern  urbanist  machine  style  of  the  period. 

While  working  on  the  symphony  Prokofiev  wrote  the  music 
for  a  short  ballet,  Trapeze,  for  the  Romanoff,  a  roving  ballet 
company.  As  the  plot  (which  dealt  with  circus  life)  did  not 
particularly  interest  him,  the  composer  regarded  the  work  in 
the  light  of  a  purely  technical  problem  in  instrumentation: 
namely,  to  write  a  piece  of  chamber  music  for  an  unusual  com- 
bination of  instruments:  oboe,  clarinet,  violin,  viola,  and 
doublebass.  The  piece  was  subsequently  published  as  a  quintet, 
Op.  39,  and  performed  as  an  independent  chamber  work.4  The 
chromatic  style  of  the  quintet,  its  excessive  refinement  of  ex- 
pression, the  complex  constructivist  technique  of  its  simulta- 
neously developed  melodies,  and  the  studied  artificiality  of  its 
ideas  place  it  in  the  same  class  as  the  Second  Symphony. 

Following  a  number  of  recitals  in  the  1924-5  season,5  Pro- 
kofiev submitted  his  new  composition  to  the  judgment  of 
Paris.  When,  however,  on  June  6, 1925,  his  Second  Symphony 
was  performed  at  a  Koussevitzky  concert,  even  the  sophisti- 
cated Parisians  were  puzzled  by  it.  The  critics  were  unanimous 
in  expressing  their  disapproval  of  the  piece  and  their  disap- 
pointment in  Prokofiev's  gifts.  "It  occurred  to  me  that  I  might 
perhaps  be  destined  to  become  a  second-rate  composer,"  Pro- 
kofiev confesses.  And,  indeed,  fickle  Paris  was  as  capable  of  ex- 
alting a  fashionable  name  to  the  skies  as  of  trampling  it  in  the 
gutter.  "The  vogue  did  not  last  long  and  the  idol  invariably 
awoke  one  fine  morning  to  find  himself  on  the  rubbish-heap" 
(Jean-Christophe) .  This  was  the  sad  fate  that  threatened 

4  Later  the  composer  added  several  more  items  to  the  six  original  numbers 
(those  included  subsequently  in  Divertissement,  Op.  43). 

5  December  5,  recital  of  four  sonatas  in  Paris;  January  24,  first  pianoforte 
recital  in  Berlin;  March  14,  first  European  performance  of  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges  (Cologne). 

IOO 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

Sergei  Prokofiev.  Poverty,  disillusionment,  the  lot  of  the  de- 
posed idol  stared  him  in  the  face.  His  Soviet  friends  watched 
this  disastrous  decline  of  the  Prokofiev  vogue  in  Europe  with 
deep  regret.  "Paris  is  adamant:  Stravinsky,  Stravinsky,  and 
Stravinsky!  No  wonder  Prokofiev's  star  is  setting  on  that  hori- 
zon," commented  Zhizn  Iskusstva  a  year  later,  "and  ...  art 
circles  are  speaking  of  him  as  if  he  were  dead.  Prokofiev  does 
not  exude  the  odor  of  putrefaction  so  dear  to  the  nostrils  of 
the  Paris  bourgeois  .  .  ."  (Zhizn  Iskusstva,  No.  21,  1926,  ar- 
ticle by  N.  Malkov). 

At  this  critical  moment  Diaghilev,  his  former  patron,  re- 
membered him  again.  Shortly  after  the  performance  of  the 
Second  Symphony,  Diaghilev  made  Prokofiev  a  new  and  quite 
unexpected  offer.  This  time  the  famous  maitre  asked  for  a 
ballet  depicting  life  in  Soviet  Russia.  "I  could  not  believe 
my  ears,"  Prokofiev  recalls.  "It  was  as  if  a  fresh  breeze  had 
blown  through  my  window."  Georgi  Yakulov,  Soviet  theatri- 
cal constructivist  artist,  was  invited  to  write  the  libretto.  It  was 
decided  to  present  a  number  of  scenes  from  the  period  of  the 
Civil  War  and  the  new  industrial  upsurge  in  the  U.S.S.R.  The 
first  part  of  the  ballet  was  to  show  the  break-up  of  the  old  or- 
der: meetings,  speeches  by  commissars,  trains  full  of  food 
speculators,  a  former  duchess  bartering  her  gowns  for  food,  a 
Revolutionary  sailor,  and  homeless  waifs.  The  second  part  was 
to  present  a  picture  of  Socialist  construction,  the  building  of 
new  plants  and  factories,  yesterday's  sailor  turned  worker,  and 
so  on.  Prokofiev  launched  into  this  work  with  enthusiasm.  He 
welcomed  it,  firstly,  as  an  opportunity  to  write  music  with  a 
truly  Russian  flavor  and,  secondly,  to  proclaim  his  repudiation 
of  the  chromatic  intricacies  of  the  quintet  and  the  Second 
Symphony  and  his  return  to  a  strict,  purely  diatonic  style.  By 
the  autumn  of  1925  the  piano  score  of  the  new  ballet  was 
ready.  Diaghilev  accepted  it  for  production,  naming  it  Le  Pas 
d'acier.  Prokofiev's  symptomatic  turn  to  Soviet  subjects  was 
noted  with  interest  by  the  press  of  Moscow  and  Leningrad. 
The  production  of  the  new  ballet  in  Paris,  however,  was  ham- 

101 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

pered  by  diverse  political  considerations.  Diaghilev,  chary  of 
startling  his  Paris  clients  with  such  an  unexpected  subject,  was 
in  no  hurry  to  produce  it. 

While  working  on  the  orchestration  of  Le  Pas  d'acier  Pro- 
kofiev made  a  long  concert  tour  through  the  United  States  in 
the  winter  of  1925-6,  this  time  received  as  a  recognized  mas- 
ter. The  American  tour  was  followed  in  the  spring  of  1926  by  a 
number  of  concerts  in  Italy.  In  Naples  Prokofiev  met  and  was 
most  cordially  received  by  Maxim  Gorky,  who  carried  the  com- 
poser off  with  him  to  his  villa  in  Sorrento  for  a  long,  heart-to- 
heart  talk  lasting  far  into  the  night. 

The  year  1926  saw  Prokofiev's  name  once  again  in  the  lime- 
light, both  in  western  Europe  and  in  the  U.S.S.R.,  as  a  result 
of  a  few  performances  of  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges.6  Much 
was  done  to  popularize  Prokofiev's  music  in  this  period  by  the 
Moscow  Persimfans  orchestra,  the  first  symphony  ensemble 
without  a  conductor.  Composed  of  leading  Moscow  musicians, 
Persimfans  gave  concerts  every  Monday  in  the  Moscow  Con- 
servatory in  the  period  between  1922  and  1932. 

Bruno  Walter  also  became  interested  in  Prokofiev  at  this 
time,  and  offered  to  produce  his  Flaming  Angel  at  one  of  the 
Berlin  theaters.  In  the  summer  of  1926  Prokofiev  orchestrated 
and  revised  The  Flaming  Angel  and  worked  on  his  B-flat  major 
American  Overture.  The  latter,  ordered  by  a  New  York  music 
firm  for  the  opening  of  a  new  concert  hall,  was  intended  for  a 
seventeen-piece  orchestra.7  In  the  center  are  two  pianos, 
doubled  by  two  harps  and  a  celesta;  five  woodwinds  take  the 
lead,  supported  by  two  trumpets  and  a  trombone,  with  two 
cellos,  a  doublcbass,  and  a  few  percussion  instruments  for  ac- 
companiment. The  music  of  this  overture  was  distinguished 

8  On  February  18  the  opera  had  its  premiere  in  the  former  Maryinsky 
Theater  in  Leningrad  (conductor,  Dranislinikov;  producer,  S.  Radlov).  On 
October  9  it  was  produced  in  Berlin  (conductor,  Leo  Blcch).  In  Paris  the  opera 
was  not  a  success;  and  a  symphonic  suite  adapted  from  the  Three  Oranges, 
first  played  on  November  29,  1925,  was  coldly  received  by  Paris  circles.  This 
suite,  written  in  1924,  consisted  of  six  numbers:  "Odd  Fellows,"  "Scene  in 
Hades,"  March,  Scherzo,  "The  Prince  and  the  Princess,"  and  "Flight." 

7  Later,  in  1928,  the  overture  was  revised  for  a  large  orchestra. 

102 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

by  clarity  of  form,  simple  harmonics  in  a  gay,  festive  dance- 
manner,  offset  by  pleasant  lyrical  episodes,  now  contempla- 
tive, now  stirringly  poetic.  Were  it  not  for  several  deliberate 
eccentricities  in  some  of  the  episodes  (for  example,  the  abso- 
lutely unwarranted  intrusion  of  the  percussion  instruments  in 
the  main  theme  with  the  obvious  intent  of  marring  the  over- 
commonplace  flow  of  the  music) ,  one  might  have  thought  that 
the  composer  had  completely  abandoned  the  stylistic  excesses 
of  his  Paris  period. 

Beginning  with  1925,  Prokofiev's  connections  with  Soviet 
music  circles  began  to  grow,  through  correspondence  with  the 
Persimfans  and  with  the  management  of  the  Maryinsky  Thea- 
ter. After  having  been  dropped  so  abruptly  by  the  Parisians, 
the  composer  felt  that  the  interest  of  the  Soviet  public  in  his 
music  was  much  more  solid  and  sincere.8  To  the  West  Proko- 
fiev had  always  been  a  stranger  from  a  distant  land,  evoking 
little  more  than  a  passing  curiosity  (the  Americans  usually  re- 
ferred to  him  as  "that  young  Russian").  To  Soviet  musical 
circles,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  "our  Prokofiev/'  one  of  the 
outstanding  representatives  of  the  new  Russian  music.  In  one 
of  his  numerous  articles  on  music  written  in  the  spring  of 
1926,  Lunacharsky  said  of  Prokofiev's  work:  "The  freshness 
and  rich  imagination  characteristic  of  Prokofiev  bear  testimony 
to  his  unusual  talent.  .  .  .  His  pure  lyricism  is  tremendously 
significant.  ...  In  order  that  his  talents  may  blossom  to  the 
full,  Prokofiev  must  return  to  us." 

In  the  course  of  his  travels  in  America  and  Europe  in  1926 
Prokofiev  decided  to  visit  the  U.S.S.R.  In  January  1927,  after 
an  absence  of  nearly  nine  years,  he  returned  to  his  native  land. 
One  of  the  first  steps  he  took  upon  reaching  his  homeland  was 
to  take  Soviet  citizenship. 

8  In  addition  to  the  Leningrad  production  of  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges, 
much  interest  was  aroused  by  Feinberg's  performance  of  the  Third  Concerto 
(Moscow,  March  22,  1925,  under  the  direction  of  K.  Saradzhev),  the  Violin 
Concerto  by  Joseph  Szigeti  (1924-5),  the  first  performance  of  the  Scythian 
Suite  in  Moscow  (Persimfans)  and  a  number  of  performances  of  the  March 
and  Scherzo  from  the  Three  Oranges  (Oscar  Fried). 

103 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

His  three  months  in  the  U.S.S.R.  proved  to  be  a  grand  tri- 
umph, the  like  of  which  the  composer  had  never  before  ex- 
perienced. He  was  extremelv  happv  to  meet  many  of  his  old 
friends  and  fellow  musicians  —  Miaskovsky,  Asafvev,  Sarad- 
zhev,  and  others.  In  Moscow  Prokofiev  gave  eight  concerts  with 
tremendous  success.  Here  is  a  description  of  one  recital  given 
on  January  26:  "It  was  not  a  concert,  it  was  an  event.  The  few 
dissenting  voices  were  drowned  out  by  the  flood  of  unanimous 
recognition  and  approval.  There  was  a  sort  of  peculiar  magic 
in  the  performance  and,  indeed,  the  composer  himself  played 
with  an  elan  that  was  quite  natural,  considering  that  he  was 
playing  for  an  audience  that  could  not  but  be  particularly  near 
and  dear  to  him"  (Sovremennaya  Muzyha,  No.  20,  1927,  arti- 
cle by  K.  Kuznetsov).  More  cordial  still  was  the  reception  ac- 
corded Prokofiev  in  Leningrad.  "Between  concerts  I  roamed 
the  streets  and  embankments  recalling  with  tenderness  the 
city*  in  which  I  had  spent  so  manv  vears." 

Prokofiev  acquainted  himself  with  the  works  of  the  young 
Leningrad  composers,  and  was  especiallv  attracted  by  the  tal- 
ents of  twenty-year-old  Shostakovich  and  Gabriel  Popov.9  He 
was  much  pleased  bv  the  brilliant  production  of  The  Love  for 
Three  Oranges.  Lunacharskv,  who  was  with  him  at  the  opera, 
compared  it  to  a  "glass  of  champagne." 

After  Leningrad  the  composer  visited  Kharkov,  Kiev,  and 
Odessa,  giving  two  pianoforte  recitals  in  each  city*  before  re- 
turning to  Moscow,  where  he  gave  another  three  concerts.10 

His  visit  to  the  Soviet  Union  was  brief  this  time.  Although 
much  impressed  bv  the  new  culture  that  was  being  created 
in  his  Soviet  homeland,  and  deeply  flattered  by  the  warm  and 
friendlv  reception  he  had  been  given,  the  composer  was  not 


9  In  subsequent  vears  Prokofiev  exerted  no  small  effort  to  popularize  abroad 
the  work  of  Soviet  composers  —  Miaskovsky,  Shostakovich,  Shebhalin,  Khacha- 
turvan,  and  others.  On  one  of  his  American  tours  he  played  some  of  Miaskov- 
Whhnsies. 
10  At  one  of  these  concerts  his  quintet  with  woodwinds  (Op.  39)  was  per- 
formed for  the  first  time.  During  this  visit  to  the  U.S.S.R.  the  Overture  for  a 
scventccn-piecc  orchestra  (Op.  42)  had  its  premiere  in  Europe. 

IO4 


YEARS     OF    WANDERING 

yet  ready  to  sever  his  ties  with  the  West.  The  Diaghilev  pre- 
miere of  Le  Pas  d'acier  was  due  and  there  were  hopes  of  hav- 
ing The  Flaming  Angel  produced  in  Germany.  Notwithstand- 
ing his  Soviet  passport,  Prokofiev  continued  to  be  a  Parisian 
for  another  six  years. 

At  last,  in  June  1927,  he  Pas  d'acier  had  its  sensational  pre- 
miere in  Paris.  On  July  4  Diaghilev  even  risked  presenting  the 
ballet  in  London.  The  London  premiere  was  attended  by  the 
whole  English  fashionable  world,  including  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  The  majority  of  the  critics  gave  the  ballet  an  enthusi- 
astic reception. 

"For  one  familiar  with  the  Russian  ballet  .  .  .  the  presen- 
tation of  Prokofiev's  Bolshevist  ballet  was  something  of  a 
shock.  .  .  .  But  ...  if  the  'Red'  composer  writes  better 
music  than  Stravinsky,  then  let  us  hear  it  by  all  means,"  said 
the  Daily  Telegraph  (July  5) .  "He  travels  through  the  civilized 
world  but  refuses  to  belong  to  it"  (Daily  Mail,  July  11).  "As  an 
apostle  of  Bolshevism  he  has  no  peer.  Writers  and  orators  have 
been  telling  us  about  all  this  for  years,  but  Prokofiev's  ballet 
expresses  the  spirit  of  modern  Russia  better  than  all  their  ef- 
forts taken  together"  (Empire  News).  "With  the  exception 
of  the  Noces  this  is  the  most  powerful  Diaghilev  production 
of  the  postwar  period"  (the  Musical  Times,  August  1927). 
Some  critics  were  frankly  puzzled:  was  this  another  product 
of  the  inexhaustible  imagination  of  the  famous  Russian  pro- 
ducer,  or  was  it  merely  Bolshevik  propaganda?  "A  queer  pro- 
duction from  start  to  finish,  can  it  possibly  be  intended  to  re- 
place A  Life  for  the  Tsar?"  one  Paris  paper  wondered.  "You 
think  the  public  was  scandalized?  Not  in  the  least.  Snobs,  cast- 
ing their  eyes  upward,  breathed:  'charmant,'  'epatant,'  'rigoloj 
and  called  for  the  authors  seven  times  at  the  end  of  the  per- 
formance." No  less  sensational  was  the  success  in  England. 
"Like  the  Parisians  before  them,  the  Londoners  looked  and 
listened,  thrilled  by  the  spectacle,  and  at  every  pause  the  hall 
rocked  with  applause"  (Boston  Evening  Transcript,  July  23). 
In  reactionary  White  emigre  circles,  haunted  by  the  specter 

105 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

of  Communist  propaganda,  Le  Pas  d'acier  evoked  a  storm  of 
wrath  and  indignation. 

For  Prokofiev  this  ballet  was  a  sincere  attempt  to  draw  a 
true  picture  of  revolutionary  Russia.  However,  Diaghilev  made 
use  of  the  idea  to  produce  for  the  Paris  snobs  another  ex- 
travagant spectacle,  a  dash  of  Bolshevist  exoticism  to  tickle 
the  palates  of  the  elite.  It  showed  a  comical  sailor  tattooed 
from  head  to  foot,  with  an  ear-ring  in  one  ear  and  a  single  felt 
boot,  jolly  cigarette  and  candy  venders,  the  shabby  aristocrat 
selling  her  possessions  on  the  market,  and  steam  hammers 
raising  an  ear-splitting  din.  As  for  the  music  of  the  ballet,  the 
composer,  who  had  never  actually  known  Soviet  reality,  had 
to  limit  himself  to  depicting  externals  in  a  starkly  graphic 
manner.  He  was  primarily  concerned  with  the  naturalistic 
reproduction  of  factory  noises  and  the  rattle  and  din  of  the  ma- 
chinery. Here  the  purposeless  urbanism  of  the  Second  Sym- 
phony sought  for  a  justification.  The  Russian  melodies  he  in- 
vented to  portray  the  sailor,  the  commissar,  and  the  working 
woman  seemed  jagged  and  uneven,  and  were  almost  invariably 
mutilated  by  deliberately  discordant  counterpoint.  The  whole 
idea  of  revolutionary  reconstruction  in  Russia  was  reduced  by 
the  authors  of  Le  Pas  d'acier  to  a  noisy  though  picturesque 
hurly-burly,  motley  crowds  and  the  grinding  roar  of  engines, 
all  of  which  in  no  way  differed  fundamentally  from  the  me- 
chanical types  of  Western  urbanistic  art.  Presented  in  this  way, 
the  Soviet  types  were  actually  discredited,  notwithstanding  the 
composer's  good  intentions.  Few  and  far  between  in  the  score 
of  Le  Pas  d'acier  were  the  fresh,  unblemished  Russian  themes 
that  showed  that  the  composer  had  not  yet  forgotten  his  na- 
tive language  (for  example,  the  A-minor  theme  in  the  "Train 
of  Speculators"  episode. 

Several  other  premieres  of  Prokofiev's  works  occurred  simul- 
taneously with  Le  Pas  d'acier:  on  May  7  the  ballet  Die  Er- 
losten,  to  the  music  of  Ala  and  Lolli,  was  presented  in  Berlin; ri 

11  Max  Tcmpis,  ballet-master  at  the  Berlin  Opera,  supplied  the  music  of 
the  Scythian  Suite  with  a  mystical  plot  full  of  angels,  cherubs,  demons,  etc. 
Prokofiev  considered  the  production  a  failure. 

106 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

V,ott-  to        v/ 


11.  Le  Pas  d'acier,  The  Train  of  Speculators. 

on  May  19  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges  was  produced  at  the 
Moscow  Grand  Opera  (not  quite  so  successfully  as  in  Lenin- 
grad); on  October  11  a  ballet  to  the  music  of  Ala  and  Lolli 
was  performed  in  Buenos  Aires;  and  in  the  beginning  of  Janu- 
ary 1928  The  Buffoon  was  given  at  the  Kiev  Opera  House. 

Opera  still  continued  to  loom  large  among  Prokofiev's  in- 
terests. In  the  summer  of  1927  he  completed  the  orchestration 
of  The  Flaming  Angel.  However,  although  the  Berlin  Opera 
had  accepted  it  and  the  piano  score  with  the  text  in  German 
was  printed,  the  opera  was  never  produced.  Then,  discovering 
the  manuscript  of  The  Gambler  in  the  library  of  the  former 
Maryinsky  Theater  exactly  as  he  had  left  it,  Prokofiev  resumed 
work  on  this  opera.  Much  of  the  original  version,  written  eleven 
years  before,  struck  him  as  unnecessarily  complex  and  over- 
loaded with  musical  horrors.  He  simplified  a  number  of  epi- 
sodes, discarding  everything  that  encumbered  the  vocal  parts. 
In  this  way  the  second  version  of  The  Gambler,  produced  on 
April  29,  1929  at  the  Royal  Theater  of  Brussels,  came  into  be- 
ing.12 Somewhat  later,  in  1930-1,  The  Gambler  was  used  as  a 
basis  for  a  symphonic  suite  entitled  Portraits,  Op.  49,  which 
included  all  the  principal  musical  characteristics  of  the  opera 
(first  movement,  Alexei;  second  movement,  Babulenka;  third 

12  The  opera  was  carefully  produced,  but  was  not  understood  by  wide  sec- 
tions of  the  audience.  A  pianoforte  arrangement  of  the  opera  was  published  in 
1930  by  Gutheil  and  Koussevitzky. 

IO7 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

movement,  Pauline;  forth  movement,  the  General;  fifth  move- 
ment, Gambling  Den). 

After  two  virtually  barren  years  (apart  from  the  small  Amer- 
ican Overture  and  the  revision  of  The  Gambler  he  wrote 
nothing  in  1926  and  1927)  a  certain  creative  revival  occurred 
in  Prokofiev's  work.  1928  saw  the  advent  of  the  two  most  sig- 
nificant fruits  of  the  Paris  period:  namely,  the  Third  Sym- 
phony, Op.  44,  and  the  ballet  L'Enfant  prodigue,  Op.  46. 

The  Third  Symphony  represents  an  independent  non-pro- 
gram composition  incorporating  the  chief  musical  images  of 
The  Flaming  Angel.13  It  is  the  most  dramatic  and  emotional 
of  Prokofiev's  four  symphonies.  After  his  graceful  imitations 
of  court  music  [Classical  Symphony)  and  the  dizzy  intrica- 
cies of  his  iron  and  steel  music  (Second  Symphony),  the  com- 
poser wrote  a  powerful  and  stirring  narrative  of  human  passion 
and  suffering.  The  two  basic  themes  of  the  first  movement  are 
those  depicting  Renata's  mental  anguish  in  The  Flaming  An- 
gel: her  despair  (chromatic  ostinato  figures  in  the  introduc- 
tion) and  her  love  for  Madiel  (a  broad,  lilting  melody  on  the 
"white  keys") .  In  contrast  to  these  is  the  calm,  confident  subor- 
dinate theme  of  Rupprecht  the  Knight.  The  suffering  and  pain 
depicted  in  this  music  is  by  no  means  a  humble  submission  to 
the  forces  of  destiny;  it  is  presented  as  a  powerful  expression  of 
emotion,  couched  in  harsh,  biting,  unequivocal  phrases.  The 
forces  opposing  man  are  presented  not  as  abstract  symbols,  but 
as  a  palpable  world  of  revolting,  frightful  apparitions.  Hence 
the  stark  discordant  harmonies,  the  polytonal  touches,  and  so 
forth.  In  sharp  contrast  to  the  first  movement  is  the  detached, 
ethereal  music  of  the  Andante,  with  its  archaic  diatonism  (from 
the  beginning  of  Act  V  in  The  Flaming  Angel:  Renata  in  the 
monastery) .  The  wild  tempestuous  movement  of  the  Scherzo, 
as  the  composer  himself  admits,  was  suggested  by  the  finale 

13  The  composer  vehemently  protests  against  attempts  to  regard  the  sym- 
phony as  a  program  work  based  on  the  themes  of  The  Flaming  Angel,  on  the 
ground  that  the  principal  themes  of  the  piece  were  written  as  purely  instru- 
mental motivs  before  he  began  working  on  the  opera  (sec  his  "Notes"  in 
Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  No.  3,  1933)- 

108 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

of  Chopin's  B-flat  minor  Sonata,  here  intensified  tenfold  by 
the  furious,  chaotic  torrent  of  orchestral  color.  The  finale- 
brings  us  back  to  the  world  of  tragic  visions  and  monstrous  in- 
vocations, partly  repeating  the  material  of  the  first  movement. 
"J  feel  that  in  this  symphony  I  have  succeeded  in  deepening 
my  musical  language,"  Prokofiev  wrote  several  years  later.  "I 
should  not  want  the  Soviet  listener  to  judge  me  solely  by  the 
March  from  Three  Oranges  and  the  Gavotte  from  the  Classi- 
cal Symphony."  It  was  evidently  to  confirm  the  seriousness  and 
depth  of  his  symphonic  quests,  as  well  as  in  tribute  to  a  friend- 
ship of  many  years'  standing,  that  Prokofiev  dedicated  this 
symphony  to  Miaskovsky,  one  of  the  most  confirmed  sym- 
phonists  of  our  time.14 

But  if  the  Third  Symphony  was  something  of  an  "echo  of 
the  past,"  being  made  up  chiefly  of  materials  relating  to  1918 
and  1919,  L'Enfant  prodigue  represented  a  new  departure  in 
Prokofiev's  music. 

It  was  Diaghilev's  last  order  to  Prokofiev  for  his  ballet 
troupe.  Having  given  the  Parisians  a  taste  of  "Bolshevist  ex- 
oticism" with  he  Pas  d'acier,  the  indefatigable  producer  pro- 
posed a  new  subject  to  Prokofiev,  this  time  from  the  Gospel 
according  to  St.  Luke.  The  Diaghilev  ballet,  it  will  be  seen, 
had  an  absolutely  unlimited  range  of  themes  to  choose  from: 
yesterday  scenes  from  the  Bolshevik  Revolution  in  Russia, 
today  the  Biblical  parable  of  the  prodigal  son.  And  inasmuch 
as  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  Luke  is  not  exactly  suitable  for  a 
ballet  libretto  in  its  original  form,  Diaghilev  and  his  colleagues 
added  some  of  the  necessary  details.  The  Prodigal  Son,  leav- 
ing his  father's  home,  meets  his  friends,  who  make  him  drunk 
and  rob  him,  after  which  he  returns,  beaten  and  humiliated, 
to  his  father.  For  the  love  intrigue  they  introduced  a  liaison 

14  The  Third  Symphony  was  first  played  in  Paris  on  May  17,  1929.  In  the 
United  States  it  was  frequently  performed  by  Leopold  Stokowski.  It  has  been 
given  several  times  in  the  U.S.S.R.  (Dranishnikov,  Hauck,  and  the  composer 
himself),  meeting  with  the  approval  of  the  critics  (see  the  article  by  A.  Alsch- 
wang  in  Sovietskoye  Iskusstvo,  November  1935).  There  is  a  four-hand  arrange- 
ment of  the  symphony  by  Miaskovsky  (in  manuscript). 

IO9 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

between  the  leading  character  and  a  certain  Beautiful  Maiden. 
The  scene  with  the  elder  brother,  which  drives  home  the 
moral  of  the  fable,  they  discarded  altogether,  adding  instead 
the  Prodigal's  sisters,  moving  characters,  and  his  wicked  friends. 
The  story  ended,  as  in  the  Bible,  with  the  repentance  of  the 
Prodigal  Son  and  complete  absolution  for  his  sins.  Diaghilev's 
choice  of  a  Biblical  theme  was  rather  symptomatic.  Disillu- 
sioned by  the  excesses  of  cubism  and  the  emptiness  of  con- 
temporary art,  many  French  artists  as  far  back  as  the  first  half 
of  the  twenties  had  turned  to  ancient  or  Biblical  themes,  thus 
giving  rise  to  a  certain  type  of  neo-classicism.  After  his  sub- 
jectless  cubistic  designs  Picasso  went  back  to  Ingres;  Stravin- 
sky after  Mavra  and  L'Histoire  du  soldat  wrote  CEdipus  Rex 
and  later  the  Symphonie  de  psaumes,  blazing  the  trail  to  a  sort 
of  deliberate  neo-Bachism.  Tired  of  its  own  childishness  and 
anti-aesthetic  nihilism,  art  attempted  to  become  rational, 
subtle,  and  intelligent.  It  sought  to  save  itself  in  eternal 
themes,  in  the  imitation  of  a  classical  style  that  had  died  out 
long  since,  from  the  complete  ideological  and  artistic  degen- 
eration to  which  superficial  experimentation  was  inevitably 
leading.  But  the  dead  Latin  revived  by  Stravinsky  in  his  CEdi- 
pus Rex  was  even  more  of  a  sealed  book  to  the  living  human 
listener  than  the  blatant  primitiveness  of  his  make-believe 
world.  Absence  of  ideas  and  principle,  the  worship  of  form  for 
its  own  sake,  continued  to  serve  as  the  banner  of  French  bour- 
geois art,  notwithstanding  the  employment  of  more  serious 
themes  of  universal  human  interest. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  that  Diaghilev's  L'Enfant  prodigue, 
exquisitely  stylized  by  the  artist  Rouault,  with  the  gay  sinner 
executing  all  manner  of  dizzy  battements,  could  seriously 
broach  any  philosophical  problems.  For  as  keen  and  vital  an 
artist  as  Prokofiev,  who  had  striven  always  to  give  his  own  in- 
dividual musical  interpretation  of  his  concrete  observations  of 
life,  the  parable  as  a  theme  could  not  have  been  much  more 
than  an  abstraction. 

Nevertheless,  the  philosophical  aspect  of  the  subject,  not- 

110 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

withstanding  its  remote  Biblical  setting,  had  a  certain  positive 
influence  on  his  work.  Unwilling  to  follow  the  lead  of  Stra- 
vinsky's museum-like  neo-classicism,,r'  Prokofiev  was  obliged 
to  grope  his  way  alone  toward  a  new  lyrical  and  melodic  style. 
The  ballet  was  written  in  Paris  in  the  autumn  of  1928,  and  the 
piano  score  was  ready  in  three  months.  Diaghilev  was  as- 
tonished at  the  composer's  speed. 

Bound  neither  by  problems  of  style  nor  by  decorative  de- 
scription (unlike  The  Buffoon  and  he  Pas  d'acier,  L'Enfant 
prodigue  had  no  elements  of  local  color) ,  the  composer  strove 
to  bring  out  primarily  the  purely  emotional  aspect  of  the  work. 
This  gave  rise  to  some  extremely  fine  lyrical  music:  the  theme 
of  the  parting  between  the  parents  and  the  Prodigal  Son,  the 
Beautiful  Maiden's  theme,  and  the  theme  of  the  Prodigal  Son 
in  the  scene  of  his  encounter  with  his  friends.  The  composer's 
interest  in  a  new  melodic  style,  intimately  lyrical  and  contem- 
plative, requiring  neither  the  colorful  harmony  of  opera  nor 
the  rich  timbre  of  orchestral  music,  was  evident  in  these 
themes.  Complex' harmonic  constructions  and  the  search  for 
entirely  new  modal  and  harmonic  combinations  ceased  to  at- 
tract Prokofiev;  he  frequently  conducted  his  themes  in  unison 
or  octave,  rejecting  harmonic  support  altogether.16  The  music 
was  clear  in  tone,  discords  occurring  only  as  a  result  of  thin 
contrapuntal  superimpositions  or  blots.  There  emerged  a  new 
orchestral  palette,  thin,  economic,  pencil-drawn,  with  the  lone 
and  delicate  timbres  of  flutes,  oboes,  clarinets.  After  the  heav- 
ily splashed  color  and  fiery  tones  of  the  Scythian  Suite  and  the 
stinging  orchestra  of  The  Buffoon,  this  palette  seemed  rather 
exaggeratedly  ascetic. 

In  the  Beautiful  Maiden  a  new  Prokofiev  character  was 
evolved,  that  of  the  young  Botticelli  ethereal  maiden  endowed 

15  "For  my  own  part  I  am  not  satisfied  with  his  latest  works,  with  all  their 
Bachisms  and  false  notes,"  Prokofiev  said  in  an  interview  (Rabochi  Teatr, 
February  22,  1927). 

16  Prokofiev  had  also  had  recourse  to  these  methods  previously  in  certain 
lyrical  passages;  for  example,  Fugitive  Vision  No.  11,  and  even  more  often  in 
tense,  dynamic  themes  (first  and  third  parts  of  the  Third  Concerto). 

Ill 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

with  a  sad,  exquisite  grace.  Her  emotions  are  far  more  restrained 
and  virginal  than  the  passionate  exaltation  of  Pauline  in  The 
Gambler  or  Renata  in  The  Flaming  Angel.  She  is  undoubtedly 
the  prototype  of  Juliet  and  perhaps  also  of  Cinderella.  In 
L'Enfant  prodigue  the  composer  relegated  sound  description 
to  a  secondary  plane  (the  pure  character  scenes  of  the  Prodigal 
Son's  encounter  with  his  comrades,  the  carousal  and  the  rob- 
bery), abandoned  sheer  decorative  landscape  music  altogether, 
and  reduced  to  a  minimum  the  elements  of  pure  dancing  (the 
only  real  dance  number  is  the  "Men's  Dance"  No.  4,  perhaps 
the  weakest  item  in  the  whole  ballet) . 

At  the  same  time  the  music  of  L'Enfant  prodigue  brought 
out  the  negative  aspects  of  Prokofiev's  new  style:  his  deliberate 
rejection  of  logic,  the  incoherence  of  his  different  thematic 
formations,  his  arbitrariness,  the  incomprehensible  harshness 
of  some  of  his  polyphonic  passages,  and  his  studied  combina- 
tion of  musical  episodes,  which  are  repeated  without  any  at- 
tempt at  development. 

The  poetical  qualities  of  L'Enfant  prodigue,  the  sincere 
lyricism  expressed  in  its  pale,  autumnal,  yet  delicate  and  hu- 
man images,  were  brought  out  subsequently  with  far  greater 
force  in  the  music  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  (which,  incidentally, 
also  brought  out  its  negative  qualities,  particularly  a  certain 
mechanical  combining  of  thematic  scenes) . 

In  the  summer  of  1928,  spent  in  a  little  village  near  Paris, 
Prokofiev  composed  two  small  piano  pieces  that  he  called 
Things  in  Themselves  (Op.  45).  This  was  his  first  reversion 
to  his  favorite  sphere  of  piano  music  since  the  Fifth  Sonata, 
written  five  years  before.  The  new  piano  technique  evolved  in 
Paris,  however,  was  far  removed  from  that  active,  healthy, 
virile  piano  style  which  had  distinguished  his  earlier  works.  The 
Things  in  Themselves  was  followed  by  a  series  of  piano  minia- 
tures similar  in  genre  and  style:  two  sonatinas,  Op.  54,  in  E 
minor  (1931)  and  G  major  (1932),  three  pieces,  Op.  59  — 
Promenade  (1934),  Landscape  (1933),  nnc^  Pastoral  Sonatina 
(1934)  —  and,  finally,  three  pieces  called  Thoughts  ( 1933— 

112 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

4).  It  was  difficult  to  recognize  the  old  Prokofiev  in  these 
pieces.  The  rhythmic  elasticity  and  clarity  of  idea  had  disap- 
peared. Fervor  of  feeling  and  youthful  vigor  had  given  place  to 
a  cold,  rational  outlook.  The  old  impulsiveness  and  use  of 
rich  tone  color  had  given  way  to  dull,  bare  outlines.  The  com- 
poser had  even  renounced  his  former  predilection  for  the 
dance,  song,  and  theatrical  action. 

This  was  both  new  and  strange.  A  musician  whose  art  ap- 
peared to  spring  wholly  from  the  stage  and  concrete  theatrical 
depiction  suddenly  plunged  into  a  realm  of  intellectual  con- 
struction and  rational  speculation  utterly  foreign  to  his  nature. 
The  reasons  for  this  sudden  metamorphosis  were  not  difficult 
to  guess.  In  the  first  place,  new  French  bourgeois  art,  with  its 
emphasis  on  rationalism  and  its  new  puristic  tendencies,  could 
not  but  have  affected  him.  Most  important,  however,  was  the 
fact  that  Prokofiev  had  lost  his  ties  with  the  living  sources  of 
his  art.  Having  neither  the  practical  possibilities  nor  the  fa- 
vorable external  stimuli  for  the  creation  of  music  reflecting  one 
or  another  aspect  of  reality,  the  composer  was  forced  to  draw 
upon  his  own  personal  abstract  reflection.  The  result  was  ex- 
tremely paradoxical:  Prokofiev,  who  in  his  youth  had  rebelled 
against  ivory-tower  aloofness  and  the  contemplative  introspec- 
tion of  modernist  piano  music,  himself  finally  revived  the  typi- 
cal parlor  style,  intended  for  a  narrow  circle  of  select  con- 
noisseurs. 

True,  the  new  Prokofiev  piano  pieces  as  well  as  the  lyrical 
passages  of  L'Enfant  prodigue  did  show  evidences  of  a  deter- 
mined attempt  to  write  profound  and  earnest  music.  But  that 
which  the  composer  had  conceived  as  an  expression  of  a  philo- 
sophic principle,  as  music  of  the  mind  ( Things  in  Themselves, 
Thoughts),  might  have  been  taken  for  the  mere  mechanical 
reflection  of  his  thought-processes. 

The  few  years  remaining  before  his  final  return  to  the 
U.S.S.R.  saw  the  aggravation  of  the  crisis  in  Prokofiev's  work. 
He  had  more  and  more  frequent  recourse  to  his  former  compo- 

113 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

sitions,  revising  them  or  incorporating  them  into  new  works. 
In  1929  he  completed  a  new  version  of  his  youthful  Sin- 
fonietta,  Op.  5,  somewhat  encumbered  by  new  harmonic 
details,  revealing  a  growing  preference  for  smaller  forms 
(added  second  and  fourth  movements),  and  renumbered 
as  Op.  48. 

Out  of  the  material  for  the  ballet  music  written  in  1925  for 
the  Romanoff  troupe,  with  the  addition  of  two  new  numbers, 
emerged  a  four-part  Divertissement  for  orchestra,  Op.  43  (the 
first  movement,  "Moderato,"  and  the  third,  "Dance,"  were 
written  in  1925;  the  second  movement,  "Nocturne/'  and  the 
fourth,  "Epilogue,"  in  1929). 

From  the  music  of  L'Enfant  prodigue  came  three  new 
works:  the  Symphonic  Suite,  Op.  46-A,  the  Fourth  Symphony, 
Op.  47  (1930) ,  and  a  number  of  pianoforte  transcriptions,  Op. 
52  (six  pieces  written  in  1931  include  three  fragments  from 
L'Enfant  prodigue,  a  transcription  of  one  of  Prokofiev's  songs, 
Op.  35,  the  Andante  from  the  String  Quartet,  Op.  50,  and 
the  Scherzo  from  the  Sinfonietta) . 

On  May  21,  1929  the  premiere  of  L'Enfant  prodigue  was 
performed  in  Paris.  It  was  given  on  the  same  program  with 
Stravinsky's  Renard.  Both  composers  conducted  their  own 
music. 

The  ballet  was  a  success.  Particularly  impressive  was  the 
final  episode,  in  which  the  repentant  Prodigal  Son  crawled  on 
his  knees  toward  his  father  across  the  whole  stage.  Shortly 
afterward  Diaghilev  presented  the  ballet  in  Berlin  and  Lon- 
don. Press  comment  was  favorable  everywhere.  This  was  Di- 
aghilev's  last  ballet,  for  in  the  summer  of  1929  he  died  in 
Venice.  One  of  the  most  important  threads  binding  Prokofiev 
to  the  West  had  snapped.  "The  brilliant  master  of  ceremonies 
of  Russian  art,"  as  Alexandre  Benois,  the  artist,  had  called 
him,  ended  his  days  as  an  emigre,  having  long  since  ceased  to 
represent  the  progressive  art  of  his  day. 

In  1929  the  Paris  press  commented  on  a  few  of  Prokofiev's 
new  symphonic  compositions:   the  Third  Symphony   (May 

114 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

1929),  the  Sinfonietta  and  Divertissement  (performed  in  De- 
cember 1929  at  a  Koussevitzky  concert). 

In  the  autumn  of  1929  Prokofiev  made  his  second  trip  to 
Moscow,  to  discuss  the  production  of  Le  Pas  d'acier  at  the 
Grand  Opera.  He  was  unable  to  give  any  recitals  on  this  trip 
owing  to  some  trouble  with  his  hands  (his  only  appearance 
was  to  conduct  a  radio  concert  of  his  own  music).  His  recep- 
tion this  time  was  considerably  cooler  than  in  1927. 

The  year  1930  was  marked  by  a  grand  tour  of  the  United 
States,  where  Prokofiev  gave  twenty-four  concerts  with  leading 
American  orchestras.  On  this  tour  he  received  a  number  of 
orders:  the  Fourth  Symphony  was  written  for  the  Boston 
Symphony  Orchestra,  and  the  Quartet,  Op.  50,  for  the  Library 
of  Congress  in  Washington.  Hopes  of  producing  The  Flaming 
Angel  in  one  of  the  American  theaters  were  revived,  but  again 
nothing  came  of  them. 

The  relatively  unproductive  year  1929  was  followed  by  three 
significant  compositions  in  1930:  the  Fourth  Symphony,17  the 
string  quartet,  and  the  ballet  Sur  le  Borysthene. 

The  most  interesting  of  them  was  the  Quartet  in  B  minor, 
Op.  50, 18  which  was  somewhat  unusual  in  form  (three  move- 
ments: an  Allegro  in  sonata  form,  a  Scherzo,  and  a  slow  lyri- 
cal finale).  The  music,  like  that  of  L'Enfant  prodigue,  is  here 
predominantly  deep,  calm,  and  contemplative  —  for  example, 
the  subordinate  theme  in  the  first  movement,  the  introduction 
to  the  Scherzo  and,  finally,  the  main  part  of  the  quartet,  a 
soothing,  sorrowful  Andante  with  some  passages  almost  frankly 
reminiscent  of  Mussorgsky. 


17  Written  for  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  Boston  Svmphonv  Orchestra, 
it  was  played  for  the  first  time  in  Boston  on  November  14,  1930.  It  is  the 
gentlest  and  most  intimate  of  all  Prokofiev's  svmphonies.  The  first  and  fourth 
movements  were  new  versions  of  L'Enfant  prodigue  themes:  the  rest  was  almost 
completely  borrowed  from  the  music  of  the  ballet  (second  movement,  return 
of  the  Prodigal  Son;  third  movement,  description  of  the  Beautiful  Maiden). 

13  The  Library  of  Congress  in  Washington  has  been  in  the  habit  of  order- 
ing new  works  from  renowned  modern  composers  to  add  to  its  manuscript  de- 
partment. The  quartet  was  first  performed  in  Washington  on  April  25,  1931, 
at  a  special  festival. 

"5 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 


tSKtssrJo    WxtomSc 


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12.  Quartet,  Opus  50,  Andante. 

More  typical  of  Prokofiev  were  the  classical  main  theme  of 
the  first  movement  (anticipating  the  main  theme  of  the  Sec- 
ond Violin  Concerto )  and  the  sparkling  semi-dance  theme  of 
the  Scherzo.  The  music  is  marred  only  by  a  few  rather  unusual 
and  apparently  unjustified  polyphonic  effects. 

The  history  of  the  advent  of  the  ballet  Sur  le  Borysthene, 
Op.  51,  is  striking  evidence  that  Prokofiev's  talent  had  reached 
a  crisis  in  its  development.  The  ballet  had  been  ordered  by  the 
management  of  the  Paris  Opera  in  the  summer  of  1930.  There 
was  no  definite  subject,  and,  indeed,  it  was  not  easy  to  find  a 
subject  for  an  opera  theater  with  no  dominating  artistic  prin- 
ciples. It  was  decided  to  solve  the  problem  simply:  the  com- 
poser wrote  the  music  on  the  basis  of  a  purely  abstract  plan 
providing  for  a  succession  of  "intensifications,"  "lyrical  mo- 
ments," and  "upsurges."  When  and  where  the  action  was  to 
take  place,  what  characters  were  to  be  depicted  —  all  these 
questions  were  to  be  shelved  for  the  time  being.  All  that  ex- 
isted was  the  general  framework  of  the  piece,  worked  out  in 
conjuction  with  the  ballet-master:  a  "lyrical  moment"  here,  a 
variation  in  fast  tempo  there,  a  pensive  mood  here,  a  passion- 
ate outburst  of  emotion  there.  When  this  abstract  skeleton 
was  filled  with  music,  a  more  or  less  suitable  story  was  to  be 
woven  around  it.  Could  an  artist  as  discerning  and  observant 
as  Prokofiev  possibly  have  departed  farther  from  reality  than 
this? 

The  plot  turned  out  to  be  extremely  simple.  A  soldier  falls 
in  love  with  a  peasant  girl;  this  is  demonstrated  by  tender  love 
scenes  and  sentimental  pas  de  deux.  But  the  father  wants  the 

116 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

girl  to  marry  someone  else.  The  betrothal  takes  place  and  the 
rejected  soldier  turns  up  at  the  feast  and  fights  the  bridegroom. 
The  fight  is  the  dramatic  culmination  of  the  ballet.  The  soldier 
is  seized  and  tied  to  a  tree.  In  the  end  he  is  released  by  his 
sweetheart  to  the  accompaniment  of  soft  music. 

The  fact  that  the  action  takes  place  sur  le  Borysthene  (on 
the  Dnieper)  was  decided  upon  at  the  last  minute,  evidently 
as  a  concession  to  the  Russian  artists  Larionov  and  Goncha- 
rova,  who  were  responsible  for  the  settings.  The  very  mention 
of  the  Dnieper  was  carefully  disguised  by  the  use  of  its  ancient 
Greek  name  Borysthene.19  And  although  Larionov  did  try  to 
depict  the  beauty  of  the  Ukrainian  landscape  in  spring  with 
the  apple  trees  in  bloom,  there  was  essentially  nothing  Ukrain- 
ian about  the  performance. 

In  the  music  of  this  ballet  Prokofiev  repeated  the  experi- 
ment of  L'Enfant  prodigue  with  its  extremely  abstract  action 
beyond  time  and  space.  There  was  of  course  no  question  of  in- 
troducing any  Ukrainian  color  into  the  music.  The  lyrical 
images  were  much  less  human  and  warm  than  in  L'Enfant 
prodigue,  and  the  character  episodes  not  nearly  so  poignant 
and  dramatic.  The  fact  that  Prokofiev  as  composer  and  dram- 
atist had  no  real  subject  to  work  on  could  not  but  have  af- 
fected the  music. 

Sur  le  Borysthene  was  the  last  major  work  for  the  theater 
written  by  Prokofiev  abroad.  By  this  time  the  composer  saw 
clearly  that  in  western  Europe  of  his  day  there  was  no  room 
for  development  in  musical  drama.  No  one  was  interested  in 
his  operas.  The  Flaming  Angel  could  find  no  producer,  and  to 
write  new  operas  was  useless  when  no  one  would  produce 
them.  In  any  case  there  were  no  subjects,  no  leading  ideas  left 
for  operas.  "It  often  seems  that  one  subject  is  just  as  useless 
as  another." 

Soon  after  the  premiere  of  Sur  le  Borysthene  and  a  new 

19  The  ballet  Sur  le  Borysthene  (dedicated  to  the  memory  of  Diaghilev) 
was  presented  by  Serge  Lifar  on  one  program  with  two  other  short  ballet  novel- 
ties at  the  Paris  Opera  on  December  16,  1932.  It  was  not  a  success,  and  was 
soon  taken  out  of  the  repertory. 

liy 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

chamber  piece  —  a  sonata  for  two  violins  —  Prokofiev  left  for 
his  sixth  concert  tour  of  the  United  States.  He  played  his 
Third  and  Fifth  Piano  Concertos  with  Frederick  Stock,  Bruno 
Walter,  and  other  distinguished  conductors.  Some  of  his  more 
complex  works  of  the  latter  period  puzzled  the  American  pub- 
lic. After  the  performance  of  the  Portraits,  Prokofiev  recalls, 
one  American  concert-goer,  sitting  in  the  box  adjoining  his, 
said  loudly:  "I'd  like  to  meet  that  guy  [the  composer].  I'd  tell 
him  a  thing  or  two!"  "I  hastily  took  my  leave,"  Prokofiev  says. 

The  last  of  Prokofiev's  foreign  compositions  were  purely  in- 
strumental: the  Fourth  and  Fifth  Piano  Concertos,  the  Sonata 
for  two  violins,  Op.  56,20  Symphonic  Song,  Op.  57,  and  a  Con- 
certo for  the  cello,  Op.  58. 

The  Fourth  Piano  Concerto  (for  the  left  hand)  was  written 
to  order  for  the  repertory  of  the  one-armed  pianist  Paul  Witt- 
genstein (1931  ).21  The  Fifth  Concerto  (1932),  on  the  other 
hand,  showed  evidence  of  new  experiments  in  the  sphere  of 
piano  technique,  resumed  after  a  lapse  of  eleven  years.  The 
machine-like  Toccata,  in  the  athletic  style  of  the  earlier  Pro- 
kofiev, presents  his  bold  jumps,  hand-crossing,  and  Scarlatti 
technique  in  highly  exaggerated  form.  The  tendency  to  wide 
skips  a  la  Scarlatti  is  carried  to  monstrous  extremes;  sheer  feats 
of  piano  acrobatics  completely  dominate  the  principal  move- 
ments of  the  concerto  (first  and  third  movements,  toccata; 
fifth  movement,  finale).  In  the  precipitate  Toccata  this  dy- 
namic quality  degenerates  into  mere  lifeless  mechanical  move- 
ment, with  the  result  that  the  orchestra  itself  seems  to  be  trans- 


20  The  Sonata  for  two  violins  was  composed  in  Paris  in  1932  for  the  Triton, 
a  society  for  popularizing  modern  chamber  music,  which  was  supported  by  a 
group  of  composers  including  Milhaud,  Honcggcr,  Poulenc.  and  Prokofiev  him- 
self. The  sonata  was  first  performed  at  the  inauguration  of  the  society  on  De- 
cember 16,  1932,  the  same  day  as  the  premiere  of  Sur  le  Borysthene. 

21  The  Austrian  pianist  Wittgenstein  was  extremely  popular  at  that  time 
in  European  musical  circles;  concertos  for  the  left  hand  were  written  for  him 
by  Richard  Strauss,  Maurice  Ravel,  and  other  composers.  Prokofiev's  extremely 
complex  concerto  displeased  the  pianist  to  such  an  extent  that  he  refused  to 
play  it,  and  it  was  never  performed.  It  consists  of  four  movements,  the  first  and 
fourth  of  which  abound  in  virtuoso  passages;  the  second  movement  is  an 
Andante,  and  third  an  Allegro  in  sonata  form. 

Il8 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

formed  into  a  huge  mechanism  with  fly-wheels,  pistons,  and 
transmission  belts. 

The  brittle,  urbanistic  style  of  this  work  is  relieved  by  only 
a  few  oases  of  gentle  lyricism  —  for  example,  in  the  subordi- 
nate theme  of  the  first  movement  in  the  spirit  of  the  lyrical 
themes  of  L'Enfant  prodigue,  in  the  gavotte-like  theme  of  the 
second  movement,  later  swamped  by  the  floridity  of  the  de- 
velopment in  the  form  of  variations,  in  the  lilting  "lullaby" 
theme  of  the  fourth  movement,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the 
finale.22 

The  foreign  period  in  the  work  of  Prokofiev  ended  rather 
aptly  with  the  Symphonic  Song,  Cello  Concerto,  and  Three 
Pieces,  Op.  59.  The  first  two  of  these  compositions  made  no 
impression  whatsoever  on  the  Soviet  audiences. 

How,  then,  can  the  so-called  foreign  period  in  Prokofiev's 
musical  career  be  summed  up  in  a  nutshell.  Although  the  for- 
eign period  covers  the  years  between  1918  and  1927,  it  made 
itself  felt  in  his  writings  between  1924  and  1934,  when  the 
bourgeois  Paris  influences  were  still  strong  in  him.  This  latter 
period  was  incidentally  the  least  productive  of  his  career. 

Even  a  superficial  chronological  review  of  this  period 
evinces  certain  ominous  signs.  Instead  of  the  thirty-four  opus 
numbers  produced  between  1909  and  1919,  the  decade  1924- 
34  saw  only  twenty  opus  numbers,  among  them  many  dupli- 
cations, revisions,  and  rearrangements  of  old  compositions.  To 
this  period  belong  a  number  of  works  made  to  order  or  written 
for  chance  occasions,  and  instrumental  pieces  devised  from 
the  material  for  all  manner  of  music  for  the  stage. 

Prokofiev  did  not  write  a  single  opera  or  vocal  work  in  these 
ten  years.  His  favorite  sphere,  music  born  of  living  human  in- 
tonation, was  neglected.  His  piano  style  acquired  a  rather  do- 
mestic, introspective  flavor,  and  even  became  somewhat  pallid 
and  anemic.  The  virtuoso  compositions  (Fifth  Piano  Con- 
certo) had  lost  their  former  realism  and  theatrical  vividness 

22  The  first  performance  of  the  Fifth  Concerto  was  given  on  October  31, 
1932  in  Berlin. 

11Q 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

and  were  reduced  to  a  cold  and  sober  neo-Scarlatti  trend. 
While  striving  to  avoid  the  influence  of  the  bourgeois  vogue, 
and  sometimes  even  making  a  stand  against  it,  Prokofiev  was 
nevertheless  tied  down  by  the  Paris  artistic  environment.  This 
explains  his  vacillations  between  the  constructivist  excesses  of 
the  Second  Symphony  and  the  quintet,  the  machine-like  natu- 
ralism of  Le  Pas  d'acier  and  the  purist  rationality  of  UEnfant 
prodigue  and  the  later  piano  pieces. 

At  the  same  time  certain  compositions  of  the  Paris  period 
gave  evidence  of  new  and  vital  style  features:  namely,  the  dra- 
matic tensity  of  the  Third  Symphony,  the  original  lyrical 
images  in  UEnfant  prodigue,  the  search  for  Russian  melody  in 
the  quartet,  Le  Pas  d'acier,  and  some  of  the  piano  pieces  (Pen- 
sees,  Op.  62).  This  yearning  for  Russian  melody  was  expressed 
both  in  Prokofiev's  unconscious  emulation  of  Mussorgsky  and 
in  his  interest  in  folk-songs;  Prokofiev  first  attempted  to  adapt 
Russian  folklore  to  music  in  the  two  songs  White  SnowEakes 
and  Guelder-Rose,  published  in  Paris  in  1931. 

Many  years  before,  Karatygin  and  Igor  Glebov  had  pre- 
dicted the  growth  of  a  lyrical  trend  in  Prokofiev's  music,  which 
had  not  appeared  too  frequently  in  his  earlier  compositions. 
"It  seems  to  me,"  wrote  Glebov,  "that  Prokofiev,  stormy  and 
temperamental  in  his  conception  of  external  phenomena,  is 
utterly  transformed  as  soon  as  he  ventures  into  the  sphere  of 
intimate  feeling.  I  feel  that  he  has  not  yet  fully  revealed  him- 
self in  this  sphere,  that  he  has  great  potentialities  there"  (Sov- 
remennaya  Muzyka,  No.  19,  1927,  article  "Eight  Years"). 

And  Glebov  was  right.  For  a  long  time  Prokofiev  had  been 
persistently  seeking  an  outlet  for  his  pent-up,  repressed  lyri- 
cism. But  the  pointless  art  of  bourgeois  Paris  had  not  been 
conducive  to  the  realization  of  these  tendencies.  Hence  the 
abstract  and  deliberate  reticence  of  his  lyricism  in  Things  in 
Themselves  and  Thoughts.  Most  of  his  work  belonging  to  the 
end  of  the  twenties  and  the  early  thirties  was  actually  no  more 
than  experimentation  in  a  new  lyrical  style  that  took  final 
shape  after  his  return  to  the  Soviet  Union.  The  search  for  a 

120 


YEARS     OF     WANDERING 

new  melodic  style  that  began  with  the  lyrical  episodes  in  the 
Overture,  Op-.  42,  and  continued  in  the  lyricism  of  L'Enfant 
prodigue  and  the  Quartet,  Op.  50,  brought  Prokofiev  at  last 
to  the  melodic  wealth  of  the  Second  Violin  Concerto,  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  and  other  compositions  of  the  Soviet  period. 

It  remains  to  be  added  that  the  years  spent  abroad  had  in- 
itiated Prokofiev  into  all  the  secrets  of  the  technique  of  mod- 
ern composition.  He  had  learned  from  the  bottom  up  all  there 
was  to  know  about  contemporary  music  in  the  West.  And 
what  he  had  learned  had  convinced  him  that  the  professional 
mastery  of  the  Western  composers  was  pointless,  without  a 
future,  and  utterly  devoid  of  content.  The  year  1933-4  mai"ked 
a  sharp  dividing  line  in  Prokofiev's  work.  The  crisis  of  the  Paris 
period  had  ended  with  the  Symphonic  Song  and  the  Cello 
Concerto,  and  the  composer  now  launched  upon  a  new  path 
under  new,  Soviet  conditions. 


121 


Book  III 

Soviet  Artist 


O  :  New  Views 

For  four  years  I  fought,  and  now  I  am 
home  again. 

(Semyon  Kotko) 

T 

XT  gives  me  great  joy  to  be  home  again  in  the  Soviet 
land,"  Prokofiev  said  to  Moscow  newspapermen  in  November 
1932  (Sovietskoye  Iskusstvo,  November  27,  1932).  "Two 
things  struck  me  about  the  U.S.S.R.,"  he  wrote  at  that  time, 
"the  unparalleled  creative  activity  among  the  Soviet  compos- 
ers ..  .  and  the  colossal  growth  of  general  interest  in  music 
clearly  evidenced  by  the  huge  new  contingents  of  the  public 
that  now  fill  the  concert  halls"  (Vechernaya  Moskva,  De- 
cember 8,  1932). 

Moscow  in  1932-3  was,  as  it  is  today,  one  of  the  liveliest  art 
centers  of  Europe. 

Prokofiev  was  swiftly  drawn  into  the  orbit  of  new  artistic 
interests.  He  undertook  to  write  music  for  the  cinema  and 
theater,  planned  to  teach  practical  composition  in  the  Moscow 
Conservatory,  sought  assiduously  for  new  opera  librettos,  hop- 
ing under  Soviet  conditions  to  be  able  at  last  to  see  his  ideas 
in  the  field  of  musical  drama  take  shape.  In  numerous  state- 
ments to  the  press  he  emphasized  the  sharp  contrast  between 

122 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

bourgeois  opera,  utterly  devoid  of  purport,  and  the  wealth  of 
themes  and  subjects  suggested  by  Soviet  life.  "The  ordinary 
subject  matter  of  the  West  now  repels  me,"  he  said.  "It  strikes 
me  as  rather  useless  and  is  tinged  with  an  indifference  that 
might  be  called  formalism.  .  .  .  One  subject  is  as  pointless  as 
another  —  that  is  the  inevitable  impression  one  gets  from  the 
recent  products  of  Western  music.  .  .  .  When  you  come  to 
the  U.S.S.R.  from  abroad,  you  are  instantly  aware  of  an  essen- 
tial difference:  here  music  for  the  theater  is  really  necessary 
and  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  the  subject  matter:  the  subject 
must  be  heroic  and  constructive  (creative),  for  these  are  the 
traits  that  best  characterize  the  present  epoch.  I  have  a  great 
desire  to  write  an  opera  on  Soviet  themes.  ...  In  my  spare 
time  between  concerts  I  have  been  reading  a  large  number  of 
librettos  with  the  greatest  interest"  (Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  No. 
3,  1933,  "Notes"  by  S.  Prokofiev). 

Prokofiev  spent  1933  and  1934  taking  stock  of  his  surround- 
ings, gradually  finding  his  own  place  in  the  Soviet  scheme  of 
things.  During  this  time  his  world  outlook  became  more 
clearly  defined  and  purposeful.  His  credo  during  the  period  of 
his  wanderings  abroad  had  been  innovation  in  general,  the 
quest  for  new  sounds  and  harmonies,  the  creation  of  an  original 
music  unlike  anything  known  theretofore.  He  admitted  as 
much  in  one  of  his  American  interviews:  "The  cardinal  virtue 
(or,  if  you  like,  vice)  of  my  life  has  always  been  the  search  for 
originality,  for  my  own  musical  language.  I  hate  imitation,  I 
hate  hackneyed  methods.  I  do  not  want  to  wear  anyone  else's 
mask.  I  want  always  to  be  myself." 

But  in  this  distaste  for  routine,  this  constant  striving  for 
something  new,  it  was  difficult  to  find  any  positive  conviction 
that  would  determine  the  meaning  and  the  purpose  of  his 
work.  Such  inordinate  passion  for  novelty  at  all  costs  had  been 
sharply  ridiculed  by  Lenin  in  one  of  his  conversations  with 
Clara  Zetkin:  "Why  should  we  turn  away  from  the  truly  beau- 
tiful, why  reject  it  as  a  point  of  departure  for  further  develop- 
ment merely  because  it  is  old?  Why  is  it  necessary  to  worship 

123 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

the  new  as  one  might  worship  a  god  to  whom  we  must  submit 
merely  because  'it  is  new'?"  (Clara  Zetkin:  "Reminiscences 
and  Meetings/'  Moskovsky  Rabochy,  1925). 

It  was  not  until  he  returned  to  the  Soviet  Union  that  Proko- 
fiev began  to  strive  consciously  toward  a  goal  worthy  of  a  great 
artist:  namely,  to  create  for  the  people,  for  the  broad  masses 
of  music-lovers  who  understand  and  appreciate  real  creative 
art. 

"In  the  Soviet  Union  music  exists  for  the  millions  who  for- 
merly had  to  live  without  it  or  who  rarely  came  in  contact  with 
it.  It  is  to  these  new  millions  that  the  modern  Soviet  composer 
must  cater,"  wrote  Prokofiev  in  an  article  published  in  Izvestia 
on  November  16,  1934.  True,  in  his  theoretical  utterances  one 
could  at  times  detect  echoes  of  his  former  modernistic  views 
on  art,  of  a  tendency  to  divide  music  into  two  categories:  a 
higher  category  for  the  "connoisseurs"  and  a  lower  category 
for  everyone  else.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  idea  had  been  cur- 
rent at  one  time  in  musical  criticism  and  had  given  rise  to  a 
corresponding  classification  of  compositions.  In  his  article 
Prokofiev  speaks  on  the  one  hand  of  "great  music,"  capable  of 
"posing  problems  even  to  leading  musicians,"  and  on  the 
other  of  "lightly  serious"  or  "seriously  light"  music,  compre- 
hensible to  all.  Appraising  his  own  works  of  this  period  he 
places  his  Symphonic  Song,  Sur  le  Borysthene,  and  Third  and 
Fourth  Symphonies  in  the  first  category,  and  Lieutenant 
Kije,  Egyptian  Nights,  and  his  popular  songs  in  the  second. 

This  theoretical  misconception  took  practical  shape  in  his 
music,  giving  rise  to  a  deliberately  simplified  style  in  some  of 
his  popular  songs,  which  were  clearly  intended,  according  to 
his  own  classification,  for  the  "second  group"  (especially  most 
of  the  songs  of  Op.  79) .  On  the  other  hand,  in  the  case  of  his 
best  works  (Romeo  and  Juliet  and  Alexander  Nevsky  suites, 
etc.)  he  refuted  his  own  aesthetic  standards  by  producing 
music  that  appealed  equally  to  connoisseurs  and  to  the  general 
public. 

Three  years  later  Prokofiev  gave  a  much  deeper  and  more 

124 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

correct  analysis  of  the  tasks  facing  the  Soviet  composer  in  an 
article  published  in  Pravda.  Real  innovation  in  art,  he  pointed 
out,  could  not  be  based  on  any  attempt  to  meet  the  "low" 
tastes  of  the  average  audience  half-way,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
must  take  its  stand  on  the  constant  development  of  the  Soviet 
public.  "Music  in  our  country  has  truly  come  to  belong  to  the 
wide  masses.  Their  artistic  taste,  the  demands  they  place  upon 
art,  are  growing  with  incredible  speed.  And,  bearing  this  in 
mind,  the  composer  must  make  the  corresponding  'amend- 
ments' to  every  new  work  he  produces.  It  is  something  like 
shooting  at  moving  targets.  Only  by  aiming  ahead  at  tomorrow 
will  he  avoid  lagging  behind  today's  requirements.  That  is  why 
I  feel  that  every  attempt  at  simplification  on  the  part  of  a  com- 
poser is  a  mistake"  (Pravda,  December  31,  1937). 

"What  is  real,  what  is  good?"  Prokofiev  asks  in  another 
article.  "Not  vulgar  tunes  that  are  pleasing  at  first  but  soon 
become  incredibly  boring,  but  music  with  its  roots  in  the  clas- 
sics and  in  folk-songs"  (the  magazine  Pioneer,  No.  7,  1939). 

In  accordance  with  his  new  aims  and  principles,  his  choice 
of  subject  matter  changed.  Under  Soviet  conditions  there  is 
no  need  for  the  artist  to  obscure  his  ideas  with  the  hazy  am- 
biguity of  "things  in  themselves,"  comprehensible  only  to 
himself  and  a  select  circle  of  the  initiated.  Under  Soviet  con- 
ditions it  would  be  similarly  unnatural  for  an  artist  to  indulge 
in  sheer  grotesque,  distortion,  or  caricature  of  reality.  "What 
subject  do  I  seek?"  the  composer  asked  himself.  "Not  a  carica- 
ture of  shortcomings  ridiculing  the  negative  features  of  our 
life.  At  the  present  moment  this  does  not  attract  me.  What  in- 
terests me  is  a  subject  asserting  a  positive  principle.  The  hero- 
ics of  construction.  The  new  man.  The  struggle  to  overcome 
obstacles.  These  are  the  moods  and  emotions  with  which 
I  should  like  to  fill  large  musical  canvases"  (Vechernaya 
Moskva,  December  6, 1932) .  Prokofiev's  new  declarations  were 
not  mere  words.  Once  he  had  planted  his  feet  firmly  on  the 
ground  and  felt  himself  a  participant  in  the  great  community 
of  Soviet  intellectuals  building  a  new  culture,  the  composer 

125 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

began  to  work  with  redoubled  energy.  His  music  beginning 
with  1934-5  *s  amazing  for  its  intensity  and  for  the  significance 
of  its  creative  ideas. 

On  the  face  of  it  this  period  in  his  career  was  uneventful. 
Long  journeys  and  concert  tours  were  few  and  far  between. 
The  composer  was  utterly  immersed  in  his  composing.  Even 
his  favorite  medium,  the  piano,  was  unfortunately  neglected.1 

Composition  possessed  him  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else.  When  G.  G.  Neuhaus,  on  behalf  of  many  admirers  of 
Prokofiev's  pianoforte  performance,  advised  him  to  arrange  a 
recital,  he  replied:  "I  can't  do  it.  It  would  cost  me  half  a 
sonata." 

The  sole  diversions  from  his  creative  work  were  his  social 
activity  in  the  Moscow  Union  of  Composers,  of  which  he  was 
a  member  of  the  board  and  chairman  of  the  Consulting  Com- 
mittee, or  an  occasional  game  of  chess,  a  favorite  pastime 
from  childhood. 


y  :  Composition 


|ET  us  make  a  brief  survey  of  the  highlights  of  Pro- 
kofiev's work  in  recent  years. 

The  first  of  his  Soviet  works,  written  in  1933,  was  the  music 
for  the  film  Lieutenant  Kije  after  the  story  by  Y.  Tynyanov 
(Leningrad  Belgoskino  Studios,  director  A.  Feinzimmer). 
This  was  in  the  nature  of  a  trial  of  the  pen  under  the  new 
Soviet  conditions.  For  the  first  time  after  wandering  so  long 
in  a  maze  of  subjectless  music  the  composer  was  at  last  able  to 
tackle  a  concrete  problem:  to  provide  the  musical  settings  of 
old  St.  Petersburg  under  the  reign  of  Paul,  with  its  parades,  its 

1  Incidentally,  his  later  solo  performances,  particularly  his  performance  of 
the  First  Piano  Concerto  in  February  1941,  again  astounded  his  hearers  by  the 
inexhaustible  power  and  energy  of  his  gifts  as  a  pianist. 

126 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

military  ceremonies  after  the  Prussian  pattern,  and  its  dashing 
Hussars.  The  anecdote  about  the  lieutenant  who  existed  on 
paper  only  because  of  a  mistake  made  by  the  secretary,  offered 
rich  possibilities  for  grotesque  effects.  But  Prokofiev  resisted 
the  temptation  and  gave  instead  an  almost  realistic  reproduc- 
tion of  the  epoch,  complete  with  the  Russian  snows,  the  dull 
parade-ground  ceremonies,  the  sentimental  ditty  with  a  faint 
flavor  of  parody  to  it,  and  the  tinkling  sleighbells.  His  St. 
Petersburg  was  closer  to  the  stylized,  gently  ironic  engravings 
of  Dobuzhinsky  than  to  the  cynical  caricatures  in  Stravinsky's 
Mavra  or  Shostakovich's  The  Nose.  A  year  later,  in  1934,  ^T0~ 
kofiev  revised  the  orchestration  and  made  a  symphonic  suite 
(Op.  60)  out  of  this  music. 

The  music  for  Egyptian  Nights,  staged  by  A.  Tairov  in  the 
Moscow  Kamerny  Theater  (1933),  was  written  almost  simul- 
taneously with  Lieutenant  Kije.  Carried  away  by  the  image  of 
Cleopatra,  Tairov  attempted  to  combine  three  texts  written 
in  three  distinct  styles:  Antony  and  Cleopatra  by  Shakespeare, 
Egyptian  Nights  by  Pushkin,  and  Csesar  and  Cleopatra  by 
Bernard  Shaw.  The  result  was  artificial  and  cumbersome.  Yet 
for  Prokofiev  this,  his  first  encounter  with  Shakespeare's  great 
passions  and  strong,  cruel  heroes,  was  most  fruitful  indeed. 
The  music  for  Egyptian  Nights  provides  settings  masterfully 
executed  in  rich,  somber  tones  —  tense,  thrilling  night  alarms, 
echoes  of  fierce  battles,  the  austere  grandeur  and  majesty  of 
the  ancient  world.  Against  the  subtly  conveyed  historical  back- 
ground the  contours  of  powerful  human  characters  take  shape 
in  the  themes  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra.  The  best  episode  in 
the  symphonic  suite  made  in  1934  from  the  music  of  Egyptian 
Nights  is,  in  the  composer's  own  estimation,  No.  6,  "Eclipse 
of  Cleopatra";  No.  3,  "Alarm,"  written  for  percussion  instru- 
ments alone  (bass  and  side  drum  plus  kettle-drums),  is  also 
particularly  interesting. 

Prokofiev  spent  part  of  1933  abroad,  where  he  wrote  his 
Symphonic  Song,  several  piano  pieces,  sketches  for  a  cello  con- 
certo, and  a  symphonic  suite  from  the  ballet  Sur  le  Borysthene. 

127 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

All  this  was  in  the  nature  of  a  summing-up  of  the  Paris  period 
of  his  work.  The  three-movement  Symphonic  Song  was  con- 
ceived by  the  composer  as  a  complex  lyrical  and  philosophical 
work  representing  three  successive  states:  obscurity,  struggle, 
and  achievement.  But  the  exposition  proved  to  be  so  confusing 
that  even  Koussevitzky,  who  had  invariably  upheld  all  of  Pro- 
kofiev's most  Left  compositions,  was  at  a  loss. 

The  premiere  of  the  Symphonic  Song  in  Moscow,  on  April 
14,  1934,  failed  to  arouse  the  interest  of  the  public.  Soviet- 
skaya  Muzyka  (No.  6,  1934)  criticized  it  severely.  The  Sym- 
phonic Song,  said  this  magazine,  "has  no  cantabile  quality; 
it  is  not  a  song  at  all  in  our  sense  of  the  word.  We  regard  it  as 
a  symphonic  monologue  for  the  few,  as  the  sad  tale  of  the 
eclipse  of  the  fading  culture  of  individualism."  The  gist  of  the 
article  was  that  any  continuation  of  the  tendencies  evinced  in 
the  Symphonic  Song  would  be  quite  unsuitable  under  Soviet 
conditions. 

Prokofiev  spent  a  large  part  of  1934  m  tne  U.S.S.R.,  put- 
ting the  finishing  touches  to  suites  adapted  from  the  music  of 
Lieutenant  Kije  and  Egyptian  Nights,  trying  his  hand  at  mass 
songs,  and  interchanging  ideas  with  Soviet  musicians.  He  spent 
the  summer  in  Polenovo,  where  the  artist  P.  Konchalovsky 
painted  his  portrait.  At  the  end  of  the  year  he  conceived  the 
idea  for  a  new  major  work;  together  with  the  producer  S.  Rad- 
lov  he  outlined  the  plan  for  a  ballet  on  the  theme  of  Romeo 
and  Juliet. 

In  the  meantime  Prokofiev's  standing  was  high  in  the  West. 
In  1934  the  Academy  of  Music  in  Rome  elected  him  to  honor- 
ary membership.  A  group  of  French  musicians  asked  him  to 
write  a  new  major  violin  piece  for  the  famous  violinist  Robert 
Soctens,  giving  Soetens  exclusive  rights  in  the  piece  through- 
out the  first  year.  First  conceived  as  a  sonata  for  violin  and  or- 
chestra, this  work  finally  assumed  the  dimensions  of  a  grandi- 
ose composition  —  the  Second  Violin  Concerto  (Op.  63).  It 
was  composed  in  the  first  half  of  1935,  in  the  intervals  between 
numerous  concert  appearances.  One  part  was  written  in  Paris, 

128 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

another  in  Voronezh,  a  third  in  Baku,  and  so  on.  The  score 
was  completed  in  Baku  on  August  16,  1935.  That  same  sum- 
mer Prokofiev  concentrated  on  his  new  ballet,  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  which,  apart  from  a  few  additional  sections,  was  ready 
early  in  September  1935. 

In  Polenovo,  where  he  spent  the  summer  of  1935,  the  com- 
poser wrote  a  number  of  simple  pieces  for  childern,  with  typi- 
cal program  titles  (Morning,  The  Walk,  Fairy-tale,  Repent- 
ance, Grasshoppers'  Parade,  Rain  and  Rainbow).  As  he  himself 
admits,  his  former  predilection  for  the  sonatina  had  reawak- 
ened in  him.  The  last  of  these  pieces,  The  Moon  Goes  over  the 
Meadows,  executed  in  the  style  of  a  Russian  folk-song,  was 
inspired  by  the  scenery  at  Polenovo.  To  the  imposing  list  of 
compositions  produced  in  1935  were  added  a  few  popular 
songs  to  texts  by  Soviet  poets  —  Partisan,  My  Country  is  Grow- 
ing, Anyutka,  and  others.  Anyutka  won  second  prize  at  a  con- 
test of  mass  songs  arranged  by  Pray  da  (no  first  prize  was 
awarded).  Prokofiev's  first  six  mass  songs,  collected  as  Op.  66, 
marked  the  beginning  of  a  long  series  of  compositions  on  So- 
viet themes.  Thus  by  the  end  of  the  third  year  of  his  work  in  the 
Soviet  Union  there  were  already  definite  signs  of  a  consider- 
able change  in  Prokofiev's  output  in  the  direction  of  serious 
themes  replete  with  ideas  and  a  new  simplicity  and  clarity  of 
style. 

Early  in  October  1935  the  composer  gave  a  public  perform- 
ance of  the  music  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  at  Moscow.  Comment- 
ing on  the  concert,  Izvestia  spoke  with  undisguised  approval 
of  Prokofiev's  new  "realistic  language"  (Izvestia,  October  6, 
1935).  A  controversy  at  once  arose  in  connection  with  the  du- 
bious attempt  to  tack  a  happy  ending  on  to  the  Shakespearean 
plot;  in  the  original  version,  Juliet  was  to  be  resurrected,  and 
the  ballet  was  to  have  ended  with  a  joyous  dance  of  the  lovers. 
Most  of  the  critics,  however,  opposed  making  any  such  mod- 
ernization of  Shakespeare  for  the  sake  of  the  old  ballet  tradi- 
tions, and  the  original  plot  was  finally  restored. 

During  the  winter  of  1935-6  Prokofiev  accompanied  Rob- 

129 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

ert  Soetens  on  a  long  concert  tour  that  included  Spain,  Portu- 
gal, Morocco,  Algeria,  and  Tunis.  The  new  violin  concerto 
had  its  premiere  in  Madrid  on  December  1,  1935.1  In  their 
joint  appearance  Prokofiev  and  Soetens  played  chamber  pieces 
by  Beethoven  and  Debussy.  A  year  later  the  Second  Violin 
Concerto  was  played  in  Moscow  by  Fischmann,  and  in  1937 
became  part  of  the  repertory  of  the  famous  American  violinist 
Jascha  Heifetz. 

In  April  a  new  symphonic  composition  came  into  being  — 
Peter  and  the  Wolf,  a  symphonic  fairy-tale  for  children.  Pro- 
kofiev himself  wrote  the  story  of  the  brave  Pioneer  Peter,  who 
cleverly  outwitted  the  wicked  Wolf.  The  music  and  the  spoken 
text  are  given  simultaneously  in  the  form  of  a  musical  mono- 
logue. This  was  an  entirely  new  departure  for  Prokofiev,  his 
first  attempt  to  write  an  orchestral  piece  for  children,  giving 
in  attractive  form  an  object  lesson  in  instrumentation.  "Every 
character  in  this  story,"  wrote  the  author  in  his  introduction 
to  Peter  and  the  Wolf,  "is  represented  by  a  corresponding  in- 
strument in  the  orchestra:  the  flute  is  the  Bird,  the  oboe  the 


SHDANTINO 

M                                                                                                  > 

> 

(yl    *    L-J   L~f^=f= 

1    1     1    _^   \    —  p    f — 

kMI1*   ii  Jinn  ml 

<      /    ]"ii  I       ai^  i 

J   4.    i  i    J.-*   *    i 

Ur4     r-                1 

1 3.  Peter  and  the  Wolf,  theme  of  Peter  the  Pioneer. 


1   In  a  concert  conducted  by  Enrique  Fernandez  Arbos.  —  Editor. 

13O 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

Duck,  the  clarinet  played  staccato  in  the  low  register  is  the 
Cat,  the  bassoon  is  Grandpa,  three  French  horns  are  the  Wolf, 
the  string  quartet  is  Peter,  and  the  kettle-drums  and  bass 
drum  are  the  hunters'  rifle-shots.  Before  the  performance  it  is 
advisable  to  show  these  instruments  to  the  children  and  to 
play  the  leitmotivs  on  each  instruments.  In  this  way  the  chil- 
dren will  be  able  without  the  slightest  effort  to  recognize  the 
diverse  orchestral  instruments  in  the  course  of  the  perform- 
ance." 

Thus,  twenty-two  years  after  The  Ugly  Duckling,  Prokofiev 
once  again  created  a  gallery  of  clever  and  amusing  animal  por- 
traits as  vividly  depicted  as  though  painted  from  nature  by  an 
animal  artist.  The  carefree  twittering  of  the  Bird,  the  languor- 
ous purring  of  the  Cat,  the  blood-curdling  howls  of  the  Wolf, 
the  quacking  of  the  Duck  as  it  waddles  lazily  along,  are  all 
presented  with  the  gentle  tolerant  humor  of  a  story-teller  who 
understands  the  musical  tastes  and  requirements  of  children. 

The  piece  has  since  been  performed  many  times  in  Moscow 
and  in  the  larger  cities  of  the  United  States  for  adult  audiences 
as  well  as  for  children.  The  American  public  was  particularly 
enthusiastic.  In  Chicago,  Peter  and  the  Wolf  was  presented  on 
the  stage  as  a  ballet  (by  Adolph  Bolm).  The  text  of  the  story 
was  published  in  a  special  de  luxe  edition.  The  critics  com- 
pared Prokofiev's  gift  for  depiction  with  that  of  Walt  Disney.2 

Prokofiev's  interest  in  themes  for  children  induced  him  to 
write  three  more  small  songs  to  words  by  Soviet  poets:  Chat- 
terbox (Barto),  Sweet  Melody  (Sakonskaya),  and  Little  Pigs 
(Mikhalkov).  These  songs  were  collected  as  Op.  68. 

The  Soviet  art  world  in  1936  was  preparing  for  two  impor- 
tant jubilees:  the  twentieth  anniversary  of  the  October  Revo- 
lution and  the  centenary  of  the  death  of  Pushkin.  Both  these 
occasions  were  reflected  in  Prokofiev's  music.  At  the  end  of 
1935  he  conceived  the  idea  of  writing  a  large  piece  for  orches- 


2  The  piano  score  of  Peter  and  the  Wolf,  Op.  67,  was  published  by  the 
State  Music  Publishing  House  in  1937;  the  orchestral  score  appeared  in  1940. 
The  piece  was  first  performed  by  the  Moscow  Philharmonic  in  May  1936. 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

tra  and  chorus  to  depict  the  history  of  the  October  Revolution. 
In  the  course  of  1936  and  the  early  part  of  1937  tms  idea  gradu- 
ally took  shape.  The  composer's  plan  was  an  ambitious  one. 
He  proposed  to  write  music  for  chorus  and  orchestra  to  the 
actual  words  of  Marx,  Lenin,  and  Stalin.  "Lenin  wrote  in 
such  graphic  and  convincing  language  that  I  did  not  want  to 
resort  to  any  versified  exposition  of  his  ideas/'  declared  the 
composer.  "I  wanted  to  go  right  to  the  source  and  use  the  ac- 
tual words  of  the  leader"  (Vechernaya  Moskva,  June  22, 1936) . 

The  cantata  written  for  the  twentieth  anniversary  of  the 
October  Revolution,  and  completed  in  1937,  consists  of  ten 
parts: 

Part  One:  orchestral  introduction  (the  epigraph  to  this  is 
the  phrase  from  the  Communist  Manifesto:  "A  specter  is 
haunting  Europe  — the  specter  of  Communism"); 

Part  Two:  Philosophers  (chorus  to  the  text  taken  from 
Marx's  theses  on  Ludwig  Feuerbach:  "The  philosophers  have 
interpreted  the  world  in  various  ways;  the  point,  however,  is 
to  change  it"); 

Part  Three:  orchestral  interlude; 

Part  Four:  "We  are  marching  in  a  compact  group  along  a 
precipitous  and  difficult  path"  (chorus  to  Lenin's  words  from 
What  is  to  be  Done?); 

Part  Five:  orchestral  interlude; 

Part  Six:  Revolution  (chorus  to  texts  from  articles  and 
speeches  by  Lenin,  October  1917); 

Part  Seven:  Victory,  orchestra  and  chorus  (to  texts  from 
Lenin); 

Part  Eight:  Stalin's  Pledge  (chorus  to  text  taken  from  Sta- 
lin's speech  at  the  bier  of  Lenin ) ; 

Part  Nine:  Symphony,  for  symphony  orchestra  and  accor- 
dion orchestra  (theme,  Socialist  construction); 

Part  Ten:  The  Stalin  Constitution  (chorus  to  text  taken 
from  Stalin's  speech  at  the  Eighth  Extraordinary  Congress 
of  Soviets). 

The  cantata  was  intended  for  a  huge  number  of  performers, 

132 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

no  less  than  five  hundred  people:  two  choruses,  professional 
and  amateur,  and  four  orchestras,  symphony,  brass,  percussion, 
and  accordion. 

The  grandeur  and  novelty  of  the  artistic  problem  posed  by 
the  composer  are  indisputable.  Moreover,  the  salutary  effect 
on  the  composer  of  this,  his  first  attempt  at  a  subject  of  such 
vast  political  significance,  cannot  be  overestimated.  Neverthe- 
less, the  cantata,  Op.  74,  will  remain  interesting  merely  as  an 
experiment  in  the  development  of  Prokofiev's  art.  Brilliant  as 
the  utterances  of  the  great  leaders  of  the  Revolution  undoubt- 
edly were,  they  were  never  intended  to  be  sung  in  the  form  of 
choral  recitative,  and  when  transferred  to  the  metier  of  choral 
singing,  they  not  only  encumber  the  melodic  idiom  itself,  but 
lose  much  of  their  oratorical  power.  The  most  impressive  parts 
of  the  cantata  were,  naturally  enough,  the  symphonic  inter- 
ludes in  which  the  idea  of  Revolution  is  not  merely  introduced 
into  the  music  through  the  text,  but  translated  into  the  specific 
language  of  musical  images.  And  even  here  the  most  convinc- 
ing are  not  those  episodes  in  which  the  composer  chose  to  de- 
pict the  external  tumult  of  upheaval,  but  the  few  images  giving 
the  inner  feeling  of  joy  in  the  victory  of  the  Revolution:  the 
radiant  and  confident  calm  of  Part  Seven.  However,  the  can- 
tata has  never  been  performed,  and  to  pass  any  final  judgment 
on  its  musical  qualities  now  would  be  premature. 

Pushkin  themes  were  tackled  by  Prokofiev  in  a  similarly 
bold  and  sweeping  manner.  For  thirty  years,  since  his  youthful 
experiment  with  the  Feast  during  the  Plague,  he  had  not  at- 
tempted to  set  Pushkin's  poetry  to  music.  In  modernist  cir- 
cles —  especially  in  the  West  —  Pushkin  themes  would  have 
been  regarded  as  an  intolerable  anachronism,  and  if  Stravin- 
sky did  use  Pushkin  for  his  Mavra,  he  tried  his  best  to  make  a 
comic  caricature  out  of  it.  With  his  Pushkin  songs  (1936) 
Prokofiev  returned  to  vocal  lyrics,  a  sphere  he  had  neglected 
for  fifteen  years.  Of  the  three  songs,  Op.  73,  to  Pushkin  texts 
(Pine  Trees,  Roseate  Dawn,  In  Your  Chamber),  the  first, 
written  in  serene  narrative  tones,  is  the  best.  The  text  of  this 

*33 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

song  has  an  autobiographical  value  for  the  composer,  who 
sees  in  it  a  calm  statement  of  his  joy  at  returning  to  his  home- 
land: 

Ten  years  have  passed  since  then  —  and  much 

Has  changed  in  life  for  me, 

I,  too,  obedient  to  life's  laws, 

Have  altered  —  but  here  again 

The  past  enfolds  me  in  its  arms 

And  lo,  it  seems  but  yesterday 

I  roamed  these  woods.  .  .  . 

The  verse  ends  with  praise  of  the  "young  glade"  that  had 
sprung  up  in  the  poet's  absence,  and  a  joyous  welcome  to  the 
"new,  young,  unknown  tribe." 

In  the  second  half  of  1936  Prokofiev  worked  simultaneously 
on  three  major  Pushkin  themes:  his  music  to  the  poem  Yev- 
geny Onyegin  (libretto  by  S.  D.  Krzhyzhanovsky  for  the 
Kamerny  Theater),  for  the  film  The  Queen  of  Spades  (Mos- 
cow Film  Studios,  director  M.  Romm ) ,  and  for  the  play  Boris 
Godunov.  Thus  Prokofiev  entered  into  competition  with  the 
great  classics  Tchaikovsky  and  Mussorgsky. 

The  greatest  difficulties,  on  the  composer's  own  admission, 
were  presented  by  Yevgeny  Onyegin,  and  sprang  from  the  tre- 
mendous popularity  of  Tchaikovsky's  music  for  the  opera  of 
that  name.  "The  play  Yevgeny  Onyegin  in  Krzhyzhanovsky's 
version  stressed  precisely  those  aspects  of  Pushkin's  poem  that 
had  been  omitted  from  Tchaikovsky's  opera,"  wrote  Prokofiev. 
"I  believe  it  would  be  extraordinarily  interesting  to  see  Lensky 
arguing  heatedly  over  a  bottle  of  wine  with  Onyegin,  or  Tat- 
yana  visiting  the  latter's  empty  house,  or  Onyegin  on  the  banks 
of  the  Neva.  ...  It  is  my  intention,"  he  maintained,  "to 
keep  as  close  as  possible  to  the  original  text"  (Vechernaya 
Moskva,  June  22, 1936). 

In  the  music  of  Yevgeny  Onyegin  Prokofiev  concentrated  on 
the  characterization  of  the  principal  dramatis  personam  a  few 
themes  for  Onyegin,  three  leitmotivs  for  Tatyana,  developing 
with  the  growth  of  her  passion.  The  ball  scene  at  the  Larin 

*34 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

home  (waltz,  polka  for  two  pianos,  etc.)  and  the  music  de- 
picting the  serene  rural  atmosphere  at  the  Larin  estate  were 
executed  with  Prokofiev's  customary  subtlety  of  stylization. 

Prokofiev  found  much  to  interest  him  also  in  The  Queen  of 
Spades,  the  tragic  high-strung  character  of  Hermann  having 
a  particular  appeal  for  him. 

Unfortunately,  not  one  of  the  three  Pushkin  works  was  ever 
produced.  Including  all  three  of  them  in  the  list  of  his  compo- 
sitions (The  Queen  of  Spades  and  Boris  Godunov  under  Op. 
70,  and  Yevgeny  Onyegin  under  Op.  71),  Prokofiev  subse- 
quently used  several  themes  from  them  for  instrumental  works. 

To  the  long  list  of  works  written  in  1936  must  be  added  two 
symphonic  suites  adapted  from  Romeo  and  Juliet  and  a  new 
large  symphonic  piece,  Russian  Overture,  Op.  72,  written  for 
the  Moscow  Philharmonic  (first  performed  on  October  29). 
Moreover,  four  marches  for  brass  band  were  composed  in 
1936  and  1937. 

The  two  symphonic  suites  from  Romeo  and  Juliet  included 
the  essential  parts  of  the  ballet.3  The  first  suite,  first  played 
by  the  Moscow  Philharmonic  Orchestra  on  June  24, 1936,  was 
unanimously  hailed  by  Soviet  critics  as  a  sign  of  a  fundamental 
change  in  Prokofiev's  work,  of  a  definite  transition  to  a  new 
realistic  style.  In  1937  the  music  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  was  used 
for  a  cycle  of  piano  pieces,  Op.  75,  written  without  any  of 
Prokofiev's  former  frills  and  furbelows.  Notwithstanding  the 
almost  ascetic  simplicity  of  the  exposition,  very  similar  to  a 
piano  arrangement  of  an  orchestral  score,  the  pieces  were 
quickly  taken  up  by  Soviet  pianists  and  included  in  their  con- 
cert repertories. 

Long  before  the  premiere  of  the  ballet  itself  the  music  of 


3  The  First  Suite,  Op.  64- A,  consists  of  seven  parts:   (1)   "Folk  Dance," 

(2)  "Scene,"  (3)  "Madrigal,"  (4)  "Minuet,"  (5)  "Masques,"  (6)  "Romeo 
and  Juliet,"  and  (7)  "The  Death  of  Tybalt."  The  Second  Suite,  Op.  64-B,  also 
has  seven  items:  (1)  "The  Montagues  and  Capulets,"  (2)  "Juliet  as  a  Child." 

(3)  "Friar  Laurence,"  (4)  "Dance,"  (5)  "Romeo  and  Juliet  before  Parting," 
(6)  "Dance  of  the  Young  Antillean  Girls,"  and  (7)  "Romeo  at  Juliet's  Tomb." 

*35 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

Romeo  and  Juliet  won  the  sympathy  of  the  Soviet  performer 
and  concert-goer.  It  was  similarly  successful  abroad. 

Early  in  1937  Prokofiev  undertook  a  long  concert  tour 
through  Europe  and  the  United  States.  His  creative  work  dur- 
ing that  year  included  the  completion  of  the  cantata,  Op.  74, 
the  piano  cycle  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  a  series  of  songs  for 
chorus  and  orchestra  entitled  Songs  of  Our  Days.  "In  the 
music  written  in  this  productive  year/'  the  composer  wrote  at 
the  end  of  1937  in  Pravda,  "I  have  striven  for  clarity  and  melo- 
dious idiom,  but  at  the  same  time  I  have  by  no  means 
attempted  to  restrict  myself  to  the  accepted  methods  of  har- 
mony and  melody.  This  is  precisely  what  makes  lucid,  straight- 
forward music  so  difficult  to  compose  — the  clarity  must  be 
new,  not  old." 

In  Songs  of  Out  Days  Prokofiev  turned  again  to  Soviet 
themes  that  he  had  embraced  for  the  first  time  in  the  songs, 
Op.  66,  using,  besides  the  verses  of  Marshak,  Lebedev-Kumach, 
and  Prishelets,  a  number  of  poetic  folk  texts  (Russian,  Ukrain- 
ian, Byelo-Russian)  .4  In  these  songs  Prokofiev  strove  to  express 
all  the  multiform  phenomena  of  our  life:  the  new  life  on  the 
collective  farms,  the  heroism  of  the  Soviet  border  guards,  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  young  girls  who  went  to  the  Far  East  to  take 
part  in  the  new  construction  there,  the  daring  of  a  Young  Com- 
munist who  saved  children  from  a  fire.  The  author's  sincere 
desire  to  achieve  a  new  simplicity  and  comprehensibility  was 
unfortunately  not  always  combined  with  a  clear,  vivid  percep- 
tion of  the  images  he  attempted  to  reproduce.  Only  when  he 
clearly  felt  the  drama  of  a  situation,  the  passion  and  intensity 
of  his  poetic  material,  did  he  produce  vivid  and  truthful  images 
in  the  ballad  genre.  Such,  for  example,  is  the  lovely  song 
Brother  for  Brother,  about  the  heroic  border  guard  who  took 
the  place  of  his  brother  killed  at  his  post. 

*  The  Songs  of  Our  Days  suite  consists  of  nine  parts:  Orchestral  introduc- 
tion (a  march),  "Over  the  Bridge,"  "Be  Well,"  "Golden  Ukraine,"  "Brother 
for  Brother,"  "Girls,"  "The  Twentv-Year-Old,"  "Lullaby,"  "From  End  to 
End." 

136 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

In  the  early  part  of  1938  Prokofiev  made  another  long  tour 
abroad,  visiting  Czechoslovakia,  France,  Britain,  and  the 
United  States.  While  in  Los  Angeles,  he  visited  Hollywood 
and  made  a  detailed  study  of  the  technical  methods  used  for 
the  musical  backgrounds  of  American  sound  films.  America 
welcomed  Prokofiev  as  an  old  friend  and  gave  him  a  most  cor- 
dial reception.  In  the  United  States  the  composer  found  a  seri- 
ous interest  in  his  work.  He  was  pleasantly  surprised  to  dis- 
cover that  two  student  societies  named  after  him  had  been 
formed  for  the  express  purpose  of  studying  and  popularizing 
his  music,  one  at  Hanover,  New  Hampshire,  the  other  at 
Wheaton,  Illinois. 

Following  his  American  trip,  Prokofiev  collaborated  with 
Sergei  Eisenstein,  the  film-producer,  and  Eduard  Tisse,  the 
cameraman,  on  the  historical  film  Alexander  Nevsky.  His 
association  with  Eisenstein,  one  of  the  outstanding  represent- 
atives of  Soviet  art,  was  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to  Pro- 
kofiev. He  made  many  interesting  sound  experiments,  using 
some  of  the  methods  employed  in  Hollywood.  In  turn,  Eisen- 
stein and  Tisse  treated  the  ideas  of  their  collaborator  with  the 
greatest  respect  and  regarded  him  as  a  co-producer  of  the  film 
(Tisse  wrote  about  this  in  one  of  his  articles  in  the  newspaper 
Kino).  Indeed,  Alexander  Nevsky  proved  to  be  one  of  the  few 
Soviet  films  in  which  the  music  not  only  illustrates,  but  leads 
the  action. 

In  the  same  year  (1938)  the  composer  completed  the  score 
of  his  Cello  Concerto,  Op.  58,  which  had  existed  in  rough 
draft  since  1933,  and  composed  music  for  a  production  of 
Hamlet.  It  was  in  writing  the  music  for  Hamlet  that  the  ex- 
quisite gavotte,  in  actual  fact  the  fourth  of  Prokofiev's  gavottes, 
came  into  being.  The  Cello  Concerto,  performed  in  November 
1938  during  the  second  Festival  of  Soviet  Music  (solo  by  Bere- 
zovsky), made  no  particular  impression  on  the  public,  but  was 
the  cause  of  a  heated  controversy  between  the  newspaper  So- 
vietskoye  Iskusstvo,  which  had  praised  it  even  before  its  pub- 
lic performance,  and  the  magazine  Sovietskaya  Muzyka.  Later 

*37 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

the  composer  made  some  changes  in  the  score  on  the  basis  of 
some  of  the  critical  comments.  In  1940  the  concerto  was  per- 
formed in  the  United  States  by  the  well-known  cellist  Gregor 
Piatigorski. 

The  failure  of  the  Cello  Concerto  and  Songs  of  Our  Days 
at  the  musical  festival  in  1938  was  partly  compensated  for  by 
the  enthusiastic  reception  accorded  at  the  same  time  to  the 
Second  Piano  Concerto,  interpreted  by  the  excellent  pianist 
M.  V.  Yudina. 

The  year  1939  was  extremely  productive  for  Prokofiev.  It 
saw  the  completion  of  the  Alexander  Nevsky  cantata,  the  opera 
Semyon  Kotko,  the  cantata  Zdravitsa,  written  for  Stalin's  six- 
tieth birthday  (December  21,  1939),  a  number  of  popular 
songs  for  various  contests,  sketches  for  a  violin  sonata,  Op.  80, 
and  the  project  for  three  new  piano  sonatas  —  the  Sixth,  Op. 
82,  the  Seventh,  Op.  83,  and  the  Eighth,  Op.  84.  In  April  1939 
the  Alexander  Nevsky  cantata,  a  revised  and  reorchestrated 
version  of  the  film  music,  was  first  performed  by  the  Moscow 
Philharmonic  Orchestra.  Repeated  in  November  of  the  same 
year  during  the  third  Soviet  music  festival,  the  cantata  was 
given  an  enthusiastic  reception  by  both  the  public  and  the 
press. 

Similarly  successful  was  the  cantata  Zdravitsa,  performed 
by  the  chorus  and  orchestra  of  the  All-Union  Radio  Commit- 
tee in  December  1939.  The  text  of  the  cantata  was  a  successful 
combination  by  the  composer  himself  of  seven  folk-songs  to 
Stalin  by  various  Soviet  nationalities  (Russian,  Ukrainian, 
Byelo-Russian,  Mordovian,  Mari,  Kurd,  and  Kumykian).  Rus- 
sian folk-melody  predominates  in  this  music,  which  is  written 
in  an  extremely  clear  melodic  idiom,  colored  by  Prokofiev's 
own  individual  style. 

In  1939  the  ballet  Romeo  and  Juliet  found  a  producer  in  the 
Soviet  Union.5  The  best  ballet  troupe  in  the  country,  that  of 
the  Kirov  Theater  in  Leningrad,  undertook  its  production  with 

6  The  first  production  of  this  ballet  had  been  staged  in  Brno,  Czechoslo- 
vakia, in  1938. 

138 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

great  enthusiasm.  The  premiere  of  the  ballet,  on  January  n, 
1940,  took  the  form  of  a  festival  of  the  Soviet  ballet.  Glowing 
tribute  was  paid  to  the  work  of  the  ballet-master,  L.  Lavrovsky, 
the  artist  P.  Williams,  and  the  exceptionally  talented  per- 
formance of  Galina  Ulanova  in  the  role  of  Juliet.  The  perform- 
ance was  also  a  tremendous  success  in  Moscow  during  the  visit 
of  Leningrad  theaters  to  the  Soviet  capital  in  May  1940. 

In  February  1940  a  new  sonata,  the  Sixth,  was  completed, 
and  it  was  played  shortly  afterward  by  the  composer  himself  in 
a  radio  recital.  Later  a  brilliant  rendering  of  this  sonata  was 
given  by  the  young  Moscow  pianist  Svyatoslav  Richter. 

Throughout  the  1939-40  season  Prokofiev  took  an  active 
part  in  the  preparations  for  the  production  of  Semyon  Kotko 
in  the  Moscow  Stanislavsky  Theater.6  The  premiere  of  the 
new  opera  was  given  at  the  end  of  June  1940  (producer  S.  Bir- 
man,  conductor  M.  Zhukov).  Not  one  of  Prokofiev's  compo- 
sitions in  the  latter  period  had  given  rise  to  so  many  conflict- 
ing opinions  in  musical  circles  as  this  opera.  Some  considered 
it  one  of  the  first  full-fledged  Soviet  operas,  others  actually 
found  traces  of  formalism  in  it.  The  Semyon  Kotko  contro- 
versy (see  Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  Nos.  9,  10,  11,  and  13,  1940) 
shifted  in  December  1940  to  the  platform  of  the  All-Union 
Opera  Conference,  where  the  opera  was  severely  criticized  by 
some  of  the  delegates.  By  this  time  Prokofiev  had  written  an- 
other opera,  Betrothal  in  a  Convent,  after  Sheridan's  Duenna. 
This  lyrical  comic  opera,  of  which  Prokofiev  wrote  the  libretto 
himself,  was  completed  in  the  summer  of  1940  and  was  in- 
tended for  the  Moscow  Stanislavsky  Opera  Theater.  It  was 
soon  orchestrated  and  ready  for  production.  Several  dress  re- 
hearsals in  June  1941  won  it  not  a  few  enthusiastic  admirers 
among  Moscow's  musicians.  Because  of  the  outbreak  of  the 
war,  however,  the  Moscow  public  was  prevented  from  see- 
ing it. 


6  The  opera  was  first  called  I,  Son  of  the  Working  People,  after  the  novel 
"by  Valentin  Katayev  about  the  struggle  of  the  Ukrainian  guerrillas  against  the 
German  invaders  in  1918. 

*39 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

On  the  eve  of  the  war  the  composer  was  engaged  on  his  sym- 
phonic suite  from  the  music  of  Semyon  Kotko  and  a  new  ballet, 
Cinderella,  to  a  libretto  by  N.  Volkov,  for  the  Kirov  Thea- 
ter in  Leningrad.  Prokofiev  collaborated  with  Vakhtang  Che- 
bukiani,  the  eminent  Leningrad  ballet-master  and  dancer,  in 
working  out  the  details  of  the  ballet.  "Although  every  nation 
has  its  Cinderella,"  wrote  Prokofiev,  "I  wanted  to  treat  it  as  a 
real  Russian  fairy-tale.  Moreover,  I  see  Cinderella  herself  not 
only  as  a  fairy-tale  character,  but  as  a  living  human  be- 
ing "< 

Add  to  this  the  voluminous  Autobiography,  written  with 
genuine  literary  brilliance  in  the  early  part  of  1941  at  the  re- 
quest of  Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  and  this  brief  summary  of  his 
activities  between  1933  and  June  1941  will  be  exhausted. 

June  22,  1941,  when  the  Nazis  launched  their  sudden  and 
treacherous  assault  on  the  U.S.S.R.,  was  a  turning-point  in  the 
lives  of  all  Soviet  people.  Prokofiev  was  living  at  the  time 
in  Kratovo,  a  suburb  of  Moscow,  where  he  was  working  on 
Cinderella.  In  the  early  days  of  the  war  he  could  frequently 
be  met,  excited  and  agitated,  in  the  halls  of  the  Moscow  Union 
of  Composers,  at  the  State  Music  Publishing  House,  or  at  the 
Committee  on  Arts.  With  all  other  Soviet  artists,  Prokofiev 
was  anxious  to  give  unstintingly  of  his  efforts  and  talent  to  his 
country. 

In  July  1941  he  wrote  his  Symphonic  March,  Op.  88,  and 
the  March  in  A  flat,  Op.  89,  intended  for  a  brass  band.  Some- 
what later  he  wrote  a  number  of  popular  songs  to  anti-fascist 
and  war  verses  by  Soviet  poets.8  But  his  most  important  task 
during  this  period  was  the  creation  of  a  large  historical  opera 
on  the  theme  of  Tolstoy's  great  novel  War  and  Peace.  In  July 
1941  Prokofiev  worked  out  the  scenario  and  libretto  for  this 
heroic  opera  depicting  Russia  in  1812  and  the  self-sacrificing 

7  From  a  letter  to  me  dated  July  18,  1942.  A  brief  excerpt  from  Cinderella 
(introduction  to  Act  I)  was  published  as  a  musical  supplement  to  the  maga- 
zine Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  No.  4,  1941. 

8  Admiral  Trash  (Mayakovsky),  Song  of  the  Brave  (Surkov),  Tankist's 
Pledge,  Son  of  Kabarda,  Soldier's  Sweetheart,  Fritz,  Your  Country  Needs  You. 

140 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

Struggle  of  the  Russians  against  the  Napoleonic  invasion. 
There  are  eleven  scenes  in  the  opera.  The  first  six  scenes  are 
devoted  almost  exclusively  to  the  emotions  of  Natasha  Ros- 
tova  and  her  relations  with  Andrei  Bolkonsky  and  Pierre  Bezu- 
khov.  The  pure,  tender,  maiden-like  lyricism  is  interwoven 
with  musical  pictures  of  the  life  of  the  old  Russian  nobility: 
the  whole  of  Scene  iii,  for  instance  —  a  ball  in  the  house  of 
Helene  Bezukhova  —  is  permeated  with  old-style  Russian 
waltz  rhythms.  At  the  end  of  the  sixth  scene  there  is  a  sharp 
break  in  the  action  when  the  news  comes  that  Napoleon's 
troops  have  approached  the  Russian  border.  Then  the  lyrical 
drama  is  transposed  to  the  plane  of  broad  historical  narrative. 
The  Russian  people  in  the  struggle  and  historical  figures  like 
Field  Marshal  Kutuzov  and  Napoleon  are  now  in  the  fore- 
ground. Much  space  is  given  to  monumental  choruses  of  Rus- 
sian soldiers  and  portrayal  of  individuals  from  among  the 
common  people,  such  as  Platon  Karatayev,  the  soldier,  Vasi- 
lissa,  the  woman  guerrilla,  and  a  village  elder.  The  dramatic 
culmination  of  the  opera  comes  in  Scene  ix,  where  the  fire  of 
Moscow  and  the  fury  of  the  people  at  the  foreign  invaders  are 
shown.  The  tense  scene  of  the  battle  that  ends  with  the  victory 
of  the  Russians  over  the  French  is  given  in  the  music  of  the 
eleventh  and  final  scene.  The  personal  experiences  of  the  heroes 
of  Tolstoy's  novel  —  the  wounding  and  death  of  Andrei,  the 
despair  of  Natasha,  the  arrest  and  release  of  Pierre  —  are  woven 
into  the  opera  in  the  form  of  a  subordinate  plot.  The  opera 
ends  with  the  triumphant  entry  of  Kutuzov  into  Moscow  and 
the  popular  rejoicing  at  the  victory. 

Air  raids,  which  began  in  Moscow  at  the  end  of  July,  com- 
pelled the  Soviet  Government  to  evacuate  a  number  of  the 
leading  members  of  the  world  of  art  and  science  to  the  rear. 
With  Miaskovsky,  Shaporin,  Nemirovich-Danchenko,  Kacha- 
lov,  and  others,  Prokofiev  went  to  the  Caucasus.  In  Nalchik, 
center  of  the  Kabardino-Balkarian  Autonomous  Republic,  situ- 
ated at  the  foot  of  Mount  Elbruz,  a  handsomely  equipped 
sanatorium  was  placed  at  their  disposal.  Prokofiev  resumed  his 

141 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

creative  work  with  his  former  zeal.  He  at  once  took  a  great  in- 
terest in  the  unusually  fresh,  piquant,  and  little  explored  musi- 
cal folklore  of  Kabardino-Balkaria.  Kabardinian  and  Balkarian 
songs  inspired  his  Second  String  Quartet,  which  was  written 
on  the  basis  of  this  local  national  music. 

The  composer  defined  his  purpose  in  this  connection  as  the 
"combination  of  one  of  the  least-known  varieties  of  folk-song 
with  the  most  classical  form  of  the  quartet."  Rejecting  all  the 
classical  traditions  of  Russian  Oriental  music,  Prokofiev  com- 
bined the  Caucasian  folk-melodies  with  his  own  individual 
harmonic  and  polyphonic  style.  The  result  was  a  unique  com- 
position giving  a  sharply  individual  and  fresh,  if  perhaps  dis- 
putable, interpretation  of  the  Caucasian  scene.  In  the  harsh 
harmonies  of  the  first  movement  we  feel  the  stern,  warlike, 
vengeful  Caucasus.  The  poetry  of  the  Caucasian  love-songs  is 
subtly  reproduced  in  the  slow  second  movement,  with  its  flow- 
ery, ornate  violin  grace-notes,  so  characteristic  of  Oriental 
music.  The  flexible  syncopated  rhythms  of  mountain  dances 
dominate  in  the  rhapsodic  finale  of  the  quartet.  This  compo- 
sition soon  found  first-class  interpreters  in  the  Moscow  Bee- 
thoven Quartet  (D.  Tsyganov,  V.  Shirinsky,  V.  Borisovsky, 
and  S.  Shirinsky),  one  of  the  finest  Soviet  chamber  ensembles. 

In  Nalchik  and  later  (from  November  1941  on)  in  the 
Georgian  capital  of  Tbilisi,  Prokofiev  worked  intensively  on 
the  opera  of  "War  and  Peace,  with  only  occasional  diversions 
in  concerts  of  his  works  in  Tbilisi,  Baku,  and  Erivan.  Simulta- 
neously he  undertook  a  symphonic  canvas  of  the  patriotic  war. 
This  was  his  symphonic  suite  1941  (Op.  90).  It  is  in  three 
parts:  "In  Battle,"  "At  Night,"  and  "For  the  Brotherhood  of 
the  Peoples."  The  composer  himself  tells  us:  "The  first  part 
is  a  scene  of  fiery  battle,  heard  by  the  auditors  both  from  afar 
and  on  the  very  battlefield;  in  the  second  part  there  is  the  poe- 
try of  night,  through  which  pours  the  tension  of  approaching 
battles;  the  third  part  is  a  triumphantly  lyrical  hymn  of  victory 
and  of  the  brotherhood  of  all  peoples."  Prokofiev's  firm  friend 
and  his  companion  on  the  evacuation  to  the  Caucasus,  the 

142 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

composer  Nikolai  Miaskovsky,  soon  made  a  four-hand  piano 
arrangement  of  the  new  suite.  Arousing  no  particular  interest 
in  musical  circles  because  of  the  simplified  solution  of  its  prob- 
lems, giving  too  superficial  a  description  of  the  war  theme,  the 
music  of  1941  was  employed  as  a  score  for  the  new  film  Parti- 
sans of  the  Ukrainian  Steppes,  directed  by  Igor  Savchenko. 
Prokofiev's  use  in  this  score  of  a  Ukrainian  folk-song,  Oh,  You 
Galya,  made  this  one  of  the  most  popular  soldiers'  songs  of  the 
war. 


10  :  Maturity 

J-JVEN  the  brief  chronological  survey  given  here  will 
suffice  to  show  the  marked  revival  in  Prokofiev's  creative  activ- 
ity after  his  return  to  the  U.S.S.R.  An  examination  of  the  fig- 
ures will  show  that  during  the  seven  years  between  1934  and 
1940  Prokofiev  composed  almost  one  and  a  half  times  more 
than  in  the  entire  decade  1924-33  (twenty-seven  Soviet  works 
as  against  twenty  "foreign").  Moreover,  there  were  almost  no 
rehashes  in  the  new  crop  of  compositions.  The  fountain  of  his 
creative  energy  burst  forth  anew  as  in  the  best  years  prior  to  his 
departure  from  his  homeland. 

His  passion  for  the  stage,  for  music  of  the  theatrical  pictorial 
variety,  for  opera  and  ballet,  returned.  His  subject  matter  be- 
came richer  and  more  profound:  Shakespeare,  Pushkin,  and 
other  literary  geniuses  now  attracted  him  as  never  before.  He 
worked  with  interest  and  enthusiasm  on  subjects  of  Revolu- 
tionary history  (cantata,  Op.  74,  Semyon  Kotko),  on  motives 
borrowed  from  folk  poetry  and  legend  (Zdravitsa,  Songs  of 
Our  Days,  Cinderella)  and  heroic  themes  from  the  history  of 
the  Russian  people  (Alexander  Nevsky). 

H3 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

Once  again  after  long  years  of  enforced  silence  the  living 
human  voice  sounded  in  his  music  (cantatas,  romances,  mass 
songs).  The  composer  turned  again  with  avidity  (after  an 
interval  of  seventeen  years! )  to  the  piano  sonata,  adding  three 
large  sonatas  to  his  list  of  compositions. 

Once  again,  as  in  the  best  years  of  his  youth,  Prokofiev's 
music  evoked  passionate  controversies  in  the  musical  world. 
Whereas  the  Symphonic  Song,  the  "Portraits"  from  The  Gam- 
bler, and  the  Fifth  Piano  Concerto  had  left  the  public  cold  or 
puzzled,  Semyon  Kotko,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  Alexander 
Nevsky  aroused  a  veritable  storm  of  discussion,  dispute,  and 
argument.  Only  a  live,  talented,  and  audacious  art  can  evoke 
such  reactions  from  the  audience.  Prokofiev's  gift  had  indeed 
blossomed  forth  anew. 

The  new  invigorating  influences  flowed  into  his  music  along 
two  main  channels:  firstly,  through  vivid  subject  matter,  theat- 
rical concreteness,  and  the  ideological  import  of  his  new  com- 
positions, and,  secondly,  through  the  extensive  and  now  quite 
conscious  and  deliberate  interest  in  Russian  national  melody. 
A  keen  and  far-sighted  artist  who  had  for  so  many  years  worked 
as  though  blindfolded,  Prokofiev  at  last  returned  for  his  in- 
spiration to  nature,  to  the  great  and  beautiful  world  inhabited 
by  living  men  and  women  and  illumined  by  a  real  sun.  While 
Lieutenant  Kije  and  Egyptian  Nights  still  belonged  to  the 
category  of  pictorial,  theatrical  stylization,  the  Second  Violin 
Concerto  and  Romeo  and  Juliet  were  the  expression  of  new 
lyrical  tendencies,  the  composer's  return  to  the  world  of  pro- 
found and  serious  human  emotion. 

After  the  drab,  somber  tones  of  Thoughts,  the  Violin  Con- 
certo impresses  by  its  wealth  of  emotional  contrasts:  the  warm 
lyricism  of  the  main  G-minor  melody  in  the  first  movement 
(remotely  related  to  a  theme  in  Tchaikovsky's  First  Sym- 
phony), gives  way  to  a  passionate,  tremulous  romanticism  in 
the  subordinate  theme  in  B-flat  major  (one  of  the  finest  melo- 
dic discoveries  of  Prokofiev).  The  charmingly  pensive  second 
movement,  with  its  melancholy  figurational  patterns  gradually 

144 


SOVIET     ARTIST 


r     \j 

14.  Second  Violin  Concerto,  1st  movement,  subordinate  theme. 

unfolding  in  the  spirit  of  Beethoven  adagios,  changes  to  the 
gay  carnival  rhythms  of  the  finale,  done  in  the  sparkling  Latin 
festive  manner. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  trace  the  connection  between  the  Violin 
Concerto  and  the  music  of  Romeo  and  Juliet:  in  the  subordi- 
nate theme  of  the  first  movement  of  the  concerto  we  feel  the 
anticipation  of  the  love  scenes  of  Romeo  and  Juliet;  in  the 
finale,  the  carefree  gaiety  of  the  masked  ball  and  nocturnal 
revelry. 

Prokofiev's  return  to  the  traditional  classical  construction  of 
the  concerto  after  neglecting  the  orthodox  sonata  forms  for  so 

*45 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

many  years  is  symptomatic.1  Similarly  classical  is  the  use  of 
the  violin  itself  as  a  cantilena  instrument  (second  movement) . 
For  Prokofiev,  who  for  years  had  been  considered  a  confirmed 
opponent  of  romanticism,  the  concerto  marked  a  return  to  the 
lyrical  and  romantic  tendencies  of  his  early  youth.  As  if  con- 
vinced of  the  emptiness  and  cold  indifference  of  his  abstract 
experimentation,  Prokofiev  the  Schumannist  and  poet  re- 
turned to  the  point  from  which  he  started,  but  now  consider- 
ably richer  in  ideas  and  technique. 

This  restoration  of  lyrical  and  romantic  tendencies  made 
itself  even  more  strongly  felt  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  written  at 
the  same  time  as  the  concerto.  Never  before  had  Prokofiev 
written  music  for  the  theater  on  such  a  profound  and  human 
theme,  one  that  impels  the  artist  so  inevitably  along  the  path 
of  realistic  philosophical  art. 

The  composer's  former  opponents,  who  regarded  him 
merely  as  a  crude  violator  of  respectable  aesthetic  standards, 
would  never  have  believed  Prokofiev  capable  of  writing  the 
music  for  such  a  subject.  Kolomytsev,  the  critic,  had  written 
of  the  Scythian  Suite:  "To  one  it  is  given  to  sing  of  the  love  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  to  another  to  depict  the  wild  screams  and 
absurd  contortions  of  monkeys"  (Den,  January  19, 1916) .  And 
now  twenty  years  later  the  impossible  had  happened:  the  rude 
Prokofiev  had  sung  tenderly  of  the  love  of  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

It  is  instructive  to  compare  the  conception  of  the  ballet  with 
Prokofiev's  former  ballet  works.  What  Paris  had  demanded 
primarily  of  a  new  ballet  was  brief  action  and  good  dancing; 
profound  ideas  were  not  wanted.  Diaghilev  and  Stravinsky  had 
sought  in  ballet  an  escape  from  the  trials  and  tribulations  of 
everyday  life,  regarding  it  as  the  freshest  and  most  naive  —  in 
other  words,  the  most  irrational  —  of  the  theatrical  arts.  The 


1  In  the  foreign  period  the  broken-up  suite  constructions  predominated 
(Divertissement,  Quintet,  piano  cycles  of  Op.  59  and  62);  in  preference  to  the 
sonata  Prokofiev  cultivated  the  sonatina  (Op.  54  and  59),  or  variation  forms 
(Second  Symphony,  Quintet),  and  he  very  often  deliberately  violated  the 
sonata  cycle  (two-movement  Second  Symphony,  thrcc-movcmcnt  Quartet  with 
slow  finale,  etc.). 

146 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

ballet  Sur  le  Borysthene  was  a  typical  example  of  this  deliber- 
ate avoidance  of  ideas  in  ballet  music;  it  was  the  composer's 
job  to  write  thirty  minutes  of  lyrico-dramatic  music  to  fill  in 
one  third  of  a  program  (in  Paris  it  was  the  custom  to  present 
two  or  three  short  ballets  in  one  evening). 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  as  distinct  from  Prokofiev's  Paris  ballets, 
was  conceived  as  a  large  choreographic  tragedy,  with  all  the 
psychological  complexities  of  the  heroes,  clear-cut  musical 
character  portraits,  and  realistic  theatrical  depiction  of  scenes. 
Prokofiev  came  out  with  flying  colors  from  the  difficult  contest 
with  the  classics  (Bellini,  Gounod,  Berlioz,  Tchaikovsky)  who 
had  used  the  plot  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  before  him.  He  had 
succeeded  in  finding  his  own  independent  approach  to  this 
grand  theme. 

In  the  foreground  of  Prokofiev's  music  for  this  ballet  we  find 
a  group  of  images  depicting  the  love  of  the  tragic  couple  and 
their  sad  fate.  The  love  motiv  is  utterly  devoid  of  sensuousness, 
however;  it  is  tinged  with  a  gentle,  restrained  sadness,  with 


ADAGIO 


15.  Romeo  and  Juliet,  love  theme. 

quiet,  hidden  emotions,  transparent  and  silvery  tones  pre- 
dominating (solo  flute,  concertante  violin).2  Developing  the 
methods  outlined  in  UEnfant  prodigue,  the  composer  em- 

2  The  effects  are  admirably  suited  to  Romeo's  words  in  Act  II,  Scene  ii: 
How  silver-sweet  sound  lovers'  tongues  by  night, 
Like  softest  music  to  attending  ears! 

m 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

ploys  the  most  expressive  melodic  images  with  extreme  econ- 
omy of  timbral  and  harmonic  embellishment.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  after  the  passionate  chromatic  sensuousness  of  Wagner's 
love  themes  Prokofiev's  lyricism,  with  its  cautious  linear  con- 
struction reduced  at  times  to  a  mere  two  or  three  voices  and  its 
simple  chord  accompaniment  (long,  soft,  monotonous  har- 
monic backgrounds),  may  sometimes  seem  a  shade  too  pas- 
sionless. It  is  not  until  one  grows  accustomed  to  this  music  that 
its  amazing  purity  of  emotion  and  power  of  conviction  can 
be  appreciated  to  the  full.  Shakespeare  is  given  not  with  the 
ardent  passion  of  nineteenth-century  romanticism,  but  in  the 
refined  adolescent  spirit  of  early  Renaissance  art. 

But  while  Prokofiev's  lyricism  was  new  and  not  altogether 
comprehensible  at  first,  in  the  concrete  images  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet  we  at  once  recognize  the  familiar  hand  of  the  master 
painter,  with  his  ability  to  sketch  the  human  profile  in  a  few 
bold  strokes  of  the  brush.  The  sunny,  merry  little  Juliet,  the 
gay,  light-hearted  Mercutio,  the  wise  and  gentle  Laurence,  the 
haughty  Montagues  and  Capulets,  the  proud  and  vindictive 
Tybalt  —  these  figures  are  so  vividly  drawn  by  Prokofiev  that 
one  can  clearly  visualize  them,  their  movements  and  gestures 
by  merely  listening  to  the  music. 

The  dramatic  intensity  that  distinguished  so  many  dynamic 
images  in  the  early  Prokofiev  (from  Etudes,  Op.  2,  to  the 
Diabolic  Suggestions)  made  itself  most  powerfully  felt  in  the 
culminating  scenes  of  the  tragedy  (duel  and  death  of  Tybalt) . 
Prokofiev's  fondness  for  contrasts,  which  had  all  but  disap- 
peared in  most  of  his  latter  compositions,  was  revived  here  with 
new  force:  the  merry  pranks  of  Mercutio,  the  fun  and  laugh- 
ter of  the  youthful  Juliet,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  mortal 
combats  between  the  hostile  camps,  the  grief  and  despair  of 
the  doomed  lovers,  on  the  other. 

Last,  but  not  least,  Romeo  and  Juliet  saw  the  awakening  of 
Prokofiev's  old  passion  for  the  dance  in  its  most  diverse  mani- 
festations (the  precipitate  "Folk  Dance"  in  the  tarantella 
style,  the  crude  rustic  "Dance  with  Mandolins,"  the  slow 

148 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

graceful  "Dance  of  the  Young  Antillean  Girls,"  the  stately  old- 
fashioned  minuet);  it  is  no  accident  that  at  the  end  of  the  sec- 
ond act  the  composer  introduced  his  D-major  Gavotte  from 
the  Classical  Symphony,  in  a  slightly  new  version,  as  if  to  em- 
phasize his  deliberate  return  to  his  former  neo-classical  tend- 
encies.3 

From  the  point  of  view  of  drama,  however,  the  ballet  was 
open  to  criticism.  It  lacked  a  broad  symphonic  development, 
the  same  themes  were  rather  mechanically  shifted  from  one 
scene  to  another,  and  in  the  last  scenes  there  were  practically 
no  new  themes  at  all.  All  this  may  have  been  the  result  of  cer- 
tain abstract  rationalistic  tendencies  that  had  appeared  previ- 
ously in  the  music  of  UEnfant  prodigue  and  other  of  Proko- 
fiev's recent  compositions  for  the  stage. 

Prokofiev's  new  opera,  Betrothal  in  a  Convent,  is  evidently 
a  continuation  of  the  lyrical  and  romantic  trend  outlined  in 
the  Violin  Concerto  and  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Here,  as  in  the 
latter  ballet,  tender  love  lyrics,  the  poetry  of  hidden  passions, 
and  the  bright  dreams  of  youth  are  in  the  foreground,  with  the 
gaiety  of  masquerade  revels,  and  merry,  good-natured  buffoon- 
ery forming  the  contrast.  Although  the  Sheridan  text  affords 
rich  material  for  musical  satire  and  grotesque  in  the  comical 
old  men  —  Don  Jerome,  the  cantankerous  father,  and  the  fish 
merchant  Mendoza,  Louisa's  wealthy  suitor,  in  the  drunken 
monks  Father  Chartreuse  and  Father  Benedectine  —  and  in 
the  wily  Duenna,  the  composer  has  shifted  the  emphasis  to 
the  lyrical  episodes  of  the  comedy,  the  story  of  the  love  of  two 
young  couples,  Antonio  and  Louisa  and  Ferdinand  and  Clara. 
The  very  fact  that  Prokofiev  has  chosen  the  genre  of  lyrical 
comedy,  a  genre  untouched  by  opera  since  the  days  of  Verdi's 
Falstajf,  is  highly  symptomatic. 

No  small  part  in  his  search  for  new  simplicity  and  clarity  of 

3  This  leaning  toward  the  dance  runs  all  through  Prokofiev's  work,  em- 
bracing a  number  of  youthful  pianoforte  pieces  (gavottes  in  Op.  12  and  32, 
rigaudon,  minuet,  mazurka),  the  tarantella  rhythms  of  the  sinfonietta  in  the 
First  Concerto,  Overture,  Op.  42,  the  rude  primitive  dances  in  the  Andantino 
of  the  Fifth  Sonata,  the  finale  of  the  Second  Violin  Concerto,  etc. 

149 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

graphic  outline  was  played  by  the  composer's  interest  in  music 
for  children.  Here  an  absolute  clarity  of  musical  thought  was 
essential,  for  a  juvenile  audience  will  never  accept  anything 
forced  and  unnatural. 

Prokofiev  has  also  written  a  whole  series  of  excellent  piano- 
forte landscape  sketches  executed  with  amazing  simplicity 
(Op.  65).  After  the  abstract  outlines  of  Landscape,  Op.  59, 
the  vibrant  poetry  of  the  calm  Russian  twilights  and  radiant 
summer  mornings  sounded  a  welcome  new  note  in  Prokofiev's 
music.  His  landscape  is  realistic  almost  to  the  point  of  tangi- 
bility (Rain  and  Rainbow).  A  similar  concreteness  of  ideas 
and  ability  to  depict  nature  with  a  keen  and  original  pen  are 
to  be  found  also  in  the  music  of  Peter  and  the  Wolf,  in  which 
melodic  ingenuity  and  clever  character-portrayal  are  combined 
with  true  virtuosity  in  the  use  of  tone  color. 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  the  Violin  Concerto,  and  the  children's 
music  have  proved  beyond  all  shadow  of  doubt  that  Prokofiev 
has  taken  the  path  of  reproducing  living  nature.  Prokofiev 
painter  and  dramatist,  the  observer  of  life  as  it  is,  has  uncere- 
moniously ousted  Prokofiev  the  unfathomable  dreamer,  the 
juggler  with  abstract  sounds. 

When  speaking  of  the  new  instrumental  trends  in  Proko- 
fiev's work  (a  metier  that  now  seems  to  have  shifted  to  a  sec- 
ondary plane  as  compared  with  his  work  connected  with  the 
theater),  mention  must  be  made  of  his  Sixth  Pianoforte  So- 
nata. Once  again  after  the  Second  Violin  Concerto  the  com- 
poser has  built  an  elaborate  symphonic  form.  After  the  sub- 
dued lyricism  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  and  the  Violin  Concerto 
the  sonata  seems  to  suggest  that  the  biting  fury  and  audacity 
of  Prokofiev's  talent  has  broken  loose  again.  Its  dramatic  plan 
is  complex  and  serious.  The  long  first  movement  (allegro)  is 
a  tense  dramatic  narrative.  The  magnificent  virile  main  theme 
is  followed  by  a  melancholy,  songlike  subordinate  theme;  in 
the  intricate  development  both  themes  clash  in  a  rising  tem- 
pest of  sound.  In  this  music  we  recognize  the  full  demoniacal 
power  of  Prokofiev's  feroce.  The  two  subsequent  movements 

150 


SOVIET    ARTIST 


ALLE020  TICBERA'K) 
>  > 


i 

16.  Sixth  Piano  Sonata,  1st  movement,  main  theme. 

supply  the  lyrical  relief  after  the  fury  of  the  Allegro:  the  second 
movement  is  in  the  spirit  of  a  graceful,  faintly  ironic  dance 
(akin  to  the  gavottes  and  some  of  the  dances  in  Romeo  and 
Juliet),  while  the  third  movement,  in  slow  waltz  time,  is  a  de- 
lightful nocturne  that  seems  to  be  filled  with  the  echoes  of 
clandestine  trysts  and  lovers'  sighs.  This  last  is  similar  to  the 
lyrical  passages  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  and  Betrothal  in  a  Con- 
vent. And  lastly,  in  the  finale  we  meet  again  with  pleasant  sur- 
prise the  familiar  mischievous  grin  of  the  young  Prokofiev,  au- 
thor of  the  Second  Sonata,  with  his  delightful  pranks  on  the 
keyboard.4  At  the  end  of  the  sonata,  however,  the  composer 

4  In  this  part  the  undoubted  affinity  between  Prokofiev's  images  and  the 
characteristic  images  of  Shostakovich's  pianoforte  music  is  striking.  For  ex- 
ample, the  G-sharp  minor  episode  in  the  middle  of  the  finale  is  extremely  close 
to  the  main  theme  of  the  finale  of  Shostakovich's  piano  concerto;  and  vice 
versa,  in  the  same  finale  of  Shostakovich  it  is  not  diffcult  to  discover  a  connec- 
tion in  both  image  and  pattern  with  Prokofiev's  Second  Sonata  (Scherzo  and 
finale). 

I51 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

returns  to  the  initial  material  of  the  Allegro,  treated  in  the 
form  of  serious  reminiscence,  thus  completing  the  circle  of 
development  and  achieving  unity  of  statement. 

The  Sixth  Sonata  is  one  of  the  few  monumental  and  philo- 
sophically profound  works  for  the  piano  written  in  recent 
years.  Such  harshness  as  may  occur  in  the  writing  (jarring  con- 
trapuntal effects  and  crude  harmonic  blotches  pounded  out 
con  pugno  in  the  development  of  the  first  movement;  bold 
polytonal  twists  in  the  finale)  is  no  longer  an  end  in  itself;  it  is 
clearly  subordinated  to  the  aims  of  artistic  expression.  Of  in- 
terest also  are  the  fragments  of  Russian  national  melody  in  a 
number  of  themes  (subordinate  themes  in  the  second  move- 
ment and  finale).  In  both  cases  the  Russian  melodies  are  ac- 
tive and  exuberant  rather  than  feebly  contemplative. 

After  the  self-imposed  asceticism  of  Prokofiev's  later  piano 
pieces  the  new  sonata  marked  a  revival  of  his  characteristic 
full-blooded,  flexible,  and  technically  bold  piano  style.  He  re- 
sorted to  a  vast  number  of  technical  devices  in  this  sonata  — 
complicated  skips  in  the  manner  of  Scarlatti  (used  also  in  the 
Fifth  Concerto),  intricate  finger  technique  (finale),  and  rich, 
meaty  chords  with  dense  figuration  (third  movement). 

Along  with  the  revival  of  theatrical  and  virtuoso  tendencies 
in  Prokofiev's  music,  the  Russian  national  influences  began 
to  make  themselves  felt  more  and  more  strongly.  It  was  not 
until  he  became  conscious  of  himself  as  a  Russian  artist  sing- 
ing of  the  living  nature  and  the  living  people  of  his  own  coun- 
try that  he  was  fully  at  home  in  his  Soviet  environment:  the 
pragmatic  cosmopolitanism  of  the  foreign  period  had  obvi- 
ously had  a  stultifying  effect  on  his  talent. 

Russian  melodic  idiom  found  expression  in  his  first  piece  of 
music  written  in  the  Soviet  Union:  Lieutenant  Kije.  It  occurs 
both  in  the  plaintive  theme  of  Kije,  which  forms  the  frame- 
work of  the  entire  suite,  and  in  the  ironic  stylization  of  the 
old-fashioned,  "heart-rending"  love-song  (The  Little  Blue 
Dove  is  Cooing). 

Evidence  of  Prokofiev's  search  for  an  original  Russian  style 

J52 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

that  would  not  be  a  passive  imitation  of  the  Five  can  be  found 
in  many  mass  songs  to  Soviet  texts  and  in  the  children's  music 
(Evening,  The  Moon  Goes  over  the  Meadows).  The  composer 
here  creates  original  melodies  in  the  national  spirit,  at  times 
deliberately  stressing  his  refusal  to  borrow.  For  example,  he 
wrote  an  entirely  new  melody  for  Shevchenko's  Command- 
ments, for  the  Ukrainian  song  All  Is  Ahum  and  Abuzz  in 
Semyon  Kotko,  and  for  the  "cooing  dove"  song  in  Lieutenant 
Kije.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  he  has  increasing  recourse 
to  folklore  sources,  poring  over  volumes  of  Russian  and  Ukrain- 
ian songs  before  sitting  down  to  write  any  music  associated 
with  national  themes,  and  a  few  folklore  quotations  are  bound 
to  occur,  especially  in  works  like  Semyon  Kotko  (central  epi- 
sode in  Frosya's  song,  second  theme  in  the  wedding  chorus ) , 
or  the  Russian  Overture,  Op.  72  (two  dance  melodies  in  the 
main  theme). 

The  most  eloquent  testimony  to  Prokofiev's  national  as- 
pirations was  his  Russian  Overture,  which  is  full  of  the  healthy 
spirit  of  folk  dances.  In  this  kaleidoscope  of  dynamic  Russian 
melodies,  in  this  dizzy  whirl  of  popular  merry-making,  there  is 
something  reminiscent  of  the  decorative  canvases  of  Malyavin, 
with  their  passionate  dynamics  and  crude  splashes  of  color. 
Extremely  simple  in  structure  (in  the  form  of  a  rondo  sonata) , 
the  overture,  like  its  classical  "ancestor,"  Glinka's  Kamarin- 
skaya,  is  built  up  on  the  simplest  juxtaposition  of  Russian 
dance  images  and  broad  Russian  song  melodies,  without  any 
elements  of  drama  or  complicated  development.  True,  the 
composer  was  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  indulge  in  a 
few  eccentricities.  The  strident  thunderous  bellow  of  the 
brasses,  for  instance,  which  breaks  now  and  again  through  the 
dashing  movement  of  the  dance,  gives  the  impression  of  a 
somewhat  superfluous  and  belated  illustration  of  Russian  big- 
heartedness.  But  the  author  is  readily  forgiven  these  few  ex- 
cesses for  the  gay,  virile  energy  of  the  dance  themes  and  the 
exuberant  melodiousness  of  the  subordinate  theme  in  B-flat 
major.  In  this,  the  best  theme  in  the  overture,  one  hears  echoes 

*53 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

of  the  broad,  rolling  Russian  peasant-girl  songs  like  I  Was  at  a 
Feast.5 

If  the  Russian  Overture  might  be  called  the  apotheosis  of 
the  Russian  dance,  in  Zdravitsa  Prokofiev  strove  to  embody 
the  elements  of  Russian  choral  singing.  The  new  Soviet  folk- 
songs that  form  the  basis  of  this  little  folk  cantata  demanded 
a  maximum  clarity  of  musical  style:  Zdravitsa  is  a  cycle  of 


choral  songs  merged  in  one  rondo-like  pattern.  The  lyrical 
features  (Lullaby,  Song  of  the  Old  Woman  who  dreams  of 
meeting  Stalin  6)  give  way  to  episodes  of  landscape  depiction 

5  Three  years  later  another  splendid  sample  of  this  type  of  mclodv  was  the 
"Farewell"  episode  in  the  cantata  Zdravitsa  (song  about  the  shock-worker 
Aksinya  going  off  to  a  reception  in  the  Kremlin). 

8  The  text  for  this  episode  was  taken  from  words  composed  by  Marfa  Osyk, 
an  aged  Mari  collective  farmer  woman: 

*54 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

or  narrative  ("Farewell")  or  to  solemn  dance  tunes  in  the 
spirit  of  the  festive  choruses  in  Russian  opera.  Apart  from  the 
theme  of  the  "Farewell/'  one  of  the  finest  musical  images  in 
the  cantata  is  to  be  found  in  its  principal  refrain:  the  flowing 
C-major  air  is  full  of  a  noble  optimism  and  an  inexpressible 
melodic  charm;  the  extreme  simplicity  of  harmony  and  gen- 
eral clarity  of  the  refrain,  combined  with  the  extremely  intri- 
cate inner  coloring  of  the  C  major  with  its  various  related 
triads,  is  noteworthy.  Zdravitsa  has  been  justly  appraised  as 
one  of  the  best  Soviet  compositions  singing  of  the  love  of  the 
people  for  Stalin. 

Prokofiev's  two  major  works  in  the  past  years,  the  Alexander 
Nevsky  cantata  and  the  opera  Semyon  Kotko,  are  a  synthesis 
of  both  trends  of  the  Soviet  period  of  his  work:  the  theatrical 
and  descriptive  trend,  which  acquired  tremendous  force  in 
these  two  compositions,  and  the  national  trend,  likewise  de- 
veloped here  in  full  measure.  Both  these  works  at  the  same 
time  revealed  an  amazing  foresight  on  the  part  of  the  artist. 
Long  before  the  Germans  attacked  the  U.S.S.R.,  and  even  be- 
fore the  war  in  Europe,  he  wrote  two  compositions  permeated 
through  and  through  with  fierce  hatred  for  German  barbarism. 
The  Teutonic  knights  in  Alexander  Nevsky  who  trample  the 
Russian  wheatfields  and  put  Russian  towns  to  fire  and  sword 
and  the  repulsive  faces  of  the  German  invaders  who  plunder 
and  lay  waste  flourishing  Ukrainian  villages  in  Semyon  Kotko 
are  all  reproduced  as  graphically  and  convincingly  as  if  the  au- 
thor had  already  personally  witnessed  the  horrors  of  German 
fascist  atrocities.  There  is  no  doubt  that  future  generations  will 
regard  these  works  as  the  most  striking  musical  chronicle  of 
the  sanguinary  events  that  were  later  to  take  place  during  the 
Soviet-German  war. 

In  Alexander  Nevsky  the  composer  wrote  on  a  major  patri- 
otic theme  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  bringing  to  it  all  the 

If  my  eyes  sparkled  as  when  I  was  a  girl, 
If  my  cheeks  were  as  red  as  an  apple  ripe, 
I  would  hie  me  to  Moscow,  the  great  city, 
And  say  "Thank  you"  to  Joseph  Stalin. 

*55 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

resources  of  his  musical  palette.  Notwithstanding  the  histori- 
cal nature  of  the  theme,  the  cantata  had  a  direct,  topical  ap- 
peal for  Soviet  Russia:  it  was  a  clarion  call  to  self-sacrificing 
defense  of  the  homeland.  Hearing  Alexander  Nevsky  for  the 
first  time,  one  could  not  but  recall  the  weighty  words  uttered 
by  Igor  Glebov  so  many  years  before  with  regard  to  the  Scyth- 
ian Suite.  "It  seems  to  me,"  he  wrote  in  1916,  "that  the  im- 
pression first  produced  by  the  music  of  Borodin,  with  his 
striking  individuality,  his  mighty  and  savage  impetuosity  filled 
with  the  aroma  of  the  broad  and  rolling  steppes,  must  have 
been  similar  or  equivalent  to  that  which  we  now  received  when 
listening  to  Prokofiev's  music." 

What  Glebov  felt  at  that  time  in  the  thunderous  peals  of 
Ala  and  Lolli  —  the  powerful  perception  of  life  and  nature, 
a  la  Borodin  —  sounded  with  new  force  in  Alexander  Nevsky. 
As  in  the  Scythian  Suite,  Prokofiev  here  is  a  brilliant  landscape- 
painter,  the  superb  master  of  sound  color.  The  Russian  land- 
scape forms  the  background  of  almost  all  the  scenes  in  this 
historical  tragedy:  the  bleak  panorama  of  pillaged  and  ravaged 
Russia  in  the  first  movement;  the  mist  of  the  early  morning 
frosts  done  in  the  style  of  a  Surikov  painting  at  the  beginning 
of  the  "Battle  on  the  Ice,"  and  the  gloomy  nocturnal  tones  of 
the  "Field  of  the  Dead"  scene.  Against  the  background  of  this 
tangible  Russian  landscape  arise  fearsome,  semi-fantastic 
sound  pictures  reminiscent  of  the  nightmares  of  Goya  and 
Matthias  Griinewald  or  medieval  Catholic  frescoes  ("Crusad- 
ers in  Pskov").  It  is  a  long  time  since  such  powerful  and  con- 
vincing symphonic  battle  scenes  as  that  of  the  "Battle  on  the 
Ice,"  giving  an  almost  visual  portrayal  of  the  historic  episode, 
have  been  written. 

Two  sharply  contrasting  styles  are  presented  in  the  cantata: 
on  the  one  hand,  there  are  the  inhuman  and  barbarous  themes 
of  the  German  invaders,  repulsive  in  their  hideous  bestiality, 
and,  on  the  other,  themes  of  the  Russian  people,  now  manly 
and  brave,  now  sorrowful  and  stern.  These  two  ranges  of  images 
give  rise  to  two  different  styles  of  sound  expression:  complex 

156 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

polytonal  constructions,  harsh,  repellent  harmonies,  ugly,  dis- 
torted melodies,  heavy  and  strident  instrumentation  to  charac- 
terize the  crusaders,  and  Russian  national  melodies  in  clear 
and  sober  diatonic  style  for  the  depiction  of  the  Russian  war- 
riors.7 Prokofiev's  favorite  guignol,  familiar  to  us  from  the 
music  of  his  early  piano  pieces  and  The  Flaming  Angel,  ac- 
quires in  this  work  not  only  a  vivid  concrete  shape  but  also  a 
definite  purpose.  The  horror  and  ugliness  embodied  in  the  re- 
pulsive images  of  the  Livonian  knights  personify  the  bestial 
face  of  the  warmongers  of  the  present  day. 

Prokofiev's  fine  feeling  for  style  derived  from  his  early  World 
of  Art  experiences  —  the  ability  to  reproduce  in  his  own  mind 
images  of  remote  antiquity  without  resorting  to  static  museum 
forms  —  here  stood  him  in  good  stead.  The  composer  tells  us 
that,  when  working  on  the  depiction  of  the  crusaders,  he  en- 
deavored to  study  authentic  Catholic  hymns  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  But  "this  music  was  so  far  removed  from  us  that  it  could 
not  possibly  be  used.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  crusaders  sang 
it  with  a  warlike  frenzy  as  they  marched  into  battle;  neverthe- 
less to  the  modern  ear  it  sounded  too  cold  and  indifferent.  I 
was  therefore  obliged  to  discard  it  and  compose  for  the  crusad- 
ers music  more  suited  to  the  modern  conception"  (Pioneer, 
No.  7,  1939). 

And  listening  to  the  austere  Catholic  chorales  sung  by  Pro- 
kofiev's crusaders,  or  to  their  menacing  battle-cries,  one  feels 
that  the  music  of  the  distant  Middle  Ages  must  indeed  have 
sounded  thus.  While  the  impressive  guignol  scenes  of  the  can- 
tata ("Crusaders  in  Pskov,"  "Battle  on  the  Ice")  represented 
a  continuation  of  the  favorite  tendencies  of  the  early  Prokofiev, 
the  chorus  episodes  ("It  Happened  on  the  Neva  River,"  "Arise, 
Men  of  Russia")  gave  evidence  of  his  new  quest  for  images 

7  A  similar  juxtaposition  of  two  different  styles  (new  harmonic  combina- 
tions for  the  fantastic  scenes  and  the  ordinary  major  and  minor  for  the  realistic 
episodes)  is  quite  frequently  to  be  met  with  in  nineteenth-century  Russian 
opera  (Glinka,  Rimsky-Korsakov ) .  In  Prokofiev's  opera  music  we  find  such 
contrasts  as  well  (the  world  of  realistic  characters  and  the  world  of  fantasy  rep- 
resented in  The  Love  for  Three  Oranges;  contrasting  of  lyricism  and  guignol  in 
Semyon  Kotko. 

157 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

to  depict  the  grandeur  and  nobility  of  the  warrior  patriots,  the 
whole  world  of  Russian  melody  embodying  the  heroic  aspira- 
tions of  the  Russian  people.  Perhaps  for  the  first  time  the  com- 
poser has  created  broad  full-blooded  cantilena  melodies  in- 
stead of  recitative  music.  Every  passage  in  these  songs  betrays 
its  Russian  origin  (specific  contrasting  of  major  and  relative 
minor,  stressed  plagal  cadences,  the  use  of  the  seventh  and 
third  chords,  and  other  traditional  effects  of  the  Russian 
school) .  Yet  in  spite  of  the  familiar  qualities  of  the  music,  the 
composer  nevertheless  succeeded  with  a  few  bold  strokes  in 
imbuing  it  with  his  own  individual  manner  (for  example,  the 
unusual  harmonic  relationship  between  the  various  parts: 
E-flat  major  and  B  major,  and  E-flat  major  and  G  major  in  the 
chorus  "Arise,  Men  of  Russia") . 

The  mastery  displayed  by  Prokofiev  in  Alexander  Nevsky  de- 
serves detailed  study.  The  multiformity  of  his  orchestral  re- 
sources, from  the  subtlest  impressionism  of  the  water-color 
painter  to  the  crude  fresco  daubs  of  the  stage  decorator,  is  truly 
amazing,  as  are  also  his  bold  contrapuntal  dual-plane  methods, 
by  which  striking  cinematographic  effects  are  transferred  to  the 
realm  of  symphonic  music.  One  of  many  examples  is  the  si- 
multaneous sounding  of  the  triumphant  theme  of  the  Russian 
horsemen  and  the  distorted  theme  depicting  the  route  of  the 
Livonian  knights  in  the  "Battle  on  the  Ice."  The  very  genre 
(vocal  and  symphonic)  of  the  piece,  combining  in  one  canvas 
broad  descriptive  passages  with  choruses  of  a  general  type  and 
arias  in  the  manner  of  opera  (No.  6,  "Girl's  Song"),  is  both 
novel  and  unusual.  All  the  more  gratifying  is  the  strong  unity 
of  form  reminiscent  in  essence  of  a  large  sonata  construction.8 
The  only  point  on  which  the  author  has  been  reproached  was 
his  purely  cinematographic  montage  of  musical  stills  in  cer- 
tain parts  of  the  cantata  ("Battle  on  the  Ice"),  together  with 
some  naturalistic  exaggerations  in  the  battle  episodes. 

8  First  movement,  introduction;  the  following  three  parts,  exposition  of  the 
main  themes;  "Battle  on  the  Ice,"  a  tremendous  development  group;  sixth  and 
seventh  parts,  recapitulation  built  primarily  on  the  main  themes. 

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SOVIET    ARTIST 

In  spite  of  its  complex  construction  and  bold  harmonic,  or- 
chestral, and  polyphonic  effects,  Alexander  Nevsky  is  entirely 
comprehensible  to  the  general  public.  This  is  evidenced  by  the 
inclusion  in  the  repertory  of  the  Red  Army  Song  and  Dance 
Ensemble  of  the  first  chorus,  while  an  arrangement  of  the  sec- 
ond chorus  is  played  by  Red  Army  military  bands.  The  choms 
"Arise,  Men  of  Russia,"  became  especially  popular  during  the 
war  and  is  frequently  included  in  radio  programs  along  with 
other  popular  favorites. 

The  advent  of  this  music  has  given  every  ground  for  assum- 
ing that  the  great  Russian  classic  tradition,  the  heroic  and  epic 
traditions  of  Glinka,  Borodin,  and  Rimsky-Korsakov,  have  re- 
awakened in  Prokofiev's  music. 

The  opera  Semyon  Kotko  was  fraught  with  much  greater 
difficulties  for  the  composer  than  Alexander  Nevsky.  In  the 
first  place,  this  was  Prokofiev's  first  attempt  at  a  major  contem- 
porary theme  depicting  the  heroics  of  the  Revolutionary  strug- 
gle: the  plot  is  based  on  the  Civil  War  in  the  Ukraine.  Sec- 
ondly, there  was  the  inherent  difficulty  of  operatic  style  arising 
from  Prokofiev's  attitude  to  opera.  To  many  it  seemed  that  the 
very  task  of  writing  an  opera  on  a  Revolutionary  theme  would 
be  altogether  beyond  Prokofiev's  powers  inasmuch  as  he  had 
had  no  practical  knowledge  or  personal  experience  of  the  Revo- 
lution and  the  Civil  War. 

Indeed,  his  numerous  attempts  at  contemporary  themes  had 
revealed  the  more  vulnerable  aspects  of  Prokofiev's  style,  those 
which  might  be  called  the  birthmarks  of  modernism  —  the 
cold  artificiality,  eccentric  leaps,  brusqueries  not  always  justi- 
fied by  the  content,  and,  in  some  cases,  an  unnecessary  aloof- 
ness and  indifference  to  the  theme.  This  regrettable  discrep- 
ancy between  the  inception  of  the  music  and  its  means  of 
expression  had  made  itself  most  strongly  felt  in  the  greater  part 
of  Songs  of  Our  Days,  and  particularly  in  the  popular  songs, 
Op.  79.  At  times  one  felt  here  the  cold  composure  of  the  mas- 
ter who  has  not  perceived  the  inner  essence  of  the  image  he 
seeks  to  portray.  In  such  cases  it  was  obvious  that  the  burden 

*59 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

of  the  past,  the  force  of  tradition  and  habit  inculcated  in  mod- 
ernist and  Western  musical  circles,  still  shackled  and  stifled 
the  artist's  living  muse. 

Fortunately,  these  birthmarks  of  Prokofiev's  modernist  past 
are  affecting  his  latest  works  to  an  ever  lesser  degree. 

Another  serious  apprehension  that  was  felt  after  the  first 
hearing  of  Semyon  Kotko  had  a  bearing  on  the  very  approach 
of  the  composer  to  opera  in  general.  When  he  composed  The 
Gambler  many  years  ago,  Prokofiev  emerged  as  a  strong  oppo- 
nent of  the  traditional  operatic  forms:  the  beautiful  but  static 
opera  arias  and  choruses,  poetical  texts,  all  manner  of  conven- 
tions governing  the  action,  were  all  cast  aside  as  so  much 
useless  rubbish.  Opera,  he  maintained,  should  above  all  be 
active,  flexible,  and  absorbing.  The  composer  was  primarily  in- 
terested at  that  time  in  the  movement  and  tempo  of  the  de- 
velopment and  in  keen  character  portrayal. 

"Of  late,"  he  had  maintained,  "we  have  witnessed  in  Rus- 
sian operas  a  decline  of  interest  on  the  part  of  the  composer 
in  the  stage  aspect  of  opera,  with  the  result  that  opera  has  be- 
come static,  filled  with  a  host  of  boring  conventions.  ...  In 
my  opinion,  the  custom  of  writing  operas  to  rhymed  texts  is  an 
utterly  absurd  convention.  The  prose  of  Dostoyevsky  is  more 
vivid,  striking,  and  convincing  than  any  poetry."  The  composer 
went  on  to  announce  his  rejection  in  principle  of  the  conven- 
tional opera  chorus,  "since  the  chorus  is  neither  flexible  nor 
scenic"  (Vecherniye  Birzheviye  Vedomosti,  May  12,  1916). 

Modern  opera,  Prokofiev  argued,  should  reflect  the  speed 
and  business-like  pace  of  modern  city  life.  "A  hundred  to  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  our  ancestors  enjoyed  gay  pastor- 
ales and  the  music  of  Mozart  and  Rameau;  last  century  they 
admired  slow,  serious  music;  in  our  day,  in  music  as  in  every- 
thing else,  it  is  speed,  energy,  and  push  that  are  preferred" 
(Riga  newspaper  Segodnya,  January  1927). 

Prokofiev's  opera  principles,  which  had  taken  their  most 
concrete  shape  in  The  Gambler,  were  at  that  time  to  a  certain 
extent  progressive,  for  they  were  directed  mainly  against  the 

160 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

tinsel  trappings  and  fossilized  methods  of  the  imperial  grand 
opera.  The  young  Prokofiev  continued  the  opera  tradition  of 
Mussorgsky,  exaggerating  and  emphasizing  the  methods  out- 
lined in  the  latter's  Marriage.  But  these  experiments  of  the 
voung  composer  undoubtedly  contained  the  seeds  of  an  arbi- 
trary rejection  of  the  very  essence  of  opera,  for  to  condemn  all 
operatic  conventionality,  to  reduce  operatic  action  to  endless 
musical  prose  with  no  songs  or  complete  melodies,  would  be 
to  undermine  the  very  foundations  of  operatic  art.  Later,  in 
the  twenties,  this  same  tendency,  extensively  represented  in 
the  new  urbanistic  opera  of  the  West,  actually  did  lead  oper- 
atic art  to  an  impasse. 

When  he  sat  down  to  write  a  new  opera  in  1939,  after  an 
interval  of  twelve  years  since  The  Flaming  Angel,  Prokofiev 
was  still  burdened  by  these  former  principles.  And  whereas  in 
The  Gambler  a  demonstrative  rejection  of  operatic  convention- 
ality was  to  a  certain  extent  justified,  in  the  Soviet  opera  con- 
ceived on  the  plane  of  national  musical  drama  this  nihilism 
could  only  have  played  a  negative  role. 

What,  then,  are  the  contradictions  that  were  revealed  in 
Semyon  Kotko?  On  the  one  hand,  the  opera  marked  a  definite 
approach  on  the  composer's  part  to  the  realistic  portrayal  of 
life,  to  modem  topical  themes.  Again,  as  in  Romeo  and  Juliet. 
a  gallery  of  living  human  portraits  arose  before  the  listener, 
drawn  with  an  inimitable,  individual  touch.  It  is  worthy  of 
note  that  the  more  successful  of  these  were  images  that  were 
brutal  and  ugly  (Tkachenko  the  kulak,  the  Germans)  or 
tensely  expressive  (the  mad  Lynba),  or  gay,  carefree,  mischie- 
vous (Frosya,  Mikola,  Tsarev)  —that  is,  the  types  in  which 
Prokofiev  had  always  excelled.  In  the  macabre,  tragic  scenes 
(Act  III.  scenes  of  the  fire  and  execution.  Act  IV.  funeral 
scene)  and,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  mem-,  semi-ironic  epi- 
sodes (beginning  of  Act  I)  we  recognize  the  favorite  Prokofiev 
images  in  a  new  setting.  Semxon  Kotko.  however,  brought  out 
new  qualities  in  Prokofiev's  music  as  well.  First,  there  is  the 
poetic  world  of  love  lyrics,  more  real  than  in  Romeo  and  Juliet 

161 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 


(unforgettable  scene  of  the  nocturnal  idyll  at  the  beginning  of 
Act  III,  the  tryst  of  Semyon  and  Sophia  in  Act  I,  etc. ) .  Second, 
there  is  the  Ukrainian  national  coloring,  conveyed  in  an  ex- 


18.  Semyon  Kotko,  Introduction  to  Act  III. 

tremely  original,  if  perhaps  disputable,  manner  in  the  choral 
episodes  (wedding  chorus  in  Act  II,  Commandments)  and 
some  solo  character  portraits  (Tkachenko,  Semyon,  and 
Frosya).  Extremely  interesting  is  Prokofiev's  technique  of 
musical  dramaturgy:  complex  and  imposing  leitmotiv  devel- 
opment, pointed,  natural  declamatory  effects,  laconic  and 
poster-like  directness  of  symphonic  characterization.  As  for 
the  leading  idea  of  the  opera,  mention  should  be  made  of  the 
exceptional  power  and  dramatic  force  of  the  episodes  depict- 
ing the  brutality  of  the  German  invaders;  these  episodes  evoke 
a  fierce  hatred  for  the  enemy  in  the  manner  of  the  best  speci- 
mens of  revolutionary  satire. 

An  important  defect  of  the  opera  is  the  inadequacy  of  posi- 
tive characters  to  counteract  the  world  of  violence  and  oppres- 
sion. Neither  Semyon  Kotko  nor  the  Bolshevik  Remenyuk 
have  the  resolution  and  selfless  heroism  of  true  revolutionary 

162 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

fighters.  In  this  respect  a  good  measure  of  the  blame  is  due  to 
the  libretto,  whose  author  (Valentin  Katayev)  has  laid  too 
much  emphasis  on  prosaic,  mundane  details  and  failed  to  rise 
to  the  heights  of  lofty  generalization.  The  unwarranted  intru- 
sion of  local  slang  and  the  abundance  of  naturalistic  detail  di- 
verted the  composer's  attention  away  from  the  need  to  roman- 
ticize the  basic  images  and  situations  of  the  opera.  The  fine 
melodic  seeds  scattered  generously  throughout  the  score  al- 
most never  develop  into  full  aria  forms.  All  this  makes  the 
opera  difficult  for  the  average  listener  to  follow,  and  inevitably 
lowers  it  to  the  level  of  a  commonplace  prosaic  presentation. 
The  views  on  opera  propounded  by  Prokofiev  as  far  back  as 
The  Gambler  made  themselves  felt  in  all  this. 

It  is  gratifying  to  note,  however,  that  in  his  subsequent  work 
for  the  musical  theater  Prokofiev  is  endeavoring  to  overcome 
his  modernist  principles.  His  opera  Betrothal  in  a  Convent 
contains  a  number  of  rounded-out  vocal  numbers  (arias,  ari- 
ettas, duets,  a  quintet  with  chorus,  etc. ) .  A  similar  reversion 
to  the  finished  classical  forms,  the  use  of  traditional  variations, 
adagios,  grands  pas,  etc.,  is  also  to  be  observed  in  his  ballet 
Cinderella. 

The  above  criticism  of  Semyon  Kotko  is  by  no  means  in- 
tended to  minimize  the  excellent  artistic  qualities  of  the  opera, 
its  inner  poetic  wealth  and  superlative  skill  in  the  develop- 
ment of  expressive  musical  detail.  This  is  not  merely  an  impor- 
tant landmark  in  Prokofiev's  career;  it  is  to  a  no  lesser  degree  a 
substantial  step  forward  in  the  development  of  Soviet  opera 
in  general. 


163 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 


11  :  The  War  Years 


i 


And  Legend  marches  in  step  with  him.  She  grows 
And  ever  walks  beside  him,  singing  and  beating 

the  earth  with  her  gun-stock. 
Her  glance  is  no  longer  childlike  as  she  speeds  the 

avenger  forward. 

Antokolsky:  Ballad  of  the  Unknown  Boy 


.N  THE  summer  of  1942  Prokofiev  changed  his  resi- 
dence from  Tbilisi  to  Alma-Ata,  the  capital  of  Kazakhstan, 
whither  the  production  base  of  the  Soviet  film  industry  had 
been  evacuated  from  Moscow.  There  Sergei  Eisenstein,  the  ad- 
mirer and  friend  with  whom  Prokofiev  had  worked  so  harmoni- 
ously on  Alexander  Nevsky,  invited  him  to  work  with  him  on 
his  new  film,  Ivan  the  Terrible.  Parallel  with  the  preparation  of 
this  score,  Prokofiev  wrote  music  for  three  other  films  in  pro- 
duction at  the  Alma-Ata  and  Stalinabad  studios:  Lermontov, 
Tonya,  Kotovsky.  Worth  particular  remark  in  the  Lermontov 
score  are  several  period  dances,  which  were  later  included  in 
piano  arrangement  in  a  collection  of  piano  pieces,  Op.  96. 
There  are  interesting  bitter  musical  caricatures  of  German 
militarists  in  the  scores  of  Tonya  and  Kotovsky. 

This  film  work  did  not  upset  Prokofiev's  basic  creative  plans. 
During  the  summer  of  1942  he  completed  the  piano  score  of 
War  and  Peace  and  worked  on  the  orchestration  of  the  opera. 
New  chamber  works  were  composed:  the  Seventh  Piano  So- 
nata, Op.  83,  begun  two  and  a  half  years  earlier  and  completed 
in  May  1942  in  Tbilisi; x  a  Sonata  in  four  movements  for  flute 
and  piano  (D  major,  Op.  94);  two  series  of  new  piano  pieces, 
Op.  95  and  96.  And  Prokofiev  finished  the  sketches  for  The 
Ballad  of  the  Unknown  Boy. 

The  Ballad  was  based  on  the  anti-fascist  verses  of  the  Soviet 

1  This  sonata  is  in  three  movements:  first,  in  a  rather  impetuous  tempo 
(allegro  inquieto),  second,  a  lyrical  Andante,  alternately  tender  and  tense,  and 
a  finale,  rhythmically  whimsical  (in  £  time). 

164 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

poet  P.  Antokolsky,  which  Prokofiev  used  for  the  creation  of  a 
sharply  dramatic  vocal  narrative  directed  against  German  bar- 
barism. The  hero  of  the  ballad,  "a  merry  boy  in  a  gray  cap," 
apparently  attracted  the  composer  by  something  more  than 
chance:  boyish  images,  naive  and  teasing,  had  interested  Pro- 
kofiev for  a  long  time,  in  instrumental  music,  opera,  and  bal- 
let. But  this  time  the  fascinating  child  character,  a  close  relative 
to  Peter  of  the  well-known  symphonic  fairy-tale,  is  lifted  into 
an  entirely  different  atmosphere,  a  mood  of  engrossing  tragedy. 

Spreading  death  and  horror  as  they  come,  the  German  in- 
vaders enter  a  small  town.  They  shoot  the  mother  and  sisters 
of  our  "unknown  boy."  The  young  hero  takes  a  fierce  revenge, 
throwing  a  grenade  into  a  staff  car,  blowing  to  bits  the  fascist 
generals  in  it.  The  Ballad  is  written  in  Prokofiev's  characteris- 
tic manner  of  free  declamation,  and  is  scored  for  dramatic  so- 
prano, dramatic  tenor,  chorus,  and  full  symphony. 

After  an  absence  of  one  and  a  half  years  Prokofiev  returned 
in  December  1942  to  Moscow,  where  he  introduced  his  most 
important  works  composed  in  the  south:  the  piano  score  of 
War  and  Peace  and  the  Seventh  Sonata. 

The  year  1943  opened  for  Prokofiev  with  deserved  success. 
The  new  Seventh  Sonata  was  splendidly  performed  by  the 
young  pianist  Svyatoslav  Richter,  and  this  most  "Left"  of  all 
his  sonatas  was,  unexpectedly  for  many,  enthusiastically  re- 
ceived. And  in  March  1943  the  work  brought  to  its  composer 
the  highest  award  to  which  a  Soviet  artist  may  aspire  —  the 
Stalin  prize.  They  were  correct  who  sensed  in  the  tempestuous, 
precipitate  rhythms  of  the  first  movement,  in  its  menacing 
"percussive"  harmonies,  in  the  Cyclopean  might  of  its  finale 
—  music  of  gigantic,  thundering  tension,  as  if  overturning 
everything  in  its  path  —  a  reflection  of  the  shattering  events 
endured  by  the  Soviet  Union  in  these  years.  The  sonata  has  no 
program,  but  the  storms  of  the  war  years  are  surely  reflected 
in  its  general  emotional  tonality.2  For  a  brief  moment  at  the 

2  Felix  Borowski,  the  music  critic  of  the  Chicago  Sun,  wrote  very  con- 
vincingly on  the  ideological  connection  between  the  Seventh  Sonata  and  the 

165 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

beginning  of  the  second  movement  the  nervous  dynamics  give 
way  to  the  charm  of  a  love-lyrical  minuet  theme.  But  soon  this 
oasis  of  pure  lyricism  is  engulfed  by  the  steely  pressure  of  the 
B-flat  major  finale,  courageously  uniting  in  itself  the  Russian 
monumentalism  of  Borodin  with  sharp  modern  "machine" 
rhythms. 

The  prevailing  interest  of  the  composer,  however,  was  still 
in  the  theater  rather  than  in  instrumental  music.  In  the  sum- 
mer of  1943  Prokofiev  temporarily  interrupted  his  work  on 
Ivan  the  Terrible  in  Alma-Ata  in  order  to  visit  the  city  of 
Molotov,  in  the  Urals,  whither  the  Leningrad  Kirov  Theater 
of  Opera  and  Ballet 3  had  been  evacuated  at  the  beginning  of 
the  war.  This  best  of  all  Soviet  ballet  troupes,  with  which  Pro- 
kofiev had  prepared  the  first  production  of  his  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  had  encouraged  him  to  complete  the  ballet  Cinderella, 
on  which  he  had  been  working  when  war  came.  Now,  in  close 
contact  with  K.  Sergeyev,  the  choreographer,  and  N.  Volkov, 
the  librettist,  Prokofiev  enthusiastically  completed  the  ballet, 
the  three  creators  discussing  each  detail  of  music  and  staging, 
thus  guaranteeing  an  inseparable  linking  of  the  elements  of 
music  and  drama. 

In  addition  to  the  Seventh  Sonata  1943  also  heard  other  new 
works  by  Prokofiev,  such  as  the  new  Flute  Sonata  in  D  major, 
Op.  94/  After  the  stark  and  furious  images  of  the  Seventh  So- 
nata, the  Second  Quartet,  and  The  Ballad  of  the  Unknown 
Boy,  Prokofiev  was  obliged  to  find  an  outlet  for  the  pure  lyri- 
cal feeling  that  had  accumulated  in  him.  He  had  experienced 
such  lyrical  intervals  before:  the  Classical  Symphony  and 
Fugitive  Visions  had  followed  The  Gambler;  The  Prodigal 
Son  and  the  Fourth  Symphony  had  followed  the  Second  Sym- 

war:  "Something  in  the  inexorable  rhythm  of  the  finale  also  gives  a  suggestion 
of  the  heroic  inflexibility  of  a  people  who  are  not  to  know  defeat." 

:t  The  former  Imperial  Maryinsky  Theater.  It  was  at  this  theater  that  Pro- 
kofiev's two  most  important  theatrical  works  had  been  staged:  The  Love  for 
Three  Oranges  in  1927,  the  ballet  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  1940. 

*  A  later  version  of  this  sonata,  arranged  for  violin  and  piano,  was  per- 
formed with  success  by  David  Oistrakh  in  Moscow  by  Josef  Szigcti  in  New 
York. 

166 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

phony  and  The  Flaming  Angel  The  direct  charm  of  the  classic 
line,  the  original  Russian  Mozartism  within  a  strictly  modem 
concept,  colored  with  characteristic  Prokoficvian  irony  —  as  in 
the  Sinfonietta  and  the  Classical  Symphony  —  all  this  again 
appeared  in  the  elegant  and  fragile  piece  for  flute.  The  trans- 
parent "white"  color  of  the  flute,  used  so  often  by  Prokofiev  to 
paint  lyrical  feminine  themes  and  images,  suited  perfectly  the 
gentle,  half-childlike  lyricism  of  this  sonata,  with  its  rather 
toylike  Scherzo  (the  second  movement),  and  the  playful 
dancing  finale. 

Along  with  his  completion  of  Cinderella,  Prokofiev  also 
finished  his  orchestration  of  War  and  Peace  and  prepared  the 
piano  score  for  lithographic  printing  in  two  volumes  by  the 
Music  Foundation  of  the  U.S.S.R.  These  publishers  also  issued 
the  piano  score  of  Betrothal  in  a  Convent  as  well  as  a  col- 
lection of  piano  pieces  —  transcriptions  from  Cinderella  and 
separate  choruses  and  arias  from  War  and  Peace. 

In  the  fall  of  1943,  because  of  the  Red  Army's  advance  to- 
ward the  West,  the  majority  of  the  evacuated  musical  insti- 
tutions as  well  as  the  entire  mass  of  Moscow  musicians, 
returned  to  the  capital  according  to  plan.  Liberated  from  dan- 
gerous proximity  to  the  front,  Moscow  resumed  its  busy  artis- 
tic life.  Prokofiev  returned  in  October,  and  the  concert  seasons 
of  1943-4  and  especially  that  of  1944-5  §ave  prominent  place 
to  his  symphonic  and  chamber  compositions.  Thus,  in  Febru- 
ary 1944  his  Ballad  was  given  its  first  performance,  with  the 
participation  of  soloists  from  the  Bolshoi  Opera,  N.  Schpiller 
and  F.  Fedotov,  the  Leningrad  Cappella  Chorus,  and  the  State 
Symphonic  Orchestra  of  the  U.S.S.R.  under  the  leadership  of 
Alexander  Gauk. 

The  slightly  cumbersome  and  over-kaleidoscopic  music  of 
the  cantata,  unsupported  by  clear,  memorable  melody  and 
repetitions,  did  not  produce  a  very  great  effect.  And  old  tend- 
ency of  Prokofiev's  had  reappeared.  Several  times  before  in  his 
vocal  music  the  chorus  and  singers  had  been  disproportionately 
overweighed  by  the  textual  material,  usually  a  heavy  and  un- 

167 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

melodious  narrative  forcing  the  music  to  struggle  in  order  to 
keep  up  with  it,  without  ever  revealing  its  significance.5  The 
cantata  composed  on  the  occasion  of  the  twentieth  anniver- 
sary of  the  October  Revolution  had  suffered  in  the  same  way, 
never  achieving  its  purpose  because  of  clumsiness,  melodic 
sogginess,  and  abundance  of  prosaic  detail. 

Meeting  at  the  end  of  March  1944  in  Moscow,  the  organiz- 
ing committee  of  the  Composers'  Union  took  the  form  of  an 
All-Union  Congress  of  Soviet  Composers,  at  which  a  special 
report  was  presented  on  the  work  of  Sergei  Prokofiev  during 
the  war  years.  Prokofiev  himself  made  an  important  address 
at  one  of  the  plenary  sessions,  calling  his  fellow  workers  in  art 
to  improve  their  craftsmanship. 

In  1944  Prokofiev  was  again  honored  by  the  Soviet  Govern- 
ment. Along  with  a  group  of  other  prominent  musicians  of  the 
older  generation  —  Miaskovsky,  Vassilenko,  Anatoli  Alexan- 
drov  —  Prokofiev  was  awarded  the  order  of  the  Red  Banner  of 
Labor  for  outstanding  services  in  the  development  of  Soviet 
music.  At  the  same  time  the  title  of  Honorary  Worker  in  Art 
was  bestowed  on  him. 

After  a  year's  interruption  Prokofiev  returned  with  great 
enthusiasm  to  the  score  of  Eisenstein's  Ivan  the  Terrible,  Part 
I  of  which  was  approaching  completion  in  the  Mosfilm  stu- 
dios. In  the  international  history  of  the  art  of  the  sound  film 
there  is  no  closer  creative  friendship  between  director  and 
composer  than  that  between  Eisenstein  and  Prokofiev.  The 
two  artists  discussed  each  sequence  of  the  film  before  the  musi- 
cal passage  was  written  and  the  sequence  finally  edited.  Proko- 
fiev was  thrilled  by  Eisenstein's  temperament  and  taste  and  by 
his  graphic  skill  in  directly  or  paradoxically  formulating  his 

5  The  Ballad  was  given  a  critical  evaluation  bv  Shostakovich  in  his  report 
to  the  organization  committee  of  the  Union  of  Soviet  Composers  on  March  28, 
1944:  "In  the  Ballad  the  music  is  deprived  of  a  solid,  constructive  base.  I  sense 
it  as  a  scries  of  separate,  unconnected  musical  cadres.  To  me  it  seems  impossi- 
ble to  create  a  work  of  the  largest  dimensions  by  a  method  of  this  sort." 
(Printed  in  Litcratura  i  Iskusstvo,  April  1,  1944.) 

l68 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

"orders"  to  the  composer:  "At  this  point  the  music  must 
sound  like  a  mother  tearing  her  own  child  to  pieces,"  or  "Do 
it  so  that  it  sounds  like  a  cork  rubbed  down  a  pane  of  glass."  ° 
In  his  turn  Eisenstein  more  than  once  listened  profitably  to 
the  keen  comments  of  Prokofiev. 

The  historical  film  about  Ivan  the  Terrible  had  to  upset  the 
traditional  portrayals  of  this  Moscow  monarch  —  contempo- 
rary of  Elizabeth  of  England  and  Philip  II  of  Spain  —  in  order 
to  find  the  real  man  behind  the  former  simplified  representa- 
tion of  him  as  a  raging,  bloody  despot.  In  the  new  film  the  au- 
thors aimed  to  show  Ivan  the  Terrible  as  a  courageous  unifier 
of  the  Russian  state  and  as  a  clever  warrior  who  made  his  em- 
pire's power  firm  despite  the  personal  greed  of  the  reactionary 
boyars.  A  grandiose  epic  in  three  parts  was  planned,  the  first 
to  be  completed  in  the  fall  of  1944.  As  in  Alexander  Nevsky, 
the  music  was  to  occupy  the  role  of  an  active  participant  in 
the  drama,  and  was  not  only  to  accompany  the  more  impor- 
tant episodes  in  the  film,  but  also  to  fill  it  with  a  parallel,  de- 
veloping action  of  emotional  sound. 

One  of  the  most  fruitful  periods  in  the  creative  work  of 
Prokofiev  was  the  summer  of  1944,  which  he  spent  in  the  com- 
posers' rest-home  at  a  picturesque  Russian  village  near  Ivan- 
ovo. He  composed  during  this  summer  two  monumental  in- 
strumental works:  his  Eighth  Piano  Sonata  and  his  Fifth 
Symphony,  Op.  100. 

This  Ivanovo  rest-home,  given  by  the  government  to  the 
Composers'  Union,  made  it  possible  in  the  difficult  years  of 
the  war  for  composers  to  live  at  the  expense  of  the  gov- 
ernment in  the  conditions  of  a  first-class  pension  and  to  create 
without  the  disturbing  cares  of  city  life  in  war-time.  During 
the  summer  of  1944  Prokofiev,  Shostakovich,  Miaskovsky, 
Khachaturian,  and  Kabalevsky  lived  and  worked  there,  rival- 
ing each  other  in  creative  productivity.  During  two  months 

6  Prokofiev  quoted  these  remarks  in  his  article  "My  Work  on  the  Film 
Ivan  the  Terrible"  in  VOKS  Musical  Chronicle,  October  1944. 

169 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

were  born  the  most  brilliant  new  musical  works  of  the  follow- 
ing season:  the  Second  Quartet  and  Piano  Trio  by  Shostako- 
vich, the  Eighth  Sonata  and  Fifth  Symphony  by  Prokofiev. 

The  Eighth  Sonata  is  the  third  in  the  group  of  three  so- 
natas begun  as  early  as  1939.  Thus  the  work  on  this  cycle  of 
sonatas,  Op.  82,  83,  84,  had  been  stretched  over  a  period  of 
five  years,  to  flower  in  a  display  of  Prokofiev's  monumental 
pianism.  The  novelty  and  unusual  freshness  of  thematic  mate- 
rial, combined  with  the  sparkle  and  technical  complexity  of 
the  piano  medium,  again,  as  in  the  Seventh  Sonata,  amazed  its 
auditors.  If  the  most  impressive  movement  of  the  Seventh 
Sonata  was  its  tempestuously  rushing  finale  in  7/8,  then  the 
real  surprise  in  the  Eighth  was  the  soothing  theme  of  the  first 
movement  (andante  dolce),  music  that  reveals  shining  bal- 
ance and  quiet  wisdom.  This  sonata  immediately  interested 
the  young  virtuoso  Emil  Hillels,  famous  for  his  victories  in  the 
international  piano  contests  in  Vienna  and  Brussels,  and  the 
Eighth  Sonata  was  triumphantly  introduced  by  him  in  his 
concert  of  September  29,  1944. 

During  that  autumn  musical  Moscow  was  also  introduced 
to  the  War  and  Peace,  performed  in  excerpts  with  piano  ac- 
companiment by  the  opera  ensemble  of  the  All-Russian  The- 
atrical Association  in  October.  Somewhat  later  these  excerpts 
were  performed  with  the  State  Symphonic  Orchestra,  con- 
ducted by  Samuel  Samosud.  Controversial  moments  of  the 
opera,  even  before  its  full  theatrical  presentation,  aroused  criti- 
cal comment  in  the  Soviet  press;  for  example,  Visarion  Sheb- 
halin,  director  of  the  Moscow  Conservatory,  wrote  a  severe 
article  in  Literatura  i  Iskusstvo  (October  1944) .  This  has  been 
the  fate  of  most  of  Prokofiev's  theatrical  works:  their  appear- 
ance inevitably  arouses  keen  disputes  and  discussions  of  the 
most  cardinal  points  of  musical  dramaturgy. 

The  season  of  1944-5  brought  one  more  important  victory 
to  Prokofiev:  his  artistic  adaptation  of  ten  Russian  folk-songs, 
collected  originally  by  the  distinguished  folk-lorist  Yevgeni 
Hippius.  The  best  of  these  concert  arrangements  —  Fly,  Hazel- 

170 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

berry,  and  The  Green  Grove  (for  solo  voice  and  piano)  —  re- 
ceived the  first  and  second  prizes  at  the  song  contest  of  the 
All-Russian  Concert  Tour  Association.7 

In  January  1945  Prokofiev's  name  twice  claimed  the  full 
attention  of  Soviet  musical  circles:  his  Fifth  Symphony  was 
given  its  premiere  at  the  composer's  concert  on  January  13, 
1945  in  the  Grand  Hall  of  the  Moscow  Conservatory;  Ivan 
the  Terrible  (Part  I)  was  released  throughout  the  Union. 

The  performance  of  the  Fifth  Symphony  had  special  sig- 
nificance: as  Prokofiev's  Opus  100,  it  was  a  sort  of  jubilee  com- 
position in  his  career.  The  idea  of  the  symphony  had  long  been 
ripening  in  the  consciousness  of  the  composer,  filling  his  note- 
books with  its  accumulating  themes.  The  new  symphony  had 
also  a  doctrinal  function:  it  had  to  refute  the  idea  that  the  me- 
dium of  pure  philosophic  symphonism  is  alien  to  Prokofiev.  It 
is  true  that  much  of  his  symphonic  work  had  been  born  of  the- 
atrical images  (the  Scythian  Suite,  the  Third  and  Fourth  Sym- 
phonies, the  Alexander  Nevsky  cantata,  the  suites  from  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  The  Buffoon,  and  Lieutenant  Kije)  or  had  been  de- 
termined by  descriptive  or  stylized  motives.  Now  Prokofiev  for 
the  first  time  declared  his  right  to  evolve  a  symphonic  concept 
that  had  not  been  forged  in  pictorially  descriptive  problems. 
According  to  the  unanimous  opinion  of  musicians,  he  achieved 
his  aim.  The  fifth  Symphony  was  pronounced  not  only  a  genu- 
ine Prokofiev  symphony,  fully  comprehending  the  philosophic 
purpose  of  the  medium,  but  also  one  of  the  most  important 
phenomena  of  twentieth-century  Russian  symphonism.  Ap- 
proaching in  manner  the  objective  epic  symphonism  of  the 
Borodin-Glazunov  line  rather  than  the  lyrical  dramatic  sym- 
phonism of  Tchaikovsky  and  Shostakovich,  it  captured  the 
auditors  with  its  healthy  mood  of  affirmation.  In  the  heroic, 
manly  images  of  the  first  movement,  in  the  holiday  jubilation 
of  the  finale,  the  auditors  sensed  a  living  transmutation  of  that 
popular  emotional  surge,  of  that  bright  faith  in  a  joyous  fu- 

7  Earlier,  in  May  1944,  Prokofiev  had  arranged  and  orchestrated  an  Eng- 
lish folk-song,  Oh,  No,  John! 

171 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

ture,  which  we  felt  in  those  days  of  victories  over  Nazi  Ger- 
many. A  detail:  at  the  moment  when  the  first  chords  of  the 
symphony  sounded  in  the  Grand  Hall  of  the  Conservatory,, 
we  also  heard  the  powerful  cannon  saluting  the  heroes  of  the 
crossing  of  the  Vistula.  This  coincidence  seemed  a  striking 
symbol  of  the  topical  social  significance  of  Prokofiev's  new 
composition. 

No  less  contemporary  were  the  musical  images  of  Ivan  the 
Terrible:  themes  of  supreme  Russian  valor  (episode  of  the 
siege  of  Kazan),  themes  of  firm  Russian  statesmanship  (the 
Overture),  the  virile  and  impulsive  people's  choruses  (espe- 
cially the  splendid  chorus  of  Gunners).  The  bright  pictorial 
quality,  the  graphic  perception,  the  almost  material  tangibility 
of  separate  episodes,  as  in  Alexander  Nevsky,  were  amazing: 
the  heavily  crawling  passages  for  trumpets  and  tympani  for 
the  transport  of  the  Tsar's  cannon;  or  the  musical  portrayal 
of  the  tortures  of  the  captured  Tatars  (with  shrieking  fioriture 
of  screaming  brass  and  harsh  rolls  of  the  percussion).  How- 
ever, the  central  place  in  the  music  is  taken  by  the  profoundly 
human,  many-sided  image  of  Ivan,  his  youthful  love  (the  wed- 
ding choruses),  his  maturing  wisdom,  and  the  nervously  tragic 
ecstasy  of  his  agony  (unforgettable  sobs  of  the  celli,  capturing 
the  very  reality  of  straining  human  grief).  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  Prokofiev  had  turned  seriously  toward  the  ecclesias- 
tical music  of  ancient  Russia,  re-creating,  in  a  series  of  church 
choruses,  the  triumphant  exultation  and  funeral  ceremonies 
of  the  Orthodox  Church. 

After  the  completion  of  all  three  parts  of  Ivan  the  Terrible, 
Prokofiev  will  undoubtedly  reshape  its  music  into  a  vocal  sym- 
phonic work  —  or  perhaps  into  an  opera. 

Prokofiev's  capacity  for  creative  work  appears  unlimited. 
While  these  lines  are  being  written  the  composer  is  working 
on  a  new  Violin  Sonata,  Op.  80  (originally  sketched  in  1939), 
he  is  developing  sketches  for  a  Sixth  Symphony  and  a  Ninth 
Piano  Sonata  (the  latter  having  been  outlined  in  the  summer 
of  1944) ,  and  he  is  revising  the  score  of  his  Fourth  Symphony. 

172 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

Waiting  in  line  also  is  a  new  comic  opera,  of  life  in  Kazakh- 
stan, but  the  composer  intends  to  turn  to  it  only  after  his  sev- 
eral recent  theatrical  works  have  been  produced. 

What  are  the  new  features  of  Prokofiev's  works  in  the  1940's 

—  these  years  of  world-shaking  military  events?  It  cannot  be 
said  that  the  war  lessened  his  energy;  on  the  contrary,  it  seems 
to  have  intensified  his  creative  impetus.  More  than  a  dozen 
new  opus  numbers  in  less  than  four  years  —  including  a  monu- 
mental opera,  a  symphony,  three  sonatas,  the  major  part  of 
a  ballet,  a  quartet,  a  cantata,  several  songs,  marches  and  piano 
pieces,  music  for  four  films  —  this  is  sufficient  evidence  of  Pro- 
kofiev's amazingly  prolific  skill  during  the  war  years.  The  patri- 
otic surge  of  all  Soviet  people  during  this  period  inevitably 
sharpened  the  composer's  own  patriotic  and  social  tendency. 
Thus,  after  Alexander  Nevsky,  there  rise  huge  musical  can- 
vases of  Russian  history  —  War  and  Peace,  Ivan  the  Terrible 

—  glorifying  the  valor  and  invincibility  of  the  people.  Thus 
also  are  born  more  urgent,  timely  works,  musical  posters  di- 
rectly reflecting  the  theme  of  the  patriotic  war  —  the  suite 
1941,  songs,  The  Ballad  of  the  Unknown  Boy.  Alongside  Pro- 
kofiev's predilection  for  the  acid  and  the  picturesque,  there 
has  been  a  search  in  his  music  for  a  positive  social  hero  —  miss- 
ing in  his  previous  compositions,  particularly  in  those  of  his 
youth.  Now  we  have  Kutuzov,  Ivan  the  Terrible,  the  leading 
images  of  the  Fifth  Symphony,  the  fighting,  grieving,  angry, 
and  joyful  people  in  the  mass  scenes  of  War  and  Peace.  This 
circumstance  has  increased  the  role  of  the  chorus  in  Proko- 
fiev's music;  the  chorus  now  functions  as  a  living,  active,  human 
collective,  as  a  bearer  of  the  people's  song. 

The  1940's  also  display  a  new  rise  in  the  theatrical  develop- 
ment of  Prokofiev's  talent.  This  can  be  seen  in  three  scores, 
all  of  great  interest,  and  each  totally  different  from  the  others: 
Betrothal  in  a  Convent  (which  appeared  on  the  very  eve  of 
war),  Cinderella,  and  War  and  Peace.  Studying  these  works, 
one  notes  a  new  enrichment  of  thematic  material  in  Proko- 
fiev's music  for  opera  and  ballet,  as  well  as  the  marked  growth 

*73 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

of  a  specific  gravity  of  melody,  as  an  organizing,  image-form- 
ing element.  After  the  uncompromising  declamatory  flow  of 
The  Gambler,  after  the  broken  and  kaleidoscopic  quality  of 
The  Love  for  Three  Oranges,  one  senses  a  tendency  in  these 
latest  operas  toward  rounded,  singing  melodic  constructions, 
toward  frank  ariosos  and  ensembles,  toward  a  more  living  and 
natural  song  in  general.  This  tendency  is  more  noticeable  in 
Betrothal  than  in  War  and  Peace.  A  comparable  process  is 
shown  in  Cinderella  as  well:  moving  away  from  continuous 
pantomime  toward  classically  rounded  ballet  numbers.  This 
naturally  does  not  indicate  a  mechanical  return  to  the  doc- 
trinal routine  of  academic  opera,  in  the  denial  of  which  Proko- 
fiev strengthened  his  dramatic  talent,  showing  his  powerful 
qualities  as  an  innovator:  flexibility  and  freedom  of  form,  liv- 
ing impulsive  tempos,  acute  and  unexpectedly  contrasting  jux- 
tapositions —  these  are  still  the  specifics  of  his  dramatic  style. 
We  consider  the  sparkling  Duenna,  by  Richard  Brinsley 
Sheridan,  given  modern  musical  life  by  Prokofiev,  as  the  most 
vital  of  his  operatic  creations.  Betrothal  in  a  Convent  has  the 
least  of  those  nihilistic  twists  peculiar  to  the  composer's  previ- 
ous operas,  but  has,  instead,  firmly  constructed  comedy  in- 
trigue and  witty  character  portraits,  all  fruitful  soil  for  natural 
musical  expression.  The  Soviet  theater  audience,  surrounded 
as  it  is  by  new  interpretations  of  the  classic  comedies  of  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  —  the  comedies  of 
Shakespeare,  Lope  de  Vega,  Beaumarchais,  Sheridan,  and 
Goldoni  —  would  not  find  a  Sheridan-Prokofiev  work  in  the 
least  out  of  place.  Without  making  any  major  change  in  the 
original  text  and  lyrics,  Prokofiev  created  a  true  modern  opera 
huffa.  In  each  of  the  opera's  nine  scenes  there  is  a  dominant, 
clear  musical  image  or  a  chain  of  images.  These  are  more  or 
less  broad  ariosos  for  the  leading  figures,  or  polished  opera  en- 
sembles (such  as  the  beautiful  quartet  at  the  end  of  Scene  v 
and  the  love-duet  in  Scene  ii),  or  music  functioning  as  a  back- 
drop of  sound  (the  carnival  dances  and  choruses  in  Scenes  i  and 
and  ix,  the  chorus  of  women  venders  in  Scene  iii,  the  minuet 

*74 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

in  the  music-making  episode  of  Scene  vi) .  These  rounded  con- 
structions are  usually  at  the  same  time  leitmotivs  for  certain 
characters  or  situations  and  are  repeated  or  developed  in  later 
episodes.  Thus  the  opera  contains,  at  several  points,  the  theme 
of  growling  Don  Jerome  (his  arioso  "If  a  daughter  you  have"), 
the  mocking  musical  caricature  of  Mendoza  ("Mendoza  is  a 
cunning  rogue"),  the  amorous  melodies  of  the  lovers  (An- 
tonio's serenade),  the  languishing,  seductive  theme  for  the 
Duenna,  and  the  youthful,  carefree  musical  images  of  feasting 
and  fun.  Interesting  also  is  the  method  of  Prokofiev's  musical 
image-formation,  defined  not  so  much  in  the  inner  structure 
of  a  traditional  arioso  scheme  as  in  changing  situations.  From 
this  method  comes  the  organically  mature  rondo  in  the  music- 
making  episode  (the  whole  of  Scene  vi),  the  three-part  love 
aria  of  Antonio,  interrupted  by  the  pranking  masks,  and  simi- 
lar examples.  The  opera's  humor  often  evolves  not  only  from 
the  wit  of  the  text  but  also  from  the  comedy  of  the  musical 
situations,  as  in  the  comical  trio  of  music-making  friends 
(clarinet,  cornet,  and  bass  drum),  or  the  grotesque  ostinato 
of  the  drunkard  continuing  under  the  dignified  chorus  of 
monks.  Prokofiev's  fantasy  in  this  direction  has  no  limits  as  he 
invents  new,  witty  orchestral  effects  (the  comic  chamber  en- 
semble in  Scene  vi,  the  guitar  and  individual  groups  of  strings 
backstage  in  Scene  i,  and  even  the  playing  on  glasses  in  the 
final  scene  of  the  wedding  feast) . 

Reviving  in  his  opera  the  eternal  images  of  classic  opera 
buff  a  (the  enamored  and  ugly  oldster,  the  bad-tempered  guard- 
ian, the  overripe  maiden  in  search  of  a  fiance,  the  inexhaustible 
soubrette),  Prokofiev  enriches  and  individualizes  these  tra- 
ditional masque-types.  As  in  Romeo,  there  is  a  genuine  Renais- 
sance feeling  in  this  work:  a  blend  of  humor  and  lyricism,  of 
everyday  life  and  elevated  ideal,  of  frivolous  and  almost  inde- 
cent gesture  with  poetically  penetrating  elements.  One  cannot 
decide  which  to  prefer  —  the  glamorous  sparkle  of  the  carnival 
scenes,  the  good-humored  mockery  that  never  descends  to  vul- 
gar grotesque,  or  the  lyrical  feeling  expressed  so  warmly,  full- 

*75 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

bloodedly,  sunnily.  The  satirical  scene  in  the  monastery  may 
remind  one  of  the  pagan  wickedness  of  the  Boccaccio  novelle, 
but  the  carnival  and  feasting  scenes  (i  and  ix)  have  the  hot, 
epicurean  pulse  of  Rubens.  This  favorite  theme  in  Russian  art, 
the  festive  jubilation  —  originating  in  Pushkin  —  was  brought 
into  our  music  by  Glinka,  Borodin,  and  Glazunov. 

In  Cinderella,  however,  Prokofiev,  as  he  invariably  does  in 
his  selection  of  themes  and  subjects,  makes  a  turn  of  at  least 
1800.  After  the  intoxicating  Renaissance  juiciness  of  Betrothal 
in  a  Convent,  after  its  lusty  laughter  and  passionate  serenades, 
he  turns  to  the  "nursery  world,"  toward  the  toylike  fantasy  of 
Perrault.  Among  his  important  theatrical  works,  Cinderella 
will  no  doubt  occupy  the  same  place  that  The  Nutcracker  oc- 
cupies among  Tchaikovsky's  —  that  of  a  small,  jeweled  chef 
d'ceuvre  that  loses  none  of  its  charm  by  its  proximity  to  The 
Queen  of  Spades  or  the  Pathetic  Symphony. 

This  is  not  to  say  that  the  world  of  images  embodied  in 
Cinderella  is  limited  by  the  world  of  dolls  and  toys.  Cinderella 
herself,  our  familiar  childhood  heroine,  is  endowed  with 
deeply  human  feelings:  she  has  a  naturally  quiet,  melting  sad- 
ness, the  tender,  transparent  first  love  of  a  girl's  heart.  She  is 
the  heiress  of  Rimsky-Korsakov's  Snow-Maiden,  and  among 
Prokofiev's  feminine  characters  she  is  akin  to  Beautiful  Maiden 
in  The  Prodigal  Son,  and,  especially,  to  Juliet.  Cinderella's  or- 
chestral leitmotiv,  which  is  followed  through  with  classical 
order,  and  her  love-duets  with  the  Prince  are  filled  with  true 
romantic  charm.  It  is  only  when  this  love  palpitation  gives  way 
to  a  more  active,  dancing  quality  that  we  see  a  charming  doll, 
a  toy,  come  to  life,  recalling  the  three  Princesses  in  the  Three 
Oranges. 

The  score  of  Cinderella  again  displays,  on  a  grand  scale,  the 
dances  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  so  be- 
loved by  Prokofiev  and  so  often  cultivated  by  him  since  the 
period  of  his  piano  pieces,  Op.  12,  and  his  Classical  Symphony. 
Here  we  have  a  Gavotte  (his  fifth  gavotte),  a  Passepied,  a 
Court  Dance  full  of  a  slightly  heavy  grace,  a  Bourree,  and  a 

176 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

faintly  caricatured  Minuet.  These  dances  all  contain  at  least 
a  particle  of  good-humored  irony.  Smiling  slyly,  the  composer 
draws  amusing  portraits  of  the  old  fairy-tale's  figures:  the 
pompous  guests,  the  impoverished  cavaliers,  Cinderella's  envi- 
ous sisters.  Those  who  are  puffed-up  with  bourgeois  pride  set 
off  the  others,  scrawny  and  rachitic,  and  the  effect  of  clumsy 
grandeur  acts  as  a  spur  to  the  irony  of  Prokofiev's  neo-classi- 
cism.8 

Other  dances  in  Cinderella  sound  more  modern  and  are 
treated  more  seriously:  waltzes,  mazurkas,  lyric  solos,  duets. 
Prokofiev's  broad  use  of  the  waltz,  in  its  passion  and  exciting 
sensualism,  is  an  interesting  novelty  in  his  music.  The  series 
of  waltzes  from  Cinderella  (a  grand  waltz,  a  slow  waltz,  a 
waltz  coda),  together  with  a  whole  waltz  scene  from  War  and 
Peace  (Scene  iii),  and  the  Mephisto- Waltz  from  Lermontov, 
show  that  the  form  holds  a  new  attraction  for  the  composer. 
This  tendency  is  definitely  connected  with  the  general  revival 
of  waltz  rhythms  in  the  Soviet  musical  milieu  in  recent  years, 
in  mass  songs  and  occasionally  in  instrumental  works  such  as 
the  second  quartet  and  ballet  suite  of  Shostakovich. 

There  is  one  more  interesting  indication  in  the  Cinderella 
score:  for  the  first  time  since  the  Three  Oranges  and  The  Flam- 
ing Angel  Prokofiev  returns  to  purely  picturesque,  graphic  fan- 
tasy. The  impressionist  fairy  portraits  (the  fairies  of  Spring, 
Summer,  Autumn,  and  Winter),  the  magic  transformation 
scenes,  the  fairy-tale  images  of  tap-dancing  dwarfs,  of  grass- 
hoppers and  dragon-flies,  of  midnight  chimes  —  all  these  visual 
theatrical  effects  required  the  use  of  a  generous  and  decora- 
tive palette.  In  such  episodes  as  the  dances  of  the  four  fairies  — 
especially  those  of  the  Autumn  and  Winter  fairies  —  there  is 
a  typically  impressionist  approach  to  sound-production:  an 
extended  play  of  spicy,  colorful  harmonies,  vividly  pictorial  pas- 

8  There  are  clues  to  this  irony  in  the  original  source  of  the  ballet  in  Charles 
Perrault's  Cendrillon:  "They  had  gone  without  food  almost  two  days,  thev 
were  so  overjoyed.  They  broke  more  than  a  dozen  laces  in  the  effort  to  make 
their  waists  look  more  slender  and  they  passed  the  entire  time  before  their 
mirror." 

177 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

sages,  and  a  domination  of  harmonic  means  over  melodic-con- 
structive ones.9  A  similar  inclination  toward  coloristic  sound- 
production  can  be  seen  also  in  Prokofiev's  suddenly  fired 
interest  in  Eastern  music.  The  Oriental  dances  in  Cinderella 
and  in  Betrothal  in  a  Convent,  the  wild  Tatar  strains  in  Ivan 
the  Terrible,  and  finally  an  entire  string  quartet  on  Kabardinian 
themes  —  all  this  makes  an  interesting  Oriental  page  in  Proko- 
fiev's latest  work.  He  treats  this  Eastern  thematic  material  in 
his  own  way,  each  time  emphasizing  the  wiryness  in  it,  its  se- 
vere archaism  of  consonance,  its  awkward  melodic  line,  its 
obstinacy  that  permits  no  sensual  flabbiness,  and  finally  its 
wild  fantasy  of  harmonic  color  (for  example,  the  Lydian  mode 
used  in  the  "Orientalia"  of  Cinderella) . 

There  is  a  compelling  blend  of  fantasy  and  irony,  of  boyish 
lightness  and  dreamy  lyricism,  that  relates  Cinderella  to  The 
Love  for  Three  Oranges.  Like  an  unexpected  eyewitness  to 
this  fact,  we  suddenly  hear  in  the  second  scene  of  Cinderella, 
just  as  Cinderella  offers  oranges  to  her  guests,  the  familiar 
music  of  the  March  from  the  Three  Oranges.™  It  is  as  if  a 
living  musical  thread  had  tied  together  Prokofiev's  two  fairy- 
tales across  the  twenty-five  years  that  separate  them. 

The  most  controversial  and  complex  of  Prokofiev's  last 
three  musical  works  for  the  theater  is  his  War  and  Peace.  The 
very  intention  of  the  composer  to  create  an  opera  on  Tolstoy's 
huge  historical  epic  was  recognized  as  extremely  precarious. 
Repeated  attempts  by  Soviet  playwrights  to  dramatize  the  all- 
embracing  epics  of  Tolstoy  had  rarely  had  even  partial  success, 
often  resulting  in  no  more  than  talented  illustrations  of  Tol- 
stoy or  clumsy  dramatizations  that  over-simplified  and  dis- 
torted their  sources  (such  as  the  Maly  Theater's  1812,  an  at- 
tempt to  dramatize  War  and  Peace).  Is  it  really  possible  to 


9  This  pictorial-impressionist  admiration  for  colorful  consonance  can  be 
noticed  in  some  episodes  of  the  Eighth  Piano  Sonata,  particularly  in  the 
transitional  passages  of  the  first  movement. 

10  There  are  plenty  of  precedents  for  such  a  device,  the  most  famous  of 
which  is  Mozart's  quotation  from  The  Marriage  of  Figaro  in  the  finale  of  Don 
Giovanni. 


178 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

cram  into  a  three-hour  spectacle  the  greatest  chronicle  of  the 
life  and  struggle  of  an  entire  nation  that  we  know  in  the  his- 
tory of  literature?  Fully  aware  of  the  scale  and  significance  of 
War  and  Peace,  Prokofiev  did  not  pause  before  this  apparently 
insuperable  difficult}-.  For  several  vears  the  idea  of  a  musical 
embodiment  of  War  and  Peace  had  been  in  the  composer's 
consciousness.  The  year  of  1941,  when  the  memory  of  the  peo- 
ple went  back  with  special  vividness  to  Napoleon's  invasion 
of  1812,  gave  him  the  impetus  to  realize  his  intention.  The 
speed  with  which  the  opera  was  created,  the  dimensions  and 
forms  of  its  execution,  are  among  the  most  amazing  phenom- 
ena of  Prokofiev's  entire  creative  career. 

Once  more,  as  in  The  Gambler  and  in  Semyon  Kotko,  Pro- 
kofiev wrote  an  opera  almost  exclusively  on  a  prose  text,  refus- 
ing on  principle  to  emplov  verse.  This  method  of  operatic 
prose,  of  giving  musical  form  to  evervdav  speech,  which  had 
been  used  for  the  first  time  by  Mussorgsky  in  Marriage,  is  Pro- 
kofiev's main  operatic  method.  Here,  in  practice,  comes  to  life 
Madimir  Stasov's  prophecv  if  fiftv  years  ago:  '*  The  time  will 
come  for  the  overthrow  of  the  prejudice  that  Verse  texts'  are 
inevitable  for  the  opera  libretto  —  when  opera,  in  the  hands 
of  those  future  followers  of  Mussorgskv,  will  grow  increasinglv 
realistic."  u  Actually,  nearly  the  entire  libretto  of  War  and 
Peace,  with  the  exception  of  choral  episodes,  is  drawn  from 
Tolstoy's  original  prose  text,  the  scenes  onlv  occasionally- 
abridged  or  slightlv  transformed.  The  poetic  charm  of  the 
musical  characterization  of  the  main  roles,  primarily-  the  roles 
of  Natasha  Rostova  and  Andrei  Bolkonskv.  depends  on  the 
fascination  of  Tolstoy's  prose,  its  sinceritv.  humanness.  and 
maximum  laconicism.  Natural  vocal  declamation  does  not  in 
the  least  suffer  in  these  instances  from  the  absence  of  rhvme 
and  poetic  meter.  But  there  are  passages  in  which  the  libret- 

11  From  Madimir  Karenin's  biography  of  Stasov.  Vol.  II  (Leningrad. 
1927).  Karenin  (the  pen-name  of  Stasov's  niece.  Vaivaia  Komarova)  com- 
ments on  this:  "Reading  these  lines  now  .  .  .  when  Prokofiev  has  alreadv 
realized  The  Gambler  and  The  Ugly  Duckling,  makes  one  involuntarilv  ex- 
claim: 'Stasov  the  prophet  again!'" 

179 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

tists'  abuse  of  wordiness  and  complicated  verbal  constructions 
make  the  declamation  clumsy  and  difficult  to  accept,  edging 
as  it  does  toward  blank  verse  without,  however,  taking  the  final 
step.  In  such  cases  the  laws  of  operatic  form  revenge  them- 
selves on  the  composer  for  his  neglect,  the  opera  being  stripped 
of  the  most  necessary  musical  thematic  freighting. 

The  construction  of  the  entire  work  is  extremely  compli- 
cated and  original:  there  are  eleven  episodes  and  over  sixty 
characters,  the  majority  of  whom  appear  only  episodically, 
usually  only  once  during  the  course  of  the  work.  Alongside 
intimate  "lyrical  scenes"  portraying  the  personal  experiences 
of  the  leading  characters,  there  are  grand  and  somewhat 
kaleidoscopic  mass  scenes  presenting  a  multi-colored  picture 
of  various  events  and  situations.  Since  Mussorgsky's  Kho- 
vanshchina  Russian  opera  has  not  known  a  monumental  his- 
torical narrative  that  so  freelv  and  broadly  develops  mass-scenes 
of  the  people,  saturated  with  genre  naturalness  and  acute 
dynamism.  However,  the  dramaturgy  of  the  opera,  in  spite  of 
its  originality  and  freedom,  has  some  basic  defects:  an  abun- 
dance of  cast-off,  undeveloped  characters  and  dramatic  lines, 
and  the  presence  of  personages  who  reason  but  have  not  the 
"dominating  passion"  so  necessary  to  the  characterization  of 
genuine  opera  heroes  (Pierre  Bezukhov  himself  turns  out  to 
be  such  a  "needless  link"  in  the  opera) ,  and  also  a  prolixity  of 
separate  scenes  that  caused  the  composer  himself  to  note  in 
the  published  piano  score  a  series  of  possible  cuts.  The  lyrical 
love  thread  (the  themes  of  Natasha  and  Andrei)  is  developed 
from  act  to  act  through  the  familiar  channel  of  true  operatic 
"central  activity,"  but  the  same  cannot  be  said  of  the  themes 
of  war  and  the  people's  calamities.  These  do  not  receive  a 
similar  natural  development,  and  therefore  the  division  of  the 
spectacle  into  scenes  of  "peace"  (Acts  I  and  II)  and  of  "war" 
(Acts  III-V)  is  sensed  as  something  mechanical  and  unsym- 
phonic. 

Three  basic  strata  of  musical  characteristics  form  the  sonor- 
ous sphere  of  War  and  Peace:  first,  the  lyrical  images  revealing 

180 


SOVIET    ARTIST 

the  personal  emotional  world  of  the  chief  heroes;  second,  the 
images  of  the  people  who  rise  against  the  aggressors;  and  third, 
genre-descriptive  and  naturalistic  episodes,  providing  an  illus- 
trative, decorative  sound  background  for  the  spectacle.  The 
first  of  these  three  lines  is  the  most  profoundly  and  organically 
developed  in  a  whole  scries  of  heightened  emotional  leitmotivs 
of  Natasha's  and  Andrei's  love,  music  whose  sincere  breath  of 
youth  is  truly  captivating.  The  scenes  in  which  Natasha  par- 
ticipates —  the  spring  nocturne  of  the  Otradnoye  garden 
(Scene  i),  the  intoxicatingly  tempting  scene  of  the  ball  (Scene 
iii),  the  scene  at  Akhrosimova's,  culminating  in  almost  tragic 
ecstasy,  and  the  unforgettably  expressive  scene  of  Andrei's 
delirium  (Scene  x)  —  are  among  the  best  episodes  in  the  opera. 
Each  of  these  is  grouped  around  its  own  circle  of  musical 
images,  themes  of  bright  hopes  or  of  forebodings:  the  sinful, 
sensual  impulses  of  the  first  scene;  the  wonderful  waltz  motivs 
that  provide  an  uninterrupted  emotional  background  to  the 
ball  scene,  and  the  themes  of  sickening  nightmare  and  the 
premonition  of  approaching  death  in  the  shattering  scene  of 
delirium. 

Much  more  variegated  and  diverse  is  the  musical  sphere 
that  characterizes  the  feelings  and  thoughts  of  the  fighting 
people.  Among  the  ten  mass  choral  episodes  concentrated  in 
Scenes  vii,  ix,  and  xi  we  encounter  several  accomplished  song 
constructions  approaching  the  traditional  type  of  song  in 
couplets,  such  as  the  slightly  archaic,  purposely  primitive  sol- 
diers' chorus,  "As  of  old,  as  in  Suvorov's  time,"  or  the  splen- 
didly audacious  Cossack  chorus  in  %  time,  or  the  artful  song 
of  the  women  partisans,  "Ah,  you  pretty  ones,"  in  the  finale  of 
Scene  ix.  Besides  such  "inserted"  choral  numbers,  there  are 
broad  presentations  of  more  developed  symphonic  choral  epi- 
sodes. In  these  an  interwoven  style  of  orchestral  accompani- 
ment and  choral  texture  gives  the  music  a  more  instrumental 
character.  Occasionally,  symphonic  leitmotivs  are  directly 
transposed  into  the  choral  parts.  Often  the  specific  choral  sing- 
ing elements  are  integrated  into  the  whole  system  of  emotional 

181 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

means.  Primarily  this  complex  of  means  rightly  belongs  to  the 
developed  symphonic  principle  combined  with  a  greater  satu- 
ration of  the  spectator's  impressions  in  the  stage  action.  Among 
these  vocal  symphonic  mass  scenes  are  the  tragically  expressive 
chorus  of  refugees  from  Smolensk  (based  on  the  ominous 
leitmotiv  of  the  people's  calamaties),  the  martial  chorus  of 
the  people's  army,  "How  our  Kutuzov  came  to  the  people/' 
and  the  Funeral  March  in  the  finale  of  Scene  vii,  the  Moscow 
procession  with  the  bodies  of  the  executed  heroes. 

The  manly,  sagaciously  majestic  leitmotiv  of  Kutuzov  and 
the  broadly  singing  leitmotiv  of  victory  —  these  bright  and 
noble  Russian  melodies  are  heard  frequently  in  the  opera 
and  they  also  characterize  a  series  of  the  most  important  choral 
scenes. 

The  third  circle,  of  genre-descriptive  images,  again  shows 
the  qualities  of  Prokofiev  as  dramatist,  hitting  the  bull's-eye 
each  time  with  his  keen  observation.  Here  he  seems  to  have 
turned  realistic  portraitist,  with  a  flexible  brush  and  a  rich 
palette.  In  economical,  sure  strokes  he  paints  such  episodic 
characters  as  the  old  grumbler,  Prince  Bolkonsky,  the  fearless 
coachman,  Balaga,  the  gypsy  Matriosha,  the  landowner  Akhro- 
simova.  Prokofiev's  irresistible  finality  is  most  expressively 
shown  in  the  scene  of  the  Battle  of  Borodino  from  Napoleon's 
viewpoint  on  the  Shevardin  redoubt.  Rejecting  any  portrait 
details  of  Bonaparte,  the  composer  expresses  only  the  general 
feeling  of  the  scene  —  the  mad  hazard  of  a  gambler,  shown  in 
rushing  ostinato  rhythms. 

Among  the  orchestral-pictorial  episodes  must  be  mentioned 
the  landscape  of  ruined  Moscow  (at  the  opening  of  Scene  ix), 
the  huge  symphonic  picture  of  burning  Moscow,  and  the  dy- 
namic batfle-painting  of  the  fight  between  the  partisans  and 
the  retreating  French  (in  Scene  xi) . 

The  Overture  to  War  and  Peace  is  the  most  developed  and 
thematically  saturated  of  all  of  Prokofiev's  opera  overtures. 
It  is  based  on  the  juxtaposition  of  two  of  the  above  image- 
spheres:  on  one  side  the  images  of  the  people's  liberating  surge 

182 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

(themes  of  the  partisans  and  Kutuzov),  and  on  the  other 
side  the  lyricism  of  personal  emotion  (themes  of  Natasha  and 
Andrei  and  the  theme  of  Pierre ) . 

War  and  Peace  can  be  discussed  from  many  angles.  Com- 
pared with  Betrothal  and  Cinderella,  the  specific  gravity  of  its 
music  as  an  organizing  image-forming  element  is  evidently 
lowered.  This  is  apparent  not  only  in  a  certain  underestimation 
by  Prokofiev  of  the  vocal  medium  and  a  certain  overabundance 
of  prose  declamation,  occasionally  descending  to  Sprech- 
stimme,  but  also  in  the  presence  of  whole  episodes  that  are 
deprived  of  their  rightful  melodic  fullness.  This  fault  also  ap- 
pears in  the  clumsy  and  inorganic  quality  of  the  whole  dra- 
matic plan.  It  is  quite  possible,  however,  that  in  the  process 
of  theatrical  production  these  impressions,  received  from  a 
study  of  the  piano  score,  will  be  smoothed  out.  But  there  is  one 
thing  that  is  unquestionable:  in  spite  of  the  many  nihilistic 
exaggerations  natural  to  this  opera,  its  best  pages  capture  one 
with  their  profound  veracity  and  their  seizure  of  real  life.  One 
feels  sure  that  these  best  pages  of  War  and  Peace  will  embel- 
lish Russian  operatic  classicism  of  the  twentieth  century. 

Surveying  Prokofiev's  works  of  the  1940's  one  notes  with 
satisfaction  another  achievement:  the  richest  flowering  of  his 
instrumentalism,  ever  acquiring  more  obviously  the  character 
of  an  accomplished  and  mature  symphonic  style.  The  three 
piano  sonatas,  the  Quartet  on  native  North  Caucasian  themes, 
and  the  Flute  Sonata,  Op.  94,  were  steps  toward  the  wonderful 
Fifth  Symphony,  a  milestone  in  Prokofiev's  creative  work, 
summing  up  his  searches  of  many  years  in  the  medium  of  pure, 
generalized,  and  philosophic  instrumental  thought.  The  three 
sonatas  make  one  speak  not  only  of  some  new  flowering  of  Pro- 
kofiev's instrumentation,  but  also  of  a  new  quality  of  crystal- 
lization in  his  thematic  material.  Compared  with  the  youthful 
pianism  of  Prokofiev  these  sonatas  disclosed  a  greater  breadth 
and  freedom  of  intention,  a  might  of  imagery  that  fits  only 
with  difficulty  into  the  chamber  frame  of  the  sonata.  Evidently 
the  thematic  quality  and  imagery  of  the  new  Prokofiev  so- 

183 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

natas  reflects  the  composer's  long  experience  in  the  realm  of 
theater  music.  The  concrete  images  of  his  operas  and  ballets, 
transplanted  into  the  world  of  instrumental  music,  crystallize 
into  these  unusual  and  surprising  sonata  themes.  Rushed  in- 
tonations, turns,  and  rhythms  born  from  the  words,  gestures, 
and  actions  of  stage  situations  break  into  the  fenced-in  sphere 
of  pure  instrumentalism.  In  the  same  way  Mussorgsky's  living 
reproduction  of  real  nature  brought  his  inventive  pianism  into 
being.  Today  Prokofiev  fills  the  old  wineskins  of  classic  sonata 
form  with  unaccustomed  content,  upsetting  traditional  limits 
in  the  selection  of  thematic  means,  in  character  of  melody,  in 
methods  of  textural  exposition.  We  therefore  encounter  in  his 
instrumental  works  either  reflections  of  operatic  recitative  (it- 
self rising  from  musical  prose  rather  than  from  traditional 
vocal  cantilena)  or  self-sufficient  lyrical  melody  barely  sup- 
ported by  harmonic  fullness,  or  strangely  whimsical  machine- 
like throbbing  rhythms  that  might  have  been  summoned  to 
reveal  the  dynamic  core  of  some  tense  scenic  situation,  or 
captivating  and  playful  dance  episodes  full  of  delicate,  smil- 
ing grace.  One  finds  the  most  unexpected  images  in  his  new 
instrumental  works.  Such  are  the  emotional  declamation  in 
the  supplementary  movements  of  the  Sixth  and  Eighth  So- 
natas; the  irresistibly  powerful  throbs  in  the  finales  of  the 
Seventh  and  Eighth  Sonatas,  with  their  fantastic  asymmetric 
rhythms;  the  slow  openings  of  the  Eighth  Sonata  and  the  Fifth 
Symphony,  seeming  to  reveal  the  very  process  of  the  author's 
deepening  thought,  and  the  willful,  carved,  and  obstinately  re- 
peated "formulas  of  appeal"  that  open  the  first  movements  of 
the  Sixth  Sonata  and  the  Second  Quartet.  We  need  not  em- 
phasize Prokofiev's  beloved  scherzo  quality,  so  long  familiar 
to  us,  and  maintained  in  the  middle  movements  of  all  three 
piano  sonatas,  the  Flute  Sonata,  and  the  Fifth  Symphony. 
But  one  must  note  especially  the  original  treatment  of  the 
folk  material  in  the  Quartet  on  Kabardinian  themes:  the  na- 
tional themes  are  not  merely  "adapted"  by  the  composer;  they 
arc  forced  to  surrender  completely  to  his  commanding  creative 

184 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

personality,  dissolving  in  Prokofiev's  specific  sound-sphere,  and 
existing  in  complete  harmony  with  his  most  individual  rhythm, 
with  his  free  polyphonic  manner,  and  even  with  his  tonic- 
thought,  with  his  long  familiar  tart  diatonic  "white  notes" 
(the  supplementary  part  of  the  first  movement)  .12 

Interesting,  too,  is  Prokofiev's  stubborn  aspiration  toward  a 
more  integrated  and  fused  sonata  form,  toward  instrumental 
poetry,  and  toward  the  obliteration  of  thematic  disunion  be- 
tween the  separate  movements.  I  have  in  mind  the  underlined 
reminiscences  of  images  from  the  first  movements  in  the 
finales  of  the  Sixth  and  Eighth  Sonatas  and  the  Fifth  Sym- 
phony. As  in  an  organically  dramatic  narration,  the  leading 
image  of  the  drama  reappears  before  the  conclusion,  demon- 
strating the  general  logic  of  the  dramatic  plan.  This  detail 
clearly  proves  the  adult  content  and  philosophic  growth  of 
Prokofiev's  new  instrumentalism.  In  the  process  of  enriching 
the  inner  content  of  his  sonatas  the  composer  has  not  in  the 
least  rejected  the  complex  and  effective  advantage  of  instru- 
mental exposition.  The  rich  piano  technique  of  his  three  latest 
piano  sonatas  revives  the  best  parts  of  his  youthful  virtuosity, 
amazing  in  its  athletic  technical  strength  and  in  the  controlled 
"sporting"  audacity  of  certain  passages,  leaps  and  crossings. 
As  for  orchestral  exposition,  the  Fifth  Symphony  embodies 
the  highest  achievements  of  Prokofiev  the  orchestrator,  unit- 
ing an  intoxicating  many-colored  palette  with  a  clean  disci- 
pline of  orchestral  development. 

In  general,  listening  to  the  Fifth  Symphony,  one  accepts 
it  as  the  most  important  summing-up  of  the  composer's 
searches  of  many  years  in  the  domain  of  pure  symphonic  form. 
As  rivers  and  streams  flow  into  the  ocean,  so  do  the  many  pre- 
vious compositions  of  Prokofiev  — his  sonatas,  suites,  and,  in 
part,  his  operas  —  all  nourish  the  imagery  and  thematic  rich- 


12  An  analogy  to  this  may  be  found  in  an  earlier  work,  his  Overture  on 
Hebrew  Themes,  Op.  34.  There  also  the  composer  did  not  in  the  least  subordi- 
nate his  individuality  to  the  folk  material,  but,  on  the  contrary,  collected  and 
employed  material  deriving  exclusively  from  his  own  tastes  and  preferences. 

185 


SERGEI    PROKOFIEV 

ness  of  the  Fifth  Symphony,  flowing  into  it  through  dozens 
of  living  waters. 

We  may  well  imagine  that  the  serious  and  heroic  thematic 
material  of  the  symphony's  first  movement,  its  noble,  elevated 
tone,  its  epic  Russian  heroism  and  severely  weighed  logic  of 
form,  could  have  been  inspired  by  the  musical  images  of  Kutu- 
zov,  Andrei  Bolkonsky,  Ivan  the  Terrible,  warrior  and  citizen, 
and  the  legendary  warriors  of  Alexander  Nevsky.  The  origi- 
nality of  this  movement  is  in  its  slow  singing  strata,  in  the 
domination  of  elevated  thought  over  concrete,  living  action, 
in  the  very  method  of  its  development  —  slowly  built  layers 
of  self-sufficient  melodic  lines  and  instrumental  dialogues.13 
One  hears  in  this  profound  meditation  the  artist's  thoughts 
about  the  fate  of  his  native  land,  an  expression  of  his  inex- 
tinguishable faith  in  the  spiritual  triumph  and  moral  power 
of  the  conquering  people. 

Listening  to  the  second  movement  of  the  symphony,  one 
recalls  the  entrancing  scherzo  moods  of  Prokofiev's  lyrical 
comedies  and  the  enchanting  atmosphere  of  light,  youthful 
pranks  in  which  his  theater  heroes  meet  and  fall  in  love.  Out- 
standing in  one's  memory  are  the  night  revels  of  Romeo  and 
Betrothal,  in  which  carnival  masks  enjoy  playful  extravagances, 
the  half-ironical  Mozartean  style  of  the  Classical  Symphony 
and  the  Flute  Sonata,  the  smiling,  dancing  second  movements 
of  the  Sixth,  Seventh,  and  Eighth  Sonatas.  The  colors  are  as 
transparent  as  those  of  a  fine,  rare  lace.  Half-way  through  this 
semi-fantastic  Scherzo  appears,  for  just  a  moment,  a  clear  and 
naive  song  like  that  from  some  piece  of  children's  music  by 
Prokofiev;  it  suddenly  discloses  a  fragment  of  reality  as  con- 
crete and  familiar  as  if  lit  by  living  sunbeams.  And  then  every- 
thing is  turned  upside  down:  the  jolly  masks  become  menacing 
jesters,  the  orchestral  timbres  are  painted  over  with  oily  and 
uncouth  brush-strokes,  choked  with  mocking  and  quacking 

13  These  peculiarities  of  development  contradict  the  apparent  similarity 
between  the  themes  in  the  first  movement  of  this  symphony  and  characteristic 
symphonic  themes  of  Glazunov,  usually  treated  clastically  and  step  by  step. 

l86 


SOVIET     ARTIST 

sounds.  Wicked  freaks  and  monsters  launch  into  an  evil  dance, 
laughing  and  sneering  at  the  world  of  rainbow  hopes. 

After  this  queer  nocturnal  spectacle  the  third  movement 
enters  with  a  special  power  of  bright  lyricism,  ripe,  healthy, 
and  life-affirming.  Analogies  with  Prokofiev's  opera-images 
again  appear,  primarily  with  the  lyricism  of  Andrei  Bolkonsky, 
whose  life-wisdom  was  not  enough  to  shield  his  faith  in  ideal 
love.  But  the  song-element  soon  gives  way  to  dramatic  decla- 
mation, ever  more  inspired,  reaching  climactic  points  saturated 
with  funereal  tragedy.  And  then  again  appears  the  light  of 
calm,  noble  meditation. 

Reminiscences  from  the  first  movement,  opening  the  path 
toward  the  final  movement,  again  establish  the  basic  philo- 
sophical direction  taken  by  the  whole  composition,  the  idea 
of  the  triumphing,  courageous,  and  mature  spirit.  And  then 
unrolls  a  colorful  and  festive  panneau  and  an  incessant  flood 
of  brilliant  carnival  activity.  The  richness  and  tumult  of  color 
again  summon  up  analogies  with  the  intoxicating  fruitiness  of 
Flemish  painting.  This  carnival  festivity  had  been  heard  more 
than  once  in  previous  symphonic  works  by  Prokofiev,  not  to 
mention  in  actual  "ballet  music";  but  this  time  the  whirling 
mass  dance  is  often  interrupted  by  profound  lyrical  medita- 
tions, epic  extended  melodies  in  the  spirit  of  Mussorgsky  (lines 
from  the  first  and  third  movements ) .  And  toward  the  end  the 
contagious  merriment  of  the  festivity  again  triumphs,  echoing 
with  living  peals  of  healthy,  human  laughter. 

In  the  clear  optimistic  tone  of  the  Fifth  Symphony  are  em- 
braced a  firm  faith  in  life  and  an  elemental  hymning  of  life's 
great  joys.  Prokofiev's  inherent  "feeling  of  a  healthy  country 
and  the  energies  and  forces  hidden  in  it"  are  expressed  in  the 
thoughts  and  moods  of  the  symphony.  Here  in  these  images 
is  hidden  a  living  prescience  of  the  hard-won  morrow  of  the 
Soviet  Union. 

Sergei  Prokofiev  is  now  at  the  height  of  his  powers.  Having 
written  some  one  hundred  numbered  works  of  various  genres, 

187 


SERGEI     PROKOFIEV 

including  operas,  ballets,  symphonies,  cantatas,  piano  and  vio- 
lin concertos,  piano  sonatas,  many  orchestral  suites,  overtures, 
and  chamber  pieces,  some  fifty  songs  and  lyrics,  and  nearly 
one  hundred  piano  pieces,  he  is  by  no  means  content  to  rest 
on  his  achievements.  A  host  of  ideas  for  new  major  instrumen- 
tal compositions  are  awaiting  fulfillment,  and  Prokofiev  is 
nursing  many  an  interesting  plan  in  the  field  of  opera.  After 
Zdravitsa,  Semyon  Kotko,  and  War  and  Peace,  new  achieve- 
ments with  Soviet  subject  matter  may  be  expected  from  him 
as  well. 

Prokofiev's  music  may  not  always  be  wholly  comprehensi- 
ble to  the  average  concert-goer.  An  outstanding  artist  and  an 
inveterate  innovator,  he  continues  stubbornly  to  blaze  paths 
into  the  future.  In  our  days  his  experiments  in  harmony,  into- 
nation, and  orchestration,  subordinated  as  they  are  to  the  lead- 
ing idea,  have  acquired  a  new  meaning  and  purpose.  And  what 
may  not  be  fully  comprehended  by  everyone  today  will,  with 
the  growth  of  our  general  musical  culture,  be  universally  ac- 
cepted tomorrow. 

We  have  every  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  fact  that  we  have 
in  our  midst  today  a  master  whose  work  is  flourishing  along 
with  Soviet  music  as  a  whole,  consolidating  its  prominent  po- 
sition in  the  world  of  art. 


.88 


Catalogue  of  Prokofiev's  Works 

Giving  for  Prokofiev's  first  one  hundred  opera  the  opus  number,  title,  date  of 

composition  (date  of  original  form),  and  — when  possible  —  first  publisher  and 

date  and  place  of  first  performance. 


Op.  1.  First  Sonata  for  piano,  F 
minor.  1909  (1907).  Jurgenson. 
February  21,  1910,  Moscow. 

Op.  2.  Four  Etudes  for  piano:  D 
minor,  E  minor,  C  minor,  C  minor. 

1909,  Jurgenson.     February     21, 

1910,  Moscow. 

Op.  3.  Four  Pieces  for  piano:  Story, 
Badinage,  March,  Phantom.  1911 
(1907-8).   Jurgenson.   March   28, 

1911,  St.  Petersburg. 

Op.  4.  Four  Pieces  for  piano:  Rem- 
iniscence, Elan,  Despair,  Diabolic 
Suggestions.  1910-12  (sketches, 
1908).  Jurgenson.  December  18, 
1908,  St.  Petersburg. 

Op.  5.  Sinfonietta  for  orchestra,  A 
major,  in  five  movements.  1909- 
14.  Gutheil.  October  24,  1915,  St. 
Petersburg. 

Op.  6.  Dreams,  symphonic  picture 
for  orchestra.  1910.  MS.  November 
22,  1910,  St.  Petersburg. 

Op.  7.  Swan  and  Wave,  two  female 
choruses  with  orchestra  to  Bal- 
mont's  words.  1910.  MS. 

Op.  8.  Autumnal  Sketch  for  orches- 
tra. 1910.  MS.  July  19,  1911,  Mos- 
cow. 

Op.  9.  Two  Poems  for  voice  and 
piano.  1910-11.  Gutheil. 

Op.  10.  First  Concerto  for  piano  and 
orchestra,  D-flat  major.  1911.  Jur- 
genson. July  25,  1912,  Moscow. 

Op.  11.  Toccata  for  piano.  1912. 
Jurgenson.  December  10,  1916,  St. 
Petersburg. 

Op.  12.  Ten  Pieces  for  piano:  March, 
Gavotte,  Rigaudon,  Mazurka,  Ca- 
price, Legend,  Prelude,  Allemande, 
Scherzo     humoristique,     Scherzo. 


1913  (sketches,  1906-12).  Jurgen- 
son. Orchestral  transcription  of  No. 
9,  Scherzo  for  Four  Bassoons.  Jur- 
genson. 

Op.  13.  Magdalene,  opera  in  one  act 
to  Lieven's  text.  1913  (1911).  MS. 

Op.  14.  Second  Sonata  for  piano,  D 
minor,  in  four  movements.  1912. 
Jurgenson.  January  23,  1914,  Mos- 
cow. 

Op.  15.  Ballad  for  cello  and  piano. 
1912.  Jurgenson.  January  23,  1914, 
Moscow. 

Op.  16.  Second  Concerto  for  piano 
and  orchestra,  G  minor,  in  four 
movements.  1913.  Gutheil.  August 
23,  1913,  Pavlovsk. 

Op.  17.  Sarcasms,  piano  cycle.  1912- 
14.  Jurgenson.  December  10,  1916, 
St.  Petersburg. 

Op.  18.  The  Ugly  Duckling  (based 
on  Andersen's  fairy-tale)  for  voice 
and  piano.  1914.  Gutheil.  January 

17,  1915,  St.  Petersburg.  There  is 
also  a  manuscript  version  for  voice 
and  orchestra. 

Op.  19.  First  Concerto  for  violin  and 
orchestra,  D  major,  in  three  move- 
ments. 1916-17.  Gutheil.  October 

18,  1923,  Paris. 

Op.  20.  Scythian  Suite  (Ala  and 
Lolli),  in  four  movements.  1914. 
Gutheil.  January  16,  1916,  St. 
Petersburg. 

Op.  21.  The  Buffoon  (Chout),  bal- 
let in  six  scenes.  1920  (1915). 
Gutheil.  May  17,  1921,  Paris. 

Op.  21-A.  The  Buffoon,  symphonic 
suite  in  twelve  movements.  Gut- 
heil. 

Op.    22.    Fugitive    Visions,    twenty 


.89 


PROKOFIEV  S    WORKS 


pieces  for  piano.  1915-17.  Gutheil. 
April  15,  1918,  St.  Petersburg. 

Op.  23.  Five  Poems  for  voice  and 
piano:  Under  the  Roof,  Gray 
Dress,  Trust  Me,  In  My  Garden, 
Wizard.  1915.  Gutheil. 

Op.  24.  The  Gambler,  opera  in  four 
acts,  based  on  Dostoyevsky.  1927, 
(1915-16).  Gutheil.  April  29, 
1929,  Brussels. 

Op.  25.  Classical  Symphony,  D  ma- 
jor. 1917.  Gutheil.  April  21,  1918, 
St.  Petersburg. 

Op.  26.  Third  Concerto  for  piano 
and  orchestra,  C  major.  1921 
(1917).  Gutheil.  December  16, 
1921,  Chicago. 

Op.  27.  Five  Songs  to  the  words  of 
Anna  Akhmatova:  The  Sun  Fills 
My  Room,  True  Tenderness,  In 
Remembrance  of  the  Sun,  Good 
Morning,  The  Gray-Eyed  King. 
1916.  Gutheil.  February  5,  1917, 
Moscow. 

Op.  28.  Third  Sonata  for  piano,  A 
minor.  1917  (1907).  Gutheil. 
April   15,    1918,  St.  Petersburg. 

Op.  29.  Fourth  Sonata  for  piano,  C 
minor.  1917  (1908).  Gutheil.  April 
17,  1918,  St.  Petersburg. 

Op.  29-A.  Andante  from  the  Fourth 
Sonata,  transcribed  bv  the  author 
for  symphony  orchestra.  MS. 

Op.  30.  Seven,  They  Are  Seven  for 
solo  tenor,  chorus,  and  orchestra, 
to  Balmont's  text.  1917.  Gutheil. 
May  29,  1924,  Paris. 

Op.  31.  Tales  of  the  Old  Grand- 
mother, four  pieces  for  piano.  1918. 
Gutheil.  January  7,  1919,  New 
York. 

Op.  32.  Four  Pieces  for  piano: 
Dance,  Minuet,  Gavotte,  Waltz. 
1918.  Gutheil. 

Op.  33.  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges,  opera  in  four  acts,  based 
on  Carlo  Gozzi.  1919.  Gutheil. 
December  30,  1921,  Chicago. 

Op.  33-A.  The  Love  for  Three 
Oranges,  symphonic  suite  in  six 
movements.  1924  (1919).  Gutheil. 
November  29,  1925,  Paris. 


Op.  33-B.  March  and  Scherzo  from 
The  Love  for  Three  Oranges,  tran- 
scription for  piano. 

Op.  34.  Overture  on  Hebrew 
Themes,  for  clarinet,  piano,  and 
string  quartet  (two  violins,  viola, 
and  cello).  1919.  Gutheil.  January 
26,  1920,  New  York. 

Op.  34-A.  Overture  on  Hebrew 
Themes,  for  symphony  orchestra. 
1932  (1919).  Gutheil.  Moscow. 

Op.  35.  Five  Melodies  without 
Words,  for  voice  and  piano.  1920. 
Gutheil.  March  27,  1921,  New 
York. 

Op.  35-A.  Five  Melodies,  for  violin 
and  piano.  1925  (1920).  Gutheil. 

Op.  36.  Five  Songs,  for  voice  and 
piano,  to  Balmont's  words.  1921. 
Gutheil. 

Op.  37.  The  Flaming  Angel,  opera 
in  five  acts,  based  on  Bryusov. 
1919-27.  MS. 

Op.  38.  Fifth  Sonata  for  piano,  C 
major,  in  three  movements.  1923. 
Gutheil.  March  9,  1924,  Paris. 

Op*  39-  Quintet  for  wind  and 
strings  in  six  movements.  1924. 
Gutheil.  February  1927,  Moscow. 

Op.  40.  Second  Symphony  for  large 
orchestra,  D  minor,  in  two  move- 
ments. 1924.  Gutheil.  June  6, 
1925,  Paris. 

Op.  41.  Le  Pas  d'acier,  ballet  in  two 
scenes,  libretto  by  Yakulov.  1924. 
Gutheil.  June  2,  1927,  Paris. 

Op.  41-A.  Le  Fas  d'acier,  symphonic 
suite.  1926  (1925).  Paris. 

Op.  42.  Overture  for  seventeen  per- 
formers, B-flat  major.  1926.  MS. 
February  7,  1927,  Moscow. 

Op.  42-A.  Overture  for  large  orches- 
tra, B-flat  major.  1928.  (1926). 

Op.  43.  Divertissement  for  orches- 
tra in  four  movements.  1925-9. 
Gutheil.  December  22,  1929, 
Paris. 

Op.  43-A.  Divertissement,  author's 
transcription  for  piano.  1938 
(1925).  Gutheil. 

Op.  44.  Third  Symphony  for  large 
orchestra,     in     four     movements. 


.90 


PROKOFIEV   S    WORKS 


1928.  Gutheil.    May     17,     1929, 
Paris. 

Op.  45.  Things  in  Themselves,  two 
pieces  for  piano.  1928.  Gutheil. 

Op.  46.  L'Enfant  prodigue,  ballet  in 
two  scenes.  1928.  Gutheil.  May  21, 

1929,  Paris. 

Op.  46-A.  Symphonic  Suite  based  on 
L'Enfant  prodigue.   1929.  MS. 

Op.  47.  Fourth  Symphony,  C  major, 
in  four  movements.  1930.  MS.  No- 
vember 14,  1930,  Boston. 

Op.  48.  Sinfonietta  for  little  sym- 
phony orchestra,  A  major  (version 
of  Op.  5).  1929.  Gutheil.  Decem- 
ber 22,  1929,  Paris. 

Op.  49.  Four  Portraits  from  The 
Gambler,  suite  for  large  orchestra, 
in  five  movements.  1930-1.  Gut- 
heil. March  12,  1932,  Paris. 

Op.  50.  First  String  Quartet,  B 
minor,  in  three  movements.  1930. 
Gutheil.  April  25,  1931,  Washing- 
ton. 

Op.  51.  Sur  le  Borysthene,  ballet  in 
two  scenes.  1930.  Gutheil.  De- 
cember 16,  1932,  Paris. 

Op.  51-A.  Sur  le  Borysthene,  sym- 
phonic suite.  1933  (1930). 

Op.  52.  Six  Transcriptions  for  piano: 
Intermezzo,  Rondo,  Etude,  Scher- 
zino,  Andante,  Scherzo,  1931. 
Gutheil. 

Op.  53.  Fourth  Concerto  for  piano, 
left  hand,  in  four  movements. 
1931.  MS. 

Op.  54.  Two  Sonatinas  for  piano,  E 
minor  and  G  major.  1931-2.  Gut- 
heil. 

Op.  55.  Fifth  Concerto  for  piano 
and  orchestra,  G  major,  in  five 
movements.  1932.  Gutheil.  Octo- 
ber 31,  1932,  Berlin. 

Op.  56.  Sonata  for  two  violins,  C 
minor.  1932.  Gutheil.  December 
16,  1932,  Paris. 

Op.  57.  Symphonic  Song,  for  orches- 
tra. 1933.  MS.  April  14,  1934, 
Moscow. 

Op.  58.  Concerto  for  cello  and  or- 
chestra, C  minor.  1933-8.  MS. 

Op.  59.  Three  Piano  Pieces:  Prom- 


enade,  Landscape,  Pastoral  Sona- 
tina. 1934.  Gutheil. 

Op.  60.  Lieutenant  Kije,  symphonic 
suite  based  on  music  for  film,  in 
five  movements:  Birth  of  Kije, 
Romance,  Marriage  of  Kije, 
Troika,  Burial  of  Kije.  1933-4. 
Gutheil. 

Op.  60-A.  Two  Songs  for  voice  and 
piano  from  Lieutenant  Kije. 

Op.  61.  Egyptian  Nights,  symphonic 
suite  based  on  music  for  play,  in 
seven  parts:  "Night  in  Egypt," 
"Caesar,"  "The  Sphinx  and  Cleo- 
patra," "Alarm,"  "Dances,"  "An- 
tony," "Eclipse  of  Cleopatra," 
"Roma  Militaris."  1934.  Gutheil. 
1938,  Moscow. 

Op.  62.  Thoughts,  three  pieces  for 
piano.  1933-4.  Gutheil.  Septem- 
ber 1940,  Moscow. 

Op.  63.  Second  Concerto  for  violin 
and  orchestra,  G  minor.  1935. 
Gutheil.  December  1,  1935,  Ma- 
drid. 

Op.  64.  Romeo  and  Juliet,  ballet 
in  four  acts.  1935.  MS.  1938, 
Brno. 

Op.  64-A.  Romeo  and  Juliet,  suite 
for  orchestra  in  seven  movements. 
1936  (1935).  State  Music  Pub- 
lishing House.  June  24,  1936, 
Moscow. 

Op.  64-B.  Second  suite  from  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  in  seven  movements. 
1936  (1935).  State  Music  Pub- 
lishing House. 

Op.  65.  Children's  Music,  twelve 
pieces  for  piano:  "Morning," 
"The  Walk,"  "Fairy-tale,"  "Tar- 
antella," "Repentance,"  "Waltz," 
"Grasshoppers'  Parade,"  "Rain 
and  Rainbow,"  "Touch  and  Run," 
"March,"  "Evening,"  "The  Moon 
Goes  over  the  Meadows."  1935. 
Gutheil. 

Op.  65-A.  Summer  Day,  svmphonic 
suite  for  children  (Nos.  1,  5,  6,  9, 
10,  11,  12  from  Children's  Music). 
1941  (1935).  MS. 

Op.  66.  Six  Popular  Songs:  Partisan 
Zheleznyak,   Anyutka,   My   Coun- 


191 


PROKOFIEV   S     WORKS 


try  is  Growing,  etc.  1935.  State 
Music  Publishing  House. 

Op.  67.  Peter  and  the  Wolf,  sym- 
phonic tale  to  author's  text.  1936. 
State  Music  Publishing  House. 
May  2,  1936,  Moscow. 

Op.  68.  Three  Pieces  for  Children: 
Chatterbox,  Sweet  Melody,  Little 
Pigs.  1936-9.  State  Music  Pub- 
lishing House. 

Op.  69.  Four  Marches  for  brass  band. 
1936-7.  State  Music  Publishing 
House. 

Op.  70.  The  Queen  of  Spades,  music 
for  film;  Boris  Godunov,  music 
for  play.  1936.  MSS. 

Op.  71.  Yevgeny  Onyegin,  music  for 
play.   1936.  MS. 

Op.  72.  Russian  Overture,  for  orches- 
tra, C  major.  1936.  Gutheil.  Oc- 
tober 29,  1936,  Moscow. 

Op.  73.  Three  Songs  to  Pushkin's 
words:  Pine  Trees,  Roseate  Dawn, 
In  Your  Chamber.  1936.  State 
Music  Publishing  House. 

Op.  74.  Cantata  for  the  Twentieth 
Anniversary  of  the  October  Revo- 
lution, to  the  words  of  Lenin, 
Stalin,  and  Marx,  for  symphony 
orchestra,  military  band,  accor- 
dions, percussion,  and  two  cho- 
ruses, in  ten  movements,  1936-7. 
MS. 

Op.  75.  Romeo  and  Juliet,  ten  pieces 
for  piano.  1937  (1935).  Iskusstvo 
Publishing  House. 

Op.  76.  Songs  for  Our  Days,  for 
chorus  and  orchestra:  Orchestral 
Introduction,  Over  the  Bridge,  Be 
Well,  Golden  Ukraine,  Brother 
for  Brother,  Girls,  The  Twenty- 
Year-Old,  Lullaby,  From  End  to 
End.  1937.  State  Music  Publish- 
ing House.  November  1938,  Mos- 
cow. 

Op.  77.  Music  to  Hamlet.  1938.  MS. 

Op.  77-A.  Gavotte  No.  4,  E-flat 
major,  from  music  to  Hamlet. 
1938.  Guthcil. 

Op.  78.  Alexander  Nevsky,  cantata 
for  solo,  chorus,  and  orchestra,  in 
seven    movements:    "Russia    under 


the  Mongol  Yoke,"  "Song  about 
Alexander  Nevsky,"  "Crusaders  in 
Pskov,"  "Field  of  the  Dead," 
"Arise,  Men  of  Russia,"  "Battle 
on  the  Ice,"  "Entry  of  Alexander 
into  Pskov."  1939.  State  Music 
Publishing  House.  April  1939, 
Moscow. 

Op.  78-A.  Three  Songs  from  Alex- 
ander Nevsky,  for  voice  and  piano. 
State  Music  Publishing  House. 

Op.  79.  Seven  Popular  Songs:  Song 
of  the  Homeland,  Stakhanovite 
Woman,  Over  the  Polar  Sea,  Send- 
Off,  Bravely  Forward,  A  Cossack 
Came  Through  the  Village,  Down 
the  Road.  1939.  State  Music  Pub- 
lishing House. 

Op.  80.  Sonata  for  violin  and  piano, 
C  major. 

Op.  81.  Semyon  Kotko,  opera  in  five 
acts,  libretto  by  V.  Katayev.  1939. 
MS.  June  1940,  Moscow. 

Op.  81-A.  Semyon  Kotko,  symphonic 
suite  in  eight  movements.  Decem- 
ber 23,  1943,  Moscow. 

Op.  82.  Sixth  Sonata  for  piano,  A 
major,  in  four  movements.  1939— 
40.  State  Music  Publishing  House. 
February  1940,  Moscow. 

Op.  83.  Seventh  Sonata  for  piano,  in 
three  movements.  1942  (1939). 
January  18,  1943,  Moscow. 

Op.  84.  Eighth  Sonata  for  piano,  B- 
flat  major,  in  three  movements. 
1939-44.  MS. 

Op.  85.  Zdravitsa,  cantata  for  Stalin's 
sixtieth  birthday,  to  folk  texts. 
1939.  December  1,  1939,  Moscow. 

Op.  86.  Betrothal  in  a  Convent,  opera 
in  four  acts,  based  on  Sheridan's 
Duenna.  1940.  MS. 

Op.  87.  Cinderella,  ballet  in  three 
acts,  libretto  by  N.  Volkov. 

Op.  88.  Symphonic  March.  July 
1941.  MS. 

Op.  89.  Seven  Mass  Songs  on  War 
Themes;  March,  A -flat  major,  for 
military  band.   1941-2. 

Op.  90.  "1941,"  symphonic  suite  in 
three  movements:  "In  Battle,"  "At 
Night,"  "For  the  Brotherhood  of 


192 


PROKOFIEV   S    WORKS 


Nations."  1941.  MS.  January  21, 
1943,  Sverdlovsk. 

Op.  91.  War  and  Peace,  opera  in 
eleven  scenes,  based  on  Tolstoy, 
libretto  by  the  composer  and  Myra 
Mendelssohn.    1941-2. 

Op.  92.  Second  String  Quartet,  F 
major,  in  three  movements  (based 
on  Kabardinian  and  Balkarian 
themes).  1942.  Muzghiz.  April  7, 
1942,  Moscow. 

Op.  93.  The  Ballad  of  the  Unknown 
Boy,  cantata  in  one  movement, 
for  soprano,  tenor,  chorus,  and  or- 
chestra, to  Antokolsky's  words. 
MS.  1942-3.  March  21,  1944, 
Moscow. 

Op.  94.  Sonata  for  flute  and  piano, 
D  major,  in  four  movements.  MS. 
1942-3.  December  7,  1943,  Mos- 
cow. 


Op.  94  bis.  Violin  and  piano  version 
of  the  Sonata  above.  MS.  1944. 

Op.  95.  Three  Pieces  for  piano,  from 
Cinderella.   1942.  Muzghiz. 

Op.  96.  Three  Pieces  for  piano,  tran- 
scriptions from  the  opera  War  and 
Peace  and  the  music  for  the  film 
Lermontov.    1942.  Muzghiz. 

Op.  97.  Ten  Pieces  for  piano,  from 
the   ballet   Cinderella.    1943.   MS. 

Op.  97  bis.  Adagio  for  cello  and 
piano,  from  Cinderella.  1944.  MS. 
April  19,  1944.  Muzghiz. 

Op.  98.  Two  Songs  offered  in  the 
contest  (1943)  for  a  new  national 
anthem. 

Op.  99.  March  for  band. 

Op.  100.  Fifth  Symphony,  B-flat 
major. 


*93 


Index 


About  My  Life  (Stravinsky),  38  n 

Academy  of  Music  (Rome),  128 

Aeolian  Hall  (New  York),  78 

Afanasyev,  A.  N.,  39  and  n 

Collection  of  Fairy-Tales,  39  and  n 

Aida  (Verdi),  18 

Akhmatova,  Anna,  49 

Akimcnko-Stepovy,  Y.,  10 

Alchevsky,  1, 14,  50 

Agnivtsev,  42 
Wizard,  42 

Alexander  Nevsky  (Eisenstein-Tisse- 
Prokofiev),  137 

Alexandrov,  Anatoli,  168 

All-Russian  Theatrical  Association, 
170 

All-Russian  Concert  Tour  Association, 
171 

All-Union  Congress  of  Soviet  Com- 
posers (1944),  168 

All-Union  Opera  Conference  (1940), 

J39 

All-Union  Radio  Committee  orches- 
tra and  chorus,  138 

Alschwang,  A.,  109  n 

AZso  sprach  ZarathustTa  (Strauss),  11 

Altshuler,  Modest,  78 

Amfitreatov,  Alexander,  52  n 

Andersen,  Hans  Christian,  37 
Ugly  Duckling,  The,  37 

Anisfeld,  Boris,  82 

Antokolsky,  P.,  165 

Antony  and  Cleopatra  (Shakespeare), 
127 

Apollon  (St.  Petersburg),  32 

Arensky,  Anton  Stepanovich,  26 

Asafyev,  Boris  (Igor  Glebov),  10,  26, 
27,  28,  48,  49,  51,  54,  55  n, 
60  n,  73  n,  93,  104,  120,  156 

Aslanov,  2  5  n,  30 

"Ass's  Tail"  group,  40 

Augusteo  (Rome),  38 

Auric,  Georges,  97 

Autobiography  (Prokofiev),  5  n,  32-3, 
140 

Bach,  Johann  Sebastian,  110,  11m 
Kunst  der  Fuge,  Die,  33 


Wohltemperiertes  Klavier,  Das,  33 
Balakirev,  Mily  Alexeycvich,  68 
Balla,  38 
Balmont,  Konstantin  Dmitrievich,  19, 

Create  Thou  Sounds,  20  n 

Seven,  They  Are  Seven,  53-4 

Swan,  19 

Wave,  19 
Barinova,  M.,  14 
Barto,  131 

Beaumarchais,  Pierre  Caron  de,  174 
Beethoven,  Ludwig  van,  4,  47,  68,  69, 
78,85,99,  130,  145 

Sonata,  A,  Op.  101,  85 

Sonata,  C  minor,  Op.  111,  99 
Belgoskino  Studios  (Leningrad),  126 
Bellini,  Vincenzo,  6,  147 
Bellison,  Simeon,  81 
Belyayev,  Viktor  Mikhailovich,  26,  28 
Benois,  Alexander  Nikolayevich,   14, 

58,  114 
Berdichevsky,  L.,  81 
Berezovsky,  137 
Berlin  State  Opera,  106  n,  107 
Berlioz,  Hector,  147 
Bernstein,  N.,  26,  31,  48 
Bessel  (publishing  firm),  24 
Bezrodny,  C,  81 
Bible,  the,  109,  no,  112 
Birman,  S.,  139 
Birzheviye  Vedomosti,  71 
Blech,  Leo,  102  n 
Blok,  Alexander  Alexandrovich,  52  n 

Twelve,  The,  52  n 
Boccaccio,  Giovanni,  176 
Bolm,  Adolph,  131 

Peter  and  the  Wolf,  131 
Bolshoi  Opera  (Moscow),  167 
Boris  Godunov  (Pushkin),  134 
Borisovsky,  V.,  142 
Borodin,  Alexander  Porfiryevich,  23, 
49,  60,   156,   159,   166,   171, 
176 

Prince  Igor,  5 
Borovsky,  Alexander,  22 
Borowski,  Felix,  165  n 
Bosse,  50 


INDEX 


Boston  Evening  Transcript,  105 
Boston  Symphony  Orchestra,  115 
Botticelli,  Sandro,  111-12 
Boulanger,  Nadia,  97 
Brahms,  Johannes,  69 
Bryusov,  Valery,  82,  83,  93 
Flaming  Angel,  The,  82 
Burlyuk,  David,  31,  57 
Buxtehude,  Dietrich,  85 

Cazsar  and  Cleopatra  (Shaw),  127 
Campanini,  Cleofonte,  79 
Carnaval  (Schumann),  82 
Cendrillon  (Perrault),  177  n 
Cezanne,  Paul,  62  n,  89 
Chaliapin,  Fyodor  Ivanovich,  35 
Chausson,  Ernest,  14 
Chebukiani,  Vakhtang,  140 
Chernyavsky,  I.,  81 
Chicago  Daily  News,  79 
Chicago  Herald  and  Examiner,  79 
Chicago  Opera  Company,  79,  85,  86, 

92 
Chicago  Sun,  16571 
Chopin,  Frederic-Frangois,  4,  17,  18, 

21,  78,  79,  82,  85 
Sonata,  B -flat  minor,  Op.  35,  109 
Classic,  The  (Mussorgsky),  43 
Cloak,  The  (Gogol),  42 
Coates,  Albert,  46,  49,  92  and  n 
Collection  of  Fairy-tales  (Afanasyev), 

39  and  n 
Commandments  (Shevchenko),  153 
Committee  on  Arts,  140 
Communist    Manifesto     (Marx    and 

Engels),  132 
Concerto,  piano  and  orchestra,  Op.  35 

(Shostakovich),   15171 
finale,  151  n 
Create  Thou  Sounds  (Balmont),  20  n 
Cui,  Cesar  Antonovich,  8,  28,  49 
Feast  During  the  Plague,  8 

Daily  Graphic  (London),  89 

Daily  Mail  (London),  105 

Daily  Telegraph  (London),  89,  105 

Damskaya,  Eleonora,  29 

Daphnh  et  Chloe  (Ravel),  35 

Dargomizhsky,     Alexander     Scrgeyc- 

vich,  71 
Darrieux,  96 
Dead  Souls  (Gogol),  42 


Debussy,  Claude-Achille,  11,  14,  22, 
32,  60,  68,  89,  97,  130 

Deisha-Sionitskaya,  M.,  20 

Demchinsky,  B.  N.,  44 

Den,  146 

Derzhanovsky,  V.,  26,  27 

Deshevov,  Vladimir,  29 

Diaghilev,  Sergei  Pavlovich,  1 3  and  n, 
34-6,  38,  39,  40,  41,  42,  44, 
46,  51,  73  and  n,  74,  85,  87, 
88,  89-90,  93,  101,  102,  105, 
106, 109,  110, 111, 114, 117  n, 
146 

Disney,  Walt,  131 

Divine  Poem  (Symphony  No.  3) 
(Scriabin),  11 

Dobuzhinsky,  Mtislav,  14,  127 

Dobychina,  N.  E.,  52 

Don  Giovanni  (Mozart),  17871 

Don  Juan  (Strauss),  11 

Dostoyevsky,     Fyodor    Mikhailovich, 
34,  35,  44,  50,  160 
Gambler,  The,  34,  35,  50 
Idiot,  The,  34 

Dranishnikov,  Vladimir,  102  n,  109  n 

Drozdov,  Anatoli,  33 

Dubasov,  33 

Duenna,  The  (Sheridan),  139,  149, 

Dukas,  Paul,  14,  22 
Dzbanovsky,  48,  58 

Eclair,  U  (Paris),  86 

Egyptian  Nights  (Pushkin),  127 

1812  (dramatization  of  War  and 
Peace),  178 

Eighth  Extraordinary  Congress  of 
Soviets,  132 

Eisenstein,  Sergei,  137,  164,  168-9 
Alexander  Nevsky,  137 
Ivan  the  Terrible,  164,  166,  168-9, 
171,  172 

Eisler,  Hans,  98  n 

Ekgel,  Y.,  60  n 

Elektra  (Strauss),  46 

Empire  News  (London),  105 

Erlkonig,  Der  (Schubert),  6 

Essipova,  Annette,  17-18,  33 

fitude,  C  (Rubinstein),  16  and 
n,  17 

Evenings  of  Modern  Music  (Mos- 
cow), 52,  93 


11 


INDEX 


Evenings  of  Modern  Music  (St.  Pet- 
ersburg), 13-15,  20,  26,  32, 
38  n,  48 

Evenings  of  New  Music  (Leningrad), 

93 

Fairy-tales  (Medtner),  17 

Falstaff  (Verdi),  149 

Fantasiestucke  (Schumann),  21 

Faure,  Gabriel-Urbain,  14 

Faust  (Gounod),  5 

Feast  during  the  Plague  (Cui),  8 

Feast  during  the  Plague  (Pushkin),  8 

Fedotov,  F.,  167 

Feinberg,  Samuel,  22,  103  n 

Feinzimmer,  A.,  126 

Fernandez  Arbos,  Enrique,  1 30  n 

Festival    of    Soviet    Music    (Second, 

1938),  137,  138 
Feuerbach,  Ludwig,  132 
Firebird,  The  (Stravinsky),  30,  35 
Fischmann,  130 
Five,  The,  13,  28,  40,  153 
Flaming  Angel,  The  (Bryusov),  82 
Florestan,  see  Derzhanovsky 
Foire  sur  la  place,  La  (Rolland),  97- 

8 
Free  Theater  (St.  Petersburg),  25 
Fried,  Oscar,  103  n 
From  a  Diary  (Reger),  11 

Gambler,  The  (Dostoyevsky),  34,  35, 

5° 
Garden,  Mary,  86,  92 
Gauguin,  Paul,  89,  91 
Gauk,  Alexander,  167 
Gazette  de  Liege,  La,  90  n 
Glazunov,  Alexander  Konstantinovich, 
8,9,  12,  13,17,26,  33,48,49, 
171,  176,  186  n 
Sonata,  E  minor,  17 
Glebov,  Igor,  pseudonym  of  Asafyev, 

Boris,  q.  v. 
Gliere,  Reinhold  Morizovich,  6,  8,  22 
Glinka,  Mikhail  Ivanovich,  26,  153, 
15771,  159,  176 
Kamarinskaya,  153 
Life  for  the  Tsar,  A,  105 
Gnessin,  Mikhail  F.,  14 
Gogol,  Nikolai  Vassilyevich,  42 
Cloak,  The,  42 
Dead  Souls,  42 


Golden  Cockerel,  The  (Rimsky-Kor- 

sakov),  12,  35  n 
Goldoni,  Carlo,  174 
Golos  Moskvy  (Moscow),  23,  25,  55 
Golubovskaya,  N.,  33  n 
Goncharova,  Natalia,  40,  117 
Gorky,   Maxim    (Alexei   Maximovich 
Peshkov),    38,    52,   54/1,    58, 
102 

My  Childhood,  52 
Gorodetsky,  Sergei,  36 
Goryansky,  Valentine,  42-3 

Under  the  Roof,  42,  43 
Gounod,  Charles-Frangois,  147 

Faust,  5 
Goya  y  Lucientes,  Francisco,  156 
Gozzi,  Count  Carlo,  58,  79 

Princess  Turandot,  80 
Grand  Opera  (Moscow),  5,  107,  115 
Gray  Dress  (Hippius),  91  n 
Grieg,  Edvard  Hagerup,  11,  60,  73 
Grosz,  George,  98  n 
Griinewald,  Matthias,  1 56 
Gutheil  and  Koussevitzky  (music  pub- 
lishing firm),  93,  10771 

Hauck,  10971 

Haydn,  Franz  Joseph,  18,  50,  58,  68 

He-Goat,  The  (Mussorgsky),  43 

Heifetz,  Jascha,  52,  130 

Hillels,  Emil,  170 

Hippius,  Yevgeni,  170 

Hippius,  Z.,  91  n 

Gray  Dress,  91  n 
Histoire  du  soldat,  L'   (Stravinsky), 

40,  no 
Honegger,  Arthur,  97,  98  n,  118  n 
Hubermann,  Bronislaw,  96 
Huneker,  James  Gibbons,  79 
Hymn  to  Dinner  ( Mayakovsky ) ,  42 
Hymn  to  the  Judge   (Mayakovsky), 

42 

Idiot,  The  (Dostoyevsky),  34 
Idiot,  The  (Miaskovsky),  34 
Imperial  Theater  (Tokyo),  77 
Indy,  Vincent  d',  14 
Ingres,  Jean-Auguste-Dominuque,  110 
International  Book  Society  (Moscow) , 

93 
Iskusstvo,  60  n 

Isle  of  the  Dead  (Rachmaninoff),  19 


111 


INDEX 


I,  Son  of  the  Working  People  (Kata- 

yev),  13911 
Ivan  IV  Vassilyevich  ( "the  Tenible" ) , 

Tsar  of  Russia,  169 
Ivanov,  M.,  31 
Ivan  the  Terrible   (Eisenstein-Proko- 

fiev),   164,  166,  168-9,  171> 

172 
I  Was  at  a  Feast,  1 54 
Izvestia,  124,  129 

"Jack  of  Diamonds"  group,  62  n 
Jean-Christophe  (Rolland),  97,  100 
Jurgenson  (publishing  firm),  24  and 

n>  33>  37>  47 

Kabalevsky,  Dmitri  B.,  169 

Kachalov,  141 

Kalantarova,  33 

Kaledin,  Alexei  Maximovich,  56 

Kalinnikov,  Basil  Sergeyevich,  23 

Kamarinskaya  (Glinka),  153 

Kamensky,  Vassili,  31,  57 

Life  with  Mayakovsky,  57  n 
Kamerny    Theater    (Moscow),    127, 

J34 

Kankarovich,  A.,  23 

Kant,  Immanuel,  55 

Karatygin,     Vyacheslav     Gavrilovich, 

14,  26,  31,  35,  40—1,  49,  60, 

62  and  n,  73  n,  120 
Karenin,    Vladimir    (Varvara    Koma- 

rova ) ,  1 79  n 
Kashkin,  Nikolai  Dmitrievich,  20 
Katayev,  Valentin,  13971,  163 

I,  Son  of  the  Working  People,  1 39  n 
Khachaturyan,  Aram,  104  n,  169 
Khovanshchina  (Mussorgsky),  180 
Kiev  Opera  House,  107 
Kino,  137 
Kirov   (formerly  Maryinsky)  Theater 

(Leningrad),  138-9,  140,  166 
Kitezh  (Rimsky-Korsakov),  12 
Klavierstiicke,  Op.   11    (Schonbcrg), 

20 
Kochanski,  Paul,  86 
Kolomyitscv,  55 
Konchalovsky,  P.,  62  n,  128 
Koptyayev,  Alexander  P.,  58,  71 
Koshctz,  Nina,  22,  86,  91 
Kotovsky  (film),  164 


Koussevitzky,  Serge,  24  n,  32, 40,  54  n, 
57,9271,93,96,99,  100,  115, 
128 

Krein,  Alexander,  22 

Kryzhanovsky,  Ignatz  I.,  14,  22 

Krzhyzhanovsky,  S.  D.,  134 

Kunst  der  Fuge,  Die  (Bach) ,  33 

Kurdyumov,  Y.,  31 

Kutuzov,  Mikhail  Ilarionovich,  Prince 
of  Smolensk,  141 

Kuznetsov,  K.,  104 

La   Motte-Fouque,   Friedrich,  Baron 

de,  8 
Undine,  8 
Lancere,  E.,  14 
Larionov,   Mikhail   Fyodorovich,   40, 

86,  88,  90,  117 
Lavrov,  33 
Lavrovsky,  L.,  139 
Lebedev-Kumach,  136 
Lemba,  Arthur,  33 
Lenin,  Nikolai  (V.  I.  Ulanov),  123- 

4-  *32 
What  is  to  be  Done?  132 

Leningrad  Cappella  Chorus,  167 

Leningrad    Conservatory    of    Music, 

33" 

Lermontov,  Mikhail  Yuryevich,  44 

Masquerade,  44 
Lermontov  (film),  164 
Leschetizky,  Theodor,  17 
Library  of  Congress    (Washington), 

115  and  n 
Lieven,  Baroness,  24 
Lifar,  Serge,  117  n 
Life  for  the  Tsar,  A  (Glinka) ,  105 
Life  with  Mayakovsky   (Kamensky), 

57" 
Liszt,  Franz,  17,  25,  60,  64,  68,  91 

Sonata,  B  minor,  17 
Literatura  i  Iskusstvo,  168  n,  170 
London,  Jack,  78 
Lunacharsky,    Anatoly    Vassilyevich, 

58 
Lunacharsky,  M.,  14,  29,  89  n,  103, 

104 
Lyadov,  Anatoly  Konstantinovich,  8, 

9,  10,  11,  12,  16,  85 
Lyapunov,    Sergei    Mikhailovich,    33 

and  n 


IV 


INDEX 


Malkov,  N.,  101 

Malyavin,  153 

Maly  Theater,  178 

Marinctti,  Emilio,  38 

Marriage  (Mussorgsky),  44,  161,  179 

Marriage  of  Figaro,  The   (Mozart), 

18,  1780 
Marshak,  S.,  136 
Marx,  Karl,  132 

Communist  Manifesto,  132 
Maryinsky   Theater    (Petrograd    and 
Leningrad),  46,   48,    50,  79, 
102  n,  103, 107,  166  n;  see  also 
Kirov  Theater 
Marzhanov,  K.,  25 
Masquerade  (Lermontov),  44 
Matisse,  Henri,  62  n,  90 
Mavra  (Stravinsky),  110,  127,  133 
Mayakovsky,  Vladimir  Vladimirovich, 
31-2,  42,  46,  57,  72-3,  140  n 

Hymn  to  Dinner,  42 

Hymn  to  the  Judge,  42 

"War  and  the  Universe,"  57 
Medem,  A.  D.,  14,  33 
Medtner,  Nikolai,  14,  17,  20,  52,  78 

Fairy-tales,  17 
Melos,  5  5  n,  60  n 
Mendelssohn-Bartholdy,  Felix,  78 
Mestechkin,  I.,  81 

Miaskovsky,  Nikolai  Y.,  10, 11, 12, 14, 
15,  17,  22-3,  26,  27,  28,  29, 

34>47>51>52n>73n>93>1°4 
and  n,  109  and  n,  141,  142-3, 
168,  169 
Idiot,  The,  34 
Silence,  23 
Symphony  No.  1,  C  minor,  Op.  3, 

12 
Symphony  No.  2,  C-sharp  minor, 

Op.  11,  52  n 
Symphony  No.  6,  E-flat  minor,  Op. 

23,  52  n 
Whimsies,  104  n 
Mikhalkov,  131 
Milhaud,  Darius,  97,  1 1 8  n 
Mlada  (Rimsky-Korsakov),  14 
Mojica,  Jose,  91  n 
Moldavan,  Karl,  81 
Montagu-Nathan,  M.,  77  n 
Morolev,  Vassili  M.,  9-10,  15,  18  n, 
29 


Moscow  Beethoven  Quartet,  142 
Moscow  Conservatory  of  Music,  102, 

122,  170,  171,  172 
Moscow  Film  Studios,  1 34 
Moscow  People's  House,  25  n 
Moscow     Philharmonic     Orchestra, 

131^135,138 
Moscow   Union  of  Composers,   126, 

140,  168 
Mosfilm  studios,  168 
Moskovsky  Rabochy  (Moscow),  124 
Mozart,  Wolfgang  Amadcus,  17,  18, 
58,  160,  167,  178  n,  186 
Don  Giovanni,  178  n 
Marriage  of  Figaro,  The,  18,  178  a 
Musical  America  (New  York),  77,  78 
Musical  Courier  ( New  York ) ,  80 
Musical  Times  (London),  77ft,  105 
Music  Foundation  of  the   U.S.S.R., 

167 
Mussorgsky,    Modest    Pctrovich,   43, 
44,  70-1,   82,   88,   115,   120, 
134,  161,  179,  180,  184,  187 
Classic,  The,  43 
He-Goat,  The,  43 
Khovanshchina,  180 
Marriage,  44,  161,  179 
Pictures  at  an  Exposition,  71,  82, 
88 
Promenades,  88 
Sunless,  14,  70 
Muzyka  (Moscow),  24,  26-8,  39,  47, 

49 
Muzykalny  Sovremennik  (Petrograd) , 

48 
My  Childhood  (Maxim  Gorky),  52 

Napoleon  I,  Emperor  of  the  French, 

M1*  *79 
Napravnik,  Eduard  Franzevich,  46 

Nemirovich-Danchenko,  Vladimir 

Ivanovich,  142 
Neuhaus,  G.  C,  126 
Nevosti  Sezona  (Moscow),  48-9 
New  Majority  (Chicago),  79 
Newman,  Ernest,  89 
New  York  Times,  79 
Nikolayev,  Leonid,  14 
Noces  villageoises,  Les  (Stravinsky), 

87,  105 
Nose,  The  (Shostakovich),  127 


INDEX 


Novaya  Zhizn,  54 

Noviye  Vedomosti,  58 

Novoye  Vremya  (St.  Petersburg),  31 

Novy  Den,  5  5 

Novym  Beregam,  K  (Moscow),  93 

Novy  Satirikon,  42 

Nurok,  Alfred  Pavlovich,  1 3  and  n,  49 

Nutcracker,  The  (Tchaikovsky),  176 

Nuvel,  Walter  Fedorovich,  13  and  n, 

35>  49 

(EdipusRex  (Stravinsky),  110 
Oh,  You  Galya,  143 
Oistrakh,  David,  166  n 
Opera  (Paris),  116,  117  n 
Orchestra  Hall  (Chicago),  79 
Orlov,  N.,  22 
Ornstein,  Leo,  78 
Ossovsky,  A.  V.,  24 
Osyk,  Marfa,  1 54  n 
Otaguro,  M.,  77 

Palecek,  18 

Partisans   of   the   Ukrainian   Steppes 
(Savchenko),  143 

Passion  Play  (Oberammergau),  93 

Paul  I,  Tsar  of  Russia,  126-7 

Pavlovsk  Vauxhall   (St.  Petersburg), 
23,  25  n,  30,  31,40 

Peredvizhniki,  40 

Perrault,  Charles,  176 
Cendrillon,  ijjn 

Persimfans  orchestra  (Moscow),  102, 
103  and  n 

Peter  and  the  Wolf  (Bolm),  131 

Peterburgskaya    Gazeta    (St.    Peters- 
burg), 25,  30,  31 

Peterburgsky  Listok  (St.  Petersburg), 
16,  26,  31 

Petrograd  Conservatory  of  Music,  48, 
5o 

Petrogradskaya   Gazeta    (Petrograd), 
48,  50 

Petrouchka  (Stravinsky),  35,  38,  152  n 

Pctrovsko-Razumovskoyc   Agricultural 
Academy  (Moscow),  3 

Piatigorski,  Grcgor,  138 

Picasso,  Pablo,  90,  110 

Pictures  at  an  Exposition  (Mussorg- 
sky), 71,  82,  88 
Promenades,  88 

Pioneer,  125,  157 


Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  78 

Pokrovsky,  I.  V.,  14 

Polotskaya-Yemtsova,  S.,  14 

Pomerantsev,  Y.,  5,  6 

Popov,  Gabriel  (Gavril)  N.,  104 

Posledniye  Novosti,  88 

Poulenc,  Francis,  97,  118  n 

Pravda,  125,  129,  136 

Prince  Igor  (Borodin),  5 

Princess  Turandot  (Gozzi),  80 

Prishelets,  136 

Prokofiev  (composer's  son),  94 

Prokofiev,  Sergei  Alexeyevich  (com- 
poser's father),  3,  8,  21 

Prokofieva,  Myra  (Mendelson)  (com- 
poser's wife),  94 

Prokofieva,  Marya  Grigoryevna  (Zhit- 
kova)  (composer's  mother), 
3-4,  5,8,21,56,94 

Pushkin,  Alexander  Sergeyevich,  5,  8, 
39,44,  127,  131,  133-4,143 
Boris  Godunov,  134 
Egyptian  Nights,  127 
Feast  during  the  Plague,  8 
Queen  of  Spades,  The,  1 34 
Yevgeny  Onyegin,  1 34 

Queen  of  Spades,  The  (Pushkin),  134 
Queen  of  Spades,  The  (Tchaikovsky), 

44,176 
Quintet,  piano  and  strings,  Op.    57 

(Shostakovich),  69  n 

Rabochi  Teatr,  mn 
Rachmaninoff,     Sergei     Vassilyevich, 
14,  17,  19,  20,  52,  82,  91 

Isle  of  the  Dead,  19 

Symphony  No.  2,  E  minor,  19 
Rad'lov,  S.,  102  n,  128 
Ramcau,  Jean-Philippe,  160 
Ravel,  Maurice-Joseph,  22,  35,  118  n 

Daphnis  et  Chloe,  35 
Ravcvsky  family.  5 
Rcbikov,  Vladimir,  14 
Rech  (St.  Petersburg),  16,  26,  31,  41, 

49 
Red  Army  Song  and  Dance  Ensemble, 

159 

Red  Banner  of  Labor,  order  of,  168 
Rcgcr,  Max,  11,  13,  14,  69 

From  a  Diary,  1  i 

Serenade,  G,  1 1 


VI 


INDEX 


Reger,  Max  (continued) 

Sonata,  violin,  C,  1 1 

Sonata,  violin,  F-sharp  minor,  11 

Variations  on  a  Bach  Theme,  11 
Renard  (Stravinsky),  40,  114 
Revolution  (1905),  9 
Revolution  (February),  50,  52-3 
Revolution   (October),   51,  56,  131, 

168 
Richter,  Svyatoslav,  139,  165 
Rimsky-Korsakov,    Nikolai    Andreye- 
vich,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12,  26,  35  n, 
48,  51,  85,  89,  157  n,  159,  176 

Golden  Cockerel,  The,  12,  35  n 

Kitezh,  12 

Mlada,  14 

Sadko,  30 

Snow-Maiden,  The,  51,  176 
Ring  des  Nibelungen,  Der  (Wagner) , 

12 
RMO,  see  Russian  Musical  Society 
Rolland,  Romain,  97-8 

Foire  sur  la  place,  La,  97-8 

Jean-Christophe,  97,  100 
Romanoff  ballet  troupe,  100 
Romeo  and  Juliet  (Shakespeare),  128, 

129,  147  and  n 
Romm,  M.,  134 
Rouault,  Georges,  110 
Rousseau,  Henri,  89-90 
Roussel,  Albert,  14 
Royal  Theater  (Brussels),  107 
Rubens,  Peter  Paul,  176 
Rubinstein,  Anton  Grigoryevich,  16, 
17,  26 

Etude,  C,  16  and  n,  17 
Russian  Musical  Publishers,  24  and  n 
Russian  Musical  Society  (RMO),  38 
Russian    Musical    Society    symphony 

orchestra,  52 
Russkaya  Muzyka,  60  n 
Russkaya  Volya,  52  n 
Russkiye  Vedomosti,  26,  60  n 
Russkoye  Slovo  (St.  Petersburg),  20 
Ruzsky,  N.  P.,  29 

Sabanyev,  Leonid,  23,  25,  32,  48-9, 

55 
Sacre  du  printemps,  he  (Stravinsky), 

35^  36>  37 
Sadko  (Rimsky-Korsakov),  30 
St.  Petersburg  Conservatory  of  Mu- 


sic, 8-17,  18,  19,  25,  29,  32, 
33,  35,  51,  67,  81;  see  also 
Pctrograd  Conservatory  and 
Leningrad  Conservatory 

Sakonskaya,  131 

Saminsky,  Lazare,  10 

Samosud,  Samuel  A.,  170 

Saradzhcv,  Konstantin  Solomonovich, 
22,  25  and  n,  26,  103  n,  104 

Satic,  Erik,  22,  78 

Savchenko,  Igor,  143 

Partisans  of  the  Ukrainian  Steppes, 

Scarlatti,  Domenico,  68,  118,  120, 152 
Scherzo  a  la  russe  (Tchaikovsky),  18  n 
Schloezer,  Boris  de,  97 
Schmithof,  Maximilian,  29,  30  n,  51 
Schmitt,  Florent,  22 
Schonberg,  Arnold,  14,  20,  78 

Klavierstiicke,  Op.  11,  20 
Schopenhauer,  Arthur,  55  and  n 
Schpiller,  N.,  167 
Schubert,  Franz  Peter,  6,  18,  85 

Erlkbnig,  Der,  6 
Schumann,  Robert  Alexander,  6,  11, 
16  n,  17,  20,  21,  70,  73,  78, 
82,  146 

Camay al,  82 

Fantasiestiicke,  21 

Sonata,  F-sharp  minor,  17,  20 

Toccata,  C,  i6n,  17 
Scriabin,  Alexander  Nikolayevich,  11, 
14,  16,  19,  21,  23,  26,  59,  60, 
61,  68,  78,  82 

Divine  Poem,  1 1 
Segodyna  (Riga),  160 
Semyonov,  Ataman  Grigory,  76 
Senilov,  Vladimir,  14,  22 
Serenade,  G  (Reger),  11 
Sergeyev,  K.,  166 
Sestroretsk,  40 
Seven,  They  Are  Seven  (Balmont), 

53-4 
Shakespeare,  William,  127,  129,  143, 

148 

Antony  and  Cleopatra,  127 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  128,  129,  147 

and  n 

Shaporin,  Yuri  A.,  141 

Shaw,  George  Bernard,  127 

Caesar  and  Cleopatra,  127 

Shebhalin,  Visarion  I.,  104  n,  170 


Vll 


INDEX 


Shebuyev,  N.,  32 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  139,  149, 

l74 

Duenna,  The,  139,  149,  174 

Shevchenko,  Taras  Grigoryevich,  153 
Commandments,  153 

Shirinsky,  S.,  142 

Shirinskv.  V.,  142 

Shklovsky.  V.,  42 

Shostakovich,  Dmitri  Dmitrievich,  21, 
68,  69  n,  71,  104  and  n,  127, 
151  n,  168  n,  169,  170,  171, 

177 

Concerto,  piano  and  orchestra,  Op. 

35-  1Sin 

finale,  151  n 
Nose,  The,  127 
Quintet,  piano  and  strings,  Op.  57, 

69  n 
String  Quartet  No.  2,  Op.  49,  170, 

177 
Symphony  No.  5,  Op.  47,  69  n 

Scherzos,  69  n 
Symphony  No.  6,  Op.  53,  69  n 

finale,  69  n 
Trio,  piano  and  strings,  Op.  8,  170 
Silence  (Miaskovsky),  23 
Siloti,  Alexander,  28  and  n,  36  and  n, 

40,  47,  48,  49,  52 
Six,  les,  97,  99 
Sleeping  Beauty,  The  (Tchaikovsky), 

5 

Slovo  (St.  Petersburg),  16 

Snow  Maiden,  The  ( Rimsky-Korsa- 
kov),  51,  176 

Soetens,  Robert,  128,  129,  130 

Sokolniki  Park  (Moscow),  22,  23 

Solodovnikov  Theater  (Moscow),  5 

Somov,  K.,  13  a,  14 

Sonata,  A,  Op.  101   (Beethoven),  85 

Sonata,  piano,  C  minor,  Op.  111 
(Beethoven),  99 

Sonata,  B -flat  minor,  Op.  35  (Cho- 
pin), 109 

Sonata  (piano),  E  minor  (Glazunov), 

Sonata  (piano),  B  minor  (Liszt),  17 
Sonata  (violin),  C  (Reger),  11 
Sonata   (violin),  F-sharp  minor  (Re- 
ger). 11 
Sonata  (piano),  F-sharp  minor  (Schu- 
mann), 17,  20 


Sontsov,  3 

Sovietskaya  Muzyka,  6  n,  60  n,  108  n, 

123,     128,     137,     139,     140 

and  n 
Sovietskoye  Iskusstvo,  109  n,  122,  137 
Sovremennaya    Muzyka     (Moscow), 

104,  120 

Stalin,  Joseph,  132,  138,  154,  155 

Stalin  prize,  165 

Stanchinsky,  Alexei,  28 

Stanislavsky  Theater  (Moscow),  139 

Stasov,  Vladimir  Vassilyevich,  28,  179 
and  n 

State  Literary  Publishing  House,  39  n 

State  Publishing  House  Music  De- 
partment, 93,  140 

State  Svmphonic  Orchestra  of  the 
U.S.S.R.,  167,  170 

Steinberg,  Maximilian  O.,  14 

Stock,  Frederick,  79,  92,  118 

Stokowski,  Leopold,  109  n 

Strauss,  Richard,  11,  14,  24,  35,  46, 
66,  89,  118  n 
Also  sprach  Zarathustra,  11 
Don  Juan,  1 1 
Elektra,  46 
Till  Eulenspiegel,  1 1 
Tod  und  Verklarung,  1 1 

Stravinsky,  Igor  Feodorovich,  14,  15, 
28,  30,  34,  36,  38  and  n,  40, 
48,  52  n,  57,  73  n,  74,78,  85 
and  n,  86,  87,  90,  93,  97,  101, 

105,  110,  111,  114,  127,  133, 
146 

About  My  Life,  38  n 

Firebird,  The,  30,  35 

Histoire  du  soldat,  U,  40,  110 

Mavra,  110,  127,  133 

Noces  villageoises,  Les,  87,  105 

CEdipus  Rex,  110 

Petrouchka,  35,  38,  52  n 

Renard,  40,  114 

Sacre  du  printemps,  Le,  35,  36,  37 

Symphonic  de  psaumes,  110 
String  Quartet  No.  2,  Op.  49  (Shos- 
takovich), 170,  177 
Sunday  Times  (London),  89 
Sunless  (Mussorgsky),  14,  70 
Surikov,  1 56 
Surkov,  140  n 
Suvchinsky,  P.,  48 
Swan  (Balmont),  19 


Vlll 


INDEX 


Symphonie  de  psaumes  (Stravinsky), 
no 

Symphony  No.   1,  C  minor,  Op.   3 
(Miaskovsky),  12 

Symphony  No.  2,  C-sharp  minor,  Op. 
11   (Miaskovsky),  52a 

Symphony  No.  6,  E-flat  minor,  Op. 
23   (Miaskovsky),  52  n 

Symphony  No.  2,  E  minor  (Rachman- 
inoff), 19 

Symphony  No.   5,  Op.  47    (Shosta- 
kovich ) ,  69  n 
Scherzos,  69  n 

Symphony  No.  6,  Op.  53  (Shostako- 
vich ) ,  69  n 
finale,  69  n 

Symphony  No.   1,  G  minor  (Tchai- 
kovsky), 144 

Symphony  No.  6,  B  minor  (Pathetic) 
(Tchaikovsky),  176 

Szigeti,  Joseph,  96,  103  n,  166  n 

Tairov,  A.,  127 

Taneyev,  Sergei  Ivanovich,  5,  7  and 

n,  24,  69 
Tannhduser  (Wagner),  17 
Tartakov,  49 

Tchaikovsky,  Piotr  Ilyich,  13,  14,  17, 
18  n,  26,  44,  47,  91,  134,  147, 
171,  176 
Nutcracker,  The,  176 
Queen  of  Spades,  The,  44,  176 
Scherzo  a  la  russe,  1 8  n 
Sleeping  Beauty,  5 
Symphony  No.  1,  G  minor,  144 
Symphony    No.   6    (Pathetic),  B 

minor,  176 
Yevgeny  Onyegin,  134 
Tcherepnin,  Alexander  Nikolayevich, 

M>  29,  38 
Tcherepnin,  Nikolai  Nikolayevich,  17, 

18,  19,  34,  50 
Tchernov,  Mikhail,  13 
Telyakovsky,  46,  49 
Tempis,  Max,  106  n 
Tenishev  School  (Petrograd),  57 
Tikhonov,  A.  N.,  54  n 
Till  Eulenspiegel  (Strauss),  11 
Tisse,  Eduard,  137 
Toccata,  C  major  (Schumann),  16  n, 

Tod  und  Verkldrung  (Strauss),  11 


Tolstoy,  Count  Lev  Nikolayevich,  140, 
178, 179 
War  and  Peace,  140—1,  178-9 
Tonya  (film),  164 
Trans-Siberian  Railroad,  76 
Trio,  piano  and  strings,  Op.  8  (Shos- 
takovich), 170 
Triton  (Paris),  118  n 
Tsyganov,  D.,  142 
Twelve,  The  (Blok),  52  n 
Tynyanov,  Y.,  126 

Ugly  Duckling,  The  (Andersen),  37 
Ulanova,  Galina,  139 
Under  the  Roof  (Goryansky),  42,  43 
Undine    (La    Motte-Fouque-Zhukov- 

sky),  8 
Union  of  Soviet  Composers,   168  n, 

169 
Utro  Rossii,  26 

Vakhtangov,  E.,  80 

Variations  on  a  Bach  Theme  (Reger) , 

11 
Vassilenko,  Sergei  N.,  22,  168 
Vechernaya  Moskva,  122,  125,  132, 

*34 
Vec/zerneye  Slovo,  58 
Vecherneye  Vremya,  26,  48 
Vecherniye     Birzheviye     Vedomosti, 

160 
Vega,  Lope  de,  174 
Vengerova,  33 
Verdi,  Giuseppe,  6,  18,  149 

Mda,  18 

Falstaff,  149 
VOKS  Musical  Chronicle,  169  n 
Volkov,  N.,  140,  166 

Wagner,  Richard,  11,  66,  78,  148 
Ring  des  Nibelungen,  Der,  12 
Tannhdusser,  17 

Wales,  Edward,  Prince  of,  105 

Walter,  Bruno,  102,  118 

War  and  Peace    (Tolstoy),   140-1. 
179-80 

"War  and  the  Universe"  (Mayakov- 
sky),  57 

Warlich,  Hugo,  12 

Wave  (Balmont),  19 

Weisberg,  Y.,  48 

What  is  to  be  Done?  (Lenin),  132 


IX 


INDEX 


Whimsies  (Miaskovsky),  104  n 
Wihtol  (Vitols),  Joseph,  16 
Williams,  P.,  139 
Winkler,  Alexander,  9,  16,  17 
Wittgenstein,  Paul,  118  and  n 
Wizard  (Agnivtsev),  42 
Wohltemperiertes        Klavier,        Das 

(Bach),  33 
Wolf,  Hugo,  14 
World  of  Art,  1 3  n 
World  of  Art  group,  13  and  n,  14, 

157 

Yakulov,  Georgi,  101 

Yavorsky,  B.  L.,  60  n 

Yershov,  I.,  50 

Yevgeny  Onyegin  (Pushkin),  134 

Yevgeny  Onyegin  (Tchaikovsky),  134 


Yudina,  M.  V.,  138 

Yurasovsky,  22 

Zabela,  N.,  14 

Zakharov,  Boris,  11,  17,  30 

Zborovsky,  N.,  88 

Zbruyeva,  50 

Zetkin,  Clara,  123—4 

Zherebetsova-Andreyeva,  A.,  14,  38  n 

Zhizn  Iskusstva  (Leningrad),  89,  94, 

97,  101 
Zhukov,  M.,  139 
Zhukovsky,  Vasili  Andreyevich,  8 

Undine,  8 
Zz'mro  (New  York),  81 
Zolotoye  Runo  (St.  Petersburg),  16 
Zritel,  32 
Zuckermann,  V.,  60 


Index  of  Compositions  by  Prokofiev  Referred  to  in  the  Text 


Ala  and  Lolli  (Scythian  Suite),  Op. 
20,  1371,  35,  36-7,  38,  39,41, 
44,46,47-9,51,54-5,57,58, 
61,  62,  66,  70,  71,  72,  74,  79, 
86,  89,  92  n,  96,  99,  103  n, 
106  and  n,  107,  111,  146,  156, 
171 

Alexander  Nevsky,  cantata  from  music 

for  film,  Op.  78,  65,  67,  68, 

83  n,  124,  137,  138,  143,  144, 

155-9,  169, 171,  172,  173,  186 

"Arise,  Men  of  Russia,"  157,  158, 

"Battle  on  the  Ice,"  65,  156,  157, 

158  and  n 
"Crusaders  in  Pskov,"   83  n,   156, 

157 

"Field  of  the  Dead,"  156 

"Girl's  Song,"  158 

"It  Happened  on  the  Neva  River," 

*57 
American  Overture,  see  Overture,  B- 

flat,  Op.  42 
Autumnal  Sketch,  Op.  8,  19  and  n,  23 

Ballad,  Op.  15,  7,  29,  32 

Ballad  of  the  Unknown  Boy,  The,  Op. 

93,  164-5,  166,  167-8,  173 
Betrothal  in  a  Convent,  Op.  86,  139, 

149,  151,  163,  167,  173,  174- 

6,  178,  183,  186 


Boris  Godunov,  music  for  play,  Op. 
70,134,135 

Buffoon,  The,  Op.  21,  39-41,  44,  57, 
61  and  n,  66,  70,  71,  72,  74, 
85,  86-90,  91,  92  n,  93,  95, 
96,  107,  111,  171 

Cantata  for  the  Twentieth  Anniver- 
sary of  the  October  Revolution, 
Op.  74,  52  n,  131-3,  136,  143, 
168 

Children's  Music,  piano,  Op.  65,  129, 

Rain  and  Rainbow,  150 

Evening,  153 

Moon  Goes  over  the  Meadows,  The, 

*53 

Chout,  see  Buffoon,  The 

Cinderella,  Op.  87,  140  and  n,  143, 
163,  166,  167,  173,  174,  176- 
8,  183 

Classical  Symphony,  D  major,  Op.  25, 
19,  29,  50-1,  56,  57-8,  65  n, 
67,  69,  72,  108,  149,  166,  167, 
176,  186 
Allegro,  51 
Gavotte,  50-1,  109,  149,  176 

Concertino,  D-flat,  90 

Concerto  No.  1.  piano  and  orchestra, 
D-flat,  Op.  10,  16  n,  22,  25- 
6,  28,  29  and  n,  33-4,  52,  60  n, 


INDEX 


Concerto  (continued) 

61,  63,  64,  65,  68,  69,  70,  71, 
72,  79,  91,  126  n,  149  n 
Concerto  No.  2,  piano  and  orchestra, 
G  minor,  Op.  16,  28  n,  29,  30 
and  n,  31,  35  and  n,  36,  38, 
39,  60  n,  63,  68,  69,  70,  72, 
74,  93,  95,  99,  138 
Intermezzo,  70 
Scherzo,  69 
finale,  70 
Concerto  No.  3,  piano  and  orchestra, 

C,  Op.  26,  16  n,  20  n,  61  n,  65, 
69,  71,  72,  74,  90,  92  and  n, 
95,  96,  100,  103  n,  111  n,  118 

first  movement,  63,  70,  71,  90,  91 
second  movement,  63,  90,  91 
finale,  90,  91 
Concerto  No.  4,  piano   (left  hand) 
and  orchestra,  Op.  53,  118  and 
n 
Concerto  No.  5,  piano  and  orchestra, 
G,  Op.  55,  69,  118-19,  144, 
152 
Toccata,  69,  118-19 
Concerto  No.  1,  violin  and  orchestra, 

D,  Op.  19,  41,  51,  56,  58, 
60  n,  63,  69,  70,  71,  72,  95, 
96-7,  103  n 

first  movement,  70 

Scherzo,  56,  63,  70 

finale,  56,  64 
Concerto  No.  2,  violin  and  orchestra, 
G  minor,  Op.  63,  63,  65,  116, 
121,  128—9,  13°>  144~6,  149 
and  n,  150 

first  movement,  144,  145 

second  movement,  144—5,  24^ 

finale,  145,  149  n 
Concerto,  cello  and  orchestra,  C  mi- 
nor, Op.   58,  118,  119,  121, 
127,137-8 

Desert  Islands,  5 

Ditties,  6-7 

Divertissement  for  orchestra,  Op.  43, 

loon,  114,  115,  146  n 
Dreams,  Op.  6, 19,  23,  70 

Egyptian  Nights,  symphonic  suite,  Op. 

61,  124,  127,  128, 144 
Enfant  prodigue,  U,   Op.  46,   108, 


109-12,  113,  114,  115  and  n, 
117,  118,  120,  121,  147,  149, 
166,  176 
Erlosten,  Die  ( ballet  to  Ala  and  Lolli ) , 
106  and  n 

Feast  during  the  Plague,  8,  16,  133 

Overture,  8 
Five  Melodies  without  words,  voice 
and   piano,   Op.    35,   86,   95, 

114 

Five  Melodies,  violin  and  piano,  Op. 

35-A,  86 
Five  Poems  for  voice  and  piano,  Op. 

23,  42,  91  n 
Under  the  Roof,  42,  43 
Wizard,  42,  65,  70,  72 
Gray  Dress,  72,  91  n 
In  My  Garden,  91  n 
Trust  Me,  9 1  n 
Five  Songs  for  voice  and  piano,  Op. 
36,  19,91,95 
Pillars,  91 
Five  Songs  to  the  words  of  Anna  Akh- 
matova, Op.  27,  49,  51,  52,  71, 
72,86 
Flaming  Angel,  The,  Op.  37,  70,  82- 
4,  9071,  92,  94,  95,  102,  105, 
107,  108  and  n,  112,  115,  117, 
157,  161,  167,  177 
Four  Etudes,  Op.  2,  7  n,  17,  20,  21, 
27,  32,  148 
No.  1,  D  minor,  21 
No.  2,  E  minor,  17,  21 
No.  4,  C  minor,  21 
Four  Pieces  for  piano,  Op.  3,  20,  21 
Story,  15,  21,  70 
Badinage,  21,  71 
March,  21 

Phantom,  21,  59,  70,  95 
Four  Pieces  for  piano,  Op.  4,  21 
Reminiscence,  15,  21,  70 
Elan,  15,  21 

Despair,  15,  21,  59,  70,  95 
Diabolic  Suggestions,    15,   21,   57, 
59,  70,  82,  83,  148 
Four  Pieces  for  piano,  Op.  32,  78,  95, 
149  n 
Dance,  78,  149  n 
Gavotte,  78,  149  n 
Minuet,  78,  149  n 
Waltz,  78,  149  n 


XI 


INDEX 


Four   Portraits   from   The  Gambler, 

suite  for  large  orchestra,  Op. 

49,  107-8,  118,  144 
Fugitive  Visions,  Op.  22,  19  n,  41,  51, 

52-3,  57,  70,  74,  95,  11m, 

167 

Gambler,  The,  Op.  24,  33,  34,  35,  36, 
42,  44-6,  47,  49-50,  51,  57, 
62,  63,  70,  71,  72,  74,  79,  80, 
82,  87,  107-8,  112,  160,  161, 
163,  166,  174,  179  and  n 

Gavotte  No.  4,  E  flat,  from  music  to 
Hamlet,  Op.  77-A,  137 

Giant,  The,  5 

Guelder-Rose,  120 

Hindu  Galop,  4 

I,  Son  of  the  Working  People,  see 

Semyon  Kotko 
Ivan  the  Terrible,  music  for  film,  164, 

166,    168-9,    171»    172»    x73> 

178 

Kotovsky,  music  for  film,  164 

Lermontov,     music    for    film,     164, 

*77 
Lieutenant  Kije,  Op.  60,  69,  124,  126- 

7,  128,  144,  152,  153,  171 

The  Little  Blue  Dove  is  Cooing, 

*52»  *53 
Love  for  Three  Oranges,   The,  Op. 

33,  58,61,70,71,74,77,79- 

81,  82-3,  85,  91-2,  92  n,  93, 

95,    loon,    102,    103  n,    104, 

107,   157",   166  n,   174,   176, 

177,  178 

March,  61,  81,  103  n,  109,  178 

Scherzo,  81,  103  n 
Love  for  Three  Oranges,  The,  sym- 
phonic suite  from,  Op.  33-A, 


Magdalene,  Op.  13,  24-5,  70,  95 
March,  A  flat,  for  military  band,  Op. 

89,  140 
Music  to  Hamlet,  Op.  77,  137 

1941,  symphonic  suite,  Op.  90,  142, 
J73 


Oh,  No,  John!  (arrangement),  171  n 

Overture  for  seventeen  performers,  B- 
flat,  Op.  42,  102-3,  104n> 
108,  121,  149  n 

Overture,  B-flat,  for  large  orchestra, 
Op.  42-A,  102  n 

Overture  on  Hebrew  Themes,  Op.  34, 
81-2,  95,  185  n 

Overture  on  Hebrew  Themes,  for  or- 
chestra, Op.  34-A,  82  n,  92  n 

Pas  d'acier,  Le,  Op.  41,  67,  69,  101— 
2,  105-7,  109,  111,  115,  120 

Peter  and  the  Wolf,  Op.  67,  61  n,  63, 
130-1,  150,  165 

Prayer,  15 

Prelude  for  harp  or  piano,  C,  29 

Quartets,  see  String  Quartets 

Queen  of  Spades,  The,  music  for  film, 

Op.  70,  134,  135 
Quintet  for  wind  and  strings,  Op.  39, 

100,  104  n,  120,  146  n 

Reproach  (unpublished),  10,  70 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  Op.  64,  63,  69,  112, 
121,  129,  135-6,  138-9,  144, 
145,  147-9,  150,  151,  161, 
166,  175,  185 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  suite  for  orchestra, 
Op.  64- A,  124,  135  and  n, 
171 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  second  suite  for  or- 
chestra, Op.  64-B,  124,  135 
and  n,  171 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  ten  pieces  for  pi- 
ano, Op.  75,  135 

Russian  Overture,  C,  Op.  72,  61  n, 
!35'  x53~4 

Sarcasms,  Op.  17,  29,  36,  42,  46,  52, 
61,  62  n,  63,  70,  71,  72,  87 

Scherzo  for  four  bassoons,  Op.  12  (ar- 
rangement of  piano  Scherzo), 
29,  42,  52,  71 

Scythian  Suite,  see  Ala  and  Lolli 

Semyon  Kotko,  Op.  81,  61  n,  63,  83  n, 
138,  139,  143,  144,  153,  155, 
15771,  159-63,  179,  188 
All  is  Ahum  and  Abuzz,  153 

Semyon  Kotko,  symphonic  suite,  Op. 
8i-A,  140 


Xll 


INDEX 


Seven  Mass  Songs  on  War  Themes, 

Op.  89,  140  and  n 
Seven  Popular  Songs,  Op.  79,   124, 

159 

Seven,  They  Are  Seven,  19  n,  53,  56, 

7°>  93-  99 
Sinfonictta,  A,  Op.  5,  19,  36  and  n, 

69,  114 

Sinfonictta,  A,  Op.  48,  19  and  n,  65  n, 

114,  115,  167 

Six  Popular  Songs,  Op.  66,  129,  136 

Anyutka,  129 

Six  Transcriptions  for  piano,  Op.  52, 

114 

Snowfl.dk.es,  15 

Sonatas  (student  works),  16  n 

No.  1  (lost),  12, 16  n 

No.  2,  16  n 

No.  3, 12,  i6n 

No.  4  (lost),  12,  13, 16  n 

No.  5,  16  n 

No.  6  (lost) ,  16  and  n 

Sonata,  piano,  No.  1,  F  minor,  Op.  1, 

10,  16  n,  20,  51,  60  n,  65 

Sonata  No.  2,  piano,  D  minor,  Op. 

14,   12,   28-9,   30  n,   32,   51, 

60  n,  62,  64,  65,  68,  70,  71, 

72,  78,  151 

Scherzo,  12,  71,  151  n 

finale,  5,  78,  151  n 

Sonata  No.  3,  piano,  A  minor,  Op.  28, 

16  n,  21,  55,  56,  57,  60  n,  62, 

64,  65,   69,  70,  71,   72,  74, 

94 
Sonata  No.  4,  piano,  C  minor,  Op. 
29,  16  n,  21,  30  n,  56,  57,  61  n, 

63,  64,  65,  69,  70,  72,  94 
Allegro,  56 

Andante,  56,  63,  64 

finale,  56 
Sonata  No.  5,  piano,  C,  Op.  38,  61  n, 
93,  94,  112,  149  n 

Andantino,  149  n 
Sonata  No.  6,  piano,  A,  Op.  82,  63, 

64,  65,  138,  139,  144,  150- 
2,  170,  183,  184,  185,  186 

first  movement,  150—2 
second  movement,  150-1,  152,  186 
finale,  150-1,  152 
Sonata  No.  7,  piano,  Op.  83,  138, 

144,  164  and  n,  165-6,  170, 

183,  184,  186 


second  movement,  165—6,  186 
finale,  166,  170 
Sonata  No.  8,  piano,  B -flat,  Op.  84, 
61  n,     138,     144,     169,     170, 
178  n,  183,  184,  185,  186 
first  movement,  170 
second  movement,  186 
Sonata  No.  9,  piano,  172 
Sonata,   piano   and    violin    (arrange- 
ment of  Sonata  for  flute  and 
piano,    Op.    94),    Op.    94-A, 
166  n 
Sonata,  violin  (student  work),  7 
Sonata,  violin  and  piano,  C,  Op.  80, 

138, 172 
Sonata  for  two  violins,  C  minor,  Op. 

56,  118  and  n 
Sonata,  flute  and  piano,  D,  Op.  94, 
164,  166-7,  2^3'  x^4'  *^6 
Scherzo,  167 
Songs  for  Our  Days,  chorus  and  or- 
chestra, Op.  76,  136,  138,  143, 

*59 
Brother  for  Brother,  1 36 

String  Quartet,  B  minor,  Op.  50,  63, 

114,  115-16,  120,  121,  146  n, 

166 
finale,  146  n 
String  Quartet  No.  2,  F,  Op.  92,  142, 

178,  183,  184-5 
Sur  le  Borysthene,  Op.  51,  115,  116- 

17,  118  n,  124,  147 
Sur  le  Borysthene,  symphonic  suite, 

Op.  51 -A,  127 
Swan  and  Wave,  Op.  7,  19 
Symphonic  March,  Op.  88,  140 
Symphonic  Song,  Op.  57,  118,  119, 

121,  124,  127,  128,  144 
Symphonic  Suite  based  on  L'Enfant 

prodigue,  Op.  46-A,  114 
Symphony,  E  minor,  12-13,  x9>  5^ 

Andante,  13 
Symphony,  G,  7 
Symphony  No.  2,  D  minor,  Op.  40, 

99-100,   101,  106,  108,  120, 

146  n,  166-7 
Symphony  No.  3,  Op.  44,  65  n,  83, 

108-9,     114_15'     12°>     124» 

171 
Andante,  108 
Scherzo,  108 
finale,  109 


Xlll 


INDEX 


Symphony  No.  4,  G  minor,  Op.  47, 
114,  115,  124,  166,  171,  172 

Symphony  No.  5,  B-flat,  Op.  100, 
169,  170,  171,  173,  183,  184, 
185-7 

Symphony  No.  6,  172 

Tales  of  the  Old  Grandmother,  Op. 
31,70,74,78,95 

Ten  pieces  for  piano,  Op.  12,  19,  29, 
32,  69,  149  n,  176 
Allemande,  29,  30  n 
Caprice,  29 
Gavotte,  G  minor,  12,  82,  149  n, 

176 
Legend,  29,  32,  70 
March,  F  minor,  10,  29  n 
Prelude,  61  n 
Scherzo,  A  minor,  29,  69 
Ten  Russian  Folk-songs,  170 
Fly,  170 

Green  Grove,  The,  171 
Hazelberry,  170-1 
Things  in  Themselves,  piano,  Op.  45, 

112,  113,  120 
Thoughts,   piano,    Op.    62,    112-13, 

120,  144,  146  n 
Three  Piano  Pieces,  Op.  59,  112,  119, 
146  n,  150 
Promenade,  112 
Landscape,  112,  150 
Pastoral  Sonatina,  112,  146  n 
Three  Pieces  for  Children,  Op.  68, 

1.31 

Three  Pieces  for  piano,  from  Cinder- 
ella, Op.  95, 164 


Three  Pieces  for  piano,  transcriptions 
from  War  and  Peace  and  Ler- 
montov,  Op.  96,  164 

Three  Songs  to  Pushkin's  words,  Op. 

73>  !33-4 
Pine  Trees,  1 3  3—4 
Toccata,  Op.  11,  28,  69 
Tonya,  music  for  film,  164 
Trapeze,  100;  see  also  Quintet,  Op. 

39 
Two  Poems  for  voice  and  piano,  Op. 

9,  19  n,  70 
There  Are  Other  Planets,  19  n 
Two  Sonatinas,  piano,  E  minor  and 

G,  Op.  54,  112,  146  n 

Ugly  Duckling,  The,  Op.  18,  37-8, 

52,  61  n,  64,  131,  179  n 
Undine,  8,  9 

War  and  Peace,  Op.  91,  140-1,  142, 
164,  165,  170,  173,  174,  177, 
178-83,  188 
Overture,  182-3 

White  Quartet,  77,  83,  90 

White  Snowflakes,  120 

Yevgeny  Onyegin,  music  for  play,  Op. 
71'  x34-5 

Zdravitsa,  Op.  85,  61  and  n,  138,  143, 
154-5,  l88 
"Farewell"  episode,  154",  155 
Lullaby,  154 
Song  of  the  Old  Woman,  154 


XIV 


This  book  was  set  in  Linotype  Electra.  This  face  can- 
not be  classified  as  either  "modern"  or  "old  style."  It  is 
not  based  on  any  historical  model,  nor  does  it  echo  any 
particular  period  or  style.  It  avoids  the  extreme  con- 
trast between  "thick"  and  "thin"  elements  that  marks 
most  of  the  "modern"  faces,  and  attempts  to  give  an 
effect  of  fluidity  and  speed. 

The  book  was  composed,  printed,  and  bound  by  The 
Plimpton  Press,  Norwood,  Massachusetts. 


Date 

Due 

^APK  Z   8 

I948 

HOV  1  8  j< 

fit 

99 

HikH  8     '59 

JA*Oio'lfl\ 

toy  2 1 

mi 

\m 

"cr     5  1978 

11      1«*i 

^ 

m 

n-  ^_ 

H 

Library  Bureau  Cat.  No.  1137 


WXMta 


m 


3  5002  00343  8954 

Nestev,  I.  V. 

Sergei  Prokofiev,  his  musical  life, 


ML    410    . P865    N48 
Nest    ev,      I.     V.      1911- 
Sergei    Prokofiev