p The most important work composed this year was The Limpid Stream, Shostakovich’s third and final ballet. The composer did not consider his first ballets successful and, as can be seen from his comments reprinted here, pinned considerable hopes on this, his third, treating it as a very serious matter. His hopes would appear to have been borne out.
p On 4 April The Limpid Stream had a successful premiere at the Maly Opera House; Fyodor Lopukhov produced the performance, Pavel Feldt conducted. The audience included the venerable conductor Yuri Faier, who was preparing for the ballet’s Moscow premiere at the Bolshoi Theatre. This production was also a success; the cast for the first two performances in the capital (30 November and 3 December) included such well-known dancers as Asaf and Sulamif Messerer, Olga Lepeshinskaya, Petr Gusev, Alexei Yermolayev, ^inaida Vasilieva, Vladimir Ryabtsev and the young Igor Moiseyev. After the ballet, on 26 December, the Bolshoi Theatre also put on the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, conducted by Alexander Melik-Pashayev.
p Two more films with music by Shostakovich were released: early in the year Maxim’s Youth, produced by Kozintsev and Trauberg, and in March Gendelstein’s Love and Hate. The end of March saw the first performance of his Suite for Jazz Orchestra.
p It was a year of much public activity for Shostakovich. On 4-6 February he look part in a wide-ranging discussion on Soviet symphony music, organised by the Composers’" Union. The main report was made by Alexander Ostretsov, and other speakers included Konstantin Kuznetsov, Vissarion Shebalin, Ivan Sollertinsky, Viktor Bely and Dmitry Kabalevsky. (Part of Shostakovich’s speech is included here). On 25 March the Moscow Club of Arts Masters held a large function devoted to Shostakovich, at which the composer spoke about his career. In general, his speeches and articles of this year suggest it was a year of stock-taking, in which he made a deep and self-critical analysis of the last ten years and mapped out the way forward. He did not try to hide his principles and convictions - either from himself or from his audience.
p The composer brought back vivid impressions from a trip to Turkey with a group of Soviet actors and musicians. He visited Ankara, Izmir and Istanbul, playing his > own works in concerts and meeting other musicians.
p Meanwhile Shostakovich’s music was winning more and more admirers abroad, and in this sense too, 1935 was a significant year. In January Toscanini conducted extracts from Lady Macbeth in Mew York, on the 31st of that month the opera was premiered, under Rodzinski, in Cleveland, and a week later repeated at the Metropolitan Opera. On 5 April a troupe formed specially for the occasion, with Alexander Smallens as conductor, performed the opera in Philadelphia. In May the BBC in London broadcast the excerpts from Lady Macbeth conducted by Albert Coates, an old friend of Russian music. On 14 November, with rehearsals also underway in Buenos Aires and ^urich, another premiere of the opera took place in Bratislava. The work evoked a great response in the foreign, especially American, press. But it would be wrong to think that the public and the critics were unanimous in their appraisals. According to Shostakovich’s first foreign biographer, Victor Serof: the ’... production drew more comment than had any music to come out of Soviet Russia so far.’
Towards the end of the year Shostakovich set to work on his Fourth Symphony.
52 53p It will soon be a year since the first production of my opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. That production was a great lesson for me.-
p I feel that as far as my works for the stage are concerned, Lady Macbeth represents a step forward. Recalling my failures in this area (the ballets The Golden Age and Bolt], I began to look for the reasons for these failures and for the success of Lady Macbeth, and established that the essential element in the opera is the attempt to penetrate as deeply as possible into the content of the given material.
p It was the fact that I broke through the surface and got to the heart of the age and of the tragic course of events in the plot that determined the opera’s success. How did this come about? Above all because I tried to make the musical language of the work as persuasive as possible.
p Since Lady Macbeth I have been acutely aware of the problem of purity of musical language. Maxim Gorky’s article on purity of language in literature is equally valid when applied to music, and it is for such ’ purity’, in the best sense of the word, that Soviet musicians—and I, in particular—must aim. Lady Macbeth brought certain achievements in this respect, but much more remains to be done.
p Since the opera I have written 24 piano preludes, a piano concerto, a sonata for cello and piano, and music for the cartoon film The Tale of the Priest and His Helper, Dolt, based on Pushkin. As regards ’purity of language’, I think the cello sonata has achieved most.
p It is imperative that a line be drawn between simplicity and oversimplification, which, let us face it, are sometimes confused. Musical language acquires clarity and expressiveness not only as a result of harmonious sound combinations, but above all when the composer has a clear and profound conception of the ideas and emotions he wishes to convey.
p I have many plans at present. A symphony is taking shape. I am planning an operatic tetralogy on the situation of women, of which Lady Macbeth will be the first part. I hope that with the help of the public and especially the Leningrad Composers’ Union I shall be able to concentrate on these two main tasks—the second opera in the tetralogy and the Fourth Symphony.
p I am now completing a new ballet, Whims. I have not finally decided on this name—it may end up being called Two Sylphs or Kuban. The ballet is already being rehearsed at the Maly Opera House.
p I am very satisfied with the libretto for the work. The action takes place in the Kuban area and involves collective farmers and performers who have come to the farm to provide entertainment. The ballet is basically a comedy. I would call it a choreographic comedy-a genre with which Lopukhov, the author of the libretto and choreographer, copes magnificently.
p My chief aims in writing this new ballet were vigorousness, colourfulness and lightness. The music contains many lyrical and many comic elements.
I remember hearing musicians who had just listened to Lady Macbeth saying something to the effect that-here, at last, Shostakovich had 54 achieved depth and humanity. When I asked where exactly this humanity lay, most of them replied that for the first time I had taken an earnest look at serious, tragic events. I would not say, however, that my attempt at comedy lacks humanity, I consider laughter just as essential in music as lyricism, tragedy, inspiration and other ‘elevated’ qualities. May I then be spared the anger and accusations of inhumanity of those who find much that is jolly, humorous and funny in my new ballet or in my dances for jazz orchestra.^^1^^
The ‘talkies’, it seems to me, could play an enormous role in making good music accessible to the widest sections of the community. It would be marvellous if high-quality recordings could be made of operas, symphonies and so on. There are far more sound-cinemas in the Soviet Union than symphony orchestras, and they could be used to great effect in popularising Beethoven and other great composers of the world.^^2^^
Here in the Soviet Union every qualified worker-be he a producer, a writer, an engineer, a composer or whatever-enjoys the patronage of the Party and government... Soviet composers have every opportunity for great work. Was there ever another time or another place where a composer could peacefully write a sonata or a quartet, in the knowledge that he was financially secure. This is a result of the construction of socialism in our country, a result of our Party’s policies.^^3^^
p As a composer I know that musical creation is a complicated, difficult and sometimes painstaking task, demanding intense thought-including, perhaps, thoughts on how to avoid appearing an eclectic or an epigone, though I do not imagine that this is ever uppermost in the composer’s mind as he works.
p We Soviet people live a highly emotional life. Therefore Soviet composers should pay special attention to the creation not only of the usual kind of symphonies (the most cumbrous kind), but also of symphonies of a lyrical character. How fine it would be to write such a symphony! True, it is a difficult task, but not necessarily unrealisable.
p ... I know that our performers - and not only the performers, but the majority of listeners too-are aware that Soviet composers devote little attention to the creation of a mass repertoire. The Soviet listener notices this, and he demands of music, perhaps, that i^^1^^ should provide him merely with entertainment. Perhaps I am expressing myself coarsely. But that is how things are, and I am afraid that we sometimes forget this. We say that our symphonies should excite, that they should tell of heroic deeds. But I have hardly ever heard anyone say that the Soviet symphony 55 56 57 58 should merely provide entertainment. And yet, this is a serious problem, which must not be evaded.
At first I agreed that I was guilty of frivolity when I used bawdy, or let us say, popular motifs. Perhaps I did not act entirely rightly in this respect, but my intention was good: I wanted to write good entertaining music which might give pleasure even to a qualified listener, or even make him laugh. And if, during the performance of my works, the audience laughs, or even smiles, then this gives me pleasure.^^4^^
p I am about to write my Fourth Symphony, which will be a kind of summing-up of my musical credo.
p What are the main tasks which I set myself at present? To answer this question properly it will be necessary to look back at what has gone before.
p As a pupil I imagined music as a series of sound combinations, whose ‘euphony’ determined the quality of a work. Only later did I understand the simple truth that music is the most powerful form of art, capable of conveying the most diverse emotions. It was then that my struggle for a credo began. This struggle is continuing, and I think it unlikely that it will end soon.
p I once came under much fire from the critics, mainly on account of formalism. I reject these reproaches entirely. I have never been, and will never be, a formalist. To brand any work as formalistic on the grounds that its language is complex and perhaps not immediately comprehensible, is unacceptably frivolous.
Now my main goal is to find my own simple and expressive musical language. Sometimes the aspiration for a simple language is understood rather superficially. Often ‘simplicity’ merges into epigonism. But to speak simply does not mean to speak as people did 50 or 100 years ago. This is a trap into which many modern composers fall, afraid of being accused of formalism. Both formalism and epigonism are harmful to Soviet music. Only if he steers clear of these dangerous rocks will the Soviet composer become a true bard of our great age.^^5^^
p The creation of a large ballet on a Soviet theme is a difficult and responsible matter. But I am not afraid of the difficulties. To take a wellworn path is perhaps easier and ‘safer’, but also boring, uninteresting and pointless.
p ...A group of Soviet performers visits the Kuban, where they meet local collective farmers for the first time. The collective farmers, seeing the performers as people from some unfamiliar world, are unsure of how to approach them. The performers, too, cannot immediately find a common language with the farmers.
59p Very soon, however, both sides find they have much in common. All of them are building a socialist way of life: the farmers in agriculture, the performers in the sphere of art. The teams of collective farmers and actors are brought even closer together by romances which blossom in the beautiful Kuban countryside.
p The libretto, with this uncomplicated plot, was cleverly worked out by that expert in the field of theatre and ballet, Andrian Piotrovsky. Add to this the choreography of Fyodor Lopukhov and scenery designed by Mikhail Bobyshov, and we have the makings of a lively and colourful spectacle.
The music for the ballet is, in my view, merry, light, entertaining and, most important of all, suitable for dancing. I intentionally tried to find a simple, clear language, equally accessible to the audience and the dancers. To dance the music which lacks rhythmic and melodic cohesion .is not merely difficult but downright impossible.’^^1^^
p I am deeply opposed to attempts to replace real ballet by a kind of dramatised pantomime. In Leningrad a few years ago, I once had occasion to see a show staged by the talented choreographer Yakobson (he now works in Moscow), who at that time denied the primacy of dance in ballet and reduced ballet to mere pantomime. I must admit that I found the result unconvincing.
p Frankly speaking, every time I see so-called ’pure pantomine’, I cannot get rid of the feeling that I am witnessing a conversation of deaf-mutes. There is something insurmountably unnatural in this kind of ‘realism’. Just as you cannot have an opera without singing (by definition), so you cannot discard dance from ballet. This conventional definition should not be fought against but justified.
p I feel that the Leningrad Maly Opera House is on the right track in the search for new principles for Soviet ballet. Without running against the ‘conventionality’ of dance, while retaining, indeed, the classical system of dance movements, the Maly is exploring certain specific devices in an attempt to find a realistic style of ballet.
p Whims (as it provisionally titled) is my third ballet on a Soviet theme. The first two- The Golden Age and Bolt-l consider very unsuccessful from a dramatic point of view. It seems to me that the main mistake was that the librettists, in striving to depict our way of life in the ballet, completely failed to take into account the peculiarities of the art form. The portrayal of socialist reality in ballet is a very serious task; it must not be approached superficially. And such episodes as, say, the ’Dance of Enthusiasm’ or the mime representation of the work process (hammering on an anvil) betray an ill-thought-out approach to the problem of producing a realistic ballet on a Soviet theme.
p I cannot guarantee, of course, that this third attempt may not also turn out to be a failure, but even if this is so, I shall not be deterred fr6m writing yet another Soviet ballet.
60p I now intend to turn to a major work-my Fourth Symphony. Recently, as a result of my work on the ballet and on film music, I feel I have dropped behind in the sphere of symphony music-the most difficult and most important form of composition.
p I cannot say anything concrete yet about the future symphony, about its character or themes. I have now rejected all the musical material previously intended for the work, so the symphony will be written from scratch. Since I consider this an exceedingly complex and responsible task, I wish first to write a few works for chamber groups and solo instruments. I think this will help me get a proper grip of the symphonic form. I have already begun a string quartet, and then intend to compose a violine sonata, which I have been planning since I was in Leningrad.
p The recently run All-Union Performers Competition turned out to be a silent reproach to us, Soviet composers. Our duty towards Soviet performers is enormous. What concert music have we provided them with? Virtually none, or at any rate very, very little.
p There is a complete dearth of Soviet music for virtuosos, music which would give the performer the maximum opportunity, using material full of new ideas, to show his technical brilliance. Franz Liszt with his rhapsodies is so far unsurpassed in this field. To better him, I do not deny, is a hard task, but it is an honourable one which must finally be taken up.
p The competition shook up my plans considerably. I shall certainly now set about writing pieces to fill out the repertoire of our performers-first and foremost pieces for wind instruments. Their existing repertoires are meagre and uninteresting, for the classics, too, tended to neglect these ‘plebeians’ of the orchestra.
There is little need to dwell on the undeniable right of the ’brass and wood family’ to a place on the concert stage. I think this is certainly something for Soviet composers to chew over.^^7^^
p I appeal to my fellow-composers to give much more serious thought to musical language and expressiveness. In particular, we have barely touched upon the question of simplicity and purity of musical language, a question which has been widely dealt with in literature. This is a farreaching problem. I think that if composers take a long, hard look at these questions, they will be rewarded with great success and a work will be composed, of which we shall be able to say: this is a Soviet symphony, it could have come about only here, in the Soviet Union.
p In general, we should think again .about what we call ‘leading’ works and ‘leading’ composers. We tend, especially in Leningrad and Moscow, to use this term very wrongly, when, we call such-and-such a composer ‘leading’; what, then, are the others?-presumably ‘led’, but by whom? how? We are clearly beginning to misuse the term.
I know that there are many talented composers in the Soviet Union, but it would be difficult to point to any one of them and say: yes, he is 61 our leading composer, we can take our cue from his work, as Soviet literature takes its cue from the works of that giant of literature, Maxim Gorky. Soviet music has no such composer.^^8^^
p It was an exceptionally interesting trip; we were in Turkey for a month and seven days. We witnessed the country’s high economic and cultural level, met Turkish artists and members of the public, and in our turn showed Turkey the achievements of Soviet culture.
...In a village near Izmir I heard folk singers, and in Ankara I attended a concert of national songs and dances. I also heard recordings of these songs. The Ankara Conservatoire delighted me by presenting me with transcriptions of a large number of folk songs. I have not had time to learn them yet, but even a brief glance at the music has kindled my interest in national Turkish songs... I returned from Turkey with a wealth of impressions.^^9^^
p There are no drinking houses, and only idle foreign journalists, sitting over their cocktails in European bars, still talk of opium dens and the other ‘piquant’ establishments of exotic Constantinople. Walking through the streets of Istanbul, I could not throw off the joyful sensation that I was in a modern city, full of the bustling, bubbling rhythm of life. I felt that here they were building their everyday, free lives. Here they hated the past, treated the present seriously, and looked fearlessly into the future.
p In Istanbul I met two young Turkish composers, Jemal Rashi and Hasan Ferid, and heard them playing their own piano works. I was not looking for technical brilliance of great virtuosity in their playing—- although that was certainly in evidence-but for some new musical colouring, previously unknown to me. And to my great delight, I found the distinctive, original sound I was looking for. Later I met the fifteen-year-old composer Sabahattin in Ankara, and my colleagues and I listened with great interest to him playing his own compositions for piano.
p There are still no symphony orchestras - as we understand the word-in Turkey. But the uncommon musicality of the Turks, and their quite amazing ability to master new musical works, undoubtedly guarantee that in the very near future the students’ orchestra at the Istanbul Conservatoire and the President’s Orchestra in Ankara will grow into highly professional ensembles. At any rate, the success achieved in only a few rehearsals with’ these orchestras by our conductor, Lev Steinberg, strongly suggests this possibility.
p Before our trip, Turkish music-lovers only knew the classical Russian composers, and now they were able to hear several works by our Soviet masters played at their best. It must be said that these masters found very sensitive and perceptive admirers among the Turkish audience, and 62 several of our composers will be firm favourites in this friendly country from now on,
p In Istanbul I visited the Turkish Academy of Arts, where I saw many works-water-colours, oils and pencil-drawings—which could adorn the walls of any European gallery. But it is not in this that the strength of the Turkish painters lies. In their interpretation of their native countryside, in their treatment of genre scenes and typical characters, I perceived that distinctive national element which guarantees the fruitful development of their art in the future.
p On the way to Izmir, we visited the excavations going on at the ancient capital of Pergamum. Fifty years ago a German archeological concessionaire openly plundered the site of its treasures and removed them to museums in Germany. Now an end has been put to these excesses, and everything discovered at the site of Pergamum is kept in a local national museum founded specially for the purpose. We visited the ruins of a huge stadium, a magnificent, multi-storey ancient theatre, the remains of bath-houses, and other interesting sights. The contrast between what we saw during this short stopover and what was then revealed to us in the cities and villages, on the highways and mountain passes, was so exciting one could not help making historical comparisons. I was very impressed by Aya Sofiya in Istanbul. But an even greater impression was made by the healthy, vigorous excitement of new building which one could feel on the streets of old Ankara, which is being turned into the capital of a free young state.
Turkish composers with whom I made friends presented me with a large collection of Turkish folk songs, noted down by folklore collectors. Even a first look at these songs has shown me how much unexplored wealth there is in them. The President of the Republic, Mr. Kemal Ataturk, is doing a great deal to bring about a musical reform in Turkey. Instead of the archaic, stagnant old forms of music, suited largely to the tastes of tourist consumers, President Ataturk is encouraging the development of a modern style in Turkish national music; he is putting much effort into the creation of a national opera and the organisation of a system of secondary and higher musical education,I0
p ...I had to waste a whole year finding out, with my own reason, sensitivity and meagre knowledge, the primitive truth that music is not just a collection of sounds. I consider it a great failing of the Conservatoire’s teaching that it gives too superficial a knowledge of modern music. Apart from a few well-known works by Borodin, Glazunov, Chaikovsky and Beethoven, plus the standard piano repertoire of works by Schumann, Beethoven, Chopin and Liszt, we knew nothing. To fill the gaps in my musical education I visited the music theatres and concerts at the Philharmonia. In this way I acquired and increased my musical knowledge, but unfortunately-and this was extremely important-1 could not systematise it.
63p Things were even worse as regards contemporary music: the Conservatoire ignored it completely, as though it did not exist. It was denounced, without further consideration, as fairground charlatanism, based purely on ’sleight of hand’. The greatest ‘charlatans’, of course, were Stravinsky, Schonberg and Hindemith. As a result, I knew virtually nothing about them, and was stuffed full of orthodox Conservatoire wisdom.
It was only much later that I came to understand the great importance, talent, originality and artistic taste of the fresh musical current which these ‘seditious’ composers had introduced. Throwing off all the prejudices that had been inculcated in me, I devoted myself with youthful passion to a careful study of these musical innovators. Only then did I realise that they were geniuses—especially Stravinsky, that virtuoso of colour and master of orchestration. Only then did I feel that my hands were untied, that my talent was liberated from routine.”
p Let me return to the question of the Conservatoire. I do not mean to imply that it gave me nothing. Most probably, had I not undergone the course prescribed for every pupil and mastered the subjects taught, with all their cliches, then I should have achieved nothing worthwhile. All the disenchantment and dissatisfaction that I experienced then was doubtless experienced by hundreds of other young people both before and after me. If I possess a certain technique in composing, then it was the Conservatoire that gave me it. As far as orchestration is concerned, I am eternally grateful to Professor Steinberg, who helped me master this difficult art.
p ... I certainly do not believe that he [Stravinsky] should be imitated in ’every respect. But he is very interesting and original in that he has opened up new paths in modern music. This is why I single him out among contemporary West European composers. As for the Western classics, to single out any one of them is far more difficult, for the age of classical music covers a huge period...
Richard Wagner was, of course, a brilliant composer, but by no means an innovator. His ideas led to nothing other than the emergence of ’ oratorial’ operas. Unlike Verdi, Wagner did not succeed in constructing a musical drama: his operas are static. Although he quite swamps Meyerbeer with the full force of his enormous temperament, yet he is undoubtedly less capable of constructing a musical drama. Wagner’s real merit lies in his ridding opera of separate musical numbers and replacing them by a continuous flow of musical thought. In this respect, he influenced the later Verdi, for example in Othello.^^12^^
p About three years ago the composer Dzerzhinsky showed me the beginning of his opera And Quiet Flows the Don. Despite the sketchiness and 64 incompleteness of the material, the great talent of this composer, making his first attempt at opera, was very clear. I realised immediately that what I had heard would grow into a fine work. At the same time, Dzerzhinsky required help and encouragement in writing the opera since, despite his undoubted talent, he suffered from many ’children’s diseases*.
p I remember these ’children’s diseases’- the most striking of which was a certain lack of experience in orchestration-from his operetta The Green Factory, which ran at the Leningrad Young Workers Theatre. In our opinion, And Quiet Flows the Don promised to become a major event in the history of Soviet music, and Dzerzhinsky had to be introduced immediately to the Leningrad Maly Opera House-a veritable laboratory of Soviet music.
p A conductor of great sensitivity, Samuil Samosud realised that And Quiet Flows the Don was an outstanding work. And no effort was spared to help get the opera completed and staged.
p With the support of the Maly, Dzerzhinsky finished the opera, and today, as the curtain goes up, we who are present at the birth of the new work, experience a sense of profound joy and pride in the Soviet musical theatre, which has gained another outstanding composition.
p Some time ago the Bolshoi Theatre and the newspaper Komsomolskaya Pravda jointly ran a competition for the best opera. The results were as follows:
p No first prize was awarded; the second prize was shared by Zhelobinsky’s The Name-Day and Gedike’s At the Ferry. Third prize went to Polovinkin’s Hero and Davidenko and Shekhter’s 1905.
p Many operas received no award whatsoever-including Dzerzhinsky’s And Quiet Flows the Don.
p I remembered about this sad misunderstanding with a feeling of pride for the Maly Opera House, which had understood And Quiet Flows the Don better than the jury for the competition, who completely overlooked this remarkable opera.
p This season marks the start of the opera’s triumphant march through the opera houses of the Soviet Union. The next venue, after the Leningrad Maly, will be the Moscow Bolshoi Theatre: a marvellous way for it to put right the horrible mistake of the judges of the above-mentioned competition.
Today, at the premiere of And Quiet Flows the Don, is not the time to write about the opera’s shortcomings. There are, of course, many, but we are confident that Dzerzhinsky’s next work will be more mature and profound. Let us not forget that the composer is still very young. Let us also not forget hat he is extremely talented. We congratulate him on his opera, and wish him even greater success in the future.^^13^^
p Much energy has been spent on the question of the ’acting singer’ and the ’singing actor’. But so far it has not been satisfactorily solved- perhaps because the question itself is misleading. We should not, I feel, be 65 saying ’either ... or’, but ’both ... and’. The opera performer should be both an acting singer and a singing actor; otherwise he will remain far from the essence of the operatic art.
p It is essential, finally, to come to some agreement on what demands we should make on someone who has chosen his career in opera. It has to be admitted that many of our opera singers know too little about the real nature of the art. A young person decides he has a good voice, this is confirmed at an audition, and so-though he may have not the slightest potential as an actor-he goes in for opera. Clearly it is hard to make a good opera actor out of an opera singer like that.
p This brings us to the question of how to train opera performers. Where should this training take place-in the conservatoires or in studios at the opera houses themselves? Perhaps this question does not seem so urgent at present, but nonetheless it is vital that we should clearly define the functions of these two organisations. There is a dangerand a very real one-that the opera classes at the conservatoires will, after all, only teach singing, but not the skills of acting. Our conservatoires do have excellent vocalists on their teaching staffs, but no drama producers. Our opera houses, on the other hand, have both good vocalists and experienced producers, so that in my opinion the training of opera performers should be concentrated in their own studios.
p Next, we must understand that an experienced opera singer cannot grow up in a musical and cultural backwater, It is nowhere near enough merely to have a good voice or even talent. One must work on oneself, acquire technique, and assimilate the whole ‘culture’ of one’s chosen trade - including a knowledge of history, art history, literature, etc. Mozart was Mozart because his natural talent developed under the conditions of a mature, developed musical culture. If he had been born and brought up in Honolulu, he would not have been Mozart. In precisely the same way, the opera singer should feed on the progressive culture of the age.
p The importance of the operatic libretto is often played down. But this is a mistake, for it is an extremely complex question. The operatic libretto is by no means the same as a work of literature written by a dramatist, novelist or short-story writer. It has been pointed out that Bizet’s Carmen is a far cry from Merimee’s story of the same name. There are many similar examples. The operatic libretto is a literary, dramatic text which serves as the basis for operatic music. The person most capable of evaluating a libretto properly, of squeezing out every ounce of its potential, is the opera’s producer, who must be both a drama producer and well-grounded in music, especially opera music. But this definition of the opera producer is not the whole story. The history of the theatre includes the names of many brilliant theatre producers and choreographers (e. g. Didlo), but is severely lacking in great opera producers. There must be a good reason for this.
p The drama actor cannot use the whole range of his devices and means of stage expression in an operatic performance. The drama producer is another matter. Stanislavsky, Nemirovich-Danchenko and Me^^1^^ erhold are, of course, producers who work mainly in the dramatic theatre. But 66 their theatrical genius is so comprehensive and diverse that their work in the musical theatre has enriched it immeasurably. But what is permissible for drama producers of their calibre is not necessarily permissible for runof-the-mill producers. It is therefore absolutely essential to train specialised opera producers as well as opera performers.
p Meyerhold’s work in opera is fruitful precisely because, like Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko, he has a marvellous feel for the intrinsic musical peculiarities of opera. And yet, even the brilliant Meyerhold’s work is not devoid of certain shortcomings. Let us return at this point to the libretto. The basic mistake committed by Meyerhold in his production of The Queen of Spades at the Maly Opera House was that he replaced Modest Chaikovsky’s libretto by Pushkin’s literary text. But Pushkin’s story is not an operatic libretto. The rejection of Modest Chaikovsky’s libretto led to a number of serious failings in Meyerhold’s otherwise brilliant production. For example, at the beginning of Act One the orchestra plays a motif from a children’s song. In Modest Chaikovsky’s libretto, this scene shows people taking a walk in the Summer Garden. Meyerhold replaced this episode with a drinking scene and showed officers striking up a somewhat risque song. From an artistic point of view, this was unconvincing. Yet despite these failings the production proved to be both magnificent and instructive. But in this case the secret lay in the producer’s individual skill; others, trying to follow in Meyerhold’s footsteps, could meet with complete failure.
I often wonder which production of Katerina Izmailova— NemirovichDanchenko’s or Smolich’s-was closest to my own conceptions. It is extremely difficult to decide, because I really liked both of them, but in different ways. Nemirovich-Danchenko’s great talent, and his application of the whole dramatic tradition of the Moscow Art Theatre system to this operatic production, occasionally brought truly staggering results, but at the same time I felt that in places he relied more on Leskov’s story than on the libretto of the opera. Smolich’s production, however, was marked by a profound knowledge of the mature opera. Musically, his production was on a very high level.^^15^^
Notes