“…a chronicle of fathers and sons, megalomaniacs, monsters and saints.” – The Romanovs 1613 – 1918, by Simon Sebag Montefiore

April 3, 2016 at 3:05 pm (Book review, books, Russophilia)

IMG_1818-X2  Some weeks ago I became aware of a sweeping new history of the Romanov dynasty by British historian Simon Sebag Montefiore. When I made this discovery, the book had not yet been published here; neither was it available on Kindle. I therefore ordered it from Amazon.co.uk. You understand: e-book or hard copy, I had to have it  immediately. (This title comes out here on May 3.)

The text consists of 654 pages, prefaced by a nine page introduction, which should definitely not be skipped. The text is followed by 71 pages of bibliographic citations and footnotes. Then finally, the index.

Every few years I make it a point to delve into the perpetual mystery of Russian history. Russia being a place where, as Scottish writer Neal Ascherson reminds us, “the past is said to be unpredictable,” I figure it’s worth checking from time to time on how things stand. The Family Romanov (2014) was my most recent foray: romanovfleming2

Montefiore’s book covers vastly more territory, beginning with the election of Tsar Michael I in 1613. Michael-I-Romanov-Wedekind_-_width_630

The story of the Romanov dynasty is nothing short of astonishing: filled with ruthless jockeying for power, merciless destruction of human obstacles – murder was the least of it. Methods of torture were freely employed that I’d never heard of and hope never to hear of again. I had to skim certain parts.

Upon the death of Michael in 1645, Alexei ascended the throne.  Alexis_I_of_Russia_(1670s,_Ptuj_Ormož_Regional_Museum) He was a religious fanatic, spending many hours in prayer, but compared to some of his successors, he wasn’t half bad as a ruler. When he died in 1676, the almost inevitable struggle for power ensued.

Sophia_Alekseyevna_of_Russia  For a time, Alexei’s daughter Sophia ruled as regent until she was hustled off to a convent in 1689. In the 1879 portrait below, Ilya Repin depicts her looking distinctly disgruntled  at being shoved aside. Actually she’s lucky nothing worse was done to her. Ditto for the man hanged outside her window, on the right: Sofiarepin

The man doing the shoving was Peter the Great. Peter is an amazing character in every way, even for Russia, a country whose history is filled with amazing (and often appalling) actors. (And “actor” is often the right word: people were constantly appearing out of nowhere to declare themselves the rightful heir to the throne of Russia. One of the more remarkable among them, appearing in the following century, was Princess Tarakanova. Her name is shrouded in legend, one of which claims that she died in a flood. In this 1864 painting, Konstantin Flavitsky depicts her as she awaits her fate. Has she attained a sort of ecstatic state? I’m not sure, but it’s a remarkable and strangely haunting work:

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There is also a silent film about Princess Tarakanova:

Back to Peter the Great: at six foot eight, a larger than life personage in every way:

 

Peter_I_by_Kneller2

Portrait by Godfrey Kneller

The Wikipedia entry on Peter is quite comprehensive. I note, however, that it makes no mention of a sort of profane dining and drinking society first convened by Peter in 1691, when he would have been barely twenty years old.  I am reading about it right now. Its full name was the All-Mad, All-Jesting All-Drunken Synod (or Assembly):

Between 80 and 300 guests, including a circus of dwarfs, giants, foreign jesters, Siberian Kalmyks, black Nubians, obese freaks and louche girls started carousing at noon and went on to the following dawn….

A steely capacity for alcohol (which he usually called Ivashka, the Russian version of John Barleycorn) was essential to rise at Peter’s court. Peter was blessed with an iron metabolism for alcohol, rising at dawn to work even after these marathon wassails.

Participation in these coarse and repulsive revels, in other words, was mandatory.

I’m currently on page 84 of this magisterial volume; I have every intention of pressing on.

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Simon Sebag Montefiore himself comes from a distinguished lineage, described in Wikipedia as “descended from a line of wealthy Sephardi Jews who were diplomats and bankers all over Europe and who originated from Morocco and Italy.”

Montefiore's great great great Uncle Sir Moses, who who died aged 100, leaving no legitimate sons

Montefiore’s great great great Uncle Sir Moses Montefiore, who who died aged 100, leaving no legitimate sons

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This book has lovely endpapers. This may seem of little significance to some, but to me, it is part of what makes hard copy books precious.

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“Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks”

February 21, 2015 at 9:31 pm (Art, Music, Russophilia)

This picture of a triumphant troop of Russian-backed Ukrainian soldiers appeared in this weekend’s edition of the Wall Street Journal:

Russian Rebel Troups (600dpi)-L

The photo, with its air of exuberant comradeship, reminded me of The Reply of the Zaporoshian Cossacks, a painting by Ilya Repin:

cossackslaughing

A Wikipedia entry tells of how this monumental work was created, and also the story behind it. (Click twice on this image to achieve maximum enlargement.)

In the video below, the painting serves a backdrop for a  haunting aria from The Lieutenant Kije Suite by Sergei Prokofiev:

Sergei Prokofiev, born in the Ukraine (as were all four of my grandparents).

 

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The Family Romanov: Murder, Rebellion, and the Fall of Imperial Russia by Candace Fleming

September 14, 2014 at 2:29 pm (Book review, books, Russophilia)

The_Romanovs,_1913

A photograph that haunts, taken in 1913.

The Romanov dynasty requires a male heir. Alas for the Tsarina Alexandra, one pregnancy after another produces daughters. She  becomes worn out with the effort. Then on the fifth try- triumph! Alexei Nikolaevich is born on August 12, 1904. Finally, the birth of a male heir insures an orderly succession.

But it was not to be.

Through his mother, Alexei had inherited a terrible affliction. Hemophilia is a disorder of the blood in which little or no clotting factor is present. Wounds take longer to heal, and worse, victims suffer internal bleeding that is difficult to stanch and liable to harm internal organs, tissues, and joints. In Alexei’s case, bleeding into his knee joints caused him excruciating pain and made him, from time to time, unable to walk.

While his parents obsessed over his health they kept up appearances, so that the outside world in general and their subjects in particular would never doubt their divine right to absolute sovereignty over the people of Russia. Yet they were curiously blind to the turbulence, anger, and desperation that were rife among those same people.

How the Romanovs could be so oblivious to what was going on right in front of them is certainly a mystery. What is not a a mystery – at least, not any longer – is the terrible price paid by the entire family for this willed ignorance.

The Family Romanov is being reviewed as a book for young readers. I’d be delighted if middle school or high school students became acquainted with this fascinating and chilling episode of history. The  story of the Romanovs is full of passion, romance, and tragedy. Above all, as you read this book, you sense the hand of fate hovering over this family, almost from the beginning of Nicholas’s disastrous reign.

One thing that Candace Fleming does that I found very effective was to show, by means of photographs and various writings from the era, the stark contrast between the privileged existence of the Russian aristocracy and the terrible grinding poverty in which the masses were forced to live. This is a complex story but I was in thrall to its relentless trajectory. The end is inevitable, almost preordained. I’ve read this story many times, and I’m stunned every time by the pity and the horror of it.

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The Romanovs and their world are well represented on YouTube. Here is some footage from British Pathé.  It is silent yet it speaks volumes:


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I had The Family Romanov out from the library, but because of its terrific bibliography I decided to download the e-book. Fleming cites a number of primary sources of which I’d not previously been aware.

Here is a sampling:

Alexander, Grand Duke of Russia. Once a Grand Duke. Garden City, NY: Garden City, 1932.
Alexandra, Empress of Russia. The Letters of the Tsaritsa to the Tsar, 1914–16. London: Duckworth, 1923.
Botkin, Gleb. The Real Romanovs. New York: Revell, 1931.
Buchanan, Meriel. The Dissolution of an Empire. London: John Murray, 1932.
Buchanan, Sir George. My Mission to Russia and Other Diplomatic Memories. 2 volumes. Boston: Little, Brown, 1923. Bulygin, Paul, and Alexander Kerensky. The Murder of the Romanovs. London: Hutchinson, 1935.

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In his book Stone Voices: The Search for Scotland, Neal Ascherson says of Russia that it’s a place “…where the past is said to be unpredictable.” Here is the first segment of a 1994 National Geographic special called The Last Tsar. It opens with a description of the post-Soviet reemergence- indeed one might almost say, resurrection – of Tsar Nicholas II:

Over a period of years, starting in the 19970s, bones belonging to the bodies of royal family members were uncovered, removed from the earth, and positively identified.   Finally, in 1998, the Romanovs and several others who’d been executed along with them were buried with all due solemnity in the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul, in Saint Petersburg. Present at the interment were numerous dignitaries as well as living decendants of the House of Romanov.


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Russia’s history is a turbulent mixture of  cruelty, catastrophe, and exaltation. It can exert  a powerful pull on those who have fled from it. Sergei Rachmaninoff experienced great success as a musician and composer during his life in America and Western Europe. Yet he never stopped feeling like an exile. It is why Tony Palmers’ wonderful film biography of him is entitled The Harvest of Sorrow:

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To Russia, with love; or, I can’t seem to get the Polovtsian Dances out of my head

February 12, 2014 at 12:59 am (Ballet, Music, Russophilia)

Why does this phenomenon persist?

It could be due to my watching this over and over again:

And this:

Finally, the Polovtsian Dance sequence was the first music heard in the opening ceremony of the Sochi Olympics:

Olympics

(Will video eventually be available of this rather amazing spectacle? I certainly hope so!)

The Polovtsian Dance sequence is probably the most famous part of Alexander Borodin‘s  Prince Igor. This masterpiece is currently being staged at the Metropolitan Opera for the first time since 1917. It’s being offered as part of the Metropolitan Opera in HD series and can be seen in select local theaters on Saturday March 1. (Will I be there? You bet I will!)

Borodin

Alexander Borodin, 1833-1887

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I first heard the music of Alexander Borodin when I saw the 1955 film Kismet. I was eleven at the time, and I was simply blown away by this movie. I thought I’d never seen or heard anything so romantic and so utterly beautiful. What does an MGM musical have to do  with a Russian composer? An article on the Classic FM site explains.

In the second video above, the one depicting the grand re-opening of the Bolshoi Theater in 2011, you get a lot more than just the Polovtsian Dances. In particular, be sure to watch the excerpt from the ballet Spartacus (at 27:38). (The segment that precedes it, the ballroom scene from Mikhail Glinka’s A Life for the Tsar, is also worth your while – a truly opulent production.) In this same video, I’d like to note also the presence in the audience of Sergei Filin (first row second from the right, next to the empty chair, at 1:00). A former principal dancer with the Bolshoi Ballet, Filin had become the company’s artistic director in Moscow when, in January of 2013, he was the victim of an acid attack. He has had numerous surgeries since then, but my understanding is that he has lost a great deal of his eyesight – hopefully, not all of it. (The malefactors were caught and tried and are currently serving time.)

In his prime, Sergei Filin was a wonderful dancer. A number of tributes to his artistry have been posted on YouTube. I’m especially fond of this one:


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My fascination with Russian culture derives in part from my own background. All four of my grandparents immigrated to this country from the Ukraine in the early years of the twentieth century. At the time that they made this epic journey, Ukraine was still part of the Russian Empire.

My maternal grandparents, Nathan Gusman and Mary Davidoff Gusman

My maternal grandparents, Nathan Gusman and Mary Davidoff Gusman

When reading David Brown’s biography of Tchaikovsky, I learned that Ukraine was often referred to as “Little Russia.” Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony is nicknamed Little Russian. The final movement –  an absolute joy! – makes use of “The Crane,” a Ukrainian folk song. Here is the USSR Symphony Orchestra conducted by Yevgeny Svetlanov, who was in his time a tireless champion of Russian music:

(As best as I can determine, the USSR Symphony Orchestra is now known as The Russian State Symphony Orchestra. This puts me in mind of an observation made by Neal Ascherson in his book Stone Voices: The Search for Scotland. Russia, he says, is a place “…where the past is said to be unpredictable.”)

So now, of course, I can’t get the finale of the Little Russian Symphony out of my head. No matter -I’ll gladly let it dwell there, right alongside the Polovtsian Dances.

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A strange and felicitous confluence

June 8, 2013 at 6:58 pm (books, Russophilia)

advertise  strongpoisoncover1

In April, I composed a biographical sketch of Dorothy L. Sayers. It was meant as a prelude to a post about the Usual Suspects’ discussion of Murder Must Advertise. Among the nuggets I included in the biography was a brief mention of Sayers’s unhappy love affair with one John Cournos. I’ve gleaned from more than one source that Cournos was the model for Philip Boyes in Strong Poison. ( I’m pleased to note that this blog entry was selected for inclusion on the Dorothy L. Sayers Facebook page.)

Joseph Epstein’s luminous piece on Nikolai Gogol and his seminal work of fiction, Dead Souls, appeared in the  May 3 edition of the Wall Street Journal. The article’s title was “Surveying the Surging Immensity of Life;”  the subject, one of the great geniuses in an era of Russian literary genius.  Dead Souls, published in Russia in 1842, is a novel I’ve long wanted to read. Epstein’s  eloquent retrospective was a powerful motivator. I got the book from the library. It was a rather singular edition, put out by an outfit called Wildside Press. I can find no date of publication anywhere. The translation is by one C.J. Hogarth.  9781592247196_p0_v1_s260x420

Yesterday, I began leafing through the opening pages of this volume when I was stopped in my tracks by the name of the person who wrote the introduction. It was – is –

John Cournos.  JohnCournos

In the aforementioned blog post I characterized John Cournos as “a self-important writer and ideologue.” This is certainly the impression one gains from reading about his involvement with Sayers. But he appears also to have been a genuinely learned person gifted with a superior intellect. Cournos was born Ivan Grigorievich Korshun in Zhitomir, Russia, in 1881. His parents were of Russian-Jewish background, and although his first language was Yiddish, he eventually gained mastery of Russian, Hebrew, German, and English. His family emigrated to the U.S. when he was ten years old. He relocated to London in 1912, where, years later, he crossed paths with Dorothy L. Sayers. Click here for more information on the life and works of John Cournos.

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I had seen this painting of Gogol before:

Nikolai Gogol, by Anton Moller

Nikolai Gogol, by Anton Moller

But the author’s Wikipedia entry featured a daguerreotype that I’d not previously been aware of:  NV_GogolThe photographer’s name is Sergey Lvovich Levitsky.  Levitsky_R.S._-_portrait_of_Levitsky_S.L._-_1890  As I researched this individual, I could not help but marvel that I’d never before heard of him. The Wikipedia entry states that Levitsky “…is considered one of the patriarchs of Russian photography and one of Europe’s most important early photographic pioneers, inventors and innovators.” And indeed he took some striking pictures, including some of the Russian imperial family:

Engagement_official_picture_of_Alexandra_and_Nicholas

Official engagement portrait of Nicholas and Alexandra, 1894

Czar Nicholas, Empress Alexandra, aand their daughter Olga, 1896

Czar Nicholas, Empress Alexandra, aand their daughter Olga, 1896

Empress Alexandra, Grand Duchess Olga, andd the infant Maria, 1899

Empress Alexandra, Grand Duchess Olga, andd the infant Maria, 1899

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This is  John Cournos’s description of the plot of Dead Souls:

It was the day of serfdom in Russia, and a man’s standing was often judged by the number of “souls” he possessed. There was a periodical census of serfs, say once every ten or twenty years. This being the case, an owner had to pay a tax on every “soul” registered in the last census, though some of the serfs might have died in the meantime. Nevertheless, the system had its material advantages, inasmuch as an owner might borrow money from a bank on the “dead souls” no less than on the living ones. The plan of Chichikov, Gogol’s hero-villain, was therefore to make a journey through Russia and buy up the “dead souls,” at  reduced rates of course, saving their owners the government tax, and acquiring for himself a list of fictitious serfs, which he meant to mortgage to a bank for a considerable  sum. With this money he would buy an estate and some real life serfs, and make the beginning of a fortune.

I had to smile as I read this. Yet another scam artist on the loose! Whatever the country, whatever the time period, some things never change.

Dead Souls has recently been translated by Donald Rayfield, an emeritus professor of Russian and Georgian literature at Queen Mary, University of London. One critic hailed the new translation as “…a tour de force of art and scholarship—and the most authoritative, accurate, and readable edition of Dead Souls available in English.”  DeadsoulsgogolThis is a New York Review Books Classics edition. This publisher is doing an outstanding job of making available great, and sometimes unfairly neglected, works from the past.

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Faberge Revealed, at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts

August 19, 2011 at 7:25 pm (Art, Music, Russophilia)

Surely this photograph, taken in 1913, of Nicholas and Alexandra and their children is one of history’s most haunting images:

The name of Faberge, master jeweler, is indelibly linked with those of  Tsar Nicholas, Tsarina Alexandra, and their five children, whose fate it was to be the last of the Romanoffs.  Currently on display at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts is Faberge Revealed, an exhibit featuring more than five hundred objects designed and created by  Peter Karl Faberge and the superb craftsmen who worked under him. Thanks to the generosity of various donors, the VMFA has one of the finest collections of Faberge objets d’art to be found anywhere in the world. On the occasion of this special exhibition, additional works have been loaned to the museum.

Should you go there, here are some of the things you will see:

Imperial Tsarevich Egg

Napoleonic Egg

Diamond tiara, one of the few made by Faberge

Imperial Lilies of the Valley Basket

The Coronation Egg

The Hen Egg, Tsar Alexander III's Easter gift to his wife in 1885

Imperial snuff box

The eggs, with their tiny miniatures inside, are the most famous products of the House of Faberge. But as this exhibit demonstrates, these master jewelers crafted many other equally beautiful objects. There were brooches and pendants, animals carved from hard stone, snuff boxes – and picture frames. And from these frames, picture after picture of members of the royal household, unsmiling and imperious, gaze out at the world they unthinkingly dominated. 

I could not resist buying the exhibition catalog, a weighty tome with lavish illustrations:  It wasn’t until I took a good look at this book that I fully took in the name of the guest curator: Geza Von Habsburg. Von Habsburg…? A rather storied name in European history, n’est-ce pas? Indeed so. Born in Bupapest in 1940, Geza Von Habsburg is a direct descendant of the Austro-Hungarian Emperor Franz Josef and his wife Empress Elizabeth. In a bygone era, he would’ve been entitled to style himself an archduke. In the current era he may be called Dr. Von Habsburg: he is the holder of a Ph.D. degree from the University of Fribourg in Switzerland and an acknowledged expert on the history and works of the House of Faberge.

Geza Von Habsburg

When this exhibition opened in early July, Philip Kennicott wrote about it in the Washington Post. The article is illuminating, not least because in the middle of it, Kennicott erupts into a diatribe against the Romanoffs and their privileged ilk. He begins with a fairly innocuous observation regarding the eggs, to wit: “In an age of digital illusionism, these little mechanical marvels give an almost reflexive pleasure, no matter how hard one tries to resist.”  But then comes this paragraph:

And there are good reasons to resist everything in this exhibition of more than 500 objects. Faberge’s work is mesmerizing and horrifying at the same time. Although Faberge strove to distinguish his product from the purely ostentatious display of gold and jewels made by other purveyors of useless baubles, his artistry had absolutely no socially redeeming merit. In an age when other artists served broadly humanist causes, when much-needed revolution was in the air, Faberge comforted the comfortable. He may have thought of himself as an artist, but his business lived and died by the whims of a parasitical class of people who either inherited their obscene wealth, built it through raw exploitation, or both.

Still in full bore fulminating mode, Kennicott adds that “It’s enough to send one back to the wisdom of Karl Marx….” Resentment and indignation eventually give way to grudging admiration. Kennicott may hate this aspect of history – the intertwining of beauty with arrogance and wealth – but he cannot deny that this symbiosis  has given the world much of its greatest art.

Click here to read the article in full. And be sure to watch the slide show at the top. You’ll have to endure a short commercial first. Just grit your teeth; it’s worth the wait.

The House of Faberge has recently been reborn as an online retail establishment. Here’s the story of how that happened. One of their premier offerings is the Sadko Sea Horse brooch.  Sadko is the name of a Russian folk legend. It has been made into an opera by Nickolai Rimsky-Korsakov. Here is “The Song of India, from that work:

Here is  “Sadko in the Underwater Kingdom” by Ilya Repin, an artist whose gifts were apparently limitless:

The History International Channel’s program on Faberge Eggs is available on YouTube. Start here:

With its appalling history and magnificent achievements in music, dance, and literature, Russia fascinates. (This may be especially true for those of us who trace our ancestry to that troubled region.) I’d like to conclude with music that seems to me quintessentially Russian. It is a selection from Lieutenant Kije by Sergei Prokofiev. (The art work, by Ilya Repin, is entitled “Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks.)

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The Met’s new production of Boris Godunov by Modest Mussorgsky, broadcast in HD and playing at a theater near you!

October 25, 2010 at 7:24 pm (Music, opera, Russophilia)

Rene Pape as Boris Godunov

 

Watching Boris Godunov is akin to seeing the Russian people bare their collective soul. And make no mistake about it: that soul is in torment. And that torment is personified by Boris himself.  Tsar and absolute ruler he may be, but he can find no peace in this life. The reason: he is responsible for the death of Dmitri, Tsar Ivan the Terrible’s youngest son and the rightful heir to the throne. Boris’s conscience will not let him forget or forgive this sin.

Thus the coronation scene, one of opera’s great set pieces, with its opulent setting and costumes, its swelling choral singing, the mighty orchestration, the tolling of the Kremlin bells – it’s all for show. Boris sets about playing the role of benevolent despot, but he is doomed from the outset. The only question is, how long will it take to destroy him – and who or what will be the agent of that destruction?

Boris Godunov was an actual historical personage; he seized power in 1598 and ruled Russia until his death in 1605. He was part of the Rurik dynasty.  Only a few short years after Boris’s demise, the Romanoffs, supplanted the Ruriks and ascended the throne of Russia. (Click here to see the genealogy of both dynasties.) Boris Godunov began his career at court serving under Ivan the Terrible. Indeed, he was present when Ivan killed his eldest son, the crown prince, also named Ivan. Throughout  the opera I kept seeing in my mind’s eye Ilya Repin’s portrayal of that horrifying event:

For his source material for the opera, Mussorgsky used the play written by Alexander Pushkin.

Boris Godunov is a complex, ambitious work of art. The cast is large, the chorus is huge – I believe I heard there were 140 voices! During the intermission, you saw the ranks of costumes that seemed to go on forever. At any rate – I can’t say enough about the Met’s superb production. This opera calls for spectacle on a grand scale, and that’s what we saw. Individual singers were superb – one powerhouse voice after another. As Grigory the Pretender, Alexandr Antonenko was terrific. He may not be a great actor – at least, not yet – but he has an incredibly impressive vocal apparatus. And I’d also like to single out Andrey Popov as the Holy Fool. Popov’s singing was wonderful and his performance, equally so. He was the scary, wild-eyed man of God in the flesh.

 

Alexandr Antonenko as Grregory the Pretender, with the equally spectacular Ekaterina Semenchuk as Marina

 

Andrey Popov as the Holy Fool, whose piteous lamentations predict all too accurately Russia's dire future

Finally, there was Rene Pape. Over the years, a number of bass baritones made history with definitive performances of Boris Godunov. Pape (pronounced “poppuh”) will now surely be named be among them. In an interview between acts, Pape acknowledged that as almost the sole non-Russian principal cast member – he hails from Dresden, Germany – he had to work to perfect  his “Russianness.”  I hope that this production will ultimately become available on DVD, so that all can witness how completely he succeeded in this task! Meanwhile – have a listen:

From the CTPost of Bridgeport, Connecticut:

A big man with a big voice and a big personality, Pape delivers the sort of visceral operatic experience one does not often get these days. But Boris is not just big, he is complex: he must also be a loving father to his children and the reflective, concerned father to his people. Pape gives us a multidimensional character whose musings and troubles linger with us long after the performance has ended. Bravo!

Boris’s death was incredibly moving. Here is that scene, in a different staging, sung by great Finnish bass Martti Talvela:

Here is the music from the coronation scene. The still photographs convey the majesty of the  setting. This was a production of the Mariinsky Theatre (formerly  the Kirov, but before that, the Mariinsky!) The conductor is the great (and seemingly ubiquitous) Valery Gergiev , who also conducts the new Met production:

As with Das Rheingold, the theater was packed on Saturday, giving me hope for my fellow “culture vultures.” And what could be more endearingly wonderful than the fact  that Boris Godunov has pride of place in an article entitled, “What’s fun in Des Moines.” (This kind of thing  reminds me once again why I love this country so much!)

 

Modest Mussorgsky: 1839 - 1881, by Ilya Repin

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The art of Russia

July 20, 2010 at 11:46 pm (Art, Music, Russophilia)

I’ve written about Russian painting before, but that was before I found these YouTube videos.

First – here are some of Ilya Repin’s greatest paintings; the music is Oriental Rhapsody by Alexander Glazunov. My one reservation about this presentation is that the works fly by too quickly! If you want to revisit them at a slower pace, try Russian Art Gallery, Olga’s Gallery, or the Wikipedia entry for this astounding artist.

Repin seems to have been granted virtually unlimited access to Leo Tolstoy. But the painter retained his sense of awe at the greatness of his subject:

Spellbound by his association with Tolstoy, Repin wrote to his daughter upon his return to Petersburg from Yasnaya Polyana: ‘No matter the self-abasements of this giant, or his choice of perishable rags to cover his mighty body, Zeus always shows in him, and all of Olympus trembles from the play of his eyebrows.’
(Quoted in Russia: The Land, the People: Russian Painting 1850-1910 )

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Here is a selection of works by the great landscape painter Isaac Levitan. Levitan’s story is a poignant one: born to educated but impoverished Lithuanian Jews, he suffered from chronic depression and from the inevitable anti-Semitic slights for most of his short life (1860-1900). Yet in his art, he triumphed.

(If you click on “Watch on YouTube,” in the lower right hand corner of the screen, you can read the enlightening and enlightened comments made by the poster. You’ll find information about the gorgeous music by Rachmaninoff as well.)

In Art:A New History, Paul Johnson observes: “Levitan had no reason to love Russia or the Russians, but he did. And he celebrated his love in some magnificent canvases which used the beauty and grandeur of the Russian scene to express spiritual values hovering just beneath its surface.”

Portrait of Isaac Levitan by Valentin Serov (1893)

The Athenaeum has a fine selection of Levitan’s paintings. And here is yet more proof that you can find just about anything on the internet: an article entitled “Lithuanian Jews on Postage Stamps.” Thanks are due to Vitaly Charny for this lively and informative piece. He himself has an exceptionally interesting life story; scroll down to the bottom of the page to find it.

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I love this video. It consists of a haunting baritone aria from Lieutenant Kije, by Sergei Prokofiev. (It haunts me, anyway – I’ve listened to it over and over again.) The visual is Repin’s tour de force, “Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks.”

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Evgeny Svetlanov (1928 – 2002)

January 19, 2010 at 2:12 am (Music, Russophilia)

This is a tribute to one of Russia’s greatest conductors.

Here is Evgeny Svetlanov conducting the final movement of Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony. Because it features Ukrainian folk tunes, this work bears the sobriquet “Little Russian.”  (This is – was? – the Russian nickname for the Ukraine.)  The State Symphony Orchestra of Russia, formerly the USSR State Symphony Orchestra, is closely associated with Svetlanov.  He was its conductor from 1965 to 2000, a remarkably long and fruitful tenure.

What a joy it is to see the assurance with which Maestro Svetlanov leads this superb ensemble!

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Ballet

December 15, 2009 at 9:35 pm (Ballet, Music, Performing arts, Russophilia)

Here is a 42-second video clip that threw me back in my chair, gasping in amazement:

This is the great Alexander Godunov as Tybalt in Romeo and Juliet (Bolshoi, 1979). First, there is the arrogance, the smug heedlessness, of pure evil; then, the death agony. Watching this – over and over again – I am not only astonished but also downright frightened. Such is the intensity of this performance.

As an artist, Alexander Godunov embodies the idea of the flame that burns too brightly and must, inevitably, consume itself. We can only be grateful for the brilliant legacy he has left to the world of dance. (Additional videos featuring Godunov can be found on YouTube.)

Here is another clip of a performance of Romeo and Juliet by the Bolshoi.

Alexandr Tetrov is  wonderful as Tybalt, but Vladimir Derevianko pretty much steals the show as Mercutio. I can’t take my eyes off his legs – he becomes effortlessly airborne, then whirls like a top. Later, he turns around and taunts Tybalt – one is filled with dread, knowing what will happen next. I confess, I have never watched this video through to the end. I can’t bear the thought of losing Mercutio, the mercurial sprite so cunning and so free.

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Sergei Prokofiev is a composer that Ron and I both love. He wrote much great music; for us, Romeo and Juliet is his masterpiece.

Sergei Sergeevich Prokofiev: 1891 - 1953

Russians really connect with the heightened passion that informs Shakespeare’s play. They have taken this timeless, turbulent tale of  love in adversity and through the magic of music and dance, made it their own.

[Valery Gergiev conducts the London Symphony in November 2008.]

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