Chapter IV: Part III: Choral and Instrumental Works

I.

A survey of Moussorgsky’s dramatic work reveals so many evidences of genius in writing for chorus that one might have expected to find among his compositions a greater number of independent choral examples. Of the four surviving specimens, only one was designed as a separate work--“The Destruction of Sennacherib,” after Byron’s short poem, for the usual vocal quartet. This was written in the winter of 1866-67, and first performed at a Free School Concert under Balakiref’s direction. One cannot say more than that its music, while making no strong effort at description, is entirely suitable to the text. Of the others, the chorus for mixed voices and orchestra (the sole remaining number of the setting of Sophocles’ “Œdipus”), and a women’s chorus from the unfinished “Salammbô,” are not of great importance. “Joshua,” also originally from that source is, on the other hand, a work of particular interest. It is founded on themes that the composer heard sung by some Jews, for some time neighbours of his, during the Feast of Tabernacles. In this Moussorgsky has imitated a style altogether new to him, showing a wonderful sensibility to new impressions. The melodic line is remarkably characteristic; its only blemish is an instrumental reproduction of an ornamental flourish, introducing an effect of clearness foreign to the traditional Hebraic vocal style. A comparison of some of the melodic figures with those employed in the sketch of the two Jews in “The Picture-Show,” suggests that Moussorgsky based his character drawing therein upon the material from which the “Joshua” music had been derived.

“THE PICTURE-SHOW”

II.

With one exception Moussorgsky’s compositions for the piano can have little interest other than that arising for the historian. With this very notable exception none of them would for a moment arrest the attention of a musician if published under an unknown name.[12] The extraordinary novelty and originality of the famous series of sketches called “The Picture-Show” is attributable to its having been created under the influence of a deep inspiration.

Unfortunately it is impossible at this date to obtain any notion as to the degree of success attained by the composer in reproducing in music what he saw in Hartmann’s sketches. While it has been possible, with a little contriving, to see the original pictures of Goya, and to hear their musical reflection according to Granados, or to witness the ridiculous miming of “General Lavine,” and to listen to Debussy’s account of his mannerisms on one and the same day, the chance of comparing Moussorgsky’s pieces with the water-colours and sketches that inspired them is apparently lost for ever. But the listener whose imagination enables him to connect the music with Hartmann’s titles is not likely to care whether or no a sight of the originals would diminish his pleasure.

Hartmann, an architect, was a great friend both of Stassof and Moussorgsky. The son of a doctor, he was born in 1834, and despite his short life managed to visit practically all the art centres of Europe in search of ideas. On his death in the summer of 1873, Stassof wrote an extremely eulogistic notice, following this up with a sketch of his acquaintanceship and transactions with the lamented artist. In the spring of 1874, an exhibition of water-colours and designs was arranged, and it was Moussorgsky’s visit to the gallery that led him to attempt what must have been then regarded as a particularly daring experiment.

Writing to Stassof in June, 1874, Moussorgsky states that “Hartmann” is progressing at the same furious rate as did “Boris” a year or so before. The first four numbers of the suite had then already taken shape.

The following is a slightly abbreviated translation of Moussorgsky’s description of the pictures, printed in the original edition of his suite. Only a few of them are mentioned in Stassof’s notice of the exhibition:

1. “Gnomus.” Picture representing a little goblin, hobbling
clumsily along on his misshapen legs.

2. “Il Vecchio Castello.” A medieval castle, before which sings a
troubadour.

3. “Tuileries.” Children wrangling over their games in the
Tuileries Gardens.

4. “Bydlo.” A Polish cart on huge wheels, drawn by oxen.

5. “Ballet of Chickens in their Shells.” A sketch for the staging
of the ballet “Trilby.”

6. “Samuel Goldenburg and Schmuyle.” Two Polish Jews, the one
prosperous, the other needy.

7. “Limoges.” Bickering market-women.

8. “The Catacombs.” Hartmann is seen visiting the Paris Catacombs
by lantern-light.

9. “The Hut on Fowls’ Legs.” A design for a clock in the shape of
Baba-Yaga’s hut. Moussorgsky added the trail of the witch,
journeying to and fro in her traditional mortar.

10. “The Bogatyr’s Gate at Kief.” Hartmann’s plan for the proposed
Gate in the ancient massive Russian style, with a cupola in the
form of a Slavonic helmet.

There is a Prelude under the title “Promenade,” the theme of which is used to suggest from time to time the gait of the visitor, and also the impression made upon him by the pictures.

The most graphic numbers in the series are undoubtedly “Gnomus,” in which the grotesque little goblin’s awkward movements are wonderfully suggested, “Bydlo,” a scene in the street of Sandomir (recalling that it was Hartmann who advised including the Polish Act in “Boris,” of which the castle at Sandomir is the scene), the “Trilby” movement, daintiness itself, the Polish Jews, whose contrasted condition is marvellously depicted, the Baba-Yaga scene, and the splendidly heroic final number--a little masterpiece that is in itself an excellent memorial of the co-designer of the Russian Millennary monument at Nijni Novgorod.

The Spanish picture, the Tuileries scene, and “Limoges,” are somewhat too formal for their purpose, and come strangely from the composer of “The Nursery.” “The Catacombs” is a curiously fantastic number, part of which is based on the “Promenade” theme.

Now that these pieces have become popular, one regrets all the more that the pictures of Hartmann were not reproduced in the original edition--their inclusion could not greatly have lessened the value of Moussorgsky’s work, and would have provided, in conjunction with the music, a fitting souvenir of an exceptionally versatile artist.

“NIGHT ON THE BARE MOUNTAIN”

III.

The surviving orchestral version of Moussorgsky’s famous “Night on the Bare Mountain” is the work of Rimsky-Korsakof, and thus cannot be considered, apart from its thematic and programmatic interest, as representative.

Its history is a little complicated. Composed in the rough in 1867, as a fantasia for piano and orchestra, supposedly under the influence of Liszt’s “Dance Macabre” and Berlioz’ “Witches’ Sabbath,” and given the title of “St. John’s Eve,” it was thrown aside until some three years later, when on Gedeonof’s “Mlada” project being put before Moussorgsky and his friends Cui, Borodin, and Rimsky-Korsakof, it was considerably altered and was given a vocal part. It had now become the music for the revels of Chernobog (the Black god) on Mount Triglaf. On the abandonment of Gedeonof’s scheme it was once more laid aside, to serve again for “Sorochinsk Fair” as the “fantastic dream”--an Intermezzo in which the witches are seen disporting themselves on the Bare Mountain. The ringing of the bell which disperses the nocturnal spirits at dawn was inserted at this time. Finally it was revised and orchestrated by Rimsky-Korsakof, who, after considerable trouble in arranging the material satisfactorily, eventually conducted it at the first of Belayef’s Russian Symphony Concerts, about five years after the composer’s death. Its immediate popularity is easy to understand, since the fantastic programme is carried out with a wealth of rhythmic and harmonic suggestion that compels a mental reconstruction of the supernatural occurrences described. The verbal description of the scene, attached to the score, is as follows: “Subterranean sounds of unearthly voices. Appearance of the spirits of darkness followed by that of the God Chernobog. Chernobog’s glorification and the Black Mass. The Revels. At the height of the orgies is heard from afar the bell of a little church, which causes the spirits to disperse. Dawn.”

The fantasia possesses a special significance for the student of Russian musical history. It recalls that Glinka had mooted, somewhere about the time of Moussorgsky’s birth, the notion of composing a number of orchestral works in which he proposed removing the accepted formal restrictions in order to offer to the public a kind of music that could be appreciated by its (musically) uneducated section. The fantasias in question were to preserve such a level of seriousness as would render them acceptable to the critical, but by means of a “programme” were to make a popular appeal. “A Night in Madrid” may thus be looked upon as a forerunner of “A Night on the Bare Mountain,” and the latter as the first of a series of symphonic pictures of which Rimsky-Korsakof’s “Sheherazade” and “Antar,” Borodin’s “In the Steppes of Central Asia,” Balakiref’s “Tamara,” and Glazounof’s “Stenka Razin” are the most meritorious examples. “A Night on the Bare Mountain” must therefore be attributed as much to Glinkist as to foreign influence.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] A further exception may perhaps be made in favour of the
“Intermezzo,” composed in 1861, and afterwards arranged
for orchestra. It was partly inspired by a rustic scene,
but was written in a classical style not at all suggesting
a “programme.”