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The Enigma of the ‘Dragonfly-Woman’

1024px-Lalique_dragonflyScriabin’s miniature Enigme op. 52 no. 2 (1905), with its aerial main section, languid middle part and flyaway ending, is the subject of some startling comment from the composer and his partner Tat’yana de Schloezer, as reported in Sabaneyev’s Memoirs.

‘I wrote it and showed it to Tat’yana Fyodorovna’, Alexander Nikolaevich recounted, ‘and I said:  ‘Now then, what is that, guess?’

‘And I immediately told Alexander Nikolaevich what I imagine here:  a sort of winged  small being, not exactly a woman, not exactly an insect, but certainly of female gender; in her there is something prickly and wriggly, a sort of segmented quality. And it is terribly slippery and evasive, and in this slippery evasiveness there is great coquetry. And there’s no way you’ll ever catch it…’

Alexander Nikolaevich finished this ‘duo-narrative’:

‘And, after all, imagine, what a graphic quality there is in music! For, you see, I imagined exactly something of that sort when I was writing. That sort of strange creature, all the same it’s one of the elementals, it must be….Mischievous,’ he added his favourite word.[1]

Is it possible that Tat’yana de Schloezer and Alexander Scriabin recalled the famous ‘Dragonfly Woman’ brooch made by René Lalique for Sarah Bernhardt in 1897–8, and shown in the Paris World Fair of 1900? This remarkable piece is made of gold, enamel, chrysoprase, chalcedony, moonstones and diamonds. The tail is articulated so that it can move with the wearer. Lalique was, perhaps, inspired by the seductive quality of Bernhardt herself, in such roles as Cleopatra, which she played in the 1890s. The Dragonfly Woman is now in the Gulbenkian Museum, but perhaps she comes alive in Skryabin’s strange little composition – a work which marks a step forward in the development of his personal style.[2]

Simon Nicholls

[1] Leonid Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Skryabine, Moscow, 1925, p. 140–141.

[2] Sokolov plays Enigme: www.youtube.com/watch?v=bA0JHy5Jrgk

Scriabin Association Concert, Saturday 29th April, Coventry University Ellen Terry Building

scriabin-poster3The Scriabin Association is pleased to announce its next concert of Scriabin’s piano music, which will be held on Saturday 29th April at 7pm. Thanks to support from Coventry University the concert will take place at the University’s Ellen Terry Building, CV1 5RW. The evening marks the 145th Year since the composer’s birth, and presents repertoire spanning the composer’s entire working life. Those who attended the Association’s Centenary concert will know a thrilling evening awaits…

The concert is free admission on the door with all welcome. For further details contact: info@scriabin-association.com OR Phone: 024 75 013905. See below for full programme:

Scriabin Concert 29th April, 7pm – Ellen Terry Building, Coventry University

Andrew Thayer:
PRELUDES
Op.9, No. 1 in C sharp minor, for left hand (Andante)
Op.11, No. 2 in A minor (Allegretto)
No.11 in B major (Allegro assai)
No.18, in F minor (Allegro agitato)
Op.22, No. 1 in G sharp minor (Andante)
Op.51, No. 2 in A minor (Lugubre)
Op.67, No. 1 (Andante)
Op.74, No. 1 (Douloureux, déchirant)
No. 2 (Très lent, contemplatif)
No. 3 (Allegro drammatico)
No. 4 (Lent, vague, indécis)
No. 5 (Fier, belliquex)

Darren Leaper:
MAZURKAS Op.25, No. 1 in F minor (Allegro)
No. 3 in E minor (Lento)
VALSE Op.38 in A flat major (Allegro agevole)
QUASI VALSE Op.47 in F major
TWO DANCES Op.73, No. 1, Guirlandes (Avec une grâce dolente)
No. 2, Flammes sombres (Avec une grâce languissante– Presto)

INTERVAL

Cecilia Xi:
SONATA No. 2 Op.19 in G sharp minor, Sonate-Fantaisie
I Andante.
II Presto.

Iain Laks:
SONATA No. 5 Op.53

Simon Nicholls:
SONATA No. 8 Op.66

Scriabin’s Fifth Sonata – a new aspect of sonata form

Many listeners perceive Scriabin’s later music, to which the fifth sonata may be regarded as a doorway, as free and improvisatory, and indeed the surface of the music often gives this impression. The early listeners to Scriabin’s Fifth Sonata were puzzled by the work. At the abrupt ending, a famous singer in the audience for a performance by Scriabin in Moscow, 1909, remarked to her neighbour, Leonid Sabaneyev, ‘What happened – did he get a stomach ache?’[1] The leading composer Taneyev, who had taught Scriabin harmony, said: ‘This is music which does not finish, but stops’ – a penetrating remark from this great conservative.[2] Scriabin’s younger associate, the pianist Mark Meichik,[3] was entrusted with some early performances of the work, one of them being in Lausanne to the widow of the much older composer Alexander Serov (1820–1871). She was, Meichik recalled, ‘dumbfounded’ by the piece; ‘and when she was told that this “monster” was written in a strict form, she just threw up her hands.’[4] Meichik remembered seeing a sheet of paper bearing a ‘plan’ of the Fifth Sonata: ‘this “plan”’, he wrote,  ‘was numerical and consisted of a whole series of circles of some kind and figures which took up an entire sheet of manuscript paper. Scriabin showed this plan to musicians who had visited him in Lausanne, and he gave it to one of them, the Canadian La Liberté.’[5] Many manuscripts of Scriabin’s later works contain such tables of figures, relating to numbers of bars.

The existence of this plan is all the more remarkable, considering that the sonata was completed in a few days in the wake of the composition of the Poem of Ecstasy. As the composer’s partner, Tatyana Schloezer, wrote to the pianist Mariya Nemenova-Lunz [or -Lunts], three days after a previous letter describing the hurry of preparing the score of the Poem: ‘Sasha has already managed… to compose a 5th sonata!!! I don’t believe my ears, it is unbelievable! The sonata flowed from him in a kind of stream. […] What you have heard is nothing, the sonata is unrecognisable, it cannot be compared with anything.’[6]

Scriabin described the work as ‘a big poem for the piano’,[7] and the plan is akin both to the form of the orchestral Poem of Ecstasy and to that of its literary counterpart, published by Scriabin in 1906. Indeed, the Sonata bears as epigraph a quotation from the literary poem:

I call you to life, hidden strivings!

You, drowned in the dark depths

Of the creative spirit, you, timid

Embryos of life, to you I bring audacity.[8]

The form begins to become clear if we examine the adventures of the opening music, an extremely original passage representing, perhaps, ‘audacious’ flight from ‘dark depths’, and of the languido section that follows it – here we have shapes that foreshadow the material of the sonata, the ‘timid embryos’ of Scriabin’s epigraph. The opening ‘flight’ appears in its original key at the beginning and the end – does this ‘ending’, the sudden stop that puzzled early listeners, represent a new beginning, a renewal of the process in the sonata?

That process is characterised by an upward spiral of ascent and enhancement. The second appearance of the opening music, at b. 157–184, is transposed up by a tone. It appears a third time: the ‘flight’, transformed in aspect and harmony, occurs at b. 247–250 and is immediately followed by the languido material, transformed and transposed up by another semitone. As Scriabin’s friend and chronicler Sabaneyev wrote in 1916, ‘the tonalities change by intervals which grow smaller.’[9] The languido material, in a grandiose version marked estatico, recurs finally at b. 433, transposed up by a further semitone, and the piece ends with the original ‘audacious flight’, in the original key, as mentioned earlier. In the vibrant stillness of the pause bar which follows (as Schnabel often writes at the end of movements in his Beethoven edition: respect the fermata!) we do not know what to expect: is this the end, or is the work going to start over again? Like all true artistic ‘surprises’ and ambiguities, this one is to be relished increasingly every time one hears or performs the sonata.

The recurrences of the ‘flight’ mark turns in Scriabin’s upward spiral. The second occurrence of the opening music coincides with an important formal division in the sonata form. Thus, the ‘upward spiral’ operates simultaneously with the sonata process, but does not invariably coincide with it.

After the first languido comes the Presto con allegrezza, nominally in F sharp major[10] – a dance similar to that of the Fourth Sonata’s prestissimo volando. A series of three imperioso calls (b.96 ff), answered by fearful affanato rhythms and culminating in a fanfare, quasi trombe, which will become important later (b. 114–116),[11] leads the tonality towards a meno vivo section nominally in B flat major (enharmonically the mediant [A sharp] of the tonality of the Presto con allegrezza) (b. 120–139). Two bars of Allegro fantastico and a bar of silence (the significance of these will become apparent later) lead to a Presto tumultuoso esaltato (b. 143–156) which in its turn leads to the recurrence of the opening flight. This passage remains ‘in’ the same key. The quasi trombe figure is reiterated three times during this section, like an invocation, and leads into the next formal division.

The music from the beginning to this point, then, may be summed up in the following scheme:

b.1–46: Prologue

b.47–156: Sonata exposition:[12]

 b.47–79    first subject

b.80–95     transition (stage 1) – continuation of first subject

b.96–119   transition (stage 2) – dialogue: calls and affanato responses

b.120–139 second subject

b.140–156 closing group

In the following section, the material already presented is transformed and led through restlessly varying tonalities. After the initial recurrence one tone higher of ‘flight’ and ‘prologue’ (b. 157–184), there are three ‘stages’ involving the ‘dance’ and ‘call’ material:

b.185–206 (8 + 6 + 8 = 22 b.)

b.207–226 (6 + 6 + 8 = 20 b.)

b.227–246 (8 + 8 + 4 = 20 b.)

This brings us to the second, transformed recurrence of the ‘flight and prologue’ material, which is transposed up by a further semitone as mentioned above, b. 247–262. We may say that this passage does not mark a new main formal section, but is a new turn of the upward spiral which leads into the middle of this central area of the sonata. Bars 263–270, which twice present the famous harmony known as the ‘Promethean chord’, con delizia, and are formed around the initial phrase of the languido prologue, represent the ‘heart’ of the sonata.

In the last part of this central section, two statements of the second subject, one pianissimo (b. 271–280), the other growing from forte to fff (b. 313–328) and transposed up by one tone, enharmonically speaking, frame a section of thirty-two bars in which an allegro fantastico idea is developed. This idea was originally ‘planted’ at the beginning of the exposition’s closing group (b.140–141), like a clue in a thriller. Evoking the concept of increasingly wild Bacchic dance (con una ebrezza fantastica), which gradually takes over from the languor of the second subject, the iambic rhythm of this idea is transformed into vibrating triplets and combined at b. 305–312 with the fanfare which earlier formed the culmination to the ‘calls’ in the exposition (cf. b. 114–116).

The section from b. 157–328, analysed above, plays the role of the development section in a traditional sonata scheme. It is followed by a recapitulation, which has the features of the ‘subdominant recapitulation’ familiar from Schubert’s Trout quintet, to quote a well-known example. It starts at b. 329, nominally in B major, whereas the corresponding passage in the exposition was in F sharp major, and the relations in the ensuing music to b. 400 correspond to those in the exposition.

At this point the listener’s expectation is of the ‘closing group’; this does eventually come, and in the key determined by the pattern of transposition in the recapitulation – E flat major. But it is considerably delayed by a coda:

b.401 – 432 allegro fantastico idea and ‘fanfare’ (cf. b. 289 ff.)

b.433 ­– 440 languido theme from prologue, now estatico. This restatement is again one semitone higher than the appearance at b. 251 ff.

b.441 – 450 ‘closing group’ material

b.451 ­– 456 opening ‘flight’

The delaying of the ‘closing group’ material for forty bars increases the listener’s expectancy and therefore the tension in the music; and at the return of the opening ‘flight’ material the logic of Scriabin’s ‘subdominant recapitulation’ is revealed: the E flat tonality of the ‘closing group’ corresponds enharmonically to the original bass of the ‘flight’ material – D sharp. The circle is closed.

As a prominent Russian musical writer of the Soviet period, Sergei Pavchinsky,[13] suggested, Scriabin overlays the traditional sonata scheme with a second principle in many of his works – here, the second principle is the previously mentioned ascending spiral, a spiral which contrives to meet itself and to complete a ‘cycle’.[14] Perhaps this phenomenon explains the ‘circles of some sort’ on Scriabin’s ‘plan’ as remembered by Mark Meichik. Meichik was by no means the only one to maintain that Scriabin’s music was ‘entirely free from elements of chance, especially in the formal sense’.[15] Scriabin expressed the belief that thought expressed as a principle should govern creative work.[16] It was this rational basis which made possible the creation of such an extravagantly innovative work as the Fifth Sonata.

Simon Nicholls

December 2016

This short article is offered as a memorial to Rosalie Heller (1931–2016), wonderful human being, musician and teacher.

[1] L. L. Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Skryabine, Moscow, 1925/2003, p. 37.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Mark Meichik (1880-1950) was a student of Safonov, Scriabin’s teacher, at Moscow Conservatoire. A successful pianist until 1917 and highly regarded as a performer of Scriabin’s music, he turned after the Revolution to administration, education and publication.

[4] Mark Meichik, A. Skryabin, Moscow, 1935. p. 39. Meichik identifies the performer as ‘one of the Russian pianists’, but we may take this as a way of referring to himself. In mid-May 1908, Meichik visited Lausanne and studied the Fifth Sonata with Scriabin. M. P. Pryashnikova and O. M. Tompakova, Letopis’ zhizni i tvorchestva A. N. Skryabina, Moscow, 1985. P. 161.

[5] Op. cit. p. 23. Alfred La Liberté (1882–1952), Canadian pianist and composer. His widow Madeleine ‘donated a number of materials, including the manuscript [of the Fifth Sonata], to the A. N. Scriabin Memorial Museum in Moscow’ in 1971. [Scriabin, Sonata no. 5 op. 53, Urtext and facsimile, Moscow 2008. Preface by Valentina Rubtsova, p. 8.] Whether these ‘materials’ include the ‘plan’ remembered by Meichik is not clear.

[6] Letter of November 22/December 5, 1907, quoted in V. Rubtsova, op. cit., p. 5.

The generally accepted story of the Fifth Sonata’s having being composed in a few days needs to be modified, it seems, in the light of correspondence. Nemenova-Lunts wrote enthusiastically about a fifth sonata being composed in August 1907 – this links up with Tatyana Schloezer’s remark in her letter of Nov 22/ Dec 5, ‘What you have heard is nothing […]’. Scriabin wrote later in a letter to La Liberté (Dec 16 [presumably New Style], ‘I am busy now with the 5th Sonata; it is nearly finished […]. I hope to send it to the printer a fortnight from now […].’ The editor of the Bärenreiter edition, from which this information comes, Christoph Flamm, suggests plausibly that ‘work on the sonata dates back at least to the previous summer […]. The completion of the orchestral score [the Poem of Ecstasy] put an end to the compositional process in late autumn, after which Scriabin’s bottled-up creative urge exploded in early December.’ Christoph Flamm, preface to Bärenreiter [Skrjabin Complete Piano Sonatas vol 1, Basel, 2011], pp. XXV–XXVI. To Flamm’s well-informed surmise we may add that work on the Poem of Ecstasy may have had a radical effect on Scriabin’s conception of the Sonata, both in harmonic language and in form – this would account for Tatyana Schloezer’s remark. The surprisingly long interval suggested by Scriabin before he would be able to send the sonata to the printer may have been caused by previous experience of the difficulty he had in correcting his own work, compounded by the fact that this piece was to be published at his own expense, the cost of corrections therefore coming out of his own pocket.

[7] Letter to Margarita Morozova, between November 25/December 8 and Dec 1/14, 1907,  loc. cit.

[8] This translation is from Scriabin’s Russian, rather than from the French translation which is often the source rendered into English. The ‘hidden strivings’ become ‘mysterious forces’ in the French. This tends to imply that some sort of ‘magic’ is being invoked, rather than the composer’s own impulses and thoughts as implied in Scriabin’s original. This was pointed out to me by the leading scholar of Russian literature, Avril Pyman (private communication).

[9] Leonid Sabaneyev, Skryabin, Moscow 1916, p. 133. Much of this first book by Sabaneyev about Scriabin was written during the composer’s lifetime.

[10] In the Fifth Sonata, Scriabin is on the verge of stepping into his later ‘extra-tonal’ harmonic style. Where keys are implied, the tonic is avoided. The present analysis refers to the key signatures which are still used by the composer at this point in his development.

[11] The affanato rhythms are closely related to the rhythms, known as ‘rhythms of alarm’, in the orchestral Poem of Ecstasy which first emerge at the Allegro non troppo, eight bars after figure 3 in the score.

[12] The ‘sonata form’ evoked here is that expounded by A. B. Marx in his Kompositionslehre, which was in Scriabin’s personal library. Marx based his concepts on close observation of the practice of classical composers, Beethoven in particular. The highly disciplined training of Russian composers in Skryabin’s era was based in part on such materials.

[13] Sergei Pavchinsky, Sonatnaya forma proizvedenii Skryabina. Moscow, 1979.

[14] In 1905 Scriabin had made his first acquaintance with the writings of H. P. Blavatsky, which became an important influence on his thinking. A cyclic concept, comparable to the Hindu concept of recurring manvantaras, is central to her Theosophical speculations.

[15] Meichik, op. cit., p. 38.

[16] Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya, p.254.

The ascending direction in the harmony of Chopin and Scriabin and its semantics by Ildar Khannanov

*Translator’s introduction; The Scriabin Association is privileged to present here an article by the distinguished Russian scholar Ildar Khannanov. Dr. Khannanov teaches musical theory at the Peabody Institute, Baltimore. He studied music under the supervision of the prominent Russian theorist Yuri Kholopov[2] at Moscow Conservatoire, and philosophy under Jacques Derrida at the University of California, Irvine. Dr. Khannanov’s publications have appeared in Russia, America and Europe.

The present article was originally published in Russian in the Scriabin Museum’s series of scholarly publications, Uchenye Zapiski, in 2012. An article written for a specialist Russian readership may need some introduction to a more general English-speaking public. 

Dr. Khannanov engages, in a strictly scientific and disciplined manner, with the problem of what music – and Scriabin’s music in particular – ‘means’, and how it ‘means’. There may be a need to explain to the general reader one theoretical concept, important in Dr. Khannanov’s article, which is rooted in Russian musical thought, and in the theory of Kholopov. This is the idea of vvodnotonovost’, a term without an exact English equivalent, meaning literally ‘leading-note-ness’, the leading-note having by definition a tendency to lead upward. It was defined by Kholopov in his article on ‘Chromaticism’ in the Musical Encyclopedia edited by Yu. V. Keldysh (published in Moscow from 1973–82) as ‘the introduction of leading-notes into any sonority or chord without the factor of alteration as a progression towards an augmented unison [the enharmonic equivalent of a major second].’ As a simple example, take a dominant ninth chord of C – B flat – E – G – D, and sharpen G to G sharp. The G sharp in the harmony thus produced lends to the harmony the quality of vvodnotonovost’. This is the opening harmony of the Prelude op. 48 no. 4, one of a group of preludes of which sketches are to be found amongst the sketches of the Poème de l’Extase.[3]  

Simon Nicholls

Amongst the scientific problems of the study of Scriabin’s music there is one which occupies an extremely modest position in the works of researchers. It concerns the individual qualities of voice-leading in the composer’s harmony and, in particular, of ascending motion in this voice-leading. This characteristic of Scriabin’s harmony is completely obvious, and it is significant both stylistically, in part, and, in a broader sense, in relation to the scientific study of harmony and of the theory of the Romantic style. But first let us specify that there are varying means of ‘moving upwards’ in music. There are various significances and meanings of such movement.

Ascending tendencies of a particular type appear for the first time, it may be said, in the harmonic language of Romanticism and in the music of Frédéric Chopin. Thus, for example, whereas ascent in Bach was the product of a figure of anabasis[4] and represented a melodic movement upwards, in Chopin this tendency was expressed in harmony by two means: the substitution of a sixth for the fifth of a tonic triad (as in the Mazurka op. 67 no. 2, bar 2) and by movement from the tonic to the mediant, I – III (in a great number of the themes of the mazurkas, etudes and polonaises.) The significance of ascending motion is also different in Bach and in Chopin. Whereas for the Baroque composer ascending motion was associated with ascending into Paradise, in the music of the early Romantics ascending motion was above all associated with an attempt to flee from reality.

ex1

As may be seen from the present example, at the beginning of the Cantata Widerstehe doch der Sünde (BWV 54) Bach proposes a figure of ascent, of anabasis, starting with a dominant seventh chord over a tonic pedal point.  The voices making up the harmonic arrangement move slowly upwards with effort, through the opposition of the material, and it is this which underlines the text: ‘Resist sin’. But this ascent does not break away from earth’s gravitational attraction; it acts within the framework of that field.

In comparison with this, an example from Chopin’s Mazurka op. 67 no. 2 represents a more complex, hidden, tragic version: gravitational support – the triad – becomes confused through the substitution of a sixth in place of the of the fifth.

Ex. 2

Ex. 2

This barely perceptible gesture (differing from the direct line of ascent in Bach) overcomes the power of the triad for a brief moment. Ascent as such does not take place, but a strong desire is expressed to leave ‘this vale of sorrow’. The interplay of non-harmonic notes is very interesting here: in the left hand, in the chord on the third beat [of the second bar] (in G minor) the tonic triad is replaced by a first inversion chord of the sixth degree by means of the substitution of the note E flat for D. Schenkerian theory[5] wholly ignores this gesture, inasmuch as it regards such a change, on the last beat of the bar, to be insignificant. It is even possible to reduce the E flat to an auxiliary note at the foreground level. The composer is sending us signals, as it were: the melody gallops past the note D, which here is no longer the fifth of the tonic triad, but an appoggiatura to the structural note E flat!

Regarding the other means of upward motion, the well-known movement in Chopin’s music from I – III in the bass, here too proponents of Schenker’s theory have blundered (this applies in part to Janet Schmalfeldt’s paper ‘One and the same, but in a different way: Chopin and the succession of ascending thirds’, given at the European Music Analysis Conference [EuroMac] VI, Freiburg, 2007): they regard this progression as part of an arpeggiation of the tonic triad in the bass. But how far this is from the truth! For the triad of the mediant, arriving directly after the tonic, does not express continuation, the prolongation of a static tonic, but an attempt to leave the tonic triad, to ‘fly up’ above it.

Ascending gestures produced by specific harmonic means also found their continuation in the music of Alexander Scriabin. In the Fantasy, op. 28, in the first subjects of the first movements of the sonatas nos. 2, 3 and 4, in a large number of preludes, etudes and poèmes, the ascending gesture is directed into the realm of the transcendental. The technique employed by Scriabin is different from Chopin’s: in it, ascending flows of harmonic energy are called forth by leading-notes which are breaking away from control, by a new interpretation of vvodnotonovost’[6] as a part of voice-leading.

Ex. 3

Ex. 3

The beginning of Scriabin’s Sonata no. 4 represents one of the most enigmatic and profoundly significant harmonic successions in European music. Novel and complex as it is, it occupies just eight bars, and refers to a prototype, to the form of an antecedent in ‘sentence’ form.[7] The succession starts with a major seventh chord, with its root, fifth and seventh in the left hand. And from the very moment this chord first appears there arises a sensation of a distortion of space of some kind, and of a striving of its lines to the right and upwards (which, above all, is evoked by the upward attraction of the major seventh). The first note of the melody, as always in Scriabin, is both separated from the harmony in the left hand and, simultaneously, indivisible from the harmony which pertains to it. It originates in the silence which surrounds it. It is isolated metrically (it appears on the first quaver of the second beat in the 6/8 metre), but it is represents the third of the major seventh chord and, as such, is understood as a long-awaited completion of the chord’s structure. It should be mentioned that this seventh chord is a subdominant. As it is the first in the melodic succession, it appears as completely isolated and absolutely undefined tonally. The neutral function of a subdominant in the absence of the tonic sonority completely disorients the listener. We find ourselves, as it were, in a cosmic expanse, although only one chord has been sounded.  If this chord were a dominant seventh, then its third would produce an unconditional attraction to the degree above it (as a leading-note to the tonic). But precisely because this chord is a major seventh, its third, in the melody, turns out to be in the field of activity of several gravitational centres.  Scriabin proposes the most interesting movement – a repetition and a leap of a fourth upwards, so that a quartal ascending harmony is obtained: B – E sharp – A – D sharp, and, further, G sharp. This rhythmically organised structure moves away upwards infinitely.

At the same time, the chord in the left hand undergoes irreversible and unpredictable changes. This technique is borrowed above all from Chopin, from his chromatic linear descending successions, but here it acquires new significances. The initial major seventh chord, instead of a ‘textbook’ resolution into the octave above, is suddenly ‘deflated’: its two upper notes ‘come down’. The obvious leading note and major seventh, A sharp, suddenly moves to A natural. According to the terminology of Yuri Kholopov, dezal’teratsiya takes place.[8] In its turn, the fifth of this seventh chord (F sharp) moves to a tritone (E sharp), which may be called a sign of a functional inversion. For a moment, a very familiar chord emerges: B – E sharp – A – D sharp – the ‘Tristan chord’. However, it passes over in a moment, without the resolution which is due to it (Chopin, it may be remarked, does the same thing in the mazurkas, that is to say he gives us a harmony which passes through just as speedily.) This chord adds a nostalgic meaning to the already complicated multiple significance of the vvodnotonovost’.

On the other hand, the ‘Tristan chord’ on B must resolve, according to rule, into a dominant seventh chord on A sharp. The most surprising thing is that this harmony does partly appear after the ‘Tristan chord’, but it has a different third: instead of the C double sharp which is presupposed, first D sharp is heard and then C sharp. And this is also a means of leaving the gravitational field of tonality.  As a whole, as is well known, post-Romantic harmony uses three principal methods of development: the substitution of more complex chords for simpler ones, the propagation of more complex harmonies from simple ones, and the presentation of the function of a simple chord as more complex. But there are also many variations on these three methods. Thus, the unexpected partial alteration of an expected chord (a minor seventh chord instead of a dominant seventh) holds back something of what is expected, but also adds something completely new. A technique of this sort is related to the succession and interaction of images in a dream, when we see places and people that are familiar, but strangely altered.

Further: above the notes of this minor seventh chord (bar 3), above the A sharp in the bass, the melody suddenly decides to ‘fly up’ to the seventh. The upflight takes place as a result of a circular, spiralling movement (G sharp – D sharp – E sharp – C sharp). It is strange that the harmony has not supported this upflight with an increase of tension. The melody has managed to generate energy by itself by means of the most simple revolving motion. The leap has proved to be incorporeal. In it is no terrestrial energy; there is only the graphical trace of a meteor silently flashing through the heavens. And here Scriabin does not make use of standardised methods, breaking away by a long distance from his predecessors Wagner and Liszt.

Beneath the C sharp which the melody reaches in its leap (second beat of bar 3), an altogether strange harmony also emerges: A natural – C sharp – E sharp – G sharp – a major seventh chord with augmented fifth, which, moreover, is constructed on the lowered third degree in the key of F sharp minor! With a third doubled at the octave (C sharp), this chord brings to mind contrapuntal lines solidified and fettered in the ice. By its geometry it also brings mind the pose of a hero who has prepared himself to fly up to the stars, but is suddenly paralysed under the influence of an enigmatic cosmic cataclysm. This chord characterises Scriabin’s poetics: he does not fly into the cosmos, but he wants to fly away.

The subsequent transformation in this unique harmonic succession is as follows: the lowering of the seventh of the chord of the major seventh with augmented fifth – from G sharp to G natural. An association involuntarily arises with a secondary dominant seventh chord (to the lowered sixth degree) with a raised fifth. But this complex chord behaves in a way that exceeds all our expectations: it suddenly resolves into a tonic chord in first inversion! In truth, the simplest chord in such surroundings acquires an unprecedented radiance.  This first inversion chord, with A sharp in the bass, begins to sound like a dominant to the subdominant.[9] Scriabin knows the tendencies of standard voice-leading excellently and is playing with our expectations. It may be mentioned that the bass voice has taken a remarkable path: from A sharp to A natural and back to A sharp, while the return to A sharp has coincided with a movement in the melody from E sharp to F sharp.  The sliding chromatic sixths evoke an almost tactile sensation of movement.

But a minimal amount of time is also allotted to the first inversion chord of the tonic – only the last upbeat of the bar; and on the downbeat another ‘stretched’ chord is sounded: D natural –  F sharp – C sharp – A sharp.  Scriabin’s chords are remarkably adept at conveying a movement which has been momentarily captured, as in a photograph of the highest artistic quality. Here it is a very complicated task to define the function of the chord, but the movement of the voices in it is very clear. Whither the voices move after becoming ‘unfrozen’ is comprehensible. It is essential to mention that this last ‘stretched’ chord represents the culmination of a development over five bars, after which two simpler chords are sounded in bars 6 and 7. These two – Scriabin’s favourite enhanced dominant and dominant ­­– are a kind of cadence, a dénouement to the events. Scriabin follows the ancient law of harmonic succession and gives us simpler chords for the cadence. But the most interesting thing is that after this cadence an ‘epilogue’ is sounded which returns us to the cosmiс expanse of Scriabin’s ‘suspended’ and ‘flying’ harmony. There are 8 bars in all, but a contraction takes place at the beginning, so that the cadence is reached in bars 6 and 7 and a non-tonal epilogue has its place in bar 8.

As a whole, the harmony in the present succession does not break with the tradition of centuries. In contrast to, let us say, the American music of such composers as Leon Kirchner or Ned Rater, the harmony of Scriabin is striking in its meaningful syntax and correct voice-leading. In essence, the principles of vvodotonovost’ are retained, while purposeful chords are constructed, and functional arches and large-scale connections guarantee linear continuity and meaningfulness. The present    succession differs from academic harmony in the interspersion of leading-notes and the new interpretation of the degrees to which they lead. Leading-notes break away from the control of standard voice-leading and take Skryabin’s music off into an open cosmos, beyond the limits of reality, into the realm of the transcendent.

How did Chopin and Scriabin understand the transcendent: in what respect is their understanding more similar, and what respect does Scriabin’s understanding differ from Chopin’s? Situated in the overall context of the philosophy of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, their concepts of the transcendent were based on the ideas of Kant, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. But each had his own complementary tendencies. For example, in Chopin the transcendent is also connected with the heroic fate of Poland, whereas in Scriabin a whole bouquet of ideas is presented, including the mystical role of art, the role of technology (of new forms of tonality and harmony) and the idea of the highest refinement. All these ideas had an effect on the birth of musical images which strive into the boundless, into the cosmos, and without the attraction of the ideas which have been mentioned a discussion of the new tonality seems to be without meaning or purpose.

Returning to the problems of harmony and tonality, it is essential to mention that in the music of Scriabin, Chopin and also of Rachmaninov differing resolutions of the geometry of tonal space are presented. In the works of these composers, in particular, certain tendencies emerge in chordal connections, and directional aspects of harmony are manifested. Chopin was the first to displace the fifth of the tonic, which together with the first degree of the scale forms the basis of tonal stability, and to open, speaking figuratively, the path upward. Rachmaninov displaced the fifth in his own way: he substituted the fourth for it and created a special type of ‘falling’ harmony, in which the principle event is the fall of the subdominant to the tonic. Scriabin, though, created a symphony of free vvodnotonovost’, as a result of which the cosmos became much nearer and more comprehensible, and the transcendental principle in music was manifested in all  fullness.

Translation: Simon Nicholls

[1] Original publication: ‘Voskhodyashchee napravlenie v garmonii Shopena i Skryabina i ego semantika’, Uchenye zapiski, issue 7, book 1, Memorial’nyi muzei A. N. Skryabina, Moscow, 2012, p. 57–63.

[2] Yuri Kholopov (1932–2003), prominent Russian musicologist and educator. Taught at Moscow Conservatoire from 1963. His numerous and influential publications cover practically all aspects of musical theory; his textbook Harmony: theoretical course (in Russian) can be consulted at http://www.kholopov.ru/harmony/kholopov-harm-theor.pdf. Kholopov’s article Scriabin and the Harmony of the 20th century, first published in the Scriabin Museum’s Uchenye zapiski, issue I, 1993, p. 25–38, was translated with a commentary by Philip Ewell and published in the Journal of the Scriabin Society of America, vol. 11 no. 1, Winter 2006–2007, p. 12–25.

[3] V. V. Rubtsova, Aleksandr Nikolaevich Skryabin, Muzyka, Moscow, 1985, p.263.

[4] Anabasis (classical Greek): literally, ‘moving away from the foundation’, movement upwards – the name of one of the rhetorical figures employed in music of the Baroque. It also signifies ‘Ascension’ in Scripture.

[5]  The theory of Heinrich Schenker is based on graphical analysis of voice-leading and its reduction to three level. [The first level is the foreground, the composition itself or a close approximation to it, the second the middleground, where the music is reduced to a more basic, simple form, and  the third the background, where the fundamental structure is intended to be revealed. See Oswald Jonas, Introduction to the Theory of Heinrich Schenker (Macmillan, 1987); Heinrich Schenker, Free Composition, ed. and trans. Ernst Oster (Longman, 1979). trans.]

[6] See introduction [trans].

[7] In the terminology of musical analysis a ‘sentence’ (Satz) consists of two elements, the ‘antecendent’ (Vordersatz) and the ‘consequent’ (Nachsatz). [trans.]

[8] Kholopov’s concept of dezal’teratsiya refers to the movement of a chromaticised note to its diatonic equivalent. The term is not anglicised here in order to avoid confusion with the quite different German concept of Disalteration (a note resolving simultaneously upwards and downwards). [trans.]

[9] For a simpler example of this phenomenon see the end of the Prelude for left hand, op. 9 no. 1 [trans.]

The Development of Dissonance in Scriabin’s Piano Preludes – by Anthony Hewitt

It is astonishing that these most beautifully intricate and sonorous of works are to this day known to few, even by performers. Scriabin’s Preludes have an incredible depth and variety of material, and it was a joy to play these miniatures, each with its own very distinctive character and mood.

Inspired by the 100th anniversary of Scriabin’s death in 2015, and with the encouragement and support of Mary and David Bowerman at Champs Hill Records, I was privileged to record all 90 in two volumes.

There are of course many facets and joys in such a project, but one of the aspects I found most fascinating was to trace the development in Scriabin’s style, from lavish romanticism in the early Preludes, to the bleak vulnerability and stark atonality in the later ones. He stretched the boundaries of tonality, and has sadly been given little credit for it.

If there is one element which I found encompasses the whole span of Preludes, irrespective of style, it’s the sense of tonality as a means of conveying colour and mood, and latterly atonality and dissonance playing a key part in communicating a very specific emotion, often one of rage or violence, unresolved tension, and an accompanying mystical element. We know that Scriabin attributed a particular colour to a particular key, and used a musical light lamp to help illustrate the colour of tonal areas (still housed in the Scriabin museum in Moscow). He even devised a legend showing the colour of each key in the cycle of fifths, which is the the tonal structure of the early Op. 11 set. Fast forward to the very end of his life, before he died unexpectedly in 1915 of septicaemia, and he was planning a vast project ‘Mysterium’, to be set in the Himalayas over seven days and marrying every conceivable art form, with billowing scents, and using the sunrises and sunsets as ‘stage lighting’.

It’s in the set of 24 Preludes Op.11 where we sense the strongest influence of Chopin: the shape of many of the Preludes feels so similar, and it’s hard not to see some of them as a kind of homage. For example, the opening one, Op. 11/1: the pulsating, sweeping, figurations with falling 2nd’s in the treble, is the inverse of Chopin first Prelude, where it’s a rising 2nd. They are structured in the same key as Chopin’s, utilising the aforementioned cycle of fifths (starting at C major alternating between major and relative minor).

This tonal structure gives more credibility to playing and recording them as a set, but let’s not forget the original use of the Prelude in mediaeval times as an improvisation to test the acoustic of a venue, or tuning of an instrument. The Prelude evolved in the Baroque era as an opener to a Baroque Suite or before a fugue, into the soundscapes of Liszt and Wagner, and tonal paintings of Debussy. I felt Scriabin’s late Preludes return to its original meaning, with meandering states of transcendental suspension, albeit without losing the overall arch structure which forges a clear path to a climax, often suddenly and impulsively.  The infusion of energy and passion can happen quite out of the blue, but there is clearly nothing ‘off-the-cuff’ and improvisatory about these.

Scholars have ‘cordoned off’ Scriabin’s style into 2 periods, roughly speaking: pre and post Op. 30, and indeed I could make out a clear line in the sand at Op. 31, where the serenity is stopped suddenly in its tracks by a harsh augmented 5th. Chromaticism had hitherto functioned as a means to achieving a line within a polyphonic context – not dissimilar to its function in Chopin. One can make comparisons to Bach too: the Preludes up to and including Op. 17 had been primed as a group of 48 musical mementos to his concert travels  – at the behest of his publisher Belaev. He stopped short at 47, and the style of these may have much to do with the need for performing on his tours: many are virtuoso piano pieces and could have been more ‘audience-friendly’, but the youthful exuberance and vigour are slowly but surely replaced towards the Opp 40’s with a thinning out of textures and clear development of dissonance which depicts strong emotions, and associations with more austere and barren musical landscapes.

He wrote prolifically during the year of his marriage – perhaps aided by domestic bliss, and ‘let go of the tonal leash’. By the time we arrive at Opus 48, atonality is becoming the dominant musical language. Interestingly at this juncture, Scriabin stops using metronome markings and tempo indications, replacing them with idiosyncratic directions: “Con Stravaganza”, “Festivamente”, “Poetico con delizio” (poetic and with delight), “Bellicoso” (war-like), “Déchirant” (tearingly) perhaps speaks of the time, the world being torn apart by the Great War.

He is very specific in the states of mind needed to capture the spirit, and this we find  in a more extended sense earlier in his career with the ‘soul states’ attached to the 3rd-5th Sonatas. This is testament to the importance he placed on philosophy, and of music being a means of elevating the spirit and achieving a transcendental state. As Scriabin himself said: “why write JUST music – how boring?!.”

Learning and memorising all 90 posed specific challenges, for the sheer volume of material. In a Sonata or Variation form, an inherent part of unifying the structure is the repetition of material. Needless to say, no repetition exists between Scriabin’s Preludes, the longest of which is four pages long. Despite this brevity, it’s remarkable to think that Scriabin wrote so many Preludes, all of which are completely different; testament to his limitless imagination.

Many are fiendishly difficult and virtuosic with awkward leaps (Op 11,14) that are not altogether written in a pianistic manner, and because of the injury to his RH he incurred in a challenge with his peer Joseph Lhevinne, the LH is where we often find the most virtuosic or technically awkward passages (Op 11,11). However, the virtuosity is rarely for its own sake and the density of texture and richness of sonority is clearly woven into the contrapuntal thread . The challenge was to achieve this mass of sound without losing textural transparency.

The later Preludes are technically less difficult than the earlier ones, and it was possible to play each one through in its entirety, sometimes using a complete take for the final edit. This definitely helped in honing in on the character of the work during the recording process. The medium of recording inevitably leads to repeating sections, and in doing so one delves deeper into the mood and feeling: advantageous for capturing the essence of each, but there is often such a seismic mood shift between Preludes that to cross that divide took quite an adjustment. I found the loneliness of the recording studio went with the sense of isolation and mystery of some of the later works.

As is often the case in performing, the challenge is to keep a sense of perspective and not get too caught up in the here and now. Maintaining a sense of line and flow was certainly aided by playing them through numerous times.

I’ll certainly perform these works for many years to come, either in sets, or individually, as a Prelude to another work.

© Anthony Hewitt

Anthony Hewitt’s critically acclaimed recording of the complete Scriabin preludes is available here.

Alexander Borovsky- The Forgotten Scriabinist and his own Reminiscences of Scriabin – by Darren Leaper with material and input provided to the Scriabin Association by William Jones

The recorded history of Scriabin’s piano works has been blessed with a small number of performances with great provenance: those who knew the composer himself and whom he approved. Amongst these precious recordings there are such gems as the performance of Scriabin’s Sonata no. 4 by Samuil Feinberg, whose interpretation the composer particularly admired[1]. Scriabin’s colleague Alexander Goldenweiser performed and recorded several of the composer’s pieces, including a superlative performance of the piano solo part in Prometheus, conducted by Nikolai Golovanov.[2] Elena Beckmann-Scherbina, who premiered many of Scriabin’s works, recorded three pieces by the composer towards the end of her life; Preludes op. 15 No. 1 & 2 and the Valse op. 38.[3]

Whilst it is fortunate for Scriabinists that these recordings exist, it is equally unfortunate that other great pianists with similar provenance were never recorded, and thus now largely forgotten. Names that fall into such a category could include Mark Meichik, who premiered the composer’s fifth sonata, and Vsevolod Buyukli, who was Scriabin’s own favourite pianist. In the instance of Mark Meichik he did make several piano roll recordings, but these were either not issued, or likely those that were no longer survive. [4]

Amongst the ‘greatest Scriabinists never heard’, the Russian-American pianist Alexander Borovsky is most intriguing. Borovsky was born in Mitau, Latvia, on March 8, 1889 (March 18th Old Style), and died on April 27, 1968 in Waban, Massachusetts, USA. After studies with his mother, who herself had been a student of Safonoff, Borovsky went on to study both law and music. He graduated as a ‘free artist’ and won the Anton Rubinstein prize at St. Petersburg Conservatory in 1912, his principal teacher being Annette Essipoff (1851-1914). He also gained a first-class law degree in 1914 from the University of St Petersburg. On 5th October 1915, Borovsky would perform St Petersburg’s second memorial recital in honour of Scriabin, who had died six months earlier. This recital consisted entirely of Scriabin’s works, covering pieces spanning Scriabin’s entire compositional career, from the complete Op. 8 Etudes to the Ninth Sonata, op. 68.[5] The success of this recital would cause him to be hailed as one of the finest interpreters of Scriabin’s music of the day.

Borovsky continued to have a celebrated career as pedagogue and performer, in Europe, South America and Mexico before eventually settling in Boston, USA in 1941 – his brilliance can be heard in several recordings he made of repertoire ranging from Bach to Liszt and Rachmaninov.  However, a notable absence is any audio recording of Scriabin’s works; there exist just two, commercially unavailable, piano rolls of three short Scriabin pieces: Prelude op.9 No.1 for left hand & Prelude op.15 No.2 (Duo-Art roll 6721) and the Impromptu op. 10 no. 2 (Duo-Art roll no. 6704)[6].

This lack of recordings has naturally led to the links between Borovsky and Scriabin’s music being overlooked. Fortunately, through material in the possession of the American pianist William Jones of Delmar, New York State USA, who was a student of Borovsky, fascinating connections between Borovsky and Scriabin’s music can now be rediscovered. William Jones’ unique resources include the vast unpublished memoirs of Borovsky, which contain first-hand accounts of Borovsky hearing Scriabin himself perform. [7]

Alexander Borovsky, 1944 (Photo courtesy of http://alexanderkborovsky.blogspot.com)

Alexander Borovsky, 1944 (Photo courtesy of http://alexanderkborovsky.blogspot.com)

Borovsky on Scriabin

Borovsky’s own interpretations of Scriabin impressed his contemporaries greatly, as will be discussed later. In view of this, it is a great loss that these performances were not recorded. In Borovsky’s memoirs, however, we are able to inherit something equally precious in descriptions of Scriabin’s own playing, which Borovsky heard at first-hand several times. He describes the difference in approach at the keyboard between Scriabin and Prokofiev; Prokofiev was a young admirer of Scriabin at the time. (NB- Small errors in Borovsky’s English have been allowed to stand)

‘Both Prokofiev and Scriabin were excellent pianists. Prokofiev was not interested in details, his playing was rather full of dash and sweeping audacity, but several details were not given proper attention or were even missed when he played his music and he did not care about the sounds which were mostly harsh and not cultivated. The same could be said of Scriabin who could also sacrifice the exactness and clarity of details for the spirit of his music, but here nothing of robustness or hard tone was admitted. Everything seemed to beeffleuré’ or delicately touched, very hard to be heard, so intimate and so fantastic and poetic. It was a different world from Prokofiev’s.’[8]

Borovsky gives a description of Scriabin’s own playing, with an anecdote recalling the audience’s confusion regarding Scriabin’s encores, in which he played some of his later compositions – many of the audience were not yet accustomed to the harmonic sonorities of these works.

‘I remember one symphonic concert on which Scriabin was soloist playing his own Piano Concerto (1897). As was customary in Russia he was asked to play an encore. He came to his piano and started to play one of his latest Poems. There on the stage three or four musicians of the orchestra were sitting close to composer, they probably did not have time to leave the stage because he came to play his encore almost immediately after playing with the orchestra. The ethereal qualities of his music did not allow him to exert any pressure on the keys of the piano, and it was hardly audible in the big hall what did he do at the piano.

When Scriabin finished to play the public was silent, and it was a moment of embarrassment which I felt as an offense to composer. At this moment the few musicians on the stage started to applaud and I saw Scriabin getting from his chair and making a bow to them. After this he sat and started to play another Poem, of this strange subtle weightlessness sonority. Again the audience did not react when he finished, but some youngsters in the hall clasped their hands to support the musicians on the stage, it was getting too comical, and happily the composer left the stage watched by the mass of indifferent or hostile people.  I did not know then that the music of this composer will serve me as the greatest momentum for my success as a concert pianist in Russia.’[9]

The accounts given by Borovsky confirm other descriptions by Scriabin’s contemporaries, such as the London Times’ review of the composer’s playing with ‘its velvet touch, its exquisite precision of phrasing’[10] and others describing playing of  ‘extraordinary inspiration and élan.[11] Borovsky’s observation that Scriabin did not exert any pressure on the keys has similarities with Alexander Pasternak’s observation that Scriabin appeared to be “drawing the sound out of the instrument”, giving the impression that “his fingers were producing the sound without touching the keys, that he was (as it were) snatching them away from the keyboard and letting them flutter lightly over it.”[12]

On another occasion Borovsky writes:

Scriabin was also unparalleled in his piano playing. For all his last works, when he already pursued an independent path in art and achieved legendary status for his 9th and 10th Piano Sonatas; he was and stays unparalleled in his virtuosity; we will be deprived for centuries of the greatness of his piano performances. [13]

In his memoirs Borovsky speaks of his passion not only for Scriabin the pianist but also the composer:

“Scriabin was changing the patterns of his creation very rapidly. If he dwelled longer on his so called first period which is a sort of opigoneish [sic: epigonic] music to that of Chopin and later reminding of the music of Liszt, from the moment when he discarded these two sources of influence on him he opened the road to his independent ways of creation. And then with almost every new year, with every new piano sonata he was discovering new worlds each time. This ability to go from one unknown field to another with accompanying changes in the structure and in the sonorities was followed eagerly by the Russian musical youth for whom Scriabin soon was an idol, and ideal of modern composer, a genius of tremendous possibilities.”[14]

Finally, Borovsky recounts the moment the catastrophic news arrived to him of the premature death of the composer:

One morning in April my friend BASIL SACHAROFF, called me by phone, in a voice trembling with emotion. He informed me that Alexander Scriabin had died, at 43, of a cancerous carbuncle on the cheek. I could not believe such terrible news at first. Scriabin was something of a symbol for my generation of musicians in Russia; he had been making such remarkable progress, attaining new horizons with each work, filling us all with the expectation of great things as the result of his inspiration, and it seemed to us unbelievable and cruel that his mind should be extinguished at the very height of his creative powers. Nobody could grasp the immediate meaning of his tragic end, although I later thought I understood the reasons for it.”[15]

Borovsky’s Scriabin Memorial Concert 1915

The premature death of Scriabin served as an unintentional catalyst for Borovsky, still only in his twenties, to become one of the most important Scriabin interpreters in Russia at the time. (Borovsky’s initial piano training as a child already had connections to Scriabin, learning from his mother, who was herself a brilliant pianist and whose own teacher had been Vassily Safonov; the same as Scriabin). A number of commemorative recitals had been arranged to mark Scriabin’s death, of which Borovsky was chosen to perform one such recital in Saint-Petersburg.

“In the fall of the year of Scriabin’s death, 1915, the cities of St. Petersburg and Moscow organized commemorative festivals of his music, each city selecting three pianists to perform in its festival. Moscow was represented by Sergei Rachmaninoff, Mark Meichik, and Alexander Goldenweiser, while St. Petersburg, chose a man named Romanovsky, a Madame Barinova (if I recall the name correctly), and me, since ST. Petersburg was really my home city, even though I was then teaching in Moscow.”[16]

The preparation of this concert was one which must have been fraught with anxiety, given the hostile reaction to other Scriabin concerts at this time. Such was the devotion of Scriabinists to the composer’s own unique approach to the piano that even titans such as Rachmaninov could not escape criticism. Borovsky was disappointed in the reaction to Rachmaninov’s recitals particularly given the genorisity Rachmaninov had towards the Scriabin family, who were in financial difficulty at the time:

“At Scriabin’s open grave, Rachmaninoff vowed, and carried out the vow, to devote most of his forthcoming season to the music of Scriabin. He also gave all the proceeds from his numerous Scriabin recitals to the bereaved family, who were in financial distress at the time.”[17]

Borovsky himself was in attendance at Rachmaninov’s Scriabin memorial recital, criticising those who rebuked his performances:

Before leaving Moscow for my Scriabin program in St. Petersburg, I went to hear Rachmaninoff to play his music. Rachmaninoff could not put in his program any one of the latest works by Scriabin, as it was a world quite apart from his own, and he probably disliked all these strange compositions of the latest Scriabin. Therefore his program was filled only with the works belonging to the first period of Scriabin’s creation like Preludes, first Poems, some Studies and the cardinal number in the program was a Fantasy, Op 28, a long protracted composition without any plan or form, very repetitious and very noisy one. The composition alone of this program was disappointing to the addicts of Scriabin, and his touch which is so full of singing qualities was considered unsuitable to the subtleties of Scriabin’s world, and in the result the press was condemning Rachmaninoff for the shooting of guns salves upon the orchids. It was a sorry recompense to the artist for his noble gesture to prepare the whole recital program of his colleague who after all left the regions of music where both could be neighbors, and went into the fields of extreme modernism so foreign to Rachmaninoff. Especially wrong was this rebuttal to the artist after he had played with the orchestra the Concerto by Scriabin so wonderfully, so beautifully that for the first time he opened to the eyes and ears of the public what an incomparable pianist he was.[18] 

Rachmaninov

Rachmaninoff

Amongst those also in attendance at one of Rachmaninov’s Scriabin concerts was Prokofiev, who had himself told Borovsky that the tenor Alchevsky had to be restrained by the coat-tails from accosting Rachmaninov. He was heard shouting “Wait!” I’ll go and have it out with him.” Prokofiev also added his voice to the dissenters, “He [Rachmaninov] played the Sonata no. 5. When Scriabin had played this sonata everything seemed to be flying upward, with Rachmaninov all the notes stood firmly planted on the earth. There was some confusion amongst the Scriabinists in the hall.[19] It is noteworthy that despite Prokofiev’s own evident admiration of Scriabin’s playing, Borovsky’s observations of Prokofiev as pianist suggest that Prokofiev did not attempt to emulate Scriabin’s approach to interpretation.

Prokofiev circa 1918

Prokofiev circa 1918

Borovsky’s anxiety over his own impending performance was heightened further by another scathing review of a Scriabin memorial recital in St Petersburg:

“Just before getting on the train at the Moscow railroad station, I bought a St. Petersburg newspaper and found in it a review of the Scriabin recital by the first of the three St. Petersburg pianists, Mr. Romanovsky. It was just as devastating as Rachmaninoff’s reception in Moscow, and I began to tremble at the thought of my upcoming trial, since it was beginning to appear that the memory of Scriabin’s inimitable piano technique precluded the possibility of anyone else’s success with his music.”[20]

 Amongst the dissenters in Romanovsky’s concert was, again, none other than Prokofiev, who, a year later, wrote in his diary for 1916: “I am very glad I had hissed Romanovsky when he played it [Scriabin Sonata no. 4] in September: he had bashed his way through it then without the slightest understanding.”[21] Borovsky described a “personal alienation by the jealousy of the composer’s nearest friends and of his mistress, who never learned to tolerate hearing anyone praised for playing Scriabin, save Scriabin himself.”[22] Given such hostile conditions it is a testament to the brilliance of Borovsky as interpreter of Scriabin that his concert in St.Petersburg was an unquestioned success. Amongst the fervent applauders was Alchevsky, who had been so contemptuous at Rachmaninov’s recital.

“When I finally began my recital, I nearly lost control of myself, from the expectation of some awful disaster. I played the twelve studies of Op 8 with great tension and verve, and in the last study, a very pathetic and energetic piece of music, I played with real abandon, and was rewarded with the greatest ovation of my life!  My artist room was filled at intermission with the most enthusiastic crowd (headed by the tenor Alchevsky) who were so happy to find someone who had played the music of their idol to suit their tastes.”[23]

Grigory Alchevsky- tenor

Grigory Alchevsky- the tenor hugely approved of Borovsky as Scriabin interpreter.

In the second half of the same concert Borovsky had the audacity to perform the late works which Rachmaninoff had avoided. The overall success of the concert paved the way for Borovsky to become hailed as the “heir-interpreter of Scriabin’s works.”

“After the intermission I played some of Scriabin’s late works, for which I gained the approval of the critics, although the public did not react too favorably to this strange music. But the concert, all in all, was a real success, and I was proclaimed as the heir-interpreter of Scriabin’s works. I was then engaged to give another Scriabin recital on the anniversary of his death, and I did this for several years, until the Revolution disrupted the normal course of events.”[24]

Borovsky’s fame as an interpreter of Scriabin was soon not confined to Russia, as an article in the Musical Times of London, 1916, confirms. Referring to a new Scriabin Society in Moscow set up a year after the composer’s death, the young pianist is mentioned: “Moscow AS [Alexander Scriabin] Society recently founded. Addresses on various aspects of AS art have been given by MM Brando, Makovsky and Bryanchaninov, and the performance of the later works and also of some posthumous pieces has been in the hands of Borovsky, who is considered the finest exponent of Scriabin’s pianoforte music.”[25]

A year later, 1917, saw the founding of another Scriabin Society in New York by Alfred La Liberté. Scriabin’s widow, Tatyana Schloezer, wrote to La Liberté recommending Borovsky as a name to endorse the new venture: ‘I also propose the name of Alexander Borovsky, a young professor at the Conservatory of Moscow, who plays almost all the works of Scriabine, and has already acquired a great reputation as a pianist in Russia. Mr Borowsky is a member of the Scriabine Society’[26]

The Scriabin recitals given by Borovsky continued to make an impression, not least on the young Prokofiev. The reason Prokofiev recalled in his diary of 1916 being glad he had hissed Romanovsky’s fourth sonata a year earlier was his hearing of Borovsky’s own exceptional interpretation at his latest Scriabin recital. Prokofiev wrote “Borovsky played truly wonderfully today, especially Scriabin’s fourth sonata. I am very glad I had hissed Romanovsky when his played it…”[27] Prokofiev’s descriptions of Borovsky’s playing demonstrated the pianist’s ability to give clarity to the complexities of the late works. Again in 1916 he wrote, “Scriabin died a year ago today. Borovsky played a recital of his works with his customary excellence, the Sixth Sonata being particularly fine. I have not hitherto known this sonata very well, but this time it gave me tremendous pleasure.”[28]

Whereas Borovsky had initially been one of the first to perform the later works of Scriabin, unlike Rachmaninov, over time he himself began to favour the later works less, doubting the staying power of the music and the works’ structural integrity:

“Due to the great popularity of these recitals, which were sold out two or three days after the tickets went on sale, I naturally developed a large Scriabin repertoire, including seven of his ten sonatas. But I found that I, too, could not long endure the amorphous quality of his last works, the ascetic lack of accompanying voices, the countless repetition of certain formulas, and the complete lack of formal organization. When Scriabin himself played his music, the unexpected mannerisms and effusive exaggerations were suggestive of some spiritual inspiration, which impressed his listeners. But as I worked over this music for a long period of time, all its defects came out in the open, and I realized that I was more satisfied by the music which better stands the test of times and is not so distinctly “fin-de-siecle.”[29]

Perhaps this loss of conviction regarding the works had, for a time, some detrimental effect on his own performances. Whereas Prokofiev had praised Borovsky’s playing before, a later recital left a markedly different impression, both of Borovsky’s playing and perhaps Prokofiev’s own diminishing regard for Scriabin’s music. “On the 14th I attended a recital of works by Scriabin marking the second anniversary of his death. And it was a strange experience… Scriabin’s preludes seemed to me so neutral, so tame and irrelevant…[30] In particular reference to the seventh and ninth sonatas Prokofiev added, “I did not care much for Borovsky’s interpretation either: it was cold and superficial.”[31]

Despite Prokofiev’s reservations, Borovsky continued to be one of the most celebrated Scriabinists, as is evident by his being asked to perform the solo part of Prometheus under the baton of Sergei Koussevitsky, who was himself a great champion of Scriabin’s music and with whom Scriabin had performed his own piano concerto some years earlier. This concert took place in Paris 1921, and later with the London Symphony Orchestra in 1923, still under the baton of Koussevitsky.

Programme announcing Borovsk's performance of Prometheus, conducted by Koussevitsky.

Programme announcing Borovsky’s performance of the solo part of Prometheus, conducted by Koussevitsky.

It is hoped this article will further the knowledge of the important links between Borovsky and Scriabin, encouraging recognition of the historical importance Borovsky’s piano roll performances of Scriabin, which we also hope may lead to their being eventually made available to the public in digital recordings.

Acknowledgements: I am sincerely grateful to William Jones for contacting the Scriabin Association to share his unique documents that have made detailing the links between Borovsky and Scriabin possible. I am also grateful to Simon Nicholls whose own advice, proof-reading and thorough knowledge of Scriabin has been invaluable.

Darren Leaper 2016.

[1] Feinberg also left a substantial recorded legacy of Scriabin’s works, including most of the Mazurkas and the concerto.

[2] Available on: ‘The Art of Nikolai Golovanov, Vol. 1: Scriabin: Piano Concerto / Poem of Ecstasy / Prometheus, the Poem of Fire’ ASIN: B00008EP3H or  The Art of Nikolai Golovanov: Scriabin – The Poem of Ecstasy & The Poem of Fire “Prometheus” Music Online

[3] Available on Russian Piano School vol. 11-  Melodia 74321332092. Her performance of the Valse op. 38 is also available to listen at http://classical-music-online.net/en/production/285

[4] A piano-roll recording of Meichik playing the Scriabin 5th sonata was made, but it is likely no surviving rolls exist, or it was never issued. He also recorded:

  • Etude op 8 no. 8 for Welte-Mignon
  • Etude op. 8 no.12 for Duca
  • Poemes op. 32 no.1 & 2 for Duca,
  • Poeme Tragique for Welte-Mignon
  • Prelude op 37 no.1 for Welte-Mignon and Duca
  • Prelude op. 48 no 2 for Welte-Mignon

(Information from: Daniel Bosshard, Thematisch-chronologisches Katalog der musikalischen Werke von Alexander Skrjabin, Trais Giats, Ardez, 2002.)

If anyone knows the whereabouts of any of the above please contact the Scriabin Association.

[5] See:  Charles Barber, Lost in the Stars: The Forgotten Musical Life of Alexader Siloti Scarecrow Press, 2002 pg. 332

[6] It is hoped these may soon be available to hear. The Scriabin Association will inform members should this be the case.

[7] William Jones’ own dedicated site to Alexander Borovsky can be seen at http://alexanderkborovsky.blogspot.co.uk .

[8] Op. cit

[9] Op. cit.

[10] M.Scriabin At Queen’s Hall. First appearance in England The Times, March 16th 1914

[11] Reminiscence of Ossovsky quoted in Rudakova & Kandinsky – pg. 114, op.cit.

[12] A Pasternak – Scriabin summer 1903 and after, The Musical Times vol 113 pp. 1173-1174

[13] This extract was provided by William Jones from a lecture recital given by Borovsky in 1933 at the Russian Conservatory in Paris.

[14] Borovsky’s unpublished memoirs, information provided by William Jones.

[15] Op. cit

[16] Op. cit.

[17] Op. cit

[18] Op. cit

[19] Prokofiev, Autobiography, Articles, Reminiscences, Moscow, pg. 41

[20] Borovsky – Op. cit.

[21] Sergei Prokofiev, Diaries 1915-1921 Behind the Mask- translated by Anthony Phillips. Faber & Faber (2006) pg. 85

[22] Borovsky – Op. cit.

[23] Op. cit.

[24] Op. cit.

[25] Musical Times of London-August 1916

[26] Musical Courier, October 18th, 1917 – It is also of interest that this published letter is signed by Tatyana Schloezer as T. Scriabine. Officially she was not allowed to use this surname given she was never actually married to Scriabin; he and his first wife were never divorced. Tatyana’s children from Scriabin were however given permission to use the surname.

[27] Sergei Prokofiev, Diaries 1915-1921 Behind the Mask- translated by Anthony Phillips. Faber & Faber (2006) pg. 85

[28] Prokofiev diaries, op. cit. pg. 123

[29] Borovsky – Op. cit.

[30] Op. cit pg. 189-190

[31] Op. cit.

Scriabin Association Honorary President

The Scriabin Association is privileged and delighted to welcome Aleksandr Serafimovich Scriabin as its Honorary President.

Aleksandr Serafimovich, a relative of the composer, is a leading figure in Russian and international music, and president of the Scriabin Foundation, Moscow. He founded the A. N. Scriabin International Piano Competition, of which he is organiser, and he is a board and jury member of several Russian and international piano competitions. His publishing activity includes the musical journals Fortepiano [‘Piano’] and Muzykal’naya Akademiya [‘Musical Academy’]. Having been senior researcher of the Alexander Goldenweiser Memorial Flat Museum in Moscow, he is responsible for a series of publications about Scriabin, Rachmaninov, Safonov, Goldenweiser and Sofronitsky, and he is the editor and compiler of the volume A.N. Skryabin v prostranstvakh kul’tury XX veka [‘Scriabin in the expanses of twentieth-century culture’.] Aleksandr Serafimovich Scriabin is a leading researcher at the Glinka Museum, Moscow, and teaches at Moscow International University.

Critique of subjectivity: An examination of Vospominaniya o Scriabine [Reminiscences of Scriabin] by Leonid Sabaneyev – by Alina Ivanova-Scriabina, Moscow

We can state that literature about the life and work of the genius Russian composer Alexander Scriabin is very extensive and diverse. During the composer’s lifetime numerous articles and books about his music and philosophy were published, and after his death almost every one of his associates considered it important to write an article or a book about him. And in the year dedicated to the memory of Scriabin[1] researchers continue to study his musical legacy – in part, owing to the publication of new books as well as organization of exhibitions and conferences devoted to Scriabin.

One of the first Scriabin’s biographers was Leonid Sabaneyev, who wrote numerous reviews of his works, published a monograph, Scriabin, in 1916 after the composer’s death, and in 1925 published the book Reminiscences of Scriabin. Perhaps everyone who is interested in the music and personality of Scriabin is familiar with this work of Sabaneyev. Moreover, researchers of the composer’s work have not passed this book by. Still, as in the twentieth century, ‘passions run high’ concerning opinions on Sabaneyev[2]. This phenomenon is aided by reprints of his books in Russia[3]. Nevertheless, his work has not yet been reassessed.

Opinions about Reminiscences of Scriabin have been divided: many consider this book quite true and convincing, while there are certain critics of Sabaneyev’s work who have noticed its inaccurate facts. At the same time, in the musicological literature we have a significant group of critics who are opposed to Sabaneyev; they even use the Russian term ‘sabaneyevschina’[4], negatively evaluating his work.

Despite the fact that the monograph by Sabaneyev represents great scientific interest, it must be admitted that it contains a number of inaccuracies, and that it cannot be the only correct interpretation of the version of events from the life of the composer.

From the first pages of Reminiscences of Scriabin Sabaneyev tries to convince the reader (and probably himself) that his work contains ‘perfectly accurate, factual material, which could then be applied as biographical information’[5]. However, this approach is simply not possible, as Sabaneyev had close contact with Scriabin, who later became his idol: ‘Of course, the latter [Sabaneyev] could not be impartial as to the characteristics of participants in the life of Scriabin, no matter how much he said about  this in the pages of his books’[6]. Like Scriabin, Sabaneyev was taught by Nikolai Zverev and Sergei Taneyev. Moreover, he studied music with Pavel Schloezer – an uncle of Scriabin’s second wife. Also, the musical critic belonged to the same musical environment that Scriabin was organically connected with. Later, Sabaneyev lived with the thoughts of Alexander Nikolayevich’s project, the ‘Mystery’, so he could not be objective, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he was just an observer.

In addition, you may notice that the critic changes his opinion very often about certain events and sometimes about people. So, when Scriabin was at the very beginning of his career, Sabaneyev, the young student of Taneyev (who was a major figure at the time) received early Scriabin with indifference. The composer made an impression on Sabaneyev as an unintelligent, poorly educated young man, but with admirable self-conceit. Scriabin’s music did not make any spiritual impact on him.

Only after the concert in the Great Hall of the Moscow Conservatory where Leonid Sabaneyev heard the Third Symphony did he start loving the work of Scriabin. About this concert he wrote a glowing review[7]. Since that time Scriabin becomes for Sabaneyev ‘not only a favorite composer, but also a man to whom he became infinitely close whom he loved not only as a creator, but as a person’[8]. All the interests of the composer become Sabaneyev’s as well; he states that all five years – from 1909 to 1915 – he passed ‘under the sign of Scriabin.’

For a long time, and to this day, it is still widely believed that Sabaneyev existed as a critic predominantly of one subject (‘Allah Scriabin and his prophet – Sabaneyev’, as the musical critic Vladimir Derzhanovsky said). Sabaneyev created a whole series of original writings about Scriabin: articles on the individual works and the analysis of the composer’s oeuvre. Mainly, they were published in the journal Muzyka. In addition, he published two books: Scriabin in the publishing house of the symbolists, Scorpion, in 1916 and the Reminiscences of Scriabin in the musical sector of the State Publishing House in 1925 (reprinted in 2000).

‘The controversial attitude towards Sabaneyev in the musical circles of the beginning of the XX century was based on his position of “Scriabin’s adept” – at the time he looked at the phenomenon of the contemporary art through the eyes of his idol. This was due to a peculiar feature of Scriabin’s work: with a deep immersion in him, the works of other composers somehow fade in the perception,’ writes Grokhotov, the commentator of Sabaneyev’s book[9]. Leonid Sabaneyev admitted many times himself: ‘“Mystery”, “Mystery”, “Mystery”, everything about it. All around it, it became not only his own credo – certainly it was that, but we all were unwittingly captured by this hothouse atmosphere, these ideas, which are known to have a certain “infectiousness”’ [10].

Many contemporaries of Scriabin engaged in the disclosure of ‘Sabaneyevschina.’ Regarding the negative impact of the ‘hothouse atmosphere’, Heinrich Neuhaus writes in his article ‘Notes on Scriabin. On the 40th anniversary of his death’: ‘Mystics and obscurantists like  Sabaneyev  and Schloezer were extremely harmful for Scriabin; they created an unhealthy atmosphere of [the] unrestrained worship around him, attaining the level of a cult’[11]. Among other things, the pianist Vladimir Sofronitsky discussed the problem of Sabaneyev’s vision of Scriabin. Here is an example of lively, hard-hitting discussion about the composer in the conversation of Neuhaus and Sofronitsky: ‘Sabaneyev is the smartest critic, a remarkable musical scholar, but, unfortunately, a man of “flexible morality”’, Neuhaus remarked, referring to Sabaneyev’s characteristic ability to instantly rotate one hundred and eighty degrees in his judgments and even actions, depending on the situation. ‘Yes’, agreed Sofronitsky, ‘in fact he is a talented writer, a deep musician, but Satan was inside him and apparently it was not possible to understand: judging by appearances he was very sincere, sweet, simple, delicate’[12].

One of the main arguments of contemporaries against the Reminiscences of Scriabin was the fact that Sabaneyev imbued all Scriabin’s activities with a tinge of mysticism, and attributed traits that were not inherent in the composer. For example, what is surprising is that Sabaneyev considered his idol ‘a psychologically impressionable man’[13], thinking that it was possible to have influence on the composer’s thoughts. However, Scriabin was ‘an extraordinarily strong-willed man, strongly at odds with the people, who could not understand him’[14]. We can assume that Sabaneyev just wanted to believe that he could have influence on the ideas of a genius.

In addition, the prominent pianist and teacher Alexander Goldenweiser, Scriabin’s friend and one of the founders of the Scriabin Society in Russia, believed that Sabaneyev was telling lies (‘podviraet’) in the Reminiscences. He writes that the book even made a painful impression on him: ‘At 2 o’clock I went to visit Lyubov Scriabina [Scriabin’s aunt]. I was there for an hour. She groans at Sabaneyev’s book (really villainous) about Scriabin’[15].

Sabaneyev was subjective, inconsistent in judgments, and could make up stories and make errors in dates. Once, he even wrote a review of a non-existent concert. The chronicle of the journal Muzykal’nyi sovremennik [Musical Contemporary] published an open letter by Prokofiev, exposing the critical ‘review’ by Sabaneyev of a cancelled concert by Koussevitzky in which the Scythian Suite should have been performed.

Many contemporaries negatively treated Sabaneyev’s work as well as his personal qualities, in particular  owing to his characteristic of constantly changing opinion:

Prokofiev to Myaskovsky

March 27, 1926, Frankfurt

Someone has just seen Sabaneyev in Paris. I do not have any feelings of hatred towards him for the past, but there is a clear awareness that this is a man who has loudly and violently been wrong all his life and has changed his opinion to the opposite every few years. Consequently, he is a harmful phenomenon and he must be treated according to this.[16]

Sabaneyev changed his attitude towards his idol Scriabin after his death in 1915. Time and life-experience not only softened the harshness and intolerance of some earlier views, but they also significantly changed them. But the most curious metamorphosis occurred in the relation to Scriabin and Rachmaninoff – they were rebuilt in his hierarchy of values. The critic acknowledged that in his time he had ‘overlooked’ Rachmaninoff, and, comparing them in the article ‘Rachmaninoff and Scriabin’, he preferred Rachmaninoff, emphasizing his full genius (as a pianist, composer and conductor) and his rare human dignity. And here is what Sabaneyev wrote regarding Scriabin in his later article[17]:

‘I think that Scriabin is a composer of genius – and the “degree” of his genius could be compared to Rimsky-Korsakov and Borodin, but is inferior to […] of course, “the greatest”, which I think are Bach, Beethoven, Wagner, Chopin and Mussorgsky’[18].

As a matter of interest, we can discover the changeability of Sabaneyev’s ideas in the title of his articles and the changing position in relation to Scriabin. So, in 1912 his article was named ‘Scriabin and Rachmaninoff’ (Muzyka. 1911. №75.) and in 1956 two geniuses of Russian music of the XX century are reversed: now Rachmaninoff eclipses Scriabin in his world and the titles changes –‘Rachmaninoff and Scriabin’ – this is how the publication is entitled in a collection of articles over the years[19].

At the end of the Reminiscences of Scriabin, Sabaneyev notes that after the death of Scriabin he was the one who organized a society for the preservation of the creative heritage of the composer. However, the critic exaggerated his contribution to the organization of this society. In fact, the head of the society was Princess Gagarina, and the board included Goldenweiser, Jurgenson, Sabaneyev, Ivanov, Baltrušaitis, Bogorodsky as well as many friends of Scriabin. And again this episode reflects the desire of Sabaneyev to bring himself closer to the composer, to show that he was a major figure, one of the closest.

However, despite the many uncertainties, it is impossible not to appreciate the interesting observations of Sabaneyev from Scriabin’s everyday life: ‘His [Sabaneyev’s] critical voice… was characterized by keenness of judgment, brilliance of literary style, sharpness and subjective characteristics’[20]. Therefore, it is worth recognizing a few entertaining character references of Scriabin given by his close friend, as well as notes on the composer’s creative plans.

Sabaneyev writes that the creator of Prometheus was an open and sociable person; every evening, he gathered his friends at his house and discussed with them  musical preferences, philosophy, he played his works, talked about his plans. In the composer’s study we can find volumes of The Secret Doctrine by Helena Blavatsky, Russian symbolist poetry, musical scores. As to his appearance, Scriabin was very neat, he curled his moustache before going out, indeed his entire toilet took a lot of time.

Communicating with Scriabin almost daily (except for the periods when he left Moscow) Sabaneyev collected extensive material on the work of the composer as well as his philosophical views. Musical creativity, to Scriabin, was inseparable from philosophy. However, the composer’s first biographer says that his idol did not get a deep philosophical education, but often his ideas often echoed the works of other philosophers. Scriabin was fond of Western philosophers, learned a lot from communicating with his contemporaries – Sergei Bulgakov, Nikolai Berdyaev, Sergei Trubetskoy. Much more important to him was Theosophy, which preaches a universal divine principle that pervades the world and all its aspects. By the way, it should be noted that Scriabin’s daughter Maria, an actress, was a follower of ​​Rudolf Steiner.

Thanks to the Reminiscences of Sabaneyev we manage to understand better how Scriabin himself presented his work: ‘Creativity is life and it is the game of contradictions and struggle, in contrasts, in the ups and downs […] It is necessary to have a celebration of life, to have an upflight, somewhere to take off from’[21], – says the composer.

From the Reminiscences we can learn a number of factual information about the work of the composer. For example, in Prometheus the composer creates a ‘colour-music’ complex. Scriabin was the first one in the world of music who added to his work a part for light (luce) – that is to say, changing colour which accompanied the music. One of the most valuable documents, the appearance of which has a direct connection to Sabaneyev, is a copy of the published score of  Prometheus in which Scriabin, at Sabaneyev’s request, made a transcript of  what should happen in the luce part. In many ways, the appearance of such a ‘colour symphony’ was due to the fact that the composer had ‘colour hearing’ (when hearing music he saw images of colour). According to the composer the integration of the ‘colour symphony’ intensified the experience of the music itself.

Scriabin believed that humanity would come to the culmination of its existence by the overcoming of the entire material world through art. The artistic, creative act is the only means of the salvation of the world, of its transformation. Scriabin imagined the ‘Mystery’ as a grand work of art which combines all kinds of arts – music, poetry, dance, architecture and so on.

However, it should have been according to his idea not a pure work of art, but more particularly a collective ‘action’[22],  to be attended by neither more nor less than the whole of mankind. There will be no separation of performers and listeners-viewers. The implementation of the ‘Mystery’ would entail some tremendous upheaval and the global advent of a new era. According to Scriabin’s plan the process of the cosmic evolution of human consciousness would have been presented in the ‘Mystery’. From Sabaneyev’s records we learn that Scriabin dreamed of building a domed temple in India (when Scriabin was on a tour in 1914 in London he even inquired buying some land), where the ‘Mystery’ was to occur.

 The text of the ‘Prefatory Action’ was a step towards the creation of the ‘Mystery’, a so-called ‘safe Mystery’, which was to prepare the humanity for the transition to the new consciousness. In the 1914 Scriabin was busy working with the text for the ‘Prefatory Action’. He wanted to learn poetic technique in order to create a poetic text. Scriabin had finished the poem and even read it to contemporary poets, but the music remained in brief sketches. Here is an example of lines taken from the ‘Prefatory Action’:

We are all a single
Current, striving
Towards a moment away from eternity
Onto a path towards humanness
Down from transparency
Towards stony obscurity
In order to impress upon stoniness
In fiery creation
Your Divine countenance[23].

Sabaneyev, who strongly supported Scriabin in the creation of the ‘Prefatory Action’, again changes his mind at the end of the Reminiscences: ‘While I recognize now that the “Prefatory Action” was an unsuccessful poetical composition […]’[24].

We should consider that besides the Reminiscences of Sabaneyev there were a number of memories of Scriabin that appeared after his death. These works are of great importance for the profound understanding of the composer as these authors were people who knew him closely. For example, Yulii Engel created the first documentary biography according to the memories of Scriabin’s friends and his own recollections[25]. The musical critic Karatygin was a propagandist of Scriabin’s work during his lifetime and after his death (works:  Vyacheslav Karatygin, ‘Young Russian composers’, Apollon, 1910. No. 11/12; V. Karatygin, Scriabin. Ocherk [an outline], P., 1915; “Memories of Scriabin”, in his book: Izbrannye stat’i  [Selected articles], M., 1965).

A ‘circle of scriabinists’ was organized in order to promote Scriabin’s music. The circle included Vladimir Derzhanovsky, who wrote a series of articles about Scriabin’s creations[26] and the musical critic Evgenyi Gunst, who was a friend of Scriabin, published a book A. N. Scriabin i ego tvorchestvo [A. N. Scriabin and his art] in 1915. Vyacheslav Karatygin released an essay about the music of Scriabin[27]. In 1916, the critic Aleksandr Koptyaev wrote the book A. Scriabin. Characteristika. [A. Scriabin. Characteristics].

In 1919, Mikhail Gershenzon edited a volume in the series Russkie propilei in which the Prefatory Action was first published.  Boris Schloezer – brother of the second wife of the composer – wrote ‘Notes on the Prefatory Action’ for this collection, and afterwards he published a book[28].

In the 1930s a work by Mark Meichik, the student of the composer, appeared[29].

On the 25th anniversary of the death of Scriabin a collection devoted to his work titled Alexander Scriabin was published[30].

Among the works published in the last decade, the following should be emphasized;

  1. Viktor Delson. Ocherki zhizni i tvorchestva. [Scriabin. Essays on the life and work], M., 1971.
  2. Igor Boelza. Alexander Scriabin. M., 1987.
  3. Valentina Rubtsova. A.N. Scriabin. M., 1989.
  4. Sergei Fedyakin. Scriabin. M., 2004.
  5. A.S. Scriabin (comp.), Scriabin v prostranstvakh kul’tury XX veka [Scriabin in the cultural space of the XX century]. M., 2008.
  6. Alexander Goldenweizer. Vospominaniya. [Memories]. M., 2009

The aim of the authors of these books was to present objective biographic data, make an analysis of the composer’s works and of interpretive approaches. It is interesting that in all the researches authors refer to Sabaneyev.

There is still an unflagging interest in Alexander Nikolaevich’s works. This claim is confirmed by a set of scholarly conferences devoted to Scriabin’s art. Moreover, the question of Sabaneyev’s contribution to research into the composer’s work is frequently discussed. So, after the first conference Grokhotov’s article Bog i Prorok: Scriabin i Sabaneyev [The God and the Prophet: Scriabin and Sabaneyev] was published in the book Scriabin v prostranstvah kul’tury XX veka [Scriabin in the cultural space of the XX century]. In this article  the question is considered of how far the description given in Sabaneyev’s Reminiscences coincides with Scriabin’s real personality. Tatyana Maslovskaya read a paper entitled A. N. Scriabin in L. L. Sabaneyev’s life at the conference devoted to the 140 anniversary of Scriabin’s birth. Scriabin’s influence on Sabaneyev’s life, as well as  contradictions in the estimates of works of the composer, were revealed in Maslovskaya’s paper[31].

At the same conference Irina Medvedeva, the councillor of science of the Glinka national museum consortium of Musical Culture offered to create “a general collection” of information on all aspects of life and Scriabin’s works. This collection of documents can include museum heritage, musical heritage, literary heritage, epistolary heritage, documents (personal and of people close to the composer), research (researchers), performance of works, chronicle of life and works (chronology by days and by years). The question of work in specific research areas within this collection is also considered: Scriabin as a performer, Scriabin as a teacher, Scriabin as a reader, Scriabin and colour music (including the ANS synthesizer)[32], Scriabin and philosophy, Scriabin and poetry. It is planned to cover exhibitions, concerts, conferences, symposiums, to collect the press, criticism, a bibliography of printed music in a broad sense (including the history of publication), bibliography, a discography.

Certainly, the Reminiscences of Scriabin by Sabaneyev represent a great interest, especially from the point of view of the artistical value of the work, but also in the general context of extensive research literature on Scriabin; this book is not the only reliable source for the study of the personality and works of the composer. It has been proved by Scriabin researchers that in Sabaneyev’ book there are factual inaccuracies and a subjective approach to events. In our work we managed to find out that the view of Scriabin through the prism of Sabaneyev’s perception is insufficiently objective.

Alina Ivanova-Scriabina, Moscow

Alina SkryabinaAlina Ivanova-Scriabina is Scriabin’s great grand niece. Her family belongs to the branch of Scriabin’s cousin – Apollon Alexandrovich Scriabin. Alina studied Art and Literary Criticism in The Faculty of Journalism, Lomonosov Moscow State University and is a music journalist in “Piano” magazine. She has conducted research projects on Scriabin: Pushkin and Scriabin; Scriabin and Pasternak; thesis The image of Scriabin in criticism of the late XIX – early XX century. She has participated in international conferences with further publications: “The Art of Scriabin in the light of history, artistic and stylistic trends of the XXI century” (2012), “The way to Scriabin” marking the 100th anniversary of the composer’s death in the Scriabin Memorial Museum in Moscow (2015), “Taneyev and Scriabin. The teacher and the student” in the Moscow Conservatory (2015).

[1] The article was written in 2015.

[2] Sergei Grokhotov: ‘Bog i Prorok: Scriabin i Sabaneyev’ [The God and the Prophet: Scriabin and Sabaneyev]. A.S. Scriabin (comp.), Scriabin v prostranstvakh kul’tury XX veka [Scriabin in the cultural spaces of the XX century] M., 2008. p. 142. [editor’s note: throughout, the initials M., L., P. in this context denote places of publication: Moscow, Leningrad, Petrograd/St. Petersburg.]

[3] Leonid Sabaneyev: Vospominaniya o Scriabine [Reminiscences of Scriabin,] M., 2000; Vospominaniya o Taneyeve [Reminiscences of Taneyev], M., 2003; Vospominaniya o Rossii [Reminiscences of Russia], M., 2004.

[4] Adding the suffix ‘shchin’ to the surname of the critic characterizes the phenomenon of similar works with a hint of disapproval, the ending -shchina being pejorative. E.g. Zhdanovshchina – ‘the Zhdanov business’, Khovanshchina – ‘The Khovansky affair’, etc.

[5] Leonid Sabaneyev: Vospominaniya o Scriabine, op. cit., p. 5.

[6] Sergei Grokhotov, afterword to L. Sabaneyev, ibid., p. 374.

[7] Leonid Sabaneyev: ‘The Divine Poem of A. Scriabin’, Muzyka, 1911. No. 31.

[8] Sergei Grokhotov, afterword to L. Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Scriabine, op. cit., p. 29.

[9] Sergei Grokhotov: ‘Bog i Prorok: Scriabin i Sabaneyev’, op. cit., p. 142.

[10] Leonid Sabaneyev: Vospominaniya o Scriabine, op. cit., p. 212.

[11] Sovetskaya muzyka [Soviet music],1955, No. 4.

[12] A. Scriabin, I. Nikonovich. Vspominaya Sofronitskogo [Remembering Sofronitsky], M., 2008. p. 89.

[13] Leonid Sabaneyev: Vospominaniya o Scriabine, op. cit., p. 197.

[14] Sergei Grokhotov: ‘Bog i Prorok: Scriabin i Sabaneyev’,  op. cit., p. 148.

[15] Alexander Goldenweiser. Dnevnik, tetrady vtoraya–shestaya [Diary, notebooks 2-6]  (1905-1929). M., 199, p. 39.

[16] Sergei Prokofiev and Nikolai Myaskovsky. Perepiska [Correspondence]. M., 1977, p. 239.

[17] Leonid Sabaneyev, ‘Alexander Nikolaevich Scriabin’,  Novoye Russkoye slovo [The new Russian word]. November 14, 1965.

[18] Tatyana Maslovskaya, Leonid Sabaneev ‘o proshlom’ (Vmeste predislova) [Leonid Sabaneyev ‘on the past’ (Instead of a preface)], Leonid Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Rossii, op.cit., p. 14.

[19] Leonid Sabaneyev, ibid., p. 14.

[20] Sergei Grokhotov, afterword to Leonid Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Scriabine, op. cit., p. 372.

[21] Leonid Sabaneyev: Vospominaniya o Scriabine, op. cit., p. 209.

[22] The old Russian word deistvo, or its modern equivalent deistvie, signifies a collective ritual with religious or spiritual significance. This is the word translated by ‘Action’ in the title  ‘Prefatory Action’ [Predvaritel’noe deistvie]. (Ed.)

[23] Alexander Scriabin: Predvaritel’noe deistvie [Prefatory Action], Russkie propilei. Materials on the history of Russian thoughts and literature, Volume VI. M., 1919, p. 240. Trans. Simon Nicholls and Michael Pushkin (from Skryabin’s Notebooks, Toccata Press, in preparation).

[24] Leonid Sabaneyev: Vospominaniya o Scriabine, op. cit., p. 339.

[25] Yu. Engel: ‘A.N. Scriabin. Biograficheskii ocherk’ [Biographical outline], Muzykal’nyi sovremennik [Musical Contemporary]. 1916. No. 4/5.

[26] Vladimir Derzhanovsky. ‘Posle “Prometei’” [After Prometheus], Muzyka, 1911, No. 14.

[27] Vyacheslav Karatygin. Scriabin. P., 1915.

[28] Boris Schloezer. Scriabin. Berlin, 1923.

[29] Mark Meichik. Scriabin, M., 1935.

[30] Alexander Nikolaevich Scriabin. 1915-1940. Sbornik k 25-letiyu so dnya smerti. [Alexander Scriabin. Anthology for the 25th anniversary of his death]. M./L.,  1940.

[31] Tatyana Maslovskaya. A. N. Scriabin v zhizni L. L. Sabaneyeva [A. N. Scriabin in L. L. Sabaneyev’s life], report at conference ‘A. N. Scriabin’s Art in the light of history and art and stylistic tendencies of the XXI century’. Moscow, 2012.

[32] The sintezator ANS (the initials memorialising Scriabin) was an early musical synthesiser developed in the Soviet Union by Evgenyi Murzin and completed in 1957. Its first home was at the electronic musical research facility established in the Scriabin Museum, Moscow; a second version of the instrument can now be seen in the Glinka Museum. Among composers who made notable use of the instrument are Alfred Schnittke, Edison Denisov, Sofia Gubaidulina and Edward Artem’yev. The synthesiser as used by Artem’yev may be heard on the sound tracks of several films of Andrei Tarkovsky. (Ed.)

The texts of Scriabin’s works: some observations of a performer-researcher-teacher. By Simon Nicholls

The handwriting of any individual is a kind of self-portrait, and reading a handwritten letter can give an indication of the writer’s character and state of mind, and of his or her attitude to the content of the letter. An author’s manuscript often yields valuable information about the creative process; the manuscripts of Dickens or Dostoevsky provide many examples. Examining such a document is a very different experience from reading a novel in cold print. With a musical manuscript, the spacing, the character of the pen-strokes and of the musical handwriting, as well as details of layout which cannot always be exactly reproduced by the process of engraving, give similar information, valuable to the student and to the performer. Beyond factual information, the visual impression of the manuscript, the Notenbild, can be a direct stimulus from the composer to the interpreter’s imagination. In this way, study of the composer’s manuscript can lead both to a narrowing of the possibility of textual error and to a widening of the possibilities of imaginative response to interpretation.

Examining the manuscripts of any great composer or literary author is always a thrilling experience. I have spent many hours studying Scriabin’s manuscripts in the Glinka Museum, Moscow, which holds in its vast archive many fair and rough copies of complete works as well as sketches by Scriabin. The first thing which strikes one is the extreme beauty and clarity of the scores. The slender exactitude of the writing and drawing corresponds to the delicacy and transparency of Scriabin’s own playing of his music, and makes it clear to the interpreter that a similar clarity, precision and grace is demanded in his or her own performance – something extremely difficult to achieve. The care with which the manuscripts were prepared confirms the testimony of Scriabin’s friend and biographer, Leonid Sabaneyev, who was bemused by the care taken by the composer in the placing of slurs, the choice of sharps or flats in accidentals (contributing in many cases to an analysis of the harmony concerned), the spacing of the lines of the musical texture over the staves and the upward or downward direction of note stems.

It was Heinrich Schenker who pointed out the expressive and structural significance  of the manuscript notation of Beethoven, and who was instrumental in establishing an archive in the Austrian National Library, Vienna, of photographic reproductions of musical manuscripts. His pioneering work has led gradually to the present wealth of Urtext editions and facsimiles of many composers’ manuscripts. Reproductions of Skryabin’s manuscripts have been published by Muzyka (Moscow), Henle (Munich) and the Juilliard School (New York; their manuscript collection is available online).[1]  These reproductions cover several significant compositions by Scriabin: Sonata no. 5, op. 53; Two pieces, op. 59; Poème-nocturne, op. 61; Sonata no. 6, op. 62; Two poèmes, op. 63; Sonata no. 7, op. 64. The remarks below have no pretensions to system or completeness; they are merely observations based on initial study, and intended as a stimulus to others to examine the manuscripts for themselves.

In maturity, Scriabin took immense care with his manuscripts. Speaking to Sabaneyev, he compared the difficulty of writing down a conception in sound to the process of rendering a three-dimensional object on a flat surface. As a student and as a young composer, though, Scriabin was by no means ideally accurate or painstaking in his notation. This was the cause of Rimsky-Korsakov’s irritated response to the manuscript score of Scriabin’s Piano Concerto – the elder composer initially considered it to be too full of mistakes to be worthy of serious attention. Mitrofan Belaieff, Scriabin’s publisher, patron and mentor, frequently begged the composer to be more careful in correcting proofs. The original editions, particularly of the early works, contain many errors which originate in some cases from Scriabin’s manuscript and in others from poor proofreading – as far as we can tell; some early manuscripts are now lost.

We are indebted to the fine musician Nikolai Zhilyayev for correct editions of Scriabin’s music. Zhilyayev knew Scriabin well and discussed many misprints with the composer; others he detected by his own scrupulous and scholarly work and prodigious memory. As Scriabin’s harmony and voice-leading were impeccably systematic and logical at all stages of his development, those who have had to do with the old editions will know that is often possible to correct mistakes by analogy or knowledge of harmonic style.

 Zhilyayev was the revising editor for a new edition of Scriabin’s music, published by the Soviet organisation Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo muzykal’nyi sektor (State publisher, musical division – ‘Muzsektor’) from the 1920s on, each work or opus number being issued separately. These beautifully prepared editions are painstakingly annotated, corrections being indicated in two layers: those discussed with the composer and therefore beyond doubt, and those which Zhilyayev considered likely (and he was usually right). This work was the basis of the complete edition of the piano music published by Gosudarstvennoe muszykal’noe izdatel’stvo (State musical publishing house – ‘Muzgiz’) in three volumes (1947, 1948 and 1953).[2] Zhilyayev fell victim to Stalin’s terror; he was arrested in 1937 and shot in the following year. His name does not appear on this three-volume edition.

A new complete edition is appearing gradually under the imprint Muzyka–P. Jurgenson. The general editor is Valentina Rubtsova, biographer of Scriabin and head of research at the Scriabin Museum, Moscow, assisted by Pavel Shatsky. As in Rubtsova’s editions for Henle, full credit is given to Zhilyayev, and the annotations as to origins and variants are very thorough in this valuable new edition.

A  very  limited  number  of  Scriabin’s  manuscripts has been  available  in  facsimile until now. The collection of ‘Youthful and Early Works’ prepared by Donald Garvelmann and published in New York in 1970 by Music Treasure Publications[3] contains a facsimile of the early E flat minor sonata (without opus number) of 1889, a typical youthful manuscript of the composer, rather heavy in its style of penmanship. The manuscript of the op. 11 preludes (excerpts are shown in ill.1), though tidier, shows a similar style.

Extract of maunscript for Op. 11 preludes

ill. 1) Extract of  Op. 11 Preludes manuscript

The Russian website ‘Virtual’nye vystavki’ (‘Virtual exhibitions’)[4] gives in facsimile the first page of the Etude op. 8 no. 12, with more fingering than is shown in the Belaieff edition, and also the first page of the manuscript score of the Poem of Ecstasy, providing a striking example of the change in the composer’s manuscript style. A facsimile on the site of the first two pages of the score of the Piano Concerto shows some of the copious blue-pencilling of Rimsky-Korsakov from the occasion mentioned earlier, and the site also reproduces Skryabin’s letter of apology to Rimsky-Korsakov apologising for the errors and blaming neuralgia.[5] Comparison of this letter with the one to the musicologist N. F. Findeizen dated 26 December 1907, also viewable on the site, gives another clear example of the change in Scriabin’s handwriting.[6]

Op. 53: Sonata no. 5

A facsimile of the Fifth Sonata has been published by Muzyka.[7] The manuscript of this work was presented to the Skryabin Museum, Moscow, by the widow of the pianist and composer Alfred Laliberté, to whom Scriabin had given the manuscript. This is a very different document from the early E flat minor sonata manuscript, and shows Scriabin’s fastidious and calligraphically exquisite mature hand. By this time both Scriabin’s music manuscript and his handwriting had developed an elongated ‘upward-striving’ manner. We might make a comparison with the remark of Boris Pasternak that the composer ‘had trained himself various kinds of sublime lightness and unburdened movement resembling flight’[8] – the handwriting is expressive of this quality. Examples of Scriabin’s handwriting in letters to Belaieff in 1897 (ill. 2) and to the composer and conductor Felix Blumenfeld in 1906 (ill. 3) show the dramatic difference in handwriting style that developed.

ill. 2) Scriabin's handwriting 1897

ill. 2) Scriabin’s handwriting 1897

ill. 3) Scriabin's handwriting 1906

ill. 3) Scriabin’s handwriting 1906

The manuscript of the Fifth Sonata shows that, although Scriabin spoke French, he did not immediately provide a French text for the epigraph, which is from the verse Poem of Ecstasy. This poem was written in Russian at the same period that the symphonic poem was composed. There is a request on the manuscript to the engraver to leave space for a French version. The French text, which is the usual source of English translations, does not reflect the Russian with complete accuracy: the forces mystérieuses, ‘mysterious forces’, which are being called into life are skrytye stremlen’ya, ‘hidden strivings’, in the original.[9] In other words, it is open to doubt that any sort of ‘magical ritual’, in a superstitious sense, is being depicted in this work, a suggestion made (perhaps in a figurative sense) by the early writer on Scriabin Evgenii Gunst and elaborated upon by the composer’s British-American biographer, Alfred Swan. The epigraph may be regarded as an invocation of Scriabin’s own inner aspirations, the creative power which the composer equated with the divine principle.

Work on the Fifth Sonata started in 1907, at a period when a rift had developed between Scriabin and the publishing house of Belaieff. The committee running the publishers after the death of Belaieff had proposed a renegotiation of fees. It is possible that Scriabin was unaware of the preferential and generous treatment Belaieff had accorded him; certainly, he was offended by the proposals and withdrew from his agreement with the publishers. The Sonata was published at Scriabin’s own expense, but was taken into the publishing concern run by the conductor Serge Koussevitsky, Rossiiskoe muzykal’noe izdatel’stvo (RMI). Later still, Scriabin quarrelled with Koussevitsky too, and the composer’s last works were published by the firm which had brought out his very first published compositions, Jurgenson.

The main differences between the manuscript of the Fifth Sonata and most modern printed texts are:

1) a missing set of ties at the barline between  bars 98 and 99. These ties are also missing in RMI, and in the edition printed at Scriabin’s own expense.[10] Muzgiz adds the ties in dotted lines, by analogy with the parallel passage at bars 359–360. The commentary to the Muzgiz edition states that sketches of the work make use of an abbreviated notation at this point which could have led to this misunderstanding, as the editors describe it.  Christoph Flamm’s notes to the Bärenreiter edition are definite as to Scriabin’s intention not to tie over this barline, citing the repetition of accidentals in bar 99 as being conclusive proof.[11]

2) the movement of the middle voice in bars 122–123, 126–127, 136–137, 383–384, 387–388, 397–398  (Meno vivo sections): the manuscript gives a downward resolution in the middle voice (d flat – c in the first passage and g flat – f in the second) whereas the printed editions give an upward resolution (d flat – d natural and g flat – g). It is as if only at a second attempt (as revised for the printed version) has Scriabin fully realised the implications of his own (then very new) harmony: the resolutions as printed resolve into the augmented harmony around them, whereas the resolutions in the earlier version do not. Knowing about this early version, moreover, adds point to the grandiose version of the same section at bars 315–316, 319–20 and 323–324, where the downward resolution is retained. One might think of the meno vivo sections as being potential states, and the grandiose version as representing a fully realised condition.

It should be remembered that the Sonata was composed at breakneck speed, completed in a few days, and revised afterwards; Valentina Rubtsova, editor of the facsimile, suggests that the manuscript provides a glimpse into the composer’s creative laboratory. She further points out that Scriabin uses double barlines to indicate structural divisions, whereas publishers’ house style often requires a double bar at any change of key-signature or time-signature. This has resulted in the insertion of a number of non-authentic double bars in some published versions of the Fifth Sonata. Double bars occur in the manuscript in the following places only:

            before bar 47 (beginning of main sonata exposition)

            before bar 120 (Meno vivo, the second subject area)

            before bar 367 (indicating, perhaps a slight hesitation before this rising sequence)

            before bar 381 (parallel passage to bar 120).

The visual effect of the manuscript is therefore more continuous than that of the printed edition. It should be mentioned that the Urtext printed version given in the volume containing the manuscript is a corrected version of the RMI edition. This edition was prepared with the composer’s agreement and during his lifetime. The manuscript, though, is an invaluable source for the reasons given above.

A similar use of double barlines to that in the Sonata no. 5 is made elsewhere by Scriabin, including in the Sonata no. 6 (see below) and the Sonata no. 8. It can be said, from these examinations, that Scriabin uses double barlines structurally or even expressively, and that they often should be made audible in some way, in sharp contradistinction to the purely ‘grammatical’ double bars referred to above. The definition of ‘sometimes’ and ‘often’ is a non-scientific one and comes down to the player’s own interpretive insight, but where there is a double barline and no change of time- or key-signature, the double bar clearly has  structural significance.

The addition of a double bar by a publisher can confuse the interpreter. For example, Bach’s engraved edition of his own Second Partita has no double bar, in fact no barline at all, at the beginning of the third section of the Sinfonia (ill. 4.) The insertion of a double bar at this point, even in some ‘Urtext’ editions (because of the change of time-signature) leads many performers to treat the final chord of the middle section like a ‘starter’s pistol’ for the quicker final section, which, as consideration of the musical content will quickly demonstrate, starts on the second quaver of the bar with the fugue subject.

ill. 4) Manuscript of Sinfonia from Bach's Keyboard Partita no. 2

ill. 4) Manuscript of Sinfonia from Bach’s Keyboard Partita no. 2

The notes by Valentina Rubtsova to the facsimile of the Fifth Sonata mention Scriabin’s differing use of rallentando in its full version and of the abbreviation rall., and the possible implications of such usage for performance:

[…] in b. 382 Scriabin indicated molto rallentando, while in b. 386 and 390 he confined himself to [a] shortened and somewhat careless rall.  It seems that the theme sounded to him just like that: with a more substantial broadening in b.382 and in a somewhat generalized manner in b. 386 and 390.[12]

A related expressive function of details in the writing of performance directions will be noted below in the case of the Poème-Nocturne, op. 61.

Now we move to a group of Scriabin’s manuscripts, recently published on line by the Juilliard School of New York. The works with opus numbers 52, 53 and 58 to 64 were published by Koussevitsky’s firm, RMI, mentioned above. (The Poem of Ecstasy, op. 54, was already contracted to Belaieff, as were opp. 56 and 57; there is no work with the number 55.) Opp. 59 and 61 to 64 (op. 60 is an orchestral score, Prometheus) were bound together in one volume at some time. Koussevitsky’s archive went with him when he left Russia in 1920. The majority of the archive is now in the Library of Congress, but this volume somehow came onto the open market, and was sold at Sotheby’s in 2000. The purchaser, Bruce Kovner, businessman, collector and philanthropist, generously donated his entire collection to Juilliard School in 2006, and Juilliard have made the contents of the volume he purchased available in excellent facsimile online[13] – a huge step forward in making Scriabin manuscript facsimiles available to the musical public. The Sonata No. 7 has also been published in an equally excellent facsimile by Henle with informative notes by Valentina Rubtsovsa.[14] Some observations on these manuscripts follow.

Op. 59 no. 1, Poème

      b. 13: the two d sharps (the sharp sign was omitted) in the r. h., third and fourth quavers, are not tied. Perhaps they should be made uniform with the beginning, but this small variant could be seen as going with the more significant change of r.h. rhythm in b. 15. This detail raises the familiar problem: to what extent should a manuscript be preferred to a first edition? The editor has not queried this missing tie, but the tie was inserted in the first edition – possibly, a correction at proof stage by Scriabin. Cf. b. 36 for another tie which is missing in the manuscript but present in the first edition, probably corrected by Scriabin.

b. 15: an accidental is missing before the r. h. d sharp, third quaver of the bar. This mistake, as well as the missing accidental in b. 13, was reproduced in the first edition, but corrected by Zhilyayev.

b.19: the fifth quaver in  r. h. is spelled in the manuscript as b double flat, harder to read than the a natural printed in most editions, but consistent with the d flat bass of this bar and typical of Scriabin’s fastidiousness in his choice of accidentals. The spelling was reproduced in the first edition, but altered without comment by Zhilyayev, who did not have the manuscript available. (This manuscript was also not available to the editors at the time of preparation of the Muzyka-Jurgenson edition.) Subsequent editions, including Muzyka-Jurgenson, followed Zhilyayev’s reading. The ‘spelling’ of a note may well have an effect on the player of a wind or string instrument as regards actual pitch, and Sabaneyev discussed this with Scriabin. But a good pianist will often respond by minute adjustments of touch to the difference of inner hearing caused by enharmonic differences of spelling.[15]

b. 23–25: there is evidence in these bars of erased octave doublings in the right hand phrases, though the lower octave to the initial a, r.h. second quaver of bar 23, has not been erased – a mistake rightly queried by the editor. Here, the texture is delicate and transparent, but it will be remembered that Scriabin often preferred single notes to octaves in passages of powerful sonority where an effect of brightness was desirable (e.g. final climaxes of the Fifth Sonata and Vers la Flamme). Sabaneyev criticised the composer for scoring his orchestral music with doublings at the unison rather than the octave, but this seems to have been Scriabin’s preference in many places.

b. 28 and 30: The three r.h. quavers which continue the middle voice at the end of these bars were first written by Scriabin in the upper staff, but then erased and put into the lower staff, clarifying the voice-leading. This is an example of the care taken by the composer in the optical presentation of his voices.

b. 34: the manuscript and the first edition have d natural in r.h. upper voice, second, fourth and sixth quavers. This error was corrected by Zhilyayev, who changed these notes to d sharps, noting the analogy in bar 6.

b. 36: the tie between third and fourth quavers of the bar in r.h. is missing in the manuscript, but was supplied in the first edition – possibly a correction in proof by the composer.

b. 38: the acciaccatura at the beginning of the bar for both hands was written by Scriabin with a quaver tail without the customary cross-stroke. This seems to have been the composer’s usual habit – compare the beginning of the Sixth Sonata, written in the same way, as well as other instances – and, in the case of the present Poème, the notation was altered in the first edition. The RMI edition of the Sonata, however, shows the acciaccatura with a quaver-type tail, though many later editions add a cross-stroke. It may be felt that in both cases Scriabin’s notation may suggest a more deliberate execution of the acciaccaturas.

b.39: note the beautiful and unusual notation of the final sonority, a single stem uniting sounds many octaves apart and played by two hands. It is suggestive of the deep and strange sonority of this ending. It is given by most editions, but not by Peters, who ‘normalise’ the notation here.[16]

 Op. 59 no. 2, Prelude

A number of errors in the manuscript were correctly questioned by the editor, and further inconsistencies were corrected by Zhilyayev.

The rhythm at the beginning of bar 40, though, (marked avec defi – Scriabin omitted the acute accent on the second letter of défi) written as three even quavers, was retained in the first edition and subsequent ones despite having been questioned by the editor. Muzgiz, following Zhilyayev, queries whether it should be made consistent with the dotted rhythm of other similar bars. The Peters edition by Günter Philipp adopts this suggestion.[17] The present writer is of the opinion that the three even quavers help to express Scriabin’s suggested ‘defiance’.

Intriguingly, a slip of paper was pasted over the original manuscript at bars 26–28. This is at the position, characteristic of Scriabin’s short pieces, where the opening material begins to be repeated in transposition. The repeated chords on the paper slip, which anticipate the coda from bar 54 to 57, may have been a late compositional addition by Scriabin. (Other paper slips are observable, pasted into the manuscript of the Sonata no. 6.)

Op. 61, Poème-Nocturne 

(The manuscript of this work was also not available to the editors of Muzyka-Jurgenson, who were, however, able to consult a rough draft, as in the case of op. 59.)

Space will not permit a detailed analysis of longer works such as this, but some interesting features present themselves. The first page of the manuscript is written in two inks, blue and black. On the first system, the clefs and the r.h. phrase from the downbeat of bar one are written in blue, whereas the upbeat is written in black. A list of incipits for projected works by Scriabin exists in the Glinka Museum archives, and has been examined by the present writer. This list corresponds to a description by Sabaneyev of a collection of thematic material ‘for sonatas’. In the list, the Poème-Nocturne theme lacks its upbeat. Perhaps the addition of the upbeat was a late inspiration, like Beethoven’s last-minute addition of a two-note upbeat to the slow movement of the Hammerklavier sonata. At the recapitulation, b. 109, the theme starts on the downbeat.

In bar 3 and the corresponding passage, bar 110, Scriabin writes the  molto più vivo directly over the l. h. figure on the second beat. This is placed too late in Muzgiz, but correctly in Muzyka-Jurgenson.

Scriabin’s usual practice is to write his performance directions or remarki in lower-case letters, but in the Poème-Nocturne and some other works this practice is departed from in certain places. The new ideas at bar 29 and 33 are marked in the manuscript Avec langueur and Comme en un rêve – suggesting, perhaps, that the arrival of these new ideas should be ‘shown’ by the player in some way, possibly by a very slight elongation of the rests before them, as with the start of a new sentence or paragraph in a text which is read aloud. The same thing happens at Avec une soudaine langueur  (sic) in bar 52, and Avec une passion naissante and De plus en plus passionné in bars 77 and 79. The first edition reproduces this peculiarity, but not Muzgiz or Muzyka-Jurgenson. It has not been possible to determine whether they are following Zhilyayev, as seems likely.[18]

The addition in printed editions, including the first, of a poco acceler. [sic in RMI] over the barline of bb. 46-47 is clear evidence of intervention by the composer at proof stage.

The long slur at comme un murmure confus (bar 103 to 110) is correctly reproduced in the editions known to this writer, but seeing it drawn so clearly and with such certainty in the manuscript is a reminder not to yield to the temptation to ‘explain’ the structure of this mysterious passage, and especially not to render the arrival of the recapitulation in bar 109 with any excessive degree of clarity. The piece reflects Scriabin’s exploration of states of consciousness on the borders of sleep, as he explained to Sabaneyev. On the other hand, the remarka at the point of arrival of the recapitulation (Avec une grace [sic] capricieuse[19]) does have the capital letter we have come to expect in this work when important thematic ideas are presented.

Op. 62: Sonata no. 6

This work is so successfully suggestive of dark areas of the spirit that a listener once suggested to the present writer, after a performance of the Sixth Sonata, that the music was evidence of psychosis in the composer’s own mind. The listener was, of course, making an error like that of Don Quixote at the puppet show – mistaking dramatic presentation for reality. The lucidity of the manuscript, as well as the highly organised and disciplined musical structure, show that Scriabin knew very well what he was doing.

Towards the end of the work there is a notorious high d written, which exceeds the range of the keyboard (bar 365). This note has also been quoted to me by music-lovers as evidence of Scriabin’s supposed delusional condition. Firstly, it should be pointed out that the d is dictated by analogy with bar 330. We can make a comparison with Ravel in this case. In the climax of Ravel’s Jeux d’eau there is a bottom note which, harmony dictates, should be G sharp, but as the note does not exist on most keyboards, Ravel wrote A.[20] Similarly, Ravel ‘faked’ octaves at the bottom of the piano in the recapitulation of Scarbo by writing sevenths. Scriabin, ever an idealist, preferred to write the pitch required by the music and to leave the solution to the interpreter.[21] Furthermore, the whole phrase from bar 365 to 367 is written an octave lower in the manuscript than in the first edition, thus bringing the d within the keyboard range.[22] An explanation for the late change between manuscript and first edition, which transposes the phrase up an octave, may be that Scriabin never performed this very difficult work – the premiere was entrusted to Elena Beckman-Shcherbina. Perhaps, in working on the piece with her and hearing the passage played up to tempo, Scriabin suggested that she try the phrase an octave higher, as the analogy with bar 330 demands, and realised that the chord flashes by with the substitution of c for d as the top note practically unheard. In her memoirs, Bekman-Shcherbina describes Scriabin’s detailed work with her on his compositions, but, alas, gives no details of the work which must have taken place on the Sixth Sonata.

The composer’s notation of the acciaccatura which starts the Sixth Sonata has already been mentioned (see above, Poème op 59 no. 1.) As in the case of the acciaccatura which sets off the Sonata in A minor by Mozart (K.310), this opening should not be played too glibly, but with a certain weight. Indeed, for a player whose hand cannot stretch the initial chords, it is a help to know that this arresting opening should not be hurried over. More importantly, an execution on the slow side helps to emphasise the sombre, unyielding severity of the opening sonority. It is perhaps unfortunate that publishers’ ‘house styles’ lead to a routine ‘correction’ of Scriabin’s notation of the acciaccatura.

‘House style’ has also led to the omission in some editions of the Sixth Sonata of a number of ‘structural’ double bars provided in the manuscript by Scriabin. Scriabin wrote double bars  before b. 92 (coda of exposition), 124 (beginning of development),  206 (recapitulation), 268 (end of recapitulation of second subject. As this last-mentioned place involves a change of time signature, the double bar is technically required, and is reproduced in printed editions, but there is a definite break in the atmosphere here.) The calligraphic beauty and clarity of b. 244–267, a notoriously complex passage, repays study.

Op. 64: Sonata no. 7

The manuscript of Sonata no. 7 is commented upon in detail by Valentina Rubtsova in her notes to the facsimile published by Henle, and these notes are published online.[23] They repay careful study, and Rubtsova gives an account of the other manuscript versions of the Sonata, one of which the present writer has examined in the Glinka Museum. The existence of this text, with its many alterations and differences from the finished version, calls into question the accusation, made by Sabaneyev and since repeated, that Scriabin established a ‘scheme’ of empty numbered bars and proceeded to ‘fill’ it with music. While numbers were clearly important to the composer in establishing a ‘crystalline’ form, the procedure of composition was far more complex than that, as the painstaking work shown in these manuscripts reveals.

Ill.5 is a reproduction of the first page of Scriabin’s earlier draft, with the remarka ‘Prophétique’ for the opening ‘fanfare’ motive. This marking, later rejected, gives a sense of the gesture of this musical idea, which is essential to the close connection of the Sonata with Scriabin’s idea of the ‘Mystery’, something he discussed with Sabaneyev. While visiting an exhibition in London’s Tate Gallery of paintings by the English artist George Frederic Watts (1817–1904), the present writer was struck by the convulsive, ‘prophetic’ gesture depicted in Watts’ ‘Jonah’ (1894), a painting which is reproduced online.[24] The performance of these opening bars needs to be as striking and dramatic as Watts’ painting.

ill. 5) 1st page from Manuscript of Sonata 7

ill. 5) 1st page from manuscript of Sonata 7

Op. 63, 2 Poèmes

In the second of these short works, some l. h. notes in the chords in b. 6 and 7 have been erased; these notes are relocated to the upper stave, where they belong musically, and marked m.g. (The m.d. in bar 7 is a characteristic slip, rightly questioned by the editor). The top note of these chords is shown in the manuscript as f natural and was so published in the RMI edition. Zhilyayev, who had discussed this passage with the composer, corrected this to f sharp.[25] The first notation shows how essential the gesture of hand-crossing was to Scriabin’s conception of the sonority here. Some pianists make the simultaneity of sounding of notes into a priority, but a letter by Scriabin to Belaieff which has been dated to December 1894 shows that spreading of chords was essential to his conception at times (such spreading was, in any case, far more prevalent at that period than now). In this letter, Scriabin writes that the ‘wide chords’ in bb. 9-10 of the Impromptu op. 10 no. 2 ‘must be played by the left hand alone, for the character of their sonority in performance depends on this.’[26]

The Scriabin facsimiles which have been made available in Russia and America are invaluable sources of information and inspiration, and studying them brings us just a little nearer to the composer. It is hoped that the notes above will encourage players and music lovers to investigate them, and also that more facsimiles may follow in the future.

Simon Nicholls, 2016.

[1] http://juilliardmanuscriptcollection.org/composers/scriabin-aleksandr/

[2] This edition was the basis of those of the sonatas, preludes and etudes reprinted by Dover, though some of the editions chosen for reprinting contained errors not present in the complete edition. Dover did not reproduce the essential information that nuances and rubatos given in brackets in these editions, notably in the op. 8 etudes, were from instructions given by Skryabin to Mariya Nemenova-Lunts while she was studying with the composer.

[3] This edition was republished in limited numbers by the Scriabin Society of the U.S.A.

[4] http://expositions.nlr.ru/ex_manus/skriabin/index.php

[5] The letter is dated ‘19th April’ by Scriabin and dated to 1896 on the website. The edition by Kashperov of Scriabin’s letters (A. Scriabin, Pis’ma, Muzyka, Moscow, 1965/2003, attributes it to 1897 (p. 168–169, letter 144.)

[6] This letter is given by Kashperov (op.cit.) on p. 492–3, letter no. 545.

[7] Scriabin: Sonata no. 5, op. 53. Urtext and facsimile. Muzyka, Moscow, 2008.

[8] Boris Pasternak, An Essay in Autobiography, trans. Manya Harari,  Collins and Harvill, London, 1959, p. 44.

[9] I am grateful to the distinguished scholar of Russian literature Avril Pyman for pointing this out (private communication). The French text was added by hand by the composer to the proofs of the first edition (information from the notes by Christoph Flamm to Skrjabin: Sämtliche Klaviersonaten II, Bärenreiter, 2009, p. 43), but perhaps we should trust Scriabin’s Russian, his native tongue, rather than his French in this case.

[10] Ibid.,  p. 44.

[11] Muzgiz, vol. 3, commentary, p.  295. Christoph Flamm, loc. cit. The printed version supplied in the Muzyka edition of the facsimile adds the ties in dotted lines, following Muzgiz. It is certainly tempting to make the ‘correction’: most pianists play the tied version, which persists in many editions. But such bringing into line of parallel passages should not be done automatically.

[12] Valentina Rubtsova, notes to facsimile of Scriabin Sonata no. 5, p.57.

[13] Cf. n. 1, above.

[14] Alexander Skrjabin: Klaviersonate Nr. 7 op. 64. Faksimile nach dem Autograph. G. Henle Verlag, Munich, 2015. The foreword is also available online:
http://www.henle.de/media/foreword/3228.pdf

[15] Cf. Paul Badura-Skoda, Interpreting Mozart on the Keyboard, trans. Leo Black, Barrie & Rockliff, London, 1962, p. 290 for a brief discussion of one example of this problem. Brahms wrote against any attempt to improve on Chopin’s orthography at the time of the preparation of a new complete edition of the Chopin piano works (letter to Ernst Rudorff, late October or early November 1877, quoted in Franz Zagiba, Chopin und Wien, Bauer, Vienna, 1951, p.130.) All this comment is made about a single accidental because the orthography of Scriabin’s late music is such a wide-reaching, fascinating and important topic, perhaps seen by some students of the music only as an irritating difficulty of reading, and this is one small example of it. For a discussion of Scriabin’s orthography and its significance see George Perle, ‘Scriabin’s Self-Analyses’, Music Analysis, Vol. 3 no. 2 (1984), p. 101–122.

[16] Skrjabin, Klavierwerke  III, ed. Günter Philipp, Peters, Leipzig 1967.

[17] Ibid. Philipp notes the variant in an editor’s report, p. 98.

[18] Christoph Flamm discusses Scriabin’s remarki, and comments that the composer accepted with indifference the publishers’ treatment of his upper or lower-case letters (op. cit., p. 42). Nonetheless, these small ms. differences can be infinitely valuable suggestions to the performer. Flamm points out that even the size of the letters in which a remarka is written can be of significance for the performer.

[19] Scriabin spoke good French, but accents sometimes go missing in his writing. This circumstance could perhaps be compared with his tendency to miss out accidentals.

[20] The present writer has read a gramophone record review in which this famous bass note was described as a ‘wrong note.’

[21] The Austrian piano firm Bösendorfer added a few bass notes to the range of its largest instruments. Apart from making Ravel’s bass notes possible to ‘correct’, the bass strings add to the resonance of the piano. No such advantage attaches to an addition to the top of the keyboard.

[22] Noted by Darren Leaper.

[23] Cf. n. 15, above.

[24] http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/watts-jonah-n01636

[25] Muzgiz, vol. 3, commentary, p. 296.

[26] Kashperov, op. cit., p. 87.

New Generation Scriabinists

Below are live recordings by students of the Scriabin Association’s co-chair, Dina Parakhina. Five of her students from Chethams School of Music, aged just 12-16, performed the complete Scriabin op. 11 preludes at a festival held at the RNCM concert Hall. There are two further performances from postgraduate students of Dina Parakhina’s at the RCM of the 8th and 9th sonatas.

Preludes op. 11:

Preludes op. 11 Nos. 1-6. Live performance by Mariam Loladze-Meredith (aged 12)
Preludes op. 11 Nos. 7-11. Live performance by Laura Newey (aged 16)
Preludes op. 11 Nos. 12-16. Live performance by Matthew McLachlan (aged 15)
Preludes op. 11 Nos. 17-20. Live performance by Callum McLachlan (aged 15)
Preludes op. 11 Nos. 21-24. Live performance by Varvara Maniichuk (aged 16)

Sonatas Nos. 8 and 9:

Sonata no.8 op.66 performed by Arsha Kaviani
Sonata no.9 op.68 performed by Poom Prommachart