Representing Russia's Orient: From Ethnography to Art Song 0190051361, 9780190051365

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REPRESENTING RUSSIA’S ORIENT

AMS Studies in Music W. Anthony Sheppard, General Editor Editorial Board Anna Maria Busse Berger Gurminder K. Bhogal Drew Edward Davies Scott K. DeVeaux Claire Fontijn Charles H. Garrett Christine Getz Kevin E. Korsyn

Roberta Montemorra Marvin Nicholas Mathew Inna Naroditskaya Nancy Yunhwa  Rao John J. Sheinbaum Laurie Stras Susan R. Thomas

Conceptualizing Music: Cognitive Structure, Theory, and Analysis Lawrence Zbikowski Inventing the Business of Opera: The Impresario and His World in Seventeenth-​Century Venice Beth L. Glixon and Jonathan Glixon Lateness and Brahms: Music and Culture in the Twilight of Viennese Liberalism Margaret Notley The Critical Nexus: Tone-​System, Mode, and Notation in Early Medieval Music Charles M. Atkinson Music, Criticism, and the Challenge of History: Shaping Modern Musical Thought in Late Nineteenth-​Century Vienna Kevin C. Karnes Jewish Music and Modernity Philip V. Bohlman Changing the Score: Arias, Prima Donnas, and the Authority of Performance Hilary Poriss Rasa: Affect and Intuition in Javanese Musical Aesthetics Marc Benamou Josquin’s Rome: Hearing and Composing in the Sistine Chapel Jesse Rodin Details of Consequence: Ornament, Music, and Art in Paris Gurminder Kaur Bhogal Sounding Authentic: The Rural Miniature and Musical Modernism Joshua S. Walden Brahms Among Friends: Listening, Performance, and the Rhetoric of Allusion Paul Berry Opera for the People: English-​Language Opera and Women Managers in Late 19th-​Century America Katherine K. Preston Taken by the Devil: Censorship, Frank Wedekind, and Alban Berg's Lulu Margaret Notley Beethoven 1806 Mark Ferraguto Songs of Sacrifice: Chant, Identity, and Christian Formation in Early Medieval Iberia Rebecca Maloy Representing Russia’s Orient: From Ethnography to Art Song Adalyat Issiyeva

REPRESENTING RUSSIA’S ORIENT From Ethnography to Art Song

Adalyat Issiyeva

1

1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2021 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Issiyeva, Adalyat, author. Title: Representing Russia’s orient : from ethnography to art song /​by Adalyat Issiyeva. Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2021. | Series: AMS studies in music series | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020016406 (print) | LCCN 2020016407 (ebook) | ISBN 9780190051365 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190051389 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Music—​Russia—​19th century—​History and criticism. | Music—​Russia—​20th century—​History and criticism. | Folk songs—​Russia—​19th century—​History and criticism. | Orientalism in music—​Russia—​History. | Orientalism—​Russia—​History. | Ethnography—​Russia—​History. Classification: LCC ML300.4 .I77 2020 (print) | LCC ML300.4 (ebook) | DDC 781.62/​9171—​dc23 LC record available at https://​lccn.loc.gov/​2020016406 LC ebook record available at https://​lccn.loc.gov/​2020016407 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190051365.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

To the memory of my father

Contents List of Illustrations  List of Musical Examples  Acknowledgments  Note on Dates and Transliteration 

ix xiii xvii xxi

Introduction 

1

PART I  1 Unveiling Tradition: Oriental “Others” in Nineteenth-​Century Russian (Folk) Song Collections  2 Building Images of the “Other”: Russian Music Ethnographies on Inorodtsy  3 Aryanism and Asianism in the Quest for Russian Identity 

19 47 91

PART II 4 Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient  5 Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and the Mighty Five  6 Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire  In Place of a Conclusion 

127 159 209 255

Appendix 1: Collections of Bylinas and Folk, Soldier, and Children’s Songs  Appendix 2: Programs of the Ethnographic Concerts in Moscow  Notes  Bibliography  Index 

263 269 275 361 393

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list of Illustrations Figures 1.1

2.1

2.2

2.3

2.4

2.5

“Sketch of the acquisitions of Russia in Europe and Central Asia since the accession of Peter 1st to the throne.” 48 × 62 cm. In Stanford’s London atlas of universal geography exhibiting the physical and political divisions of the various countries of the world. Folio edition. One hundred maps, with a list of latitudes and longitudes. Second issue, revised and enlarged. London atlas series. Stanford’s Geographical Establishment (London: Edward Stanford, 1901), 66: pl. 55. David Rumsey Historical Map Collection. © Royal Geographical Society  The Central Asian exposition at the Anthropological Exhibition of 1879, photo from Izviestiia Imperatorskogo obshchestva liubitelei estestvoznaniia, antropologii i etnografii, vol. 49/​2, 1886. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  “Two Kyrgyz Songs” from Aleksei Levshin, Opisanie Kirgiz-​ Kazach’ikh ili Kirgiz-​Kaisakskikh ord i stepei (St. Petersburg: tip. Karla Kraiia, 1832). Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  “Kokandian Military Parade March” from August Eichhorn, Otdel’nye zametki I, II, fund 340, item 1500, page 7 (5). Source: Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow  “Soldier’s Military Training March” from August Eichhorn, Otdel’nye zametki I, II, fund 340, item 1500, page 37. Source: Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow  Central Asian instrument urra drawn by August Eichhorn in his Otdel’nye zametki I, II, fund 340, item 1500, page 156. Source: Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal

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3

55

63

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83

x List of Illustrations

3.1

3.2

3.3

3.4

3.5

3.6

3.7

3.8

3.9

Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow  A bandura player from Mikhail Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty Sankt-​ Petersburgskoi Konservatorii (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperskoi AN, 1884), 9. Courtesy of the State Historic Public Library of Russia, Moscow  A Caucasian musician playing the dongara from Mikhail Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty Sankt-​Petersburgskoi Konservatorii (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperskoi AN, 1884), 49. Courtesy of the State Historic Public Library of Russia, Moscow  A Buriat woman playing a three-​string domra-​like instrument from Alexander Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891), 11. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  A Kyrgyz man playing the two-​string dumbra from Alexander Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891), 12. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  A Cossack playing a seven-​string bandura from Alexander Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891), 138. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  A blind bandura player from Alexander Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891), 143. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  A Kyrgyz kobyz player from Alexander Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nyh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom muzee v Moskve,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (1911), 2:228. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  Central Asian musicians and musical instruments from Alexander Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nyh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom muzee v Moskve,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (1911), 2:249. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  Ukrainian kobzar players and “Troista music” ensemble from Alexander Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nyh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom

85

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List of Illustrations muzee v Moskve,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (Moscow, 1911), 2:238. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  3.10 Central Asian musicians from Turkestanskii Al’bom. Po rasporiazheniiu turkestanskogo general-​gubernatora general-​ad”iutanta K. P. fon Kaufmana 1-​go. Chast etnograficheskaia: Tuzemnoe naselenie v russkikh vladeniiakh Srednei Azii: Sostavil A. L. Kun. 1871–​1872 g (St. Petersburg: Lit. Voenno-​Topogr. Otdela Turkest.Voen. Okruga, 1871–​72), pt. 2, vol. 2, pl. 82, nos. 262–​69, Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, reproduction numbers LC-​DIG-​ppmsca-​09953-​0 0001 to 00008, digital file  3.11 Musicians and musical instruments from Turkestanskii Al’bom. Po rasporiazheniiu turkestanskogo general-​gubernatora general-​ad”iutanta K. P. fon Kaufmana 1-​go. Chast etnograficheskaia: Tuzemnoe naselenie v russkikh vladieniiakh Srednei Azii: Sostavil A. L. Kun. 1871–​1872 g (St. Petersburg: Lit. Voenno-​Topogr. Otdela Turkest. Voen. Okruga, 1871–​72), pt. 2, vol. 2, pl. 83, nos. 270–​75, Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, reproduction numbers, LC-​DIG-​ppmsca-​ 09953-​00009 to 00014, digital file  3.12 Ensemble of Central Asian musicians from Turkestanskii Al’bom. Po rasporiazheniiu turkestanskogo general-​gubernatora general-​ad”iutanta K. P. fon Kaufmana 1-​go. Chast etnograficheskaia: Tuzemnoe naselenie v russkikh vladieniiakh Srednei Azii: Sostavil A. L. Kun. 1871–​1872 g (St. Petersburg: Lit.Voenno-​Topogr. Otdela Turkest.Voen. Okruga, 1871–​72), pt. 2, vol. 2, pl. 84, nos. 276–​81, Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, reproduction numbers, LC-​DIG-​ppmsca-​ 09953-​00015 to 00020, digital file  4.1 Alexander Aliab’ev in Piatigorsk, by Grigorii Gel’mersen, 1833–​34, from Olga Fraenova, “Aliab’ev,” in Bol’shaia rossiiskaia entsiklopediia, ed. S. L. Kravets (Moscow: BRE, 2005), 5:582. Courtesy of Bol’shaia rossiiskaia entsiklopediia, Moscow  4.2 Alexander Aliab’ev, Eskizy, nabroski, fund 40, item 6a, 6b, page 32. Source: Alexander Aliab’ev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow  5.1 Balakirev in Circassian attire (1862). Photo in Russian Musical Gazette 41 (1910): 865. Courtesy of the National Library of Russia, St. Petersburg  5.2 Dmitrii Arakchiev, “Kakheti Songs.” “No. 1. A Threshing Song [Gumnovaia].” “No. 2. A Plowing Song [Pluzhnaia],” from “Kratkii ocherk razvitiia gruzinskoi, kartalino-​kakhetinskoi narodnoi pesni s

120

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165

xi

xii List of Illustrations

5.3

6.1

6.2

6.3

prilozheniem notnykh primerov i 27 pesen v narodnoi garmonizatsii D. I. Arakchieva,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (1906), 1:319. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  179 Vasilii Vereshchagin, Forgotten [Zabytyi], from Illiustrirovannyi katalog Khudozhestvennogo otdela Vserossiiskoi vystavki v Moskve, 1882 g (St. Petersburg: M. P. Botkin, 1882), pt. 1, 14. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland  187 Illustration of the Central Asian Exhibition in Moscow. Niva 34 (1891): 747. Courtesy of the National Library of Russia, St. Petersburg  222 Nikolai Karazin’s playing cards, published in 1900. Illustration in Ogonek 9 (1900): 65. Courtesy of the National Library of Russia, St. Petersburg  226 Taranchi song “Nozgum,” arrangement by Glière. Fund 133, item 129. Source: Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskaia Komissiia Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow  244

Tables 4.1 5.1 6.1

Aliab’ev’s (Art) Songs with Oriental Subjects  Art Songs with Oriental or Exotic Subjects Composed by the Members of the Kuchka  Types of Music Performed at the Ethnographic Concerts of the Music-​Ethnographic Committee (1893–​1911) 

140 189 224

Maps 2.1 4.1

Russian Expansion in Central Asia, 1801–​95   Russian Expansion in the Caucasus, 1801–​81  

48 131

list of Musical Examples 1.1a “Prizyv” [Appeal] from Nikulin’s Sbornik pesen (1881)  40 1.1b Glinka, “Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne” [Do Not Sing Thy Song of Georgia] (1828) 40 1.1c Verstovky, “First Aria of the Unknown Man” from opera Askold’s Grave (1835), mm. 13–​20 41 1.2 “Cheremis Song” from Abramychev’s Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen  44 2.1a Gilyak Lamran’s song  64 2.1b Gilyak Dsheien’s song  64 2.1c Gilyak Njaungur’s song  64 2.2 “Kalmyk Song” from Asian Music Journal 1 (1816)  73 2.3 “Persian Song of Fatali Khan from Derbent. Ov im Sireli” from Asian Music Journal 4 (1817?) as printed in Rybakov’s Music and Songs of Ural Muslims 75 3.1 Russian folk song “Kak vo gorode tsarevna,” cited in Sokal’skii’s Russian and Little-​Russian Folk Music, 41, mm. 1–​12  97 3.2 Little-​Russian folk song “Zelenaia moia lishchinon’ka,” cited in Sokal’skii’s Russian and Little-​Russian Folk Music, 161, mm. 41, 1–​13  98 3.3 Little-​Russian folk song “Oi, po gorakh, po dolinakh,” cited in Sokal’skii’s Russian and Little-​Russian Folk Music, 170, mm. 1–​4  98 3.4 Russian folk song “Eko serdtse,” cited in Famintsyn’s Ancient Hindu-​Chinese Scale, 122, mm. 1–​5  104 3.5 Russian folk song “Ne tesan terem,” from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sbornik 100 russkikh narodnykh pesen, part 2, 72–73, mm. 1–​4  105 3.6 Two Kyrgyz songs, cited in Famintsyn’s Ancient Hindu-​Chinese Scale, 65 106 4.1a Aliab’ev, “Cherkesskaia pesnia” [Circassian Song], mm. 17–​20  144 4.1b Glinka, “Lezghinka,” from Ruslan and Liudmila, mm. 9–​12  144 4.1c Aliab’ev’s transcription of “Dikii khor”  145 4.2a Aliab’ev, “Kabardinskaia pesnia” [Kabardian Song], mm. 5–​26  147 4.2b Ukrainian folk song “Oi, zore, zoren’ko,” arranged by Aliab’ev for Maksimovich’s Golosa ukrainskikh pesen  149 4.3 Aliab’ev, “Cherkes” [A Circassian], mm. 1–​8  150 4.4 Aliab’ev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], mm. 2–​5  156

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xiv List of Musical Examples 4.5a 4.5b 5.1a 5.1b 5.2a 5.2b 5.3a 5.3b 5.3c

Georgian song “Akhal agnago sulo,” mm. 1–​3  Georgian song “Akhalo,” 1–​8  Balakirev, “Pesnia Selima” [Selim Song], mm. 29–​33  Balakirev, “Pesnia Selima” [Selim Song], mm. 1–​8  Balakirev, “Pesnia Selima” [Selim Song], mm. 13–​15  Glinka, Ratmir’s aria from Ruslan and Liudmila (act 3), mm. 109–​11  Balakirev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], mm. 49–​52  Balakirev’s transcription of a Georgian song (no. 15), mm. 1–​4  Balakirev’s transcription of Georgian song “Akh, dilav” (no. 19), mm. 9–​12  5.4a Balakirev’s transcription of Georgian dance “Perkhuli,” mm. 1–​3  5.4b Balakirev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia,” [Georgian Song], mm. 59–​60  5.5 Balakirev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], mm. 12–​15  5.6 Balakirev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], mm. 23–​24  5.7 Balakirev, “Son” [Dream], mm. 1–​12  5.8a Balakirev, “Son” [Dream], mm. 20–​21  5.8b Glinka, “Zhavoronok” [Lark], mm. 14–​17  5.9 Balakirev, “Son” [Dream], mm. 28–​30  5.10a Rimsky-​Korsakov, “El i pal’ma” [The Pine and the Palm], mm. 22–​23  5.10b Balakirev’s transcription of an “Armenian tune” (no. 26), mm. 5–​8  5.11a Rimsky-​Korsakov, “Plenivshis rozoi solovei” [Enslaved by the Rose, the Nightingale], mm. 1–​8  5.11b Balakirev’s transcription of Georgian song “Akh, dilav” (no. 19), mm. 19–​20  5.12 Rimsky-​Korsakov, “Kak nebesa tvoi vzor prekrasen” [Thy Glance Is Radiant as the Heavens], mm. 16–​20  5.13a Rimsky-​Korsakov, “Pesnia Ziuleiki” [Zuleika Song], op. 26/​4, mm. 1–​6  5.13b Rimsky-​Korsakov, Liubava’s aria from Sadko (scene 3), mm. 1–​6  5.14a Balakirev’s transcription of Caucasian dance “Islamey,” mm. 6–​7  5.14b Musorgsky, “Boevaia pesn Liviitsev” [A Militant Song of the Libyans] from Salammbô, mm. 19–​23  5.15 Musorgsky, “Pesnia Baleartsa” [Song of the Balearic Islander] from Salammbô, mm. 6–​8  5.16 Musorgsky, Boris Godunov, Prologue, mm. 15–​18  5.17 Borodin, Symphony no. 1, third movement, mm. 13–​19  5.18a “Insiraf Grib” from Christianowitsch’s Esquisse historique, p. xx, mm. 12–​18  5.18b Russian folk song “Podbliudnaia pesnia,” known as “Slava!,” mm. 1–​6  5.19 “Iaroslavna’s Lament” from Borodin’s opera Prince Igor (act 4), mm. 13–​21 

156 156 171 172 173 173 175 175 175 176 176 178 179 185 185 186 186 193 193 194 194 195 197 197 199 200 200 202 204 205 205 206

List of Musical Examples 6.1 6.2 6.3

Russian song “Ia stradaiu,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 1–​12  Armenian song “Krunk,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 71–​74  Borodin, “Song of the Polovtsian Maiden,” in Prince Igor (act 2), mm. 71–​73  6.4 Georgian song “Mertskhali,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 1–​12  6.5 Kyrgyz song “Ai astynda ber dzholduz,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 1–​17  6.6 Sart song “Karalasam kurynmaidi,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 1–​12  6.7 Tatar song no. 1, “Arkai Kaila” from Trudy Muzykal’no-​ Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Gretchaninov, mm. 1–​15  6.8 Tatar song no. 2, “Su sagan” from Trudy Muzykal’no-​ Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Gretchaninov, mm. 1–​4  6.9 Bashkir instrumental tune no. 3, from Trudy Muzykal’no-​ Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Gretchaninov  6.10 Teptiar song “Igtai agai,” from Trudy Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Gretchaninov  6.11 “Kak po Kame, po reke,” as transcribed by Lineva, mm. 1–​6  6.12 Nagaibak song “Zhiran mikan,” as transcribed by Rybakov  6.13 Taranchi song “Nozgum” (“Gozgum”), from Trudy Muzykal’no-​ Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Glière  6.14a Taranchi song “Guby tvoi—​sakhar, podruzhka,” from Trudy Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Glière, mm. 1–​10  6.14b Harmonic reduction of Glière’s Taranchi song “Guby tvoi—sakhar, podruzhka”  6.14c Bizet, “Chanson Arabe. Mavritanskaia pesn,” from Nuvellist 63 (1902), 149–​51, mm. 1–​8 

213 215 215 216 217 219

230 232 234 236 238 238 246

248 248 249

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Acknowledgments This project is indebted to the kindness of many people and institutions that have assisted me over a number of years.The research was conducted in Moscow, Almaty, and Helsinki with the generous support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, the Fonds de Recherche du Québec—​Société et Culture, and a McGill Schulich School of Music Fellowship. As a doctoral student at McGill University, I was fortunate to work with Steven Huebner and Lars Lih, both of whom have profoundly shaped my approach to music history and the history of Russia. Over the years, they have both read this manuscript several times, offering insightful comments and suggestions, as well as continuous encouragement. While at McGill University, I also had an opportunity to study with Julie Cumming, who enthusiastically supported this research from the very first moment; Roe-​Min Kok, whose seminars inspired my research on Alexander Aliab’ev and Russian music ethnography; Paul Austin of the Slavic Department, who guided me to and through the National Library of Finland; Paul Peters of the German Department, whose seminar on “otherness” in German literature helped me understand similar issues in Russian literature; and Monique Desroches of the Université de Montreal, whose seminar “Methodes de terrains” changed my perspective on western ethnomusicology and stimulated me to do research on the history of Russian ethnomusicology. I  am particularly thankful to Lars Lih and Anna Berman for helping me to render properly all the intricacies of Russian-​English translation. A number of scholars have provided me with helpful insights for different chapters of my research. I am grateful to Professors Michael Beckerman, Jonathan Bellman, Anna Berman, Inna Naroditskaya, Nathaniel Knight, Mohsen Mohammadi, Lyudmila Parts, Jeff Sahadeo, David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Giultekin Shamilli, Richard Stites, and Lloyed Whitesell—​all of whom read different parts of the book and offered insightful comments that helped me develop my arguments. I also owe special thanks to my two “anonymous” readers—​Richard Taruskin and Marina Frolova-​Walker, whose enthusiastic response to and friendly critique of my manuscript drove me to embark on more meticulous research—and to Jann Pasler, the book’s godmother and

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xviii Acknowledgments editor. Besides recommending writings on French colonial encounters, which have shaped my understanding of Russia’s cultural encounters with its Orient, Jann generously offered her time and energy to carefully read and reread each sentence of the manuscript and give me her expert advice. Her continuous encouragement and dedication to this project simply kept it alive. Thanks also to the editorial and production teams at Oxford University Press, particularly Victoria Dixon (Kouznetsov), Norman Hirschy, Mary Horn, Asish Krishna, and Suzanne Ryan. Special thanks to Martha Ramsey for her expert editing of the manuscript. I am infinitely thankful to my McGill friends and colleagues Kimberly White, Alyssa Michaud, Colette Simonot-Maiello, Rachel Avery, Shanti Nachtergaele, and Kristin Franseen for their help in proofreading my nonnative English and giving me excellent and constructive advice on the language. Special thanks to my dear friends, colleagues, and relatives in Russia, Kazakhstan, Finland, Canada, the United States, and around the world who offered me their unwavering support and always provided encouragement and inspiration:  Dilbar and Damir Alibakiyev, Abir Alsayed, Baktygul Aliev, Liliya Barayashova, Leila Bayakhunova, Daniel Beaudoin, Anna Berman, Eduard and Nataly Bogushevsky, Eugene Bychkov, Svetlana Chestakova, Rashed Chowdhury, Olga Dourova, Nikolay Dzisiak, François de Médicis, Grigorii Fedorenko, Daine Fereig, Zhanna Folden (Zhantureeva), Meghan Goodchild, Dana Gorzelany-​ Mostak, Beguentch Gueldyev, Sarah Gutsche-​Miller, Chris Paul Harman, Jane Hatter, Hally Issac, Irina Kandinskaia, Maria Krassil’nikova, Alexis Luko, Linda Mannix, Justin Mariner, Inna Mattei, Olga Mertsalova, Olga Mihailovscaia, Frederic Nadeau, Raphael Paquette, Donna Popova, Muhtar Sabir, Peter Schubert, Catherine Schwartz, Maxime Séguin, Jill Smith, Zabira Sugirova, Albert Tavadian, Nabijan Tursun, Mehmet Tohti, Michel Vallières, Kym White, Larisa Zmeevskaia, and Evgeniia Zorina. I acknowledge my particular gratitude to the people who guided me in library research, and I  thank them for their assistance in finding the most valuable information in piles of books, periodicals, and microfilms, as well as in obtaining copyright permissions:  David Curtis, Houman Behzadi, and Cathy Martin at the McGill University Music Library, Irina Lukka at the Slavonic Library of Helsinki University, Emilia Rassina at the Moscow State Conservatoire, Elena Fetisova at the Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Leila Bayakhunova at the Russian State Library (“Leninka”), Marina Savusia at the publishing house Great Russian Encyclopedia, Courtney Matthews and Georgia Joseph at the Library of Congress, and Bob Kosovsky at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts. Without the hospitality of other libraries, this research could not have been completed. These include the Russian State Public Historical Library (“Publichka”), the Kazakh State Library of the Academy of Science, the New York Public Library, the Robarts

Acknowledgments Library of Toronto University, and the Widener Library and Loeb Library of Harvard University. For creating my two historical maps, I owe many thanks to Ruilan Shi and Tim Elrick at the McGill Geographic Information Center, and to Joy Wheller at the Royal Geographical Society for helping to obtain the copyright permission for the reproduction of the Sketch of the Acquisitions of Russia in Europe and Central Asia. I would like to express my gratitude to the families of Reinhold Glière and Alexander Gretchaninov—​Senta Viktorovna Glière, Oleg Iur’evich Glière, Kirill Igorevich Novosselski, Tat’iana Viktorovna Bukina, and Vladimir Gretchaninov—​for granting me permission to reproduce the composers’ folk song arrangements. Finally, I  am particularly grateful to my family:  my mother, Tamara Alibakiyeva, whose inexhaustible enthusiasm and encouragement, inquisitiveness, and insatiable desire to learn have always been for me a model to emulate; my brother, computer whiz Kuddus Issiyev; my husband, Parkhat Rozakhunov, whose wholehearted support and encouragement made my study enjoyable and worthwhile; and my two boys, Akram Issa and Emran Issa, patiently waiting for and encouraging the completion of this manuscript. I am dedicating this book to my father—​Daut Issiyev—​a historian, archaeologist, and writer, who unfortunately will never be able to enjoy reading it, but whose invisible presence inspired my historical enquiry and whose devotional attitude toward research and investigative spirit of mind has guided me since childhood. An earlier version of the first part of c­ hapter 3 was presented at the Colloque “Recognizing and Imagining the Slavic in Culture, Society and Language” in Montreal, March 24-25, 2011, and later appeared in Revue de centre européene d’étude slave (July 2013)  under the title “ ‘Connected by the Ties of Blood’:  Musical Scales in the Quest for the Russian/​Asian Identity”; a small part of c­ hapter 6 was presented at the conference “Sacre Celebration:  Revisiting, Reflecting, Revisioning,” organized by York University, in Toronto, April 18–​20, 2013, and was subsequently published in the conference proceedings under the title “The Origin of Russian Primitivism? Alexander Grechaninov’s Arrangements of Asian Songs.” Some parts of ­chapters 2, 4, and 5 were presented at American Musicological Society meetings in Quebec City (2007), San Francisco (2011), Pittsburgh (2013), and at meetings of the New  York and the St. Lawrence chapters (Montreal, 2009); the Biennial 19th-​ Century Music Conference (Toronto, 2014); the National Convention of the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies (Washington, D.C., 2006); and the Central and Inner Asia Studies Conference (Toronto, 2005). The responses to these talks shaped my thinking on several issues and are reflected throughout the text.

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Note on Dates and Transliteration Dates are given in accordance with the Julian calendar (“Old style”), which was used in imperial Russia before the reform of February 1, 1918, and in the nineteenth century was twelve days behind the Gregorian calendar commonly used in the West. The Library of Congress system is used for transliterations from the Cyrillic alphabet, with the exception of commonly accepted spellings of Russian names (e.g. Fyodor Dostoyevsky), words, and places (e.g.Yaroslavl or Yakutia). The soft marks at the ends of Russian words such as mysl or Rus have been removed to avoid confusion with possessive forms of nouns or proper nouns. Because the Soviet national determination policy often introduced artificial borders and eliminated and reorganized a number of ethnic groups and identities, I use the historical names of ethnic groups as they appeared in the official Russian language in the nineteenth century: Little-​Russians instead of Ukrainians, Cheremis instead of Mari, Votiaks instead of Udmurts, Taranchis instead of Uighurs, Sarts instead of Uzbeks, and others. The maps also present the historical names of cities or regions (Tiflis instead of Tbilisi, Eastern Turkestan instead of Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region of China). Unless otherwise indicated, translations from Russian and French are my own.

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Introduction La Russie repose . . . sur l’Asie. Une frontière sèche d’immense étendue la met en contact avec presque tous les peuples de l’Orient. —​Count Sergei Uvarov, Projet d’une académie asiatique (1810) A Russian is not only European, but also Asian. —​Fyodor Dostoyevsky, “Geok-​Tepe. What Does Asia Mean to Us?” (1881)

T

he year 1991 brought about major dramatic change on the Eurasian continent with important consequences for world history:  along with the collapse and dissolution of the Soviet Union—​one of the world’s largest powers—​and the official end of the Cold War, a number of small independent states suddenly popped up, drastically transforming the geopolitical map of Europe and Asia. Social unrest, interethnic conflicts, and armed clashes on the borders between different republics preceding and following the collapse shocked international observers, who were accustomed to thinking of “the Soviets” as an undifferentiated and monolithic mass of people ideologically opposed to capitalism. Most of “the Soviets” were shocked, too. I still remember one day at the beginning of the school year in 1991: as our seminar on political economy started, all of the students bombarded the professor with simple yet very intricate questions about the significance of the August Coup for Kazakhstan and the future of our country. He responded with a long silence. Some of our inquiries were gradually answered with Kazakhstan’s declaration of independence in December 1991 and the creation of the Commonwealth of Independent States. However, some of the questions continued swarming in the back of my mind. With the relaxation of border controls, the demographic landscape of Alma-​ Ata—​my hometown and the capital of Kazakhstan at that time—​changed considerably. Many people who had been exiled during the Stalin era to the Kazakh

2 Representing Russia’s Orient steppe went back to their home countries—​now independent; many others were shown the door, and large numbers of Russians, Germans, and Jewish people left for their “historical homelands.” I did not have one to claim. At the end of the nineteenth century, my ethnic Uighur homeland had been divided between two of the major Eurasian powers: China and Russia.Yet, being raised in the Soviet ethos as a member of an ethnic minority group, I strongly believed that, regardless of ethnicity, I could contribute to the country in which I was born. However, my status as “other”—​immediately apparent to anyone who saw “Uighur” indicated as my “nationality” in my passport—​pursued me until I left for the West. Then, what was burning in my mind immediately following the collapse of the USSR reappeared with new urgency: what is the role of different minority ethnic groups in a multiethnic empire? What part do they play in the formation of the identity and culture of the majority? How does ethnographic knowledge shape cultural policies dealing with minority peoples, and how does it determine, stimulate, or discourage their social and cultural development? These are the questions at the core of this book.

Context The attitude of many Russians toward their Asian neighbors has always been ambiguous and complex. From conquered to conqueror, political ally to economic tyrant, Russia’s role has changed continually.Throughout the nineteenth century, the Russian empire was almost constantly engaged in war with its eastern and southern neighbors. In the first half of that century alone, there were two Russo-​Persian wars (1804–​13, 1826–​28), two Russo-​Turkish wars (1806–​ 12, 1828–​29), and the Caucasian War (1818–​64), also known as the conquest of the Caucasus. In 1853, Russia engaged in the Crimean War, which it lost in 1856. After its humiliating defeat in the south, boosting military confidence became the Russian officials’ first priority; consequently, Russia’s southeastern neighbors—​who possessed relatively inferior armies—​became a coveted object of imperial attention. In the 1860s, Russia engaged in what was later referred to as the Great Game campaign by expanding into Central Asia, an area where Great Britain was also pursuing its own expansionist goals.1 In 1877, irritated by the Muslim-​Christian crisis in the Balkans, Russia declared war on Turkey, a conflict that ended a year later, freeing Romania, Serbia, and Montenegro from Turkish rule, and yielding some parts of the Caucasus to the Russian empire, resulting in an alteration to the balance of power in the east. Unlike Great Britain, France, and other European powers, Russia annexed, subjugated, conquered, and colonized its immediate neighbors (see the map of Russia and its acquisitions by the beginning of the twentieth century in fig. 1.1). Consequently, the separation between the West and the subjugated East has not always been self-​evident, and has often occasioned geographical

Figure 1.1.  “Sketch of the acquisitions of Russia in Europe and Central Asia since the accession of Peter 1st to the throne.” 48 × 62 cm. In Stanford’s London atlas of universal geography exhibiting the physical and political divisions of the various countries of the world. Folio edition. One hundred maps, with a list of latitudes and longitudes. Second issue, revised and enlarged. London atlas series. Stanford’s Geographical Establishment (London: Edward Stanford, 1901), 66: pl. 55. David Rumsey Historical Map Collection. © Royal Geographical Society

4 Representing Russia’s Orient and cultural confusion, even within Russia itself.2 For a long time, Russian geographers and historians could not decide where to draw the line separating Russia’s European regions from its Asian ones. Discussions about whether or not the Ural Mountains were the natural geographical borders between Europe and Asia filled pages upon pages in journals and books until the end of the nineteenth century.3 The situation was further complicated by the fact that before the sixteenth century, Russia itself had been subject to conquest by its Asian neighbors, and hence a number of Asian linguistic and cultural features were incorporated into, and became an integral part of, Russian identity.4 For this reason, in the eyes of the western European community, Russia was frequently viewed as Asian, which caused a measure of unease among Russians, who had adopted quite distinct approaches to the articulation of their own national identity.5 This book seeks to contextualize the formation and development of Russian musical discourse on Russia’s own eastern and southern “others” in the long nineteenth century.6 It suggests that Russia’s (musical) ethnographies about its Asian and Caucasian neighbors played a pivotal role in the formation and development of Russia’s own musical identity. Situated on the periphery, minority peoples not only defined the geographical boundaries of the empire, its culture, and its music but also defined the boundaries of Russianness itself. Due to this complex pattern in the development of Russian politics and the development of different ideological currents, as well as a transformation in social and cultural life, some Russian composers and writers generated a multidimensional representation of Russia’s “others”: they not only resisted the colonial discourse inferiorizing the conquered peoples but sometimes even embraced an Asian musical identity. Prominent Russian writers, musicians, and artists often broached the issue of Russian Asianness or Easternness and its ambivalent geopolitical and sociocultural position between the East and the West. (I discuss the terms “Asian,” “East,” and “Oriental” later.) At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the future minister of education Count Sergei Uvarov, as the first epigraph suggests, placed Russia within the Asian continent and assigned the growing empire the important task of a systematic study of Russia’s Orient.7 He envisioned Russia establishing a link between European civilization and the “light of Asia,” recognizing the huge economic, political, and geopolitical advantages of the eastern corner of Russia, with its vast adjacent territories as well as its importance for the future Russian national discourse: “the diffusion of eastern languages should also lead to the diffusion of a sound understanding of Asia as it relates to Russia. Here is a great enterprise, still unilluminated by the light of reason, a whole untouched field of glory, a source of a new nationality policy.”8 Later in the century, the famous critic Vladimir Stasov also addressed the Russian–​ Asian issue by including “the oriental [vostochnyi] theme” in his list of four

Introduction characteristic elements that distinguish Russian music from that of Europe.9 Such a ready and open embrace of oriental identity reveals Stasov’s considerable respect for eastern cultures—​an attitude that a century later Soviet musicologist Viktor Vinogradov would call “oriental patriotism.”10 Not all Russian intellectuals saw Asia in such a favorable light. Some considered the East to be backward, and worthy of imperial attention only because of its geopolitical situation. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, for instance, in his essay composed in 1881 after the fall of a Turkmen fortress at Geok-​Tepe to Russian troops, suggested that Russia should continue its offensive policies in the East to establish total control and absolute prestige in Asia: “let there be a furor. Let the conviction grow among all these millions of peoples, to the very borders of India, and even within India, if you like, of the invincibility of the White Tsar and the omnipotence of his sword.”11 He believed that Asia was not only an arena of political activity in its own right but also the field in which Russia would engage with Europe in its civilizing mission to prove its Europeanness and its ability to make its own independent political decisions.12 Allegorically referring to Russia as the “West’s slave,” and as the “other” that European civilization would never acknowledge as its own (“Europe  .  .  .  secretly despises us, and openly considers us as people beneath her, as lower species”), Dostoyevsky called on Russian people to reconsider the empire’s policies in Europe and change their view of Asia as a “financial burden.”13 Asia, according to Dostoyevsky, “might truly serve” as the “future outlet” and would rejuvenate Russia, since its role was similar to that of America: “when we turn to Asia . . . something of the same sort may happen to us as happened to Europe when America was discovered. . . . With our push toward Asia we will have a renewed upsurge of spirit and strength.”14 Paradoxically, Dostoyevsky called for the conquest and subjugation of Asia because it was representing not the “other” but an essential and undeniable part of the Russian “self ”:  “Russia is not only in Europe but in Asia as well; because the Russian is not only a European but an Asian as well. . . . We must cast aside this servile fear that Europe will call us Asiatic barbarians and say that we are more Asian than European . . . this mistaken view of ourselves as exclusively Europeans and not Asians (and we have never ceased to be the latter)—​this shame and this mistaken view has cost us dearly, very dearly . . . and we have paid for it by the loss of our spiritual independence.”15 Despite the fact that Dostoyevsky, Stasov, and many other prominent late-​nineteenth-​century Russian writers were aware of the significance of Asia for Russian national self-​definition, little has been said about how the ethnographic knowledge and construction of the Russian Orient contributed to the formation of Russian identity in general, and to music identity in particular. Nineteenth-​century music histories generally treated Russian music and Russia’s Asian music as separate, nonoverlapping categories. Ethnographic encounters with Russia’s eastern or southern “others,” which in some cases

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6 Representing Russia’s Orient played a crucial role in the creation of a musical work, have hardly been integrated into Russian music history. As a result, the history of Russian music on eastern themes, and the concomitant research on it, offers more questions than answers. Can or could conquerors appropriate and claim the music of the conquered as their own “authentic” national form of expression, and if they did, how did this process unfold? How was Russia’s supremacy in Central Asia translated into ethnographic knowledge and cultural representation of Russia’s Asians? Was the encounter with ethnic minorities, particularly in the east and south, always shaped by official policies? In the Soviet period, only a handful of articles addressed the issue of Russian music with oriental subjects and the influence of ethnographic sources on the musical representation of Asian “others.”16 For obvious reasons, none of them elaborated on the political motivations standing behind Russian “inspiration” by the East.17 More recent Russian studies on eastern subjects in Russian music raise important questions about the dynamics and the methods of assimilation and absorption of some eastern elements into the Russian musical vocabulary.18 However, they do not discuss how Russian ethnographic studies shaped the perception of Russia’s own Orient, and they hardly touch on the role of Russia’s eastern or southern “others” in the creation of Russian musical identity.19 Throughout the Cold War, most western histories of the empire focused on Russia and the Russians, because of extremely restricted access to the archives in Moscow and Leningrad, let alone the archives of the national republics. The few monographs on non-​Russian nationalities and ethnic groups living in the Russian empire, or Russia’s so-​called inorodtsy, were motivated by the Cold War rivalries and hence generally reflected strong biases based on past experiences. Music histories also bear the mark of a period mostly preoccupied with essentializing the myth of Russian uniqueness. In more recent years, Richard Taruskin and Marina Frolova-​Walker have made significant strides in dismantling such myths by reconsidering and reconstructing Russian music as an integral part of the history of western European music, Russian folklore (whether real or imagined), and Russia’s eastern traditions.20 Other writers, too, have taken on the topic of Russian musical Orientalism.21 Still, even in these and other such studies, eastern or southern ethnic minorities, the inorodtsy of the Russian empire, ethnographic sources on them, and their effect on nineteenth-​ century Russian culture and music have not been given serious consideration.22 In addition, most recent studies of Russian music have focused on opera and symphony as the most important manifestations of national thought.23 This book, therefore, seeks to fill an important lacuna in Russian history. If historians have overlooked the impact of ethnographic studies of Russia’s eastern and southern minority peoples in the formation of Russian identity, scholars of Russian repertoire studies have generally neglected the genre that was characteristic of music ethnographies of the time, that is, the art song. Since

Introduction music and the musical imagination can be shaped by a complex interplay of different social, political, and cultural factors, this research will include study of nineteenth-​century Russian history, the history of the Russian-​Asian and Russian-​Caucasian cultural relationships, and ethnographic research of the time. It will also address the underanalyzed repertoire of Russian folk and art songs evoking sites and peoples from the southern and eastern fringes of the empire, and inorodtsy songs arranged by Russian composers as vocal pieces with piano (or, more rarely, orchestral) accompaniment. Interpreting ethnographic knowledge as a constructive element in Russia’s formation of a multiethnic empire, this study explores how nineteenth-​ century music ethnographies, through the promotion of certain publications and cultural events, served imperialistic ends, enabling the empire to politically, economically, and culturally absorb the conquered lands. Thematically, my research contributes to existing studies that explore the representation of nonwestern societies in the ethnographic literature of western colonial powers, and the musical ramifications and effects of colonial encounters. In this regard, recent studies by Jann Pasler, Bennett Zon, and Nalini Ghuman on the French and British perceptions and representations of nonwestern music—​particularly the way the image of the oriental “other” helped to define the boundaries of musical Frenchness or Englishness—​have guided my inquiries concerning Russian musical representation of its colonial subjects.24 These authors’ insights into the complex intellectual culture of Europe, with its network of interwoven social and anthropological theories of race, development, and civilization, helped me to realize that nineteenth-​century Russian culture was only partly European. One of the most intriguing elements of Russian self-​definition, which set it apart from European identity, was the belief of many Russian intellectuals in the value of their nation’s eastern heritage. Prince Esper Ukhtomskii, Russian diplomat Konstantin Leont’ev, Vladimir Stasov, and many other writers insisted that Russia’s political order (firmly autocratic in nature), strong inclination toward religious mysticism and fatalism, and aversion to western materialism and liberalism, as well as many elements of traditional art and literature (i.e., epics), were fundamentally eastern rather than western in character.25 Because of this belief in Russian cultural (and often racial) mixture with the East, some Russian policy-​makers in St. Petersburg felt that Russia’s advance into Central Asia was absolutely justified; as Prince Ukhtomskii declared:  “we are only tightening the bonds between us and that which in reality was always ours.”26 Russian Orientophilia, which originated as cultural and religious affiliation with Asia, thus began as a recognition of what western Russians shared with eastern ones but soon evolved in agreement with the new imperialistic direction of the late nineteenth century: Russia’s special “civilizing mission” in Asia. In this context, the mission in the East involved imposing a western notion of “civility” (grazhdanstvennost) on

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8 Representing Russia’s Orient local peoples in order to create a unifying identity based on duties, obligations, subservience, and commitment to labor.27 In this book, I  have not set out to reconstruct a comprehensive history of Russian cultural encounters with the East, as reflected in diverse images and musical representations, nor will I attempt to create and promote a singular and unified model of Russian representations of inorodtsy. Instead I focus on (often contradictory) case studies of various experiences and multifaceted ideas related to nineteenth-​century Russian–​Asian musical encounters. I seek to place Russia’s musical encounters with its own Orient within the realm of everyday practice, and to investigate the link between specialized knowledge and Russian power in a particular historical context. Each musical encounter is unique yet simultaneously representative of larger societal trends of the time. By treating each situation individually, I  hope to provide fresh insights into the changing and challenging nature of the theory, creation, and practice of nineteenth-​century Russia’s musical representation of its oriental subjects.

Edward Said and Russian Orientalism In his deeply influential but highly contested Orientalism, Edward Said hardly mentions Russia or Russian practices of Orientalism.28 However, the underlying premise of the interdependence of the political and cultural dimensions of Orientalism, as interpreted by Said, cannot and should not be completely disregarded in Russian studies of culture, and musical culture in particular.29 By studying Russian Orientalism, we gain a new understanding of Orientalism as global, western force and can better understand how specialized knowledge of Russia’s own Orient shaped state policies. For the past three decades, scholars of Russian studies have been debating the applicability of the Saidean model of “Orientalism” and questioning whether “colonial forms of knowledge” also emerged in the Russian context. While some scholars have embraced Said’s ideas rather uncritically, others have denied their relevance, pointing to Russia’s particularity as a simultaneously European and non-​European country.30 Some have questioned the rigidity of Said’s East–​West binary opposition when it comes to nineteenth-​century Russian literature and ethnography. Susan Layton, Nathaniel Knight, and Harsha Ram suggest replacing this dichotomy with a political and cultural “trichotomy” involving the West, and the East, and Russia—or the colonizer, the colonized, and an “ambiguous third element” presented as a Romantic artist, official agent, ethnographer, or writer who had ambivalent feelings about joining either side.31 In my analysis of Russian discourse on nonwestern music, I turn instead to the complex, multifaceted nature of the Russian relationship with Russia’s own Orient, a relationship in which Russians were most often influenced by—but sometimes rejected themselves—the politically

Introduction driven discourses on “others.”While some Russian writers participated actively in a Russian–​western dialogue on Russia’s mission civilisatrice, others, aware of Russia’s own hybridity as a nation, disagreed with traditional prejudices and concepts, including the distinction between the “self ” and the “other.” Many scholars highlight examples that reveal exemplary behavior toward Russian ethnic minorities. For instance, Vera Tolz observes that at the turn of the nineteenth century, a formidable group of Russian academics opposed an official state discourse on the government’s civilizing mission in the East and South with its agenda of cultural Russification and tried to defend the cultural heritage of the newly acquired peoples.32 Many Asians who in the 1870s and 1880s were treated as “native informants”—​those who helped Russians to comprehend the life of their own minority group—​later were encouraged to become scholars in their own right. David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, in his book on Russian Orientalism, also argues that Russian imperial and colonial encounters in the south and east often resulted in sympathetic representations of inorodtsy in Russian writings, poetry, and art, from the reign of Peter the Great (1682–​1725) to the Revolution of 1917.33 Schimmelpenninck’s investigation of the field of Russian Oriental Studies, or vostokovedenie, also reveals that in the first half of the nineteenth century, Russian scholarship was marked by profound esteem for the cultures of Russia’s own Orient and a protective stance toward Russia’s eastern minority peoples. Consequently, to avoid Said’s politically charged definition of Orientalism as an academic discipline intent on serving imperial ends, some Russian scholars have offered a useful distinction between Orientalism as an attitude and orientology as a discipline.34 I am inclined toward a less narrow interpretation of the Orientalism of pre-​Saidean times, so in this study I  will use the terms “Orientalism” or “Orientalist” as neutral terms that do not carry negative connotations, except when used in phrases with negative determiners, such as “stereotype,” or “attitude.” Occasional uses of the words “orientology” or “orientologist” will refer exclusively to Russian studies of the Orient or their practitioners. In addition, the English nouns “the Orient” and “the East” both translate into Russian as the same term:  the Vostok. Russia’s notion of Vostok has included not only the part of the world that is to the east of Central Russia but also the regions to the south, the Caucasus, and the Middle and Far East, as well as all of Asia, northern Africa, and some countries west of Russia, such as Spain (because of its connection with the Moorish culture). In this respect, Russian writers followed the French literary tradition that assigned Spain a special niche due to its particular relationship with the Moorish arts and visual culture. In my translations from Russian, wherever it is impossible to define whether the author meant the English terms “the East” or “the Orient,” I have translated Vostok or vostochnyi as “the Orient” or “oriental” without any reference to the Saidean Orient; rather, this translation indicates the Russian generalized

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10 Representing Russia’s Orient concept that includes lands and cultures outside the European Russia and the western worlds. Not all scholars have been convinced of Russia’s uniqueness and its relatively lenient approach to its oriental (vostochnyi) subjects. In more recent studies of Russian Orientalism, some researchers have pointed out that the factor of territorial contiguity should not be considered an essential element differentiating the Russian empire from other maritime European colonial states. In the nineteenth century, a journey from Paris to Algiers or from London to Calcutta would have taken less time than travel from St. Petersburg to Tashkent.35 Other scholars argue that in eastern Russia, just as in any other European colony, the link between the ethnographic knowledge produced by government officials and its impact on colonial policies and attitudes toward its oriental subjects did exist.36 In Russian Turkestan, for instance, some Orientalists who served the colonial regime suggested that the hierarchy of peoples within the imperial frontiers (dividing local populations into two categories of not-​very-​religious nomads and religiously devoted settled peoples) instigated, as Alexander Morrison puts it, “Islamophobic paranoia,” which stigmatized Turkestan’s settled Muslims as “fanatical,” and influenced imperial policies by ensuring military control over the region.37 Perhaps an even more striking fact influenced Russia’s studies of its Orient:  many orientologists, writers, artists, and composers in Russia began their careers as military officers and administrators in the eastern fringes of the empire, and their views and writings on the conquered Asians confirm a number of prejudices and stigmas circulating among the imperial ruling elite in Central Asia and Transcaucasia.38 Thus, despite the appreciation of  “oriental” art and culture discussed by Tolz, Schimmelpenninck, and Knight, recent studies clearly indicate that frequently only certain ancient oriental cultures were valued and highly regarded by the Russian intelligentsia.As is often true with European imperial powers, interest in an Asian people’s imagined past did not entail an acknowledgment of their current predicament.39 Throughout the nineteenth century, the distinction between the dominant and the dominated in Russian literature and arts remained apparent through the use of language dividing all imperial subjects into Russians (including Belorussians and Little-​Russians) and inorodtsy. Inorodtsy (sing. inorodets) was a legal term used in imperial Russia to refer to non–​ethnically Russian people; it literally means “of different descent” and was mostly applied to the indigenous populations of Siberia, Central Asia, the North Caucasus, and the Far East. Throughout this book I use this term to signal Russia’s eastern or southern “others.”40 For most Russian Asians, the term inorodtsy implied the official denial of their right to full citizenship, as their biological and physiological characteristics were considered irrevocable.41 Hence, before initiating an investigation into Russian musical repertoire with oriental subjects, it is essential to raise some fundamental questions concerning

Introduction the unequal nature of these power relations. In this context, Said’s theory of cultural imperialism and the political implications of European art with an oriental subject cannot be simply embraced or rejected, due to the complex, diverse, evolving, and frequently contradictory yet fascinating nature of Russian cultural relationships with its own Orient. The debate over the Russian image of the Orient is more than just a discussion of the relevance of Said’s ideas to Russia. It is also a window into broader political, social, and cultural issues relating to the formation of the Russian empire, since several important nineteenth-​century phenomena interacted with Russian representations of the East. One of the issues revolves around the increasing urgency of the problem of cultural self-​definition, instigated by the growth of European nationalism.42 In a broader context, Said, speaking with reference to European Orientalism, pointed out that the East “has helped to define Europe,” “being a surrogate and even underground self,” thereby stressing the importance of the Orient for the construction of national identity in Europe.43 Building on Said’s important observation,Vera Tolz claims that nineteenth-​century Russian Orientalist scholars were influenced by the “pervasive impact of nationalism on European scholarship” and strove for “nation-​building . . . rather than imperial domination of the minorities by the Russians.”44 In Russian music studies, Marina Frolova-​Walker also has observed a link between nationalism and Orientalism. She argues that many educated Russians, including Milii Balakirev and Vladimir Stasov, used oriental style to assert their national identity and to set Russian music apart from that of western Europe.45 Other scholars, such as Richard Taruskin, Taisiia Shcherbakova, and Izabella Belen’kaia, also have remarked that the Russian “other” in literature and arts often existed for the sake of self-​construction.46 This may be why in their intense search for a Russian musical identity, many Russian composers paradoxically represented eastern or western peoples more often than Russians in their music.47 At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the emergence of an aggressive or expansive type of nationalism in the Caucasus coincided with the rise of Russian Romantic literature, which rendered the public particularly sensitive to eastern literary subjects. Because of imperial advances in the Caucasus in the first half of the century, Russia’s East was more properly the South—​the regions of Crimea, Georgia, and the Caucasus. In Russian literature, these regions were presented through two diametrically opposing images:  (1) violent Muslims resisting Russian rule, and (2) areas of beautiful nature and fashionable spas that were created for the use of Russian upper classes and army officers. Some early-​nineteenth-​century Russian literary men romanticized the brutal reality of warfare in the Caucasus, while others—​who traveled to the region against their will as convicts of the Decembrist revolt—​expressed their ambivalent feelings about the inhumanity of war. This, as Susan Layton observes, resulted

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12 Representing Russia’s Orient in tensions between the Russian state’s mission to pacify and civilize its Muslim subjects in the Caucasus and the Romantic representation of these same peoples as noble savages whose extermination and inhuman treatment troubled many representatives of the Russian intelligentsia.48 Imperialism was another important element that influenced Russia’s approach to its Asian inorodtsy in the late nineteenth century.When the Russian empire stretched its borders to the Far East and embraced the vast territories in Central Asia in the 1860s–​1870s, it became evident that the representation of Russia as a multinational and multicultural state became not just desirable, but the only possible way to assert official power in the imperial periphery. As many scholars have observed, local authorities in the regions remote from the center (such as Turkestan or Siberia) often found themselves in situations where the official aims (e.g., Russification or spreading the Orthodox faith) were in contradiction with the goals of imperialism. In order to live peacefully with its own Vostok, and transform its people into loyal Russian citizens ready to be integrated and exploited in the larger imperial context, it was imperative that local officials recognize minorities’ distinctiveness and tolerate their ethnic, cultural, and religious diversity.49 These national(ist), imperial, and cultural concerns played an important role in the formation and development of Orientalism and orientology in nineteenth-​century Russia, and marked Russia’s particular engagement with the ethnographic and musical dimensions of its East.

Framework Many histories about the Russian empire follow major events related to its expansion in Asia and Caucasus.They start with the accession of Alexander I or the year of Russia’s incorporation of Georgia into the empire (in 1801)  and often end with the 1917 Revolution.This book proposes a related periodization, but one based on musical rather than political events. It begins in the 1820s with the early art songs of Alexander Aliab’ev, coinciding with the launch of the long military campaign in the Caucasus and the Decembrist revolt, and ends in the 1910s with the publication of the piano harmonizations of Russia’s Asian folk songs in the last volume of Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii [The Works issued by the Music-​ Ethnographic Committee of the Society of Friends of Natural History, Anthropology, and Ethnography]. Thus, the book spans a little less than a century, during which the vast Eurasian territory was transformed from a distant frontier into an integral part of the Russian empire. The two parts of this book are thematically subdivided into six chapters that follow a more or less chronological progression. The first three chapters, part I, examine the cultural and historical context in which Russia’s

Introduction nineteenth-​century images of its own Orient emerged. These chapters consider Russian folk songs with eastern and southern subjects as well as Russian (music) ethnographies on inorodtsy and the contemporary secondary literature discussing both Russian and non-​Russian folk songs. Part II addresses the ways Russian composers turned transcriptions of simple (and thus presumably “authentic”) Asian and Caucasian folk melodies into aesthetically refined art songs or into folk song arrangements with elaborate piano accompaniments, drawing on ethnographers’ work but also rendering these melodies accessible to a wider audience of Russian professional and amateur musicians. The purpose of this book is not to discuss the entire massive and multifaceted repertoire of Russian art songs with exotic subjects. Rather, I want to trace the transition from music ethnography to art songs and investigate how Russian musical sources about its inorodtsy contributed to the formation and creation of Russia’s imperial identity and representation of its own Orient. Hence, a fair number of nineteenth-​century art songs with oriental subjects are not addressed because they were not based on any ethnographic sources or because they did not refer to inorodtsy. These include early-​nineteenth-​century art songs by Ludwig Wilhelm Maurer (“Circassian” and “Tatar” songs), Iosif Genishta (“Circassian Song”), and Vladimir Odoevskii (“Tatar Song”); well-​known mid-​nineteenth-​ century art songs by Alexander Dargomyzhsky (“Lezghin Song,” “Vertograd,” “Ty rozhdena vosplameniat’,” and “O deva-​roza, ia v okovakh”); and Anton Rubinstein’s cycle of Persian Songs (1854), as well as late-​nineteenth-​century oriental art songs by Cesar Cui, Anatolii Liadov, Sergei Liapunov, Alexander Glazunov, and many others.50 Chapter 1 examines how some medieval war encounters with Russia’s eastern enemies engendered pejorative images of oriental “others” in the repertoire of Russian bylinas (epic narratives) as well as soldiers’ and children’s songs, and how, throughout the nineteenth century, Russian folk song collections promoted Russian stereotypes about oriental savagery, barbarism, and brutality. Significantly, these songs appeared not only during the wars with Russia’s southern and eastern neighbors but also during the time when the empire was torn apart by internal conflicts that threatened its integrity. Mapping the publication of Russian folk song collections against Russia’s nineteenth-​century social unrest reveals that the denigrating representation of “others” on the one hand helped to cover up internal problems, conflicts, and disorder by displacing anger onto Russia’s neighbors and on the other facilitated the manipulation of public opinion in favor of the empire’s ideology of expansion. The ethnic stereotyping of bloodthirsty Chechens, militant Turks, and barbarian Tatars that was inscribed in the popular language of Russian folk songs, bylinas, and historical songs more often than not was dictated by intensifying nationalist and imperial concerns for which the very existence of a malicious “other” helped to define a flawless and united “self.”

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14 Representing Russia’s Orient Denial and denigration of “others,” however, was not dominant in all nineteenth-​century culture. Although most publications aimed at a wide readership seemed to belittle Russian eastern and southern neighbors and emphasize the difference between the “other” and the “self,” some ethnographic sources revealed a sympathetic attitude towards the newly acquired eastern subjects and highlighted the similarities between Russian and Asian cultures. This wide range of attitudes toward and representations of inorodtsy resulted from the different agendas of the various official agencies commissioning ethnographic research. Chapter 2 focuses on the works and endeavors of Russian ethnographers and amateur writers (military, academic, and musical). It distinguishes three specific categories of writings targeting different publics: (1) publications, intended for wide circulation, that denigrated oriental culture, intensifying the long-​standing antagonism between “us” and “them”; (2) works written for Russian officials and military agents that followed paternalistic patterns; and (3) ethnographic literature written for and by orientologists. The first two types were written by amateur ethnographers who were interested in Russia’s inorodtsy and who wrote down their ethnographic observations in situ, while performing other official duties related to administrative work or army service. The third type—​probably the most diverse in nature and the most interesting for my purposes—​contributed many elements to the formation of a specifically Russian type of ethnography about oriental “others.” Some of its most important agents—​the pro-​German faction in the Russian Geographical Society, ethnographers working in political exile, and researchers of Asian origin—​influenced the creation of a decisively sympathetic depiction of Russia’s inorodtsy. Two of the most strikingly enthusiastic views of Russia’s Asian minorities and their music are exemplified in the writings of Alexander Middendorff, a passionate Baltic Russian orientologist who studied the Gilyak peoples living in the Amur region, and August Eichhorn, a native German musician with Russian citizenship who spent over a decade in Tashkent, serving as kapellmeister of a Russian military orchestra. My study of Middendorf ’s and Eichhorn’s ethnographies of Russia’s inorodtsy in the most remote regions of Siberia and Central Asia reveals that despite the fact that both writers certainly enjoyed their privileged positions in relation to the local population, their attitudes toward the music of Russian Asians were not filtered through Russian nationalist claims of cultural superiority over the subjugated peoples.51 Chapter  3 addresses fin-​de-​siècle music theories discussing Russian and Asian musical scales and instruments. For many Russians, “Asia” presented an imagined space east of the Ural Mountains and southeast of the Caspian Sea, a homogenized land defined broadly as referring to the vast territory of the Eurasian landmass, South and Southeast Asia, and Siberia and the Far East. Most Russian musical treatises essentialized “Asia” by not recognizing the continent’s enormous cultural, historical, social, and confessional complexity. Furthermore,

Introduction they often confused the term “Asian” with “Aryan,” following Russian intellectuals’ assumptions that one of the most ancient Aryan branches was represented by the Scythian tribes, who inhabited Central Asia.52 In their own version of Aryanism, Russian intellectuals envisioned the Scythians as being closely related to the ancient Slavs and used this link to assert both Russia’s Scythian-​ Aryan essence and, by extension paradoxically, its Asianness and Europeanness at the same time. Drawing on theoretical treatises by Petr Sokal’skii and Alexander Famintsyn that allege a link between Russian and “Asian” or “Aryan” musical cultures, I suggest that their writings reflected the ideology of Aryanism and the so-​ called Vostochniki (Easterners or Asianists) movement, which promoted an idea of Russia’s close affiliation with “Asian” or “Aryan” culture. These two writers believed that Russian folk song—​which, in passing, they also essentialized by reducing its complexity to a European system of scales and modes—​ was uncorrupted by European “art music” and preserved the ancient Aryan musical system, that is, a pentatonic scale, in its pure form.This myth of cultural purity, which is distinct from the western European myth of racial purity formulated in the mid-​nineteenth century by French writer Arthur de Gobineau, was most likely fostered for political reasons.53 After the 1877 Russo-​Turkish War and the Congress of Berlin, which undermined Russia’s reputation in the international arena by disavowing Russia’s victory over the Ottoman empire and diminishing its gains in the region, the theme of cultural and political resistance against western powers particularly appealed to Russian readers.54 On the one hand the supposition that the western European musical system of tonality had not influenced Russian folk songs could have been interpreted as evidence of Russia’s political potency and resistance against the West.55 On the other hand “finding” a Russian Asian or Aryan cultural heritage had its darker side: it served the empire’s expansionist ends in Central Asia, because many Asianists believed that they had to advance into the region to liberate the remnant Aryan tribes from “Turanians,” or other Asian Islamic and Turkic peoples, frequently depicted as “barbaric and eternally decadent.”56 In addition, analysis of Russian sources that discuss Russian and Asian musical instruments reveals that despite the high esteem in which Russians held ancient Asian culture, the view of the modern Asia, or the Orient in general, was not free from cultural stereotypes. Much of the Russian scholarship on musical instruments suggests that Russians followed the French categorization of the instruments and cultural values attached to each instrumental group, which implied the notion of western superiority and oriental inferiority.57 Admiring the Asian past, Russians often denied its potential to develop in the future.58 However, a few sources dealing with Russian, Asian, and oriental instruments (Mikhail Petukhov and Alexander Maslov) prove that exceptions to this norm did exist. They attest that the assumption of the superiority of western culture was

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16 Representing Russia’s Orient not shared by all Russian musicians, and that some writers on music valued modern Asian culture. In this book, I thus place in dialogue these varying and contradictory attitudes and approaches to the study and representation of the music of the Russian East. Part II traces the development of Russian art song with eastern or southern subjects, along with arrangements of inorodtsy folk songs for piano and voice, and scrutinizes the ways Russian composers’ cultural and musical encounters with the Russian Orient shaped their formation of musical representations. Chapter 4 presents the history of early-​nineteenth-​century Russian view of the Orient through the prism of two major events: the insurrection of the Russian aristocracy against Nicholas I, retrospectively called the “Decembrist revolt,” and the advance of the Russian army in the Caucasus. Most of the chapter is devoted to the life and works of Alexander Aliab’ev, whose compositions with Caucasian or Asian subjects were significantly influenced by Decembrist literature, characterized by its favorable attitude toward the rebellious spirit of the Caucasian mountaineers. Aliab’ev, after being falsely accused of murder and exiled first to Tobol’sk and then to Orenburg (a city on the border of Russia’s Asia), had direct cultural and musical encounter with Russia’s inorodtsy. This encounter resulted in both the integration of some elements of Asian music and the incorporation of the Decembrists’ sympathies toward the Caucasian rebels into his art songs. By associating the subjugated mountaineers with the Decembrists, Aliab’ev challenged the dualism in perception of “us” and “them” and created a new musical language, which I call “Decembrist Orient.” In addition, in some art songs with Decembrist subtexts, he allowed the “other” to be the “other,” or to express its “otherness” through music by using syllabic stresses that were incorrect in Russian, in imitation of peculiar pronunciations or accents that were characteristic of Caucasian music or language. Another case study, presented in ­chapter 5, demonstrates syncretism in representations of the eastern “other” and the Russian “self ” among the members of the Balakirev circle, best known as the Mighty Five—Moguchaia Kuchka (or simply the Kuchka). It explores how this group incorporated oriental melodies and rhythms available through European publications or transcribed by Balakirev into their own musical compositions. Since Balakirev played the most prominent role in the formation of the young cohort of Russian nationalist musicians, this chapter focuses on his approach to the oriental subject. A relatively careful ethnographer, he did not entirely invent his musical Orient. Rather, his art songs with oriental (vostochnyi) subjects reflect the sounds (the melodic and rhythmic elements) he heard and transcribed while traveling in Russia’s South. Various factors—​including deep respect for the peoples living in the Caucasus, his openness to learning about their culture and music, and his will to create music distinct from that of western Europe—​stimulated Balakirev’s musical Orient and inspired him and the members of his circle

Introduction to include some characteristic features of inorodtsy music into compositions intended to represent the Russian “self.” Chapter  6 focuses on the activity of the Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskaia Komissiia (Music-​Ethnographic Committee or MEK, which organized a series of “Ethnographic Concerts” (1893–​1911) in Moscow. An analysis of concert programs, folk song arrangements, as well as a close reading of the MEK’s meeting protocols, official releases, and publications, reveals that the members of the MEK aimed to increase awareness of the music culture of Russia’s inorodtsy among the wider Russian population and recontextualize inorodtsy culture in the narrative of the growing empire. The MEK’s interest in Russia’s eastern or southern “other” was part of Russian officials’ broader endeavor at national self-​definition as a unified multiethnic state. According to the 1897 census, only 44 percent of the empire’s population used Russian as a native language.59 This was clearly reflected in the structure of the first ethnographic concert. The beginning and the end of the concert presented Russian music (professional and folk song arrangements), while in the middle, Russian musicians performed the folk song arrangements of a dozen different ethnic groups living in Russia’s western, southern, and eastern domains. Russian music, thus, encompassed the culture of Russia’s inorodtsy. The composers who created arrangements for the MEK’s concerts also contributed to the idea of Russia as an assemblage of many distinct yet unified peoples. My analysis of Russian inorodtsy folk songs arranged by Nikolai Klenovskii, Alexander Gretchaninov, and Reinhold Glière demonstrates that they often deliberately presented a domesticated image of Russia’s “others” by stressing in the accompaniment the elements that in the nineteenth century were associated with Russianness—​the Dorian mode, avoidance of the leading note, and specific harmonic progressions. Thus, at the end of the nineteenth century, two opposing ideologies circulating in Russian society helped to shape a wide variety of Russians’ attitudes toward their oriental neighbors. At one end of the spectrum, there were many Russians—​particularly the orientologists—​who supported the ideology, policy, and practice of preserving and collecting cultural artifacts (including music) of Russia’s inorodtsy and the promotion of their national pride. At the other end of the spectrum, there were those who wholeheartedly endorsed the ideology of imperialism that viewed Russia’s eastern subjects as “underdeveloped.”  These imperialists consequently supported the policy of linguistic and cultural assimilation of Russia’s ethnic minorities. Between these two extremes, as I will show, there was a wide range of often contradictory ideas, judgments, opinions, and attitudes toward the “other.” The legacy of imperial Russia, with its sophisticated patterns of political and cultural policies in the East, survived the 1917 Revolution and persisted into the Soviet period. Many ethnographers who served at imperial institutions were hired after the Revolution to reevaluate and seek new information about

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18 Representing Russia’s Orient the lands and peoples of the former Russian empire, thereby influencing the cultural policies and production of new Soviet national cultures. It is my hope that by investigating developments in the field of ethnography in nineteenth-​ century Russia and the field impact on musical representations of the Orient, we can go beyond broad generalities of Russian–​Asian cultural contacts. As Russian leaders, composers, and ethnographers came to grips with the multiethnic character of the empire and its fluctuating identity, musical Russianness emerged as something far more complex and deeply rooted in imperial ideology than we have yet understood.

Chapter 1

Unveiling Tradition Oriental “Others” in Nineteenth-​Century Russian (Folk) Song Collections

F

or many centuries, the history of Russia—​from the Kievan Rus to the present day—​was interwoven with the history of the Eurasian steppe, or the land that stretches from modern Moldavia through Ukraine, Russia, and Kazakhstan.1 Frequently connected by political, commercial, or marital ties, Russian peoples—​from commoners to elites—​often coexisted peacefully with their Asian neighbors (the Khazars, Pechenegs, and Polovtsians, or Cumans). Many Russians were familiar with Asian geography, society, customs, language, and politics.2 Some representatives of the Muscovite tsars had been collaborating with representatives of the Golden Horde since the fourteenth century, seeking their assistance in the destructive raids against Moscow’s rival, Tver. Gradually, the Muscovite rulers borrowed the Mongol military organization, customs tax, postal system, procedures and etiquette in diplomacy, and bureaucratic apparatus.3 Many members of Russia’s upper classes, and even members of the ruling family (including the well-​known Ivan the Terrible and the lesser known prince of  Yaroslavl, Fedor Rostislavich, and the first prince of Moscow, Iurii Danilovich), had familial ties to their Asian neighbors.4 Despite these connections, some Russian cities and villages also experienced military encounters with Asian nomadic tribes who, unfortunately for their adversaries, were quite powerful in the early history of the steppe. At the beginning of the thirteenth century, the Mongols and their Asian allies, generically called “Tatars,” swept out of the east and conquered most of the territory of what was then named Kievan Rus. This invasion of Asian hordes in 1237 (later called the “Tatar” or “Mongol Yoke”), under the leadership of Batu, a grandson of Genghis Khan, has been interpreted as one of the most dramatic events of Russian history.5 It was followed by nearly 150 years of Mongol rule (1239–​1380) that left a deep mark on Russia’s collective memory. This was the first and only time in history when all of Russia was subjugated by an invader and disintegrated

20 Representing Russia’s Orient as a political entity, losing political control over most of its territories and becoming a part of the Golden Horde. Early Russian Christian chronicles represented this traumatic experience, and the Tatars or Mongols who caused it, in two opposing ways: first, the Asian hordes were presented as “instruments of God” sent to punish the Russians for their sins, and second, they were “instruments of the Devil”—and Russian redemption, in this case, would have to result in the invaders’ demise.6 Yet some historians—​especially the proponents of Eurasianism, such as George Vernadsky and Lev Gumilev—​have suggested that the scale of the destruction brought by Mongol invasion was not as devastating as certain sources propose; many cities, such as Novgorod, Rostov, Tver, and Yaroslavl, even remained intact. As Vernadsky and other historians explain it, this was because the primary objective of the Golden Horde’s rulers in Rus (and in other lands) was not the destruction of cities and subjects but the resources provided by them in the form of tribute, gifts, and commercial items. The Mongols did not settle in Russian lands and did not directly interfere in quotidian matters, preferring to control the region through the Rus princes themselves. In addition, they demonstrated respect and tolerance for all religious institutions, including the Orthodox Church: they never imposed any foreign belief on Russians and even granted special privileges to Orthodox priests, monks, and laypeople associated with the church, exempting them from taxation and military conscription.7 Moreover, many Russian princes, such as Alexander Nevskii, Fedor Rostislavich, Dmitrii Donskoi, and the princes of the Rurik dynasty, often cooperated with the khans, or rulers, of the Golden Horde to achieve recognition within their own dynasties or to get military backing against their western neighbors (the Swedes, Germans, Lithuanians, Poles, and Hungarians).8 As Tatar-​Mongol domination slowly receded over a long period of time, Russia’s strong economic and political ties with the steppe remained.9 In 1380, Prince Dmitrii Donskoi first defeated the Tatar army at Kulikovo Field.10 One century later, Ivan III renounced Tatar suzerainty and refused to pay tribute.11 In 1552, Ivan IV, known as Ivan the Terrible, conquered the capital city of the Kazan Khanate and then, in 1556, the Astrakhan Khanate, or state. From the mid-​sixteenth century onward, Russia started gaining political and economic power over its eastern neighbors. At the end of the seventeenth century, Peter the Great initiated a series of military campaigns on the Black Sea, which was controlled by the Ottoman Empire in the south.The conquest of the south was completed over the course of a century by Catherine the Great, who expanded Russia to the shores of the Black Sea and incorporated the vast steppes of present-​day southern Ukraine. In the nineteenth century, Russian rulers continued expanding to the south and east, constantly warring with either Turkey or Persia, or in the Caucasus and Central Asia. By the end of the nineteenth century, Russian empire-​builders had established political, economic, and cultural control over the massive Eurasian region.12

Unveiling Tradition Marked by a number of wars on Russia’s eastern and southern borders, the popular Russian view of Asia was reflected in a vast repertoire of epics and folk songs. The traditional perception of the Mongol conquest in Russian literature was a simple and repulsive one. As many modern historians point out, although Russian medieval scribes never addressed the issue of Russia’s true status under the Golden Horde and contemporary Russian narratives did not reveal any special hostility toward the Mongols, later Russian historians presented the Asians as “an elemental destructive force animated only by greed and blood-​ lust . . . leaving only ruins in their wake.”13 The “Tatars”—​that is, all Turkic-​ speaking peoples (Kumans, Keraits, Merkits, Naimans, Nogais, etc.), who were conquered by the Mongols and then established themselves as the military and political elite of the Mongol empire—​were vilified. The term “Tatar” was used in the bylina tradition to label a generic villain and later was applied even to Poles and Lithuanians.14 In this chapter I explore how the publication and promotion of certain folk song collections with pejorative representations of Russia’s eastern and southern neighbors in the nineteenth century generated hostile attitudes toward them and was used to direct public opinion in two effective ways: first, to draw attention to the empire’s policy of expansion in the East, and second, to help camouflage internal conflicts that shook Russian society throughout the century by displacing anger onto the Russian–​Eastern conflicts.15 In the Russian context, the eastern “other,” represented in folk song collections published throughout the nineteenth century, evoked a territorially, politically, and culturally integrated Russian community, united in the face of external danger—​an image that never corresponded to reality. To a certain extent, these common external enemies, against whom many Russian soldiers had fought for centuries, helped to bring Russia’s diverse ethnic, religious, and social groups together. In addition, the cult of wars and military victories that became a dominant form of national myth-​making in the period between the Crimean War of 1853 and the Russo-​Turkish War of 1877 allowed for the people’s involvement in public affairs and conjured an image of unity between ruler and nation. The war imagery that was pervasive in literature from the 1860s helped Russian thinkers to prepare the ground for the brutal Russification policies of the late nineteenth century and contributed to the aggressive character of twentieth-​ century Russian nationalism.16 It would be an exaggeration, however, to state that unification, however imagined or desired, was the only motive behind the publication of these folk song collections. The contemptuous depiction of the East also participated in establishing the idea of Russia as a western empire. In this case, Edward Said’s argument that “the Orient has helped to define Europe (or the West) as its contrasting image, idea, personality, experience” can certainly be applied to the Russian context.17 Besides the East–​West dichotomy presented by Said,

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22 Representing Russia’s Orient other dichotomies relating to social, religious, gender, and economic divisions functioned simultaneously in imperial Russia and played an important role in the formation of Russian identity, informing the texts’ content of traditional songs. I will not address all of the constituents of this intricate pattern of the evolution of folk song, nor will I provide a comprehensive history of its literary, historical, social, and economic aspects. Instead, I will examine just one of these facets:  folk song’s relation to internal conflicts (Russia’s social and religious division) and to external wars against Russia’s southern or eastern neighbors. At least three literary-​musical genres—​bylinas, historical songs, and children’s songs that existed in oral culture long before the nineteenth century—​were subjected to ideological manipulation with regard to eastern adversaries. In the section that follows, I will consider how images of Asians and Caucasians in Russian traditional culture evolved over time, and how the nineteenth-​century publication of these songs promoted the nationalist ideals of unification and Russia’s territorial integrity. bylinas

A bylina (pl. byliny) is a traditional Russian epic song or narrative poem, originated among the early Eastern Slavs of Kievan Rus. It recounts the lives of Russian heroes and events that took place in a remote or mythical past. The word bylina itself comes from the Russian byl, a word that signifies a narrative of real as opposed to fictional events. In the vast repertoire of the bylinas, the most popular is the “Kievan cycle,” which describes events involving heroes and others gathered around Prince Vladimir that took place in or near Kiev (in the same way the Knights of the Round Table gathered around King Arthur).18 Kiev, after its Christianization in 988–​989 and before its fall to Batu Khan in 1240, was one of the wealthiest cities of medieval Europe, richer and more prosperous than Paris or London at the time. The trade routes from Scandinavia to Byzantium and from Central Asia and the Far East to western Europe passed through the Kievan Rus territory.19 Since several steppe confederations, including the Khazar state, the Pechenegs, and the Polovtsians (also known as Cumans), bordered Kiev on the southeastern side, epics of the Kievan cycle portray conflicts between these nomadic peoples and the warriors of Kievan Rus. Many Russian researchers who follow the historical school of Russian bylinas scholarship suggest that Kievan bylinas represent real people and places.20 Indeed, in early bylinas one can find the names of different Polovtsian khans, such as Konchack, Sharukhan, and Sugri, appeared in bylinas as Kon’shik, Kudrevan, Shark-​velikan, and Skurla.21 The name Batyga unquestionably represents Batu Khan (also called Khan Batyi);22 the name Tugarin Zmeevich, against whom Alesha Popovich fights, probably originated form the Cumans’ khan Tugorkhan, who repeatedly attacked Kievan Rus.23 Early encounters with

Unveiling Tradition Tatars, such as the battle on Kalka in 1225 and the Tatar invasion in 1239–​40, are echoed in bylinas about the Kalin-​tsar, Batyga, and Idolishche.24 The connections between the names and places evoked in bylinas and historical events, however tenuous or fragile they might seem, gave an impression of realism and enhanced credibility to the stories the bylinas told. The nineteenth-​century audiences who read the printed texts of bylinas believed that their representations of Asian adversaries corresponded to reality. Some bylinas were even published in collections of historical songs, obscuring the distinction between these two different genres of oral tradition.25 Historical songs are usually associated with events and names from the relatively recent past that can be historically verified. Bylinas on the other hand narrated a remote past (such as the Mongol conquest of Kievan Rus) that had been embellished with fantasy and hyperbole.26 It is noteworthy that in the nineteenth century, the publication of the two most famous bylina collections—​Kirsha Danilov’s Collection of Ancient Russian Poems and Pavel Rybnikov’s Songs Collected by P. N. Rybnikov—​coincided, respectively, with the time of Russia’s war with its eastern and southern neighbors and with the time when internal conflicts were tearing Russian society apart. The earliest printed fragments of bylinas appeared at the end of the eighteenth century in song collections compiled by Mikhail Chulkov and Vasilii Trutovskii.27 However, the first publication that left a truly deep mark on the Russian psyche was the anthology Ancient Russian Poems Collected by Kirsha Danilov.28 Compiled in the middle of the eighteenth century, this collection went through numerous editions, the first three of which especially have resonated with the Russian public up through the present.29 The first edition appeared in 1804, when the Russo-​Persian War (1804–​13) erupted; the second was published in 1818—​one year after the beginning of the Caucasian War (1817–​64)—and the third in 1878, one year after the beginning of the Russo-​ Turkish War (1877–​78).30 All of the Russian intellectual elite knew and cited this source. Nikolai Rimsky-​Korsakov used one tune (about Solovei Budimirovich) from it in his opera Sadko. Literary men, such as Alexander Pushkin,Vissarion Belinsky, Ivan Turgenev, and Leo Tolstoy, owned copies of the collection and often cited passages and used motifs from it.31 Texts from it were often reprinted in other nineteenth-​century Russian folk collections, such as Ivan Khudiakov’s Sbornik velikorusskikh narodnykh istoricheskikh pesen (1860) and Petr Kireevskii’s Pesni (1872) (see the list of song collections discussed in the book in appendix 1). The collection’s popularity might be attributed to its role in nurturing nationalism by representing the Russian people’s shared glory and suffering. Russian folklorist and ethnographer Ivan Khudiakov, who used Danilov’s collection to compile his own Collection of Great-​ Russian Historical Songs, claimed: “bylinas stand incomparably above any conceivable textbook, and for a

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24 Representing Russia’s Orient people in its undeveloped, naïve and poetic period of development, they serve as the unique and the most accessible means for the support and consolidation of those national strengths that history has brought out in a people.”32 In the 1840s, Vissarion Belinsky, an influential nineteenth-​century Russian literary critic, proposed that every Russian man should know Danilov’s collection, if “poetry is not alien to his soul and if everything organically connected to the Russian spirit [dukh] makes his heart beat faster.”33 Hence, the collection should be part of the school curriculum. An advocate of socially conscious literature, Belinsky believed that bylinas could raise national consciousness. He often evoked the images of Russian heroes and interpreted (or rather imagined) them as a “poetic expression of the national character of the Russian people.”34 Perhaps it was not mere coincidence that Danilov’s collection was published in a time of war. The adverse images of Russia’s Asian historic rivals helped boost patriotic spirit across different social strata and consolidate people against the external enemy. From 1861 to 1867, another collection of bylinas by Rybnikov appeared in Russian. Rybnikov, who was deported to Petrozavodsk in 1859 while working as minor official in the department of statistics, traveled around the area of Lake Onega in the Olonets region (northwest of Russia) and collected several hundred bylinas. His rediscovery of bylina tradition, which by the nineteenth century was thought to be extinct, caught the immediate attention of a large public, including Russia’s official circles. After the publication of the first volume in 1861, he was awarded a prize by the Imperial Russian Geographic Society (Imperatorskoe Russkoe Geograficheskoe Obshchestvo; IRGO), and after the third volume appeared he received the Society’s Golden Medal and was honored with the most prestigious nongovernmental prize, the Demidov Prize. The Ministry of Education obliged all students of history and philology to buy Rybnikov’s collection.35 Paradoxically, he did not perceive his own work as an oeuvre supporting official ideology. His ethnographic research in the Olonets region was not sponsored by any government agency but was his personal endeavor. As he confessed to his friend the Slavophile Konstantin Aksakov, the process of collecting bylinas helped him “save himself from the stagnation of provincial life.”36 Why did Russian officials start promoting this collection with such fervor? Besides its literary merits, could other motivations have stood behind this official interest? A brief look at Russia’s political situation in the early 1860s might help answer these questions. When Rybakov’s collection appeared in print, the political atmosphere in Russia changed from unstable to explosive. After the unsuccessful war in Crimea (1853–​56), aggravated by famine (in 1854–​55 and 1859)  causing extreme poverty of the rural population and sparking peasant uprisings, in 1861 Tsar Alexander II reluctantly abolished serfdom to avoid a revolution.37 However, the Emancipation Reform, which aimed to transform the country’s

Unveiling Tradition economy from a feudal system to a bourgeois monarchy, did not put an end to social disturbances and only added fuel to the fire. It not only disappointed peasants and students, many of whom were raznochintsy;38 it also embittered gentry and radical intellectuals. Bloody clashes between the peasants and the Russian government that followed the declaration of the Emancipation Manifesto triggered mass student dissent, riots, and disorder at the universities in Kazan, St. Petersburg, and Moscow and resulted in a temporary closure of these and other universities throughout the empire.39 A new “Provisional Rule” for Russian universities issued by the minister of education, which strengthened surveillance over the students and restricted access for raznochintsy to higher education, further alienated students and many university professors from state officials. Besides raznochintsy, other groups threatened the state’s unity by disobeying its military and religious regulations, including the Old Believers (staroobriadtsy), who claimed the Orthodox tradition but rejected the official church. Their large communities in Vyg, Moscow, and St. Petersburg functioned in a complex system of preaching among the Orthodox population, promising economic support to their adherents, creating their own self-​established settlements, and building their own religious and social institutions.40 Since, in some provinces, Old Believers and other religious schismatics such as Molokans and Doukhobors outnumbered Russian Orthodox believers, imperial policy led to persecuting them as a powerful subversive force that challenged the monopoly of the official church and threatened the established order in the state.41 This, however, did not lessen their number and only strengthened their hostility toward the authorities, widening the chasm between the government and the general population. In addition to peasant, student, and religious struggles, by the 1840s a number of oppositional underground societies had started developing the theory of Russian socialism and begun circulating revolutionary propaganda. Many among them—​such as the members of the Petrashevskii circle, the followers of the Saint-​Simon circle, the circle of the Brothers Kritskii, and the circle of Sungurov—​were severely punished. After a series of bourgeois revolutions in Europe in the 1840s and 1850s, Nicholas I became particularly alarmed by the prospect of spreading revolution in Russia and thus took measures to suppress all secret organizations. For instance, twenty-​one members of the Petrashevkii circle (including Fyodor Dostoyevsky), whose members believed in the liquidation of autocracy and the abolition of serfdom, were sentenced to death.42 But these measures of oppression did not seem to work. More radical revolutionary organizations, such as the Ishutin and Nechaev circles, Land and Liberty, and People’s Will, formed after the Emancipation Reform. They accepted a criminally conspired “systematic eradication” of people who “support one or another odious order,” including “the most harmful and prominent” government

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26 Representing Russia’s Orient agents.43 From 1866 to 1881, members of these groups executed no less than seven attempts at regicide and finally assassinated the tsar in March 1881. In this context, Rybnikov’s multivolume publication, with its appeal to wide audiences, assumed critical importance for the official circles. Shaken by disobeying schismatics and rebelling peasants and students, along with dissatisfied intelligentsia and liberals, Russian officials, as never before, needed a unifying force—​a narrative that would bring together Russia’s heterogeneous society. Historical myth not only could address every level of society and be taken to represent the voice of the common people (the inheritors of the past) but also, as Ol’ga Maiorova argues, could help the Russian elite “justify programs of national transformation as restorations of deeply ingrained native institutions.”44 Such tactics refashioned key historical myths to portray the Russian people as the ruling nationality, whose character would define the empire. Certainly, besides the projects of unification, the search for a means of redefining the Russian nation interested writers of a nationalist persuasion. Ironically, Rybnikov himself was a victim of Russia’s “Official Nationalism”: he found himself against his will in Petrozavodsk for his excessive interest in the religious practices of the Old Believers and “suspicious travels” to Chernigov Province, which was densely populated with these schismatics, or raskol’niki. Not trusting a minor official who expressed interest in religious outcasts, the Russian police kept surveilling Rybnikov even when he traveled to the most remote part of the Olonets region and did not allow him to live in or travel to any major Russian city. Only after the publication of his collection was he relieved from his status as an “exile” and given a high position as vice-​governor of the newly created Kalisz Gubernia in Russia’s Kingdom of Poland. Even then, he did not support Russian governmental strategies; in particular, he wrote articles (albeit unpublished, they remained in his drawer) that expressed his solidarity with the Polish nationalist movement and spoke out against the policy of Russification in the very region where he was officially appointed.45 If, despite his suspicious interest in schismatics, Rybnikov’s research on bylinas still brought him official recognition and even a bureaucratic position, then what made Russian officials change their minds? What in the bylinas’ narratives was so appealing to them and why did Rybnikov’s, Danilov’s, and others’ bylinas collections gain such popularity in the second half of the nineteenth century? The answer lies perhaps in the stories about the Russian–​Asian relationship that the Kievan bylinas recount. Most of the legends and epics in Rybnikov’s and Danilov’s collections that describe battles between Russians and Tatars (or other adversaries) feature the victory of Russian bogatyrs, or heroes. Il’ia Muromets, Dobrynia Nikitich, and Alesha Popovich—​the three most popular Russian bogatyrs—​almost always defeat the foe in an open fight or liberate Russia’s Prince Vladimir from paying tribute to the Tatars. It should be stressed that in medieval versions of bylinas, Asian enemies were not often described in

Unveiling Tradition derogatory terms. Originally, bylinas portrayed the Asian nomads—​Pechenegs, Polovtsians, Mongols, and Tatars—​in a far less repugnant way than they did in later centuries. As Peter Voorheis argues, “it is difficult to imagine that the princes who fought alongside Polovcy, who married them, who themselves might be three-​quarters or seven-​eighths Polovcian, would be listening to songs in which the Polovcy were reduced to little more than beasts.”46 Unfortunately, it is impossible to assess when exactly Polovtsians, Tatars, Mongols, or other Asian subjects related to them were transformed into villains in bylinas. As we know them today, bylinas describe neighboring Asian enemies in words that emphasize the antagonism between “us” and “them.” For instance, in most of the versions of the bylina “Il’ia Muromets and Kalin Tsar” (recorded no less than eighty times from different informants), the head of the Tatar army is called “the dog Kalin tsar.” Roman Jakobson has pointed out that the “dog Kalin tsar” is just a translation of his totemic name, nogai, which means dog, while Kalin in Turkish means “fat,” assuming no derogatory tone toward the Asian enemy.47 James Bailey and Tatiana Ivanova have pushed the argument further, suggesting that because of Kalin’s link with the totemic animal, the noun “dog” does not necessarily carry a pejorative meaning.48 However, for a native Russian speaker who is not necessarily aware of all the terminological details of the Tatar title, this noun has an extremely unfavorable connotation, since it is used primarily in a negative context and with adjectives such as “evil” (zlodei), “foul,” “obnoxious” (poganyi), or “damned” (prokliatyi).49 Furthermore, in Russian bylinas, the eastern enemy is sometimes represented as a fantastic monster with a blend of zoomorphic and anthropomorphic characteristics. Bylinas that recount the fight between the hero Il’ia Muromets and his enemy Idolishche normally present Idolishche as a mythical monster. However, in one version, he is presented as a human being, a Tatar who takes the holy city of Kiev.50 In another bylina about Alesha Popovich, the Polovtsian khan Tugorkhan (d. 1096), named Tugarin in the bylina, is presented as a monstrous snake (Zmeevich or Zmeishche) who can fly and throw flames from his mouth and ears. Remarkably, in some sources (including Kirsha Danilov’s collection), Alesha kills the enemy twice, as if once is not enough: first when he travels to Kiev and encounters him in the field and again when he meets him again in Kiev. Bylinas about Idolishche and Tugarin may have contributed to fostering national hatred toward Orientals by associating Tatars and Polovtsians with an ugly and evil monster. Many of the bylinas in Danilov’s and Rybnikov’s collections present this extremely hostile image of the eastern “other.” Approximately ten of the sixty-​one epic narrations in Danilov’s collection of 1818 are about Russians’ collective suffering at the hands of their Asian enemies and fights between Russian heroes and endless armies from the East. In a number of songs from

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28 Representing Russia’s Orient Danilov’s collection,Tatars invariably attack peaceful Russians, mercilessly ravage Russian villages, and take Russian girls prisoner. Even the picture of the approaching Tatar enemy fills the reader with horror and repugnance. In the bylina about Kalin, the narrator, after asking a rhetorical question (“Why does Mother-​Earth not bend, /​Why does it not split apart”?), describes the arrival of the Tatars as follows: From the steam of the clashing cavalry, The Moon, the Sun grew dim, The light of day could not be seen; And the overwhelming presence of the Tatars Made it impossible for us baptized ones even to live.51 Besides the image of horror, some bylinas in Danilov’s collection satirically portray the daily life in the Tatar horde (e.g., the bylina “Shchelkan Dudent’evich”), while others describe how the invaders were expelled with disgrace (e.g., “Mastriuk Temriukovich”). Given the absolute predominance of the sentiments of animosity and intense hatred toward Asian adversaries, it is unsurprising that the first three editions of Danilov’s collection, published before or at the time of major wars between Russia and its eastern or southern neighbors, resonated with Russian society at large. Some songs in Danilov’s collection recall the glorious past in defeating the eastern enemy (“Taking the Kazan Khanate”); others describe how Russian heroes suffered and died at the hands of an Asian foe but appeared to be spiritually and morally stronger. For instance, in the song that refers to the battle of the Russian army under Konotop in the summer of 1659, the Crimean khan takes Prince Semen Pozharskii captive and asks him to switch his allegiance.52 Pozharskii, offended by this request, swears that if he accepted the khan’s offer to serve him, he would have cut off the khan’s head. Infuriated, the khan orders that Pozharskii be beheaded and his body cut into pieces and scattered all over a field.When the Cossacks gather Pozharskii’s body parts, put them together, and wash them, they coalesce together, and the prince’s body is buried with honor. Remarkably, the name Semen Pozharskii persisted in Russian history as that of a martyr who was canonized shortly after his death and became a locally venerated saint.53 The message to the reader (or the audience) in this song is clear: be loyal to the Russian ruler, do not fear the enemy and death, because even if you die in the most undesirable way, your consecrated body will be buried with honor, and you will be venerated forever. Not all the bylinas in these collections present a Russian-​ Asian struggle: some bylinas reflect internal clashes between Russian princes and heroes. As Bailey and Ivanova point out, one bylina about Vasilii Ignat’ev (Ignatyev or Ignatievich) and Batyga reflects social conflicts in Muscovite Russia:  the

Unveiling Tradition aristocratic “fat-​ bellied” boyars reject the lower-​ class  Vasilii.54 Once Vasilii returns to the court from his fight against the Tatars, instead of recognizing him as a hero the boyars scorn him, since they no longer need his help.55 In another bylina about Il’ia Muromets and the Tatar invasion—​this one in Rybnikov’s collection—​the Russian bogatyr, Il’ia Muromets, is unjustly punished by Prince Vladimir and sent to prison.56 When the Tatars arrive in front of Kiev and Kalin demands that the city be given to him without a fight, Prince Vladimir begs Il’ia for help, not for himself, as he puts it, but for the sake of “the Most Holy Mother of God, and for the Saint Mother-​Rus, and for the collegiate church.”57 Il’ia overcomes his personal resentment and fights with Kalin. Thus, in this bylina the internal conflict ends when the external enemy appears and the prince begs the hero for help. The didactic orientation of these two bylinas is highly suggestive: they could teach the Russian reader to forgive an unjust ruling system (or unfair personal treatment) for the sake of the greater purpose, such as saving the mother Rus. The subtext of the bylinas presented in Rybnikov’s, Danilov’s, and many other collections published in the nineteenth century may have served political ends. On the one hand the bylinas appealed to Russians’ common past and reminded them about the suffering of all Slavic peoples at the hands of a common enemy from the East, and thus helped to unite the nation in the face of an external threat. On the other hand some bylinas, such as the one about Ili’a Muromets from Rybnikov’s collection, carried a message that all Russian people, just like the ancient hero Il’ia, should overcome petty personal problems and fight for the common good.

Historical and Soldier Songs Danilov’s and Rybnikov’s collections were not the only anthologies printed during wartime and outbreaks of internal conflicts. A  huge body of historical and soldier songs with eastern subjects (stylistically related to the bylinas) consistently appeared in folk song collections within a year before or after the outbreak of major wars on the eastern or southern fringes of the empire.58 For instance, a number of song collections can be connected to the Russian Crimean War of 1853–​56. One year before the Crimean War, the Russian Popular Song-​ Book by Mikhail Maksimov appeared in Moscow.59 A couple of songs in the collection seem to prepare readers for an upcoming war with Turkey. One song (“Pereshli krutoi Balkan”) recalls Russia’s glorious past in military affairs and victory over Napoleon, describes the impotence of a Turkish sultan, and mentions the name of a Russian field marshal, German-​born Hans Karl Friedrich Anton von Diebitsch (in Russian: Ivan Ivanovich Diebitsch-​Zabaikal’skii), who in the Russo-​Turkish War of 1828 brought the Russian army to Adrianopol (a

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30 Representing Russia’s Orient city in the northeastern part of the Ottoman empire). The song ends with a promise of victory in the Balkans: A thunderous “hurrah” in his honor! The Greeks can now celebrate! Adrianople is not so far—​ And Constantinople is trembling!60 Another song in this collection praises the courage and military prowess of Russian field marshal Paskevich-​Erevanskii, who actively participated and distinguished himself in almost all the wars and conflicts in the south, east, and west that Russia engaged in, from the beginning of the nineteenth century to his death in 1856.61 In the song “Hurrah! Paskevich-​Erivanskii,” the marshal is called “thunder” and the “fear of Ottomans, who broke the horns of the Moon” (suggesting the crescent in the Ottoman flag). The song also acclaims his courage in taking Turkish cities and the fortresses of Kars, Akhaltsyk, Saganluk, and Erzrum. Interestingly, the same song text reappears in a number of song collections published in the 1860s and on the eve of the 1877 Russo-​Turkish War.62 It is worth stressing that despite the fact that Paskevich participated in other campaigns against western foes and adversaries (Napoleon and Polish and Hungarian rebels), they are not mentioned in this song and hardly mentioned in other songs about Paskevich.63 Between the years 1851 and 1854, four parts of Mikhail Stakhovich’s Collection of Russian Folk Songs [Sobranie russkikh narodnykh pesen] were published.64 A  couple of features of this collection suggest that it resonated with the current political situation. First, although the collection is supposed to present Russian folk songs, the last part contains one Bulgarian song (“Mat pastukha”), which Stakhovich transcribed from a version sung by Bulgarian singer Ekzarkh.65 The inclusion of this song is by no means accidental: during the Crimean War, many Bulgarian volunteers fought for the Russian army in Wallachia.66 Some Russian military officials even had counted on destabilizing the Turkish army with a mass uprising of Turkish Christian subjects, including Bulgarians, when the Russian troops crossed the Danube.67 Perhaps Stakhovich sought to demonstrate Russia’s support of its Orthodox brothers living under Turkish oppression, or even validate their presence in Russia, narrowing the distance between the Orthodox Christians across the border to justify the expansionist war with Turkey. Another feature also points out the collection’s possible relation to the Crimean War. In the third and fourth parts of this collection, published during the war, two songs refer to the time of the “Tatar Yoke” (no. 8, “Polonianochka” in part 3, and no. 2, “Tatarskii polon,” in part 4) and one (“A iz Krymu li bratsy, iz Nagaiu” in part 4) is related to an earlier war in the Crimea.68

Unveiling Tradition Particularly interesting is song 2 in part  4 (“About the Tatar Captivity”), since it gained considerable popularity and enjoyed special, if not unique, status in Russian folk collections throughout the nineteenth century. The song tells a story about a Russian woman captured as a child by the Tatars and married to a Tatar khan. She unexpectedly meets her mother, who is also captured by the Tatars many years later and becomes the khan’s servant, waiting on his children—​ including her own half-​Tatar, half-​Russian grandson. The song’s story probably resonated with the general public for two reasons: first, it referred to the subject of forced intermarriage, highly probable in the context of medieval Russia, and second, it told of the personal suffering of a mother over the destiny of her child and grandchild, which could have been translated into the suffering of an entire nation under Asian oppression. Many major nineteenth-​century folk song collections included one, two, or even three versions of this song (or the song’s text): after Stakhovich’s publication, it appeared in folk song collections by Ivan Khudiakov, Pavel Iakushkin, Konstantin Villebois, Alexander Rubets, and Rimsky-​Korsakov. Significantly, and perhaps not incidentally, Rubets’s and Rimsky-​Korsakov’s collections were published on the eve of the 1877 Russo-​ Turkish War. Out of all these composers and ethnographers, Rimsky-​Korsakov probably felt the strongest attraction to this song, since he transcribed it in three different versions from Balakirev and used two of the three different versions in his music. In the early 1860s, the young composer included the third version of this song in the second movement of his Symphony no. 1 (Andante tranquillo), and later in his life he employed the first version of the song as a leitmotif of the Tatars in his opera Skazanie o nevidimom grade Kitezhe [The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh] (1905). At the height of the Crimean War, a Kiev University publishing house issued a collection of more than a thousand Ukrainian historical songs and bylinas titled Narodnye iuzhnorusskie pesni [South Russian Folk Songs]. The date of the collection’s publication—​1854—​was significant for Russian history: it marked the two-​hundred-​year anniversary of the Treaty of Pereyaslav, which was officially viewed as the treaty that unified the Cossack Hetmanate (most of present Ukraine) with Russia, leading to its full incorporation into the growing empire. Predictably, no less than a quarter of the collection presents bylinas and historical songs that recount the ways Cossacks suffered from western as well as eastern invaders and how they defended their land against the Poles, the Lithuanians, and the hordes of  Tatars or Turks. Given the year the collection was published, it is surprising that only a couple of the bylinas refer to the event that changed the destiny of today’s Ukraine, that is to say, how in 1654 the hetman of the Zaporozhian Host, Bohdan Khmel’nitsky, had to embrace Russian suzerainty in searching for protection from the Polish-​Lithuanian Commonwealth. Most of the songs in the historical songs section describe how Cossacks fell

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32 Representing Russia’s Orient into the hands of evil Tatars and Turks and how they repulsed the enemy.69 Contrary to the popular image, Crimean Tatars were often in alliance with the Cossacks:  under the command of Tuhai-​Bei they assisted Khmel’nitsky in a number of victorious campaigns against the western enemies and helped him rise to power.70 Interestingly, one earlier collection of Little-​Russian songs contains a bylina that acknowledges the Cossack–​Tatar alliance; the collection of 1854, however, does not include any reference to “good”Tatars or Turks, preferring to portray them as perpetually hostile to the Slavs.71 As the Crimean War turned into a worst-​case scenario for the Russian army, and the British and French forces entered the war to protect their Turkish ally, the official propaganda became particularly aggressive. Even liberal-​minded Russian intelligentsia fell under the spell of the propaganda machine and expressed their readiness to fight against all of the world’s powers. The former Decembrist Fedor Glinka wrote a patriotic poem, “Hurrah! We Will Strike the Three at Once,” in which the poet accuses the British and French powers of betraying Christianity in favor of Islam.72 Pyotr Vyazemsky—​a former friend of Pushkin—​also wrote a number of patriotic poems, appealing to arms (“K ruzh’iu” [To Arms] and “Pesn russkogo ratnika” [Song of a Russian Warrior]) and mocking the British and French armies and their military commanders (“Matrosskaia pesnia” [Sailor Song] and “Dva admirala” [Two Admirals]).73 The poet Vasilii Alfer’ev, along with famous composer Konstantin Villebois, wrote a song “Na nyneshniuiu voinu” [On the Current War] in which the plans of the British commander Palmerson were ridiculed, and the entire complicated situation in the war affair was presented to the reader in an alarmingly simplified manner. By addressing the nation widely and appealing to “us” from the front pages of Russia’s principal journals, these poems symbolically consolidated the nation and redefined (or imagined) its common people as decisive political players. Although it is impossible to establish a direct link between events of the war and the contents of songs, Domanovskii suggests that certain phases of the Crimean War influenced the content of certain folk songs.74 At the beginning of the war, most popular folk songs expressed Russia’s official view: its belief in its own invincibility and the might of the empire. Gradually, the songs that reflected official ideology vanished, and during wartime, many satirical songs that mocked the enemy appeared.75 At the end of the war, some songs emerged expressing dissatisfaction with the tsarist officials and even the tsar himself. When the Crimean War was almost lost, one song in V. Il’in’s collection of thirty-​five songs tried to soothe the uneasy feelings of humiliation.76 The song’s narrator reminds a soldier about past Russian military victories in the form of rhetorical questions:

Unveiling Tradition Ты помнишь ли как мы под знаменами Отечества сражались со врагом, Как он бежал с несметными полками Скажи, солдат, ты помнишь ли о том? . . . Ты помнишь ли как наш орел двухглавый, На высотах Мормарта бросив гром, Дал миру мир, во имя русской славы: Скажи, солдат, ты помнишь ли о том?

Do you remember how under the banners Of [our] fatherland [we] fought the enemy, How he [the enemy] ran with infinite regiments Tell me, soldier, do you remember that? . . . Do you remember how our double-​headed  eagle, At a height of Montmartre threw a thunderbolt, Gave peace to the world, in the name of Russian glory: Tell me, soldier, do you remember that?

In her recent research on Russian nationalism, Maiorova suggests that after the defeat in the Crimean War, the cult of military victories from the past “took on compensatory functions in Russian national discourse.”77 Memories of war and conflicts with western or eastern “others,” refreshed by the Polish uprising of 1863, were used to “transform Russian people into the politically dominant group, to epitomize the national community’s consolidation along social and religious lines, and to unify ruler and people.”78 In this regard, the song collections printed prior to the Russo-​Turkish War of 1877 are of special interest, since this campaign was prepared for by official martial rhetoric of the 1860s and 1870s, which resulted in nationwide enthusiasm for a war of liberation of the Slavs from the Turkish yoke.79 Indeed, the 1860s and 1870s witnessed a flood of soldier song collections, most of which included the same stock of songs aimed to support a patriotic atmosphere and confidence in the fight against the enemy.80 One soldier song collection, gathered by a certain D. A. G., went through seven editions in just three decades. The first three editions appeared right after the Polish revolt of 1863, and the next three before and during the 1877 Russo-​Turkish War. The immense popularity of this collection can be explained by its texts’ contents, which appealed to a public inclined toward the ideas of pan-​Slavism. Descriptions of previous military achievements and resistance to the foreign oppressor—​the 1709 battle of Poltava against the Swedes, the Patriotic War of 1812, and military campaigns in the Caucasus—​seem intended to awaken the sense of national pride in a collective and glorious past and to promise military (often easy) success in the future. One song, for

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34 Representing Russia’s Orient instance, characterizes the war as a simple alternation between fighting and drinking, suggesting that the war can be managed as easily as drinking: We like to fight against the enemy, To answer to a bullet with a bullet, And with a bottle, in front of the fire, To revel on bivouacs.81 In the song “Shashka” [Saber], the protagonist lulls his weapon and soothes its sorrow over not being used and reassures it that when the “Orthodox tsar would rise with righteous anger,” it will be used to serve the “Tsar, for Rus, for Faith,” and “as in old times will demonstrate” its power and “spring spinning and shining” over the “heads of the enemy.”82 The mention of the tsar, Rus, and faith in the same breath is particularly noteworthy since it refers to the tripartite model of “Official Nationalism”—​Orthodoxy, autocracy, and nationality (narodnost)—​that was articulated in 1833 by the minister of education, Count Sergei Uvarov.83 Most probably, the reference to this model in the popular songbook collection was intended to demonstrate unity between the ruler and the nation across all social strata and to suggest people’s enthusiastic support of the very regime that oppressed them. Two songs in the collection appeal openly to the people to “go abroad to fight the enemy of the Fatherland,” to “die with glory or come back to rest at home on laurels.” One song even affirms the readiness to build “with our [dead] bodies” the “path to the homeland for them” (i.e., presumably, the Orthodox Slavic peoples).84 Although these songs might have originated in earlier war campaigns, they served the official propaganda perfectly now—​in the era of reform and internal conflicts. At this moment there was no more important subject than to consolidate the nation using a messianic ideology of the salvation of Slavdom through great and noble sacrifice. In fact, an image of an enormous sacrifice was typical for Russian writers of nationalist persuasion. Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Slavophile Ivan Aksakov (the younger brother of Konstantin Aksakov) envisioned mass sacrifice as a means of bringing about a renewal of the Russian nation and believed that war could strengthen national community and engender mutual solidarity. Paradoxically, the Russian tsar was portrayed as the most peaceable ruler:  an “angel of peace,” a “friend of people,” a “defender,” the one “who responds with kindness to evil,” and even the one who “gave peace to the entire universe[!]‌.”85 As Maiorova argues, this contradiction—​advocacy of violence and praise of the submissive nature of the tsar—​began with the definition of Russians as the nation and marked public speeches in the reform era.86 By the late 1870s, the repertoire of songs with this war–​peace paradox gives way to more belligerent themes of Russian people in arms. In most

Unveiling Tradition collections, the songs that focus on Russian military prowess outnumber those about Russia’s suffering from the “oriental” enemy. After the conquest of the Caucasus and Central Asia, the Russian army developed greater military confidence, which immediately influenced the content of the historical and soldier songs.87 Consider Pavel Vasil’evich Shein’s Russian Folk Songs, published in 1877. The military rhetoric came to occupy a key place in this collection. The songs about the taking of Kazan and Khotin, the Swedish and Turkish campaigns, and the Seven Years War against Prussia all reveal a fascination with military festivals, depicting the courage of the Russian heroes, exaggerating Russia’s military power, and ridiculing the weakness or backwardness of an enemy’s army. For instance, in the song about the taking of Khotin, the city fortress on the Dniester River, the Turkish army is described as follows: As [we] started shooting—​ The Turks started running from us; [Our] bombardiers became angry, All started pursuing [the Turks]; Where one of [our] soldiers runs, There five-​six Turks are lying [dead].88 Strikingly, not only enemies from the east and south were subject to repulsive descriptions. Some traditional Russian songs in nineteenth-​century collections criticize Europeans and, in rare cases, even Russia’s own military personnel. In one song about the unsuccessful campaign against the Khanate of Khiva in Central Asia in 1839–​40, for instance, the adjective “evil” (zloi) is used to describe a Russian officer who mistreated Russian soldiers.89 It must be stressed that the conditions of Russian soldiers’ lives under Nicholas I (who reigned from 1825 to 1855) were indeed unbearable. In the period from 1825 to 1850, more than one million Russian soldiers from the lower ranks died of disease, while in all the battles combined (the Russo-​Persian War of 1826–​28, the Russo-​Turkish War of 1828–​29, the Caucasian wars, and the suppression of the Polish revolt of 1830–​31), only 30,233 soldiers were killed.The total number of soldiers in the Russian army in this period numbered about 2,604,407; thus 40.4 percent of the soldiers died from disease.90 Heavy losses in the Crimean War poured oil on the fire and caused even deeper and more widespread dissatisfaction among the public. Not surprisingly, many soldiers who survived the Crimean War and retired also became organizers of peasant uprisings that followed the 1861 Emancipation Reform. The publication of songs about earlier conflicts with eastern peoples was thus important for Russian propaganda, since it reminded Russians of the collective experience of pain and suffering that they had endured for centuries and helped to shape a sense of national belonging and community. At least in

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36 Representing Russia’s Orient theory, some irreconcilable contradictions within Russian society seemed to be resolved, which helped disguise the internal social and religious conflicts that had afflicted Russia throughout the nineteenth century.

Children’s Songs Stereotypes of militant Caucasians and aggressive Turks or Tatars were engrained in everyday life from early childhood and sometimes deliberately emphasized in nineteenth-​century print culture.91 For instance, in his collection of folk songs from the Samar region,Victor Varentsov included no fewer than four lullabies describing how Tatars captured Russian girls and children. These songs are categorized as “family songs” and are placed in a section with twenty-​one other family songs.92 Two of the four songs about the Tatars have an open appeal to the child for vengeance against the enemy when he grows up.93 One song-​lullaby, “Na goré, na goré,” ends with text completely uncharacteristic of the lullaby genre: Rise, wake up my child, Take a sharp sabre from the wall, Chop and cut the evil Tatars!94 Another lullaby, based on Lermontov’s poem “A Cossack Lullaby,” promotes the image of an “evil Chechen” who “sharpens his dagger” while the song’s Russian female protagonist tries to lull her child to sleep. The mother singing the lullaby envisions how her child will grow up and become a “true Cossack” fighting in “dangerous battles” in a “foreign land.” Remarkably, settings of this poem appear in a dozen collections intended as educational material at Russian schools.95 Alexander Famintsyn’s Children’s Songbook, Grigorii Marenich’s Children’s Songs, Alexander Nikulin’s Collection of Songs Compiled for Children, Vladimir Rebikov’s Children’s World, and Alexander Dzbanovskii’s Collection of School Songs all offered a one-​, two-​, or three-​voice setting of Lermontov’s poem to be performed by children’s choirs. Some collections included it even if it did not quite fit the collection’s context. Dzbanovskii, a teacher at a women’s gymnasium, for instance, included the song in the category “children’s little songs, games, and roundelays.” It is unclear to which of these categories this one would be assigned and how children would play or dance along with it. The genre of Lermontov’s lullaby is further obscured by its inclusion in a number of the soldier’s song collections, and by its multiple settings as an art song (often in the style of a folk song) composed by both well-​known and lesser known composers, such as Alexander Varlamov (1842), Pauline Viardot (1865), Konstantin Villebois (1872), Eduard Napravnik (1875), Alexander Gretchaninov (1889), and Nikolai Tcherepnin (1900). In the nineteenth century alone, more

Unveiling Tradition than thirty settings of this lullaby appeared in print, inexorably perpetuating the image of an “evil Chechen” sharpening his dagger and calling out to the audience through the mother’s voice for a fight against this imagined enemy.96 The song’s generic confusion and omnipresence in different collections—​whether consciously or unconsciously brought about—​is indicative of the time: it demonstrates the pervasiveness of a war trope in the repertoire of everyday life songs and reveals that the cult of war and hate infiltrated even the repertoire of songs for the younger generation. The popularity of Lermontov’s lullaby grew significantly toward the end of the century. The song’s subject even inspired the creation of a number of satirical and revolutionary texts that circulated among Russian prerevolutionary intelligentsia.97 But for my purposes, the song’s most interesting manipulations occurred in children’s song collections. Some collections that did not present this song in their first editions, included it in their second and third editions. One collection by Alexander Nikulin, published in Vilna (now Vilnius, capital of present-​day Lithuania), is particularly intriguing since it demonstrates how, by including songs with eastern subjects, Russia’s inorodtsy living in the western domains were integrated into the Russian national discourse. A quick overview of the publication’s context may help to clarify how and why within a little over one decade (1870–​81), Nikulin’s collection was transformed from an innocent collection of songs for children into a propaganda-​ promoting tool. In Polish-​speaking Vilna, the policy of forced integration began to be implemented after the 1863 Polish uprising. Besides imposing harsh reprisals on the Kingdom of Poland, Russian officials divided its territory into ten different districts now to be directly subject to Russia’s center; emancipated the peasant class, hoping that it would turn against Polish lords; and replaced all Polish administrators with Russian ones. The Polish language was eliminated in an official capacity and banned at all levels of the educational system. After the publication of a new Warsaw University Statute in 1869, the language of instruction in the empire’s western provinces was to be Russian; all teachers were allowed to learn how to instruct in Russian within a period of two years. By the late 1870s, the use of Polish in school buildings (even during the breaks) became a punishable offense.98 Since the Polish revolt of 1863 had awakened national movements among the Ukrainian, Lithuanian, and Belorussian populations, their languages were also banned, and repressive measures against the Catholic Church were implemented. All this was done to hasten the cultural and linguistic incorporation of the region and to put an end to ethnic, cultural, and religious disagreements.99 In this atmosphere of cultural pressure, there was a need for a new type of appropriate material for schools. Alexander Nikulin, in his Collection of Songs Compiled for Children, aimed to provide music for schools to fill the gap. His collection, at first self-​published, added new texts with patriotic connotations

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38 Representing Russia’s Orient to well-​ known Russian folk songs, such as “Vo pole berezka stoiala” or “Kamarinskaia.”100 A  comparison of two editions of this collection reveals a dramatic change in their message. Published at first in 1870 with the simple title just mentioned, the collection in its 1881 edition was titled Collection of Songs Approved by the Academic Committee of Public Education to Be Used in the Schools of the Vilna Region, assuming that its content is in line with official ideology. The tone of the dedication and the preface was also transformed. The first edition is dedicated to children, and in a short introductory note the editor states that the collection’s “sole purpose is to give an opportunity to children from all social strata to get familiar with melodies of Russian folk songs.”101 The 1881 edition opens with a dedication to “His Grace, Bishop of Kovno,” who, with his “inspiring preaching” and “wise advice,” leads the flock of Christ to “appropriate actions.” The author points out that more than half of the songs in the collection concern “sacred and moral obligations” learned in early childhood to “achieve an important and great goal outlined by our Monarch.” To the thirty songs from the first edition, the editor adds thirty-​three other songs, many of which clearly respond to the events of the late 1870s.102 Two songs—​“A Song Dedicated to Russian Soldiers” and “Bulgarian Anthem”—​ undoubtedly refer to the Russo-​Turkish War (1877–​78), which ended with a Russian victory, resulting in the creation of the Bulgarian state (the Principality of Bulgaria).103 Another song—​“Ozhidanie Tsaria” [Waiting for the Tsar]—​ also resonates with the official policies of Russification and integration of the Ukrainian population. “Ozhidanie Tsaria” is based on the melody of a very popular humorous Ukrainian folk song, “Ty zh mene pidmanula” [You Have Lied to Me]. Instead of a traditional text sung by a male protagonist complaining to his girlfriend, who promises to meet with him each day of the week but does not show up, the text of “Ozhidanie Tsaria” tells how the entire nation is waiting for a return of the “White Russian Tsar,” “the angel of peace,” who travels abroad to “fight evil” and “punish the enemy.” Thus the original song’s single character (of supposedly Ukrainian descent), who is waiting for his beloved to come, is replaced by a large group of people (presented as children) who are complaining collectively about the tsar’s absence and expressing their feelings of desperate longing for him, the source of happiness, to come: “There is no joy without you, /​And the entire world becomes obnoxious, /​[We] feel sad without our dear father, /​Come back soon!”104 This image of presumably loyal western subjects transformed into conscious Russian citizens drastically differs from that of Russia’s eastern and southern inorodtsy. Some of Russia’s oriental “others” remained fairly dangerous (the “evil Chechen” still “sharpens his dagger” in Lermontov’s lullaby, added to the 1881 edition). Others, for instance the Georgians in the song “Appeal” (also from the later edition), are called on to trust the tsar’s righteous intentions, assuming that they do not participate in the creation of a “new” and supposedly better life by voluntarily “unifying in one family.”

Unveiling Tradition Русский ЦАРЬ перводержавный К новой жизни Русь воззвал, И сынам ея путь славный К новой жизни указал. Этот путь соединенья В одну семью всех семей Свяжет крепко Руси звенья, Силу мощную даст ей. Но та сила без стремленья Наносить народам вред, Нет в ней жажды к истребленью, Нет желанья людям бед. Цель еë –​не подвиг громкий В грозном с недругом бою, А лишь в благе для потомков Видеть родину свою. Поживëм же други мирно От души мольбу творя, Чтоб в Руси всë было смирно, И приветим так ЦАРЯ: Верь ты русскому народу, Верен он тебе как встарь, За тебя в огонь и в воду Мы пойдëм любимый ЦАРЬ.

The Russian tsar who holds supreme power Called Rus to a new life, And showed its sons a glorious path To this new life. It is the path of uniting All families into one family; It will tie the [separate] links of Rus firmly together And grant [our country] mighty power. But this power is with no intention To bring harm to the people It is without thirst to exterminate them, Or desire to make anyone worse off. Its aim is not a great feat In a gruesome battle against the foe, But only prosperity, Witnessed by our progeny. Let us live as friends in peace Sending prayers from our soul For all to be peaceful in Rus, And we will greet our TSAR with these words: Believe in the Russian people, They are loyal to you as in old times, They are ready to go through fire and flood For you, our well-​loved TSAR.

The chorus melody of “Appeal” [Prizyv] (mm. 9–​20, ex. 1.1a) references two sources about Russia’s “others”:  Glinka’s famous art song “Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne” [Do Not Sing for Me Thy Song of Georgia] (1828; ex. 1.1b), considered in Russian literature the first Russian “oriental” art song,105 and Aleksei Verstovkii’s “First Aria of the Unknown Man” [Pervaia Ariia Neizvestnogo] from his opera Askold’s Grave (1835), sung by a mysterious character who appears out of nowhere (ex. 1.1c).106 All three songs are in the major mode and written in a compound 6/​8 meter.They open with a melodic line that stays on the third scale degree before moving to the first (repeated twice). Then, in the second phrase, the songs modulate to the relative minor key, moving from the fifth scale degree to the tonic.The final phrase of Glinka’s song returns to the tonic major; Nikulin’s “Appeal” and Verstovski’s “First Aria” end in the minor.

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40 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 1.1a.  “Prizyv” [Appeal] from Nikulin’s Sbornik pesen (1881)

Example 1.1b.  Glinka, “Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne” [Do Not Sing Thy Song of Georgia] (1828)

Unveiling Tradition Example 1.1c. Verstovkii, “First Aria of the Unknown Man” from opera Askold’s Grave (1835), mm. 13–​20

The ideological message in Nikulin’s song is strengthened by the song’s structure and arrangement; in some ways, it resembles the pattern of the so-​called old monastic style of singing, established in the eighteenth century by Dmitry Bortniansky.107 “Appeal” opens as an antiphon, in which one verse (which probably carries the song’s ideological quintessence) is sung by sopranos in unison to a melody independent of the chorus that follows it (ex. 1.1a, mm. 1–8). A four-​voice choir responds to the unison singing in a standard homophonic manner, in which the “chant” melody is trimmed to fit a simple harmonic progression. The melody is placed in the upper voice of a homophonic texture. The tenor voice doubles the chant in sixths, while the bottom line is written to form common triads (mm. 9–20). The textual discrepancy between Nikulin’s song and both Glinka’s art song and Verstovkii’s aria is striking. In Glinka’s song (based on Pushkin’s poem), the male protagonist begs an “oriental” woman not to sing the songs of Georgia that put him into a melancholic mood. The message of Verstovskii’s “First Aria” is slightly more complex: the Unknown Man sings about happy times associated with the reign of Askold, who according to some chronicles was an offspring of the founder of Kiev, Prince Kyi. Prince Oleg, the founder of the state Kievan Rus, killed Askold and unified various Slavic tribes and territories. In the opera the Unknown Man wants to restore the old times and tries to convince Vseslav, the legitimate inheritor of Kiev’s throne, to overthrow the prince of Kiev, Sviatoslav I. However, Vseslav, as a true Christian who represents faithfulness to the motherland, refuses to betray his benefactor, and the Unknown Man, who personifies the idea of Russia’s backward past, dies in the waters of the Dnieper River. Nikulin’s new text, which blatantly reverses the texts used in Glinka’s and Verstovkii’s songs, creates strong political overtones calculated to put pressure on Russia’s inorodtsy.108 Instead of transmitting a Romantic message of nostalgia for the remote land, Glinka’s love song now becomes an official appeal to love the motherland; the aria of the Unknown Man, which propagates the values of the past, turns into fervent support of the present state policies and the tsar.

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42 Representing Russia’s Orient Other songs in Nikulin’s collection also suggest that their content and structure were carefully revised to fulfill particular political purposes. The collection opens with a religious hymn followed by a hymn to the tsar (“God, Save the Tsar”). The third song in the collection, “Zavetnaia pesnia” [A Cherished Song], glorifies “Saint Motherland, Russian kingdom,” and all the “children” living in it, and pronounces a wish that should an enemy appear, Russia will have the power to pacify it and teach the enemy “how to live in a reasonable way.”109 The seventh song in the collection, “Pesnia vospitannikov uchebnogo zavedeniia” [A Song of the School Students], which supposedly expresses the point of view of schoolchildren, ends with the following statement: To you, our merciful Monarch! For your welfare and mercy [given] to us In our souls we all keep zealously The temple of love and devotion [to you].110 Out of sixty-​three songs from the 1881 edition, at least ten others praise Russia and its Orthodox tsar and refer to Russia’s glorious past.111 Thus, the inclusion in Nikulin’s later edition of two songs that refer to the non-​Russian subjects of empire—​some of whom still represent danger—​and the addition of a number of songs presenting the peoples from the western domain as loyal seem intended to create the illusion that Russia’s western citizens fit perfectly into Russian mainstream society. However, this type of musical propaganda was not effective throughout the entire population of V   ilna, let  alone all of Russia, since some leaders of the Russian revolutionary underground societies, such as Alexander Herzen and Mikhail Bakunin, supported the 1863 Polish revolt. In early 1870, Vilna became an important center of revolutionary activity:  some radicals of Jewish descent from the Chaikovskii circle smuggled illegal revolutionary literature from Russian émigré presses in Geneva, London, and Zurich through Vilna.112 Thus the publications of Nikulin’s collection coincided with a period during which the nation was at war with its own subjects:  the first edition appeared in 1870 after two unsuccessful attempts at regicide (in 1866 and 1867); the third edition (1881) came out right after the assassination of Tsar Alexander II by the members of Narodnaia volia [People’s Will].113 This event, anticipated for decades due to growing frustration with the state’s politics, reinforced the idea that the deep ideological divides in Russian society were indeed irreconcilable.

From Discrimination to Integration of Certain “Others” Despite the generally contemptuous images of Orientals in folk songs, some later nineteenth-​century collections of folk song texts or music centered on the idea of a growing nation: songs of Russia’s imperial “others” were included

Unveiling Tradition in collections of Russian (russkii, not rossiiskii) folk songs. To understand the implications of this inclusion, it is important at this point to explain the intricacies in translation and connotation of the word “Russian” in Russian. The adjective “Russian” can be translated as russkii or rossiiskii. Before the mid-​ nineteenth century, these two terms were often confused or used interchangeably. However, in the second half of the century, the term rossiiskii started to be associated with the subjects of the tsar without any specific reference to ethnicity, while russkii started to define those who did not consider themselves as a part of a national minority group in Russia and identified themselves as ethnically Russian (velikorusskii, malorosskii, or belorusskii). Some historians suggest that the separation of rossiiskii and russkii happened after the anti-​Russian uprisings of Polish-​Lithuanian nobility (1830–​31 and 1863), when the ideas of the unity of Eastern Slavs (Russians, Ukrainians, and Belorussians) and the “reunification of Russian lands” that were previously under Polish domination became a priority for the Russian nation-​builders.114 Then russkii began to be applied to all Eastern Slavs who participated in the building of Kievan Rus. In 1879, Nikolai Ivanovich Abramychev published his Collection of Russian Folk Songs (he used the adjective russkii), in which he included one Gypsy and one Cheremis song among forty Russian folk songs.115 The inclusion of a Gypsy song in the collection is unsurprising, since, as a musical genre, the Gypsy song developed within the framework of “Russian song” under the influence of Gypsy singer-​composers.116 This probably explains why Abramychev does not distinguish the Gypsy style from the Russian music vocabulary:  he uses similar musical gestures in both the Gypsy song “Tam za rechkoi” [Over the River] and the Russian song “Zemlianichka iagodka.” Both songs are supplied with practically the same type of accompaniment: a drone in the left hand and a horn-​call formula in the right hand.117 The presence of the Cheremis song in the collection is more difficult to explain. The Cheremis (also called Mari) are Uralic people living northwest of Kazan; although linguistically Finnic, the Cheremis in Russian nineteenth-​ century literature were defined as Asians who were anthropologically closer to the Turkic people.118 Unlike Gypsies, the Cheremis population in Russia’s metropoles was insignificant, and their impact on Russian song was comparatively minor. Maybe this is why, in Abramychev’s collection, they remained musical outsiders: a Cheremis instrumental tune, simply labeled “A Cheremis Song,” is supplied with parallel perfect fifths and fourths that follow the melody (ex. 1.2). Such a musical “arrangement” could have reminded a western European–​ educated listener of a parallel organum technique from the late Middle Ages, suggesting that people who use such a musical vocabulary have remained at a medieval level of development. As Abramychev himself states: “this primordial method of harmonization definitely indicates the early provenance [drevne proiskhozhdenie] of this native Finnish theme.”119

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44 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 1.2.  “Cheremis Song” from Abramychev’s Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen

Why would Abramychev include a Cheremis melody in his collection of Russian [russkii] folk songs? Only personal experience can explain such an unusual choice, since no music ethnography on Cheremis people was published until the 1890s.120 Indeed, Abramychev was born in 1854 in Iaransk District in Viatka Province (northeast of the Volga River and west of the Kama River), which, according to the 1897 all-​Russian census, had one of the highest populations of Cheremis-​Mari peoples.121 He then studied at the Second Kazan Gymnasium and in 1877 entered the St. Petersburg Conservatory as a student; for more than thirty years (1888–​1924) he worked as a professor of piano there.122 Among the circle of musicians he was acquainted with and befriended were famous composers, music critics, and singers, such as Glazunov, Liadov, Rimsky-​ Korsakov, Balakirev, Stasov, Laroche, and Chaliapin. Many composers from Abramychev’s entourage published Russian folk song collections, and it could have been that they stimulated the young and aspiring musician to make his contribution to the knowledge of the Russian folk song tradition of the Viatka Province. Abramychev included the Cheremis song probably because he himself watched the Cheremis being absorbed by Russian society and perceived them as legitimate representatives of   Viatka Province and the Russian empire in general. Indeed, the majority of the Cheremis-​Mari peoples were nominally converted to Orthodoxy in the eighteenth century, during the missionary campaign to win over new converts through exemption from military service and taxes, as well as through payments in money and goods, or simply by persecution. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, most Cheremis were officially documented as Orthodox Christians, except for a sizable group who converted to Islam and a handful of Mari-​Cheremis in the provinces of Ufa and Perm who were recognized as practicing paganism.123 In Russian ethnographies on Cheremis people published in 1870s, they were described as being easily adopted by the peoples with whom they lived in close proximity. Although some of the Cheremis settled among the Tatar population were Tatarized, the majority who lived in close proximity with the Russians, as one Russian ethnographer claimed, were “absolutely Russified” and not likely to be distinguished from Russians, since they had adopted Russian garments, houses, and meals; even their facial features in certain cases could have been easily mixed up with Russian ones.124

Unveiling Tradition In this context, Abramychev’s collection exemplifies a gradual shift from rejection of Russia’s “others” to their political and cultural inclusion. Even though the Cheremis are musically different from the Russians, one of their melodies is included in the Collection of Russian Folk Songs.125 The practice of including Russia’s different minority groups into one compendium reached its apogee in Klenovskii’s collection of songs titled Etnograficheskii kontsert [Ethnographic Concert], published in 1893 (discussed in ­ chapter  6). This collection features music of all of the regions and main provinces of late-​ nineteenth-​century Russia:  Russian, Slavic, Asian, and Caucasian tunes are arranged for piano and solo voice or choir, and explicitly given the names of the ethnic groups or regions whence the tunes originated. As I  argue in ­chapter  6, this collection served as a vehicle for the expression of the state’s ideological agenda: to present a microcosm of the Russian empire, along with its culturally assimilated inorodtsy. Significantly, the format for representing Russia’s peoples offered first by Abramychev and then by Klenovskii became a model for a collection of songs meant to be sung in secondary schools. Alexander Dzbanovskii, in his collection of school songs, included Russian, Little-​Russian, Belorussian, Polish, Georgian, and Kyrgyz songs, similarly embracing peoples from all provinces and regions of the empire.126 The connection between Dzbanovskii’s and Klenovskii’s collections is obvious:  Dzbanovskii borrowed from Klenovskii one Belorussian, two Polish, one Georgian, and one Kyrgyz song. One major alteration introduced in the later collection may suggest an important shift in Russian cultural policies:  Dzbanovskii presents two Polish songs and a Belorussian song exclusively in Russian (as opposed to Klenovskii, who published the texts in two languages), while Georgian and Kyrgyz songs are presented exclusively in their original languages. Such a manipulation of the original texts can be interpreted in two ways:  either, for Dzbanovskii, the difference between the Slavic languages (and maybe even cultures) was completely blurred by the beginning of the twentieth century, or—​and this is more likely—​Dzbanovskii followed Alexander III’s edict from 1885, which mandated the use of Russian as the only teaching language across the empire, so that his collection could be officially approved by a school board. In the latter case, it is still not clear why he presented Ukrainian, Georgian, and Kyrgyz songs in their original languages or how he negotiated these cases with an army of censors. A brief examination of Russian folk song reveals some connections between the publication of folk song collections and developments in nineteenth-​ century Russian history and politics. Most Russian folk songs with an eastern subject represented the “other” pejoratively. In nineteenth-​century Russian folk songs about other cultures, one finds the imprint of the ethnic stereotyping

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46 Representing Russia’s Orient that was inscribed in the Russian language from the time of the “Tatar Yoke.” Monstrous Tatars in bylinas, ridiculed Turks in nineteenth-​century historical songs, and frightening Chechen killers in children’s collections all deserved to be conquered and civilized. Two motives might explain the heightened interest in the publication of folk song collections during times of sociopolitical unrest or wars. On the one hand the reenactment of the original terror of the Mongol-​Tatar invasion described in bylinas helped Russian officials legitimize wars with Russia’s eastern neighbors and further promote Russia’s aggressive expansionist ideology. On the other hand the folk song discourse on evil Tatars, Caucasians, Turks, or even French and English masked the heterogeneity of Russian society and its internal conflicts based on differences of class and religion. Interestingly, from the 1870s onward, some of Russia’s ethnic minorities were included in the picture of the Russian “self,” suggesting an important shift in the state’s cultural policy:  from the “othering” of inorodtsy to their inclusion. This shift, which changed the cultural representation of Russianness itself, is fully explored in ­chapter 6. In the next chapter I will try to shed light on how and why Russian music ethnographies varied throughout the nineteenth century, and whether different state agencies and the cultural policies regarding Russia’s inorodtsy influenced the content and methodology of ethnographic research.

Chapter 2

Building Images of the “Other” Russian Music Ethnographies on Inorodtsy Russia cannot remain indifferent to the situation in Central Asia. It wants to maintain the status quo or at least that it not be broken in a way that would favor English influence. —​Prince Alexander Gorchakov (1858)

I

n 1864, eight years after a humiliating defeat in the Crimean War (1853–​ 56) and just a few months before taking Tashkent (the capital of modern Uzbekistan), Russia’s minister of foreign affairs, Prince Alexander Gorchakov, wrote an official circular addressing the Great Powers. This document was sent to all European foreign ministries and was intended to clarify Russia’s policies in Central Asia. Gorchakov anticipated a negative response to Russian advances in the East, particularly from Britain, so he justified Russia’s expansion by claiming the need to protect its borders against “wild and unruly” tribespeoples in “the interests of humanity and civilisation.” Comparing the situation of Russia’s Asia to that of other European colonial counterparts, Gorchakov claimed that due to the lawless semisavage nomad population living in the frontier, Russia “finds itself forced to choose one of two alternatives”: either to “abandon its frontier to perpetual disturbance, rendering all prosperity, all security, all civilisation an impossibility, or to plunge deeper and deeper into the heart of savage lands.” Like France in Algeria or England in India, Russia had been “irresistibly forced, less by ambition than by dire necessity.”1 Gorchakov provided reassurance that Russian officials’ ambitions in Central Asia were limited to the states with agricultural production. Despite their “backward civilization” and the “instability of [their] political condition,” Russian-​controlled Central Asian rulers would be able to impose order on the indigenous population, and would offer stronger political and economic relationships.2

48 Representing Russia’s Orient Gorchakov’s promises were not fulfilled.3 As we know, the Russian army continued to absorb Central Asian territories at an incredibly fast rate. Most of these territories boasted rich agricultural resources, as well as strong social, political, and military infrastructures. But this interest in Turkestan, the Central Asian region inhabited by mostly Turkic-​ speaking population, was due to another reason: it was a contested territory, making it a politically amorphous “buffer zone.” It demarcated two colonial fronts of expansion—​the Russian and the British. Accordingly, for a few decades, the two mutually hostile western powers could not reach an agreement on the limits of their respective spheres of influence.4 As the epigraph to this chapter indicates, the wars in Central Asia thus stemmed from clearly geopolitical and economic motives.5 By the end of the 1870s, the political map of most of the territory between the Kyrgyz steppe and the territories northwest of China, referred to as Eastern Turkestan, or Vostochnyi Turkestan (as opposed to Western or Russian Turkestan) by Russian officials, had been defined (see map 2.1).6 Of the three large Central Asian khanates, one (Kokand) was entirely absorbed, and the other two (the Emirate of Bukhara and the Khanate of Khiva) existed as Russian protectorates, which were only nominally independent. In the early 1880s, Great Britain increased its economic-​political influence beyond the northern borders of

Map 2.1.  Russian Expansion in Central Asia, 1801–​95.

Building Images of the “Other” Persia, while Russia’s hold on the Turkmen steppe weakened after the Russo-​ Turkish War (1877–​78). In response, Russian troops captured the nomadic territories of the desert lying north of Persia and then annexed the entire Merv oasis (1884).7 The Russian empire swallowed up lands and territories at such breathtaking speed that by the end of the nineteenth century, the Muslim population in Russia was larger than that of the Ottoman empire.8 The diversity of territories, peoples, and cultures—​a source of the empire’s pride—​required different strategies of rule. No single policy could be applied to the empire’s different areas. In order to better understand these peoples and their culture, Russians looked to the field of ethnography. In this chapter, I will demonstrate how some ethnographies, including those focused on music, challenged the popular, predominantly derogative representations of Russia’s newly acquired citizens, while others reinforced these biases. Since Russian ethnographic and Oriental Studies, or orientology, were developed primarily by individuals who were not initially affiliated with any official institutions—​ political exiles, inorodtsy, or people of mixed Russian-​inorodets origin—​many different voices, including military, academic, and musical ones, joined the choir of ethnographic research. To better contextualize the essence of and motivations behind Russian music ethnographies, I must briefly examine the official policies regarding minority peoples, as well as history of ethnographic studies in nineteenth-​century Russia.

The Development of Ethnography and Orientology in Russia Official Policies The relationship between Russian administrators and local populations in the conquered, annexed, and incorporated territories was flexible and often depended on decisions made by Russian officials working in situ. In Transcaucasia, or the South Caucasus, which possessed a large Christian population with centralized power, Russian officials appeased the elite by co-​ opting members of the higher social strata into the Russian nobility.9 The traditional social order of the Muslim community in the Caucasus, the Volga-​Kama regions, and the Central steppe remained intact, but under close watch.10 Tsarist policy officially sponsored some Muslim authorities and clergy, using them as intermediaries in communication with and control over the local peoples.11 Russia’s Muslim nobles living in the Caucasus who converted to Russian Orthodoxy were showered with different privileges that included generous annual compensation in land and cash or exemption from taxes and military service. For the nobles, the conversion meant fast and potentially complete assimilation into Russian society, often involving the registry in

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50 Representing Russia’s Orient the Genealogical Book of the Russian nobility, intermarriages with members of Russian upper-​class society, and high military positions if they decided to serve.12 Muslim peoples in the North Caucasus who rejected Russian rule or resisted assimilation in any way were severely suppressed or exterminated. Of all the territories conquered by Russians in the nineteenth century, the Caucasus occupied a unique place in Russian culture. As will be discussed in c­ hapters 4 and 5, no other land inspired as great an output of literary and musical works. A different kind of relationship was established between the Russian administration and the non-​Russian nomadic elite in the Kyrgyz or Central steppe, now called the Kazakh steppe. Although special treatment was offered to the khans who could trace their lineages back directly to Genghis Khan, Kyrgyz and Kyrgyz-​Kaisak begs were not co-​opted into the Russian nobility.13 This was due to the 1822 inorodtsy statute, which provided all nomadic peoples with a social standing parallel to that of Russian peasants.14 Inorodtsy, which literally means “of foreign origin” or “of different descent,” is a legal term that at first was applied only to the population living in Siberia. In 1822, the term began to be used for all hunters, gatherers, and nomads, including the inhabitants of the Kyrgyz steppe. The initial goal of the inorodtsy statute was to protect the “traditional hunting and grazing areas of native peoples from encroachment by Russian settlers.”15 All inorodtsy were exempt from army service, had to pay less taxes than Russian peasants, and enjoyed religious, trade, and commercial freedoms.16 However, the term inorodtsy implied an organic difference from Russians and offered no means by which inorodtsy could overcome their status and become full Russian citizens.17 If originally this term did not carry any pejorative meaning and was free from any gradations of hierarchy, toward the end of the nineteenth century it became unquestionably derogatory and acquired connotations of “backward” and “uncivilized.”18 The situation with Russia’s Central Asian region was more complicated than in the steppe because this area was mostly inhabited by sedentary peoples living in heavily populated cities.These peoples, by the Russians’ own standards, could not be technically assigned the status of inorodtsy, since before being conquered they had possessed agrarian (translated in Russian as “civilized”) culture and had a long history of relations with ancient civilizations situated along the Silk Road. Indeed, as Daniel Brower points out, the term inorodtsy had never been used by Russian officials in Turkestan; instead the local Turkestani population were called tuzemtsy (native peoples).19 Nonetheless, all Asians living in that territory were assigned inorodtsy status, regardless of their previous social ranks. Unlike their Caucasian counterparts, Central Asian elites were not co-​opted into the Russian nobility. The official policies on minorities that Russia implemented in different regions not only influenced the development of society, culture, and music in the conquered territories but also helped define Russians’ ongoing attitude

Building Images of the “Other” toward inorodtsy, as reflected in popular literature and general ethnographies. Nineteenth-​century Russian periodicals such as Maiak, Russkii vestnik, and Illiustratsiia:  Vsemirnoe obozrenie aimed for wide readership, often publishing articles that assumed the ultimate superiority of Russian culture over that of Russia’s Asian peoples.20 The overwhelming majority of articles that described musical encounters with Russia’s Asians stressed cultural distance and emphasized the unpleasant sound quality of oriental music. This tactic of Orientalization of inorodtsy in Russian popular literature became an essential tool in promoting the westernization of Russia itself. The denigration of Asian culture furthermore validated Russian officials’ claims of the viability of their civilizing missions, which helped legitimize the empire’s aggressive policy toward its southern and eastern neighbors. At the same time, Russian scholarly essays written for specialized audiences and published in ethnographic journals often contradicted official views on inorodtsy, a phenomenon I discuss later.

Institutions and Individual Agencies To rule an immense population that was ethnically, religiously, and culturally diverse, Russian officials had to rely on information gathered by ethnographers. Ethnographic insight, with its knowledge of local traditions and customs, could facilitate the task of administration and assure the establishment of closer ties with Russia’s new subjects. However, in the first half of the nineteenth century in Russia, an institution that would financially support the study of the peoples of empire did not exist; departments of oriental languages at the Moscow, Kazan, and St. Petersburg universities were preoccupied only with literary translations from eastern languages and with preparing bureaucrats to serve in the region.21 The situation changed in 1845 when the Russian Geographic Society (later the Imperial Russian Geographical Society, Imperatorskoe Russkoe Geograficheskoe Obshchestvo; IRGO) founded its Ethnographic Division and was given a large sum of 10,000 silver rubles as an annual imperial subsidy.22 The Geographic Society brought together a wide range of people to study the new lands and peoples to the east. Not only professional scholars (geographers, topographers, ethnographers, and statisticians) but also officers, officials, priests, and even political exiles published their research in the journals issued by IRGO. Beginning in 1846 the Society published Zapiski IRGO, with articles focused on lands and peoples in the strategically important internal regions of Russia and its neighboring territories within the zone of imperial interests. From the initial establishment of the Society’s Ethnographic Division, the Society created visible tensions between nation and empire.23 Different members of the society debated the question of how exactly Russia was to be studied and where exactly the Russian “self ” began and ended.The proponents

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52 Representing Russia’s Orient of one faction, headed by Karl von Baer and represented mostly by scholars of non-​ Russian origin, believed that Russian ethnographic studies should concentrate on the empire’s diverse ethnic groups:  the inorodtsy. For them, ethnography was a science of empire. (Later in this chapter I will consider one representative of this school.) The champions of the other faction, with Nikolai Nadezhdin as leader, however, believed that such studies should focus on ethnic Russians.24 Despite the factions’ different goals, their methods of study were similar: focus on the customs and morals of different peoples and avoid general questions about the development of the human race and culture. What Russian ethnographers were interested in, as Knight observes, was byt—​a large concept that included all aspects of everyday life, from households to rituals and customs. Byt referred to the detailed description of a way of life, free from generalizing speculations about the hierarchies of civilizations. In the mid-​nineteenth century, Russian ethnographers produced texts that were descriptive in orientation and did not include any analytical or comparative discourse that would imply larger concepts of cultural development. This is because the notion of byt did not imply any hierarchical or comparative elements, since the very etymology of this word (derived from the verb “to be”) excluded it.25 The focus on byt, as Knight argues convincingly, resulted in Russia’s failure to respond to the debate between monogenists and polygenists over the unity of the human race, which filled the pages of European scientific, and especially ethnographic, publications.26 As I will show in c­ hapter 3, the discourse of evolutionism did not gain prominence in Russian music ethnographies until the late 1880s. Some late-​nineteenth-​century Russian scholars, such as Nikolai Kharuzin, tried to apply the laws of science to Russian ethnographic literature in their search for universally applicable truths. These scholars were severely criticized by other Russian ethnographers.27 The latter rejected anthropological evolutionism, considering it to be based on partial knowledge that led to misleading conclusions. Even ethnographers of evolutionist persuasions, such as Lev Shternberg, had views drastically different from those of their western counterparts.28 Shternberg admired the subjects of his study—​the so-​called primitive peoples and their social and religious institutions—​and was not eager to see them either disappear or become absorbed into advanced civilizations. Besides the focus on purely factual material and a lack of analysis based on evolutionary theories, a number of other elements and people contributed to the formation and development of a specifically Russian ethnography. Exiled ethnographers, orientologists, and people of inorodets or mixed Russian-​inorodets origins were not interested in the transmission of ethnocentric messages. Exile ethnography, or ethnographic works written by political exiles in Siberia, the Caucasus, or the Central steppe, often defined the Russian ethnography of these regions and set it apart from its European counterpart. Having been repressed

Building Images of the “Other” by the official tsarist system, many exiled Russian writers supported Russia’s Asian subjects and often stood up for their rights.29 It should be noted that there was no lack of political dissidents in nineteenth-​century Russia. The first wave of exiles included those who supported the 1825 Decembrist revolt; the next group consisted of insurgents in the 1863 Polish uprising; finally, and probably the greatest number, were the politically dangerous men and women sent to Siberia in the 1870s–​1880s.30 As I will discuss in c­ hapter 4, the Decembrist exiles viewed the peoples living in the Caucasus as legitimate fighters who declared war on the tsarist regime in order to gain their rights and freedom. Starting in the 1880s, many orientologists—​specialists associated with the Russian Academy of Science who were professionally involved in studying the societies and cultures of the Middle East and Asia—​challenged Eurocentric visions of history.31 Baron Victor Rozen (1849–​1908) and his disciples Vasilii Bartol’d (1869–​ 1930), Nikolai Marr (1864–​ 1934), and Sergei Ol’denburg (1863–​1934) viewed multiethnicity and the interactions between eastern and western cultures as a positive force in the formation of Russian culture.32 They considered themselves “armchair scholars” (kabinetnye uchenye) and believed that the German model of “pure scholarship” (instead of the English and French “practical knowledge”) should be used in Russian academia.33 By the late nineteenth century the representatives of minority groups in Siberia and the Caucasus were also participating in the production of new knowledge about their own communities. Some scholars established close professional and personal relationships with representatives of different ethnic communities and constructed a more positive image of the inorodtsy.34 Many Russian orientologists started applying the theory of integration previously used on the Russian population to the inorodtsy. This theory was based on the idea that national loyalty can be developed through knowledge of and love for the history and traditions of one’s place of birth or malaia rodina (small homeland). A number of Russian orientologists, such as Nikolai Marr, Vasilii Bartol’d, and Dmitrii Klements (1848–​1914), believed that promoting studies of local cultures and nurturing ethnocultural awareness among the inorodtsy would enable Russia’s minority groups to become better integrated citizens of a pan-​ Russian community without losing their ethnic distinctiveness.35 Finally, many Russian scholars from mixed Russian–​inorodets families and a few representatives of ethnic minority groups (such as Alexander Kasimovich Kazembek and Nikolai Katanov) entered the Russian educated elite and became part of Russian academia, teaching at the university level. For instance, Muhammad Ali Kazembei, known as Alexander Kasimovich Kazembek (1802–​ 70), of Azeri origin, was one of the first inorodets who became a professor of Turkic languages, first at Kazan (in 1826) and then at St. Petersburg University (in 1849).36 Despite his conversion to Orthodox Christianity, Kazembek wrote a number of articles on the history, religion, language, and grammar

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54 Representing Russia’s Orient of oriental peoples and, unlike many of his European counterparts, portrayed Islam in a relatively favorable light.37 Later in the century, Nikolai Katanov (1862–​ 1922), from a Turkic-​ speaking minority group called Abakan (now commonly Khakass), was offered a post as professor of Turkic languages at Kazan University.38 Although some Russian academics were uncomfortable offering such a visible position to an inorodets, Katanov gained respect as one of the university’s most gifted scholars, and his work was given the distinction of a number of medals.39 His expertise in linguistics (he could speak some forty languages), ethnography, history, archeology, and numismatics, as well as his direct connection to the peoples and lands he studied, made his research particularly valuable for its profound understanding of the daily life and culture of Russia’s eastern inorodtsy. Thus, exile ethnography, as well as ethnography formed within the walls of Russian learned societies and by those of their members who came from inorodets and mixed Russian–​inorodets origins, gave rise to a generally sympathetic spirit among ethnographers toward the subjugated peoples of the empire. The concept of byt made it easier to avoid larger generalizations about cultural hierarchy and the cultural developments of peoples. The support of the inorodtsy’s case grew to such an extent that at the beginning of the twentieth century Russian scholars such as Shternberg (an exile ethnographer who wrote extensively on peoples of Siberia) argued that some inorodtsy, Muslims for instance, were “intellectually incomparably higher than the surrounding Russian population.”40 Stressing the importance of cultural exchange between ethnic Russians and both the western and eastern peoples of the empire, Shternberg and other orientologists argued that inorodtsy who became scholars were the best examples of the “cultural unification of the West and the East for achieving common goals.”41

Exhibitions Interest in Russia’s inorodtsy became more pronounced at the end of the 1860s with Russia’s expansion into Central Asia and the founding of a second major center of ethnographic study in Moscow, the Society of Friends of Natural History, Anthropology, and Ethnography (OLEAE). To serve its main goal—to raise awareness and educate people—the OLEAE held a major exhibition in 1867 representing most of the peoples of the Russian empire, including the newly acquired region of Russian Turkestan and neighboring Slavic nationalities.42 This exhibition underlined Russia’s new imperial ideology by constructing through the visual arts a cultural hierarchy of the peoples living in the imperial borderlands.43 Supported by the tsar and by local administrations, the first Ethnographic Exhibition aimed to demonstrate the military and economic power and grandeur of the tsarist empire. On display were 288 mannequins

Building Images of the “Other” dressed in traditional costume, 450 outfits, 600 photographs, and 1,200 different artifacts and objects of everyday life.The organizers made everything look like a serious scientific enterprise. Popular lectures were organized, and an exhibition directory was published in 1867, along with a catalogue with photographs of displays and the minutes of the meetings of the exhibition’s planning committee in 1878. Over ninety thousand people, including the tsar himself, attended this exhibition. Alexander Maslov’s article “An Illustrated Guide to the Musical Instruments in the Dashkov Ethnographic Museum, Moscow,” discussed in ­chapter 6, is based on descriptions of the instruments that were collected for this exhibition.44 Three other exhibitions were organized by the OLEAE: the Polytechnic Exhibition (1872), the Anthropological Exhibition (1879; see fig. 2.1), and the Geographical Exhibition (1892). In 1872, the Polytechnic Exhibition in Moscow presented the newly acquired region of Turkestan in particularly lavish terms, likely due to the fact that the newly appointed first Russian governor-​general of Turkestan, Konstantin von Kaufmann, himself sponsored the Turkestan section. In 1869 Kaufmann commissioned the publication of a catalog of articles on Central Asia, which within ten years classified (or made a systematic list of) more than four thousand publications on the region. He also ordered the creation of the Turkestan Album (Turkestanskii Albom),

Figure 2.1. The Central Asian exposition at the Anthropological Exhibition of 1879, photo from Izviestiia Imperatorskago obshchestva liubitelei estestvoznaniia, antropologii i etnografii, vol. 49, pt 2, 1886. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

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56 Representing Russia’s Orient which included approximately twelve hundred photographs of the region, pictures of different ethnic groups living there and Russians serving there, maps, architectural plans, and watercolor drawings.45 Kaufmann also sponsored the building of a special Turkestan pavilion in the style of Sherdar, the famous madrasa in Samarkand. The Turkestan Pavilion included everything from models of houses to artifacts and musical instruments, from zoological and fauna collections to models of bazaars, from samples of opium and hashish to models of Central Asian streets.46 Prior to the exhibition Kaufmann invited and generously paid explorers, such as botanist Aleksei Fedchenko, linguist Nikolai Ostroumov, and artist-​ in-​residence Vasilii Vereshchagin, to conduct a “thorough study” of the new region.47 Experienced in serving in Russia’s turbulent regions, such as the Caucasus, Kaufmann seemed to be aware that only comprehensive knowledge of the region could help him control a huge number of ethnically and linguistically diverse subjects, partly nomads, partly sedentary, and mostly Muslim. As Brower puts it, ethnography for Kaufmann had “an important role to play in constructing his new colony. It was for him and his officials a tool in pacifying the population.”48 In Central Asia the research expeditions followed the steps of military campaigns: the officers often performed scientific (including ethnographic) observation, and ethnographers were attached to some military vanguards. The largest Russian campaign in Turkestan (against Kokand), for instance, was accompanied by specialists in geography, topography, zoology, botany, ethnography, and linguistics. The Russian Geographical Society supplied them with detailed lists of instructions on how and what to collect.49 For this reason, it is difficult and sometimes impossible to distinguish the official bureaucratic publications and military-​statistical surveys from purely ethnographic works. Unfortunately, one of the musical projects related to the 1872 Polytechnic Exhibition never came to fruition. Nikolai Rubinstein, who was asked to organize musical events for the exhibition, proposed bringing in musicians from all regions of the multiethnic empire. He suggested putting on concerts in which ethnic Russians and inorodtsy in traditional costumes would sing folk songs and “present rich material for the composers of the future.”50 However, Rubinstein’s ambitious plans were not realized because of the lack of financial resources and the exhibition organizers’ opposition to his ideas.51 His dream was fulfilled— only partially—by the Russian government, over twenty years later, at the 1896 All-​Russian Exhibition in Nizhnii Novgorod.52 This exhibition brought in two Central Asian instrumental ensembles, each having four instrumentalists and one dancer. In addition, musical instruments of Central Asia were presented: strings (dutar, gidzhak, kobyz, and dombra), winds (zurna and pan flute), and percussion (nagra, tabulriga, and doira). However, most of these were not identified; in the article written by music historian Nikolai

Building Images of the “Other” Federovich Findeizen (1868–​1928) that describes the exhibition, the names of many instruments are followed by question marks.53

Ethnographic Societies and Their Publishing Outlets Besides IRGO and the OLEAE, other learned societies organized smaller-​ scale exhibitions, researched Russia’s diverse ethnicities, and collected artifacts from remote corners of the empire. Among the most notable were the Russian Archaeological Society (1846), the Imperial Archaeological Commission in St. Petersburg (1859), the Moscow Archaeological Society (1864), and the Society of Archaeology, History, and Ethnography in Kazan (1877). According to Vera Tolz, the history of orientology in Russia demonstrates the growing nationalism and antiwestern sentiments caused by Russia’s defeat in the Crimean War: “in an attempt to define Russia’s identity as separate from, and often in opposition to, Western Europe, arguments about the impact of eastern cultures and traditions on Russia gained a particular prominence.”54 Each of these societies had its own organ that published studies by its members. By the end of the 1860s, journals that focused on specifically ethnographic issues began appearing. The ethnographic department of IRGO issued two periodicals—​Zapiski Russkogo Imperatorskogo geograficheskogo obshchestva po Otdeleniiu etnografii (Notes of the Ethnographic Division of IRGO) and Zhivaia starina (Living Antiquity), published from 1867 and 1891, respectively. They were among the most important specialized sources of knowledge about the geography, history, nature, and culture of the of Russia’s newly acquired regions and subjects. Beginning in 1891, Zhivaia starina also published material on the ethnography and folklore of people living in the Russian empire, as well as reports from ethnographic expeditions.55 An article by Sergei Rybakov on folk music of the Tatar, Bashkir, and Teptiar peoples appeared in this journal in 1894.56 Rybakov’s work on the music of Russia’s eastern peoples living within Russia’s borders was probably considered important for a few decades, since other journals and newspapers published different selections from it, and in 1897 his nearly three-​hundred-​page work was published in its entirety as a separate volume of Mémoires de l’académie Impériale des sciences de St.-​Pétersbourg.57 Another important ethnographic journal, the Etnograficheskoe obozrenie (Ethnographic Review;EO),was issued by the OLEAE and distributed beginning in 1889.58 It published articles and tunes transcribed from performances by inorodtsy, including Kyrgyz, Altai, and Caucasian peoples.59 Some articles and transcriptions of Asian tunes resonated in Russian music circles. As I discuss in ­chapter 6, the transcription of two Kyrgyz songs from M. V. Gotovitskii’s and R. A. Pfennig’s work published in EO were used by Nikolai Klenovskii in his Collection of Folk Songs: Ethnographic Concert, an anthology of Slavic and Russian

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58 Representing Russia’s Orient inorodtsy tunes that were arranged and performed at the Ethnographic Concerts organized through the 1890s–​ 1910s by the OLEAE’s Music-​ Ethnographic Committee (Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskaia Komissiia; MEK).60 The OLEAE, working under the auspices of the Kazan University, also published a number of studies on music culture and transcriptions of melodies in its journal, Izvestiia Obshchestva Arkheologii, Istorii i Etnogfrafii pri Imperatorskom Kazanskom Universitete [Proceedings of the Society of Archaeology, History, and Ethnography under the Auspices of the Imperial Kazan University]. Among the central articles on music of Russia’s Asian subjects (including transcriptions) are those by Valentin Moshkov, on music of inorodtsy living in the Volga-​Kama region, and Nikolai Pantusov, on music of the Taranchi people, or the Uighurs, living in Russian Turkestan (discussed in ­chapter 6).61 Apart from literature published in specialized journals, the Russkaia muzykal’naia gazeta (Russian Musical Gazette; RMG), founded in 1894 by Nikolai Findeizen, also included articles on music culture (and ethnography) of Russia’s ethnic minorities. Some authors published articles on a regular basis. For instance, Rybakov’s reports on his research on the music of peoples living in the Volga-​Kama region appeared several times.62 Dmitrii Arakchiev, a member of the MEK (discussed in c­ hapters 4 and 6), also published a number of articles on the music of peoples living in the Caucasus.63 While some RMG articles on the music of Russia’s eastern “others” were of a purely descriptive nature, others discussed common late-​nineteenth-​century topics, such as the influence of Asian music on Russian musical culture or the Russification and extinction of the musical cultures of Russia’s inorodtsy.64 The ideology of Asianism and Aryanism, which I discuss in ­chapter 3, was also channeled through the pages of this music newspaper.65 Generally, most of the articles in RMG presented a favorable image of the musical cultures of Russia’s eastern peoples.66 Some articles even corrected pejorative perspectives of Asian musical practice. For instance, Sergei Rybakov in his article on the kurai (a Bashkir wind instrument) cites a number of articles from Russian and western sources and expresses his disagreement with statements that Bashkir music is “uninteresting,” “in minor mode,” and “limited in repertoire.”67 Another article published in RMG, by Findeizen, reviewed musical instruments presented at the All-​Russian Exhibition in Novgorod (1896), including those in the Central Asian section of the exhibition. It also briefly discusses the musical performance of two Asian instrumental ensembles from Central Asia. Although Findeizen describes his experience of listening to their music as painful, he uses a sympathetic tone and suggests that maybe his European ear, which is unable to hear all the subtleties of Asian melody, should be blamed: “both orchestras were painful to my ear. Only occasionally could one establish a contour of some unpretentious tune, which does not exceed the limits of three or four tones . . . but maybe our deplorable ear is to blame

Building Images of the “Other” for it, [since it] is not able to hear a subtle distinction dividing tones into three semitones [according to their system]. The elder-​musicians had a really grand and serious demeanor, while playing their monotonous yet florid tunes.”68 Findeizen’s article presents an important shift away from cultural prejudice and toward a more understanding and accepting view of the music of Russia’s Asians. In this passage, the author raises an essential question of the relativity of musical taste in different cultures and does not blame Central Asians for performing music that is alien to his ear (something that was not unusual in popular literature). Instead, he questions his own (or more generally, European) ability to listen to and appreciate the music of these inorodtsy. It is important, therefore, that one of the major late-​nineteenth-​century musical periodicals, the RMG, identified differences in the aesthetics of European and eastern cultures. The awareness and recognition of different musical tastes increased among educated Russians toward the end of the century. Other musicians who spent a lot of time among Russian Asians—​such as Sergei Rybakov or August Eichhorn—​made similar statements pointing out that the melodies of inorodtsy “might reflect their own particular set of feelings” that were difficult for Europeans to understand.69

Literature on Russia’s Asian “Others”: Case Studies Aleksei Levshin and Russia’s Nomads In July 1820, the Asian Department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs sent a diplomatic mission to Orenburg to strengthen trade and political relations with peoples living in the Kyrgyz steppe. Among the missionaries was the young and ambitious collegiate assessor (official) Aleksei Levshin, who had recently graduated from Kharkov University and been appointed as an “assistant officer of diplomatic relations with Kyrgyz-​ Kaisaks.” During his two-​ year stay in Orenburg (1820–​22), Levshin gathered information on nomadic peoples living beyond the Volga River and presented it in the internationally acclaimed work Opisanie Kirgiz-​Kazach’ikh ili Kirgiz-​Kaisakskikh ord i stepei [Description of Kyrgyz-​Kazak or Kyrgyz-​Kaisak’s Hordes and Steppes], which was published in 1832 in St. Petersburg.70 For an ordinary European, the city bordering Russian Asia offered little variety in terms of social life; however, for the inquisitive Levshin, Orenburg possessed almost unlimited opportunities for studying the history of the steppe. The local administration granted him access to the city’s archives, which were filled with official papers, historical accounts, statistical information, and written exchanges between Russian officials and indigenous rulers. In addition to studying documents, Levshin interacted with the local population. Due to unstable diplomatic relations with the khans and beks of the steppe, the young official was sent to remote areas of Central Asia for official

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60 Representing Russia’s Orient and unofficial talks. The ethnographic observations he made during these trips were published in Russian and European journals, as well as in his three-​volume Opisanie (translated and published in French in 1840), which throughout the nineteenth century was regarded as the preeminent source of knowledge about Russia’s Asian steppe, its geography, nature, and history, and the lifestyles and customs of the peoples living there. A few words about the history of Russia’s relationship with the Kyrgyz-​Kaisak rulers can help to clarify Levshin’s attitude toward Russia’s Central Asian nomads.71 Russia’s expansion into the Central steppe was a long and complex process that combined both voluntary incorporation and outright seizure. The entire Kyrgyz or Central steppe was inhabited by nomadic peoples, all of whom were called by Russian administrators “Kyrgyz” (or Kirgiz) until the 1920s. When in the early eighteenth century Russian sovereigns engaged in diplomacy with its rulers, the Central steppe was divided among the Minor Horde, the Middle Horde, and the Great Horde—​politically split and competing with one another. From the 1730s and 1740s, the territories ruled by the leaders of the Minor and Middle Horde were transformed into a so-​called client society:  a society in which the native political leadership is willing to become clients of the empire’s ruling elite.72 This relationship offered both sides certain advantages. It allowed the Russian empire to maximize its political and economic influence in the region while minimizing its use of armed force.73 In return, the Kyrgyz-​Kaisak rulers were offered monetary (and other kinds of) rewards and, more important, gained military support. Throughout the eighteenth century, Russians built a line of fortresses from Orenburg through Orsk to Troitsk to protect the southeastern borders of their new subjects against their hostile neighbors, the Dzhungars.74 At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Russian officials increased pressure on the Kyrgyz-​ Kaisak rulers. In 1822 Tsar Alexander I endorsed the Decree of the Siberian Kyrgyz, which eliminated the power of the khans of the Minor and the Middle Horde and assigned their territories to the Siberian administration.75 It allowed free migration of Russians to the steppe without consulting with the local rulers. To many Russians, the Central steppe seemed an empty space that could and should be developed by means of agriculture. When Levshin arrived in Orenburg, the Kyrgyz khans were still in a patron-​ client relationship with the Russian administration, which defined Levshin’s role in the region as that of a protector, sponsor, and benefactor. Raised according to the traditions of the European Enlightenment, Levshin viewed Kyrgyz-​Kaisak culture through the prism of anthropological developmentalism. Elaborated in the works of Jean-​Jacques Rousseau and other philosophers of the Enlightenment, the theory of developmentalism, in combination with the comparative method, assumed that the universal concept of human growth, both personal and societal, can be applied to any western or nonwestern culture.76

Building Images of the “Other” It was believed that the threefold paradigm of developmental progress from savagery to barbarism and then to civilization, if applied to modern primitive societies, could explain the early stages of humankind’s development. The link with Jean-​Jacques Rousseau is particularly important here given that Levshin was under the influence of the Enlightenment philosophers, such as Voltaire, Montesquieu, and Rousseau, during his years of study at Kharkov University.77 Levshin places the Kyrgyz-​Kaisaks (or simply Kyrgyz) between the first and the second stages of development, calling them and their culture “semisavage.” When Levshin discusses the laws and regulations practiced by the Kyrgyz, he notes that they resemble European laws from their earliest stages of development:  “savage, but close to the uneducated nature of man, the law of revenge and punishment (Droit du taillon) [sic] existed almost among all peoples during their infancy. We can find it among the Jews, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Germans, Scandinavians, and, finally, among our ancestors, the Slavs.”78 Other popular developmentalist ideas that connect the earliest stages of development with anthropological tropes of animality, childhood, naturalness, ignorance, innocence, helplessness, and imitation also can be identified in Levshin’s Description. According to Levshin, the Kyrgyz are more confiding (doverchivyi) and unsuspecting than other Asians, since they did not live in despotism; they are closer to nature because they are rough, ignorant, and unbridled in their wilfulness and always reveal their predatory character.79 In addition, they are skilled in imitating the sounds of nature while playing their instruments or performing their long narratives about their heroes. “The eloquent narrators know how to adorn the story with mimicry [upodobleniia] and words imitating nature: they depict the calls of different animals with their voices, [and] complement their descriptions with bodily gestures. . . . In all the narratives of this people one can see fervent imagination and the inclination to poetic enthusiasm.”80 Levshin’s emphasis on the Kyrgyz’s ability to imitate different sounds is particularly significant, since late-​eighteenth-​century English followers of developmental theory, such as William Godwin, also believed that the “savages” could imitate different sounds of nature better than “civilized men.”81 The later English theorists, such as Henry Chorley, even created a racial profile for black peoples, claiming them to be powerful imitators and merging imitativeness in music with the images of purposeful fakery and deceit.82 Levshin’s writings, however, cannot be considered part of this developmentalist racism literature, since he does not relate imitation to any negative ethnic or racial characteristics. On the contrary, Levshin seems to assume a connection between imitation and vivid imagination and “poetic enthusiasm”—​the positive qualities usually associated with artistry in the Romantic period. Remarkably, Levshin believes that the Kyrgyz are not deficient in creative abilities: “not a single educated reader would deny them [Kyrgyz] the capacity

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62 Representing Russia’s Orient [to create] poetry, when he learns that they, like the most ancient peoples in the world, have songs in which they praise the deeds of their heroes, describe nature, and sing about love.”83 While Levshin esteemed mimesis and poetic imagination in Kyrgyz narrative art, he paradoxically denied any originality in inventiveness in their poetry and music. He claimed that Kyrgyz improvisatory poetry was “mostly nonsense and ugly”; that their “melodies . . . are almost all the same, simple, monotonous, cheerless, and tedious for the ear”;84 and that some of their instruments, such as the dombra (which he calls “balalaika”), which often accompany the narration, are unoriginal and borrowed from the Russians.85 Another notion—​the purity of sound—​plays an important role in Levshin’s distinction of Kyrgyz from European music. When Levshin describes Kyrgyz musical instruments, he often uses the words “impure” and “rough,” reminding the reader of the wildness of the people living in the steppe.The kobyz, a bowed string instrument, produces “very rough and impure” sounds, according to Levshin, even though its shape resembles that of the Russian gudok and even the European violin.86 The chibyzga, a wind instrument made of reed, does not have any valves or bridges inside it.“To play the chibyzga means to sing with the inside of a throat. Naturally one can conclude that the wildness and roughness of its sound exceeds that of kobyz.”87 Significantly, in nineteenth-​century European literature, the notion of purity of sound was also related to the concept of European civilization. As Jann Pasler points out, French musicologists and ethnographers, such as Julien Tiersot and Johannes Weber, believed that “pure” intonation or highly refined sounds were reserved exclusively for highly refined civilizations.88 Besides a discussion of poetry and brief description of Kyrgyz musical instruments, Levshin provided transcriptions of two Kyrgyz melodies. Unfortunately, it is hard to tell whether he transcribed these tunes himself. However, it is evident that the transcriber had a limited musical background. Consider, for example, the very beginning of each song (fig. 2.2). Although both melodies are clearly in D major, the key signature indicates G major. Neither the tempo nor character of the tune is indicated. Finally, not a single dynamic marking is provided. Thus, Levshin’s treatment of Kyrgyz music and culture is contradictory. On the one hand his blatant generalizations about Kyrgyz songs as being all “simple and monotonous” and his judgmental description of the quality of their sounds reflect a purely European attitude toward the culture of “uncivilized” nomads. On the other hand Levshin’s praise of the poetic imagination and the imitative performance of narrative poems suggests his openness to the creative art of Russia’s nomads. Significantly, toward the end of the nineteenth century, the second view of Kyrgyz culture—as being rich in poetry and imagination— became prevalent in Russian literature. Writers such as M. V. Gotovitskii, A. A.

Building Images of the “Other”

Figure 2.2.  “Two Kyrgyz Songs” from Aleksei Levshin, Opisanie Kirgiz-​Kazach’ikh ili Kirgiz-​Kaisakskikh ord i stepei (St. Petersburg: tip. Karla Kraiia, 1832). Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

Ivanovskii, and the priest Petr Tikhov stressed the originality and closeness to nature reflected in Kyrgyz poetry and underlined the high social status of a Kyrgyz poet in their articles published in EO and Musyka i Zhizn [Music and Life].89 As I discuss in ­chapter 3, one factor that may explain the fin-​de-​siècle shift in the perception of Central Asian cultures was the growing popularity of the ideologies of Asianism and Aryanism.

Alexander Middendorff and Siberian “Others” A number of anthropological studies of Russia’s inorodtsy living in the north began to appear in the 1850s, coinciding with the expansion of the Russian empire into the Amur region and Primorsky Krai.90 In general, early-​to mid-​ nineteenth-​century references to music in these areas are brief and unsubstantial. Occasionally, some studies included descriptions of singing and musical instruments, as well as transcriptions of melodies from Russian subjects living in Siberia and the area to the north of European Russia. One of the first relatively detailed descriptions of musical practice in Siberia was written by Alexander Theodor von Middendorff, a Baltic German zoologist who traveled to the Amur region in 1843–​45 (before this land had become part of the Russian empire).91 Middendorff ’s diary, which later fell into the hands of another Russian-​German explorer of the Amur region, Leopold Ivanovich von Schrenck, is occasionally cited in Schrenck’s own study, Reisen und Forschungen im Amur-​Lande in den Jahren 1854–​1856. Several interesting passages in Middendorff ’s diary describe

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64 Representing Russia’s Orient the music practice of one ethnic group, the Gilyak (or Giliak), living in Amur. It is worth citing at length: First, the Gilyak Lamran stepped forward. He had a pleasant voice and truly a great deal of skill. During the singing one could hear only a few words besides anga–​ynga, and it seems as though these words, used as an introduction and refrain with each song, had no meaning, but simply belonged to the singing. Here are the notes [see ex 2.1a]:

Example 2.1a.  Gilyak Lamran’s song

The preliminary note was held as long as the breath allowed and formed (without words) the introduction. The trill was a guttural trill and is likewise held a long time. Since Lamran produced a very pure note and also had an acceptable vibrant guttural trill, this slow style was very pleasant, but not [without] a little melancholy. The second singer was the Gilyak Dsheien, and his melody [was] the following [see ex. 2.1b]: Example 2.1b.  Gilyak Dsheien’s song

Dsheien’s style of singing was much faster than that of Lamran, but the overall impression was somewhat sad. Although the holding of the guttural trills was also the most important thing for him, a special virtuosity was added: in holding the note, he suddenly acted as if he were losing his breath and as if someone were choking him, so that one became quite fearful and afraid that he would suffocate, but then the word begun came out quite clearly. . . . Finally, the Gilyak Njaungur stepped forward as the third [performer]. He sang as follows (see ex. 2.1c):

Example 2.1c.  Gilyak Njaungur’s song

Building Images of the “Other” Njaungur showed special virtuosity in singing:  even the melody was much more varied than the previous ones; in addition, however, he also produced the stuttering, the loss of voice, [the] strangulation and the stopping of the guttural sounds . . . and, moreover, besides the sobbing guttural trill, he also made a falsetto nasal trill. In his case the trills, and especially the latter, reminded one vividly of the vibrating sound of the jew’s harp.These trills require a great deal of practice, and it is impossible for us to hold them as long and to produce them as clearly.92

Several issues come to mind when considering these passages. First, Middendorff gives the names of the performers, indicating that for him the Gilyak singers are individuals, each of whom also possesses his own style of singing. Second, he describes their singing as “very pleasant” and “especially virtuosic”—​ the qualities usually associated with the civilized European performance practice. Third, Middendorff points out that the singers produced different effects (stuttering, loss of breath, sobbing guttural trills, falsetto nasal trills), some of which required “great skill” or “a great deal of practice.” Furthermore, he states that a European would not be able to produce such special vocal effects, revealing certain limitations in the capacity of Europeans to produce the sounds. In a later passage where he discusses the singing style of all three Gilyaks, he distinguishes the vocal techniques of the two last singers and compares them to “our artistic virtuosos who play violin.”93 All Middendorff ’s observations reveal his high esteem of Gilyak musical culture. Finally, although his transcriptions of Gilyak melodies might look amateur, they indicate tempo, musical ornaments (trills), articulation marks (accents), and other symbols related to performance practice (e.g., fermatas), revealing a certain level of musical education. Whether or not Middendorff ’s transcriptions adequately rendered Gilyak songs, these musical examples demonstrate his sincere effort to transmit the subtleties of music performance and his respectful attitude toward the culture of Russia’s northern peoples. Remarkably, his description of Gilyak music is quite favorable: he does not use language that would undermine the potential appreciation of Gilyak music. Unlike many of his European counterparts, he praises the performers’ musical skills and compares them to those of Europeans.94 Not all Russian anthropologists of Siberian peoples shared Middenforff ’s perspective on their cultural development. A couple of decades later, Leopold von Schrenck, who cited Middendorff ’s diary in his Reisen und Forschungen im Amur-​Lande, expressed quite different opinions on Gilyak music. Although the terms he used to describe it were not derogatory in themselves, they incorporated a set of social values that placed Gilyaks on a lower level of development. Schrenck described the Gilyaks’ behavior when they danced as “childish,” their minds as “incapable of illusion” or fantasy, and their musical instruments as “very primitive.”95 Thus, unlike Middendorff, Schrenck implied

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66 Representing Russia’s Orient the underdevelopment of the natives living in Siberia and suggested that their culture was undeveloped compared to that of the civilized Europeans. It is interesting to note that later in the century, the Gilyak people gained special attention precisely because of their so-​called primitive way of life. Russian anthropologists who spent several years in Siberian exile at the end of the nineteenth century redefined “primitivism” along socialist lines.96 For example, in reference to the Gilyaks’ way of life as governed by “natural communism,” Shternberg concluded that primitive life revealed communism as humankind’s original state.97 Thus, throughout the nineteenth century, the Russian perceptions of Siberian peoples, such as the Gilyaks, ranged from savages to socialists, from artistically incapable and childish to musically advanced people.

Alexander Rittikh and Russia’s Inorodtsy from the Volga-​Kama Region For Alexander Rittikh, a Russian general staff official, the collection of ethnographic materials from inorodtsy living in Kazan and Saratov was not a primary concern. He collected them in passing during his travels to the Volga-​Kama region to recruit the native population.98 He started gathering ethnographic information on inorodtsy because he believed it would be beneficial for officials of tsatdom to know more about the “homogenous mass” of inorodtsy who lived in the vast territory of the Russian empire. He believed that “tribes that live for hundreds of years, not doing any good either to themselves or to their country or humanity,”99 should participate more actively in the building of Russia’s empire. Rittikh’s attitude toward the non-​Russian ethnic groups presents a mixture of paternalistic patterns, established by Catherine II, with imperialistic attitudes of assimilation, which imply an accomplishment of the mission civilisatrice. On the one hand Rittikh presents Russia as a “big family, where each of the brothers does different crafts and works for the common good. Over them dominates the older brother—​that is the Russian people.”100 When he talks about the abilities of inorodtsy to learn, he points out that they are no worse than some of the Russians and adds:  “educate a child correctly, and [you] will be sure that he will become a human being.”101 This phrase reveals that Rittikh assumed that the inorodtsy were in a “childish state” of development, not sufficiently advanced to be fully human. On the other hand he anticipates that the Tatars will become Russian and predicts the blending of two culturally and ethnically distinct peoples into one race. Using the craniological table of Doctor N. V. Barminskii, Rittikh observes the kinship between the diameters of Russian and Tatar brains and concludes: “Kazan Tatars now present a race

Building Images of the “Other” transformed, acclimatized in Kazan District [gubernia], and waiting for its ultimate transformation.”102 Besides craniology, Rittikh believes that music is also proof of this transformation: “Tatar music resembles Russian [music], but differs with the predominance of vibration. Every movement from one note to another is accorded with roulades. . . . Tatar dance songs are taken from the Russian. . . . [Thus,] if one compares Russian and Tatar folk songs, one notices the kinship in music of these peoples—​something that is evident from the history of the region and similarity of skulls—and this, in its turn, gives hope that Tatars, in the space of time, will transform into Kazan-​Russian people.”103 Along with the similarity of skull shape and melodies, Rittikh also notes that Tatar Muslims, especially those who have bureaucratic positions, embrace the Russian way of life—Russian dress, customs, and food. He believes that many Tatars are ready to be integrated into Russian life.104 Rittikh’s concern with the assimilation of Russia’s inorodtsy is hardly surprising. As a military agent who recruited inorodtsy for the Russian army, he was interested in and wholeheartedly embraced the idea of an “unobtrusive passage to unification of different peoples with the Russians.”105 The realization of this assimilation, according to Rittikh, was possible thanks to a newly developed system of education recently introduced in the Volga-​Kama region by Nikolai Il’minskii.106 The essence of the system lay in the use of the Russian alphabet in local languages, the translation of religious books into native dialects, and the gradual introduction of and switch to the Russian language and religion. Through learning grammar, the law of God, and the Russian language, inorodtsy, according to Rittikh, would become “proponents of conscious enlightenment.”107 Even though Rittikh may have been a good cartographer and honest Russian official, he was less successful as a music critic. The transcriptions of songs and melodies he provides in his appendix were made with the help of the kapellmeister of the second infantry division, I. V. Gusev, while transcription of the texts was undertaken by the inspector of the Chuvash schools, Nikolai I. Zolotnitskii. Obviously Rittikh did not possess either the linguistic or musical skills to perform music ethnographic research. Nonetheless, he makes sweeping comments about inorodtsy music. Inevitably, his discussion of Tatar, Chuvash, and Cheremis music reveals serious incompetence in the subject. Not only does he use the same musical vocabulary to describe all three music cultures but also he does not seem to hear any differences in the music of these peoples.108 According to Rittikh, all inorodtsy music is either “unoriginal” (borrowed from Russians) or “monotonous” and limited in repertoire. Tatars, for instance, use the same melody for songs with different texts.109 Chuvash people “do not have many original motifs, but use improvisation and the entire repertoire of Russian dance songs.”110 Although Rittikh’s description of the music practices

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68 Representing Russia’s Orient of Chuvash people does not use derogatory language, his comments on their music system are not without a hint of scorn: “the art of these people depends not only on their respiratory organs, but essentially on the perfection of these instruments, which lately expanded to eight tones; and this type of playing is considered the pinnacle of art.”111 What’s more, Rittikh compares a musical ensemble of Chuvash people to an ensemble of animals from Ivan Krylov’s fable “Quartet.” In this fable (well known to any educated Russian) a monkey, a donkey, a goat, and a bear decide to play music without knowing how to play or read it; they try different positions to sit, assuming that this will improve their music, but no matter how they sit, the music does not sound good. They ask a nightingale how to sit in order to play well, and a nightingale answers: “to be a musician, one requires skills, and ears more sensitive than yours . . . and you, my friends, no matter how you sit, you are a worthless bust as musicians.” It was common knowledge that Krylov criticized the Russian governing system in his fables, as well as different individual vices and debilitations. However, Rittikh’s reference to Krylov’s fable is somewhat obscure, since on the following page he observes Chuvash people’s musical inclination and notes that they are successful in singing in a church choir.112 Even more, he claims that they can play on military instruments better than any other inorodtsy and suggests placing them in a military orchestra.113 Thus, Rittikh’s statements about inorodtsy music, particularly those of Chuvash peoples, are quite contradictory. Although Rittikh was a faithful military agent, occasionally he criticizes Russian officials and Russian people for their inability to govern, their ignorance and illiteracy, and their lack of religious endeavor and bad language.114 He also raises an important issue about the status of native peoples living in Kazan and asks whether it is legitimate to call them inorodets—​the term that indicates “born in another land” or “of foreign origin”: “it is strange that until now everybody calls the inhabitants of Kazan gubernia inorodtsy, while in ancientness [starodavnost’] in relation to the whole mass of the gubernia, only Russians can be legitimately called inorodtsy. The Chuvash people are at home; Kazan District [gubernia] is their second motherland, but we are the strangers [prishel’tsy] who became domesticated. It is desirable that the term inorodets be withdrawn from practice.”115 Despite this momentary criticism of Russian governance, Rittikh always retreats to the subject of the benefits provided by Russian civilization and religion and the importance of the assimilation and acculturation of Russia’s minority groups. In fact, the question of the assimilation of Russia’s “others” was so important for Rittikh that a couple of decades later he wrote Four Lectures on Russian Ethnography, in which he voiced a concern that Russia’s “excessively strong cosmopolitanism” precluded the complete absorption of Russia’s inorodtsy.116

Building Images of the “Other” Thus, the three examples of ethnographic study of Asian “others” by Aleksei Levshin, Alexander Middendorff, and Alexander Rittikh reveal different approaches to the music and cultures of Russian Asian subjects and present three different trends in Russia’s study of its own Orient. Levshin’s book is an example of a official Russian bureaucratic view of nomadic peoples. Several elements—​ his education, the era, and the milieu in which he worked—​ contributed to Levshin’s attitude toward the Kyrgyz-​Kaisaks and shaped his ethnography. First, he was educated at the beginning of the nineteenth century at Kharkov University, where he studied European history, philosophy, and aesthetics and came under the influence of the writings of European philosophers, such as Voltaire, Montesquieu, and Rousseau. Second, apparently Levshin did not know much about the history of Russia’s Asia, and did not learn any eastern language before he was appointed to Orenburg.117 From an early age he was more interested in exploring the “nature of human beings” or Rousseau’s “natural human.”118 Third, he served at Russia’s Asian border for a relatively short time and learned about the nomads more from archival and historical documents than from personal accounts (although he made some trips to the Minor Horde). Finally, in his introduction to his book, Levshin explains that he has written it for bureaucratic purposes, which is why he describes in great detail the history of Russian administration in the Kyrgyz-​Kaisak steppe and provides statistical data for the region.119 Unlike Levshin, Middendorff was a passionate orientologist who represented the German faction of the Russian Geographical Society. He was closely affiliated with academia. The link with this particular faction is evident from his connection with Karl Ernst von Baer (1792–​1876), who in 1839 invited Middendorff to participate in his expedition to Russian and Norwegian Lapland, the White Sea, and Novaya Zemlya.120 Middendorff, as a true representative of Baer’s school, envisioned Russia as a multiethnic empire and believed in the priority of ethnographic work among peoples (or small ethnic groups) that were in danger of extinction. A Russian ethnographer of German origin, Middendorff presented a decisively positive picture of Russia’s Siberian inorodtsy. Rittikh had different goals from Levshin and Middendorff when writing his ethnography on Russia’s Asians. Since Rittikh was serving in Russia’s borderlands as an official military agent, he was mostly preoccupied with the official idea of the assimilation of Russian minority groups, their “usefulness” in military service, and their participation in the development of the region’s economy. Unlike Middendorff, who was entirely devoted to academic life and research, and Levshin, who graduated from Kharkov University, Rittikh was not even remotely related to Russian academia. Hence, he did not possess any methodological tools for studying the history or culture of different ethnic

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70 Representing Russia’s Orient groups. His sole interest was Il’minskii’s system of assimilation and the complete absorption of inorodtsy through the establishment of schools in native languages. Not every writer endorsed the idea of inorodtsy assimilation, nor did they all participate in discussions of evolutionism or in classifying Asian “others” according to European theories of developmentalism. Some refused to identify the music practices of Russia’s Asians as semisavage or uncivilized. A  more nuanced approach to inorodtsy culture is found in sources focused on music that were written by people who stayed in Russia’s Asia for a longer period and established a stronger connection to its society and culture.

Musical Sources and Music Ethnography Early-​Nineteenth-​Century Russian Sources: The Asian Music Journal One of the earliest and most important Russian music ethnographical publications—​the Aziatskii muzykal’nyi zhurnal [Asian Music Journal]—​was prepared and issued in Astrakhan by Ivan Vikent’evich Dobrovol’skii between 1816 and 1818. It was the second private provincial periodical (after the newspaper Vostochnye Novosti [Eastern News]) that exclusively focused on the music of Russia’s Asian peoples. It had subscribers not only in Astakhan but also in Kazan, St. Petersburg, Moscow, Odessa,Viatka, Penza, and Tomsk.121 In 1897, the musical content of the entire journal (with some cuts) was reprinted in an appendix to Sergei Rybakov’s Musyka i pesni ural’skikh musul’man [Music and Songs of Ural Muslims]. At the end of the nineteenth century only a few copies of this journal survived.122 Eight parts of the Aziatskii muzykal’nyi zhurnal present transcriptions of thirty-​ four tunes from more than a dozen regions and ethnically different groups (mostly Asian) living within or immediately outside Russia’s borders. Some of the songs had texts in original languages with Russian translations, others are simply presented as melodies with a modest (mostly one-​voice) accompaniment.123 Little is known about the identity of the author(s) of the musical and textual transcriptions. Most likely, Ivan Dobrovol’skii, the publisher of the journal, transcribed some or most of the tunes himself.124 As a music teacher at the Astrakhan Gymnasium, he certainly had students of different ethnic backgrounds who could provide him with different Asian melodies and stimulate his interest in music ethnography. A former capital of the Turkic-​Tatar Astrakhan Khanate, taken in the sixteenth century by Ivan IV, the city of Astrakhan offered great potential for many musical encounters with Russia’s Asian subjects, since it had relatively large Armenian, Tatar, Nogai, Turkmen, and Kalmyk populations.125 As for the transcriptions of the texts, it is very unlikely that Dobrovol’skii alone could have accomplished such a challenging task as translating the songs

Building Images of the “Other” from three completely unrelated languages (Kalmyk, Armenian, and Tatar) into Russian, as well as providing two songs of Kazan Tatars with Arabic script. The latter task would require the help of a person with special linguistic skills not likely to be available at this time in Astrakhan.126 There is evidence to suggest that the publication could have been related to Kazan University: a censorship note at the very beginning of the first book states that the “printing is allowed with the provision of eight copies to the Censor Committee of Kazan University.” At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Kazan held an exclusive position in orientology in Russia and even in Europe.127 The study of Asian peoples was offered at Kazan Gymnasium from 1758, and after the opening of Kazan University in 1804, Arabic, Persian, Jewish and Syrian languages were available for study. The faculties of Tatar-​Turkish languages (1828), Mongol (1833), Chinese (1837), and Sanskrit and Armenian (1842) were gradually added to the curriculum of the Department of Oriental Studies.128 It is significant that some professors of Asian background (such as Ibragim Khalfin) taught at the university from its foundation and that in the 1820s and 1830s Bashkirs, Kalmyks, Buriats, and Mereshchiaks were enrolled as students at the university.129 Many of them later became staff members at the university or prominent orientologists; some of them after graduation taught at Astrakhan Gymnasium. I  will return later to the connection between the publications of the Asian Music Journal with Kazan University. The contents of the Asian Music Journal reveal the project’s quite broad but still limited geographical scope: the songs of peoples living within the border of Russia’s Asia or in its close proximity are included. The contents of all eight parts are as follows: Part 1: seven Kalmyk songs (two with texts in Kalmyk and Russian) Part 2: two Armenian songs (with texts) and four Armenian tunes Part 3: two songs of Kazan Tatars (with texts in Tatar written in Arabic script and their Russian translations) and two melodies of Astrakhan Tatars Part  4:  one Polonaise for piano, “performed in the examinations of the students of the Astrakhan Gymnasium on July 22, 1817, compiled from the compositions by Kreuzer and Rode, and Trio II by Dobrovol’skii,” and one instrumental tune called “Persian Song of Fatali Khan from Derbent. Ov im Sireli” (for two violins, tambura, and flute) Part 5: one song of Astrakhan Tatars, one Khivan song, one Kyrgyz song, and one Turkmen  song Part 6: one Cossack song (with text), one song of Mountaineers [Gorskaia], one Circassian song, and one Chechen song Part 7: two Bukharan songs and one Kabardian song Part 8: two Lezghin songs and three Nagai songs130

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72 Representing Russia’s Orient Each of the first three parts focuses on one particular ethnic group living in the Russian empire. Part 4 consists of two pieces representing peoples of the empire who are territorially, culturally, or linguistically unrelated to each other. Part  5 gathers together melodies of the Tatar, Khiva, Kyrgyz, and Turkmen peoples—​all of whom belong to the Turkic-​speaking population living within (Tatar, Kyrgyz) or just outside the borders of the empire (the Khanate of Khiva and the Turkmen steppe became part of Russia only in the second half of the century). Part 6 presents tunes transcribed from the peoples living in the Caucasus, all of whom (except for the Cossacks) were at war with Russians. Parts 7 and 8 present songs of the peoples living in the southern and southeastern outskirts of the empire. The focus on imperial peoples could have been dictated by censorial concerns. All private publications in Russia’s periphery, including Astrakhan, were closely surveyed by metropolitan agencies:  none other than the minister of education, Aleksei Razumovskii, paid close attention to their content. The first Astrakhan private newspaper, Vostochnye izvestiia [Eastern News] (1813–​ 16), edited by Iosif Veiskgopfen, for instance, was scrutinized by Razumovskii. Surprised and alarmed by the popularity of this peripheral newspaper, the minister ordered Veiskgopfen to follow the guidelines of the central periodicals and to “publish news and articles related to the eastern regions of Russia.”131 Although this order was not imposed on the Asian Music Journal, it is likely that Veiskgopfen—​a close friend and colleague of Dobrovol’skii—​suggested that Dobrovol’skii follow the same instructions in order to avoid unnecessary hindrances in the journal’s path to the public. Not only did Dobrovol’skii not include in the journal some initially planned “Indian” songs (which would bring the journal’s content too far from the empire) but also he opened the first issue with a Kalmyk historical song composed during the 1812 campaign against Napoleon’s army. This song, which promised to bring Moscow back under Russian control and thus assure the loyalty of Russia’s eastern subjects to the tsar and the Fatherland, could not have fit better in the journal’s opening issue. The Kalmyks, representing the Oirat branch of the Mongol people, were Russian allies from the seventeenth century, when Shukur-​Daichin—​the ruler of the Kalmyk Khanate—​signed a treaty with the Russian tsar agreeing to protect the southern boarders of Russia in exchange for access to the pastures from south of Saratov to the Russian garrison at Astrakhan.132 The Kalmyks were henceforth often used as an enforcement agency of the steppe, forming auxiliary cavalry troops able to move and act very quickly. Their contribution to the imperial policing within Russia’s borders was crucial in a number of Russian campaigns against Russia’s eastern or western neighbors: during the Astrakhan Uprising of 1705–​6, in the Bashkir and Bulavin rebellions of 1705–​11, in the Northern War, against the Swedes (1700–​21), in the Persian expedition of 1722–​23, in the Russo-​Turkish Wars of 1735–​39 and 1768–​74, and in the

Building Images of the “Other” Russian war against Napoleon (1812).133 Russian officials’ cooperation with the Kalmyks, along with other outskirt subjects—​Bashkirs and Cossacks, who at first carried out raids against each other—​was crucial in securing control over the Crimean border and the recently conquered Azov Sea. As John LeDonne points out, “in the eyes of European troops, Kalmyks, Bashkirs, and Cossacks were ‘Asiatic’ horsemen who brought back memories of Genghis Khan, no small contribution to the awesomeness of Russian power.”134 Unlike all the other songs in Aziatskii muzykal’nyi zhurnal, this first Kalmyk song is supplemented with this short historical note:  “Mashtyk Boodo or Small Horse.Written during the 1812 campaign after the first battle of Kalmyk troops under the command of their owner, Prince Tiumen, against the French.” The text, in Kalmyk (written in Cyrillic) and Russian, is presented apart from the melody, and the melody is provided with an unobtrusive accompaniment that doubles the melody in octaves (ex. 2.2). The transcriber might well have been aware of Kalmyk singing traditions: historical epic songs (baatarlag tuul’) are often sung by one performer, who accompanies himself on the topshuur (a two-​string unfretted lute), playing the same melody in octaves or parallel fifths and fourths.135 Despite Dobrovol’skii’s efforts to present the Kalmyk people as loyal subjects of the empire and his best intentions to follow official instructions, the journal ceased operations in 1818. The year of its termination is suggestive, since in 1818 the region’s major institutions, including universities, were shaken by official inspections. Kazan University, where censorial approval was absolutely

Example 2.2.  “Kalmyk Song” from Asian Music Journal 1 (1816)

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74 Representing Russia’s Orient required to publish the journal, went through a series of inspections that “proved” the “disloyalty” of its staff.136 A conservative supervisor of the Kazan educational okrug (district), Mikhail Magnitskii, recommended to Alexander I that he “demolish” the university as a “nest of sedition” where the “spirit of freethinking” was hovering. Although the university was not closed or demolished, eleven of its professors were dismissed during Magnitskii’s administration, and the lectures given to the students were closely observed. Ethnography was declared particularly suspect, and the list of special instructions forbade professors of orientology to teach the ancient history and culture of Russia’s eastern peoples, so that nothing would weaken the doctrine of the Orthodox church or disrupt the belief in Russia’s mission civilisatrice in the savage East.137 Against this background, the publication of “Persian Song of Fatali Khan from Derbent. Ov im Sireli” in part 4 of the Asian Music Journal demonstrates how the transcription of a musical piece could destabilize the official narrative of Russia’s cultural preeminence over oriental peoples and explains why Russian censors may have felt uneasy about the journal’s content. The song’s title suggests that this piece was transcribed in the city of Derbent, which was seized by the Russians in 1806 and officially became part of the empire in 1813 under the Treaty of Gulistan. Fatali Khan (1736–​89), who ruled the Kuba Khanate, subjugated the adjacent khanates of Derbent, Baku, and Shemakha and established close diplomatic relationships with Russia.138 Due to the multiethnic composition of Derbent, the melody that was included in the journal could have come from one of many distinct groups, including the Azeri (whom Russians called Zakavkazskie Tatary), Lezghin, Mountain Jew, Avar, or Armenian groups.The song is still identified as “Persian” in the journal because the region it came from was officially under the suzerainty of Persia.139 This song is unique in that it is presented in the format of a four-​part score (for two “violins,” one “tambura grando,” and one “flute”) rather than as a monody for the entire ensemble. Each instrument is notated as an individual part and transcribed on its own staff (see ex. 2.3). This fully scored format of publication is rare for that time and suggests that the transcriber was willing to accept that nonwestern music could be sophisticated enough to warrant the same notational format used for western professional ensemble music. Certainly, this transcription has some flaws (e.g., the accompanying tambura part is significantly shorter than the three other melodic parts). However, the person(s) who transcribed it captured some important aspects of eastern ensemble playing. The piece’s soundscape is made of two layers: one consisting of three variations of a melody performed simultaneously in a heterophonic texture; the other a drone with a clear rhythmic pattern played by a “tambura grando.” In most (if not all) of the publications of nonwestern music of that time, every piece was presented in the format of a melodic line with a piano accompaniment or a piano piece or just a melody performed in unison, regardless of the sophistication of the original.140 Even Russian folk songs that were

Building Images of the “Other” often performed in heterophonic polyphony were not treated this carefully until the late 1870s: they were not presented in different variants and were not transcribed in several lines until the publication of Iulii Mel’gunov’s Russkie pesni neposredstvenno s golosov naroda (1879).141 Although some earlier Russian folk song collectors, such as Mikhail Stakhovich, observed that for “full understanding of a tune, it is necessary to see its place in the whole system of [its] variants,” their transcriptions sometimes combined different songs in such a way as to represent Russian folk heterophony.142 Example 2.3.  “Persian Song of Fatali Khan from Derbent. Ov im Sireli” from Asian Music Journal 4 (1817?) as printed in Rybakov’s Music and Songs of Ural Muslims

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76 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 2.3 Continued

Thus, the content of the Asian Music Journal demonstrates that in early nineteenth-​century Russia there was genuine interest in the music of Russia’s eastern “others.”This journal also represents one of the earliest attempts to present eastern music as something sophisticated and worth transcribing via a four-​part score. Although a different manner of rendering is unavoidable in any music transcription, it is evident that some transcriptions from the journal, such as the “Persian Song of Fatali Khan,” sought to preserve the integrity of the original tune and demonstrate the transcriber’s understanding of the complexity of “oriental” music.

Late-​Nineteenth-​Century Music Ethnographies: August Eichhorn in Russian Turkestan The last third of the nineteenth century witnessed a substantial advance in Russian ethnographic, anthropological, and organological research on Russia’s Asia. A  more scrupulous type of music ethnography can be found in the

Building Images of the “Other” writings of Russians who lived and studied music in situ. Four sources stand out as the most prominent works about the music of Russia’s Asian peoples. Two sources—​provided by Sergei Rybakov and V   alentin Moshkov—​present research on Tatars living in the Volga-​Kama region, and the other two were written by men who worked and lived in so-​called Russian Turkestan for more than ten years, Nikolai Pantusov and August Eichhorn. Of these works, Rybakov’s and Pantusov’s became important sources in late-​nineteenth-​century music circles, as some of their song transcriptions were arranged according to the European tradition and performed in Moscow at public concerts organized by the MEK. (I discuss their transcriptions and arrangements in c­hapter  6.) Moshkov’s and Eichhorn’s transcriptions, however, did not find much resonance among contemporary Russian music connoisseurs, for different reasons. Moshkov’s transcriptions were discredited by music ethnographer Iulii Mel’gunov and Moscow Conservatory professor Sergei Taneyev.143 Eichhorn’s ethnographic works met an even worse fate: they faded into oblivion for eighty years and were not published until 1963. Now it is time to bring to light the life and works of August Eichhorn, since his work can help to clarify the cultural, social, and historical complexity of the late-​nineteenth-​century colonial relationship between Russia and Russian Turkestan; Eichhorn carried out extensive research on the musical legacy of numerous Central Asian peoples and presented a unique view of the region’s culture. I use the phrase “colonial relationship” because several aspects in the governing system of Turkestan clearly indicate its colonial nature. The region, unlike the Caucasus, was inhabited entirely by Muslims, and the local population possessed a distinct culture, language, and traditions. In addition, Russian Turkestan was geographically remote, separated from European Russia by the vast territory of the Central or Kyrgyz steppe. Before the railroad was built, travel from St. Petersburg to Tashkent took more time than travel from London to Calcutta. The administrative structure was different, too: the territory was ruled under a “military-​people’s government” (voenno-​narodnoe upravlenie). This was characterized by a clear distinction between a higher bureaucracy, whose power was implemented by military officers, and a lower or local administration and judiciary, some parts of which were elected indirectly by officials of the tsardom. Russian Turkestan was governed “at arm’s length” through governor-​generals who, until a 1886 decree, enjoyed almost absolute power over the region. Another important feature of the region’s colonization—​the resettlement of Russian peasants—​was set up by the official 1886 Turkestan Statute, which made nomadic lands the property of the state. If at the beginning of the 1880s the number of Russian settlers in the region was about 30,000, by 1914 the Europeans or Russians numbered nearly 450,000, living mostly in Semirech’e and Tashkent.144 Therefore, it is no accident that the Russian intellectual and administrative elite referred to Turkestan as “our only colony.”145 Furthermore, in their discussions of the migration processes in Russian Asia, they gradually

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78 Representing Russia’s Orient abandoned the term pereselenie (resettlement) in favor of kolonizatsiia (colonization).146 Finally, with the transformation of the region’s nomadic and sedentary Muslims into cotton producers, Central Asia became an important source of raw material, and as a result economic exploitation became one of the primary aims of Russians in Turkestan.147 As I will show, the lives of the Russian settlers and those of the local community differed drastically, and the Russian-​Asian relationship in Turkestan can only be called colonial. Information on the life of August Eichhorn is scant.148 We know he was born in 1844 in Lößniz (Germany). Before he left for Turkestan, he played as a violinist in different orchestras in Riga, St. Petersburg, and Moscow for several years. In 1870 he was drafted for military service and went to Central Asia to serve as a kapellmeister for the tsarist military orchestra. In 1875 he took up Russian citizenship and spent eight more years (until 1883) in Tashkent. Then he left for St. Petersburg and, from 1889 to 1907, played second violin at the Mariinsky Theatre. The date of his death remains unclear; after 1910 there is no further trace of him.149 Luckily, during his first two years in Turkestan Eichhorn kept a diary. Thanks to his meticulous entries, we may catch some glimpses of his life and service in Tashkent. After an exhausting month of travel from St. Petersburg, he arrived in Tashkent in July 1870. He found the city quite “unaffable and dirty.” At first, he hated his new home and the people surrounding him; for the entire year after his arrival, he planned to return to Russia. Gradually, he began to recognize the financial and professional opportunities that came with his service in Tashkent. After being commissioned to collect musical instruments for the 1872 Polytechnic Exhibition in Moscow, his interest in ethnographic work increased. More than once he accomplished the task of collecting Central Asian instruments in the most diligent manner. Although he himself did not value this first collection, a committee of the exhibition’s organizers distinguished his work with a prestigious award—​the Big Silver Medal.150 In 1873 the samples of musical instruments gathered for his exhibition were sent to the Vienna World’s Fair, along with a sketchbook with transcriptions and fieldwork notes.The collection was never returned from Vienna. Later Eichhorn gathered another collection of musical instruments, which was exhibited in 1885 at the Philippe Patek Museum in St. Petersburg. He provided the collection with a detailed catalogue that included descriptions of the instruments, their tunings and ranges, and the scales they could produce. He supplemented the discussions of some of the instruments with transcriptions of typical musical phrases or rhythmic patterns.151 Besides gathering musical instruments, Eichhorn wrote an extensive and detailed ethnography on nomadic and sedentary peoples living in Russian Turkestan and transcribed their songs and instrumental melodies. In 1876 he went to Kokand and in 1879 to the Ferghana Valley, where he transcribed more than one hundred songs and instrumental tunes. He visited the cities and villages of Osh, Jalal-​ Abad, Andijan, Namangan, Margelan, Kamysh-​ Kurgan, Vuadil, and Arraban. His research thus covers traditional music of peoples living

Building Images of the “Other” in the territories of the modern states of Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan. Significantly, he transcribed music from any ethnic groups he encountered in the region, including Gypsies and Jews, who were largely neglected by other nineteenth-​century European ethnographers. Eichhorn’s work on peoples living in Russian Turkestan probably can be counted among the first Russian music ethnographies to follow a rigorous methodology. In his essays he often identified his performers and performance locations. He also provided exceptionally detailed descriptions of the contexts in which his musical examples were performed, precise explanations of the techniques for producing musical sound, and an exhaustive account of different performance styles. He sometimes transcribed several versions of the same tune, revealing his awareness of oral tradition with its constant use of improvisation. In addition, he verified his transcriptions by singing melodies back to the original singers. His descriptions of how native musicians reacted to music that he sang back or played on piano (or harmonium) suggest that his transcriptions were accurate enough to be recognized when played on different instruments and sometimes even with a western style of harmonic accompaniment.152 Unlike the many Russian armchair scholars (discussed in ­chapters 3 and 6) who did not travel beyond European Russia and who analyzed Asian music without ever hearing it, Eichhorn experienced the music of Central Asian peoples firsthand. He believed that it was impossible to fully appreciate the music of nomads without having Central Asian “concert halls” of  “far stretched desert steppes . . . valleys and gulfs of peaceful idyllic mountain ridges with their pastures and meadows.”153 He remarked: “I always felt it a pity that I am not a graphic artist or a painter to draw, along with [music] notes, the pictures of nature that frame the songs and the melodies of the nomads, the landscapes and local views, that form a decorative background of their music.”154 The music of nomads, he concludes, would sound absolutely “trivial and silly” in European concert halls. Likewise, Europe’s most grandiose and brilliant musical instruments would sound “poor and unimpressive” if performed in the steppes.155 Consequently, Eichhorn’s attitude toward the music of nomadic peoples suggests that he did not believe in Russia’s mission civilisatrice in Asia: he did not think that Asian music (or culture in general) should have to respond to European musical cultural standards or be harmonized in a European manner. On the contrary, he said that a western European style of accompaniment was a “barbarian distortion” that made Asian melodies sound “trivial and dull,” erasing their “healthy and fresh beauty.”156 His use of the term “barbarian” in relation to European music practice is particularly striking, since he rarely labels Asian peoples and their cultures “savage,”“barbarian,”“semicivilized,” or “primitive.” He uses the adjective “naïve” in his descriptions of nomadic peoples, but does it with a sense of Romantic nostalgia for the past.The way of life of the steppe evokes in his imagination images of a society that is “pure” and “unspoiled” by European civilization, a paradise lost in Rousseau’s Romantic interpretation of primitivism.

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80 Representing Russia’s Orient Eichhorn does not attempt to place the music of the Central Asian peoples in any kind of universal hierarchy of race or nation, although some passages make personal value judgments. In addition, he disagrees with earlier negative descriptions of Kyrgyz music written by Levshin (discussed earlier). For instance, when Eichhorn describes a wind instrument called sybyzgy or chibyzga, he suggests that Levshin’s unenthusiastic account of the “rough and impure” sound of this instrument resulted from a poor performance: Levshin did not hear a skillful Kyrgyz player, who could produce on this instrument a “pure sound” similar to that of European instruments with valves.157 Moreover, Eichhorn’s ethnographic essays contain many passages that express his genuine admiration of, and high esteem for, music of Asian nomadic peoples. When he describes a performance by a bakhshi, or traditional healer, he says that “despite the seeming unmusicality” of the performance and “inadequacy to our tastes,” even as an unprepared listener one “unconsciously feels bewitched and not able to tear oneself away” from listening, even without understanding one word. When the performance is over, one still “feels seized with some kind of intoxication” and continues hearing and seeing the image of the performer.158 It is perhaps not surprising that even a decade after Eichhorn’s return to European Russia, he confessed that the “songs of the steppes”—​“genuine and true music that bestow on a human heart consolation and gratification”—​still “resounded” in him with their “beauty and charm.”159 In addition to such accounts of his musical encounters, Eichhorn’s ethnography betrays a self-​conscious or serious partiality in his work. We learn about the limitations of his capacities and his achievements, as well as the (un)cooperativeness of his informants, and, above all, about the specific conditions and nature of his fieldwork among the Central Asian peoples.160 Probably the greatest obstacle he faced was that of music notation. In his discussion of shamans’ rituals, he confessed that he could not notate a melody, since “all musical signs, compared to a performance itself, were only dead marks.”161 This passage reveals his awareness of a different level of performance practice, which neither his verbal descriptions nor his musical transcriptions would be able to transmit. In his discussion of Sart music he writes an even more striking commentary: he admits that “our” European system of notation is insufficient to fix quarter tones; and what is more, “we do not possess proper music-​auditory skills” for catching those intervals or grasping the music’s floating pulse and ambiguous rhythmic patterns.162 In distinguishing the musics of different ethnic groups living in Turkestan, Eichhorn uses the system of categorization conventionally used in imperial Russia:  all peoples were divided according to their agricultural ways of life:  nomadic or sedentary. As noted, all the nomadic peoples living in the Central steppe and Turkestan were called Kyrgyz, and most of sedentary people living in Central Asian towns were called Sarts and were further categorized according to the cities or regions they came from (Kashgarians, Bukharans, Ferghanians, etc.).163 Most Sarts were merchants, traders, craftspersons, and

Building Images of the “Other” members of the clergy, usually well-​educated and well-​to-​do. In terms of ethnic origin, Sarts were difficult to identify, since Russians defined them anthropologically as Aryans (closer to Iranians or Tajiks), while the language they spoke was a Chagatai Turkic most closely related to the modern Uighur and Uzbek languages. The situation was further complicated because the nomadic peoples who settled and changed their ways of life would also call themselves Sarts. In the Soviet period, after long debates about the ethnic origin of Sarts, this term was dropped, and in the 1926 census most Sarts were registered as Uzbeks.164 In line with the official Russian distinctions among Turkestan’s native peoples, Eichhorn’s position on Sarts’ music differed from that on Kyrgyz-​Kaisaks’ music. For him, Sarts were culturally more advanced for several reasons. First, he notes that every city inhabited by Sarts has its own orchestra, or several orchestras that perform on different occasions, thus forming a special guild of musicians. Second, he identifies the existence of a professional music practice, describing it as complex in terms of mode (with a developed system of microtones: 3/​4, 1/​8, and 1/​16) and rhythm (with sophisticated rhythmic and metrical patterns impossible to notate). Third, he recognizes a few categories or genres of music, pointing out their complexity and age: lyrical and dance songs, historical songs, military music, epic and religious songs (azan, Ramadan, and dervish songs). Unsurprisingly perhaps, he pays special attention to pieces of music that have a long history. For example, he transcribes the Persian song “Asiratman,” claimed by some musicians to be six hundred years old, from the time of Mullah-​Sakh.165 He classifies another “Kokandian Soldier Song” as belonging to the category of songs that have a history of more than one thousand years. He transcribes two versions of this song and concludes that it has to be considered a “document representing musical culture of an ancient world” since it comes from the early times of the creation of military troops.166 Undoubtedly, his discussion highly values the music and culture of people living in recently conquered Asian lands and suggests that the people who practice it attain a certain level of civilization and therefore are worthy of imperial attention. In a section about military music, Eichhorn discusses his transcriptions of several Turkestani marches and credits one of them with a long history:  he claims that “Persian March”—​ also called “Kokandian March,” “Bukharan March,” “Iskander March,” and “March of Alexander the Great”—​is an “actual musical-​historical document from the time of Alexander the Great.”167 Since Eichhorn himself directed a military orchestra, he pays special attention to the region’s military music: he describes the context in which it is used and the instruments that perform it and provides detailed transcriptions of all of the orchestra’s parts. Take, for instance, “Kokandian Military Parade March,” subtitled “Meeting of Khan (Khudoiar-​Khan).” The score of the march includes a melody played by wind instruments (three nays and one surnay) and three additional lines played by percussion instruments (nagora, triangle, drum, and cymbals) (see fig. 2.3).

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Figure 2.3.  “Kokandian Military Parade March” from August Eichhorn, Otdel’nye zametki I, II, fund 340, item 1500, page 7 (5). Source: Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow

For another march that was used to accompany military training in Badakhshan, Shugnan, and Darvaz (lands contested by the Emirate of Bukhara, Afghanistan, and the British and Russian empires), Eichhorn supplements with a detailed description of movements made by military trainees:  “the

Building Images of the “Other” riflemen step forward to the line”; “they open fire against the enemy. With the command ‘Back!’ they return to their previous places. Then another subdivision comes forward”; “then the commands ‘Fire!’ and ‘Back!’ are given. This march is performed by a regular group of a local military orchestra” (see fig. 2.4).

Figure 2.4.  “Soldier’s Military Training March” from August Eichhorn, Otdel’nye zametki I, II, fund 340, item 1500, page 37. Source: Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow

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84 Representing Russia’s Orient The inclusion of a great variety of marches is by no means random. This genre of music, which in western music represents triumph and glory, in a colonial context might signify pride and superiority over the conquered peoples who, despite their bellicose spirit, were not able to resist Russian forces. Significantly, some Central Asian military instruments were either used by Russians in their military orchestras or were completely banned. In a comment about drum instruments used in Turkestani military orchestras, Eichhorn mentions that when he arrived in Tashkent in 1870, some Russian divisions were using nagoras (a small drum with a rough membrane) in their military ensembles, since they are similar to the Russian military signal drums.168 Russians’ appropriation of a Central Asian military instrument can be interpreted in two alternative ways: on the one hand, Russians perhaps thought that the Asians’ military might have been passed to the Russian army along with the transfer of the instrument; on the other hand Russians might have been seeking to demonstrate that they could integrate and absorb certain elements of local culture without being afraid to “go native.” Of course, both interpretations affirm that the Russians were in the position of power, with the ability to make decisions about local instruments. Another fascinating example of the manipulation of local culture further demonstrates how ethnographic knowledge was used to facilitate the task of controlling the region and its subjects. One of the musical instruments played by nomadic Kyrgyz and Kyrgyz-​Kaisak peoples, the urra, was completely banned from practice. According to Eichhorn, before the Russian expansion into Central Asia, the local population used the urra to sound a battle cry or a call for a attack or for military action. The tune played on this instrument (“Urran” or “Song of Baranta”), in Eichhorn’s own vivid description, “seized the Kyrgyz with belligerent ardor, incited them to predatory raids, set up one tribe against another, and induced them to perform traditional heroic deeds.”169 In the late 1860s, this instrument as well as the repertoire performed on it was banned by Governor-​General von Kaufmann. They were considered too dangerous. By the time of Eichhorn’s arrival in Tashkent, the urra was completely out of usage, so he could not acquire a single sample for his collection of instruments. It could have been also that musicians, frightened of reprisals from Russian officials, did not want to show any urra to him. Fortunately, Eichhorn captured this instrument in one of the drawings in his notebook (see fig. 2.5) and then published the sketch in his 1885 Catalogue of Central Asian Musical Instruments.170 Despite the fact that in Turkestan Eichhorn’s military orchestra symbolized colonial power and was employed to demonstrate the superiority of the dominant Russian culture, he showed respect for the music of the subjugated and supposedly inferior Orientals. Perhaps the most revealing example of this attitude, unusual for a European ethnographer, is found in his account of a Muslim holy day in Zangi-​ Ata. Describing the performance of the Sart orchestra

Building Images of the “Other”

Figure 2.5.  Central Asian instrument urra drawn by August Eichhorn in his Otdel’nye zametki I, II, fund 340, item 1500, page 156. Source: Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow

accompanying this festivity, his response is one of mixed feelings of “absolute horror” and “great enthusiasm.” For Eichhorn, the playing of the karnai (a huge wind instrument with long bell-​shaped pipes) evoked imagery from the ancient times of Solomon, such as the “joyful exultation of the Israelis” singing in temples and the “dances described in biblical stories.”171

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86 Representing Russia’s Orient This description of the Central Asian ensemble’s performance stands out in sharp contrast to that of his own orchestra’s performance. When his “horribly off-​key orchestra” started playing, Eichhorn indignantly remarks, it immediately brought him back to “nonpoetic, naked, and grim reality.”172 He continues: “to be honest, because of the ensemble and its accuracy in performance, the music played by Sarts exceeded in its style the music played by my orchestra, which did not have any style at all.”173 This passage suggests that he did not filter the music of Asian peoples through Russian nationalist claims of cultural superiority over conquered peoples (endemic in so many colonial situations). This might have been a result of his own double identity as a German Catholic with Russian citizenship, which helped him transgress Russian and European prejudices about Asian music and culture. He did not feel a part of the Orthodox community in Russian Turkestan; at the same time, due to his Russian citizenship, he could not consider himself fully German.174 He might have felt that he stood outside the rather small circle of Russian colonial society in Tashkent and as a result have felt less inclined to praise it. Perhaps for the same reason, Eichhorn regarded the Russian folk music he heard in Tashkent as an ethnographic curiosity and treated it similarly to Asian music. He transcribed a few Russian folk songs sung by workers in his yard and provided a short discussion for each one.175 Eichhorn and local officials alike “othered” lower-​class Russians in Turkestan, considered undesirable because of their propensity toward drunkenness and “sluggishness and unculturedness.”176 Their presence was viewed as lowering Russia’s prestige among the natives and threatening the image of Russians as “universal civilizers.”177 Eichhorn proposes a bold hypothesis that Russian folk song originated from Mongol, Chinese, or Tatar (all Turkic-​speaking peoples) song. On the basis of his observations of the phrase and cadence structure of Russian song, he asserts its similarity with Asian song. He affirms that the Asianness of Russian folk song is usually obscured by modern harmonization and fashionable accompaniment. “If one listens to the Russian song in its primordial, natural sound, performed by lay peasants,” he concludes, “then its Asian character becomes truly obvious.”178 As I will discuss in the next chapter, at the end of the nineteenth century, these ideas about Russian–​Asian cultural relationships were circulating among the followers of Asianism in Russian metropoles. However, as Jeff Sahadeo points out, this discourse was “remarkably absent in Tashkent.”179 While adopting some elements of local culture, Russian intellectuals in Tashkent “feared a hybridity produced by contact in the colonial city.”180 The capital of Russian Turkestan since 1867, Tashkent was divided by the Ankhor Canal into two separate worlds:  the old Asian city and the world of the Russian settlers—​ mostly administrators and military staff. Many aspects of everyday life reminded Central Asians who held power. First, the land on which the new Russian quarters were built had been expropriated from the local population at the

Building Images of the “Other” order of Governor-​General von Kaufmann.181 Second, despite their monetary participation, all Muslims were excluded from playing any role in municipal affairs.182 This resulted in an imbalance in spending between different quarters of Tashkent. As Sahadeo observes, “in 1884, of a total municipal budget of 150,000 rubles, only 4,000 to 5,000 rubles [were] spent on the Asian city.”183 In 1872, when cholera erupted in Tashkent, the death toll of the Asian population was ten times higher than that of the Russians because, as one of the natives observed, the “Russian administration was purposefully neglecting the sanitary and maintenance needs of Asian Tashkent.”184 Finally, Russian military staff often organized official ceremonies and military parades to demonstrate imperial power. In particular, lavish displays and balls were held to celebrate the day of the Russian conquest of Tashkent. As a kapellmeister of the military orchestra, Eichhorn participated in all of these events. In this context, Eichhorn’s ethnographic essays can be read as important documents that shed light on life in Russian Turkestan. They seem to reflect a generally more sympathetic stance on Asian subjects. As one might expect, he entered Russian and then Soviet historiography as the field’s lone ethnographer. He discovered “long-​forgotten” (from European point of view) oriental culture, collected diverse musical artifacts (instruments and melodies), and created an important body of texts that covered the music of different intraimperial Russian ethnicities.185 Indeed, in his ethnographic essays he tended to romanticize his work and the field of his studies somewhat and to present a public self-​image as a committed music lover and ethnographer. However, his diary reveals a slightly different persona from the one these sources projected.186 Several inconsistencies can be found between Eichhorn’s public statements and private comments. For instance, in the note that accompanied his full collection of musical instruments of the Central Asian peoples he claims that he has been “impelled as a musician by the feeling of love for the matter” and has gathered the collection using his own funds.187 From his diary however, we learn that a few years earlier he was commissioned to collect musical instruments and transcribe melodies for the 1872 Polytechnic Exhibition in Moscow and was paid 200 rubles by the exhibition’s Turkestan Committee.188 To put it in perspective, the maximum daily wage of a native laborer or servant in Russian Turkestan was 30 kopeks, or less than 9 rubles a month. Unsurprisingly, the wages of Russian settlers were significantly higher: the monthly salary in Turkestan for a military minor was about 50 rubles, and a Russian laborer or servant was paid two to three times more than one would have been paid in Russia. As Adeeb Khalid points out, “this combination of cheap native labor and high salaries for settlers meant that even the poorest sections of the Russian population enjoyed a standard of living considerably higher than the majority of the native population.”189 Eichhorn’s own monthly salary in Tashkent was 100 rubles, and he was able to earn even more (60–​90 rubles) by tuning

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88 Representing Russia’s Orient instruments and collecting commissions from his orchestra’s performances in private venues.190 To compare, his own monthly salary as an orchestra player at the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow had been only 40 rubles a month.191 His earnings were thus over twenty times more than a regular native worker’s and four to five times more than his own salary as a violinist in Russia. A number of entries in Eichhorn’s diary reveal his concern for money. Like many other settlers from European Russia, he considered Turkestan a place of opportunity. Despite the fact that it was not easy for him to adjust to the living conditions in Tashkent or to get used to “dirty” native people and their “disgusting appearance”—​on the way to Tashkent and during his first year there, he expressed his horror at the prospect of living side by side with Central Asians, calling them “dogs,” “wild devils,” and “robbers”192—​he stayed there for over ten years.193 Eventually, his “main aim,” he wrote, was “to save some money” and come back to Russia.194 He also “cherished a hope” of receiving a Order “For Merit to the Fatherland” or being distinguished for something other than his dedicated work with the military orchestra.195 At official gatherings, he often saw people “all decorated with medals,” and he “could not get rid of ” the thought of getting one too.196 Eichhorn’s efforts in the musical field in Turkestan were certainly not fruitless: after all, he was a member of the privileged European community. In just a few months, his financial situation and social position in Tashkent rose above his expectations: he became a well-​respected person and was invited to the homes of  Tashkent’s elite; by the end of his first year, he had saved 800 rubles “without much effort.” He had also been allocated land, and he started thinking about building his own house, as this was “the best capital investment, which brings from 25% to 30%.”197 Finally, his vanity was satisfied: after gathering a collection of native musical instruments for the 1872 Polytechnic Exhibition, the exhibition committee honored him with a Big Silver Medal. Furthermore, in 1872 and in 1877 he was decorated with two other orders—​of Saint Stanislaus of the third class and of Saint Anna of the third class.198 Thus, besides the Romantic and “enthusiastic admirer of Asian amenities” (as Djani-​Zade describes him) there was another Eichhorn, whose interest in the advancement of ethnographic knowledge was inseparable from the advancement of his own career, material life, and social status.199 In George Stocking’s telling words, “there never was a moment of ethnographic innocence.”200 Eichhorn certainly enjoyed his position of power, which was dictated by a “colonial situation” similar to that in other European colonies.201 As a member of a white minority who lived according to the same ethos, spoke the same language, and was assigned a certain status within the European group, he enjoyed the privileges and official honors bestowed on him during his stay in Tashkent. Despite his position and his motivations in Russian Turkestan, however, his contributions to music ethnography in the late nineteenth century

Building Images of the “Other” should not be minimized. Besides his many detailed accounts of musical practices in Central Asia and careful transcriptions of various tunes, he left valuable descriptions of his encounters with the local population and provided insights into the daily interactions between members of different social and ethnic backgrounds in the region. The history of Russia’s ethnographic engagement with its inorodtsy and their cultures offers particularly rich material demonstrating the contradictory and multifaceted nature of the Russian-​Asian relationship. The rapidly growing empire, with its newly acquired territory and the diverse peoples, cultures, and languages that came with it, created a formidable challenge regarding the organization of the region and the incorporation of its peoples as subjects. Exiles who served in distant Siberian outposts, bureaucrats who pursued particular tasks (e.g., Rittikh’s conscription of inorodtsy), orientologists interested in “pure knowledge” about new peoples (e.g., Middendorff), inorodtsy and ethnic Germans with Russian citizenship who performed loyal service in remote regions of the empire (e.g., Eichhorn in Turkestan)—​all presented multiple identities and voices, which told different histories through their ethnographies. Instead of systematic comparison or classification based on the hierarchies of cultures and civilization, Russian ethnographers often described in detail the diverse ethnic groups of the empire using the concept of byt. They thereby avoided generalizations and derogatory discourse about the subjugated peoples. In the next chapter I  consider late-​nineteenth-​century musical works influenced by ethnographic research and show how Russian musicians under the spell of two ideological currents—​Aryanism and Asianism—​claimed Russia’s close affiliation with Asia.

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Chapter 3

Aryanism and Asianism in the Quest for Russian Identity

I

n 1899 two prominent English orientalists, Francis Skrine and Edward Ross, in their book The Heart of Asia, summarized their opinion on the Russian presence in Central Asia with this observation: “the peoples of Asia, from the Caspian to China, from Siberia to the borders of Persia and Afghanistan, enjoy as large a measure of happiness and freedoms as those of any part of our Indian dominions.”1 Skrine and Ross believed that Russia’s success in its “civilizing mission” in the East was facilitated by the Russian executive system of administration and by “ties of blood” that resulted in “latent and unconscious sympathy” between conquerors and conquered. Russians were able to rebuild and control the region because this mutual sympathy “rendered the task of government easy and assured its stability.”2 Interestingly enough, at the end of their book, Skrine and Ross underline a few features that they believe are fundamental to the Russian nation.These include a strong “Oriental strain,” low standards of comfort, and social etiquette with a “tinge of barbarism.”3 Likewise, authors writing a little over a decade later from the Scythianist and Eurasianist perspective wholeheartedly embraced “Turanian” or Scythian identity, as associated with nomadic, that is, spontaneous, dynamic, and “healthy barbarism.”4 The aforementioned writings of western scholars, as well as Russian Eurasianists, raise many questions. To begin, how did some Russians come to declare and celebrate Russia’s half-​Asian and half-​European nature in such a clearly self-​Orientalizing fashion? Next, what historical, cultural, and musical elements did Russian writers choose to represent their national hybridity? How did Russian writers on music negotiate the features of Russia’s not-​ quite-​European and, as some argued, not-​quite-​Asian identity? Furthermore, was the scholarly study of Russia’s inorodtsy and their music affected by the western colonial discourses that connected musical scales and instruments with the notions of evolution, racial difference, and European superiority?5 Did Russian writers on music engage in any “othering” or racial inferiority

Representing Russia’s Orient. Adalyat Issiyeva, Oxford University Press (2021). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190051365.003.0004.

92 Representing Russia’s Orient debates, reflecting sociopolitical tensions and racial anxieties ubiquitous in late-​ nineteenth-​century European literature? As I demonstrated in c­ hapter 2, certain Russian ethnographers and musicians had shown little prejudice toward—​albeit not always high esteem for—​Russia’s Asian culture, ancient and modern. At the end of the nineteenth century, this attitude shaped a great number of ethnographies that favored affinities between Russian and eastern cultures. It also nurtured Russian composers’ and music theorists’ imaginings about the cultural connections between Russia and Asia. However, despite a number of publications with detailed ethnographic information on Russia’s eastern lands and peoples, popular knowledge and understanding of Asia among Russians, particularly musicians and composers, remained quite limited. Russian music writers frequently used “Asia” as a generic term for the territory covering Central, East, and South Asia, as well as Siberia and the Far East; by extension, they reduced the complexity and diversity of the musical traditions of the peoples living in these regions to just a few musical scales and instruments. In addition, writers on music regularly confused the notions “Asian” and “Aryan” and used these terms interchangeably. This chapter examines late-​ nineteenth-​and early-​ twentieth-​ century Russian music theoretical works that invoke the Russian–​Asian cultural relationship and discuss the Asian or Aryan provenance of Russian musical scales. Since in music literature the use of scales was often associated with musical instruments and tuning, I also consider some Russian works discussing Asian musical instruments that reveal Russia’s attitude toward the East. To understand the reasons behind Russian musicians’ interest and fervor in the creation and promotion of myths about Russian–​Asian cultural connections, it is important to address the ideology of two interrelated intellectual currents—​Aryanism and Asianism—​that shaped late-​nineteenth-​century Russian self-​identification discourse.

Aryanism and Asianism in Russia In the Russian context, Aryanism arose in the mid-​nineteenth century as part of a Romantic quest for the origins of Russian identity and as a reaction of Russian intellectuals against German and French ideas about Russia’s affiliation with the “Turanian” (nomadic) world.6 Many nineteenth-​century Russian thinkers, such as Aleksei Khomiakov, V   asilii Grigor’ev, and Ivan Zabelin, claimed that modern Slavs had Aryan roots that could be traced through the ancient Scythians—​Russia’s eastern neighbors, who were believed to be Central Asian representatives of Indo-​Iranian Aryan civilization and who were absorbed by the Slavs.7 Some of the most vocal Russian proponents of the Aryan myth, such as the Slavophile Khomiakov, even declared that the Slavic language was

Aryanism and Asianism “completely identical” to Sanskrit and had to be considered as its “local dialect.”8 In 1855, he published A Comparison of Russian Language with Sanskrit, where he presented a list of about one thousand Russian words that sounded like Sanskrit.9 Besides the language, Khomiakov believed, modern Slavs had inherited most of their noble eastern qualities—​such as peacefulness, purity, and humbleness despite innate superiority—​from the ancient Asians or Aryans.10 In clear contrast to German and French writers, who defined Aryanism as a racial category, Russian writers considered Aryanism in cultural-​linguistic terms. Significantly, Russian Aryanists did not develop racial or anti-​Semitic ideas of western European Aryanism and never denied the essential equality of humans.11 Despite the fact that Russian Aryanism was not a large political or intellectual movement and no Russian music theorist identified himself as an Aryanist, for a few decades, as I will show, the Aryan myth seized the imagination of a number of music writers who promoted the idea of Russia’s musical affiliation with Aryans on the basis of the similar scale structure employed in both traditions’ folk songs.12 The followers of Asianism, or Vostochniki, also claimed Russia’s Aryan legacy, but they possessed a more Asiatic vision of Russian identity: they argued that Russia and Asia had common cultural and spiritual values, which should (and would) bring the two cultures into complete and organic union. In their view, a Russian–​Asian unification process would not be based on the western European methods of military conquest and colonization but would happen through peaceful and natural incorporation and fusion of Asian land with Russian political power.13 While the idea of Asian identity had been appeared in Russian literature earlier in the century, the ideological orientation of Asianism emerged after the 1878 Congress of Berlin.The European disavowal of Russia’s victory over the Ottoman empire in the Russo-​Turkish War disappointed many Russians, who consequently turned their minds toward the East and declared that the future of Russia lay in Asia. Prince Esper Ukhtomskii—​ one of the most influential Asianists and “the main architect of Russian policy in Eastern Asia”14—​strongly believed in Russia’s particular connection to Buddhism and the myth of the “White Tsar.” The tsar’s arrival was supposedly awaited by several million Buddhists in Asia. Encouraged by the enthusiasm of two Russian inorodtsy of Asian (Buriat) descent—​the Buddhist monk Agvan Lobsang Dordji (also known as Dorzhiev) and the Christian Orthodox Tibetan practitioner Petr Badmaev—​Ukhtomskii shaped Nicholas II’s perception of Eastern Asia as a land worthy of imperial attention. Its subjects saw the tsar’s name in a “halo of mystic light” (in the words of another Asianist, Nikolai Przhevalsky).15 According to Dorzhiev and Badmaev, for many Buddhists living in Russia’s East, Mongolia, and Tibet, the Russian monarch was either a reincarnation of Bodhisattva or the emanation

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94 Representing Russia’s Orient of the king of the mystical kingdom of Shambhala, the most holy land in Tibetan Buddhist and Hindu mythology. Consequently, Badmaev contended, Russian tsar had to perform a messianic role in Eastern Asia: he should expand into Tibet, China, and Mongolia “not for profit or exploitation” but to protect all remaining Aryan Buddhist peoples oppressed by the Manchu dynasty.16 Badmaev and Dorzhiev’s support for the discourse legitimizing imperial advances into the heart of Asia, as Marlène Laruelle points out, illuminated how the local Buddhist population tried to adjust to the political realities facing them and how they reacted to the “cultural shock of colonization.”17 The notion of the “White Tsar” particularly appealed to Ukhtomskii and Nicholas II. As Schimmelpenninck observes, “in the age when tsarist prerogatives were perennially under siege by calls of European style reforms such as parliaments and constitutions, the Asianist ideology provided an attractive argument for maintaining the autocratic status quo.”18 Ukhtomskii’s affirmation that Russia and Asia shared a number of common features—​political conservatism, a proclivity for mysticism, and advocacy of autocratic power—​helped him not only to distance Russia from the West, with its “poisonous” ideas of liberalism and materialism, but also to bring the empire closer to the East.19 Thus, besides nurturing Russian nationalistic fantasies of a direct relationship with the East and distancing from the West, both the Aryan and Asianist currents provided religious and ideological justification for Russia’s imperial advances in Central Asia and the Far East. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, the idea that Russian culture had an Asian or Aryan provenance appealed to many Russians from different social milieux. Doctor Vasilii Florinskii, philosopher and diplomat Konstantin Leont’ev, historians Vasilii Kliuchevskii and Sergei Platonov, essayists and writers Nikolai Danilevskii and Fyodor Dostoyevsky, and many other representatives of the Russian intellectual elite were attracted to either Aryanism or Asianism. Many late-​ nineteenth-​ century Russian scholars—​ such as Andrei Snesarev, Mikhail Veniukov, and Petr Semenov-​Tian’shanskii—​saw the European attitude toward the East as more racist than their own. They contrasted British colonizers in India, who avoided intermingling with the natives, with Russians, who were not ashamed of interracial marriages with some Asians.20 As Ukhtomskii stressed, in terms of language and religion, Rus was Slavic, “however in terms of its blood, it [Rus] is remarkably diverse and mixed with inorodtsy elements.”21 Such an attitude toward race relations might explain why some Russian fin-​de-​ siècle sources on Russian and Asian cultures assumed the equality or sometimes superiority of Asian culture.22 Despite the fact that anti-​Japanese propaganda stifled the voices of Asianists during the Russo-​Japanese War of 1905, these ideas about Russia’s Asian ancestry resounded in the writings of Silver Age poets—​such as Andrei Belyi, Konstantin Balmont, and Alexander Blok—​and found their most extreme expressions of pride in the writings of Eurasianists.23

Aryanism and Asianism

Theories Relating Russian and Asian Musical Cultures in the Mid-​1880s Throughout the nineteenth century, many Russian writers developed the idea of Russian cultural affiliation with Aryans and stressed the importance of studying Asian cultures closely in order to understand Russia’s own history.24 The famous Vladimir Stasov was among one of the most influential writers to document the eastern roots of Russian culture.25 In his extensive 1868 article on the origin of the Russian bylinas (epic songs), Stasov claimed that most of the motifs in the Russian legends could be traced either to the ancient Aryans or the Turkic-​Mongol peoples. A few salient points from Stasov’s discussion of possible “borrowings” from the East may be said to form a common discourse in the subsequent Russian musical and theoretical debate. First, Russian culture originated from ancient Aryan culture; second, the various elements of the Aryan legends were not borrowed by the Russians directly but through the mediation of other Asian neighbors; third, the Russians preserved these borrowed materials without introducing new elements; fourth, other Russian arts, such as architecture and painting, were also the result of such borrowing; fifth, although deriving from the same Aryan roots, Russian legends (or their reflection in epic heroes) bore an exceptionally close resemblance to Asian norms of epic development and were far less similar to European ones. The seeds of Stasov’s ideas fell on rich soil. Most late-​nineteenth-​century music theories referred one way or another to Russian Asian or Aryan cultural provenance. However, not all theorists agreed on the equality of Russian and Asian cultures or on how strong the Asian impact on Russian heritage was. Some writers revered eastern civilizations and, like Stasov, argued that the Russians did not invent anything new, while others more chauvinistically claimed that Russian culture, despite its Asian roots, developed and produced superior works of music and art. The change of tone in later writings can be explained by several factors, the most important of which are the spread of aggressive nationalism across Europe and Russia in the age of new imperialism and the Russification policies introduced and implemented under Alexander III. One prominent writer and philosopher of the period, Vladimir Solov’ev, noticed the change in the air: adoration of one’s own people as the chief bearer of universal truth; then adoration of the people as an elemental force, without regard to universal truth; finally adoration of the national one-​sidedness and historical anomalies which cut off the people from educated humanity, that is to say, adoration of one’s people with a direct negation of the very idea of universal truth—​these are the three gradual states of our nationalism, represented in succession by the Slavophiles, by Katkov, and by the latest obscurantists. The first of these taught pure fantasies; the second was a realist, with imagination; the last are realists without any imagination but also without any shame.26

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96 Representing Russia’s Orient The transformation of the discourse about Russian and Asian cultures could also have been due to the fact that later nineteenth-​century music writings started taking into account certain western European developmental theories and concepts of cultural anthropology associated with discussions about the cultures of “others.”Traces of and references to the western European literature on ethnology, diffusionism, and comparative musicology can be found in many Russian music theory works, revealing intellectual connections to the western world.

Petr Petrovich Sokal’skii (1832–​87) Although ideas about Russia’s Aryan or Asian inheritance in music infiltrated discussions and theoretical analysis in 1860s and became very popular in 1880s,27 it was Petr Petrovich Sokal’skii who first constructed a theoretical concept that traced affinities between Russian and Asian folk music.28 While studying at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, Sokal’skii became personally acquainted with Vladimir Stasov, Balakirev, and other members of the Kuchka.29 Under the influence of Stasov’s ideas about Russia’s eastern cultural heritage, Sokal’skii wrote Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, velikorusskaia i malorusskaia [Russian and Little-​Russian Folk Music], a theoretical work that discussed how Asian music had influenced Russian folk song. According to Sokal’skii, the Asian influence occurred in two stages that coincided with two major historical events: first, the migration of various peoples from Asia to Europe before the rise of ancient Hellenic culture, and second, the Crusades. In the first stage, which Sokal’skii calls the “epoch of fourth and fifth,” an ancient pentatonic scale (c–​d–​f–​g–​a) was transmitted to Europe from Asia and remained unchanged till modern times in remote areas, such as Scotland, Ireland, and China.30 In his attempt to bring Russia closer to Asia and claim Russia’s ancient heritage, Sokal’skii provided a number of examples of pieces supposedly with a pentatonic structure that he found in Russian folk song collections. His theory would have worked if he had been consistent in his analytical approach. However, he completely disregarded passing tones, claiming that these “inessential notes” that broke the pentatonic structure could have been the result of the “incorrect notation of a tune.”31 One striking example from Balakirev’s collection (no. 31) is a case in point (see ex. 3.1). According to Sokal’skii, the song’s scale (c–​d–​f–​g–​a, with c as a tonic) lacked the third and the seventh (e and b♭), although the seventh was still “touched” but “only slightly, as a passing note, which the melody can do without.”32 The second stage of Asian influence on Russian folk music, according to Sokal’skii, occurred during the time of the Crusades. European music still relied on the church modes and showed little inclination toward leading tones, whereas the music of eastern peoples regularly included chromatic intervals as part of a melody’s ornamentation.33 Expanding on Herman von Helmholtz’s argument,

Aryanism and Asianism Example 3.1.  Russian folk song “Kak vo gorode tsarevna,” cited in Sokal’skii’s Russian and Little-​Russian Folk Music, 41, mm. 1–​12

which dated the influence of eastern music on western music to the same period, Sokal’skii claimed that ornamentation in Russian (or Little-​Russian, i.e., Ukrainian) songs, especially those involving a leading tone, invariably had eastern origins. Borrowing terminology from western music theory, he asserted that the Russian (Little-​ Russian) leading note had “Asian” characteristics rather than European, since it was used for expression and therefore resolved to pitches other than the first scale degree.34 These musical traits, he believed, had come to the Russians from their oriental (mostly Persian) neighbors, who had also brought a number of musical instruments and performance practices with them.35 The South Russian bandura, a plucked string instrument, for example, derived from the Persian–​Arabic tanbur. The Arabic “rebab” came to Europe in the twelfth century under the name of “rebec” and was the “ancestor to our violin.”36 Russian “gusli” were also developed, “if not from the Jewish “komval,” then from the ancient Persian “kanun” with seventy-​five catguts.”37 Despite Sokal’skii’s use of a clearly western-​centric vocabulary, his readiness to embrace an eastern, rather than western, musical identity is truly striking: near the end of his book on Russian folk music he suggests the presence of Arabic-​ Persian modes in Little-​Russian folk songs. Because Little-​Russian tunes do not fit into any Greek or European modal system, he claims, they are based on the Persian-​Arabic mode of Zirafkand.38 Examples 99, 100, 122, 123, and 124 from Rubets’s and Iosif Artemovskii-​Gulag’s collections, according to Sokal’skii, are all based on the scale c–​d–​e♭–​f–​g–​a♭–​a–​b–​c (or its transposed version), and all use the leading note (b) as a means of expression, since it is not resolved into the first degree.39 Just as in the Persian-​Arabic Zirafkand scale, he claims, here two modes (major and minor) are mixed, as if there is a major third in the upper tetrachord (g–​b), while the lower tetrachord consists of a minor third (c–​e♭) (see the Little-​ Russian folk song “Zelenaia moia lishchinon’ka,” ex. 3.2).40 Sokal’skii also cites a Little-​Russian tune from Lisenko’s collection that has a scale with two augmented seconds (e–​f–​g♯–​a–​b–​c–​d♯–​e with a as a tonic), known in the West as the Gypsy scale (see “Oi, po gorakh, po dolinakh,” ex. 3.3).

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98 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 3.2.  Little-​Russian folk song “Zelenaia moia lishchinon’ka,” cited in Sokal’skii’s Russian and Little-​Russian Folk Music, 161, mm. 1–​13

Example 3.3.  Little-​Russian folk song “Oi, po gorakh, po dolinakh,” cited in Sokal’skii’s Russian and Little-​Russian Folk Music, 170, mm. 1–​4

Even though Sokal’skii does not identify the song’s scale as the Arabic mode Nawá Athar (or Hijāz Kār’, if e is a tonic), he characterizes the tune as being ornamented with “oriental chromaticism.”41 Thus, Sokal’skii claims that the chromatization of diatonic notes in South Russian music is used for the “intensification of a tune’s expression,” revealing a number of characteristics intrinsic to the music of the “Asian orient”: “special tension,” “clarification of a minor mode by introducing a major third to the dominant,” “softening the entry into the tonic with a leading note,” and the “intensification of lyrical feeling” with the use of two leading notes (to the tonic and the dominant), resulting in a scale with two augmented seconds.42 Near the end of his book Sokal’skii comes to a conclusion that is echoed in a number of other theoretical treatises published later in the century: “South-​Russian melodies are very close in their melodic profile [sklad] and share intervals with Serbian, Bulgarian, and Moravian melodies. In general, they show an affinity to the melodies of South-​Slavic peoples, suggesting their common provenance with Persian Aryan roots . . . going back to ancient times when individual differences between Aryan tribes, to which both the Persians and Slavs belong, were not so apparent.”43 In sum, Sokal’skii suggests that South Russian music is more “Asianized” than “Europeanized,” since its system of two leading notes introduces chromaticism

Aryanism and Asianism not typically found in western European music.44 The influence of Asian culture was said not to end with music and musical instruments. Just like Stasov, Sokal’skii believed that the Russian ornaments sewn on clothes, headwear, hairstyles, robes, and kaftans were all imbedded with oriental motifs and were swayed by oriental fashion.45 Strikingly, throughout the entire book, Sokal’skii’s vocabulary describing Asian music in no way appears to be derogatory; on the contrary, one is inspired to feel proud about Asian influences that enriched Russian culture and music. However, in the book’s concluding section he suddenly engages in nationalistic rhetoric and pronounces a new thought: he proposes that the study of Russian folk song should be included in the curricula of all schools of the Russian empire, so that the Russian musical heritage “could help to unite and assimilate heterogeneous elements of our country into one common, self-​sufficient culture, in which works of art would have national character.”46 Unexpectedly, the discourse about the importance of the Russian oral musical tradition in the process of the assimilation of Russia’s “heterogeneous elements,” absent through the whole book of more than 360 pages, appears in the book’s very last sentence. Sokal’skii may have added this out of concerns about its reception by Russian administrators. The reactionary policies launched by Alexander III after the assassination of his father, Alexander II, stifled any liberal ideas circulating through the press and schools.47 Alexander III considered himself a “Russian patriot” and envisioned the Russian empire as a nation united by one form of administration. He introduced a number of national policies that were unpopular among the empire’s minority communities. First, he forced Russification in the Baltic lands and Finland; second, he supported policies that banished Jews from inhabiting rural areas, which resulted in pogroms of Jews throughout many Russian metropoles; and finally, he promoted Eastern Orthodoxy by allowing the forceful conversion to Orthodoxy of inorodtsy living in the empire’s western and eastern domains.48 In this context, Sokal’skii’s nationalistic conclusion is hardly surprising. Probably to ensure the publication of his Russkaia narodnaia muzyka in one of the most multiethnic cities of Russian empire, Odessa, he had to add few phrases that were in line with the official discourse of unification and assimilation of the empire’s subjects.49 As I have demonstrated in ­chapter 1, many other books and folk song collections from the period promoted the same message of Russians’ ability to unify different ethnicities living in Russia:  Nikulin in his Sbornik pesen politicized the content of children’s songs, and Abramychev’s Sobranie russkikh narodnykh pesen included inorodtsy folk songs in its collections of Russian folk songs. Still, in the mid-​1880s the nationalistic discourse seemed to be relatively mild, and Sokal’skii’s Russkaia narodnaia musyka, as well as Mikhail Petukhov’s book on Russian and Asian musical instruments, which I will consider next, are good examples of more favorable perceptions of Asian music culture at this time.

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100 Representing Russia’s Orient Mikhail Petukhov (1843–​95) One of the first attempts at a detailed classification and description of Russian and Asian instruments was made by a music amateur, Mikhail Petukhov.50 In his 1884 book on the collection of musical instruments in the museum of the St. Petersburg Conservatory, this author for the first time discussed Asian musical instruments in the context of Russian/​European ones. Given that the Imperial Academy of Sciences stood behind this publication, it can be regarded as one of the early reflections of the official view on Asian instruments and culture in general. The primary aim of the book was to provide a commentary on the instruments displayed in the museum. This format did not allow the author to describe all known Russian and Asian instruments. In many cases, because of lack of information and aural experience, Petukhov could not go beyond physical descriptions of Asian instruments, enumerating such characteristics as length, depth, number of strings, and sometimes, but not always, tuning.51 Remarkably, he recognized this problem and did his best to provide the work with all available and up-​to-​date information on the museum’s Asian instruments: he cited at length rare and original sources drawn from ecclesiastical journals, hard-​to-​find albums, and his communications with people who had firsthand experience with eastern music. Unlike later nineteenth-​century Russian theoretical works by Alexander Famintsyn (discussed later), Petukhov’s description of Asian instruments does not exhibit any trace of Russian (or European) cultural superiority. His work also differs from the nineteenth-​century European—​particularly French and British—​discussions of musical instruments that reveal the role musical instruments played in shaping French and British perceptions of colonial countries and their cultures, as Jann Pasler and Bennett Zon have observed.52 Petukhov avoids commentary that would associate various instruments with varying degrees of cultural refinement. Even though he follows François-​Joseph Fétis and Gustav Chouquet in proceeding from more sophisticated (string) groups to simpler (wind and percussion) groups, his discourse does not suggest evolution, hierarchy, or the racial affiliations implied by French or British writers.53 He includes Asian instruments in each instrumental category, implying that Asian culture had reached a mature level of civilization. Petukhov does not segregate European instruments from non-​European ones in separate chapters as the French model did. Each section of his work follows the same pattern: proceeding from “us” to “them” geographically outward. The section opens with a discussion of Russian musical instruments and moves on to consider the Little-​ Russian ones (or those of other Slavic peoples) and then those of Russia’s Asian and Caucasian peoples, and ends with a description of the musical instruments of peoples beyond the Russian empire (Japanese, Papuan, etc.). Although Petukhov refers several times to Fétis’s Histoire générale de la musique depuis les temps les plus anciens jusqu’à nos jours, he does not himself subscribe to

Aryanism and Asianism Fétis’s evolutionary and racist ideas. On the contrary, when Petukhov comments on a source that records discouraging reaction to oriental music, he seeks to discredit the author’s authority on the subject. For example, after citing P. A. Solov’ev’s description of the opening music of an Arabic wedding as “somewhat wild” sounds followed by “monotonous singing,” Petukhov points out that Solov’ev never expressed any interest in Arabic music and was not even a specialist in music in general.54 By remarking that Solov’ev uttered his “personal impressions” rather than reporting the results of a scholarly inquiry, Petukhov encourages his readers to approach Solov’ev’s work skeptically. In Petukhov’s work, as in some other sources I will discuss, the visual presentation does not in any way express the primacy of the Russian people or their traditions; on the contrary, Russia’s Asian musicians in many cases receive a more appealing or, at least, a more aestheticized portrayal than the Russian musicians (see figs. 3.1 and 3.2). All the Asian instruments and the musicians shown playing them have an elegant appearance, the only difference being

Figure 3.1. A bandura player from Mikhail Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty Sankt-​Petersburgskoi Konservatorii (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperskoi AN, 1884), 9. Courtesy of the State Historic Public Library of Russia, Moscow

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102 Representing Russia’s Orient

Figure 3.2.  A Caucasian musician playing the dongara from Mikhail Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty Sankt-​Petersburgskoi Konservatorii (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperskoi AN, 1884), 49. Courtesy of the State Historic Public Library of Russia, Moscow

that the Asians (Caucasians) are portrayed sitting and playing their instruments on the floor. In addition, in the description of Asian or Caucasian instruments played within the Russian empire, Petukhov avoids offensive or pejorative terms. This is particularly noteworthy given his description of Papuan wind instruments, which stresses the people’s backwardness by pointing out that they “walk in the costumes of their forefather Adam.” He goes on to reject their performances as “wild.”55 In contrast, he suggests that all Russian subjects have developed beyond the primitive stage of evolution, thereby demonstrating the progressive effects of Russian domination. The empire’s subjects have presumably derived benefit from Russia’s civilizing mission. Like late-​ nineteenth-​ century French Republicans, who believed that the social environment influences people and their ability to learn, many Russians assumed the possibility of cultural assimilation of inorodtsy through education; Russian officials envisioned Russian subjects leaving behind their backward ways of life and joining Russia’s advanced

Aryanism and Asianism civilization.56 By the end of the nineteenth century a considerable number of Russian citizens of purely Asian or mixed Russian-​Asian origin became well known for their achievements.The painter Vasilii Vereshchagin (who had a half-​ Tatar mother), the half-​Tatar writer Alexander Kuprin, the prominent Russian orientologists Alexander Kazembek (of Azeri origin), and Nikolai Katanov of Abakan (now more commonly referred as Khakass) origin were all examples of successful cultural assimilation.57

Late-​Nineteenth-​Century Theories of Russia’s Asian Musical Heritage Alexander Famintsyn (1841–​96) The end of the nineteenth century brought a growing number of musical theories and ideas asserting that, despite the Asian provenance of Russian culture, Russians demonstrated their preeminence in their cultural development and in their ability to preserve the essence of ancient melodies. Alexander Famintsyn’s treatises—​ Drevniaia indo-​ kitaiskaia gamma v Azii i Evrope [The Ancient Hindu-​Chinese Scale in Asia and Europe], published in 1889, and Domra i skhodnye ei instumenty [The Domra and Related Musical Instruments], published in 1891—​reflect this turn toward nationalist rhetoric and the concept of developmentalism.58 Educated in the natural sciences at St. Petersburg University and in music at the Leipzig conservatory, Famintsyn offered a detailed theory of how Russian and Aryan cultures are related.59 Since he held prominent positions in the capital’s musical milieu—​he was a professor of music history and aesthetics at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, an editor of the periodical Muzykal’nyi sezon, and a secretary to the directorate of the Imperial Russian Musical Society—​his ideas were taken seriously and cited by many writers active at the turn of the century.60 Following Sokal’skii’s proposition that the pentatonic scale was “the most ancient formation of the general Aryan musical system,” Famintsyn, in his Hindu-​Chinese Scale, more blatantly affirms the ideas of a Russian-​Aryan legacy and of Russians’ remarkable aptitude for preserving ancient Aryan traits in the melodic structure of folk songs. After analyzing 137 folk melodies from all the continents identified in his German, French, and eastern European sources, Famintsyn concludes that the pentatonic scale, which he claims originated in Central Asia during “prehistoric” times, survived in the remote regions of northwest Europe, Asia, and Russia and was not influenced by Roman Catholic civilization.61 In order to establish the ancient origins of Russian culture and trace its affinities to Aryan civilization, Famintsyn strives to find a pentatonic structure in every Russian melody. He “discovers” ninety tunes based on the five-​tone

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104 Representing Russia’s Orient major scale in the Pal’chikov collection of Russian melodies, which consists of 124 transcriptions.62 Famintsyn’s analysis is inconsistent. Like Sokal’skii, he often deliberately ignores passing or neighboring tones and argues that songs lacking a pentatonic structure are the result of a corrupted or incorrectly transcribed melody.63 Consider, for instance, the Russian song “Eko serdtse” from Pal’chikov’s collection (ex. 3.4). Famintsyn cites two different variants of this song (variant 1 is on the upper staff and variant 2 is on the lower staff in ex. 3.4). He indicates notes that do not belong to a sol–​la–​si–​re–​mi scale with an “X.” The “O” designates all of the places where the f♯, which does not belong to the pentatonic collection, is avoided.64 It is difficult to understand why Famintsyn insists on the pentatonic structure of both variants of the song. In his example, notes that do not belong to the pentatonic scale make up approximately 15 percent of the tune. Just as in any diatonic tune, the notes that do not belong to a tonic triad are repeated less often. A few pages later, he explains how to grasp the pentatonic character of a melody that does not seem pentatonic at first glance. He writes that one should “discard from a melody any notes that do not belong to this [pentatonic] scale,” and if the melody still “maintains its essential character, then the existence of the [pentatonic] scale, hidden at first glance, becomes evident.”65 Famintsyn’s circular theory reveals his preconceived notion about the scale structure of the Russian folk song, and that for him all methods of analysis (including the cutting of “useless” notes) are appropriate so far as they confirm his theory. In order to “prove” the original pentatonic structure of a tune, Famintsyn sometimes compares two variants of the same song from different collections and argues that the version that follows the pentatonic structure is the original one. For instance, he considers two versions of the song “Malen’kii mal’chishechka,” one from Pal’chikov’s collection and another from Abramychev’s. Famintsyn claims that the folk songs collected by Pal’chikov in Ufa Province, in the village of Nikolaevskii, which is situated far from the main musical centers, preserved the ancient scale in all its “integrity” (tselostnost). Abramychev transcribed another variant of the same tune from Viatka Province, which Famintsyn considers derivative and corrupted since it Example 3.4.  Russian folk song “Eko serdtse,” cited in Famintsyn’s Ancient Hindu-​Chinese Scale, 122, mm. 1–​5

Aryanism and Asianism diverges from the pentatonic structure. Thus, Famintsyn suggests that a pentatonic structure can “serve as a criterion for the identification of a greater or lesser antiquity or for the purity of a tune.”66 Needless to say, Famintsyn’s methodology shapes his view of the lineage of Russian song and allows him to find a great number of “pentatonic” examples in other collections of Russian folk songs. For instance, in analyzing Rimsky-​ Korsakov’s collection of Russian songs, first published in 1877, the theorist suggests a number of corrections that, according to his system, would “recover the flow of a tune” and create “greater smoothness and uniformity.” Songs 71, 88, 92, 97, and 99 from Rimsky-​Korsakov’s collection would “gain in swing of melody [v razmakhe melodii]” if someone would introduce a “total order” in their structure,67 while other songs (nos. 71, 72, 75, 76, 77, 84, 88, 89, 92, 94, 97, and 99) would gain “quite an archaic character.”68 It is difficult to imagine how Famintsyn would “correct” tunes in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s collection, since Famintsyn does not discuss examples that sound perfectly diatonic. How, for instance, would he correct tune 76 (Russian folk song “Ne tesan terem,” ex. 3.5), in which the notes of the first, second, and fourth scale degrees appear four to eight times (while the third and the fifth occur twice as often)?69 As for Famintsyn’s analysis of inorodtsy songs, such as the Tatar or Kyrgyz, he treats them as being essentially similar to any other Russian or European songs. For instance, he considers the two examples of Kyrgyz songs taken from Levshin’s Opisanie kirkiz-​kazach’ikh ord (1832) to be purely pentatonic, suggesting an alternative reading without a passing g (indicated with a question mark), which “incidentally breaks the main 5-​tone scale” (ex. 3.6).70 It is remarkable that in his discussion of the musical examples derived from Russian Asians, Famintsyn does not use any scornful or pejorative adjectives.71 This probably reflects the Russians’ sympathetic attitude toward the Kyrgyz people, many of whom, by the end of the nineteenth-​century, were considered civilized, as they were educated in Russia.72 Besides, because the Kyrgyz and other nomadic Central Asian peoples had been a part of the Russian empire for Example 3.5.  Russian folk song “Ne tesan terem,” from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sbornik 100 russkikh narodnykh pesen, part 2, 72–73

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106 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 3.6. Two Kyrgyz songs, cited in Famintsyn’s Ancient Hindu-​Chinese Scale, 65

a long time, calling them “savage” or “uncivilized” would imply that Russia’s civilizing mission had failed. Thus Famintsyn, like most Russians, embraced Asian culture as an integral part of Russia’s identity, but unlike Petukhov and Sokal’skii, he deliberately chose to see Russian culture as strongly affiliated with ancient Asia with its uncorrupted pentatonic structure. Several other points in Famintsyn’s work contradict Sokal’skii’s arguments. First, Famintsyn disagrees with Sokal’skii’s belief that the leading note stemmed from music of Russia’s southern and eastern neighbors, claiming rather that it was introduced to Russian melody via the European music tradition.73 By rejecting Sokal’skii’s theory of eastern roots of the leading note, Famintsyn implies that at a later stage (the time of the Crusades) Russian culture was more open to European influences and that Russia’s contact with Asian civilization only occurred in the ancient period. Second, Famintsyn rejects Sokal’skii’s hypothesis regarding the development of music in phases and proposes yet another theory of musical scale development, also in three stages: (1) “the most ancient stratum” was the general Aryan musical five-​tone system; (2) the newer stratum was the seven-​tone system derived from Gregorian chant; and (3) the newest stratum is major-​minor music.74 Third, unlike Sokal’skii, who prefers to stay away from comparative musicology and does not refer to any specific sources of Asian music, Famintsyn draws on resources that were commonly available during his time, indiscriminately gathering them from all over the world, including cultures from geographically remote areas. For example, just fifteen pages into c­ hapter  5, describing the “5-​tone scale in [the music of the] Mongols,” Famintsyn manages to discuss the modal structure of music in China, Japan, Malaya, Siberia, the Urals, the Caspian Sea, and even Papua New Guinea.75 Throughout the book, alongside examples culled from Central Asian music, he also provides “pentatonic” examples from South Asian, Irish, Scottish, Finnish, Moravian, Slovakian, Swiss, Mongol, Chinese, Japanese, Malayan, Greek, Polish,

Aryanism and Asianism Lithuanian, Breton, Serbian, and Czech traditions (albeit listed in his chosen order).76 At this point, he painstakingly telescopes the enormous complexity of the Asian and non-​Asian music traditions into a formal discussion of the modal structure of certain tunes, which confirms, in his eyes, his reductive and tendentious theory. His interpretation of the folk songs he has used to produce his text encourages his readers to perceive Asians as members of a single race rather than as a multitude of different national and ethnic groups. What’s more, his musical examples are linked to each other, ostensibly through scientifically proven axioms (yet invariably aimed to fit the evidence to the desired conclusion). His speculations about this extraordinary body of music, most of which he had probably never experienced aurally, raise serious questions about his method and conclusions. Nonetheless, because of Famintsyn’s equally reductionist treatment of Asian, Russian, and European musical examples, it would be unfair to blame him for promoting an Orientalist attitude. His approach to music as an abstract subject is consistent with his chosen preference for diagrammatic analysis, and as such was intended to work for all peoples and nations. Thus he cannot be accused of creating undue stereotypes about Asian cultures in particular. In fact, Famintsyn’s writing and approach to music analysis resembles that of early German comparative musicology, one of four subdivisions of systematic musicology, according to Guido Adler’s 1885 definition of music science.77 Although in his book Famintsyn does not explicitly refer to Adler’s celebrated article on comparative musicology, he adopts his methods of analysis: “comparing of tonal products, in particular the folksongs of various peoples, countries and territories, with an ethnographic purpose in mind, grouping and ordering these according to the variety of [differences] in their characteristics.”78 Famintsyn’s work also shares two key concerns of comparative musicology: “first, a concern with the origins of musical features,” and second, a belief that such “origins may be revealed through the study of tones, scales and intervals.”79 Famintsyn’s research, like early studies in comparative musicology, appears to consist of a secondhand, “armchair” study and analysis, produced under “laboratory-​type conditions,” of material originally collected and published primarily by amateur ethnographers.80 In Famintsyn’s Hindu-​Chinese Scale, one can also find a hidden ideological message that underlies many European comparative musicological studies of this period: the sense of superiority over indigenous cultures.81 In ­chapter 2, devoted to the discussion of “how the scales of folk tunes come into being and become established,” he draws a clear line between the music of “primitive,” “semi-​cultural,” or “savage” peoples and the music of presumably more culturally “advanced” peoples. Those on the lowest level of development could only create music with a limited number of notes in a scale.This, he suggested, could result in melodic monotony, repetitiveness, and “poverty [limited range] of the

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108 Representing Russia’s Orient intervals used in a tune.”82 Famintsyn’s statements about the link between the number of notes used in a scale and a peoples’ cultural development, in fact, recalls Fétis’s theory that the musical aptitude of a people could be judged by the number of notes used in their scales. Like Fétis, one of the most influential nineteenth-​century music critics, Famintsyn believed that musical systems could shed light on the racial or ethnic origins of music: he connected particular scales with certain peoples or even races.83 However, Famintsyn associated the pentatonic scale with the Aryan musical system, while Fétis believed that the pentatonic scale was used exclusively by members of the “yellow race.” Peoples belonging to the Aryan race, according to Fétis, preferred scales with microtones, since the “nervous sensibility of ancient Aryans . . . needed a multitude of intonations . . . and a great quantity of nuances to express the passionate movements of the soul.”84 Among the examples Famintsyn uses to characterize the music of “semi-​ cultural” or “savage” peoples, he includes melodies transcribed from peoples living far from Russia in the Friendly Islands (now Tonga) and the Caribbean, as well as from “Australian savages” and the “Eskimo.”85 Conversely, Russians are positioned on the other side of the continuum of cultural development. This is because Russians created a repertoire of “drawn-​out tunes [protiazhnaia pesnia],” which assumed a more developed melodic and structural form that reflected the “endless wide open space and mirror-​like surface of our fields and steppes, the ‘wide expanse’ of our strong rivers.”86 This statement about Russian song being influenced by a particular environment reveals Famintsyn’s connection with another important school of thought—​ethnology.87 Famintsyn acknowledges his interest in ethnology in his preface by enthusiastically citing one of the leading figures of the Berlin school of ethnology:  Rudolf  Virchow.88 Virchow, who was politically liberal, believed in the sameness of all human individuals and their capacity to “realize a potential for intellectual development.”89 He argued that the physical differences among peoples and their distinguished cultural character were a result of the climates in which they lived. Famintsyn, too, believed that Russian song reflected the natural environment associated with Russia’s open space, assuming that if Russians had resided in a different land, their songs would have had a different character.90 Another of V   irchow’s ideas, that “all European people that have Aryan roots came here from the Orient” also runs throughout Famintsyn’s book.91 Besides some obvious references to ethnology and comparative musicology, Famintsyn’s work draws on another important theoretical framework developed in the Berlin school of ethnology:  diffusionism. German diffusionists believed that civilization and cultural traits were diffused from a limited number of cultural areas, or Kulturkreise, rather than being invented independently of one another. The main goal of diffusionists was to uncover the history of

Aryanism and Asianism humankind through the comparison of traits from different areas and trace their spread.The basic assumption that societies developed due to constant migration and environmental adaptation resulted in diffusionists’ treatment of the history of humankind as one unit.They had no objection to attributing similar cultural traits to peoples in order to connect those of geographically distant regions.92 Diffusionist approaches to cultures seem to have influenced Famintsyn’s preoccupation with the spread of the Aryan scale, as well as his treatment of geographically remote cultures and their music systems, assuming that they came from one source. But he made an error common to all extreme diffusionists: he mistook analogy for homology of features.93 Only two years separate Famintsyn’s Hindu-​Chinese Scale and his next work, on the domra, a Russian plucked-​string instrument: Domra i skhodnye ei instrumenty russkogo naroda [The Domra and Related Musical Instruments of the Russian People]. However, the language and tone of the later work suggests Famintsyn’s growing belief in Russian cultural prominence and higher rank from an evolutionary perspective.94 Although in Domra he continues to speculate on the existence of a common Aryan root for both the Russian and Asian peoples and claims that the domra, kobza, and bandura came to Russia from the East, his approach to Russian and Asian instruments confirms his prejudices about Asian music. Like many of his contemporaries, he views Asian culture as originally civilized and now in decline. This is evident from his descriptions of Asian instruments and performance practices. While for most Russian (and Little-​Russian) instruments he supplies a physical description and provides a detailed account of their histories (documenting where and in what context they are mentioned in earlier sources), he discusses Asian musical instruments only in terms of their shapes and tunings. In addition, while accounts of Asian musical practices appear ad hoc and are usually very brief, Russian performance practices receive detailed consideration. Besides describing particular styles of performance, Famintsyn deliberates on various Russian instruments’ aesthetic functions, repertoires, and associated scales, and even supplies the names of performers. Some instruments, such as the bandura and guitar, are accorded greater importance, revealing a preference for their purely instrumental repertoire and for what a nineteenth-​century theorist would regard as their elevated, “more artistic” (that is, nonutilitarian) function.95 In addition, in discussions of Russian (and Little-​Russian) European instruments, Famintsyn often employs expressions—such as “artistic” and “superlatively virtuosic performance” or “excellent technique of performance”—that suggest a high level of perfection and thus a high degree of civilization.96 In an appendix, he proves his point by presenting some musical pieces, ranging from simple balalaika tunes and relatively simple bandura pieces to virtuoso guitar arrangements. Such a profusion of musical examples suggests the expressive

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110 Representing Russia’s Orient possibilities inherent in the development of European instruments and their ability to attain the highest level of “art.”97 No musical examples appear in the discussion of Asian instruments, nor is there any discussion of repertoire, performers, their techniques, or the instruments’ historical development or legacy. One might assume that the author simply lacked information on these instruments. Indeed, as I  discussed in ­chapter  2, specialized ethnographic literature describing inorodtsy music and presenting a substantial body of transcriptions of their melodies emerged only at the end of the 1880s.When Famintsyn was completing his Domra, there were no detailed writings on Asian music practices to consult.98 Meanwhile, articles with mostly distorted impressions and superficial descriptions of eastern music had abounded since the 1830s.99 Rather than identifying this problem, admitting his lack of knowledge, and thereby giving his readers an incomplete but fair picture of Asian culture (as Petukhov did), Faminstyn created an image that reinforced cultural stereotypes. By omitting important aspects of Asian music without comment, he created the impression of a lower level of cultural attainment. Interestingly enough, the visual representation of Asian musical instruments and performers in Famintsyn’s Domra seems not to be touched by evolutionist or developmental thought. Two Asian musicians—​a Buriat woman player and a Kyrgyz dumra player—​are portrayed on equal terms with two Little-​Russian bandura players (compare figs. 3.3 and 3.4 with figs. 3.5 and 3.6). Nothing in these pictures suggests an assumption of Russian or Little-​Russian cultural superiority, since the Asian musicians are presented in a more appealing and aestheticized manner:  while the bandura players are dressed quite casually and their facial features suggest their simple origins and are free from lofty emotions, the Asians are wearing elaborate costumes and traditional hats, and their facial features express self-​respect and an intense concentration on musical performance (notably the Buriat woman). At the beginning of the twentieth century, as I will show, the visualizing strategies for representing Russia’s Asian musicians changed. Photographs of musicians, which were believed to give objective information and were intended to educate the public, were manipulated in a way that revealed a certain degree of ethnic and racial prejudice. The analysis of Russian music theories shows that at the end of the nineteenth century there was widespread agreement that Asian culture was very influential in Russia, although opinions were divided as to its line of development. The two music historians I have discussed—​Sokal’skii and Famintsyn—​ argued that most examples of modern European music (except for traditional music in remote areas, such as that Armorica in France in the Brittany Peninsula) deviated significantly from their Aryan sources.100 Russian folk music on the other hand remained, as Sokal’skii put it, uncorrupted by “the

Aryanism and Asianism

Figure 3.3.  A Buriat woman playing a three-​string domra-​like instrument from Alexander Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891), 11. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

western European culture of higher classes,” since it “was created without any influence of Hellenic-​Roman civilization.”101 Famintsyn throughout his book also stressed that Russian folk songs in remote areas were not “diverted” from their “original and age-​old path.”102 Thus, the main idea of western European Aryanism—​the idea of “racial purity”—​was transformed in Russian discourse into the idea of cultural and musical purity, which supposedly could be traced in the structure of some Russian folk melodies. The myth about the preservation of the origins of Russian folk song could have been fostered for political reasons. Despite Russia’s decisive victory in the 1877–​78 Russo-​Turkish War, the Congress of Berlin (1878) undermined Russia’s reputation in the international arena. Many Russians were profoundly dissatisfied with the way the major European powers divided the map of eastern Europe, and this resulted in growing tensions between Russia and three other European countries—​Great Britain, Germany, and Austro-​Hungary. In

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Figure 3.4.  A Kyrgyz man playing the two-​string dumbra from Alexander Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891), 12. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

Figure 3.5.  A Cossack playing a seven-​string bandura from Alexander Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891), 138. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

Aryanism and Asianism

Figure 3.6. A blind bandura player from Alexander Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891), 143. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

this context, resistance against the western powers might have appealed particularly to Russian readers. On the one hand discourse about the destructive impact of western music based on the major-​minor system helped some Russian music writers to give vent to resentment and general indignation caused by the Congress of Berlin (as if everything from the West was destructive for Russia). Russian folk song’s supposed ability to resist the influence of the western musical system and preserve its original Aryan pentatonic structure may have been interpreted as evidence of Russia’s political potency and resistance against the West. On the other hand the myth about Russia’s stronger affiliation with the Aryans helped Russian elites to establish their connection with the Buddhist world, in turn facilitating Russian officials’ justification of further expansion to the East. In short, embracing an Asian or Aryan element as part of Russian identity seems to have offered official circles more advantages than disadvantages.

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114 Representing Russia’s Orient

Russian Nationalism, Representations, and New Attitudes toward Eastern inorodtsy After Russia’s disastrous loss in the Russo-​Japanese War and the Revolution of 1905, the ideas of Aryanism and Asianism were no longer in high demand. The general attitude toward Russia’s eastern neighbors changed due to the growing fears of the Yellow Peril. The official policies introduced by Nicholas II in his Manifesto of June 1907 reduced the rights of Russia’s inorodtsy and justified and promoted the ideology of “Russia for Russians”: “since it was created to strengthen the Russian state, the State Duma should also be Russian in spirit. The other nationalities of which the population of Our realm is composed should have their spokesmen in the State Duma, but they should not and will not be there in such number as to give them the possibility of decisive influence on purely Russian questions. In those border areas of the state where the population has not attained an adequate level of citizenship, elections to the State duma must temporarily be brought to an end.”103 This Manifesto called for the Russian Nationalists and representatives of the extreme Right to form a majority in the Third Duma and officially suppress all the rights and privileges of Russia’s western and eastern inorodtsy. Russia’s Official Nationalism, as it entered into its aggressive phase, was involving not only the tsar and his officials but also the people. A growing need to promote the discourse of Russian cultural preeminence emerged and influenced the modes of representation of Russia’s Asians in academic literature. “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nykh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom muzee v Moskve” [An Illustrated Guide to the Musical Instruments in the Dashkov Ethnographic Museum, Moscow], an article by Alexander Maslov, demonstrates how the ethnically inclusive liberal nationalism of the 1860s–​1870s gave way to the exclusive nationalism, with clearly racial overtones, of the early twentieth century.104 The manipulation achieved by the photographic images offered in Maslov’s article demonstrates how visual representations of Russian and Asian musicians transformed the article’s textual message.

Alexander Maslov (1877–​1914) Maslov’s description of instruments from the Dashkov Ethnographic Museum in Moscow was published in 1911 in the second volume of the MEK’s Trudy.105 In this article Maslov followed the European/​Russian tradition of classifying musical instruments, which ascribed string instruments to a category of more sophisticated ones and hence associated them with civilized peoples. Like Petukhov, Maslov starts his description of instruments with the string group, proceeds to wind instruments, and ends his discussion with percussion. However, unlike Petukhov, Maslov does not proceed from Russian (or Slavic)

Aryanism and Asianism instruments to those of Russia’s inorodtsy or those of other eastern peoples outside Russia. In a given section that deals with a given group of instruments, Maslov presents a mixture of Russian, Slavic, Kyrgyz, Central Asian, Finnish, and Sino-​Japanese specimens, as well as exemplars of musical instruments from the Caucasus, Siberia, and Sunda Islands. It is likely that such a mixture was dictated by the arrangement of instruments at the Dashkov Museum, as each instrument is given an ordinal number (there being 237 instruments in all). A short overview of the history of the Dashkov Museum is in order here, since it will shed light on the ideology of the 1860s underlying the museum’s exhibits and will help not only to trace the change in Russian officials’ understanding of the place of the inorodtsy in the empire but also to demonstrate the transformation of Russians’ own self-​identification.The Dashkov Ethnographic Museum was founded after the All-​Russian Ethnographic Exhibition was held in Moscow in 1867.106 As Nathaniel Knight points out, the main organizers of the exhibition—​ Anatolii Petrovich Bogdanov and Sergei Maksimov—​ envisioned it as a microcosmic display of the Russian empire: “while the peoples portrayed in the displays might be wild and exotic ‘others’ they remained Russia’s ‘others,’ internal aliens whose character and lifestyles constituted a part of the overall might and diversity of the empire.”107 However, a characterization of the empire as a mere conglomeration of diverse peoples would satisfy neither the organizers of the project nor its public. As articulated by Maksimov in the newspaper Golos, the exhibition sought to underline the strength of the Russian people by presenting them as “a single force” able to “organize a state and rule over . . . a multitude of ethnically diverse peoples.”108 Nevertheless, according to the press reception, the exposition’s ideological imperative was not successfully conveyed. The Great-​Russian displays were judged particularly inadequate in their portrayal of the strength of a nation that was allegedly able to “draw together all the otherwise disparate parts of the Russian people and  .  .  .  mightily assimilate the surrounding aliens.”109 Strikingly, the catalogue listing the specific displays never identified Russians as an ethnic group; the Russians were listed under the category “East Slavs,” identified only by their specific province of origin.110 Similarly, the exposition of musical instruments, scattered in different sections of the exhibition, also failed to emphasize the preeminence of the Russian people. In the very first description of musical instruments displayed at the exhibition, Aleksei Vladimirskii also identified all Little-​Russian or Belorussian instruments by province, not ethnicity, following the same logic as other exhibition’s exponents.111 Among more than forty instruments of people (mostly inorodtsy) living in Russia, only one instrument of the wind group, the simplest sopilka, was presented as Little-​ Russian. It is remarkable that forty years later, when Maslov wrote his article, he did not question the absence of a Great-​Russian category of instruments in the museum’s catalogue and did not consider it important to add a group of

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116 Representing Russia’s Orient instruments designated “Russian.” Except for one balalaika, all Russian instruments, such as the gusli, lira, pipes, shepherd’s horns, sopilkas, and zhaleykas, were identified exclusively by region rather than by ethnicity. Paradoxically, in spite of being the titular nationality of the empire, Russians were presented as a group divided among different regions, which weakened the image of them as a united and homogenous nation. A possible explanation might be found in the Ethnographic Division of IRGO, which, like Great Britain’s Ethnological Society and Anthropological Society, enunciated a policy of interest in ethnic minorities. A  considerable number of members of the IRGO’s Ethnographic Division (of non-​Russian ancestry), as was discussed in ­chapter 2, envisioned the Russian empire as an amalgam of ethnically diverse peoples and considered the preservation of cultural and material artifacts of less developed peoples, whose existence was threatened by progress, to be the primary task of ethnography. The Russian tradition of literary works imbued with ethnographic details—​ part of Russian culture and a major influence on the perception of Russian national identity—​ may also have contributed to the regionalist view of Russia. (Many Russian poets and writers who traveled to the Caucasus, such as Pushkin, Lermontov, and Tolstoy, included in their poems and novels realistic descriptions of ways of living, or byt, that were similar to those written by ethnographers.) As Catherine Clay has observed, the ethnographic reports written in the 1850s and 1860s by writers working for government-​sponsored journals “contributed to the rethinking of the Official Nationality formula and, potentially, the recognition of legitimate diversity.”112 These writers hoped to cultivate an ideology that would replace the older model of Official Nationality (which consisted of the three tenets of “Orthodoxy,” “autocracy,” and “nationality” or “folk”) with a model that would “acknowledge regional diversity and recognize the authority of local tradition.”113 The text of Maslov’s “Illustrated Guide” fits into the tradition of Russian literary ethnography and conforms to the pattern of representation of the empire’s people that was developed in the Ethnographic Division of IRGO. In addition to the Russian literary and ethnographic traditions evident in the article, Maslov’s work also resonates with the European (particularly French) system of categorization and ascription of instruments to a certain level of cultural development, as described by Pasler.114 At the beginning of the description of each group, Maslov generally comments on the instruments’ cultural position, in a spirit similar to Fétis’s and Chouquet’s works on musical instruments.115 Just like his French counterparts, Maslov believes that the instruments of the string group are more complex (the bowed strings being the most sophisticated), while wind instruments are found in cultures of all primitive peoples, “no matter how low the level of their culture.”116 The percussion instruments played a prominent role in accompanying dances and religious

Aryanism and Asianism ceremonies among people who “did not attain high culture.”117 It is important to note that Maslov regards most eastern instruments as highly cultivated. He especially praises Arabic, Persian, Hindu, and Chinese cultures for possessing a great variety of bowed instruments. He even ascribes to the zurnai—​a wind “instrument spread throughout Asia”—​a quite advanced position, since it had a highly sophisticated mechanism and was an “ancestor of an improved [European] oboe.”118 It is bewildering that Maslov’s relatively high esteem for Asian cultural capital is in sharp dissonance with the article’s visual representation of Asian musicians. It seems that the author of the article had nothing to do with the compiling, arrangement, or captioning of the photographs that accompany his own work, since he does not even refer to them in the text. I will consider the article’s textual-​visual discrepancies to clarify why and how the article’s written message is thrown into question by its visual examples. Although Maslov praises the diversity of Asian bowed string instruments and claims that they were all brought to Europe through Spain via the Arabs,119 the article presents only one image of an Asian musician holding a bowed string instrument. It is a Kyrgyz kobyz player, who represents the music culture of nomads living in the vast steppes of Central Asia (see fig. 3.7). The profound diversity of bowed instruments used by different ethnic groups living in Russia’s Asia (Maslov himself describes more than twenty types), their complexity and entirely different practices, are all reduced to one stereotype of a Kyrgyz kobyz player. Other images of Central Asian musicians appear in the section where Maslov describes wind instruments (see fig. 3.8). Out of five images of performers presented on that page, only one is holding a string instrument, and not a bowed one. The absence of images of bowed string instruments in the hands of the Central Asian musicians is highly suggestive and suspicious, since more than half of the bowed instruments described by Maslov in this section are from Central Asia. I will come back to this image of five musicians later to examine further the manipulations made by the article’s editor or publisher. To demonstrate the cultural inadequacy of Asian peoples and to contrast them with Russians, the article presents a picture of eighteen Ukrainian musicians gathered as if they were performers of one ensemble (fig. 3.9).120 The difference between ­figures 3.7 and 3.9 is indeed staggering. Although the bowed instrument held by the Kyrgyz player would be classified as being at the “highest stage of invention,” the image of the performer may have been seen as reinforcing a stereotype of nomadic peoples living in a primitive stage of development. The musician’s poor clothing and somewhat roughly made instrument, the background of grass and simple matting on which he is sitting, as well as the yurt behind him—​all suggest that he lives close to nature. All of the Ukrainian performers, in contrast, are shown wearing (knee-​high) boots, and some wear classy suits (the man right in the middle of the picture and another in the back row)

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118 Representing Russia’s Orient

Figure 3.7. A Kyrgyz kobyz player from Alexander Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nyh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom muzee v Moskve,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (Moscow, 1911), 2:228. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

or casual costumes, sometimes with white shirts. This picture demonstrates that the musicians all belong to middle-​class society and are more or less well-​to-​do. Since the picture of a Kyrgyz kobyz player appears at the beginning of a section on string bowed instruments and the picture of the Ukrainian ensemble is placed at the end of the same section, Maslov’s readers easily could have imagined—​or even envisioned—​a trajectory of how the original stage of a solo (or semicultural) performance developed into collective (or civilized) music making. Not only image of the kobyz player but also the other image of five

Figure 3.8.  Central Asian musicians and musical instruments from Alexander Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nyh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom muzee v Moskve,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (Moscow, 1911), 2:249. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

120 Representing Russia’s Orient

Figure 3.9. Ukrainian kobzar players and “Troista music” ensemble from Alexander Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nyh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom muzee v Moskve,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (Moscow, 1911), 2:238. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

Asian musicians present musicians playing solo instruments, suggesting to the reader that the music culture of Russia’s Asian inorodtsy had not developed ensemble performance, which requires rhythmic and melodic coordination and demonstrates the attainment of a higher cultural level. Nothing could be further from the truth. The picture of the Ukrainian musicians, which was taken in 1902 at the Twelfth Archeological Conference in Kharkov, included several different ensembles and solo bandura and lira performers from different regions, including the provinces of Kharkov, Poltava, and Chernigov.121 From the program of the concert in which they all participated we learn that most of the pieces (historical dumas or satirical songs) were sung by one performer who accompanied himself on bandura or lira; some religious psalms were performed in a small ensemble of two or three performers; and only the last number in the concert involved all the musicians.122 Besides this picture taken at the concert, at least two other photographs were published in the Russian Musical Gazette and most likely available for reproduction: one presented a solo performer (Ivan Zozulia, a lira player) and another showed three bandura players from different provinces (Mikhailo Kravchenko,Terentii Parkhomenko, and Petro Drevchenko).123 None of these photographs seems to have appealed to the editor or publisher of Maslov’s

Aryanism and Asianism article; rather, the picture of a large orchestra was chosen for a clearly strategic purpose:  to underline cultural difference between the European and Asian parts of Russia. The very same approach of partial representation of the truth was adopted for the selection of photographs of five Central Asian musicians (fig. 3.8). All these images were taken from the ethnographic part of Turkestanskii Albom [Turkestan Album] and arranged in a quite specific way.124 The Turkestanskii Albom was prepared in 1871–​72 by A. L. Kun by an order of Governor-​General von Kaufman. It consists of six large volumes of more than twelve hundred photographs, twenty-​one watercolors, fourteen architectural plans, and thirteen military topographical maps, covering Central Asian history, archaeology, ethnography, and industry.125 Although this album had a very limited circulation (only six or seven copies), pictures from it were reproduced (and redrawn) in many other nineteenth-​ century books, including Petukhov’s Narodnye muzykal’nye instrumenty and Famintsyn’s Domra (discussed earlier).126 The ethnographic part of the Turkestan Album consists of more than twenty photographs of Central Asian musicians and entertainers, among which there are several snapshots of musicians playing bowed instruments. One of the

Figure 3.10.  Central Asian musicians from Turkestanskii Al’bom. Po rasporiazheniiu turkestanskogo general-​gubernatora general-​ad”iutanta K. P. fon Kaufmana 1-​go. Chast etnograficheskaia: Tuzemnoe naselenie v russkikh vladeniiakh Srednei Azii: Sostavil A. L. Kun. 1871–​1872 g (St. Petersburg: Lit.Voenno-​Topogr. Otdela Turkest.Voen. Okruga, 1871–​72), pt. 2, vol. 2, pl. 82, nos. 262–​69, Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, reproduction numbers LC-​DIG-​ppmsca-​09953-​0 0001 to 00008, digital file

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122 Representing Russia’s Orient pages of the Album presents eight photos of musicians playing different instruments: five of them hold string instruments (three of which are bowed), and three of them are playing wind instruments (see fig. 3.10). Of the eight pictures on this page, the editor or publisher of Maslov’s article chose the simplest instruments (a surnai player—​first row, second from the left; and a nai player—​ second row, second from the right) to represent Central Asian culture. Although the images of those performing the gidzhak, kamancha, and kauz, all bowed string instruments, are all found on the same plate of the Album, they seem to have been carefully omitted from the images accompanying Maslov’s article, perhaps so that the reproduced photographs would not suggest the existence of an advanced music practice in Asia. The other two photographs that accompanied Maslov’s article were taken from the set of pictures on the next plate in the Album:  a dutar player (first row, third from left) and a surnai performer (middle of first row) (see fig. 3.11). Again, the snapshots on the same page of the Album representing the Asian string instrument group (second row, first picture from the left) have been

Figure 3.11.  Musicians and musical instruments from Turkestanskii Al’bom. Po rasporiazheniiu turkestanskogo general-​gubernatora general-​ad”iutanta K. P. fon Kaufmana 1-​go. Chast etnograficheskaia: Tuzemnoe naselenie v russkikh vladeniiakh Srednei Azii: Sostavil A. L. Kun. 1871–​1872 g (St. Petersburg: Lit.Voenno-​Topogr. Otdela Turkest.Voen. Okruga, 1871–​72), pt. 2, vol. 2, pl. 83, nos. 270–​75, Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, reproduction numbers, LC-​DIG-​ppmsca-​09953-​0 0009 to 00014, digital file

Aryanism and Asianism

Figure 3.12.  Ensemble of Central Asian musicians from Turkestanskii Al’bom. Po rasporiazheniiu turkestanskogo general-​gubernatora general-​ad”iutanta K. P. fon Kaufmana 1-​go. Chast etnograficheskaia: Tuzemnoe naselenie v russkikh vladeniiakh Srednei Azii: Sostavil A. L. Kun. 1871–​1872 g (St. Petersburg: Lit.Voenno-​Topogr. Otdela Turkest.Voen. Okruga, 1871–​ 72), pt. 2, vol. 2, pl. 84, nos. 276–​81, Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, reproduction numbers, LC-​DIG-​ppmsca-​09953-​0 0015 to 00020, digital file

ignored, and only the images of the simpler instruments accompany Maslov’s article. The last image used with his article was taken from the next plate of the Album. It is a picture of a young female or male dancer—​bacha—​playing a percussion instrument (see fig. 3.12, second row, second picture from the left).127 Out of the six photographs in the Album’s plate, the article’s editor chose the one that does not capture the variety of music-​making practices in Central Asia. Significantly, the caption of this plate in the Turkestan Album—​“Truppa muzykantov” [A troupe of musicians]—​indicates that the viewer’s main focus should be on the ensemble performance presented in the two pictures in the top row, while the other two musicians, along with a dancer and a clown in the bottom row, present a rather incomplete part of a greater picture. It is likely that these two pictures representing Central Asian ensembles were not included in Maslov’s article because they would have lessened the cultural gap dividing people of Russia’s eastern and western domains and would have destabilized the stereotype of Russian Asians.

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124 Representing Russia’s Orient Another important detail signaling the difference between European and Asian subjects of the empire can be seen in clothing. In European Russia, shabby clothing on Asian musicians would have been considered an important sign of their social rank, or would have “revealed” the fact that their society ascribed lower social status to them.128 As noted, all of the Ukrainian musicians look well-​dressed, suggesting their belonging to the middle or professional classes, while all of the Asian musicians, with the exception of one percussion player, look rather impoverished (particularly the top two Asian musicians in fig. 3.8). Although their bodies are covered with clothes and traditional hats, what they wear can be described only as rags. The average reader of Maslov’s article could have concluded that these people lagged far behind Slavic musicians with regard to economic level, educational attainment, and standard of living. Some readers may have even exclaimed: “how striking is the contrast between these dirty and poor musicians from the faraway land and those of our own breed!” Through the repetition of similar images of poorly dressed musicians holding rather simple and roughly made instruments, the article constructs a certain notion of their status. It deliberately avoids other contemporary photographs of Central Asians that present a variety of musical practices and the sophistication of Asian culture. It must be stressed that in the pool of photographs in the Turkestan Album, as well as in the August Eichhorn collection, available in Moscow from 1885, and in the Al’bom Kavkaz i Sredniaia Aziia [Caucasus and Central Asia Album], published in 1890s, a number of images can be found that do not underline a sharp cultural and social difference of Russia’s inorodtsy.129 Thus, even though Maslov’s article does not contain pejorative statements about the culture of Asian peoples, an analysis of the pictures of musicians that accompany the article reveals some features that might have led its readers to conclude that the culture of the empire’s Central Asian subjects was limited to a lower level of development. Despite the popular belief that photographs reflected reality and guaranteed an objective and accurate representation, the selective arrangement of photographs here had the effect of limiting knowledge of Asian music practice. It is very likely that Maslov himself did not participate in the construction of the visual narrative presented in his article and was not involved in the selection of the photographs for it. It could have been an editor’s or a publisher’s choice. Some instances of nineteenth-​century French book and journal illustration practices suggest that publishers actively participated in choosing pictures for photographically illustrated books on the Orient.130 To satisfy the expectations of a mass audience, the publishers chose the photographs that underscored geographical and temporal distance as well as cultural difference between the western and eastern worlds. In the Russian context, the distancing of Central Asian culture from that of European Russia, stressed in visual representation,

Aryanism and Asianism had far-​reaching implications related to the changes in the minority policies introduced at the beginning of the twentieth century. A number of important historical events, political reforms, and social restructurings occurred between the article’s conception and its publication. The first time Maslov presented his research on instruments at the Dashkov Museum was at a meeting of the MEK in September 1904, or before the Revolution of 1905 and Russia’s disastrous defeat at Port Arthur during the Russo-​Japanese War; the decision to publish the article with drawings of instruments was made in March 1906, during a short period of tolerance toward the cultural aspirations of Russia’s inorodtsy. The decision to add photographs to the article was taken only after Nicholas II approved the allocation of 2,000 rubles to the publication of the second volume of the MEK’s Trudy.131 The printing of this volume started only at the end of 1907, after the tsar had issued his Manifesto of June 1907 cited earlier. The Manifesto clearly draws the line between “us” and “them” by transforming the composition of the Third Duma and excluding all the Muslims living in the steppes regions and in Turkestan from Russian policy-​making.132 In defense of Maslov’s historical reputation, it should be stressed that he probably sensed the growing sentiment of Russian nationalism and disagreed with it, since he left a number of statements disputing the racial and cultural superiority of Russians. In an article published in Muzyka i zhizn a year prior to his “Illustrated Guide,” he tried to prove that Russia’s Asian subjects were worthy of more careful attention and study.133 In particular, he revealed his deep appreciation of Russian Asian nomadic culture by claiming that the dumbra and kobyz of the Kyrgyz people were the prototypes of the modern balalaika and violin.134 “If one did not take into consideration the music of inorodtsy,” Maslov stated boldly, then European Russia “would be considered one of the poorest countries in terms of musical instruments.”135 All Russian instruments, except for the original horns with reeds (rozhki s pisshchalkami) and zhaleikas, according to Maslov, came from outside European Russia. This statement reveals the Russian ethnographer’s lack of interest in promoting Russian nationalistic views; Maslov preferred not to mix Russia’s political position of power in the East with cultural matters. Furthermore, he attacked the modern methods of ethnographic studies based on the comparison of cultures. He argued that it was unfair to attempt to draw parallels between Asian, African, or American traditional musical instruments and modern European ones, such as the grand piano. All music cultures should be placed on an equal footing; one should not compare Asian traditional instruments with European instruments that had undergone the influence of modern progress. Only “primordial European instruments”—​either the prototypes of modern instruments or instruments that did not change much from the ancient times—​could be included in a comparative study. Finally, at the very end of this essay, he comes to the conclusion,

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126 Representing Russia’s Orient astonishing for his time, that western European music, despite its “great heritage,” cannot be “the model for the music of the future” since it has not yet absorbed the best musical features of all the peoples of the globe. “Modern cultivated art,” he writes, lacks characteristically vital features that are present in the music of some non-​European peoples.136 Thus Maslov’s methodological and ideological approach to the analysis of European and Asian musical instruments is not colored by the racist discourse characteristic of many examples of European and Russian writing. Nineteenth-​century Russian music writers actively participated in the construction of a discourse on Russia’s cultural affiliation with the Aryan race. An analysis of Russian fin-​de-​siècle works on musical instruments and scales reveals that there was a widespread agreement that Aryan or Asian culture was far more influential in Russia than that of Europe. Some writers (such as Sokal’skii and Famintsyn) argued that the Russian connection to the East could be traced in the modal structure of folk melodies, while others (like Maslov) believed that Russian musical instruments were proof of Russia’s Asian heritage. In the late nineteenth century, the growing popularity of the Aryanist and Vostochniki [Asianist] movements, which attracted many members of Russia’s political elite and educated society, might be an important factor in the recognition of Asian culture. However, admiration for the Asian past and pride in this affiliation did not necessarily preclude a stereotyped view of contemporary Asian culture. As the analysis of works by Famintsyn reveals, some Russian writers presented Asian musical instruments as fixed objects unable to develop in time and replicated habitual European categorizations of musical instruments that suggested evolutionary value judgments and reinforced notions of Russian superiority. The writings of other authors (Petukhov and Maslov), however, exemplify a favorable attitude and even great reverence toward the culture of subjugated Asia. The types of sources I have discussed in the first part of this book (folk songs, ethnographies, and music theories), one way or another, all influenced, guided, and affected the mindsets of Russian composers. Some music scholars understood these sources critically, while others accepted them without question. In the pages to come, I will explore how Russian ethnographic sources shaped Russian composers’ perceptions and musical representations of Russia’s oriental “others.” Despite the overwhelming number of pejorative images of inorodtsy in the popular press, many composers affiliated themselves with the culture and music of Russia’s Orientals, often forgetting ethnic minorities’ social and political differences and sometimes mingling, combining, or confusing their own identities with those of inorodtsy.

Chapter 4

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient Now the fell voice of war is stilled, The Russian sword gained every chattel And every proud Caucasian killed In desperate and bloody battle, Spared neither by our Russian blood Nor armor charmed by magic forces Nor these high hills, nor those brave horses, Nor love of freedom wild and good. —Alexander Pushkin, Prisoner of the Caucasus (1820–​21)

R

ussian Orientalism was not conceived and theorized in Russia but in Europe, a fact widely accepted by modern scholars.1 As many Russian literary men, painters, and linguists traveled to Europe, they often studied with famous Orientalists. Three European schools of Oriental Studies—​ French, German, and English—​strongly influenced the first Russian scholars and literati.2 It is important to stress, however, that the first steps in the development of Russian oriental literature and art were made by followers of the French school.3 Rather than consulting sources in their original languages, Russian literati translated Arabic and Persian works from existing translations in French, a language in which they were already fluent. The Quran, as well as Arabic and Persian poetry and prose, including One Thousand and One Nights, were known in Russia from French translations by André Du Ryer and Antoine Galland. In addition, a number of articles on Middle Eastern literature written by famous French Orientalists, notably Simon de Sismondi and Amable Jourdain, were translated and published in early-​nineteenth-​century Russian journals, such as Vestnik Evropy [Herald of Europe], Syn otechestva [Son of the Fatherland],

128 Representing Russia’s Orient and Aziatskii vestnik [Herald of Asia]. Some notions and views that emerged in French Orientalist writings were adopted and developed by Russian thinkers and inspired Russian writers’ inquiries into Russia’s own Orient. Particularly, Sismondi’s ideas about the preeminence of medieval Arabic literature over that of Europe resonated in the writings of many early-​nineteenth-​century Russian literati, such as Decembrists Orest Somov and Alexander Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky and Orientalists Osip Senkovskii, Mikhail Bobrovskii, and Josef Kovalevskii.4 However, one important difference set Sismondi’s writings apart from the Russians’. The French Orientalist exclusively praised Arabic poetry of the past and considered the Arabic present state of culture to be in decline. Consequently, he charged the West, as Susan Layton would put it, with the task of “preserving the cultural treasures of a fallen civilization,” assuming a paternalistic role for a degraded East.5 Many early-​nineteenth-​century Russian writers, to the contrary, called for the celebration and acceptance of the present living traditions and characteristic features of all the peoples of the empire, Asian and European alike. Somov, for instance, in his work on Romantic literature published in 1823, envisioned the cultural heritage of peoples living in the outskirts of the empire—​Poles, Ukrainians, Tatars, Mongols, Samoyeds, and others—​as essential, with their variety and multiplicity, to the enrichment of Russian culture. One particular statement of his is worth quoting at length, since it vividly expresses his view on how different literary traditions would contribute to Russian literature: how many different countenances, mores, and customs present themselves to the inquiring gaze within the scope of the totality of Russia! Not to mention Russians themselves, here appear Little-​Russians, with their sweet songs and glorious memories, there the militant sons of the quiet Don and the courageous settlers of Zaporozh Sech; united by faith and ardent love for the fatherland, they all bear traits of difference in morals and appearance. And what if we cast our gaze at the borders of Russia, inhabited by the ardent Poles and Lithuanians, by peoples of Finnish and Scandinavian extraction, by the inhabitants of ancient Kolkhida, the descendants of immigrants who witnessed Ovid’s exile, by the remnants of the Tartars who once threatened Russia, by the many and varied tribes of Siberia and the islands, wandered by generations of Mongols, by the violent inhabitants of the Caucasus, by the northern Lapps and Samoyeds. . . . Not a single country in the world is as rich with such a variety of beliefs, legends, and mythology as Russia. . . . Without traveling outside their homeland, Russian poets can fly from the austere and dark legends of the North to the luxurious and resplendent imagination of the East, from the educated mind and taste of Europeans to the harsh and unfeigned manners of hunters and nomads.6

Here, one can detect the beginnings of what would become the prevailing late-​nineteenth-​century imperial attitudes regarding the inclusion, adoption, and transformation of the cultures and traditions of all the subjects of the empire. Unlike Europeans, who were fascinated with exoticism and the

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient cultural distinctions involved with it, many Russian writers tended to embrace the “other,” absorbing all differences into its identity.7 As Decembrist Wilhelm Küchelbecker (1799–​1846) suggested, “truly Russian” (russkii) poetry could be created only by assimilating “all the intellectual treasures of Europe and Asia.”8 The project to integrate the entire world into Russian culture, however, was virtually impossible to realize in the first half of the nineteenth century. Russia’s southern subjects living in the Caucasus and Asian peoples beyond the Ural Mountains, with few exceptions, were not carefully studied until later in the century; so artists (literati, musicians, and painters) did not possess much material from which to create an original depiction. The majority of early-​nineteenth-​ century Russian works homogenized most non-​ Slavic subjects, portraying them as a monolithic entity without geographical or ethnic distinctions. Indeed, in Russia, “oriental” referred to nearly every culture and people living outside (and sometimes even inside) European Russia and the West.The Arabs, Persians, Greeks, Caucasians, Tatars, and Central and East Asians, as well as Gypsies and Jews, were all marginalized into one group as “Orientals” or “Asians.” As the famous Russian literary critic Grigorii Gukovskii observed, early-​nineteenth-​ century Russian literature “wove together” literary devices borrowed from the Quran and the Bible, as well as stylistic traits from Persian poetry and Caucasian legends, “to constitute a singular image of the Orient.”9 However, from Alexander Pushkin’s poetry on, some defining features of the Russian Orient become more apparent, and the diversity of the local peoples was treated more carefully. Pushkin and his contemporaries Alexander Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky and Mikhail Lermontov encountered Russia’s inorodtsy when they spent time in the Caucasus: Pushkin and Lermontov were banished to “the south” for their poems, which the Russian autocracy found too revolutionary and challenging to the regime. Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky was also banished for participating in conspiracy and insurrection against the tsar. The three became interested in local traditions and either translated or asked their friends to translate some original songs from local languages, which then infiltrated the pages of their works, such as Pushkin’s Tsygany, Bestuzhev’s Ammalat-​Bek, and Lermontov’s Khadzhi-​Abrek.10 Two major events in Russian history—​the wars in the Caucasus and the Decembrist revolt—​were critical for the formation of a distinctly Russian discourse about the Orient. This chapter will focus on how the Decembrist movement, with its particularly favorable perception of Caucasian mountaineers, shaped the early-​nineteenth-​century view of oriental “others,” and how the growth of nationalism and imperial expansion, together with the influence of western European Orientalism, complicated the issue. Here I  delineate a category of purely Russian musical portraits of the “other,” which I  shall call “Decembrist Orient.” The repertoire of art songs written by Alexander Aliab’ev (1787–​1851), who befriended some Decembrists and was exiled to

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130 Representing Russia’s Orient the Russian-​Asian border because of his “dangerous” connections, will help identify musical elements that characterize the Decembrist Orient. Aliab’ev’s personal experience with authorities, many years in exile, and travel to the Caucasus—​during which he became acquainted with new sonorities, scales, and rhythms—​all resulted in the unique musical language he assigned to the oppressed non-​Russians living at the empire’s southern and eastern outskirts. Aliab’ev’s art songs with Caucasian subjects, based on his original transcriptions, allowed subjugated Russian peoples to be heard with their own musical and linguistic accents.To understand why and how Aliab’ev created such an original musical approach, we have to consider the political, historical, and social forces that coalesced in early-​nineteenth-​century Russia and the Caucasus, as well as the official relations and policies that shaped his perception of inorodtsy.

Wars, Nationalism, the Decembrist Revolt, and Decembrist Literature Russian rulers’ interest in the southern areas along the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea has grown exponentially since the reign of Catherine the Great (1729–​96).11 Controlled by numerous Caucasian states (some princely, some democratic) and by Persia and the Ottoman empire, the Caucasus was the homeland of many religiously, linguistically, and culturally diverse ethnic groups. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, taking advantage of the weakening of Persia and Turkey, Russia first annexed Georgia in 1801 and then proceeded to capture neighboring kingdoms in the south and northeast (see map 4.1). Under the pretext of protecting newly incorporated Christian subjects, Russia engaged in two wars with Persia.The first, in 1804–​13, ended with a Russian victory and the Treaty of Gulistan, passing to the Russian empire the vast territory of modern Azerbaijan, Dagestan, and Eastern Georgia. After the second war, in 1826–​28, Russia acquired the khanates of Erivan and Nakhichevan, with a Christian Armenian population in the south.When Aliab’ev traveled to the region in the early 1830s, the Russian army had captured and controlled Transcaucasia—the southern side of the Caucasus Mountains—and the northern region was still ruled by Muslims.12 With the Christian peoples of Transcaucasia, Russian policy-​ makers established a patron-​ client type of relationship. Members of the Georgian nobility received the same status as Russian nobles in 1801.13 Many members of the Georgian and Armenian political elite entered the local Russian system of administration and the army.14 However, the decision to grant nobility was not efficient in all regions. In the north, territory was divided between different ethnic groups, complicating the identification of local leaders and impeding the negotiation of power relationships. Many indigenous communities that resisted

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient

Map 4.1.  Russian Expansion in the Caucasus, 1801–​81.

Russian authority were completely exterminated. Following Russia’s successful campaign on the Black Sea in the Russo-​Turkish War of 1828–​29, Nicholas I  made it a goal for General Ivan Paskevich to “permanently pacify” the mountaineers or “annihilate those who do not submit” in the North Caucasus.15 While Russian contemporary politics represented the war in the Caucasus as the liberation of the Christian Georgians and Armenians from Muslim rule, the majority of Caucasian Muslim ethnic groups, including Circassians, Chechens, Kabardians, Kumyks, and dozens of other peoples, viewed the incorporation of the Caucasus as a violent conquest.16 The extraordinarily ethnically heterogeneous region of the North Caucasus mounted a strong armed resistance against the Russian invaders. From the mid-​ 1820s, the Dagestanis and Chechens united against Russia’s expansion under the banner of a holy war and managed to oppose Russia’s might for some forty years. Under the leadership of Imam Shamil (1797–​1871), an outstanding politician and military commander, these warriors became legendary in Russia and abroad and symbolized heroic resistance.17 Although after the capture of Shamil in 1859 Alexander II announced complete subjugation of the mountain tribes, different regions of the Caucasus persisted with guerrilla warfare through the 1860s and 1870s, culminating in the widespread revolt of 1877,

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132 Representing Russia’s Orient which coincided with the beginning of another Russo-​Turkish War. Therefore, throughout the nineteenth century the Russian army was in continuous need of military supplies in the Caucasus, and many Russian soldiers and officials were sent there against their will. Not surprisingly, from the time of Alexander I, the Caucasus gained special status as a “hot” or “southern Siberia” because it began to be used as a land of punishment for those who opposed the tsarist regime.18 In fact, the second decade of the nineteenth century was marked by a flood of Russian aristocrat-​Decembrists serving as infantry for the Russian side despite their very ambivalent feelings.19 “Decembrism” is a retrospective term for the movement that emerged in early-​nineteenth-​century Russian aristocratic circles as a reaction against the oppressive state structure and that resulted in a revolt on December 14, 1825. After the Russian army’s foreign campaigns and the defeat of Napoleon, many members of Russian’s aristocratic society became interested in western systems of governance, including British legislation and constitutional practices in the United States, France, and Spain.20 These aristocrats saw sharp differences between the Russian and European peasantry and realized that the living conditions of Russian peasants were not far from slavery.21 In 1814, those who desired political and social change started forming clandestine groups in St. Petersburg and small cities in Ukraine. Their members included people from Russia’s highest civilian and military ranks: Count Matvei Dmitriev-​Mamonov, Princes Sergei Volkonskii and Eugene Obolenskii, Baron Vladimir Shteingel, General Mikhail Orlov, Lieutenant Colonel Sergei Murav’ev-​Apostol, Major Vladimir Raevskii, Colonel Pavel Pestel, and poets Kondratii Ryleev, Ivan Pushchin, Anton Delvig, and Fedor Glinka. By the early 1820s, the movement had spread to several cities in Ukraine and Russia. Besides that, a number of separate secret societies that planned to overturn the autocracy and serfdom also appeared in the Russian periphery, in places that included Poland, Moldova, Belorussia, Lithuania, and the Caucasus.22 By 1825, all underground organizations had merged into two major branches—​southern and northern.23 Despite some obvious disagreements in their programs—​the southern division planned to establish republican order, while the northern division aimed to limit the tsar’s power by introducing a constitutional monarchy—​the members of both factions prepared a military coup d’état. They believed that only drastic measures could alter the present status quo.24 The unexpected death of Alexander II spoiled all their plans. On the day of the accession (December 14, 1825), when imperial troops gathered in Senate Square to prevent the senators from swearing allegiance to the new tsar, Nicholas had already administered the oath at daybreak, and it was too late to force them to renounce their loyalty. In addition, some key figures of the planned putsch did not perform their assigned tasks, so only half of the expected six thousand soldiers gathered in the square. Most of the soldiers did

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient not understand the aim of the insurrection: they thought they were gathering to proclaim their loyalty to Constantine, Nicholas’s elder brother, who had renounced the throne. The insurrection was doomed to failure. In addition to the huge number of soldiers who were killed on December 14, all the other participants were severely punished: five were hanged publicly, and the others were sent either to Siberia or the Caucasus.25 All later attempts at uprisings in Ukraine and Russia’s peripheral cities were also cruelly suppressed. A regiment of four thousand soldiers was formed from those who had rebelled in St. Petersburg and later in Chernigov (Ukraine) and was sent to join the acting army fighting in the Caucasus.26 Even individuals who had not taken part in the uprising but had befriended those who had were seriously affected: some were exiled (e.g., composer Alexander Aliab’ev), and others were put under restrictive surveillance (e.g., Alexander Pushkin). It must be stressed that despite the relatively small number of active Decembrists, the number of those who sympathized with their ideas was much larger.As Gukovskii points out, Decembrism was “a huge ideological movement that seized almost all members of the noble intelligentsia [dvorianskaia intelligentsiia] and created a whole worldview with its own literature.”27 Many Decembrists considered literature and poetry two of the most potent tools for raising popular consciousness about the tyranny of autocracy. In 1823, Ryleev and Alexander Bestuzhev started writing propaganda verses in the style of folk songs. The investigating commission criminalized the composition of these songs and brought serious charges against the poets.28 Poetry proved to be among the strongest means of spreading “seditious” antigovernment messages, not only before the uprising but also after. To avoid the extremely severe censorship imposed by the government, many Russian literati had to resort to what later became known as “Aesopian language,” or allegorical language that allows writers and their readers to communicate with each other through a coded system that conceals inadmissible content from the censor.29 This allowed the Decembrist poets to transmit their political views by associating the subjugated Caucasians, who fought for the natural rights of freedom, with the Decembrists, who also yearned for liberation from tsarist autocracy.30 Some Russian poets went so far as to identify themselves with their literary heroes, the non-​Russian victims of tsarist oppression: Mikhail Lermontov with Izmail-​Bei (a Circassian-​born Russian officer who deserts his regiment to join the anti-​Russian resistance forces), and Alexander Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky with Ammalat-​Bek (a Dagestani hero who murders his Russian friend in order to marry the irresistible Seltaneta).31 The images of mountaineers’ supposedly characteristic “savagery” and “barbarism” also had self-​ referential connotations.32 Aggressiveness and a proclivity for violence, which implied a lack of civil society in the Caucasus, became associated with liberty (vol’nost) in the Russian imagination. In

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134 Representing Russia’s Orient Decembrist literature, this state of social and political disorganization was transformed into a symbol of freedom from oppression.33 That is why for Pushkin and many other Russian writers the Caucasian warriors, despite their wildness and brutality, had appealing characteristics, such as vigor, grace, emotional authenticity, loyalty, and civic courage.34 What is more, the experiences of war in the Caucasus revealed for many that the Russians and the Circassians were equally violent, a revelation that destabilized Russia’s “civilized” identity. The European and Russian practice of dueling, described in Pushkin’s poem The Prisoner of the Caucasus, the decapitation of a bullock with one blow of a sword by General Ermolov, depicted in Bestuzhev-​ Marlinky’s Ammalat-​Bek, and the extermination of the local population by the Russian “beast of prey with bayonet” who “kills the children and the old folks” described by Lermontov in Izmail-​Bei—​ all suggested the relativity of notions of “civilization.” This “transition between ‘their’ violence and ‘ours,’ ” according to Susan Layton, “accentuated the Circassian status as an underground Russian self.”35 Certain types of violence appealed to the radicals of the 1800s–​1820s, usually associated with the notion of self-​sacrifice for a supreme idea. This developed into the “cult of war and death,” which was believed, as Gukovskii observes, to be typical of the cultures of Muhammadans and ancient Jews.36 The attraction of the Decembrist poets to the Orient also revealed itself through pseudotranslation, or “versification” (perelozhenie), of biblical texts and imitation of the Quran and the Psalms. Fedor Glinka, Alexander Pushkin, Wilhelm Küchelbecker, and many other poets wrote a number of poems “translated” from quasi-​ancient texts that in fact evoked certain issues related to modern social-​political problems.37 Decembrism in literature thus initiated the development of literary expression generally known as the “oriental style,” which, in Harsha Ram’s words,“functioned as a coded form of political opposition.”38 Like many contemporary educated men, Alexander Aliab’ev was deeply affected by the Decembrist literature: he set several Decembrist verses as art songs and composed an opera, Ammalat-​Bek, based on Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky’s story depicting complex interactions between the Russians and locals living in the Caucasus. Despite their sympathy toward the oppressed, some Russian writers never seemed to give up their feeling of European superiority and considered the subjugation of the Caucasus to be historically progressive. One of the most radical Decembrist leaders, Pavel Pestel, for instance, believed that some ethnic groups and social and state formations, such as Bessarabia, Crimea, and Georgia, as well as “predatory” (khishchnicheskie) and “rebellious” (buinyi) mountain-​ dwellers living in the North Caucasus, should give up their separate identities and merge into a “single united Russian people [edinyi russkii narod],” peacefully or by force.39 The most antiauthoritarian literary men paradoxically supported

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient Russian imperial expansion to the Muslim south.40 Pushkin’s epilogue to his Prisoner of the Caucasus, for example, has shockingly jingoistic lines celebrating imperial might and the conquest of the Caucasus. Lermontov, in his Izmail-​Bei, likewise advises subjugated people to identify themselves with their Russian masters: Be reconciled, Circassian! Both the west and the east, Will perhaps soon share your fate. The hour will come—​and you yourself will haughtily say: I may be a slave, but I am the slave of the king of the universe!41 A variety of factors contributed to this ambivalent attitude toward the Caucasus. Russia’s military encounter in the south coincided with an increasingly urgent sense of self-​ definition and with Russian intellectuals’ preoccupation with Russia’s position between the East and the West. On the one hand Russian elites, convinced of Russia’s military and cultural superiority over its southern neighbors, were able to reaffirm their European nature and entrust themselves with a special mission to protect the West from the “savage” invasions of Muslims in the North Caucasus. The annexation of the territories of Christian Georgians and Armenians allowed Russian officials to present imperial conquest as a necessary measure to protect these new citizens. On the other hand the idealized version of the West started to vanish after the war against Napoleon, which caused growing mistrust toward the European powers and to a certain extent brought together Russians of different social strata in patriotic defense of the fatherland. Russia’s long-​lasting complex of inferiority vis-​à-​vis the “civilized” European nations gradually gave way to nationalist pride in being different from the West. In sum, Russia’s early-​nineteenth-​century relations with and representations of its own Orient were contradictory and complex. In the next section, I consider Aliab’ev’s life and art songs, for he incorporated a wide range of the oriental visions of his time. Being receptive to an intricate historical and political atmosphere, he was able to create a new musical portrayal of the oriental “other” that was distinct from any popular western European one.

Aliab’ev and His Orient: LIFE AND ETHNOGRAPHIC EXPERIENCE Alexander Alexandrovich Aliab’ev was born in 1787 in Tobol’sk (western Siberia) into the family of a civilian governor.42 Nothing seemed to predict his future interest in Russia’s Asian subjects or his predisposition for ethnographic work. His father, Alexander Vasil’evich Aliab’ev, was an official

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136 Representing Russia’s Orient who served in Tobol’sk and then in Astrakhan (a city near the Caspian Sea) before finally establishing himself in St. Petersburg in a high civil position as a privy councilor (tainyi sovetnik).43 Information on Aliab’ev’s formal education is scattered; later he pointed out that, besides studying French and German, he had also studied geography, history, and mathematics.44 At the age of sixteen, he started taking piano, music theory, and composition lessons with Johann Henrich Miller, who taught a number of artists and members of high society in St. Petersburg, including the famous playwright and diplomat Alexander Griboedov. When Napoleon’s army invaded Russia in 1812, the Aliab’ev family was in Moscow, and the young Aliab’ev left his civil service position and joined the third Ukrainian Cossack Regiment. After Napoleon took Moscow, Aliab’ev first participated in a partisan war and later in the entry of Russian forces into Dresden, Leipzig, and Paris.45 In 1823, he left military service and settled in Moscow. Before the Decembrist revolt, he wrote music for a number of vaudevilles in collaboration with well-​known Russian composers, such as Aleksei Verstovskii and Mikhail Viel’gorskii. Some of these vaudevilles (Khlopotun, ili Delo mastera boitsia [Mr. Bustle, or He Works Best Who Knows His Trade]) became quite popular. An event on February 24, 1825, drastically changed Aliab’ev’s life. During a card game in Aliab’ev’s apartment, a certain T. M.Vremev lost a large sum of money and accused other players of being card sharks. Aliab’ev, in an attempt to stand up for the honor of his friends, slapped the accuser in the face. Three days later,Vremev suddenly died. Although the first autopsy indicated that he had died from a stroke, Aliab’ev was accused of manslaughter. In December 1827, after a three-​year investigation that proved neither his guilt nor his innocence, he was sentenced to exile in Siberia as a “person harmful to society.”46 Deprived of his noble title, military rank, and distinctions, he was exiled first to his native city of Tobol’sk and then to Orenburg in 1833. In the early 1830s, due to his poor health, he was permitted to travel to the Russian border in the Caucasus (Stavropol, Piatigorsk, and Kislovodsk) and in 1835 was permitted to live with his family near Moscow, under police supervision and without the right to visit Moscow and St. Petersburg. Only toward the end of his life in 1843 was he allowed to live in Moscow, but without the right to appear in public (see Aliab’ev’s portrait from early 1840s in fig. 4.1). As most Soviet biographers agree, Aliab’ev was not exiled for murder but because of his connection to “dangerous” writers, who were later tagged as Decembrists:  Petr Mukhanov (1799–​1854),47 Alexander Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky (1797–​1837), and Fedor Glinka (1786–​1880). From the early 1820s, Aliab’ev had frequented a number of St. Petersburg’s artistic and aristocratic circles, several

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient

Figure 4.1.  Alexander Aliab’ev in Piatigorsk, by Grigorii Gel’mersen, 1833–​34, from Olga Fraenova, “Aliab’ev,” in Bol’shaia rossiiskaia entsiklopediia, ed. S. L. Kravets (Moscow: BRE, 2005), 5:582. Courtesy of Bol’shaia rossiiskaia entsiklopediia, Moscow

of which were associated with the Decembrist movement, such as Zelenaia Lampa (The Green Lamp).48 After moving to Moscow, he continued meeting regularly with members of Moscow’s Decembrist secret society, including Petr Svistunov, who was later considered especially dangerous because of his involvement in the plot to kill Alexander I.49 While in exile Aliab’ev encountered new kinds of music and made direct contacts with Russia’s inorodtsy. His years spent in the Caucasus (1832–​33) and Orenburg (1833–​35) helped him to become extremely receptive to their culture and music, and this auditory experience left a deep mark on his musical language. His works include a collection of four songs (two Tatar, one Bashkir, and one Kyrgyz) called Asian Songs (c. 1835), a melodrama based on Pushkin’s Prisoner of the Caucasus (1829), Two Caucasian Mazurkas (1834), Bashkir Overture (1834), French Quadrille from Asian Songs (1834), the opera Ammalat-​Bek (1842–​ 47, on a Caucasian story by Alexander Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky), Circassian Dances, and Circassian Overture in F Minor.50 This wide variety of musical genres with Asian or Caucasian subjects demonstrates Aliab’ev’s genuine interest in the cultures of the Russian Orient. During his second year in the Caucasus (1833), he

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138 Representing Russia’s Orient was particularly attracted to the local music culture. After transcribing several Caucasian vocal and instrumental tunes, he incorporated them into his compositions. His sketchbook reveals him as a relatively careful ethnographer. He not only identified the ethnic origins of some tunes but also often recorded the genre of a tune or the region in which it had been transcribed. His enthusiasm for transcribing Caucasian music was so strong that he tried to notate songs with original texts in Russian transliteration without speaking any of the local languages.51 For instance, in his sketchbook one can see different melodies with accompaniment identified as “Adagio Kabardian Heroic,” “Karachaev Love,” or “Tatar Allegro Dancing.” One song, “Kabardian Heroic Andante” is provided with a Russian transliteration of the text in the original language (see the staff in in middle of the fig. 4.2).

Figure 4.2.  Alexander Aliab’ev, Eskizy, nabroski, fund 40, item 6a, 6b, page 32. Source: Alexander Aliab’ev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient Aliab’ev’s ethnographic experience might have been enriched by witnessing Muslim festivals that usually took place in the villages near Piatigorsk. Guests of the Piatigorsk resort often went to neighboring auls (villages) to see the celebration of bairam (a Muslim festival that follows the ninth day of Ramadan and usually falls in the summertime). One of Aliab’ev’s contemporaries described festivities that took place only five versts (or a little over five kilometers) from Piatigorsk in the middle of the 1820s in the popular Russian journal Otechestvennye zapiski [Notes of the Fatherland].52 Another source for Aliab’ev’s ethnographic knowledge could have been a famous local Kabardian musician who performed Asian tunes at spa resorts.53 The auditory experience of living in the Caucasus had such an impact on Aliab’ev that even ten years later, he used material he had gathered in the early 1830s in his opera Ammalat-​Bek. Besides using his own transcriptions, he employed and carefully studied sources that included transcriptions of inorodtsy melodies available during his time. For instance, his sketchbook contains two Kyrgyz tunes from Levshin’s Opisanie Kirgiz-​Kazach’ikh ili Kirgiz-​Kaisakskikh ord i stepei [Description of Kyrgyz-​Kazak or Kyrgyz-​Kaisak’s Hordes and Steppes] (discussed in c­ hapter 2).54 After Tobol’sk, Aliab’ev moved to Orenburg, a city on the Ural River located at the boundary of Europe and Asia. In Orenburg, he had a chance to hear music not only of people living in still more remote regions of Russia but also from places not yet conquered by Russia—​ Khiva and Bukhara. For a long time, Orenburg was a military outpost on the frontier of the Kyrgyz steppe. Some regarded it as a “typical provincial backwater” with a very uneducated population and no library.55 However, as a merchant city, Orenburg offered a number of opportunities. People from different regions of Russia and the Russian frontiers came there to buy and sell their goods. Caravans from Bukhara and Khiva, as well as from China and India, passed through the city. In addition, horses, flocks of sheep, and herds of cattle were brought to Orenburg by nomadic Kyrgyz-​Kaisaks. In Orenburg, inspired by local musical traditions, Aliab’ev wrote his Bashkir Overture, in which he used an original Bashkir melody passed on to him by Vasilii Verstovskii, the brother of a famous early-​ nineteenth-​ century Russian composer. Aliab’ev also arranged four Asian songs, which he dedicated to Orenburg’s governor-​general, Vasilii Perovskii.56 Aliab’ev’s stay in Orenburg was also enriched by the ethnographic experience he gained in the village of Tashla, where he traveled with the Timashev family.57 In Tashla, he transcribed a number of original Bashkir, Kyrgyz, and Tatar folk tunes, which he arranged for piano and voice (see table 4.1).58

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Table 4.1  Aliab’ev’s (Art) Songs with Oriental Subjects Year

Title (author of the lyrics)

Place or ethnos

Content

Musical elements

1829

“Cherkesskaia pesnia” (Pushkin)

Circassians (Caucasus)

Cossacks, beware of Chechens!

D minor; chorus: declamatory style (repetition of d in voice and piano acc.)

1830

“Irtysh” (I.Vetter)

Central Asia

Loneliness in exile; self-​reflection

F minor; a typical western European art song; AB form

1834

“Liubovnik rozy, solovei” (Byron-​I. Kozlov)

Turkish

Rose and nightingale (Sufi type of poetry)

A major; ABA form; chromatic oscillation in piano; vocal melody—​6ths up and down (in section B)

1834

“Kabardinskaia pesnia” (A. Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky)

Kabarda (Caucasus)

“Na kazbek sletelis tuchi”: a mullah’s prayer saves Caucasian mountaineers from Russian soldiers

G minor; drone, unison in voice and piano; syncopations and incorrect syllabic stresses; Phrygian mode; trills on 1st beat

1834

“Gruzinskaia pesnia” (L. Iakubovich)

Georgia

“Plachet deva gor”: A mountain maiden cries to keep the attention of a Russian man

G major; drone in piano; slow harmonic rhythm; undemanding harmonic progression

1834

“Cherkes” (V. Aliab’ev)

Circassians (Caucasus)

A Circassian commits suicide after realizing that his aul has been seized and destroyed by the Russians

G minor; occasional drone in piano; syncopations; incorrect syllabic stresses

1836

“Pesnia Kichkine” (A. Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky)

Dagestan

“Dlia chego ty, luch Vostoka”: a love poem

Few measures at the beginning are lost

1843

“Cherkesskaia pesnia” (M. Lermontov)

Circassians (Caucasus)

There are many beautiful maidens in our mountains, but my advice is to buy a horse instead of a bride

B minor → G major; AB form; andante → allegretto; scale with an augmented second in a piano postlude

1833–​1835? Collection Aziatskie pesni

Lost

1. “Bashkirskaia pesnia”

Bashkir

“Cherez kladku ia proidusia”: lyrical song

G major/​minor: 2 melodies (slow in major and fast in minor); drone; pentatonic scale

2. “Kirgizskaia pesnia” (N.V.)

Kyrgyz

“Zachem ia ne gornyi orel molodoi”: if I were a mountain eagle, I would take you, Zuleika, to your home—​a wild cliff

A major; ABA form (B-​recitative); chromatic oscillation in piano; vocal melody—​6ths up and down (in B)

3. “Bashkirskaia pesnia” (N.V.)

Bashkir

“Mezh granitnymi skalami”: a maiden asks a sea, a wind, and a raven to convey a farewell to her beloved

E major/​minor; ABC form; drone, simple harmony; the melody is also found in Rybakov’s song collection, Muzyka i pesni ural’skikh musul’man s ocherkom ikh byta (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperatorskoi AN, 1897)

4. “Turkmenskaia pesnia”

Turkmen

“Skazal nash khan bogatyriam pokhod”: our C major; plagal harmony, drone; chromatic khan has ordered to prepare for a war with passages in piano accompaniment Kizilbash, or Qizilbash (the name of a Turkic-​ speaking Shia Muslim tribe)

Arrangement of the Bashkir folk song about Salavat Iulaiev

Baskir

Lost

142 Representing Russia’s Orient In 1835, due to Perovskii’s petition, Nicholas I finally granted Aliab’ev permission to live near Moscow. When he left Orenburg, his long-​term firsthand contact with Asian culture was over.59 However, he later made use of his musical ethnographic discoveries from Asia in his Circassian Song (1843) and his opera Ammalat-​Bek, written in 1847, just four years before his death.60 Without a doubt, Asia and the Caucasus remained a source of inspiration throughout his entire life.

Aliab’ev’s Art Songs with Asian or Caucasian Subjects Aliab’ev undertook his earliest attempt to create a musical representation of the Russian Orient in the late 1820s, before his trip to the Caucasus. In 1828–​29 he wrote dramatic music for one of Pushkin’s most popular narrative poems, Kavkazskii plennik [The Prisoner of the Caucasus].61 In the poem, a Byronic-​type Russian officer (no name is mentioned in the poem) who becomes disillusioned with his upper-​class lifestyle in Russia searches for adventure in the Caucasus. He is captured by mountaineers but then freed by a young black-​eyed Circassian maiden who falls in love with him. Knowing that her love is unreciprocated, she throws herself into a rushing mountain stream after liberating her beloved. As Boris Dobrokhotov has observed, nothing in the score of Aliab’ev’s Prisoner of the Caucasus suggests a nonwestern setting.62 On the local level, the “Circassian Song” in that 1829 score also presents no evidence of the composer’s musical acquaintance with this region. Perhaps the lack of couleur locale can also be explained by a certain confusion with respect to the song’s text: although Pushkin called the song “Circassian,” the Circassians are not present in it at all; instead, another Caucasian people, the Chechens, are the subject of the song’s chorus. The peaceful lifestyle of the Cossacks described in the verses (fishing and dancing) is always interrupted by words of warning in the chorus: the Cossacks are urged to be careful because there are dangerous Chechens on the other side of the river waiting for the perfect moment to attack them. In Aliab’ev’s music the two opposing worlds are represented by different modes: minor for the Cossacks and major for the Chechens mentioned in the chorus. In spite of its major tonality, this section sounds dark because of its declamatory style. Only one note is repeated in the vocal line and in the bass of the accompaniment, conveying a sense of tense anxiety (or maybe even fear). Fourteen years later, in 1843, after many years of exile and travel to the Caucasus, Aliab’ev wrote another “Circassian Song,” with a different text

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient by Pushkin’s younger contemporary Mikhail Lermontov. Each verse of the song’s lyrics consists of two parts:  the first part describes the charms of women living in the mountains (verse 1) or the nuisances that may occur if one marries them (verse 2); the second part advises a young man to buy a horse instead of wedding a beauty. Много дев у нас в горах, Ночь и звезды в их очах; С ними жить завидна доля,— Но еще милее воля! Не женися, молодец, Слушайся меня: На те деньги, молодец, Ты купи коня! Кто жениться захотел, Тот худой избрал удел, С русским в бой он не поскачет: Отчего?—​жена заплачет! Не женися, молодец, Слушайся меня: На те деньги, молодец, Ты купи коня! Не изменит добрый конь: С ним—​и в воду и в огонь; Он как вихрь в степи широкой, С ним—​все близко, что далеко. Не женися, молодец, Слушайся меня: На те деньги, молодец, Ты купи коня!

There are many maidens in our mountains, Night and stars are in their eyes; To live with them is an enviable lot,— But freedom is lovelier still! Do not marry, young man, Listen to me: With that money, young man, Buy yourself a horse! The one who decided to marry, Has chosen for himself bad destiny, He will not gallop into a fight with a Russian: Why? His wife will cry! Do not marry, young man, Listen to me: With that money, young man, Buy yourself a horse! A good horse will not betray you: You can go with it through thick and thin; It is like a whirlwind in the wide steppe, With it—​all that is distant is close. Do not marry, young man, Listen to me: With that money, young man, Buy yourself a horse!

Unlike Aliab’ev’s 1829 setting of Pushkin’s poem, the music of this “Circassian Song” suggests his familiarity with Caucasian folklore.The musical evocation of the Circassians becomes apparent at the very end of the song: the

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144 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 4.1a.  Aliab’ev, “Cherkesskaia pesnia” [Circassian Song] (1843), mm. 17–​20

Example 4.1b.  Glinka, “Lezghinka,” from Ruslan and Liudmila (1842), mm. 9–​12

piano postlude consists of four fast passages, two of which are based on a scale with an augmented second (ex. 4.1a). This might be one of the earliest uses of this scale in relation to the Russian Orient or the Caucasus in particular. Another example of this scale with an augmented second is found in Glinka’s “Oriental Dances” in Ruslan and Liudmila (1842). Act 4 of Glinka’s opera takes place in the magic garden of Chernomor, where his slaves are trying to entertain Liudmila with different dances (Turkish, Arabic, and Lezghinka). The last number is directly related to the Russian South, as this genre of folk dance originated with the Lezghin people of the Caucasus and was popular under different names among many ethnic groups living in the region. It is precisely in this dance that Glinka repeats a passage with an augmented second almost twenty times (see ex. 4.1b). Both Glinka and Aliab’ev used an augmented second in a similar way: as part of a scale starting on d, running up and then down in a very fast tempo and high register, returning to the d, and finishing with a repetition of the starting note. Despite all the similarities, it is unlikely that the composers borrowed this gesture from one another, since both were acquainted with the musical traditions of the Caucasus. Glinka traveled there in 1823 and witnessed traditional festivities that included dancing.63 He later expressed his

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient Example 4.1c.  Aliab’ev’s transcription of “Dikii khor”

interest in the music of the region by transcribing songs and tunes from his friends and amateur musicians—​Alexander Griboedov, the Russian ambassador to Persia, and Hovhannes Aivazian (Ivan Aivazovskii), the famous painter of Armenian origin.64 It was Aivazian who “informed” Glinka of three “Tatar tunes,” two of which he incorporated into “Lezghinka.”65 Aliab’ev’s augmented second similarly comes from his own personal musical experience: one short melody in his sketchbook, in which he notated the original Caucasian and Asian tunes, has a passage (“Dikii khor”) that opens with an augmented second and closes in the Phrygian mode (see ex. 4.1c).66 Although the Phrygian mode is not found in any of Aliab’ev’s melodic lines, it appears in the harmony of another song inspired by a Caucasian subject. In “Kabardian Song,” “Na Kazbek sletelis tuchi” [Storm-​Clouds Have Gathered around Kazbek], at the end of each verse a dominant harmony appears in the Phrygian mode, that is, with a lowered second scale degree, forming a dominant 4/​3 with a flat 5 ( ex. 4.2a, mm. 14 and 24).67 The Phrygian sound is particularly audible since it occurs in the bass line and as the final gesture of the song. “Kabardian Song,” in Aliab’ev’s opera Ammalat-​Bek, is significant for a number of reasons and is probably one of the most interesting types of the art songs that I call “Decembrist.” Now I will turn to a more detailed analysis of this and other art songs with Decembrist connotations.

Aliab’ev and the Decembrist Orient in Music The lyrics of the “Kabardian Song” (“Na Kazbek sletelis tuchi”) (1843), tells about mountaineers fleeing from the Russian army into a forest; at a critical moment, when the Russians are about to catch them, a Muslim mullah prays for help: “Ish Allah! Don’t reveal us!” Suddenly, the forest appears and saves the fugitives by covering them. The miraculous salvation of the Kabardians in response to prayer strikingly resembles the events described in the medieval Russian legend of Kitezh.68 In the legend, which survived in many different versions, the city of Kitezh is mysteriously concealed from the army of Batu Khan by dense woods, water, or earth. The motif of the salvation of the righteous from invaders connects both plot lines. In the context of Decembrist literature, the reversal of power in Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky’s poem is, of course,

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146 Representing Russia’s Orient highly suggestive:  the rights of freedom were given by God to all human beings and can be protected by “the will of heaven,” if fervent prayers reach the Divine. На Казбек слетелись тучи, Словно горные орлы. Им навстречу, на скале Узденей отряд летучий! Выше, выше, круче, круче, Скачет, русскими разбит: След их кровью кипит. На хвостах полки погони; Занесен и штык, и меч; Смертью сеется картечь . . . Нет спасенья в силе, в броне . . . “Бегу, бегу, кони, кони!” Пали вы . . . a далека Крепость горного леска. Сердце наших—​русских мета . . . На колени пал мулла—​ И молитва, как стрела, До пророка Магомета, В море света, в небо света, Полетела, понеслась: “Иш-​Алла, не выдай нас!” Нет спасенья ниоткуда! Вдруг, по манию небес, Зашумел далекий лес: Веет, плещет, катит грудой, Ниже, ближе, чудо, чудо! . . . Мусульмане спасены Средь лесистой крутизны.

Storm-​clouds have gathered around Kazbek Like mountain eagles. Toward them, on the cliffs Is galloping a detachment of Uzden’!69 Higher, higher, steeper, steeper, Is galloping [the detachment], defeated by Russians. Their track is hot with blood. There are [Russian] regiments close behind; A sword and a bayonet are unsheathed; Rifle shot is sowing death . . . There is no salvation in strength or armor . . . “Run, run, horses, horses!” You have fallen . . . but still far away Is the fortress of the mountain grove. The Russians are aiming at our hearts . . . A mullah has fallen on his knees, And his prayer, as an arrow, Up to the prophet Mahomet, To the sea of light, to the sky of light, Has flown, has rushed: “Ish-​Allah, do not reveal us!” There is no salvation anywhere! Suddenly, by the will of heaven, Is heard the murmurs of a distant forest: Blows around, rolls a heap, Lower, closer, a miracle, a miracle! . . . The Muslims find safety Within the steep grove.

Russian musicologist Vera Vasina-​Grossman has pointed out the similarity of Marlinsky’s “Kabardian Song” to a poem by Alexander Griboedov,  “Khishchniki na Chegeme” [Predators on the Chegem] (1825), written in the tradition of Decembrist poetry.70 Griboedov’s poem is presented from the perspective of

Example 4.2a.  Aliab’ev, “Kabardinskaia pesnia” [Kabardian Song], mm. 5–​26

148 Representing Russia’s Orient a mountain-​dweller who describes the fate of the captured Russians in the Caucasus as a mere exchange of one type of tyranny for another: Узников удел обычный,— Над рабами высока Их стяжателей рука. Узы–​жребий им приличный; В их земле и свет темничный! И ужасен ли обмен? Дома—цепи! Вчуже—плен!

Prisoners will suffer the usual fate,— High above the slaves Is the arm of their greedy owners. Chains are the fate that befits them; In their land even the light is that of a dark prison! And is the exchange so terrible? Chains at home, captivity abroad!

According to Vasina-​Grossman, Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky’s “Kabardian Song” could have been written under the direct influence of Griboedov’s “Predators,” because Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky was well acquainted with Griboedov’s poem and because it exactly replicates the latter’s meter, rhyme pattern, and stanzaic form.71 However, according to Alexander Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky, his “Kabardian Song” was an almost literal translation of the lyrics of a real Kabardian song he heard during his exile in the Caucasus.72 In any case, the allusion to the Decembrist poems, with their characteristic evocation of the mountain landscape as a trope of resistance to Russian rule, and the association of the tenaciously independent inhabitants of the mountains with the progressive Russian who falls under tsarist oppression, clearly connects this song with the Decembrist aesthetic and political model. How did Aliab’ev musically respond to the text? Did he leave any particular imprint on the score that would distinguish this song from the rest of his art songs? Vasina-​Grossman characterizes “Kabardian Song” as “savage, warlike [, and] remote from the traditional understanding of the ‘oriental art song’ ” and suggests that it offers a more “vivid and realistic” rendition of Russia’s Orient.73 Indeed, several characteristics contribute to the somber, dark, but energetic quality of the song:  a long perfect fifth drone in the left hand in the opening measures (not included in the example) and in mm. 17–​20, the occasional unison between the vocal melody and the accompaniment, the syncopations, the Phrygian color added several times to the dominant harmony, the trill on the first beat, and the sparse texture. However, drones, syncopations, and trills can be found in Aliab’ev’s other songs. Only one element—​an unusual text-​ music alignment—​should be considered a particular gesture of the Decembrist Orient. In measures 7, 15–​16, 18, 20, and 23, on the words tuchi, letuchii, and others (see the italicized words in the text and in boxes in music ex. 4.2a), Aliab’ev uses a syncopation that results in incorrect syllabic stress in Russian. For any Russian speaker, the change in a word’s stress is instantly audible and usually signifies the accent of a non-​Russian speaker. The reasons for Aliab’ev’s

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient text-​music alignment in the context of Decembrist literature could have been twofold. He could have used an incorrect accent pattern because he wanted to introduce syncopation that was characteristic of Caucasian music. Or he might have used one of the original Caucasian tunes and intentionally avoided musical “corrections” by imposing linguistically appropriate Russian stresses. In both cases, by not “correcting” the music and keeping syncopations that result in incorrect pronunciation, Aliab’ev creates a new musical language that underscores the existence of a distinct linguistic and musical accent, thus allowing the “other” to express its foreignness through music. It is quite striking that, melodically and rhythmically, “Kabardian Song” resembles the Ukrainian ritual song vesnianka (or vesnyanka) “Oi, zore, zoren’ko,” which Aliab’ev arranged himself for voice and piano a decade earlier (ex. 4.2b).74 The “amazing similarity” between “Oi, zore, zoren’ko” and “a certain Circassian [sic] tune” was noted by Mikhail Maksimovich in the commentary to his 1834 collection of twenty-​five Ukrainian songs, which includes “Oi, zore, zoren’ko.”75 Indeed, it is hard to deny the obvious melodic and rhythmic affinity of the two tunes: minor mode, triple meter, the opening gesture in the melody (raising perfect fourth from the fifth scale degree) followed by a syncopation.76 Although there is disagreement on the ethnic provenance of the song (Maksimovich points out the link to a Circassian song, while Aliab’ev calls it “Kabardian”), it is entirely conceivable that this tune was popular among many different ethnic groups living in the Caucasus. Moreover, the Kabardian language belongs to the eastern branch of the Circassian group of languages and is sometimes considered to be a dialect of the Circassian language.77 That Aliab’ev interchanged “Kabardian” and “Circassian” was not a sloppy mistake then; he used the opening of the “Kabardian Song” in his Circassian Overture (with a more frenetic rhythmic pattern), which was conceived as an overture for the Example 4.2b.  Ukrainian folk song “Oi, zore, zoren’ko,” arranged by Aliab’ev for Miksimovich’s Golosa ukrainskikh pesen

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150 Representing Russia’s Orient opera Ammalat-​Bek.78 Finally, the title of the song might have been dictated by Bestuzhev’s poèma, in which this song appears under the heading “Kabardian.” In any case, the appearance of the same melody in the musical traditions of rival peoples living in the Caucasus proves that the cultural distance and the borderlines (at least the musical ones) between Ukrainians (or Slavs in general) and Caucasians were sometimes ambiguous. It seems that this song’s unusual rhythms especially appealed to Aliab’ev, since he inscribed its tune in Dargomyzhsky’s album79 and used the same syncopated rhythm in another Decembrist song, “Cherkes” [A Circassian].80 A link with Decembrist poetry is strongly suggested in the song’s lyrics, written by Vasilii Aliab’ev (the composer’s brother) (ex. 4.3). Example 4.3.  Aliab’ev, “Cherkes” [A Circassian], mm. 1–​8

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient Обвернут буркою широкой, И лук, и стрелы за спиной, Черкес над пропастью глубокой Стоит . . . И вскрикнул удалой: “Что горы вздрогнули от гула? Что грозно ропщет по реке? Не стало Трамова аула!” А шашка замерла в руке. О конь, товарищ быстроногий, Нагорных скакунов краса, Какою скачешь ты дорогой, Какие видишь небеса? Твой ныне корм—​пшеница ль яра? В твоем же тесном деннике Разгулье стало от пожара—​ А шашка замерла в руке . . . Нет сакли, где черкес свободный На ложе неги отдыхал, И сладостно кумыс холодный Из чаши братской выпивал. Нет ружей; нет одежд богатых; Нет памяти о кунаке, Даров тех дружбы верной взятых— А шашка замерла в руке . . . “Наездников исчезли силы, Как дымный пар от облаков; Нет храбрым на земле могилы; Сдружился с ними врана клев; Но удалому ль согласиться, Что на Эльбрусе плена звук?!” Сказал—​и в бездну он стремится, И шашка выпала из рук!

Wrapped with a felt cloak, Bow and arrows behind [his] back, A Circassian is standing above a deep abyss . . . He shouted audaciously: “Why have the mountains shuddered from the rumbling? What grumbles terribly on the river? Tramov aul has disappeared!”81 And [his] saber remained still in [his] hand. Oh, a steed, light-​footed comrade, [You are] the beauty of highlands, On what path are you racing, What [kind of] heaven do you see? Is your food now some spring wheat? In your narrow stall Fire is raging And [his] saber remained still in [his] hand. There is no saklia, where the free Circassian82 Took his rest on the bed of nega,83 And drank delightfully cold kumiss84 From the brother’s cup. There are no [more] arms, no splendid clothes; There are no memories of the kunak,85 [There are no] tokens of that friendship— And [his] saber remained still in [his] hand. “The riders’ strength has vanished, Like a smoky steam from the clouds; There is no tomb for the brave ones; The raven’s pecking is what they know; But can the daring reconcile With the sound of captivity on Elbrus?!” [He] said [this]—​and rushed into the abyss, And [his] saber has dropped out of [his] hands!

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152 Representing Russia’s Orient The text expresses disgust at the extermination of the local peoples and their homes, and implies doubts about the legitimacy of the tsarist’s actions in the Caucasus. It tells the story of a mountaineer who returns to his native village to find it completely destroyed by the enemy; in despair and unreconciled “with the sound of captivity on Elbrus” (the highest mountain in the Caucasus), he throws himself into the abyss. In spite of the protagonist’s confrontational attire (he carries a saber, bow, and arrows), the use of friendly images, such as “fraternal cup,” “endowments of friendship,” and the adjectives “free” and “courageous” suggests the poet’s empathy for the hero’s unjust destiny. What’s more, a short description of the character’s life before the Russian incursion—​ resting on a bed, drinking kumiss, and meeting friends—​implies his peaceful, simple and uncorrupted nature. Clearly, the poem is born out of an intense Decembrist identification with the fate of the Circassians. The violent destruction of  Tramov aul and the loss of the lyrical hero’s homeland signifies nostalgic longing for the lost Russian homeland, which was always distinguished from the imperial state, and was lost forever after the series of traumatic events that followed the Decembrist revolt. The mountaineer’s destiny—​his inability to prevent the doom of his native land and his preference for death over submission to the oppressive regime—​related directly to the supporters of Decembrism, many of whom shared a similarly bitter fate. Aliab’ev’s musical rendition of the text artfully conveys the external events of the poem, as well as the internal feelings of the protagonist: it imitates the racing of a steed and simultaneously reveals the anxiety of the displacement of the Circassian. An unexpected tonicization of a minor third key in the second phrase (mm. 7–​8) introduces a darker mood, which reflects the hero’s bitter anguish over the loss of his homeland. Once again, Aliab’ev employs accentuation on incorrect syllables on shirokoi (wide), strely (arrows), za spinoi (behind his back), and other words in measures 3, 4, 7, and 8 (see the italicized words in the text and in boxes in music ex. 4.3). A syncopated harmonic progression in the piano accompaniment further marks the melodic accents and makes the stresses even more acute. A short tonic triad on a strong (or relatively strong) beat is followed by a longer dominant harmony on the two following weak beats.The shift in the words’ stress is probably used for the same purpose as in “Kabardian Song.” It allows, in some sense, the subaltern to speak with his own accent and express his feelings in a very efficient and elegant manner.86 It seems that the Decembrist representation of Russia’s mountaineers did not infiltrate Russian musical tradition deeply; I have not found any sign of its use outside Aliab’ev’s own opera Ammalat-​Bek. However, he was not the first Russian composer who represented Russia’s inorodtsy through incorrect accentuation. Over five decades earlier,Vasilii Pashkevich (c. 1742–​97), in his opera Fevei (1786) composed a scene with Kalmyks and Tatars, who speak, or rather sing, with precisely the same accent.87 Aliab’ev could have heard the opera in St. Petersburg

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient when he had just arrived there in 1796. Pashkevich was at his zenith before the death of Catherine II and his dismissal from the Imperial Theater in 1797, enjoying great popularity as a court composer and seeing his operas in the most lavish productions.88 However, Aliab’ev’s attitude toward inorodtsy differed drastically from that of his elder compatriot.While Pashkevich used the wrong accentuation for comic effect (in the same scene he also included a Kalmyk woman singing in a bass voice), Aliab’ev demonstrated his compassion and kindheartedness toward the victims of Russia’s unjust and dishonorable treatment of inorodtsy. More proof of Aliab’ev’s attention to, support of, and sympathy toward Asian peoples is revealed in his interest in a legendary Bashkir man, Salavat Iulaev. Iulaev fought with Emel’ian Pugachev, the leader of a massive peasant revolt that took place in the Ural Mountains region at the end of the eighteenth century. Although Catherine the Great officially prohibited mentioning Salavat’s name in public, in Aliab’ev’s time many songs about this legendary person were still circulating among the native population.89 Aliab’ev transcribed one of them, intending to arrange it. As Dobrokhotov points out, one of the popular Russian journals connects Aliab’ev’s name with the name of Salavat and states:  “a young Bashkir man [named] Salavat, a son of the insurgent Iulai, was a leader of rebels and, with his ferocious actions, inspired people with awe [navodit uzhas]. A Bashkir song about him, as an excellent horseman-​batyr, remained in the collective memory for a long time. . . . This song was translated by Mr. Kudriashev and published in the 1820s, in a journal of Mrs. Izmailov and Svin’in; it was arranged by former colonel Aliab’ev.”90 Unfortunately, Aliab’ev’s arrangement of the song about Salavat Iulaev is lost, so we cannot assess the composer’s musical involvement in the creation of Asian heroes. However, his interest in a legendary Asian who acts against the Russian tsardom underlines Aliab’ev’s disagreement with certain notions that later became vital to the civilizing mission and again demonstrates his proclivity for Decembrist ideals. As mentioned earlier, not all of the Russian cultural elite supported the spirit of revolt among Russia’s Asian population or had a sympathetic attitude toward Russia’s oppressed “others.” This is why Aliab’ev’s repertoire of songs with Caucasian and Asian subjects stands in such sharp contrast to those of his contemporaries. Written a decade later, Alexander Dargomyzhsky’s art songs with nonwestern subjects, for instance, promote a more homogenous and derogatory image of the Orient and express a very different attitude toward Russia’s southern neighbors.91

Aliab’ev and orientalist clichés Paradoxically, a more popular perception of the Orient as a place of alluring sensuality and pleasure also is expressed in Aliab’ev’s repertoire of art songs. As many critics have observed, in nineteenth-​ century European literature

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154 Representing Russia’s Orient and music, erotic connotations were often added to the imaginary relationship between East and West and presented through the idea of masculinity and the conquest of “virgin” territory.92 In the Russian context, the case of the Caucasus perfectly exemplifies this gendered construction: in early-​nineteenth-​ century Russian writings, the masculine word “Caucasus” was often replaced by the feminine noun priroda (nature) in order to create a gendered opposition between Russian military men and virgin Oriental nature so as to produce a more appealing image of imperial conquest. In Layton’s words, writings about the Caucasus “exhibited the same urge to feminization [as the writings about the American colonists], with the spotlight squarely centred on the passive virgin ready to satisfy male desire and indeed just waiting for “man” to take advantage of her.”93 It is rather puzzling that Aliab’ev, as a victim of the Russian administration’s oppression, chose to write an art song that feminized the Caucasus in the figure of a simple, submissive, naïve, and weak girl after creating his most subversive art songs in support of the free spirit of the region. In Aliab’ev’s “Gruzinskaia pesnia,” or “Georgian Song” (“Plachet deva gor” [The Mountain Maiden Cries]), a Georgian maiden longs for a Russian man and begs him to stay with her. She rejects all his offerings of gold and garments, preferring his constant and special attention (his smile, his look, and his kiss—​“a sign of ardent love”). Плачет, плачет дева гор:

The mountain maiden cries and cries: “Русский, дай твой встретить “Russian, let me meet your gaze; взор; There, where the grape is pressed, Там, где давят виноград, I met your first glance, Первый встретила я взгляд, There you came to love me, Там меня ты полюбил, You promised me [to give] much Много золота сулил, gold, You promised me [to give] much Много золота сулил. gold. I want neither money nor gold, Не хочу я денег, злата, I am always rich just with you; Я с тобой всегда богата; And without [my] darling, alone, А без милого одна I would be poor even [covered] in Я и в золоте бедна; gold; You promised me, my darling, Ты сулил мне, дорогой, A precious golden ring, Ценный перстень золотой, A precious golden ring. Ценный перстень золотой. Do not give it [golden ring] to me, Не дари меня ты им,

a a1* a2** a3*** a a1 a4**** a a1 a2 a3 a a1 a4 a

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient Ценным перстнем золотым, Не дари меня нарядом, Подари улыбкой, взглядом, Поцелуем подари— Знаком пламенной любви, Знаком пламенной любви.”

The precious golden ring, Do not give me any garments, [Instead] give me your smile and look, Give me your kiss –​ The sign of fervent love, The sign of fervent love.

a1 a2 a3 a a1 a4

* Just one note is changed ** The same melody as a1, but a tone higher *** Starts exactly as a, but the last note modulates into a relative minor **** A closing phrase with the same melodic and rhythmic contour as a

The simplicity and straightforwardness of the text influenced Aliab’ev’s musical choices: he set the poem in strophic form and with a highly repetitive melody (see the melodic structure indicated to the right of the English text). Neither the melodic line nor the piano accompaniment of this piece suggests a strong Georgian flavor (ex. 4.4). A simple drone accompaniment (associated with “otherness” in general—​be it Scottish, medieval, or Oriental) to a perfectly diatonic tune, a slow harmonic rhythm, and an unadventurous progression with only one modulation to the relative E minor—​all these gestures can be easily associated with a simple female or exotic “other” but not specifically a Georgian one.94 Nevertheless, Russian musicologist Liudmila Karagicheva has suggested a link between Aliab’ev’s song and several traditional and popular nineteenth-​ century Georgian songs, such as “Akhal agnago sulo” and “Akhalo.”95 Indeed, the similarities between the following examples of both traditional tunes and Aliab’ev’s song seem too obvious to dispute. They share:  the major mode, a compound 6/​8 meter, an opening featuring a running scale from the first to the third degree with a relatively long stay on the third scale degree, and the ending of the first phrase with a return to the first scale degree (exs. 4.5a and 4.5b). Significantly, in Russian music literature, the same two Georgian songs are cited as sources for another well-​known early-​nineteenth-​century Russian art song, “Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne” [Don’t Sing for Me Thy Song of Georgia], by Glinka, discussed in chapter 1 (ex. 1.1b).96 In his article on Russian Orientalism, Richard Taruskin called Glinka’s example “authentic but not exotic.”97 Indeed, there is no reason for it to be considered exotic, since the suggested Georgian sources for Aliab’ev’s and Glinka’s art songs were associated with Georgian urban culture, which was considerably influenced by Russian culture from the beginning of the nineteenth century. Several writers who visited or lived and served in the administration in the Caucasus, including Pushkin and Griboedov, observed how popular this tune was in aristocratic circles in Georgia and beyond, and pointed out that it was often sung with different texts written by Georgian poets.The Georgian Poem “Akhal agnago sulo”

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156 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 4.4.  Aliab’ev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], mm. 2–​5

Example 4.5a.  Georgian song “Akhal agnago sulo,” mm. 1–​3

Example 4.5b.  Georgian song “Akhalo,” 1–​8

(in Russian:  “Dusha nedavno rozhdennaia v raiu”) [A Soul, Newly Born in Paradise], by Tumanishvili, was one of the most popular texts known to Russians through Pushkin’s travelogue Journey to Erzrum during the Campaign of 1829: Dimitri Tumanishvili, from “A Spring Song” Душа, недавно рожденная в раю! Душа, созданная для Моего счастья! От тебя, бессмертная, ожидаю жизни. От тебя, весна цветущая, от тебя, луна двунедельная, От тебя, Ангел мой хранитель, от тебя ожидаю жизни. Ты сияешь лицом и веселишь улыбкою. Не хочу обладать миром; хочу твоего взора. От тебя ожидаю жизни.

Alexander Aliab’ev, Decembrism, and Russia’s Orient Горная роза, освеженная росою! Избранная любимица природы! Тихое, потаенное сокровище! от тебя ожидаю жизни. * * * “A soul newly born in Paradise! A soul, created for my joy! From you, immortal one, I long for life. From you, eternally blooming spring; from you, oh moon in its second week; From you, my guardian angel, from you I long for life. Your face is radiant and you cheer with your smile. I do not want to rule the world. I desire your glance. From you I long for life. Mountain rose, freshened by the dew! Chosen favorite of nature! Silent, secret treasure! From you I long for life.”98 It is likely that in the original Georgian poem a man addresses a woman, since in the Russian language the word dusha [soul] is gendered feminine and the “soul” is described with images usually associated with female beauty: “eternally blooming spring,” “moon in its second week,” “mountain rose, freshened by the dew,” and “silent, secret treasure.” Although Aliab’ev closely followed the original melody, he used a different text written by the popular nineteenth-​century Russian poet Lukian Iakubovich (1805–​39).99 Iakubovich’s verse seems to be a direct reversal and even an ironic subversion of the original. In place of a male speaker, the poet introduces a female protagonist; instead of him “longing for life” and praising her beauty, she expresses her desperate desire for his constant attention. The use of similar images—​a smile and a glance—​in both texts provides further evidence of an intertextual connection. In the wider political context of the composition, Iakubovich’s poem carries obvious political implications about the dominator-​dominated relationship between Russia and Georgia and encapsulates Russia’s desire to control the region and society of Georgia using all possible means. It is perhaps not a coincidence that the tendency of feminizing and eroticizing the conquered territory was, as Layton points out, “most evident in the literary invention of Georgia as an oriental woman.”100 Aliab’ev’s song, therefore, resonates with widely circulating ideological and literary clichés. The poem is a prime example of what Edward Said would more than a century later call “male Orientalism,” or the Orientalism that “viewed itself and its subject matter with sexist blinders,” representing women as the “creatures of a male power fantasy.”101 Indeed, the Georgian maiden is presented in the song as an outsider and, simultaneously, as a weak partner for a Russian man of power, who represents the West.

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158 Representing Russia’s Orient What was Aliab’ev’s role in the interpretation of the verse? Most likely he knew the melody of Tumanishvili’s original song, since he traveled to the North Caucasus two years before composing his “Georgian Song” and, considering the popularity of “Akhal agnago sulo,” would have had a chance to hear it. However, it is unknown whether he was aware of the original meaning of the song, since the Russian translation appeared in Pushkin’s Journey to Erzrum in 1835, a year after Aliab’ev composed the song. It could have been that he simply found a verse in Russian that fit the rhythmic pattern of the melody and naïvely blended them together. Ultimately, the presence of Orientalist stereotypes in Russian poetry, and in European literature in general, was so ubiquitous and accepted that no one questioned their legitimacy. In any case, this mixture of the original Georgian melody and the Orientalist message in the text only reinforced ethnic and cultural stereotypes in listeners’ imaginations and promoted a derogatory view of the Oriental “other.” The early-​ nineteenth-​ century Russian representation of its own Orient included a number of contradictory elements and types of imagery that were influenced by European Orientalism, and simultaneously reflected the complex political atmosphere in European Russia (the Decembrist revolt) and in the empire’s southern border regions (the wars in the Caucasus). The urgency of self-​definition instigated by the growth of European nationalism further complicated Russians’ perceptions and portrayals of the empire’s multiple inorodtsy. The invention of a more “backward” and “uncivilized” Caucasian society helped Russian intellectuals overcome their inferiority complex vis-​à-​vis the more “civilized” West by constructing an image of Russia as an advanced nation with an obligation to protect Europe from the Muslim world. The Decembrist literature, however, brought an unexpected twist to the vision of peoples living at war with Russia: it subverted an idea of the antagonism and difference between the collective imperial “us” and subjugated “them” by drawing a link between ethnic Russians oppressed by the tsarist regime and the Caucasian mountaineers suffering as a result of imperial conquest. In the case of musical Decembrism and Aliab’ev’s art songs, his sympathy toward the lives and fates of the Caucasians resulted in the creation of an original musical language in which local accents were musically discernable. If in the first half of the nineteenth century such musical treatments of the “other” were quite rare, the next few decades witnessed the gradual incorporation of some inorodtsy melodic and rhythmic elements into the Russian lexicon. In the next chapter, I will discuss how the “discovery” of the Caucasus by Balakirev’s circle helped to create new and fresh sounds that would make Russian music distinct from that of western Europe, and how some characteristic features of inorodtsy music were appropriated and adapted in order to construct Russia’s own musical identity.

Chapter 5

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and the Mighty Five You will not believe what an enormous and important role he played in the education of all of us—​this energetic young Balakirev, who had just returned from the Caucasus and played for us the little oriental songs he had heard there! If they still appeal to you even now, you can imagine what they meant in those days to us, who had never before heard anything like that.To us those new sounds were in their way a revelation; we were all literally reborn. —Nikolai Rimsky-​Korsakov, from Rimsky-​Korsakov’s conversation with Vasily Yastrebtsev  (1893)

M

ilii Balakirev’s role in the formation of Russian musical style can hardly be overestimated. He appeared on Russia’s cultural horizon at the particular moment when the sociopolitical atmosphere (discussed in ­chapter  1) was especially turbulent and when interest in gathering all types of ethnographic material, including material from Russia’s Asian subjects (discussed in ­chapter 2), caught hold of Russia’s middle-​class society. At this crucial moment, Balakirev, along with his like-​ minded friends Alexander Borodin, Nikolai Rimsky-​Korsakov, Modest Musorgsky, and César Cui, tackled one of the most important subjects of Russian nineteenth-​ century intellectual and cultural life:  the search for a national identity, which was intense due to the debates between westernizers (insisting on Russia’s European legacy) and Slavophiles (claiming Russia’s unique historical path).1 In their quest for Russianness, the members of the Kuchka rediscovered something they thought would distinguish them from the rest of Europe: “the eastern element.”2 In an often-​cited article on Russian music, Vladimir Stasov—​one of the strongest proponents of Russian affiliation with the East and at times the closest

160 Representing Russia’s Orient friend of Balakirev—​reasoned that “the eastern element” was included in the “mainstream of Russian life” because the composers of the New Russian School were “surrounded all their lives with impressions of the East.”3 According to Stasov, this resulted in the production of a “unique,” “distinct and vivid” image of the East. Behind these categorical assertions of originality was, of course, the preoccupation with the creation of Russianness in music. As Frolova-​Walker argues in her study of Russian nationalism, Balakirev used an eastern element not only because he truly believed that the Russians shared a common history and ancestry with the peoples living beyond the Ural Mountains but also because he sought to distance national identity in Russian music from those in European (particularly German and French) music.4 But was Russians’ representation of the nonwestern world actually that original? Were these composers indeed exposed to the music (and culture in general) of Russia’s inorodtsy to the point that it became their second nature? As I showed in ­chapter 2, until the late 1880s, Russian musicians had very limited access to aural “impressions of the East” unless they lived in or traveled to the Caucasus (in the south) or the cities bordering Asiatic Russia (in the east). The societies that supported ethnographic research on Russia’s remote regions appeared only in the late 1860s, let  alone their musical subdivisions, which did not exist—​hence did not publish any musical ethnography—​before the late 1880s. As a result, despite Russia’s proximity to Asia, many Russian composers, even those whom Stasov praised as nationalist, often relied on the existing European musical clichés representing the East. In addition, some composers undermined the distinction of Russian musical identity by introducing western Orientalist gestures that depicted Russian characters in their music. Rimsky-​Korsakov, for instance, once confessed that King Berendey’s second cavatina in his Snegurochka [The Snow Maiden] (1880–​ 81) was “undoubtedly influenced” by the “charming song” “Ô nuit, Ô belle nuit” from Félicien David’s ode symphonie Le Désert.5 This comment, thrown casually into a conversation with Vasily Yastrebtsev, casts a shadow on musical Russianness as a whole, since it demonstrates that Rimsky-​Korsakov saw absolutely no contradiction in the introduction of elements of French musical Orientalism in an opera based on a purely Russian subject. In spite of this, it should be stressed that not only Rimsky-​Korsakov but also other Russian composers considered the appropriation of European musical truisms to be absolutely legitimate because of some vague notion of “artistic truth.”6 There was a general consensus among Russian literati and artists that artistic works, or works that were valued for their artistic representation of reality of any kind—​be it Russian or Middle Eastern lands or characters from a remote past—​did not have to replicate reality as it was. The artists had to reflect their own understandings or perceptions of reality, based on collective or individual life experiences. Since many Russian artists were brought up by European standards, western European Orientalist culture

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five represented an important part of nineteenth-​century Russian cultural experience and shaped or informed Russian artists’ understanding of the East. Under the umbrella of “artistic truth,” Russian composers could employ all musical elements to evoke not just eastern but any type of music. At the same time, some composers were inclined toward ethnographic research on Russia’s own people living in Asia or the Caucasus. As discussed in ­chapter 4, Alexander Aliab’ev incorporated a number of folk tunes into his music that he himself had transcribed during his exile to Russia’s Asia and the Caucasus. As I will discuss, Balakirev also made abundant use of his own transcriptions of folk tunes brought from his trips to the Caucasus and encouraged and inspired a generation of composers to search for authentic material, that is original material gathered from local culture-​bearers. Thus, two major threads run through the approach to the eastern subject in Russian nineteenth-​century art song. The first, which I call the “ethnographic approach,” reflects the popular 1860s movement of “going to the people,” or the practice of gathering folk material from peasants.7 This approach is characterized by musicians’ interest in firsthand knowledge not only about Russian musical traditions but also about the cultures of Russia’s inorodtsy. The second, which I call the “westernized approach,” can be described as borrowing ready-​made western Orientalist musical material (transcriptions and arrangements) from European collections of nonwestern songs and incorporating some musical gestures that characterized the East in western European music. I will consider how Balakirev and other members of the Moguchaia Kuchka approached folk melodies of inorodtsy and other non-​European peoples and incorporated them into their music. Some elements previously associated with the East became an inherent part of Russian musical identity. Multiple examples of musical appropriation or syncretism of Russian and eastern styles, considered at the end of the chapter, will help to trace this transition. Instead of covering the vast repertoire of nineteenth-​century Russian art songs that allude to the East, I will restrict myself to Balakirev’s art songs, or the works composed by the members of his circle that were clearly created under the spell of his travels to the Caucasus, so eloquently expressed in the epigraph to this chapter.8 The choice is by no means arbitrary: in the 1860s, for the members of the Kuchka, Balakirev was the chief provider of not only Russian but also “oriental” (mostly Caucasian) musical material, as the Russian sources containing transcriptions of melodies could be counted on the fingers of one hand.9 If Balakirev had never traveled to the Caucasus and had never brought and shared his musical impressions, many pages of Russian music evoking exotic lands would not have come into being. Works considered classics today in the Russian repertoire—​ Balakirev’s Islamey and Tamara, and Rimsky-​ Korsakov’s Scheherazade and Antar—​would have never existed or would have had substantially different and probably less appealing features.Without Balakirev’s tireless encouragement and

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162 Representing Russia’s Orient mentorship, the young naval officer Rimsky-​Korsakov might have followed the family tradition of serving in the navy and might never have pursued a musical career. On many occasions, he stated that after his three-​year trip oversees on the clipper Almaz, “distant lands began to allure” him and “thoughts of becoming a musician and composer” left him altogether.10 If he and Balakirev had not crossed paths, we would likely have been left without some of the most beautiful works of Russian music (including pieces with oriental subjects), nor would they have left their mark not only on three generations of Russian and then Soviet composers but also on French musical modernism.11 Although Balakirev was not the most prolific composer, he was an encouraging mentor, always disposed to give advice to the members of his “clan” and always insisting on their works’ compositional perfection—​whatever his personal taste and creative imagination defined as “perfect.” Rimsky-​Korsakov’s memoirs about the early 1860s are abundant in passages similar to this one describing his musical guru as “an excellent pianist, a superior sight reader of music . . . unhesitating, authoritative and straightforward in speech; ready at any moment for beautiful piano improvisation, remembering every bar of music familiar to him, instantly learning by heart the compositions played for him, he was bound to exercise that spell as no one else could. . . . His influence over those around him was boundless; and resembled some magnetic or mesmeric force.”12 A “splendid improviser” and inveterate procrastinator who did not finish a number of his large projects, Balakirev nonetheless wrote a considerable number of art songs, which encapsulated his compositional ideas and were used as models for emulation, not exclusively by members of the Kuchka. Inconsistent in his attitude toward Russia’s inorodtsy, Balakirev sometimes expressed ambivalent views about the same peoples. But his complex approach was symptomatic of the time and place in which he lived. As discussed in c­ hapter 4, many Russian intellectuals associated the Caucasus with an independent spirit of opposition to the suffocating official policies while simultaneously believing that the presence of the Russian army was necessary to pacify the region and bring civilization to the people living there. Toward the end of Balakirev’s life, however, his perspective on Russia’s expansionist wars in the Caucasus and in Asia became more critical. In one of his latest art songs, he questions the necessity of the Russian presence in the Caucasus and Asia and the human sacrifice it has precipitated and the personal tragedies of those who have been sent there to fight. In this respect, a close look at Balakirev’s musical and personal encounters with Russia’s inorodtsy offers invaluable insights into the complex cultural interactions between Russians and the empire’s newly (and not so newly) acquired populations. Because of all these qualities of Balakirev’s character, and his undeniable influence on the formation of the most famous cohort of Russian

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five nineteenth-​century composers, his art songs with oriental subjects are the focus of this chapter.

Balakirev and His Experience with the Music of Russia’s inorodtsy Balakirev, the Kuchka’s head, was interested in learning about oriental music firsthand. Although he was by no means the most meticulous ethnographer, and sometimes mixed up different Russian ethnic groups in one piece of music, he still could be counted among the group of raznochintsy seized with the spirit of ethnographic research.13 Balakirev’s earliest exposure to inorodtsy music might have occurred in Nizhnii Novgorod (a city on the Volga River halfway between Moscow and Kazan), where he was born and spent his youth. As the “third official capital,” Nizhnii Novgorod was famous for its annual summer trade fair—​one of the largest in Europe (bigger than the one in Leipzig)—​ which transformed the city into a meeting place for eastern and western cultures; people from remote areas of the vast Russian empire and elsewhere came for two summer months to trade.14 In the mid-​1850s, one participant asserted in the pages of the Russian journal Severnaia pchela that “Armenians, Bukhareans, and Tatars are so many that one can meet them at every step. The dialects of the many nationalities constantly pursue you, so that it seems that here is the second tower of Babel.”15 Besides the yearly trade fairs, Balakirev could also have gained some musical experience from Novgorod’s diverse local population, which included Tatars, Mordvinians, and Cheremis people.16 Balakirev’s mentor, friend, and patron Alexander Ulybyshev, a landowner in Nizhnii Novgorod, was interested in nonwestern music as well. In his writings, Ulybyshev described his experience listening to Turkish and Persian songs of the “natives” (tuzemtsy).17 Because Ulybyshev played a crucial role in Balakirev’s early education, he could have been one of the first to introduce Balakirev to Middle Eastern tunes. When Balakirev left Nizhnii Novgorod to study at Kazan University, he was once again in a multiethnic milieu: both the students and the professors at Kazan University were of diverse ethnic backgrounds. The professors who taught in the Department of Oriental Studies, for example, were Tatars, Persians, Buriats, Turks, and representatives of other Asian and Middle Eastern ethnic groups.18 In addition to their required courses, students were allowed attend lectures by any of the professors on campus. So Balakirev, even though studied mathematics, could have attended some lectures by professors from other faculties, including the well-​reputed faculty of Oriental Studies. Moreover, the city of Kazan itself, which before the mid-​sixteenth century had been a center of the Golden Horde, presented a mixture of Russians and inorodtsy (mostly

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164 Representing Russia’s Orient Turkic-​speaking Tatars) living side by side.19 It is difficult to imagine Balakirev not having any musical experience with the ethnically diverse local population during the two years he spent in Kazan.

Balakirev and the Caucasus Balakirev traveled to the Caucasus three times:  in 1862, 1863, and 1868.20 During his first trip, he wrote a few letters to Stasov and Cui in which he expressed his delight with the Caucasian nature and people. He stated:  “the climate here is delightful [prelestnyi], the view of the Caucasian mountains instills into me something energetic, strong.”21 Many Russian researchers have connected Balakirev’s fascination with the Caucasus to his admiration of Mikhail Lermontov, a Russian soldier poet who served and died tragically in the Caucasus.22 In a letter to Stasov written in Piatigorsk, Balakirev confessed: “I am living and breathing Lermontov these days. . . . Of all Russian things, Lermontov has the strongest impact on me. . . We are alike in so many ways. I love the same kind of nature as Lermontov does. . . . The Circassians please me in the same way (I know nothing better than the Circassian way of dressing), and there are many other strings that Lermontov touches that resonate also with me” (see in fig. 5.1 a picture of Balakirev in Circassian attire taken during his first trip).23 This might explain why most of Balakirev’s songs with exotic subjects were settings of Lermontov’s poems (“Pesnia Selima,” “Evreiskaia melodiia,” “Sosna,” and “Son”).24 In addition to the art songs, Balakirev composed a symphonic poem based on Lermontov’s narrative poem Tamara and also planned to write another programmatic symphony based on Lermontov’s Mtsyri.25 Balakirev’s impression of the Caucasian countryside excited him even three decades after his trip to the Caucasus. In a letter to one of his acquaintances, Balakirev recalled:  “The grandiose beauty of luxuriant nature there, and, harmonizing with it, the beauty of the peoples who inhabit this country—​all these together made a deep impression on me, and so I  came up with the idea of a large orchestral work to set forth these impressions.”26 During his second trip to the Caucasus in 1863, his predilection for sweeping landscapes developed into a genuine interest in the music and culture of Caucasian peoples. He wrote to Stasov that he found “some juice” in the “virgin breed of people not yet touched by civilization.”27 During this trip Balakirev “discovered” Georgian culture and even learned some of the Georgian alphabet.28 In a letter to Cui written in Tiflis in 1863, Balakirev declared that he had become a “partisan of the Georgians.” “I love their songs,” he confessed; “I even learned the Georgian alphabet. . . . What a wonderful dance they have in lezghinka!”29 Almost four decades after his first two trips to Georgia, Balakirev still recalled his impression of Georgian music. In a conversation with Vasilii Glebov, when

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five

Figure 5.1.  Balakirev in Circassian attire (1862). Photo in Russian Musical Gazette 41 (1910): 865. Courtesy of the National Library of Russia, St. Petersburg

the latter remarked that Russian folk songs were “too monotonous, not very melodious, and sometimes even cacophonic,” Balakirev replied that when he had first traveled to the Caucasus, he had had similar feelings about the songs of the Georgian peasants. When he later analyzed their music in detail, however, and “understood the soul of these songs,” he became “enraptured” with their “richness and originality.”30 Among the peoples of the Caucasus, he also expressed interest in the Armenians: he supported them in their conflict with the Azeri people, known as the Armeno-​Tatar War, which started during the Russian Revolution of 1905 and lasted two years. In 1907, he contributed to a collection of music pieces and songs called Artsunkner [Tears] published “for the benefit of starving Armenians.” He arranged an Armenian song he had transcribed earlier from Liudmila Karmalina for piano.31 Balakirev’s fondness for the Georgians and Armenians is not surprising: as an Orthodox Christian and pan-​Slavist, he would certainly have felt sympathy toward his Christian brothers.32 It is perhaps more perplexing that he expressed a positive attitude toward the Muslim Circassians, since bloody clashes between

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166 Representing Russia’s Orient Russians and Muslims in the North Caucasus were still prevalent the first two times he traveled there. (As discussed in ­chapter  4, in 1864 Russia officially claimed to have subjugated the entire Caucasus but resistance continued there for several decades.) While in the Caucasus, Balakirev wrote to Stasov and spoke about the Circassians as “a great bunch of people.”33 He liked one of the Circassian dance melodies so much that it became the main theme of his famous piano piece Islamey. In a letter to Cui, Balakirev confessed that he liked Circassians as much as he liked Russians and added with indignation that the Russians treated them by “pillaging them as much as possible ‘in the Tatar way’—​better to say, in the Muscovite way!”34 One of his anecdotes from a visit to Kislovodsk, described in 1862 in the same letter, is worth mentioning since it offers a fascinating glimpse into Russian-​Caucasian social encounters. At one point, Balakirev and the other Russian visitors at the resort met with a group of Circassians and spoke with them for quite some time. At first, the Circassians were surprised that the Russians spoke to them in a human-​like manner (po-​chelovecheski), and “opened their mouths wide with amazement.”35 When Balakirev and the other Russians expressed their personal sympathy and that of all educated Russian society toward the Circassians, they wanted to hug the visitors, but the interpreter stopped them. Balakirev continued: “then we spoke for a while in the same vein, and they were surprised and delighted with our talk (they are very unspoiled), and finally one of them said:  if all Russians here were like you, then the Caucasus would have been won long ago. I love Circassian simplicity and sincerity.”36 Here Balakirev revealed his compassion toward the Circassians and distanced himself from the “repulsive and predatory [Russian] officials” who served in the Caucasus.37 Most likely, his interest in the Circassians arose from the general Russian romantic notion of the Caucasus as the land of freedom, as discussed in the previous chapter. His open-​mindedness to the Circassians’ situation, particularly their squalid living conditions, may have led to his comprehension of their music and culture. To a certain extent, a profound empathy with Caucasians seems to have helped him to “understand the soul of their songs” to the point of being able to transmit the spirit of their music. According to one witness’s description of Balakirev’s encounter with the Kabardians, he was so apt at arranging their dances that when he started playing their traditional music on the piano, “an 80-​year-​old man, a respectful uzden, could not help but throw himself into a dance.”38 Balakirev’s arrangement of a local tune not only was instantly recognizable but also captured the spirit of the dance so well that it inspired the local people to dance. Beyond the Georgian, Armenian, and Circassian peoples, Balakirev also cultivated a great interest in Turkish, Spanish, and Persian music.39 In a letter to Stasov, he promised to “exert every effort” in order to travel to Spain, Turkey, and Persia.40 He might have wanted to explore certain musical similarities with

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Russian, Spanish, and inorodtsy folk songs, because in the same letter he cited a Russian folk song alongside Circassian and Spanish ones and pointed out their melodic resemblance by asking rhetorically: “these songs are of the same kind, aren’t they?”41 Indeed, to a nonspecialist, these three melodies cited by Balakirev, when presented in standard one-​line notation, might appear similar in melodic contour and rhythm. This passage reveals that Balakirev’s evaluation of the melodies was not tainted with any sense of superiority over the conquered Circassians; rather, the compared cultures are considered as equals—​or nearly so—​at least in musical terms. In addition to transcribing tunes during his travels to the Caucasus, Balakirev seized every opportunity to take down a traditional tune from anyone—​friend or stranger—​and encouraged other members of his circle to collect the music of inorodtsy. As Rimsky-​Korsakov recounted, when he and Balakirev visited the barracks of His Majesty’s Imperial Escort, they heard how “eastern men” (vostochnye cheloveki) played music on some kind of balalaika-​shaped or guitar-​ like instrument and sang “in chorus the melody of Glinka’s Persian Chorus, though a variation of it.”42 Balakirev memorized the melodies and, according to Rimsky-​Korsakov, later used one of them as the first subject of the Allegro of his symphonic poem Tamara.43 In another instance, Balakirev instructed Rimsky-​Korsakov—​then a cadet in the Imperial Russian Navy—when he went on a maritime trip on the clipper Almaz, to transcribe and carefully listen to music he heard during his overseas trip, particularly “the rhythm played on drums, and everything related to the primitive music.”44 Balakirev’s insistence on searching for authentic material to draw on in composing original music bore fruit:  at least two other members of his circle demonstrated interest in music ethnography and aimed to create genuine representations of inorodtsy culture. I will come back to this point, but for now, I’ll consider Balakirev’s musical impressions from the Caucasus.

Balakirev’s Transcriptions According to Soviet scholar Boris Dobrovol’skii, Balakirev transcribed the North Caucasian tunes (including Kabardian and Chechen ones) no later than 1863, and Transcaucasian (including Georgian, Armenian, and Azeri), as well as Kalmyk and Hungarian, melodies in 1868, during his third trip to the Caucasus.45 His sketchbook recordings of the Caucasian tunes often do not contain sufficient information on where, when, from whom, and how the tunes were transcribed. He rarely wrote out the texts of the songs. Often he did not bother to indicate the tempo or meter, and he left many songs unfinished. In short, Balakirev was not the most rigorous ethnographer.46 Some songs, however, seem to have been transcribed with great precision. One, for instance, appears in two later transcriptions by Russian composers: the first by Mikhail

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168 Representing Russia’s Orient Ippolitov-​Ivanov, who traveled to Kakhetiia in 1882 and published it in 1895 in the journal Artist with Georgian and Russian texts, and the second by Nikolai Klenovskii, who transcribed it in 1892 from one of his Georgian students studying in Moscow.47 All three versions have an identical melodic contour, as well as the same opening, cadential gestures, and characteristic sliding gesture from the fifth to the first scale degree at the end of the song. In short, all three songs look like variants of one source melody. A few of the tunes from Balakirev’s transcriptions have brief notes that hint at the location and situation in which they were transcribed. After gathering details from Balakirev’s notebook and analyzing the tunes’ melodic content, Dobrovol’skii concluded that Balakirev transcribed melodies from many different ethnic groups living in the North Caucasus and the Transcaucasian regions:  Georgians, Armenians, Azeris, Kabardians, Chechens, and even Hungarians. Some transcriptions were probably lost, as there are no motifs similar to the melodies in Louis-​Albert Bourgault-​Ducoudray’s opera Tamara in Balakirev’s archival materials. Even though the French composer claimed in his letter to Balakirev that he had used tunes Balakirev had sent him in the introduction to the opera and in the melodic line of the warrior Hirvan, Dobrovol’skii could not find them.48 Balakirev’s sketchbook also contains folk songs transcribed from the Kalmyks, an Asian people living in Russian cities bordering with Asia; they could have been transcribed in 1868 when Balakirev traveled to Astrakhan, a city with a large Kalmyk population.49 Although Balakirev expressed interest in inorodtsy music and delight with the music and culture of peoples living in the Caucasus, after his third trip there in 1868 he had an apparent change of heart. In a letter to Hector Berlioz, written in Russian and translated into French by his friends (Balakirev did not feel at ease writing in French), he referred to the peoples of the Caucasus (both Christian and non-​Christian) as “Asian rabble” (aziatskii sbrod):50 “it might be that next spring in Tiflis—​the capital of the Caucasus—​Armenians, Georgians, Persians, Circassians, Kabardians, and the rest of Asian rabble for the first time will hear, under my direction, the music of Beethoven, Schumann, Glinka, Fr. Schubert, and, of course, yours.”51 Balakirev not only called the Asians “rabble” but he also assumed they were at a lower level of cultural development, as evidenced by his comment that he did not want to perform for them “anything too serious so as not to startle them.”52 Perhaps when Balakirev talked to a western musician like Berlioz, he may have been indicating the provincial status of Tiflis and/​or may have seen himself as an agent of western civilization, bringing European culture to uneducated and uncivilized people. After all, as was discussed in ­chapter  4, like many middle-​class educated Russians, he was steeped in popular nineteenth-​century Russian literature, in which the Caucasus was often perceived from the perspective of a Russian soldier. In many Russian

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five romantic novels, including one Balakirev liked very much, Lermontov’s Hero of Our Time, Asians are often presented as “exceedingly stupid” (preglupye), as “pitiful” (zhalkie), as “swindlers” (pluty), and as unable to take care of themselves. Although Pushkin, Lermontov, and Tolstoi sometimes portrayed the mountaineers as noble, nature-loving, and freedom-loving savages, in Andreas Kappeler’s words, “in the long term the negative image of unreliable brigands and Muslim fanatics gained the upper hand.”53 That said, it should be stressed that Balakirev does not merit the reputation of a government agent whose views on the conquered peoples differed drastically from his opinion about his own culturally advanced brothers. On the contrary, Balakirev once revealed his negative feelings toward his own Slavic peoples and even toward Russians themselves. For instance, when he traveled to the Caucasus, he encountered Ukrainians, whom he called by the pejorative name “Khokhly” and compared unflatteringly with Asians: “what is repelling in them is their continuous desire to be sly . . . but their slyness is somehow trivial, Asian, penetrated them through. . . . They are not able to be civilisers.”54 Furthermore, in a letter to Stasov written during his 1864 trip to the village of Sushchevo, Balakirev writes that his euphoria about his common brethren has passed and now, when he looks at common Russian people (narod) without bias, he concludes that “the Russian common people are not very clever, although sensible enough, rather ugly, very dishonest, even vile. . . . They are excellent in dragging weights  .  .  .  decent stokers, but no more than that.”55 However, in 1880, after the 1877–​78 Russo-​Turkish War and the national liberation movements of the Slavic peoples in the Balkans that contributed to the growth of Pan-​Slavism (discussed in ­chapter 1), Balakirev defended his fellow Slavs, praising the Czechs for the “frantic and unbelievable energy” they displayed in the crusades, the “heroism” Serbs displayed in the defense against the Turks, and the little nation of the Montenegrins for confronting the Turks and the Germans.56 Therefore, Balakirev’s attitude toward Caucasian peoples, as well as toward his own Slavic brethren, was complex, and to a certain extent echoes the wide range of contemporary opinions on inorodtsy.

The Russian Orient in Balakirev’s Art Songs “Pesnia Selima” (Selim’s Song) One of the earliest examples of a song with a Caucasian subject, “Selim’s Song” Balakirev composed in 1858, four years before his trip to the Caucasus. It is based on Lermontov’s poèma Izmail-​Bei.57 In the poèma this song is performed by a young girl called Zara, who disguises herself as a male (Selim) in order to follow her beloved prince, Izmail-​Bei. She sings a song about a girl who sends her djigit to a war and tells him to stay loyal to love:

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170 Representing Russia’s Orient Месяц плывет И тих и спокоен;

The moon above Is quiet and calm,

А юноша-​воин На битву идет. Ружье заряжает джигит, И дева ему говорит: “Мой милый, смелее Вверяйся ты року, Молися востоку, Будь верен Пророку, Любви будь вернее! Любви изменивший Изменой кровавой, Врага не сразивши, Погибнет без славы; Дожди его ран не обмоют,

But a young warrior Is headed for battle. As the dzhigit58 loads his musket, A maiden says to him, “My darling! Believe firmly in fate And pray to the East! Be true to the Prophet, But be even truer to love! He who betrays love In foul treachery, Without having vanquished an enemy, Will die without glory; Even the rains will never wash away his wounds, And even wild beasts won’t bother to bury his bones.” The moon above is quiet and calm . . .59

И звери костей не зароют!” Месяц плывет . . .

Russian musicologist Vasina-​Grossman claims that Balakirev’s song “Selim’s Song” follows the tradition of the Decembrist interpretation of the Caucasus as the land of freedom.60 According to Vasina-​Grossman, the generation of the 1860s perceived this song as a call to the struggle for freedom because the Russian revolutionary democrat Nikolai Chernyshevskii cited it in his celebrated novel What Is To Be Done?61 However, I contend that this song cannot be evaluated as a Decembrist song, because instead of valuing warfare or freedom, it underlines the importance of being faithful to love (not even as much as to the Prophet, who in Decembrist poetry was often used to signify a higher idea). Even though the text refers to “vanquishing the enemy,” the emphasis on love seems to be more important, for several reasons. First, of two versions of the poem, Balakirev used the one that places greater value on the love theme. In the second version that Lermontov later wrote for another narrative poem, Beglets [The Fugitive], the main theme of love is changed to glory, which affects the meaning of the poem. Second, Balakirev’s setting musically underscores the phrase that encourages the protagonist to be faithful to love. It is set up against a declamatory phrase (“Pray to the Orient, /​be faithful to the Prophet”) that is sung on D-​sharp, colored by B major harmony. The relatively slow rate of

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Example 5.1a.  Balakirev, “Pesnia Selima” [Selim Song], mm. 29–​33

harmonic change and the one-​note declamation in this phrase is interrupted by the phrase “Be even truer to Love.” The harmony suddenly moves to G-​sharp minor, while the melody descends in stepwise motion with a dotted rhythm—​ all of which makes this line sound more decisive (ex. 5.1a). Thus, it is unlikely that Balakirev meant to evoke a Decembrist Orient here. Rather, he aimed to write music with local color. Even though, as I have already observed, he wrote “Selim’s Song” before his trip to the Caucasus, both the vocal line and the accompaniment have some features of Caucasian music (pointing out the exotic origin of the song’s protagonist). Balakirev could have learned them from his St. Petersburg friend Nikolai Borozdin. In the dedication of his “Pesnia Selima” to Borozdin, Balakirev wrote in his friend’s album:  “in memory of that supreme delight that he experienced [vkushal] in his friendship with Migrel’tsy” (a people living in Georgia).62 This note suggests that Borozdin, as an amateur composer who often participated in Balakirev’s gatherings, certainly played and sang some samples of Caucasian music to the head of the Kuchka and introduced him to Caucasian culture and different ethnicities living in the Caucuses.63 In his analysis of this song, Edward Garden claims that “the only means Balakirev uses for an eastern effect is an augmented second” in the piano interlude.64 However, the eastern flavor extends to other elements of the score, and one of the most notable examples is found in the instrumental interlude and postlude, which imitate the sound of a Middle Eastern or Asian ensemble:  a short solo improvisatory beginning is followed by a section in which a melody is accompanied by a drone emulating the sound of the open strings of a traditional plucked string instrument (ex. 5.1b).65 It is no coincidence that Balakirev introduced these musical gestures into the accompaniment, since in Russian music it was the accompaniment that usually signified couleur locale (via ornamentations, chromatic passages, and augmented seconds), while the vocal line conformed to characteristics of European (diatonic and nonmelismatic) music.66

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172 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 5.1b.  Balakirev, “Pesnia Selima” [Selim Song], mm. 1–​8

The vocal line at the beginning of “Selim’s Song,” however, also includes a touch of local color. Grigorii Kisilev believes that this is due to the “meandering melodic line [izvilistost melodicheskoi linii],” while Russian researcher Anna Vikhanskaia suggests that its eastern nature is manifested in its “mediant melodic variant [tertsovyi melodicheskii variant].”67 Unfortunately, she does not explain what she means by “mediant melodic variant.” Perhaps she is referring to the short sequence on the words “A iunosha voin na bitvu idet,” a three-​note pattern that is first sung in B major and then is repeated a third down in G-​sharp minor (ex. 5.2a). Another Russian musicologist—​Nadezhda Dmitriadi—​calls this pattern a “mutable relative major-​minor mode” [parallel’no-​peremennyi lad]” and identifies it as a characteristic element of both eastern and Russian music.68 There are countless Russian pieces with eastern subjects that use the relative major-​minor mode, including Glinka’s “Persian Choir” and “Turkish Dance” in Ruslan, Borodin’s “Choir” and “Dance of Polovtian Girls” in Prince Igor, Rimsky-​ Korsakov’s “The Tale of the Kalender Prince” (II) from Scheherazade, and many others. The melodic phrase d♯–​c♯–​d♯–​b (in m.  13, ex. 5.2a) also resembles the beginning of Glinka’s Ratmir Aria (on the words “Khazarii roskoshnyi tsvet”) in his opera Ruslan and Liudmila (act 3)—​the model work using the Middle Eastern or Asian musical vocabulary worshiped in Balakirev’s circle (ex. 5.2b). Although this melodic phrase is found in art songs or arias that refer to eastern subjects, it cannot be classified as exclusively “eastern.” A similar melodic gesture occurs in Balakirev’s art songs “Vzoshel na nebo mesiats iasnyi” (M. Iatsevich, 1858) and “Pridi ko mne” (A. Kol’tsov, 1868), Borodin’s “Morskaia tsarevna” (A. Borodin, 1868)  and “Pesnia temnogo lesa” (A. Borodin, 1868)—​all songs that

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Example 5.2a.  Balakirev, “Pesnia Selima” [Selim Song], mm. 13–​15

Example 5.2b.  Glinka, Ratmir’s aria from Ruslan and Liudmila (act 3), mm. 109–​11

have little or nothing to do with the East.69 Again, in the music of the composers of the Kuchka, certain elements associated with Middle Eastern, Caucasian, or Asian worlds penetrated representations of the western realm and, by extension, became intrinsic to Russian music. “Pesnia Selima” was praised by most prominent Russian composers, including Tchaikovsky, who called it a “little chef d’oeuvre” and, in a letter to Madame von Meck, confessed that he could not listen to it without tears.70 Alexander Serov also complimented the song; he points out that it is “removed from vulgar trivialities and platitudes [poshlost]” and “shows a great deal of intellect” and “harmonic innovations.”71 Serov, however, predicted that “Pesnia Selima” and the eleven other songs Balakirev published along with it as a group in 1859 would not be popular among his contemporaries because they were not composed for “the general taste, [but] for that of the more refined and educated” individual. Luckily, Serov’s words proved not to be true, since “Pesnia Selima” was published no less than four times in Balakirev’s lifetime and gained a certain success among the Russian public.

“Gruzinskaia Pesnia” [Georgian Song] Of Balakirev’s early art songs with nonwestern subjects, “Gruzinakaia pesnia” represents one of his most vivid evocations of Georgian music; it was written right after his second trip to the Caucasus in 1863.72 In a letter

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174 Representing Russia’s Orient to Bourgault-​Ducoudray, Balakirev confessed that even though he did not use any folk melodies, his “Georgian Song” was “induced by impressions from the Caucasus.”73 Even so, Taruskin has discerned in it a “stereotyped local color” and noticed the presence of musical elements that do not reflect Georgian music.74 According to Taruskin, Balakirev’s setting of Pushkin’s “Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne,” published under the actual title “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], resembles Turkish and Persian music, rather than Georgian. Taruskin maintains that Balakirev was aware of the discrepancies between real Georgian music and the music he created to represent Georgia. Besides Taruskin, some Soviet scholars have also claimed that Balakirev did not pursue ethnographic research and did not aim for an authentic representation (as in Islamey). Instead, as Emilia Frid and Anna Vikhanskaia have pointed out, he seems to have been intending to create a more general image of it, and he “blended the musical characteristics” of all the people living in the Caucasus, presenting a stylized “spirit of the traditional Russian Orient.”75 Taruskin interprets this as “meant to sacrifice verisimilitude to something higher, or at least more legible—​what Russians call khudozhestvennaia pravda, ‘artistic truth.’ ”76 Balakirev thus reproduced his contemporaries’ idea of the Orient instead of Georgian music. However, does verisimilitude always have to be sacrificed for the sake of “artistic truth”? Do the categories of artistic integrity and authentic representation have to be opposed? Can they sometimes be ambivalent and interact with each other, or be broad enough to simply overlap? The answer to these questions might be found in Balakirev’s sketchbook containing many transcriptions of traditional Georgian songs. A  close analysis of these transcriptions suggests that he perceived as particularly Georgian some of the musical elements that Taruskin, Frid, and Vikhanskaia claim to be not Georgian. Take, for instance, an opening piano and vocal phrase in “Georgian Song” that uses an ascending stepwise motion from the first to the third scale degree (or from the third to the fifth scale degree in relative minor), in which the third note has a relatively longer value (mm. 6–​7, 48–​49, and 50–​51 in ex. 5.3a). This gesture is found in at least three other Georgian tunes (nos. 15, 19, and 22) in Balakirev’s sketchbook (ex. 5.3b).77 In addition, a number of songs popular in Tiflis at the beginning of the nineteenth century often used this gesture in opening phrases. An example is the Georgian song “Akhal agnago sulo,” whose text was translated by Pushkin and melody was transcribed and used by several composers (including Glinka and Aliab’ev in their “Georgian Songs,” discussed in ­chapter 4; see exs. 4.5a and 4.5b). As Sokolova argues, although this gesture is “equally inherent in European melody,” in Russian music it came to be used as an intrinsic component of musical Orient.78

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Example 5.3a.  Balakirev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], mm. 49–​52

Example 5.3b.  Balakirev’s transcription of a Georgian song (no. 15), mm. 1–​4

Example 5.3c.  Balakirev’s transcription of Georgian song “Akh, dilav” (no. 19), mm. 9–​12

Another gesture—​a melismatic descent from the fifth to the first scale degree on the words “pesen Gruzii” [songs of Georgia] (ex. 5.3a, mm. 51–​52)—​is derived from two of Balakirev’s Georgian transcriptions, “Varikhir, akh dilav” (no. 12 in his sketchbook) and “Akh, dilav” (no. 19; ex. 5.3c). In addition to these melodic gestures, he uses a melismatic element from a tune titled “Perkhuli” (the name of a Georgian dance; no.  20 in his sketchbook, m.  2), citing the

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176 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 5.4a.  Balakirev’s transcription of Georgian dance “Perkhuli,” mm. 1–​3

Example 5.4b.  Balakirev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia,” [Georgian Song], mm. 59–​60

element directly in the piano postlude of his “Georgian Song” (m. 59) on the same pitch as the original (compare exs. 5.4a and 5.4b). Apart from melodic elements, Balakirev utilizes different modes from his Caucasian sketchbook: a mode with an augmented second (nos. 12 and 19) is used in measures 7–​8 and 51–​52; the elements of the Dorian mode found in songs 2 and 17 are also employed in measures 2–​4 and 61–​62 of his “Georgian Song”; and the Phrygian mode prominent in melody 9 in his sketchbook is found in measure 59 of his “Georgian Song.” Significantly, Balakirev at first perceived the Dorian as a Russian mode, calling it the “Russian minor scale,” which in his Overture on Three Russian Themes (1858) and his 1866 arrangements of Russian folk songs resulted in a remarkable harmonic flavor involving minor dominant and major subdominant chords.79 However, after his discovery of this mode in the Caucasus, Dorian became a marker of authenticity in general. Besides Balakirev, whose transcriptions affirm the existence of melismas and augmented seconds in Georgian music, other nineteenth-​century Russian musicians also noted the presence of musical elements in Georgian music that Taruskin has argued are Persian or Turkish. One study by Mikhail Ippolitov-​ Ivanov, a composer who lived and worked in Tiflis for more than a decade and made ethnographic trips into inner Georgian regions, provides a general account of different styles of Georgian music, some of which indeed resemble Persian music.80 In his article “Georgian Folk Song and its Current Condition” [Gruzinskaia narodnaia pesnia i ee sovremennoe sostoianie], published in 1895

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five in the journal Artist, Ippolitov-​Ivanov offered his explanation of why some Persian and Arabic elements were so prominent in Georgian music. According to him, Georgia’s geographical position had made it difficult to preserve its cultural particularity:  it was surrounded by Muslim states and peoples, with Ossetinians and Dagestanis to the north, Turks and Persians to the south, Abkhasians to the west, and Tatars to the east and south. Since the eighth century, Georgian culture had been under the influence of Arabic culture, which, in music, could be observed in melismas, small gruppetti, trills, and long passages of small notes: “the beauty of such melismas fascinated absolutely all people who happened to encounter the Arabs. The traces of their musical influence can be found in traditional music of Spanish, Turkic, Persian, and Tatar peoples.”81 Many Georgian songs transcribed by Ippolitov-​Ivanov bear remnants of “Arabic” music: for instance, songs 2, 3, 8, 10, 11, and 12 in his article have melismas, trills, and long passages of notes of short duration.The influence of Persian music, according to him, had become prominent in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when Georgia had been governed by Muslim rulers who hired Persian singers and musicians to perform in their courts.The attraction to Persian music was so strong that when Georgia regained its political independence from Persia, many rulers and aristocrats preferred to surround themselves with Persian musicians.82 For Ippolitov-​Ivanov, modes with augmented seconds characterized Persian music. According to his classification, then, two Georgian songs (nos. 5 and 12) in his article were influenced by Persian music, since they were based on a mode with an augmented second. Ippolitov-​Ivanov’s article was not the only nineteenth-​century source that noted the existence of chromaticism, melismas, and augmented seconds in Georgian music. Arsenii Koreshchenko, another Russian composer and a member of the MEK, also observed the presence of melismas and chromaticism in Georgian folk songs.83 In the same vein as Ippolitov-​Ivanov, Koreshchenko points out that these elements were incorporated from Arabic and Persian music and were prominent mostly in the regions of Georgia where the population was mixed with Tatars and Armenians.84 For example, in the Kakheti (Kakhetiia) and Kartli (Kartaliniia) regions, the simple diatonic Georgian melody came to be embellished with chromaticism, “additional small notes,” and “ill-​starred augmented seconds.”85 Koreshchenko believed in a narrow sense of Georgia, denying its historical development; he asserted that the authenticity of Georgian music could be recovered by cutting out all embellishments. To prove his statement, he actually cut all the melismas in one Kakhetinian melody and claimed that the “the beauty of the melody did not lose anything by this [procedure].”86 A later ethnographic study of Georgian music (made with the help of a wax cylinder phonograph), written in Russian by Georgian composer

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178 Representing Russia’s Orient and musicologist Dmitrii Arakishvili (Arakchiev), discusses the influence of Persian and Arabic music on Georgian folk song. Arakchiev points out that in Georgia at the beginning of the twentieth century, everyone loved and performed music with Persian and Arabic elements, and in aristocratic circles this music was often accompanied by Persian instruments.87 Perhaps Arakchiev was the most correct calling solo songs with melismas, syncopated rhythm, and augmented seconds “urban Persian-Arab-Georgian music.”88 Balakirev must have had special attraction to Georgian songs based on scales characteristic of the Kartli and Kakheti regions. In his “Georgian Song,” along with a highly melismatic melody and a scale with an augmented second, he used the Dorian and Phrygian modes characteristic of urban areas and the Kartli or Kakheti regions. Likewise, some gestures in this art song resemble many features of Georgian folk song that Arakchiev transcribed in the Kakheti and Kartli regions.89 For instance, one characteristic element of modal development in Balakirev’s “Georgian Song”—​a juxtaposition of two different versions of the same scale degree (for example, on the words bereg dal’noi the harmonic seventh degree is changed almost immediately to its natural version)—​is often found in Georgian folk songs in the Kakheti and Kartli regions (mm. 13 and 14 in ex. 5.5).90 For example, song 1 in appendix 2 of Arakchiev’s transcription alters b♭ with b♮, which changes the mode from Phrygian to Aeolian, and e♭ with e♮, switching from Locrian to Phrygian mode (fig. 5.2).91 Similarly, songs 6 and 15 in Arakchiev’s appendix 1 and songs 2, 3, 6, and 10 in his appendix 2 are based on pitch material that switches from one mode to another. Some melodic features of Georgian folk song transcribed in the Kakheti region are also found in Balakirev’s “Georgian Song.” For instance, the beginning of the second line of “A Plowing Song” (no. 2) transcribed by Arakchiev

Example 5.5.  Balakirev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], mm. 12–​15

Figure 5.2.  Dmitrii Arakchiev, “Kakheti Songs.” “No. 1. A Threshing Song [Gumnovaia].” “No. 2. A Plowing Song [Pluzhnaia],” from “Kratkii ocherk razvitiia gruzinskoi, kartalino-​ kakhetinskoi narodnoi pesni s prilozheniem notnykh primerov i 27 pesen v narodnoi garmonizatsii D. I. Arakchieva,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (1906), 1:319. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland Example 5.6.  Balakirev, “Gruzinskaia pesnia” [Georgian Song], mm. 23–​24

180 Representing Russia’s Orient (m. 4) resembles a sequence of running thirty-​second notes in Balakirev’s song (mm. 23–​24) (fig. 5.2 and ex. 5.6). In a number of other songs in Arakchiev’s collection (his appendix 1, nos. 9, 12, 15c and d, and 16; his appendix 2, nos. 1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, and 27) and in examples in the collections of Koreshchenko (no. 15b) and Ippolitov-Ivanov (nos. 2, 3, 4, 8), a similar rhythmic pattern plays a prominent role. Unfortunately, Ippolitov-​Ivanov and Koreshchenko did not discuss rhythm in their articles. These two Russian authors tended to write rather vague and contradictory comments about the rhythmic structure of Georgian songs. Koreshchenko, for instance, noted that Georgian song was “free of the fancifulness [vychurnost] and mosaicism characteristic of Persian music.”92 In his memoirs, Ippolitov-​Ivanov mentioned “fanciful-​capricious [prichudlivo-​ kapriznyi]” rhythmic patterns of solo singing in the Kakheti region.93 According to the transcriptions Koreshchenko and Ippolitov-​Ivanov left, many of the Georgian songs they heard had sophisticated rhythmic patterns. Songs 2, 3, 8, and 10, transcribed by Ippolitov-​Ivanov and song 15 in Koreshchenko’s article all have a distinct rhythmic pattern that Balakirev used in his “Georgian Song.” This pattern is a half, quarter, or eighth note followed by a group of four thirty-​second notes (three of which are in descending stepwise motion). In Arakchiev’s collection this pattern occurs in almost all songs from the Kakheti and Kartli regions (see the beginning of the second line of the second song in fig. 5.2). Significantly, this rhythmic pattern can be found in many songs written by members of the Kuchka and by composers who were in close contact with them. Along with Balakirev’s “Gruzinskaia pesnia” (1863), it appears in Alexander Dargomyzhsky’s “O deva-​roza, ia v okovakh” [Oh, Rose-​Maiden, I Am in Fetters] (1858); in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s “Vostochnyi romans” [Oriental Art Song], “Plenivshis rozoi solovei” [Enslaved by the Rose, the Nightingale] (1866), and “V temnoi roshche zamolk solovei” [In the Dark Grove the Nightingale Fell Silent] (1866); in César Cui’s “Le Turc” (late 1880s); and in Alexander Glazunov’s “V krovi gorit ogon zhelan’ia” [In the Blood Burns the Fire] (1888) and “Arabskaia melodiia” [Arabic Melody] (1882).94 This new information challenges earlier views suggesting that Balakirev’s reading of Pushkin’s poem may have “sacrificed real verisimilitude” by consciously disregarding specific musical elements of local culture. Balakirev, on the contrary, chose several elements of stylistic heritage (the melismatic contour of a vocal line, augmented seconds, the Dorian mode, and characteristic rhythmic patterns) to represent Georgian musical culture and used them not simply to create “artistic truth” about the Orient. It was, I  believe, Balakirev’s intense interest in Georgian culture and his respectful attitude toward the musical

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five traditions of other peoples living in the Caucasus that shaped his creative impulses. Learning the Georgian script, transcribing folk songs, and making several attempts to transliterate the texts of some Georgian songs all contributed to Balakirev’s understanding of local musical vocabulary, which resulted in a musically rich and relatively careful representation of it. Consequently, we might hear this song as a successful integration of authentic elements into the general notion of “artistic truth” about the musical Orient, established earlier in Glinka’s Ruslan (1842) and Rubinstein’s Persian Songs (1854). This task was probably not that difficult to accomplish since many musical Orientalist idioms from earlier Russian music literature did not contradict Georgian musical language (as Balakirev experienced it). Drones on one note or on a perfect fifth, triplet ornamentations found in Glinka’s “Persian Choir” from Ruslan and present in virtually all of Rubinstein’s Persian Songs, augmented seconds from Glinka’s “Lezghinka” and Rubinstein’s Persian Songs (nos. 1, 2, 5, 8, 10), and intricate rhythm found throughout Ratmir’s part and again in most of the numbers in Rubinstein’s cycle were the elements imprinted and digested in Balakirev’s mind as “oriental” before the advent of “Georgian Song.” However, a few elements were still new to the Russian musical Orient, namely the particular rhythmic pattern in the accompaniment and melody (thirty-​second notes on the second beat of the accompaniment imitating a traditional rhythm in drums, or a relatively long note followed by a set of descending thirty-​second notes), as well as a juxtaposition of different modes through a quick raising or lowering of the same scale degree by a semitone. But perhaps all these details do not even matter. After all, when it comes to evaluating the notion of authenticity, any poststructuralist critic will agree that this notion is socially constructed and based on a given community’s perceptions and standards.95 In the case of Balakirev, every member of his circle was convinced that he created works that represented real people living in the Caucasus, and this collective belief produced remarkable results:  the musical language offered in his compositions written after his trip to the Russian South became instantly idiomatic (discussed later), and the spirit of ethnographic research even influenced composers outside his circle. Anton Rubinstein—​who at the beginning of his career considered it impossible to create a distinct musical language to represent oriental people, be they Jewish, Persian, or Arabic—​adopted Balakirev’s ethnographic approach at the end of the 1860s. While composing his operas Demon (based on Lermontov’s narrative poem set in the Caucasus) and The Maccabees (based on the story of Jews fighting for their religion against Syrian rule), Rubinstein diligently studied Georgian traditional music and included some transcriptions of Caucasian and Jewish melodies.96

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182 Representing Russia’s Orient If one wanted to criticize Balakirev for not accurately representing Georgian music, one would have to appeal not to the phrases with augmented seconds and melismas but to the very opening phrase of his “Georgian Song,” which is based on a pentatonic scale. Although one can find the pentatonic scale in some transcriptions of Georgian songs by Russian musicians (including Balakirev), it is not the most characteristic feature of traditional Georgian music.97 Rather, the pentatonic scale played, and still plays, a more prominent role in the music of Chuvash and Tatar peoples living in the Volga region, where Balakirev spent his youth. Besides a variety of eastern musical traditions, his “Georgian Song” can also serve as a good example of what he perceived as western musical vocabulary. In the middle section, where the male protagonist recalls a beloved left far away, Balakirev changes his musical vocabulary drastically: the harmony becomes more chromatic (with the tonicization of remote keys); the melody becomes diatonic and all traces of modality are erased; and all the distinct rhythmic patterns in the vocal line and the accompaniment are dropped. Thus, Balakirev’s style reveals sensitivity to the nature of his musical sources and to the diverse ethnic practices that inspired his music:  multiple features of his “Georgian Song” correspond to musical gestures he heard during his travels in the Caucasus and other Russian regions that were highly populated with inorodtsy. All this suggests that his “Georgian Song” is at once exotic and authentic.98

Balakirev’s Late Art Songs with Oriental Subjects Some thirty years separate Balakirev’s early art songs from his late ones.99 However, he continued to depict many worlds within a single piece of music. His settings of Aleksei Zhemchuzhnikov’s poem “Pustynia” [A Desert] (1895–​96) and Lermontov’s “Son” [A Dream] (1903–​4) are good examples of this. In his monograph on Balakirev, Edward Garden asserts that Balakirev’s late musical works do not introduce any novelty and the “difference in style between two periods is negligible.”100 Yet a close examination of the text-​music alignment in Balakirev’s late art songs reveals that his view of the Orient changed dramatically and, despite apparent similarities in style, the same musical elements came to carry different meanings. An analysis of his setting of Lermontov’s “Son” [Dream] is particularly illuminating since it demonstrates how the composer’s approach to the oriental subject matured and evolved into a more complex historical, social, and political picture. In Lermontov’s poem “A Dream,” a male protagonist lies alone in Dagestan, having been mortally wounded by a bullet. He dreams that a woman in his homeland (back in Russia) has a vision of him dying.101

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five В полдневный жар в долине Дагестана С свинцом в груди лежал недвижим я; Глубокая еще дымилась рана, По капле кровь точилася моя. Лежал один я на песке долины; Уступы скал теснилися кругом, И солнце жгло их желтые вершины И жгло меня—​но спал я мертвым сном. И снился мне сияющий огнями Вечерний пир в родимой стороне. Меж юных жен, увенчанных цветами, Шел разговор веселый обо мне. Но в разговор веселый не вступая, Сидела там задумчиво одна, И в грустный сон душа ее младая Бог знает чем была погружена; И снилась ей долина Дагестана;

In the noonday heat, in a valley of Dagestan, With a bullet in my breast, I lay motionless; In my breast the wound was still freshly smoking, My blood oozed from it drop by drop. I lay alone on the valley’s sand; The cliffs’ ledges crowded around me, And the sun burned their yellow points And burned me, but I slept with a deathly dream. And I dreamt of an evening feast gleaming with lights in my native land. Young women, their hair wreathed in flowers, Were talking merrily about me. But without entering into the merry talk, One woman sat pensively, And her young soul plunged into a sad dream By God knows what force; And she dreamed of a valley of Dagestan; A familiar corpse lay in that valley;

Знакомый труп лежал в долине той; В его груди дымясь чернела рана, In his breast the smoking wound shone black, И кровь лилась хладеющей струёй. And blood flowed in a cooling stream.102 Harsha Ram contextualizes this poem in the prophetic tradition of Russian verse. Ram believes that the set of motifs Lermontov uses (the Russian body lies in a remote land in a state between life and death; his body is violated) resonates with motifs from Russian victory odes. In the odes of Gavrila Derzhavin, Wilhelm Küchelbecker, and Alexander Pushkin, the body of a lyrical hero, the poet-​prophet, is equated with the nation’s body, and a dream or sleep is allegorically read as political subjugation. In Küchelbecker’s “Prorochestvo” [The Prophecy] and in the epilogue to Pushkin’s Kavkazskii plennik [Prisoner of the Caucasus], sleep or captivity is followed by an awakening that brings historical or ontological change. “This change,” Ram suggests, “is understood

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184 Representing Russia’s Orient militarily.”103 In other poems in the Russian prophetic tradition, such as Pushkin’s “Prorok” [The Prophet], the poet becomes a vehicle of divine utterance after the long sleep and divine intervention; he is asked by God to “burn the hearts of people with the word.” In Lermontov’s “Son,” however, instead of awakening and becoming a prophet, the lyrical hero-​poet simply dies. From the first verse we learn that the hero is expiring slowly from blood loss caused by a bullet wound; so he can be identified as a soldier, who was sent to Dagestan (the North Caucasus) to fight in one of Russia’s expansionist wars. As discussed in ­chapter 4, many villages and ethnic groups living in the North Caucasus were entirely exterminated by the Russian army; on the other hand a huge number of Russian soldiers were sent to fight in this war as punishment for their conspiracy against the tsar. Hence the dying soldier in Lermontov’s “Son” can be read as both an imperial aggressor and a martyred victim. The poem negotiates two motifs: the brute violence of a war on a foreign land and the individual tragedy of a soldier whose life is constrained by the state’s military affairs. In addition, as Ram observes, the terror of a dying body in a remote land in Lermontov’s work underlines the poet’s own fear of dying outside his homeland and not being able to reunite with his motherland, even posthumously. As Ram puts it: “burial, be it of bodies or of memories, is a symbolic act reconciling the dead and the living and resolving the materiality of death through the promise of transcendence. For Lermontov, it also serves the elusive goal of reconciling the imperial periphery with the motherland. If the rites of mourning and burial are a mark of nostalgia for an organic national community, then the abandoned or unburied body suggests the symbolic dislocation of nationhood effected by the imperial state.”104 Therefore, this poem, according to Ram, marks both the end of the prophetic tradition, since it demystifies the heroism of death, and the birth of a new realistic tendency in literature. The tragic reality of Lermontov’s “Son” is underlined in Balakirev’s art song with a number of effective harmonic and melodic devices. The first section, which describes the dying soldier, is developed through a harmonic progression that wanders without an apparent goal. Different versions of dominant or diminished chords suggest D major (m. 3), E minor (m. 4), C-sharp minor (m. 5), and then G-flat major (m. 6), followed by C minor (m. 7). However, the dominant or diminished chords are almost never resolved:  in the entire first section, only one dominant chord finds its resolution in C minor (at the end of the first period, m. 9). Such harmonic wandering evokes the image of an unsettled soul who is dislocated for an unknown purpose in an unknown land. The harmony wanders as if it were the spirit of an unburied soldier who cannot find refuge on earth or in heaven. The vocal line emphasizes the poem’s tragic content by stressing the meaning of each word. The song opens with a declamatory phrase sung in a limited

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Example 5.7.  Balakirev, “Son” [Dream], mm. 1–​12

Example 5.8a.  Balakirev, “Son” [Dream], mm. 20–​21

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186 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 5.8b.  Glinka, “Zhavoronok” [Lark], mm. 14–​17

Example 5.9.  Balakirev, “Son” [Dream], mm. 28–​30

range, and then, on the words “lezhal odin [lay alone],” the vocal line suddenly rises an octave higher, as if this cry is coming from the depth of a soul (ex. 5.7). The melodic inflections repeating a diminished fifth three times (each time a perfect fourth higher, mm. 8, 10, 12) intensify the tension in the vocal line. The middle section of Balakirev’s three-​part setting of “Son,” in D-​flat major, describes a woman who dreams of her beloved dying in a remote land (ex. 5.8a). The melodic line that opens this section resembles a phrase from Glinka’s song “Zhavoronok” [The Lark] (1840), in which the protagonist compares himself with a lark who sings a song to his beloved but whose body is invisible: “One does not see the fields’ singer, /​Where he sings so loudly” (ex. 5.8b).105 Balakirev probably used this melodic phrase because the last two lines from Glinka’s song allude to the subject of memory or remembering (“Someone will remember me /​And sigh stealthily”), a central theme in “Son.” Apart from the reference to Glinka’s “Zhavoronok” in the middle section, Balakirev uses musical elements he learned from his trips to the Caucasus: a scale with an augmented second combined with a melismatic figure in which two different versions of the same scale degree are juxtaposed (ex. 5.9). Intriguingly, the first section, which might well have evoked the Caucasus, since it describes the soldier’s body as being in Dagestan, does not present any local color, while the section about the homeland (Russia) contains exotic musical elements. Is it because for Balakirev, the

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five “Oriental style,” as Frolova-​Walker points out, “became a default style, so that he ceased to perceive it as Oriental”?106 Or is it because he felt much more “at home” when he alluded to the Russian Orient—​in other words, he naturally situated a set of “oriental” signifiers in a Russian context? This art song was prophetic, even though he might not have meant it to be: it was composed on the eve of the Russo-​Japanese War (1904–​5), which claimed thousands of Russian lives and was partly responsible for the outbreak of the 1905 Revolution. Significantly, Balakirev’s “Son,” which critiques imperial predatory wars that affect not only those who are conquered but also those who are conquering, was not the only art song ever to present an opposing view of the affairs of a Russian-​Asian war. It echoes another vocal piece composed three decades earlier by another member of the Kuchka—​Musorgsky.107 Both the text and the music of Musorgky’s setting of the ballad “Zabytyi” [The Forgotten One] (1874), by Arsenii Golenishchev-​Kutuzov, were inspired by Vasilii Vereshchagin’s famous painting Zabytyi, in which the body of a dead soldier lies alone on a deserted Central Asian battlefield (see fig. 5.3).108 In Golenishchev-​Kutuzov’s ballad, a narrator tells the story of a forgotten

Figure 5.3.  Vasilii Vereshchagin, Forgotten [Zabytyi], from Illiustrirovannyi katalog Khudozhestvennogo otdela Vserossiiskoi vystavki v Moskve, 1882 g (St. Petersburg: M. P. Botkin, 1882), pt. 1, 14. Courtesy of the Slavonic Library, National Library of Finland

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188 Representing Russia’s Orient soldier who has been killed in a “foreign land” and abandoned unburied by his fellow comrades, who rejoice over the defeated enemy. While he is being eaten by a “mean crow,” his wife sings a lullaby to their child, trying to calm him, and promises to cook a pirozhok (little pie) when Tia-​tia (Daddy) comes back. Thus, many poetic elements unite Balakirev’s “Son” and Musorgsky’s “Zabytyi,” including a dying (or dead) man in a remote land and a woman thinking of him in his homeland, as well as the striking contrast between dream and reality. Likewise, Musorgsky’s ballad, written just four years before the Russo-​Turkish War, also foreshadowed the death of thousands of Russian soldiers in a remote location.109 When Balakirev wrote “Son,” he could have had Musorgksy’s ballad “Zabytyi” in mind, since he was probably well familiar with it. “Zabytyi” was in the repertoire of many famous Russian singers, including Fedor Stravinsky and Dar’ia Leonova, and was performed on two special occasions: for Vereshchagin himself at the Stasovs (in December 1879) and then in a concert organized after Musorgsky’s death in 1881, which Balakirev attended.110 Even though Balakirev withdrew from public life in the early1870s, due to material hardships and personal distress caused by the death of his parents, he continued to exchange letters with his closest friends, Liudmila Shestakova (Glinka’s sister) and Stasov, and began to visit and receive them, as well as Borodin and Musorgsky, in 1878.111 In this context, Balakirev’s “Son” should be considered part of the Russian literary and musical tradition of works devoted to the subject of war in the East and, to a certain extent, a critique of Russia’s policies at the eastern and southern outskirts of Empire. It is evident, therefore, that Balakirev’s approach to the nonwestern subject developed over time: in his early art songs he was less concerned with the realities of war and hence evoked a Russian Orient that had a more poetic appeal, although he made efforts to present it accurately (at least in terms of musical elements). His later art song on the nonwestern subject, however, provides a context for more profound reflection on the political and historical relations between Russia and the East and indicates his disapproval of wars that claimed lives and involved the suffering of innocent (and not so innocent) people on both sides of war zones.

Balakirev’s Orient and Beyond Many Russian musicologists have suggested that Caucasian themes were prevalent in mid-​nineteenth-​century Russian music with “oriental” subjects. Kisilev, for instance, states that, for Balakirev and his friends, the Orient was associated above all with Georgia and the Caucasus in general.112 However, this seems to exaggerate the importance of the Caucasian theme in the works of the composers in Balakirev’s circle. As shown in table 5.1, Balakirev did not restrict himself to Caucasian material. He wrote art songs related to Tatar, Hebrew, and

Table 5.1  Art Songs with Oriental or Exotic Subjects Composed by the Members of the Kuchka Composer

Year

Title (Source)

Places or people evoked

Balakirev, Milii Alekseevich (1836–​1910)

1855

“Ispanskaia pesnia” [A Spanish Song] (M. Mikhailov)

Spain

1858

“Pesnia Selima” [Selim’s Song] (M. Lermontov, “Izmail-​Bei”)

The Caucasus

1859

“Evreiskaia Melodiia” [A Hebrew Melody] (M. Lermontov)

Hebrew

1861, 1895

“Sosna” [A Pine Tree] (Lermontov’s free translation of Heine’s “Ein Fichtenbaum”)

The East v. the West

1863

“Gruzinskaia pesnia” [A Georgian Song] (A. Pushkin)

Georgia

1895

“Pustynia” [A Desert] (A. Zhemchuzhnikov)

The East

1903–​4

“Son” [A Dream] (M. Lermontov)

Dagestan

Borodin, Alexander Porfir’evich (1833–​87)

1881

“Arabskaia melodiia” [Arabian Melody] (text by A. Borodin, melody from A. Christianowitsch’s Esquisse historique de la musique arabe)

Arabs

Cui, César Antonovich (1835–​1918)

1881

“Bolero”

Spain

1885–​86

“Solovei” [A Nightingale] (A. Pushkin)

The East

1889–​1892

“Kinzhal” [A Dagger] (M. Lermontov)

The Caucasus

1890

“Le Hun” and “Le Turc” (from Vingt poèmes de Jean Richepin)

Huns, Turks

1896

“Le Colibri” (Leconte de Lisle)

The New World (North or South America)

1896

“Les roses d’Ispahan” (Leconte de Lisle)

Persia (continued)

Table 5.1 Continued Composer

Musorgsky, Modest Petrovich (1839–​81)

Rimsky-​Korsakov, Nikolai Andreevich (1844–​1908)

Year

Title (Source)

Places or people evoked

1907

Seven Poems by Armenian Poets

Armenia

1907–​8

“Podrazhanie Koranu” [An Imitation of the Quran] (A. Pushkin)

Arabs

1863 (1866–​71)

“Tsar Saul” (Byron-​P. Kozlov)

Hebrew

1867

“Evreiskaia pesnia” [A Hebrew Song] (L. Mey)

Hebrew

1874

“Zabytyi” [The Forgotten One] (A. Golenishchev-​Kutuzov)

Turkestan

1865

“V krovi gorit ogon zhelan’ia” [In the Blood Burns the Fire] (A. Pushkin); lost

Spain

1866

“Plenivshis rozoi, solovei.Vostochnyi Romans” [Enslaved by the Rose, the Nightingale] (A. Kol’tsov)

The Orient (Persia?)

1866

“El i pal’ma” [The Pine and the Palm] (M. Mikhailov-​Heine)

The East v. the West

1866

“Iuzhnaia noch” [Southern Night] (N. Shcherbina)

The South

1866

“Na kholmakh Gruzii” [On the Hills of Georgia] (A. Pushkin)

Georgia

1867

“Evreiskaia pesnia” [A Hebrew Song] (L. Mei)

Hebrew

1867

“Kak nebesa tvoi vzor blistaet” [Thy Glance Is Radiant as the Heavens] (M. Lermontov)

The East

1870

“Vstan, soidi!” (Evreiskaia pesnia) [Arise, Come Down! (A Hebrew Song)] (L. Mei)

Hebrew

1870

“V Tsarstvo rozy i vina” [In the Kingdom of Roses and Wine] (A. Fet -​Hafiz)

Persia

1882

“Pesnia Ziuleiki” [Zuleika’s Song] (I. Kozlov-​Byron, from poem Abidos Bride)

Turkish

1882/​1897

“Anchar” [The Upas Tree] (A. Pushkin)

The East

1897

“Liubliu tebia, mesiats (Melodiia s beregov Ganga)” [I Love Three, Moon (Melody from the Banks of the Ganges)] (A. Maikov)

India

1897

“Posmortri v svoi vertograd” [Look in Thy Garden] (A. Maikov, from cycle Iz Vostochnogo mira [From the Eastern World])

The East

1897

“Svezh i dushist tvoi roskoshnyi venok” [Cool and Fragrant Is Thy Garland] (A. Fet)

The East

1897

“Prorok” [The Prophet] (A. Pushkin)

Arab

1897

“Deva i solntse” [The Maiden and the Sun] (A. Maikov, from cycle Novogrecheskie pesni [New Greek Songs])

Greece

1897

“Pevets” [The Singer] (A. Maikov, from cycle Novogrecheskie pesni [New Greek Songs])

Greece

1897

“Tikho more goluboe!” [Quiet Is the Blue Sea] (A. Maikov, from cycle Novogrecheskie pesni [New Greek Songs])

Greece

1897

“Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne” [Do Not Sing for Me Thy Song of Georgia] (A. Pushkin)

Georgia

1898

“Grechanke” [To a Greek Girl] (A. Pushkin)

Greece

192 Representing Russia’s Orient Spanish subjects as well. Among other members of the Mighty Five, Musorgsky did not compose anything related to the Caucasus, preferring to spend more time on Hebrew subjects.113 He also devoted one song—​“Zabytyi” (discussed earlier)—​to a Turkestan-​based subject. Borodin composed only one oriental art song based on an original Arabic tune. In his oriental works, Rimsky-​Korsakov mostly alluded to a general idea of the East, not the Caucasus in particular. Although Cui wrote only a few works on Caucasian subjects (the opera The Prisoner of the Caucasus, the art song “Kinzhal” [A Dagger]) and a setting of seven poems by Armenian poets, he also wrote two art songs with non-​Caucasian exotic subjects: one, “Les roses d’Ispahan,” represents the Persian world, and the other, “Le colibri,” depicting an exotic creature living in the New World, that is, North or South America. Nonetheless, for a brief period after Balakirev’s trip to the Caucasus, all the members of the Kuchka lived under the spell of this region.114 This is especially evident from the art songs composed in the 1860s by the youngest member of the Kuchka, Rimsky-​Korsakov. As he recalled in his memoirs, in 1866 he often spent evenings with Balakirev, who “had at the time a large stock of oriental melodies and dances, memorized during his trip to the Caucasus. He often played them for me and the others, in his own most delightful harmonisations and arrangements.”115 Significantly, in 1866 he composed no fewer than four songs with oriental subjects. In his memoirs he tries to hide this fact by claiming that he wrote nothing during the spring of 1866; however, he actually composed the songs in opuses 2 and 3 that same year, before the end of May.116 Perhaps he considered these songs to be compositional exercises and did not want to draw any attention to them; as he confessed later, composition at that time was “difficult” for him “through lack of technique.”117

Balakirev and Rimsky-​Korsakov Many elements in Balakirev’s Caucasian sketchbook can be found in Rimsky-​ Korsakov’s early art songs with eastern subjects.118 The most obvious are the particular melodic ornamentations and rhythmic patterns. A specific ornamental figure—​a quintuplet that turns around one note, touching at first the upper neighbor and then repeating the same figure one step lower—​can be found in three out of the five art songs Rimsky-​Korsakov wrote in 1866. For instance, in the piano accompaniment to his setting of Heine’s “Ein Fichtenbaum” titled “El i pal’ma” [The Pine and the Palm] (Russian translation by M. Mikhailov), this figure is repeated six times in the second half of the song, where the text describes the eastern world, with the palm tree standing on the “cliff burned with torrid heat” (ex. 5.10a).

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Example 5.10a.  Rimsky-​Korsakov, “El i pal’ma” [The Pine and the Palm], mm. 22–​23

Example 5.10b.  Balakirev’s transcription of an “Armenian tune” (no. 26), mm. 5–​8

In Balakirev’s transcriptions in his sketchbook of the tunes he brought from the Caucasus, there are at least two songs with exactly the same type of turn ornament (no. 25, mm. 6 and 8, and no. 26, mm. 6 and 8; see ex. 5.10b). Perhaps Balakirev especially liked this form of ornamentation, as he also planned to use it in his opera Zhar Ptitsa [Fire-​bird], which he never finished.119 As Rimsky-​ Korsakov recalled, Balakirev was going to include it in “some chants and the service of the fire-​worshippers on a Persian theme.”120 Considering the fact that Rimsky utilized this figure many times and toward the end of his life still remembered it in its exact form (in his memoirs he just notated it an octave higher), this ornamental figure may have had a special meaning for both composers. Another variant of the same turn is found in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s two art songs “Plenivshis rozoi solovei” [Enslaved by the Rose, the Nightingale] (ex. 5.11a) and “Evreiskaia pesnia” [A Hebrew Song]. This melismatic figure touches the upper neighbor note and then goes to the lower neighbor note, repeats it, and remains on it. A similar turn is found in Balakirev’s transcriptions of songs 19 (m. 19) and 20 (m. 2) in his sketchbook (see ex. 5.11b). In Rimsky-​Korsakov’s “Plenivshis rozoi solovei,” this melismatic figure is combined with a characteristic rhythmic pattern (a quarter or eighth note followed by four thirty-​second notes). From the mid-​nineteenth century on, this pattern was often used to evoke an exotic (mostly Middle Eastern) locale. Besides Balakirev’s “Georgian Song,” it appeared in Dargomyzhsky’s “Oh, Rose-​Maiden. Imitation of the Turkish Song” (1858), in César Cui’s setting of Jean Richepin’s “Le Turc” (late 1880s), and in a number of other art songs.121 It is possible that Balakirev’s “Georgian Song,” with exactly the same musical-​rhythmic gesture on the words “tvoi zhestokie napevy,” repeated twice

193

194 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 5.11a.  Rimsky-​Korsakov, “Plenivshis rozoi solovei” [Enslaved by the Rose, the Nightingale], mm. 1–​8

Example 5.11b.  Balakirev’s transcription of Georgian song “Akh, dilav” (no. 19), mm. 19–​20

in a sequence, was a model for this particular passage in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s “Plenivshish rozoi solovei” (ex. 5.11a). Or it could even be that Balakirev himself heavily edited Rimsky’s piano accompaniment to this art song, as was common practice for him in the mid-​1860s. As Rimsky-​Korsakov recollected, Balakirev had “approved” one of Korsakov’s songs—​“Shchekoiu k shcheke” [Lean Thy Cheek to Mine]—​from the same opus composed in the same year. However, “finding the accompaniment insufficiently pianistic” in this song, Balakirev “recast it entirely and rewrote it in his own hand.” “With this accompaniment,” Rimsky confessed, “my song was subsequently published.”122 At the end of his life, Rimsky revived this figure again to characterize the Queen of Shemakha in his opera The Golden Cockerel. He used it, however, in an exaggerated way, parodying his own, Balakirev’s, and the general Russian “oriental” musical style.123 Another important rhythmic formula Rimsky-​Korsakov borrowed from Balakirev is a figure in an accompaniment that imitates the playing of a drum with a characteristic subdivision of the second beat. In both Balakirev’s “Georgian Song” and Rimsky-​Korsakov’s “Kak nebesa tvoi vzor prekrasen” [Thy Glance Is Radiant as the Heavens], the piano accompaniment in the

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Example 5.12.  Rimsky-​Korsakov, “Kak nebesa tvoi vzor prekrasen” [Thy Glance Is Radiant as the Heavens], mm. 16–​20

middle section emphasizes the second beat with the repetition of four thirty-​ second notes or three sixteenth notes (compare exs. 5.12 and 5.6). Along with melodic and rhythmic elements, Rimsky-​Korsakov also learned how to signify exotic lands through the use of particular harmonic progressions. One of the most important is a sustained pedal point colored by different harmonies. The piano prelude and postlude to Balakirev’s “Georgian Song,” as well as a section of it on the words “uvy, napominaiut,” and the entire first section of his “Pustynia” [A Desert] are set on pedal points. Rimsky-​Korsakov’s “El i pal’ma” [The Pine and the Palm] (the entire section on the Palm tree is on E-​fl at) and “Plenivshis rozoi solovei” (the piano interlude and postlude are set on a drone f♯–​c♯) also use pedal points. Although the pedals were employed by other European composers earlier in the century to conjure the Orient (e.g., Félicien David, Le Desert), it was Balakirev who taught the younger member of the circle how to use them.124 In his own recollections, Rimsky stated that in the mid-​1860s he “worshipped” Balakirev and “obeyed his advice in everything,” as he did not know the basics of music theory—“the names of all intervals and chords. . . . [I]‌had no idea as to what double counterpoint was, nor the meaning of cadence, thesis and antithesis, and period.”125 Remarkably, the lack of originality in and disciple-​like approach of Rimsky’s early works was apparent not only to the self-​critical young composer but also to other musicians. Russian publisher Mitrofan Beliaev was aware of this problem and thus paid Rimsky nothing to publish the first four of his songs in opus 2 (among them “Vostochnyi romans”) and less than half the usual minimum price for “El i pal’ma” [The Pine and the Palm], “Iuzhnaia noch” [Southern Night], and “Na kholmakh Gruzii” [On the Hills of Georgia] in opus 3.126 On many occasions, Rimsky-​Korsakov discussed and wrote about the enormous influence of Balakirev’s “oriental” pieces on his own works, sometimes leaving quite detailed information on their sources. In a conversation with

195

196 Representing Russia’s Orient Yastrebtsev, Rimsky named a few of his own pieces that bore the “indelible imprint” of Balakirev’s music:127 His [Balakirev’s] Tamara and “Georgian Song” introduced into contemporary music the new, so-​called Balakirevian East, reflections of which are to be found in Egypt and the Indian dance (with chorus) in Mlada, in the third movement of Sheherazade (at the point where the Queen is carried in on the palanquin), etc. Besides this, Tamara also left its mark on the clarinet cadenzas from Sheherazade as well as on the theme of Mlada. . . . The harmonic episode incorporated in the poetic portrait of the gazelle (the Peri Gul Nazar) in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s Antar were foreshadowed—​in part at least—​in Balakirev’s “Song of the Golden Fish.”128

Until the end of his life, Rimsky-​Korsakov remained humble regarding his contribution to the musical Orient. Even after composing his most famous oriental(ist) pieces, such as Antar and Scheherazade, he still believed that he had not created anything “truly valuable” in this area. In a conversation with his Armenian student Alexander Spendiarov that took place just a few months before Rimsky’s death, he declared that in comparison with Spendiarov’s Orient (Vostok) his own was “somewhat far-​fetched and speculative” since it “was not in his blood.”129 Indeed, among all the members of the Kuchka, Rimsky-​Korsakov was less acquainted than most with the music of Russia’s inorodtsy and had a very limited number of encounters with Middle Eastern, Asian, or nonwestern musicians. In the creation of his Orient, he mostly relied on western collections of Arabic songs or on transcriptions brought by Balakirev from the Caucasus.130 He treated non-​Russian musical material with the most freedom and the least consistency. Sometimes he left the transcriptions of folk melodies unchanged; in other instances he boldly altered aspects of the original tune.131 I am alluding to a song used in The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh (an opera, completed in 1905, whose plot is set around the time of the “Tatar Yoke”), in which he added an augmented second into an otherwise diatonic Russian song, “On the Tatar Captivity.”132 Although he legitimized his actions as being motivated by artistic reasons, he was rather more preoccupied with delivering only certain musical gestures associated with the East. The least acquainted with eastern culture but the most prolific in writing music with exotic subjects, Rimsky-​Korsakov, as Said might put it, orientalized the Orient in order to meet the expectations of sophisticated nineteenth-​century Europeanized Russia.133 Yet on other occasions, Rimsky presented musical Orientalism with irony or as a caricature by exaggerating some of its musical clichés (e.g., in the arioso of V   olkhova in the opera Sadko).134 Also, as I have elaborated elsewhere, he de-​Orientalized the Orient by avoiding or even removing musical stereotypes, while presenting a clearly eastern character (as at the beginning of the entrance aria of the Queen of Shemakha in The Golden Cockerel) or an oriental subject (in

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Example 5.13a.  Rimsky-​Korsakov, “Pesnia Ziuleiki” [Zuleika Song], op. 26/​4, mm. 1–​6

Example 5.13b.  Rimsky-​Korsakov, Liubava’s aria from Sadko (scene 3), mm. 1–​6

Antar).135 But perhaps the most intriguing cases of musical treatment of outsiders are the ones that present an eastern subject with musical vocabulary similar to that of the Russian lexicon, or vice versa. Consider, for instance, the glaring melodic similarities between the beginning of Rimsky-​Korsakov’s “Pesnia Ziuleiki” [Zuleika’s Song] (ex. 5.13a) and in his opera Sadko, the beginning of Liubava’s aria (ex. 5.13b). The orchestra’s diatonic melody played in unison in scene 3, which introduces the Russian female protagonist, Liubava (Sadko’s wife), is almost identical to the vocal melody of an oriental female singer—​ Zuleika—​in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s art song, written a decade before Sadko. Was Rimsky-​Korsakov simply so enamored with the melody of his oriental art song that he decided to reuse it a few years later to present a Russian female character? Or did he intend, as Simon Morrison suggests, to demonstrate the “inherent universality, rather than the inherent foreignness, of Russian music” by “depicting self as other and other as self ”?136 Or is the “confusion”—​ or just “fusion”—​of eastern and Russian identities logical, because as Inna Naroditskaya points out, many operatic characters (including Sadko) and the story itself, according to Stasov, who suggested his Sadko plot to Rimsky, had eastern roots.137 Some years later, Rimsky-​Korsakov admitted that he had used the Zuleika song in Sadko but said that it had happened “accidentally, because of forgetfulness [nechaianno, po zabyvchivosti].”138 In any case, examples such as this one undoubtedly confirm that in Rimsky’s mind (like his teacher’s), the East existed inside the margins of the Russian musical domain.

197

198 Representing Russia’s Orient Rimsky-​ Korsakov’s musical merging of Russian and eastern or Middle Eastern identities did not end here. In his art song “V temnoi roshche zamolk solovei” [In the Dark Grove the Nightingale Fell Silent] (1866), he added several musical gestures that were associated with the Orient, such as melodic arabesques and chromatic harmony, although there is no allusion to any exotic subject in the text.139 Perhaps his artistic integrity should not even be questioned here, since for the members of the Kuchka, eastern elements presented an essential part of musical Russianness. But perhaps the roots of musical “confusion” lie hidden even deeper:  in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s own beliefs (or disbeliefs) in different national musical traditions. When Rimsky and his musical style matured, he became less and less concerned with the authenticity of musical representation, even when it came to Russianness. As Frolova-​ Walker points out, later in his life Rimsky considered Russian musical style to be merely a set of conventions: in order to make music sound “Russian,” he suggested “not writing according to specific rules but rather by removing . . . those devices which are inappropriate to the Russian spirit.”140 Such a technique—of “restrictions and not enrichment of devices”141—assumed that different national styles shared a pool of similar musical resources that had to be carefully distributed or avoided in order to create characteristically Russian, Spanish, or German music. In other words, what would make any music sound “authentic” would be a set of formulas associated in the listener’s mind with a particular musical practice, not the real sound. Thus, for Rimsky-​Korsakov, the accuracy of representation of Middle Eastern, Russian, or indeed, any musical tradition did not matter; all he aimed for was “artistic truth”: the concept that allowed the representation of any musical style in fairly broad terms, since it could include virtually any musical experience.

Balakirev and Musorgsky Balakirev’s influence on his student Musorgsky was quite limited. Edward Garden traces a few musical elements, such as the constantly changing time signature and mock modulation (a tonicization of a relative minor over the tonic pedal), which Musorgsky learned from his teacher and employed in his early works.142 Garden also suggests that Musorgsky modeled the “Chorus of Priestesses” in his early unfinished opera Salammbô on Balakirev’s “Song of the Golden Fish” (1860) and piano piece “Berceuse” (1901).143 I would like to add yet another possible source of Musorgsky’s inspiration by Balakirev: the material Balakirev brought from the Caucasus.144 One of Musorgsky’s letters to Balakirev, written in 1866, attests to the fact that Balakirev’s Caucasian “findings” had most likely influenced Musorgsky’s compositional choices: “I would like to talk to you about all sorts of matters, and show you a new little piece (“Boevaia pesn liviitsev” [A Militant Song of the Libyans]) from my

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five Example 5.14a.  Balakirev’s transcription of Caucasian dance “Islamey,” mm. 6–​7

Salammbô—​a male chorus on the theme that you know already with a variant à la georgienne.”145 Boris Schwarz has analyzed the melodic content of “A Militant Song of the Libyans” in his article on Musorgsky’s interest in Judaica. Schwarz argues that the melody is based on the original Hasidic theme attributed to Rabbi Abraham ha-​Mol’akh.146 However, Schwarz does not address Musorgsky’s remark at the end of this letter (what did he mean by “à la georgienne”?) and does not discuss the song’s accompaniment. Georgianisms, however, are apparent specifically in the orchestral part of this choral piece. Measures 19–​22 of the accompaniment, on the words “tak mchatsia liviitsy sred vikhria pustyni [the Libyans are tearing through the swirl of the desert]” bear a striking resemblance to measures 6–​7 of “Islamey,” Balakirev’s transcription of a Caucasian dance (ex. 5.14a): the melody is placed in the middle voice, and the accompaniment is in the upper voice, playing a repetitive figure on the fifth scale degree—​with triplets touching the upper neighbor. Musorgsky uses exactly the same accompaniment, placing the main melody in the lower register (and doubling it in octaves) and the triplet accompaniment on the fifth scale degree in the upper register (ex. 5.14b). Musorgsky knew Balakirev’s transcription of the Caucasian dance, since Balakirev played it many times for his friends before he composed his own piano piece, Islamey, based on this very tune in 1869.147 Although Musorgsky does not use any of the melodies Balakirev transcribed in the Caucasus, Musorgsky’s “Pesnia Baleartsa” [Song of the Balearic Islander] presents a few rhythmic and melodic gestures that resemble his teacher’s exotic musical lexicon. For instance, in measures 6 and 8 (ex. 5.15), Musorgsky uses a formula—​a quarter note followed by four thirty-​second notes running down in a stepwise motion—​that among the Kuchka has been associated with the Caucasus since Balakirev’s “Georgian Song.” Syncopation occurring at the beginning of each measure (and sometimes midmeasure) adds a special flavor, an “accent” attributed to the music of Caucasian mountaineers that was skillfully used in Aliab’ev’s Decembrist art songs (discussed in ­chapter 4). Although a decade later Musorgsky lost interest in his oriental opera Salammbô, he recycled several themes from it in his Russian opera Boris Godunov, in whose prologue the triplet accompaniment in “A Militant Song of

199

Example 5.14b.  Musorgsky, “Boevaia pesn Liviitsev” [A Militant Song of the Libyans] from Salammbô, mm. 19–​23

Example 5.15.  Musorgsky, “Pesnia Baleartsa” [Song of the Balearic Islander] from Salammbô, mm.  6–​8

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five the Libyans” reappeared in a varied form. The opening melody (played in a low register by strings and winds) is supplied with an accompaniment (performed by high strings) based on a repetitive figure that marks time on the fifth scale degree, but in sixteenth notes instead of triplets (mm. 15–16, ex. 5.16).148 As Balakirev did in his late art song “A Dream,” Musorgsky here has assimilated certain musical gestures associated with the Caucasus into his portrayal of Russian musical identity. Later, conscious of the unoriginality of their early oriental works, Rimsky-​ Korsakov and Musorgsky did not consider them worth mentioning or finishing. As Musorgsky claimed in a conversation with Nikolai Kompaneiskii about his unfinished Salammbô, “to carry on would have been futile. . . . Enough of the Orient in [Serov’s] Judith”; to which Kompaneiskii then added: “M.P. [Modest Petrovich] implied that one cannot picture the Orient [Vostok] without having seen it or without knowing its melodies.”149 In other words, as Musorgsky matured and engaged with realist aesthetics, he did not permit himself to try to evoke music cultures that he had not experienced firsthand. Many years later, following his trip to the Crimea in 1879, Musorgsky started to feel more confident in creating music representing the empire’s outskirts; he wrote two piano pieces dedicated to the Russian South:  “Na iuzhnom beregu Kryma. Gurzuf u Aiu-​Daga” [On the Southern Shore of the Crimea. Hurzuf near Aiu-​Daga] and the capriccio “Bliz iuzhnogo berega Kryma” [Near the Southern Shore of the Crimea]. Remarkably, his sketchbook does not contain any melodies from that area. This could be because he traveled to the cities where local musical practices were no longer allowed by the Russian administration. As Rimsky-​Korsakov noticed in his second trip to the Crimea (in 1881), the musical landscape had been changing rapidly: “it was while hearing the gipsy-​musicians of Bakhchisaray that I  first became acquainted with oriental music in its natural state. . . . In those days [1874] the streets of Bakhchisaray, from morning till night, rang with music. . . . In front of every coffee house there was continual playing and singing. On our next visit (seven years later), there was no longer a trace of this left: the addle-​ brained authorities had decided that music meant disorder, and banished the gipsy-​musicians from Bakhchisaray.150 Considering this account, it might not be so surprising that Musorgsky’s depiction of the Crimea was modeled after Balakirev’s music with Caucasian subjects: long pedal points, melodic lines with melismatic contours and capricious rhythms, and a piano accompaniment that imitates drums by repeating the same note, subdividing the second beat with shorter triplets or sixteenths. In his final years, Mussorgsky also planned to write an opera, Pugachevshchina, about the widespread revolt in Russia that was organized by Emel’ian Pugachev and supported by many Asian inorodtsy, including Bashkirs,Tatars, Mordvinians, and Chuvash.151 Musorgsky started gathering ethnographic material for this

201

202 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 5.16. Musorgsky, Boris Godunov, Prologue, mm. 15–​18

opera in 1877 and transcribed some Asian and Middle Eastern songs from his friends and other travelers—​orientologist and amateur musician Petr Ivanovich Pashino (1838–​91) and writer Vsevolod Vladimirovich Krestovskii (1840–​95).152 Pashino was an active member of the Russian Imperial Geographic Society and worked as a secretary at the Persian embassy; he traveled to Afghanistan, India, Burma, Turkestan, China, Japan, Egypt, Ethiopia, and European countries, wrote books on his travels to Turkestan, and contributed a number of articles to the well-​ known journal Sovremennik [Contemporary].153 As an amateur musician, Pashino also memorized and transcribed many tunes from the places he visited. The list of oriental tunes Musorgsky transcribed from Pashino includes music from different ethnicities—Burman, Armenian, and Kyrgyz—and in one case a “Dervish” melody of Persian origin.154 Krestovskii, who was an official war correspondent in the 1877–​78 Russo-​Turkish War, also provided Musorgsky with a melody that he learned in Turkey.155 Musorgsky never realized his plans to write Pugachevshchina.156 Instead, a few years later, he decided to use this musical material in another piece. In a letter to Stasov written few months before his death, Musorgsky revealed that he had conceived a suite for an orchestra, harps, and a piano in which he would use “themes gathered from different good wanderers of this world: its program [would be] from Bulgarian shores, through the Black Sea, the Caucasus, the Caspian [Sea], Fergana, to Burma.”157 Although he had a limited number of personal encounters with inorodtsy (during his trip to the Crimea he transcribed some Greek and Jewish songs from native singers),158 the fact that he transcribed music himself from people who had a direct encounter with Orientals is evidence that he was inclined toward Balakirev’s ethnographic approach to creating musical representations of Russia’s imperial “others.”

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five

Balakirev and Borodin When Balakirev met Borodin (who was the last to join the circle), the latter was a mature man, working full time as a professor of chemistry at the Medical-​ Surgical Academy in St. Petersburg. Borodin had already developed a taste for European music, possessed rather robust musical technique (as his wife recalled, he could compose a fugue in a matter of an hour), and was better informed than Rimsky-​Korsakov “on the practical side of orchestration, as he played the cello, oboe, and flute.”159 Even so, before the crucial meeting with Balakirev, he considered himself a musical dilettante. Balakirev was “the first to tell him that his real vocation was composition.”160 In addition, Borodin’s interest in eastern subjects increased only after he met Balakirev. As Frolova-​Walker observed, “he understood the purpose of Russian Orientalism as  .  .  .  a weapon against all things Germanic.”161 Convinced by Balakirev of his musical talent and surrounded by the friendly support of the members of the Kuchka, Borodin “eagerly started working” on his First Symphony in E-​flat Major.162 As Balakirev recalled, he scrutinized every measure of Borodin’s symphony and returned the score to him with “comments scattered all over it” advising multiple alterations.163 Edward Garden argues that the first movement of Borodin’s first symphony was written under Balakirev’s influence, while the “Scherzo and Finale are more originally Borodin’s own.”164 Strangely, Garden does not mention the Andante at all, even though it bears the strongest resemblance to Balakirev’s transcriptions of Caucasian music.Take, for instance, the opening theme of the Andante, which is based on two characteristic features shared with Balakirev’s “Georgian Song”: a melody with a raised fourth scale degree evoking the Lydian mode (see a passing g♯ in m. 18) and the rhythm of an eighth note followed by four thirty-​second notes (see ex. 5.17).165 At the end of the passage, the melody falls a perfect fifth (repeated three more times)—​a feature the members of the Kuchka believed to be purely Russian.166 If the melodic contour of this excerpt presents mostly Balakirev’s Caucasus, the harmonic side of it is rather Russian (again, by the standards of the Kuchka). It emphasizes a secondary triad (F-​sharp minor in D major in mm. 14 and 16) and sometimes uses seventh chords without proper resolution. In measures 17 and 18, the seventh chords, instead of resolving as expected, are followed by an augmented triad on A (see ex. 5.17). The purpose of “dwelling on sonorities of such chords,” according to Frolova-​Walker, was to “weaken the listener’s sense of their harmonic function” and, at the same time, the sense of western harmonic procedures.167 Another important element that was influenced, if not dictated, by Balakirev was the key of the middle section: D-​flat major. As Rimsky-​Korsakov recalled in a conversation with Yastrebtsev, one of five “Slavonian” elements of the New Russian School was the choice of key: “Balakirev’s keys of B minor and D-​flat

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204 Representing Russia’s Orient major . . . were so brilliantly and, obviously, deliberately introduced into the early works of the Russian school and without doubt left a deep imprint on all the latest Russian music, partly from force of habit, partly also because D flat sounds especially graceful, beautiful, and mellow in orchestration.”168 Borodin was inspired not only by Balakirev’s melodic, rhythmic, and harmonic language but also by his ethnographic aspirations and active search for genuine folk material. When Borodin started working on his opera Prince Igor, he wanted to create an authentic sound of the East, so he contacted a Russian traveler and ethnographer, Vladimir Nikolaevich Mainov.169 Unable to fully satisfy Borodin’s curiosity, Mainov approached his colleague in Budapest, the Hungarian scholar and traveler Pál Hunfalvy, who studied Finno-​Ugric peoples in Central Asia and the Polovtsian districts of Hungary.170 According to Stasov, Mainov gave Borodin some motifs from songs of the Finno-​Ugric peoples and some tunes from Central Asia transcribed by Hunfalvy.171 Besides these melodies, Mainov forwarded a list of Hungarian folk song collections, which included a “special collection of Polovtsian melodies.”172 In a letter to Borodin, Mainov speculated that Polovtsian music might resemble the music of the Chuvash, Bashkir, and Kyrgyz people, since Konchak ruled the Polovtsians, or Polovtsy, also known as Kumans, or Cumans (people related to Altai Turks).173 Despite Borodin’s interest in the music of the peoples he represented in his opera, his career as a scientist kept him from traveling for ethnographic purposes.174 Sometimes he was compelled to rely on transcriptions of collections of oriental songs, as in the case of “Arabskaia Melodiia” [Arab Melody], taken from an essay on Arabic music called Esquisse historique de la musique arabe aux temps anciens written by a Russian official, Alexander Christianowitsch, who Example 5.17.  Borodin, Symphony no. 1, third movement, mm. 13–​19

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five traveled to French colonies and published a number of Arabic tunes along with this essay on ancient Arabic music.175 In his article on Russian Orientalism, Taruskin examined the source of Borodin’s “Arabskaia Melodiia” and the way he evoked the Orient by introducing a “snaking chromatic accompanying line” to support an entirely diatonic tune.176 What Taruskin did not discuss, though, is a footnote to this tune in Christianowitsch’s collection that draws attention to its striking similarity to the Russian folk song “Podbliudnaia pesnia,” known as “Slava!”177 In the nineteenth century, “Slava!” was used to represent the Russian monarchy and was often included in Russian operas as the subject of a glorifying choral “Slava!”178 Indeed, fourteen notes of the middle part of the Arabic song “Insiraf Grib,” transcribed by Christianowitsch, coincide with the opening of “Slava!” (if one disregards the first two notes; exs. 5.18a and 5.18b). Borodin’s choice is hardly random, since out of the forty melodies from Christianowitsch’s Esquisse historique, he chose this particular one. The melodic elements that brought into being both Russian and eastern music in “Arabskaia Melodiia” might have appealed to Borodin because of his own mixed Russian-​Asian identity. As is well known, he was the illegitimate son of Luka Gedeanov, a Georgian prince with Tatar ancestry, and Avdot’ia Antonova, a Russian woman of humble origins. Christianowitsch’s remark that this tune could have been brought to Russia through the Tatars may have strengthened Borodin’s desire to harmonize it. Example 5.18a.  “Insiraf Grib” from Christianowitsch’s Esquisse historique, p. xx, mm. 12–​21

Example 5.18b.  Russian folk song “Podbliudnaia pesnia,” known as “Slava!,” mm. 1–​6

Perhaps the phenomenon of recognizing the “self ” in the “other” and the “other” in the “self ” was also a driving force behind Borodin’s other compositions with ambiguous musical representation. One of the most striking Russian-​ Asian musical dualities is found in “Plach Iaroslavny,” or “Iaroslavna’s Lament,” in the last movement of Prince Igor. In her aria, the Russian heroine Iaroslavna, Igor’s wife, expresses her grief about Igor’s captivity. She calls on the wind, the river Dnieper, and the sun, and reproaches them for not helping Igor in the battle. At the beginning of her aria, she sings in a style that had been associated in Russia with the eastern world rather than the West. It includes a characteristic melisma and an augmented second in the melody, syncopations in mm. 14 through 17, and

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206 Representing Russia’s Orient a long, sustained pedal in the accompaniment (see ex. 5.19). A short reference to the Phrygian mode (g♮ in m. 20, while the F-​sharp minor is tonicized) intensifies the hopelessness and despair the Russian princess experiences (see ex. 5.19). Perhaps for Borodin, emotionally charged moments (the beginning of the aria is marked dolce ed espressivo) were stylistically similar whether they featured Russian or eastern characters, or maybe he associated intense emotions with strong characters regardless of their ethnic background. Example 5.19.  “Iaroslavna’s Lament” from Borodin’s opera Prince Igor (act 4), mm. 13–​21

Another example from the same opera proves that for Borodin the expression of deep emotions had common ground and could have been exchanged between Russian and eastern characters. As Sergei Dianin has pointed out, one tune in Borodin’s sketchbook was assigned to both Asian and Russian female characters: “material intended for Konchak’s daughter or Iaroslavna, suitable for an impassioned, dramatic recitative.”179 Significantly, Borodin not only singled out a couple of expressive gestures for both Russian and eastern female characters but also identified both characters with the adjectives “impassioned and dramatic.” V   aluing the emotions of the “other” as the emotions of the “self ” (or vice versa), Borodin eliminated the Russian/​eastern boundaries and, to a certain extent, suggested the possibility of transcending the othering. It seems that throughout his life Borodin tried to overcome difference, to combine two seemingly distant worlds (the East and the West) and integrate Russia’s “others” into the Russian “self.” In the end he felt defeated. In a letter to Stasov about Prince Igor, Borodin wrote: “I cannot escape dualism—​not in the form of a dualistic theory in chemistry, nor in biology, philosophy and psychology, or in the Austro-​Hungarian monarchy!”180 Yet Borodin himself was an

Milii Balakirev, His Orient, and Mighty Five embodiment of that escape: he absorbed cultural and ethnic duality inherited from his parents, he mastered and made valuable contributions to two absolutely unrelated fields of cultural and intellectual activity (science and music), and he was able to interweave the music of the East and West in a very refined and unobtrusive manner. (See, for instance, his symphonic poem In the Steppes of Central Asia.)181 In this chapter, I have argued that Balakirev played a major role in the formation of the Russian musical Orient. Although many other Russian composers addressed Russia’s eastern or southern “others,” Balakirev’s pieces involving inorodtsy were based on his own musical encounters with them. Deep respect and understanding of the people living in the Caucasus, combined with his desire to learn about the culture and music of Russia’s “others,” not only had a stimulating effect on his originality but also inspired a large number of musical works written by the members of his circle. Beyond creating a musical model for the representation of the Russian Orient, he demonstrated how to include some musical elements from the Caucasus in the Russian musical “self.” In the next chapter I will consider how at the turn of the century the Kuchka’s technique of incorporating ethnic minorities into the large imperial family was further developed by the members of MEK in Moscow. This was one of the strongest attempts to circumscribe the peoples of the empire under the umbrella of Russian culture (albeit at the cost of the complete cultural assimilation of inorodtsy). Many elements that were claimed to be Russian—​the Dorian mode and avoidance of the leading tone, both of which created modal harmony, as well as what was called the “Glinka variation” form—​were introduced into arrangements of Russian Asians’ folk songs. The appropriation of these elements reduced the cultural and musical distance between Russians and inorodtsy but completely transformed the latter’s musical language, stripping it of its historical and traditional meanings.

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Chapter 6

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire

O

n March 11, 1893, in the Grand Hall of the Noble Assembly, situated in the heart of Moscow near the Kremlin, a distinguished group of operatic singers, choristers, and orchestral musicians gathered under the direction of Nikolai Klenovskii to perform their first “Ethnographic Concert.”1 Most contemporary concert organizers would have envied the diversity and scope of the program. It presented presumably original folk music from different ethnic groups spanning all corners of the vast Russian empire (see the detailed program of this concert in appendix 2). The first part of the concert opened with Balakirev’s symphonic poem Rus, followed by five Great-​ Russian songs, eight songs of other Slavic peoples closely associated with Russia (four Belorussian and four Ukrainian), and five songs of southern and western Slavic peoples (two Bulgarian and three Polish). This, without a doubt, was meant to represent the brotherhood of Slavic peoples. The second part of the concert, focused on non-​Slavic peoples living in Russia, also opened with a symphonic piece, Tatar Dances by Pavel Ivanovich Blaramberg.2 This section included ten songs representing the Christian part of Russia (four Baltic Lithuanian, three Georgian, and one Armenian) and four songs of peoples representing the Asian, non-​Christian part of Russia (a Chuvash song followed by two Kyrgyz songs and one Sart song).3 In addition, two Greek songs, arranged by Bourgault-​Ducoudray from his Trente melodies, were performed in their original forms. The concert closed with the chorus and orchestra performing a finale, “Slava!” [Glory!], from Klenovskii’s ballet Svetlana, the Russian Princess. The choice of opening and closing works was probably made in order to frame non-​Russian music within the Great-​Russian narrative. Balakirev’s Rus, which sought to celebrate Russia’s glorious past, and Klenovskii’s finale, “Glory!,” performed by full orchestra and choir, concluded the concert with Russian music, after performing folk songs representing Russia’s inorodtsy. According to later accounts, critics and audience alike enthusiastically

210 Representing Russia’s Orient appreciated the organizers’ endeavors.4 The brochure with Russian translations of the texts of the folk song performed in the concert was “sold rapidly.”5 The arrangements by Klenovskii were published four times over the next twenty years (1894–​1926) despite political turmoil. What caused such a decisive public success? How did these concerts engage with the idea of Russia as a nation? In this chapter, I focus on these Ethnographic Concerts, organized by the MEK. I will argue that they reflected a broader endeavor by Russian officials to promote Russia’s national self-​definition as a multiethnic state. As James Clifford has aptly observed,“the concrete activity of representing a culture, subculture, or indeed any coherent domain of collective activity is always strategic and selective.”6 The concerts presented by the MEK between 1893 and 1911 were designed to appropriate and recontextualize the empire’s non-​Russian ethnicities in a narrative of Russian cultural domination and—​despite underlying differences—​to promote an image of Russia as a unified state. Furthermore, the arrangements of Russian folk songs and those belonging to different inorodtsy that the MEK performed and published may have shaped Russians’ perceptions of and responses to the subjected peoples living in the Russian empire. A hierarchy among the different types of inorodtsy—​in other words, inherently biased preconceptions channeled through ethnographic publications—​found full realization in music.

The Music-​Ethnographic Committee and Its First Ethnographic Concert Context and Structure The MEK was officially formed in 1901 as part of the ethnography branch of the OLEAE under the auspices of Moscow University. This ethnography branch had been engaged in folk music research since the groundbreaking All-​Russian Ethnographical Exhibition of 1867 in Moscow.7 After 1889, the OLEAE published the journal EO (Etnograficheskoye obozreniye), in which the first musical ethnographies appeared. The precursors of the MEK concerts were the “Sunday evenings” organized in the 1880s by Vsevolod Fedorovich Miller (1816–​1913), a well-​known Russian linguist and amateur musician.8 Several important Moscow musicians, composers, and folklorists (such as Sergei Ivanovich Taneyev, Alexander Tikhonovich Gretchaninov, and Pavel Blaramberg) frequented these “evenings” and later formed the core of the MEK. The main goals pursued by its members were educational: raising interest in music ethnographies by spreading knowledge through publications, public lectures, open meetings (accompanied by musical illustrations), and the

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire Ethnographic Concerts.9 Many musicians worried that authentic folk song would disappear under the corrupting influence of the urban popular song (gorodskoi romans). Thus, for MEK members the collection of folk songs in the villages became an urgent matter.10 The MEK’s members were not the only people preoccupied with the idea of the preservation of folk music. The founders of another organization in St. Petersburg, the Song Committee [Pesennaia Komissia], also believed in the importance of gathering and publishing folk material. However, these two organizations had different goals:  while the Song Committee focused exclusively on the gathering of Russian folk songs, the MEK, in addition to patronizing Russian music, also supported collection of and research on the music of Russia’s inorodtsy.11 Being aware of the multiethnic character of the Russian empire, they were concerned that, while the members of the Pesennaia Komissiia were focused on Russian music in one region, “more precious pearls of folk song” were disappearing in others.12 What was the driving force behind the MEK’s interest in the music of Russia’s inorodtsy? Why was the study of this music considered particularly significant? The answer to these questions can be found in the “Introductory Note about the Activity of MEK,” written by the MEK’s chair, Nikolai Ianchuk, who claimed that research on inorodtsy music could reveal “the extent to which the music of Finns, Turks, and Mongols has influenced [Russian music].”13 He believed that “the centuries-​long cohabitation of Russians with other tribes of different origins [inoplemennoi] could not but be reflected in Russian music.”14 Despite the fact that Ianchuk called the music of Russia’s inorodtsy “interesting and diverse” and expressed concern about “Russification” and the possible extinction of some of Russia’s ethnic minorities, his attitude toward them was clearly paternalistic. He argued that it was the responsibility of a “ruling nation” to devote attention to its subjugated peoples, “at least from a scientific point of view,” since in the history of human culture, “minor peoples [melkie narody]” represented an important link. For Ianchuk, the absence of studies on these peoples could lead to erroneous conclusions about the past.15 He pointed out that other imperial nations (such as England and France) spared neither energy nor resources for ethnographic and anthropological research and published huge volumes of ethnographic material on the cultures they had conquered. As a civilized people, he believed that Russians also had a responsibility to research the empire’s inorodtsy, whose destiny in the near future might be complete extinction.Thus, there were two driving forces behind the MEK’s concern about inorodtsy music: first, the identification of what was inherently Russian, and second, Russia’s scientific status vis-​à-​vis other European imperial powers. Russian ethnic minorities’ music was not apparently studied for its own sake.

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212 Representing Russia’s Orient Klenovskii and His Arrangements for the First Ethnographic Concert The first Ethnographic Concert was unique in that almost all of the works performed at it were folk song arrangements written by one person, Nikolai Klenovskii—​a disciple of Pyotr Tchaikovsky and Nikolai Gubert and conductor of the Bolshoi Theatre.16 Klenovskii took most of the folk tunes for his arrangements from the repertoire published in ethnographic journals, such as EO, and in the collections of folk songs gathered by members of the MEK. In a brief introduction to the first edition of his Collection of Folk Songs: Ethnographic Concert (1894), Klenovskii claimed that he had spent years studying and observing Russian folk songs as well as those of other peoples living in Russia. However, he did not give much information about the studies he had undertaken, except for mentioning that he had arranged some Russian folk songs for Iulii Mel’gunov’s collection (1879). Like other contemporary musicians, Klenovskii had learned folk music either by playing and singing songs from different collections or by arranging songs transcribed by other people; in other words, he had no direct experience with the oral transmission of folk material. As for the music of peoples living in the Asian part of Russia, his experience was even more limited. Prior to his appointment as director of the Tiflis Music College in 1893, and before the All-​Russian Exhibition in Novgorod (1896), in which two ensembles from Central Asia performed traditional music, Klenovskii had only heard and transcribed the melodies of some Armenian and Georgian folk songs from students of his who had come from Transcaucasia to study in Moscow.17 Despite this limited exposure, Klenovskii made sweeping generalizations about the music of Russia’s inorodtsy, claiming that “most of the melodies [of other peoples] bear a striking resemblance to the Russian ones in terms of scale and rhythm.”18 Instead of elaborating with examples or further explaining that similarity, he stated that he could offer a more immediate and “more accessible” experience of the music by compiling and presenting folk songs (or rather his arrangements of them) in a single concert. It appears that in his publication of Ethnographic Concert, he attempted to create something of a composer’s manual for writing arrangements of folk songs for peoples from all corners of the empire. He acknowledged that he did not aim to present the original sound of the music; rather, he said, he had added an “artistic character [khudozhestvennyi kharakter]” to each song to satisfy his audience. What did “artistic character” mean for Klenovskii and how did he treat the “original” folk material to enhance it?19 In his foreword, “From the Author,” he claimed that he intended to keep the original melodic line “completely untouched,” as sung by the folk (narod). Indeed, he did his best not to change a single note from the original.20 However, an analysis of his arrangements reveals

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire that, more often than not, he added an elaborate accompaniment to the songs, changing their characters and sometimes even incorporating scales entirely outside of those that are present in the original melodies. Take, for instance, the Russian folk song “Ia stradaiu” [I Am Suffering], to which Klenovskii added a rather extended orchestral prelude, interlude, and postlude (see ex. 6.1). The introductory melody played by the flutes has nothing to do with the melodic structure. Rather, it imitates a naigrysh, a repetitive, often improvised, instrumental tune frequently played by a traditional high-​ woodwind instrument such as the svirel. Klenovskii also characterized Slavic peoples elsewhere—​in a Russian song (“Na zare to bylo”), two Belorussian songs (“Oi letseli gusi” and “Nema lëdu”), and two Bulgarian songs (“Velko” and “Stoian”)—with a similar naigrysh, in the form of an improvisation loosely based on the opening phrases of the “original” transcriptions. Besides these Example 6.1.  Russian song “Ia stradaiu,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 1–​11

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214 Representing Russia’s Orient Slavic songs, two Lithuanian songs (“Mamuzhite sianolite” and “Ana puse mareliu”) were also provided with naigrysh-​like introductions, suggesting not only political but also close cultural ties between Russians and the people living in Russia’s Baltic province.21 The tradition of opening a song with a naigrysh recalls music composed by the members of the Kuchka. Such preludes, played by flute, clarinet, or oboe and imitating Russian traditional woodwind instruments, can be found in the first and third of the “Songs of Lel” in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s opera Snow Maiden (1881), Liubava’s aria in Sadko (1897), and “Iaroslavna’s Lament” in Borodin’s unfinished Prince Igor (first performed in 1890). If the use of Russian operatic clichés in Klenovskii’s instrumentation is comparatively obvious in the arrangements of songs representing the European part of Russia, it is even more evident in his arrangement of inorodtsy tunes. One of the most popular ways to evoke Russia’s eastern or southern neighbors in the nineteenth-​ century was to use the English horn. This tradition can be traced back to Glinka’s famous opera Ruslan and Liudmila (1842) where it portrays an “oriental” character, Ratmir, the prince of Khazaria, who is the unsuccessful suitor rejected by Liudmila.Throughout the opening slow section of Ratmir’s aria, the English horn engages in a dialogue with the vocal line, reiterating, elaborating, and anticipating most of the sung melodic material in the manner of an obbligato.22 Klenovskii uses this instrument in three songs representing Russia’s eastern or southern domains—​the Armenian song “Krunk,” the Kyrgyz song “A liak uter budun’ia,” and the Sart song “Karalasam kurynmaidi”—​and his approach to the instrument is similar to Glinka’s: it plays a prominent role in introductions, interludes, and endings and often enters into a dialogue with the vocal line. Moreover, the closing measures of “Krunk” allude to another Russian classical Orientalist (in a negative sense of the term) example, the “Song of the Polovtsian Maiden” in Borodin’s Prince Igor, and do so more precisely by means of the characteristic timbre of the English horn repeatedly reiterating the ornamentation figure with an augmented second (compare exs. 6.2 and 6.3). In addition to timbre, Klenovskii used different musical scales to create distinction between Russian and non-​Russian sounds. If in the arrangements of Russian and Slavic folk songs he remained faithful to the songs’ diatonic characteristics, his arrangements of music representing Russia’s eastern regions reveal glaring discrepancies between the “originals” and the accompanied versions of the tunes. For instance, out of four arrangements of Russia’s Asian songs (one Chuvash, two Kyrgyz, and one Sart), Klenovskii added augmented seconds to the accompaniment of three otherwise diatonic tunes, likely in an attempt to signify the exotic character of Russia’s Asians. The fact that the four songs represented entirely different peoples—​Christian Georgians living in the

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire Example 6.2.  Armenian song “Krunk,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 71–​74

Example 6.3.  Borodin, “Song of the Polovtsian Maiden,” in Prince Igor (act 2), mm. 71–​73

Caucasus, Asian nomadic Kyrgyz loosely practicing Islam, and Asian sedentary Muslims—​did not seem to bother Klenovskii, busy with creating “artistic character” rather than accurate musical representation. One Georgian song, “Mertskhali,” despite the absence of augmented seconds in the tune, has an abound presence of this interval in the accompaniment (ex. 6.4). What is more, the arrangements of the Georgian “Mertskhali” and the Kyrgyz “Ai astynda” have strikingly similar features (ex. 6.5). Both songs start with the brass section playing open fifths; both songs begin with a sweeping passage that includes an augmented second performed by high woodwinds or tutti orchestra; and both songs first present the melody sung by the tenors.23 This beginning, inconsistent with the song’s melodic style, completely changes the sound of these Georgian and Kyrgyz tunes. It adds a new exotic color that otherwise is absent in the original songs (compare exs. 6.4 and 6.5). The only apparent difference in Klenovskii’s accompaniment is in the frequency of passages with an augmented second. In the Kyrgyz

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216 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 6.4.  Georgian song “Mertskhali,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 1–​12

song, these passages appear after almost every phrase, while in the Georgian song they occur only in the introduction, in the ending, and between the verses. Perhaps Klenovskii, using Orientalist stereotypes, wanted to enhance the exoticism of the Kyrgyz people by repeating the augmented second passages more often.24

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire Example 6.5.  Kyrgyz song “Ai astynda ber dzholduz,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 1–​17

The inconsistency between the original Kyrgyz song and its arrangement does not stop there. Neither the dramatic opening nor the generally gloomy character of the song’s introduction reflects the content of the text (see mm. 1–​12 in ex. 6.5):

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218 Representing Russia’s Orient Есть под луною звезда Краше луны; Лучше для нас, чем богач, Преданный друг. Если обидит тебя Злой человек, Будь и тогда лучше добр, А не гневись. Здравствуй, красотка, я был от тебя далеко, Нынче же возле тебя—мне на сердце легко! Сильно вдали от тебя, милая, я тосковал, Но теперь ты—моя! День блаженства настал!

There is a star under the Moon More beautiful than the Moon; For us, a staunch friend is better Than a rich man. Even if an evil man Offends you, Be kind and Do not get angry. Hello, my beautiful one, I was far away from you, Now I am by your side [and I feel] light in my heart! Far away from you, my darling, I felt miserable, But now, you are mine! The day of felicity has come!

The first verse of the song’s text, which runs against a rather bellicose orchestral introduction, is clearly didactic. By comparison, the second verse’s subject matter of a man’s loving address to a beauty seems unrelated.This shift can be easily explained:  the original Kyrgyz song Klenovskii arranged has only one verse; he took the text for the second verse from another Kyrgyz song published in the same source, an article in EO by R.  A. Pfennig.25 The two Kyrgyz songs Klenovskii used are not related textually or musically. Nevertheless, the obvious discrepancies between them and the contradiction between the accompaniment and the texts did not trouble Klenovskii. The idea of mixing different texts within one melody might have been inspired by Pfennig’s article, which discussed Kyrgyz and Sart songs. In one passage describing Kyrgyz music, Pfennig mentioned a common musical practice in which different texts were sung over the same melody.26 It is possible that Klenovskii, after reading the article, may have felt that his free approach to the text and mixture of two songs would not contradict the traditional music practice of the Kyrgyz themselves.27 Besides augmented seconds, to highlight the exotic origin of a song, Klenovskii sometimes decorated a diatonic tune with a chromatic accompaniment. For instance, in the Sart song, “Karalasam kurynmaidi,” Klenovskii employs both an augmented second and chromaticism, significantly altering the color of the original tune (see ex. 6.6).28 Despite Klenovskii’s determination to push the Sart song into the realm of the exotic, he was equally inclined to find something familiar in it. Of the two transcriptions of Sart songs published

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire Example 6.6.  Sart song “Karalasam kurynmaidi,” arranged by Klenovskii, mm. 1–​12

in EO, he chose this particular one probably because he, like Pfennig, who transcribed it, heard a similarity between this song and some of the motifs from Glinka’s Ruslan and Liudmila.29 Klenovskii’s arrangement of “Karalasam kurynmaidi” strikingly resembles Glinka’s accompaniment to the first verse of the Persian chorus in act 3. In both cases, the melody is supported by the orchestra’s string section so that violins double the melody while other instruments provide a simple chordal progression with a slow harmonic rhythm. Klenovskii’s attraction to familiar elements in an unfamiliar culture might be explained by the common late-​nineteenth-​century practice of finding, or rather imagining, similarities between Russian and Asian cultures. As discussed in c­ hapters 2, 3, and 5, many historians, linguists, and music writers promoted the myth of a Russian Aryan or Asian past and preferred the idea of Russia’s historical and cultural affiliation with the East rather than the West.

Reaction Although the 1893 Ethnographic Concert was widely acclaimed, some Russian critics saw in Klenovskii’s arrangements a “clichéd method of treatment [shablonnyi sposob obrabotki]” and a dangerous trend of “Orientalization”: an imposition of some properties (such as the augmented second) they felt did not belong to a tune. After Klenovskii’s Ethnographic Concert appeared in print

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220 Representing Russia’s Orient in 1894, Arsenii Koreshchenko, a member of the MEK, criticized Klenovskii’s arrangements, using them as an example of a modern, unthoughtful approach to “oriental” music:30 The consequence of an almost absolute ignorance about the music of different oriental peoples among the majority of musicians and audiences is a firmly established stereotype and false view that only Persian music should be considered “oriental.” Any other folk tune transcription from the Orient that does not carry the specific features of Persian music [i.e., the use of the augmented second] cannot be recognized as oriental. This false view has taken root to such an extent that even knowledgeable composers use the same clichéd method [shablonnyi sposob] for arranging not only the songs that have clear traits of Persian origin or influence but also the songs whose character [sklad] does not allow it [this stereotyping].31

According to Koreshchenko, the majority of European composers had been transferring musical stereotypes from one work to another, overusing them to such an extent that “all these harmonic and melodic spices, such as augmented seconds and chromatic passages, utterly bore audiences.”32 “Klenovskii, too,” Koreshchenko continued, “probably in his desire to emphasize the place of the song’s origin (the Orient), did not find anything better than to add to the Georgian songs his own introduction and ending in the Persian manner.”33 Klenovskii’s choice, however, was hardly surprising:  aimed at a wide public, his arrangement had to meet the audience’s expectation by furnishing inorodtsy music with harmonic idioms that were supposed to represent the Russian Orient.This is why, despite the critique, the Russian public responded enthusiastically to Klenovskii’s Orientalist kitsch. At this historical moment, few people were concerned about the authenticity of the represented material, and Klenovskii’s Ethnographic Concert gained immediate and widespread popularity. But were the success and multiple editions of the Ethnographic Concert simply the result of Klenovskii’s ability to meet his audience’s expectations? Could other historical, political, or cultural elements have influenced the concert’s program? In fact, the broader political implications of his success might tell quite a different story.

Concert, Politics, and Social Response As a public event, the Ethnographic Concert could not help but serve as a vehicle for the expression of the state’s ideological agenda: to present a microcosm of the Russian empire with its inorodtsy culturally assimilated within it. The ultimate aim of these concerts was similar to the goal formulated by the organizers of the All-​Russian Ethnographic Exhibition of 1867 and echoed in an article by Mikhail Katkov in the official newspaper Moskovskie vedomosti. There Katkov stated that “the diversity of the elements entering into the composition

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire of the Russian population in no way violates national unity and can, given a healthy policy, only facilitate the richness of the development and the strength of the composition of the state.”34 As Knight points out, the very notion of ethnographic diversity went arm in arm with the notion of a unitary Russian identity, “imagined” by some members of Russian intellectual society as a multitude of diverse ethnic groups, distinct yet unified.35 A number of other Ethnographic Concerts organized by the MEK followed the same layout. In a certain sense, they developed a popular late-​nineteenth-​ century practice of Russian ethnographic and anthropological exhibitions, which put an emphasis on domesticated qualities of Russian Asia. An important shift in the tendency of representation can be traced within just the last decade of the nineteenth century. In exhibitions held in Moscow and Nizhnii Novgorod during the 1890s, the Central Asian pavilions attracted more people than any other sites due to their exotic appeal. The 1891 Central Asian exhibition in Moscow, depicted in an illustration in the popular newspaper Niva (fig. 6.1), featured a reconstruction of a Samarkand street scene with picturesque shops manned by Sart traders.36 Still more, the 1896 exposition of Russian Turkestan in Nizhnii Novgorod brought two musical ensembles and one dancer from Central Asia to perform.37 However, a few years later, at the 1900 Paris World’s Fair, Russia’s subjects were presented as absolutely absorbed by the Russians. Although Russia’s eastern borderlands (particularly Siberia and Central Asia) were chosen to show off Russia’s imperial accomplishments, and some representatives from Russian Turkestan were brought to the fair, exoticism was not a central component of the presentation.38 The only potentially “exotic” Russian subjects brought to the fair included a Sart rug weaver and a minor official recruited from the Turkestan population, both of whom spoke perfect Russian. A Sart’s proposition to bring an ensemble of twelve musicians and whirling dervishes was turned down by the committee in charge of the World’s Fair. All these decisions point to the probability that Russian officials were determined to present Russia as a western empire. In Daniel Brower’s words, “its special claim to attention . . . was its capacity to absorb and transform on civilized terms distant lands and diverse people.”39 In a similar spirit, the first Ethnographic Concert also presented Russia’s inorodtsy as domesticated “others.” In spite of a few exoticizing moments (discussed earlier), all folk songs were arranged in a standard European way: besides using a harmonic language typical of nineteenth-​century western European harmony, they were accompanied by European instruments (piano or orchestra); in addition, the songs’ texts were translated into Russian and distributed to the audience before the concert. The accessibility of Asian and Caucasian tunes and texts had a significant impact on studies of Russia’s

221

Figure 6.1.  Illustration of the Central Asian Exhibition in Moscow. Niva 34 (1891): 747. Courtesy of the National Library of Russia, St. Petersburg

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire inorodtsy. Ultimately, the MEK achieved its prime goal, articulated by Ianchuk in his “Introductory Note”: to stimulate interest in folk music by popularizing some “models of musical folk art [obraztsy narodnogo muzykal’nogo tvorchestva].”40 Many Russian citizens of all ranks (teachers, priests, and amateur musicians) living in or traveling to Russia’s remote regions became involved in collecting songs from Asian people and sending materials, including amateur transcriptions and the first sound recordings, to the MEK.41 Some of these transcriptions were even published in the pages of respected Russian musical journals.42 Thus, the MEK gave Russian citizens the opportunity to participate in the collective creation of Russian history and society by gathering specimens of Russian (or inorodtsy) musical traditions. This might explain why the Ethnographic Concerts supervised by the MEK did not stop until World War I. Significantly, out of ten concerts held in Moscow between 1901 and 1911, no fewer than seven adhered to a similar layout: Russian or Slavic folk songs in the first part followed by folk songs of Russia’s inorodtsy in the second (see table 6.1 and app. 2).43 Such concerts helped to embrace and display the empire’s multinational construction. This notion of ethnic diversity infiltrated the domain of entertainment as well. At the end of the nineteenth century, Nikolai Karazin—​a Russian military officer, painter, writer, and ethnographer—​designed a set of playing cards in which each suit represented a particular ethnic group of Russia. Karazin, who participated in the suppression of the Polish rebellion of 1863 and the taking of Turkestan in the late 1860s, presented the official vision of empire, assigning to people of its western, southern, and eastern provinces their own hierarchical position.44 In one of the most popular Russian card games—​preference—​the strongest suit is hearts, followed by diamonds, then clubs, and finally spades. As shown in fig. 6.2, Karazin presented Asians (Bashkirs, Tatars, and Kyrgyz) as the lowest spades, Little-​ Russians (or Ukrainians) as clubs, and Poles as diamonds, reserving the strongest suit for Russians. Although Russia’s eastern or western inorodtsy are not depicted on these cards as staggeringly different from the Russians, the suits themselves reflect Russians’ dominance over the empire’s interethnic hierarchy. Published in 1897, 1898, and 1900, Karazin’s ethnic cards served as a visual reminder of Russia’s power over its East and perpetuated the stereotypes about weak Asians that were promoted elsewhere via popular literature and through the publication of bylinas, historical, children, and folk songs (discussed in ­chapter 1).45 Unsurprisingly, the Ethnographic Concerts organized by the MEK also conformed to this well-​established cultural hierarchy of the empire’s subjects.

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Table 6.1 Types of Music Performed at the Ethnographic Concerts of the Music-​Ethnographic Committee (1893–​1911) Concert 1

Concert 2

Concert 3

Concert 4

Concert 5

Concert 6

Concert-​ lecture

Concert 7

Folk-​Artistic Concert 8 Concert

Concert-​ lecture

Concert 9

Concert 10

Source type 3/​11/​1893 3/​11/​1901 3/​18/​1901 11/​29/​1901 1/​30/​1902 (modern name)

4/​20/​1902 02/​25/​1904 3/​3/​1906 4/​28/​1906 (canceled)

2/​11/​1907 11/​29/​1907 12/​12/​1907 1/​16/​1911

Great-​ Russian

5 (2)*

9

13

14

7

12

11

8

6 (7)*

23

8

Little-​ 4 Russian (Ukrainian)

5

5

4

5

7

1

6

4 (2)*

20

6

Georgian

3

11

8

5

3

2 (1)*

Belorussian

4

2

Polish

3

3

3

2

2

4

3

Jewish Armenian

4 6

1

7

Bashkir

7

Lettish (1)*

2

Bulgar

2

3

Lithuanian

4

74 (2)*

5

37 (1)*

2

18

4

17

2

17 (1)*

1

2

2

13

1

1

12

2

9

1

7 (1)*

2 (1)*

3

3

1 2

7 6

2

Sart (Uzbek)

1

1

Kyrgyz (Kazakh)

2

2

Moldavian

7

2

Taranchi (Uighur)

Finnish

142 (21)*

4

3 4

Tatar

6

2

20 (12)*

Total

3 3

5 5 4

4

4 2

1

3

Czech

3

Greek

2

Chuvash

1

3 1 1

3 2

Kumyk

2

2

Circassian

1

1

2

Ossetinian

1

1

2

Cheremis (Mari)

2

2

Turkish Persian Votiak (Udmurt)

(1)*

2

2

1

1 (1)*

1

1

Aleut

1

1

Chinese

1

1

Scottish

1

1

Irish

1

1

Romanian

1

1

Polovtsian

(1)*

(1)*

* Numbers in parentheses indicate that this ethnicity was represented through a composed piece of work (not a folk song or its arrangement). For instance, in concert 1, 5 Russian arrangement of folk songs were performed, and 2 concert pieces representing Russians were works composed by Balakirev and Klenovskii.

Figure 6.2.  Nikolai Karazin’s playing cards, published in 1900. Illustration in Ogonek 9 (1900): 65. Courtesy of the National Library of Russia, St. Petersburg

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire

Musical Realization of Ethnographic Sources: Alexander Gretchaninov From the early nineteenth century on, Russian writers discussed the culture of Russia’s inorodtsy in differing terms: certain social patterns were considered signs of advanced cultural development, while others were thought to represent lower levels of civilization. Informed by nineteenth-​century ethnographies, Russian composers—​particularly those associated with the MEK—​often assigned more sophisticated musical arrangements to people who were considered culturally advanced and composed “primitive” accompaniment for those thought to be at the periphery of civilization. Alexander Gretchaninov’s approach to Tatar, Bashkir, and Teptiar songs are a case in point.46 These arrangements, performed at the third, fourth, and tenth Ethnographic Concerts and published in the fourth volume of the MEK’s Trudy in 1913, clearly reveal the ways Russian music ethnographies shaped Gretchaninov’s attitude toward inorodtsy culture and influenced his compositional choices. Gretchaninov took all of the songs from a music ethnographic report by Sergei Gavrilovich Rybakov, a native of Samara who enrolled in 1889 at the Conservatory in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s class in composition and became friends with Gretchaninov the following year.47 Rybakov was familiar with the music and culture of Russian Asians living in the region of Samara (an easternmost city built in the sixteenth century as a fortress protecting against nomads). Consequently, he was able to include in his research a wide range of aspects of the culture, history, and music of three Asian peoples (Tatars, Bashkirs, and Teptiars).48 Despite his immediate contact with Asians, he did not contradict the traditional view of them. In a move reminiscent of other Russian ethnographies, Rybakov assigned each cultural group a specific niche:  culturally advanced Tatars were set against naïve and close-​to-​nature Bashkirs and primitive Teptiars. Gretchaninov responded to the ethnographic literature by composing a distinct accompaniment for each ethnic group:  a musical language that would differentiate it from other ethnicities. The Tatar songs’ accompaniments were distinguished by harmonic sophistication and refined chromaticism (which in reality are by no means characteristic of Tatar music). The arrangement of Bashkir songs reflected nineteenth-​century Russian ethnography’s tendency to represent Bashkirs as “noble savages” by means of an accompaniment of a contemplative character (using soft dynamics, slow tempo, and free meter). The music of the Teptiar people was furnished with a rather primitive accompaniment, breaking conventions of the western harmonic progression.

227

228 Representing Russia’s Orient Two Tatar Songs Of all the Asians, the Tatars were usually considered the most educated and culturally advanced people because of their large urban population of merchants, service personnel, and clergy, as well as their well-​organized religion and high literacy rate. Many ethnographers, including Rybakov, supported this conjecture by noting the similarity of their urban dwellings to those of Russians.Yet ethnographers (somewhat ironically) also praised the Tatars’ ability to preserve their “ethnic distinction” (plemennaia individual’nost) despite having lived next to Russians for three hundred years. Ethnographers who lived among the Tatars (Rybakov and Karl Fuks) stressed the cleanliness and neatness of a Tatar’s house and garments.49 Tatars sometimes performed a leading role in the expansion of Russia’s influence in the East. During the reign of Catherine the Great, for instance, because of their strong Muslim faith, Tatars were sent to the Central steppe as agents who would help to bring “progress” and “civilization” to the nomads and spread Islam by building new mosques and opening Muslim confessional schools.50 Despite their religiosity, the Tatars were regarded as open-​ minded people who were able to survive and function properly within and outside the Russian economic system.51 Many other inorodtsy, it seemed, did not possess this ability. In the ethnographic dictionary Narody Rossii, the Tatars are described as “gifted people, lavishly endowed by nature in all respects.”52 Although some ethnographies mention Tatar slyness and reluctance to work hard in the fields, the reader usually gets the impression that the Tatars were economically and culturally advanced Asians. The musical culture of the Tatars was also treated with a certain respect. Rybakov, in his musical ethnography on Tatars, noticed its “inherent ancient character,” which he attributed to the scale structure of their folk songs. He claimed: “if one analyzes their scales, one discovers ancient Greek, or so-​called Church, pentatonic, or what is called the “Chinese” [scale], or, if you will, the scales from the epoch of fourth and fifth, determined as ancient by Sokal’skii in his Russkaia narodnaia muzyka. Tatar melodies in general do not fit into a common European system of harmonization.”53 From the Asianist point of view (discussed in c­ hapter 3), the most significant aspect of this statement is its sweeping generalizations that bring together elements of the Greek Church (closely associated with the Russian language and religion)54 and the Asian musical cultures, a merging that allowed thinkers to bring Russia into close proximity to its Asian neighbors and absorb them not only culturally but also politically and geographically. This is why it was important to place the Tatars as far as possible from European culture, a rhetorical move Rybakov makes in the last sentence of this statement. He sets Tatar melodies apart from western musical idioms possibly because “ancient character,” in a late-​nineteenth-​century Russian music-​theoretical view, implied a

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire certain distance from modern European musical styles. It also meant a certain purity that was missing in modern European styles “corrupted” by artificial harmony. Remarkably, Gretchaninov takes Rybakov’s statement as a serious precaution and in his arrangement of the Tatar song “Arkai kaila” uses a technique of harmonization that suggests a difference from—​if not a challenge to—​the common European harmonic style: the avoidance of a leading tone and a special interest in the Dorian mode (which Balakirev simply called the “Russian minor scale”).55 This results in a remarkable sound involving minor dominant and major subdominant chords. As discussed in ­chapter 5, although Balakirev initially used the Dorian mode to represent the Russians, after his trip to the Caucasus he “discovered” this mode in the music of the people living there and employed it to characterize Georgians in his “Georgian Song.” He further used it to symbolize other Caucasian peoples in his piano piece Islamey (subtitled Oriental Fantasy) and his symphonic poem Tamara. At the end of the nineteenth century, it seems, the Dorian mode was not attached to any particular ethnic group, as Klenovskii, Arakchiev, Reinhold Glière, Gretchaninov, and other composers used it to represent Russia’s southern or eastern peoples (Kakhetinians, Georgians, Taranchis, and others).56 While some Russian writers, such as Sokal’skii, started questioning the authenticity of this mode in Russian folk songs, composers who adhered to Balakirev’s tradition, including Gretchaninov and Liadov, continued using it in Russian songs (e.g., Gretchaninov’s “Step’iu idu ia unyloiu”; Liadov’s arrangement of “Pesnia kalik-​ perekhozhikh,” no. 3 in his 1898 Collection of Russian Folk Songs).57 Gretchaninov was determined to arrange a Tatar song in a way that would connect this Asian people with Russians or with Russian musical tradition. Among sixty-​ four such songs in Rybakov’s musical ethnography, only eight have an unmistakably minor structure, and none is unambiguously in the Dorian mode. Nonetheless, Gretchaninov chooses a song with an ambiguous modal structure that allows him to harmonize it in both “Russian modes”—​natural and Dorian minor. Example 6.7 shows that the thematic material of the Tatar song “Arkai kaila” is derived from a pair of tunes: the first part of the song oscillates between the C-​sharp Dorian and G-​sharp natural minor modes, while a b♯ and a♮ in the second part clearly defines the harmonic C-​sharp minor mode. The oscillation between two equally stable points of rest in the first part of the song may have been especially appealing for Gretchaninov since the quality of so-​called tonal “mutability” (peremennost) was traditionally considered particularly Russian and was widely practiced by Russian composers from Balakirev onward.58 Gretchaninov transposes the original Tatar song up a major third and states it twice with a different accompaniment but using the same harmonies.The statement of the first part of the tune begins with a dominant chord that carefully avoids the leading note and a highly ambiguous harmony characterized by the avoidance of full chords. More than a third of the chords in the accompaniment

229

230 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 6.7. Tatar song no. 1, “Arkai Kaila” from Trudy Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Gretchaninov, mm. 1–​15

lack either the chordal third (mm. 4, 5, 8–​10) or both the third and fifth (mm. 1, 8). According to the cadences at the ends of the first and the second parts of the song, the song’s primary mode appears to be C-​sharp Dorian. However, throughout the first half of the song, the G-​sharp minor chord seems to hold an equally important place: out of eleven measures in the first part, six are filled with a G-​sharp minor sonority (with or without a third; see mm. 1, 4, 7–​10). In addition to tonal “mutability,” one can also notice an emphasis on secondary triads. That is, aside from dominant and subdominant harmonies, the major VII chord is used twice (mm. 3 and 6) and the major VI chord occurs once (m. 5).

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire These harmonic features—​the strict diatonicism of the minor mode through the avoidance of the leading note in the natural and Dorian minor modes, the absence of full chords, and the prominence of secondary triads—​aim to render a folk style that was established and promoted by Balakirev and his circle a generation before Gretchaninov. Multiple examples of ambiguous modal harmony can be found in Balakirev’s, Rimsky-​Korsakov’s, and Musorgsky’s music representing Russians. The Kuchka composers often employed chords without thirds and sometimes simply doubled the melody in octaves without providing any harmony. (See folk songs 7, 9, 14, 21, 34, and 40 in Balakirev’s 1866 collection and folk songs 7, 19, and 21 in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s 40 Russian Folk Songs.) Further, they carefully avoided the leading note in the minor mode by using a natural (i.e., minor) dominant or by omitting the dominant chord’s third. (See folk songs 1, 3, 12, 23, 30, 32, and 34 in Balakirev’s collection and folk songs 1, 6, 7, 14 in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s 40 Russian Folk Songs.) Finally, they often employed the Dorian mode. (See folk songs 1, 14, and 36 in Balakirev’s collection and Musorgsky’s songs “Spi, usni krest’ianskii syn” and “Kolybel’naia Eremushki.”) While the first part of the Tatar song “Arkai kaila” clearly presents the elements of Russian style, the second does not.The leading note that occurs in the original melody, which Gretchaninov chooses not to correct, strongly implies the harmonic minor mode and leaves no other choice for harmonies except the major-​dominant or diminished-​seventh chords. Still, for Gretchaninov, the need to resist European harmonization remains imperative. He uses a witty device employed earlier by Balakirev and Kuchka members—​ a sustained pedal: while the right hand alternates between a minor tonic chord and major dominants or diminished-​seventh chords, the left hand holds a drone on the tonic. As a favorite compositional device used by Balakirev since the early 1860s, sustained pedals play a prominent role in a number of his arrangements of Russian songs including the harmonization of bylina in the second Overture on Russian Themes and in his song arrangements (nos. 29, 33, 35) from Balakirev’s 1866 collection.59 Thus, Gretchaninov’s usage of characteristically “Russian” harmonic progressions as well as his inclination toward the natural minor and Dorian modes in the arrangement of the Tatar song “Arkai kaila” was designed to portray the Tatars as a people culturally connected to Russians rather than Europeans. This image of the Tatars not only was in accord with Rybakov’s ethnographic description but also—by virtue of its promotion of Russian–​Asian cultural affiliations—reveals connection with a late-​ nineteenth-​ century ideology of Asianism.This ideology had profound political consequences, including Russia’s expansionist policy in the East (discussed in ­chapter 3). Gretchaninov’s ignorance of the musical practices of Russia’s Asian neighbors is clearly evident in his inconsistent (if not seemingly arbitrary) treatment

231

232 Representing Russia’s Orient of original transcriptions from Rybakov’s ethnography. In his arrangement of another Tatar song (“Su sagan”) published in the same volume, Gretchaninov attempted to provide the Tatars with a purely European harmonic language. Despite the pentatonic structure of the tune—​characteristic of  Tatar music—​ he supplied it with a standard European harmonic progression (I–​IV–​V), employing a secondary dominant once to tonicize the supertonic chord (see ex. 6.8, m. 4). Gretchaninov colored the tune with a chromatic accompaniment, which for a nineteenth-​century European listener might have sounded rather sophisticated. The melodic line in the right hand not only is highly ornamented but also forms a contrapuntal line to the vocal melody. What is more, this contrapuntal line eventually subdivides into two and then three lines, forming a multilayered texture near the end of the song. Thus, Gretchaninov transformed a simple Tatar tune into a sophisticated song with a contrapuntal line that conveyed a certain European refinement, to say the least. Perhaps this gesture was made in order to contrast Tatar music with that of Bashkirs and Teptiars because Rybakov’s ethnography describes the Tatars as possessors of advanced culture who are clearly opposed to other Asians. Example 6.8. Tatar song no. 2, “Su sagan” from Trudy Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Gretchaninov, mm. 1–​4

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire Thus, the arrangements of two Tatar songs by Gretchaninov portray this Asian people as culturally close to the Russians and similar in their sophistication to Europeans.

Bashkir Music Unlike Tatars living in urban areas, the nomadic Bashkirs were usually portrayed as people who stayed close to nature and were uncorrupted by education and society.60 They were considered to be “disinterested” (beskorystnye), naïve, and—despite their adherence to the Muslim faith—much less religious than the Tatars and nonjudgmental toward non-​Muslims. This particular characteristic made them more flexible in their self-​definition and therefore more easily influenced by the Russians. In his description of Bashkirs, Rybakov underlines their softness and naturally humanistic character at the expense of essentializing and denigrating other Asian peoples: “Asian despotism is absolutely absent [from their character].”61 In addition, he said, Bashkirs never expressed hostile feelings toward any other cultural group and had an especially high esteem for Russians, claiming that “we and you, gods and tsar, are the same.”62 The music of these “children of nature,” according to Rybakov, “breathes with a kind of expansiveness and scope” and is remarkable for its “wealth of fantasy and apparent melodiousness.”63 Rybakov’s detailed description of Bashkir melodies shares many features with Gretchaninov’s arrangements, which suggests that they provided a guideline for him. All the elements of performance on Bashkir flute (kurai) as described by Rybakov can be found in Gretchaninov’s instrumental arrangements. First, Rybakov observed the predominance of high voices among Bashkirs, influencing the register of their songs, the majority of which are performed in a high register. Second, he noted that Bashkir musicians often prolonged the initial note, as if it had a fermata. Beginning a song in such a manner, as Rybakov discovered, allowed the musicians to establish the correct note for the song’s tonic: after matching the first note, played by the flute, a musician would begin by singing a gradually descending melody until he reached a perfect fifth below the first note. In doing this he established the scale he would use for the melody. Third, Rybakov described the kurai as an instrument with a very soft sound that could easily be muffled or dampened by the noise of a crowd. All three instrumental tunes arranged by Gretchaninov also have very soft dynamics, ranging from mezzo forte to ppp (pianissimo). Fourth, according to Rybakov, instrumental melodies were almost always accompanied by a guttural sound pitched a pure fifth below (as mentioned earlier), “like a pedal point.”64 Gretchaninov used this pedal in all of his arrangements of Bashkir music, sometimes even throughout an entire tune. One of his instrumental arrangements (no. 3) presents all of the elements described by Rybakov (ex. 6.9).

233

234 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 6.9.  Bashkir instrumental tune no. 3, from Trudy Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Gretchaninov

The accompaniment opens with a C-​major chord played in a high register. The fifth of the chord is highlighted by the solo instrument and in the right hand of the piano accompaniment. Gradually the accompaniment with the solo melody descends until a perfect fifth in the lower octave is reached by the left hand (m. 7). The c-​g drone remains in the left hand until the end of the tune. Gretchaninov includes an important performance indication under the first note of the tune:  “grazioso (with certain freedom) [s nekotoroi svobodoi].” This remark, which is absent in the original Rybakov collection, reveals Gretchaninov’s careful reading of Rybakov’s book, in which the quality of free performance of Bashkir music is repeatedly mentioned.This freedom of expression is also underlined in the frequent changes of meter in Rybakov’s original

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire transcription, which Gretchaninov follows rigorously:  after four measures in 5/4, the meter changes to 4/​4 for three measures, and then one measure in 2/​4 is followed by 4/​4 at the end.65 Thus, it is clear that Gretchaninov was accurate, if not meticulous, in reading and interpreting the ethnographer’s commentaries. Even so, Gretchaninov could not resist adding one distinct musical element not mentioned by Rybakov: an echo effect (found in four out of six of his Bashkir arrangements).66

A Teptiar Song The Teptiar song “Igtai agai” sharply contrasts with the Tatar and Bashkir arrangements, with its clumsy harmonic progression and endless repetitions that might have appeared rather “primitive.” Not surprisingly, nineteenth-​century descriptions of Teptiar people (including Rybakov’s ethnography) are mostly unflattering: according to these sources, the Teptiars had no original culture and were situated at a lower economic and cultural level of development among the other “Tatar” peoples.67 Rybakov even claimed that the Teptiars never produced their own culture or music:  everything they practiced was borrowed either from the Bashkirs or from the Russians.68 Their moral behavior was even less attractive, since they had a reputation as horse thieves and predators living at others’ expense.69 Rybakov’s description of Teptiar music is extremely laconic and not verbose. He states simply that when he heard the Teptiar songs he did not find them particularly interesting from a melodic point of view.70 As it appears in Rybakov’s collection, the melodic line of “Igtai agai” has a simple and clear structure: the G-​major opening becomes reinterpreted as the dominant of C major in measure 8, which then resolves to this tonic in the following measure with the repetition of C (see ex. 6.10).71 Instead of using the two chords outlined in the melody, Gretchaninov continually sustains a g–​d (g–​e) drone in the piano accompaniment. When the melody starts to resolve to C major, the same is expected in the harmony (because of the V7 in accompaniment of m. 9), but he strikes a chord on G (g–​d–​a played in the left hand and c–​f–​c in the right) that does not resemble any chords of “civilized” classical (or even Romantic) western European harmony. Rather, the pitch collection of this chord (pentatonic scale g–​a–​c–​d–​f) is generally associated with the eastern world.72 Despite the definite melodic ending on C, a G-​major tonic is played in the accompaniment at the very ends of the first and the second verses. The lack of resolution into C major (which is replaced by the unusual chord on G), the g–​d drone, and the contradiction between the melody and the harmony creates the effect of an uneasy and awkward harmonic progression that turns around G and does not progress. In Russian music the chord found in m. 10 is not new: the final movement of Borodin’s Second Symphony opens with a very similar chord in B major (based on the same pentatonic pitch collection,

235

236 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 6.10. Teptiar song “Igtai agai,” from Trudy Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Gretchaninov

f♯–​g♯–​b–​c♯–​e). It is worth mentioning that Cèsar Cui, in his discussion of Borodin’s Second Symphony, stressed its “primitive” sound quality.73 Even if he did not talk about this chord in particular, he described the symphony as being “permeated by traits of Russian nationalism, but the nationalism of remote times; Rus is perceptible in this symphony, but primitive pagan Rus.”74 This remark about Borodin’s symphonic representation of “pagan Rus” is particularly interesting since it can help us to understand the cultural significance of pentatonic harmony in Gretchaninov’s arrangement of this Teptiar

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire song. Indeed, paganism was something that was understood to unite the Russians of the past with the Teptiars of the present. In Rybakov’s account and in other late-​nineteenth-​century Russian ethnographies, Teptiars are described as a people who still practice pagan rituals, such as abducting brides.75 Thus, they were thought to be stuck in a primordial stage of human development—​a stage the Russians had long since passed. At the same time, many Russians believed in a universalist pattern of human development, progressing from barbarism to civilization, and considered primitivism a temporal condition from which any people could and should be liberated. Likewise, they did not think that the Teptiars would remain backward forever. As Rybakov and other ethnographers noted, Teptiars were open to assimilation by “superior” Russian culture, as was evidenced by their adoption of some Russian songs and Russian musical instruments, such as violins, balalaikas, and harmonicas.76 In this context, Gretchaninov’s choice to relate Russian and Asian peoples by using harmony based on pentatonicism takes on an emblematic meaning. His pentatonic chords effectively placed the Teptiar people at a primordial stage of development, all the while associating them with the Russian past.77 The evocation in the song of a Russian–​Asian cultural relationship does not stop there. Another important reference to Russian culture is found in the text of the chorus (“A-​du-​dia za-​liu-​li”), which is reminiscent of the typical Russian folk song interjections “Ai-​du-​du” and “Ai-​liu-​li.” Although—​and this should be emphasized—​in Rybakov’s collection there are seven Teptiar songs, Gretchaninov chose “Igtai agai,” the only one with a chorus text whose Russian influence is clearly recognizable.

“Merging with a Higher Nation” Both Gretchaninov’s use of pentatonic harmonies and the textual basis of his choice of song suggest that the Russian influence on “Igtai agai” in Rybakov’s collection was probably not coincidental. Regardless, for the audience, such Russian evocations would have helped foster the idea that Russia’s Asians desired to be assimilated by the “greater” nation. Indeed, as Rybakov emphasized in his ethnography, the beauty of Russian folk song often caught Asians’ ears, and some native musicians praised Russian folk songs and enjoyed performing them.78 This exoticist fascination with Russian music—​and, by inference, Russian culture—​resulted in the adoption of some Russian customs and moeurs along with Russian traditional songs and musical practices by many of Russia’s Asian subjects. Rybakov ascertained, for instance, that some Christianized Tatars—​the Nagaibaks—​gave up their traditional musical practice of singing in unison and adopted a traditional Russian practice of choral singing.79 Likewise, he found that many started using characteristically Russian musical elements such as Russian-​style cadences, vocal entrances, and melodic

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238 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 6.11.  “Kak po Kame, po reke,” as transcribed by Lineva, mm. 1–​6

Example 6.12.  Nagaibak song “Zhiran mikan,” as transcribed by Rybakov

gestures.80 Compare, for instance, the Russian song “Kak po Kame, po reke,” as transcribed by Evgeniia Lineva, with the Nagaibak song “Zhiran mikan,” in Rybakov’s article on Nagaibak music.81 Both of these choral songs open with a solo beginning and the subsequent entry of other voices, one of which doubles the theme in parallel thirds (see ex. 6.11, mm. 1–​4; ex. 6.12, mm. 1–​6). The cadences in both songs also have a characteristic absence (or avoidance) of a dominant function and an unpredictable ending on a secondary scale degree or on an alternative tonal center (see ex. 6.11, mm. 5–​6, and ex. 6.12, m. 10). Another quality traditionally associated with Russian folk music—​the tonal “mutability” (peremennost), or frequent changing of modal centers—​is a feature in both songs. While “Kak po Kame, po reke” oscillates between D major and B minor, “Zhiran mikan” vacillates between G major, E minor, and D major. “Zhiran mikan” is not an isolated example of such strong Russian musical flavor. Among the sixteen Nagaibak songs presented in Rybakov’s article, at least half bear an unmistakably Russian stamp on either the text or the music.

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire This has a far-​reaching implication: the Asians can be culturally assimilated in general. That is, in addition to incorporating musical practices, they are able to adopt a new way of life and are capable of participating in the economic and social development of Russia.82 As Rybakov claims in the closing comments of his article, “the time will come when the Nagaibaks will forget their language, and then nothing will differentiate them from the Russians.”83 Besides the Nagaibaks, other Asian groups subject to Russia demonstrated, as Rybakov puts it, the tendency of “merging with the higher nation.”84 Teptiars, Bashkirs, and to a lesser extent Tatars were going through the “crisis” of “rebirth of their forms of life” under the influence of Russian “elemental power” (stikhiia). Rybakov describes this sociocultural “rebirth” as the “natural and gradual establishment of Russian culture,” although it is more appropriately termed “assimilation.”85 Unlike other Russian ethnographers (e.g., Ianchuk, as discussed earlier) who were concerned about the preservation not only of Russian musical traditions but also those of the peoples living in Russia, Rybakov expressed no regret about dying Asian musical traditions. Instead, he expected the realization of “cultural rapprochement,” or “merging” and “fusion” of Russian and Asian cultures, at the expense of the minority cultures and called it an “inevitable and desirable” certainty.86 Thus, even though Rybakov never used the term “Russification” (russifikatsiia), which would have had a disciplinary connotation, and insisted that the influencing of the “ruling nation” had to be performed without force, his support of Russian cultural domination in the Asian regions clearly suggests his attraction to late-​nineteenth-​century Russian assimilationist policies.87 Gretchaninov also, like Rybakov, tried to represent the assimilation of Asian peoples through his arrangements of Asian songs. In the Teptiar and Tatar songs discussed earlier, Russian influence is embedded either in the text or in a particular mode, harmony, or chord progression provided by the composer. In his Bashkir instrumental tune 2, Russian style is evoked in developmental technique known as “Changing-​Background Variations” or simply “Glinka Variations.”88 The basic feature of this variation technique is the repetition of an unchanging melody played against varied harmonies and textures. Frolova-​ Walker has argued that claims in Russian and Soviet literature about this musical device originating from Russian folk practice have absolutely no basis.89 However, the myth of Glinka’s variation supposedly manifesting the Russian soul has persisted in Russian literature since the nineteenth century, and its use suggests a strong presence of Russianness.90 Gretchaninov repeats the original Bashkir eight-​measure tune three times without changing a single note. The accompaniment, in contrast, is colored by different harmonizations and textures, progressing from diatonicism to chromaticism and from simple homophony to denser polyphony with a chromatic counterpoint in the middle voice.91

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240 Representing Russia’s Orient Thus, Gretchaninov’s arrangements suggest that no Asian group (including the Bashkirs) was able to elude Russian assimilation.92 The songs of Russian “others” were presented as culturally appropriated and domesticated through musical translations that made Asian culture understandable and familiar to Russians. Undoubtedly, such translations led to the inevitable loss of the most distinctive characteristics of the Asian melodies and ultimately of their historical and traditional meanings. This void was naturally filled with new meanings, ones that often took on political overtones and helped produce knowledge that formed or inflected attitudes toward Asian “others.” In this regard, the Taranchi songs performed at the Ethnographic Concerts and published by the MEK reveal how the political expansion of Russia into Central Asia shaped the programs of these concerts and influenced compositional choices.

Politics, Diplomacy, and Taranchi Songs in the Music-​Ethnographic Committee’s  trudy Context A cursory look at the arrangements published by the MEK in Opyty khudozhestvennoi obrabotki narodnykh pesen [Experiments in the Artistic Arrangement of Folk Songs] reveals an interesting distribution of melodies representing different peoples of the Russian empire. Of more than 130 arrangements, more than one-​third (48) belong to the Russians (including Great-​Russians, Little-​ Russians, and Belorussians). Fewer than one-​third of the arrangements (thirty-​ nine songs and dances) present peoples of the Caucasus (Georgians, Armenians, Circassians, Chechens, Ossetinians, and others). Only fifteen arrangements (around 11 percent) present the music of peoples from Russia’s Asia: six Bashkir melodies (including three songs and three instrumental melodies) and one Teptiar song (all arranged by Gretchaninov), four Tatar songs (arranged by Gretchaninov, Maslov, and M. E. Slavianskii), and four Taranchi songs (arranged by Glière and Iurii Sakhnovskii). Numerous ethnographic publications had familiarized the Russian public with the Bashkir and Tatar peoples. However, the other two Asian groups—​the Taranchis and the Teptiars—​were hardly known. The Teptiars were a small ethnic group whose very name was under question, as many ethnographers considered them part of larger groups (Tatars or Bashkirs).93 The Taranchis were another subgroup of the larger ethnic group called the Uighurs (also spelled Uyghurs), who lived (and still living) on the Russian (presently Kazakhstan) border with China.94 Why were Russian composers interested in these small ethnic groups while they overlooked other more prominent inorodtsy?95 Gretchaninov’s arrangement of a Teptiar song can easily be explained: he used Rybakov’s original ethnography (which included

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire discussion of the Bashkirs, Tatars, and Teptiars) as a reference. Gretchaninov likely arranged the melodies of all three peoples so as to create an artistic counterpart to Rybakov’s comparative study.To understand why Russian composers became interested in Taranchi songs, it is necessary to address some political, historical, and cultural issues of Russian–​Taranchi relations. The Taranchis, who lived in Kulja (or Ili) within the larger land called Eastern Turkestan, Kashgaria, or Uighuristan, were a people closely related to Russia’s Turkestani subjects.96 In the mid-​nineteenth century, after joining a mass revolt against their Manchu-​Chinese oppressors, the Taranchis, along with the Dungans (or Hui), gained independence and established three states: the Taranchi Sultanate in the Ili (Kulja) region, the state of Yettishahar in Kashgaria, and the Union of Dungan cities in Urumchi and Manas.97 Russian officials at first expressed no interest in the affairs on the other side of their southeastern boarders; however, concerned that the Muslim insurgents would seek British military support and incite uprisings in Russian Turkestan, they decided to eliminate the Taranchi Sultanate in the Ili region and occupied it in 1871.98 After a ten-​year presence, bending to Chinese diplomatic pressure, the Russians withdrew from Kulja and signed the Treaty of Saint Petersburg, which let the people choose to either stay in the region or cross the border to live in Russian Turkestan.99 Frightened by the recent mass extermination of people in Yettishahar, Kulja’s Muslims rushed to embrace Russian citizenship and unite with their relatives living on the Russian side.100 The inclusion of Taranchi music in the MEK concerts thus offered an opportunity to introduce to the Russians the newly acquired Asian people whose destiny had recently fallen into the hands of the Russian empire. Among other factors contributing to Russian interest in Kulja and the Taranchis, the popularity of the Asianist and Aryanist movements (discussed in ­chapter 3) culturally connecting Russians with Asians. Since the mid-​1870s, Russian explorers and military officials had stated that the sedentary people of Kashgaria were of Aryan origin.101 At the turn of the century, scientists joined this chorus. In his 1897 doctoral thesis, Vladimir Paisel, for instance, analyzed data from more than three hundred Taranchis and suggested that people living in Eastern Turkestan could have been the “forefathers of Slavs and Teutons [germantsy].”102 Paisel believed that it was not only physical traits and “absolutely white skin” that proved their Aryan origin but also their civil order (grazhdanstvennost), agricultural developments, and craftsmanship, as well as certain stylistic features of their garments.103 Such statements could have encouraged Russian readers to believe that the new imperial conquests would simply connect their ancestral lands with those of their Aryan brothers. Besides Aryanism, Russian writers paid particular attention to the Taranchis’ pre-​ Muslim religious practices and unusual tolerance toward Christians.104

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242 Representing Russia’s Orient Many suggested that the acceptance of other religions could have been the result of the Taranchis’ Nestorian Christian and Buddhist past.105 In addition to racial and religious constructions, Russian researchers emphasized certain characteristics of the Taranchis that were associated with pure Aryan social, cultural, and productive practices: agriculture, egalitarianism, and fraternity.106 Virtually every publication underlined their industriousness and many other “excellent principles, which are absent in other Muslim peoples,” including “honesty,” “hospitality,” “kindness, sociability . . . and extraordinary courteousness.”107 Overall, these nineteenth-​century Russian writings gave their readers the impression that the Taranchis were subjects worthy of imperial attention.

Arrangements of Taranchi Songs The transcriptions of Taranchi songs that Reinhold Glière (1874–​1956) and Iurii Sakhnovskii (1866–​1930) arranged for the Ethnographic Concerts were published in 1890 and 1896 in two articles by Nikolai Pantusov (1849–​1909).108 In the first, Pantusov presented transcriptions of nine Taranchi songs with original texts and forty-​six other songs in Russian translation, as well as drawings of Taranchi musical instruments (by a local artist Khasan-​akhun Setildin) with a description of their performance context.109 The second article included thirty-​seven transcriptions of songs with melodies and texts in the original language (with Cyrillic); eight songs were translated by Pantusov into Russian. Since he was not a professionally trained musician, he did not describe the sounds of the music in detail, as Rybakov did. Even so, his comments provided the Russian reader with a thorough picture of the role music played in everyday Taranchi life. Citing ancient Chinese, European (Marco Polo), and Arabic sources, he affirmed the high social status of music in Eastern Turkestan and concluded that “all Central Asians, one can state, are philharmonic people [narod filarmonicheskii], loving music, particularly the Taranchis and the Kashgarians. There is a duta in almost every house in Kashgaria.”110 Regarding musical practice itself, he noted that all traditional songs were performed in unison and accompanied by an instrument whose player improvised on the melody. Pantusov also tried to classify Taranchi songs according to their texts.111 Similar to other Russian officials, Pantusov was concerned about the ability of newly acquired peoples to assimilate within Russian culture. He observed that instead of borrowing musical instruments or repertoire from Russians, Taranchis began to create songs with texts devoted to recent events, including the Chinese government’s takeover of the Ili region and the mass migration to Russian territory.112 The atmosphere and social interactions between the different communities (including Russian ones) in Eastern and Russian Turkestan concerned officials in the metropole. In 1890, the Academy of Science and the Russian Geographical Society sent Nikolai Katanov—​a young and promising

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire Turkologist from St. Petersburg University—​to study the traditions and literature of the Taranchis and other Turkic-​speaking minorities. Among the wide variety of ethnographic works printed in the 1890s, Katanov published an article on “new” Taranchi songs.113 Like Pantusov, he noted the emergence of a new song repertoire that praised representatives of the Russian administration—​ Nikolai Pantusov, General Fride, and the “White Tsar”—​for bringing prosperity to the land and peoples. Certainly, such enthusiasm among Taranchis for current leaders can be explained by political motivations: the songs might have been composed simply to please the new administration.Yet an unconventional narrative might be offered too: since some Russian officials, including Pantusov, as Soviet historian Boris Lunin observed, expressed “genuine interest in life and customs” of local peoples, the latter “held him in considerable respect.”114 It is striking that the destiny of Kulja and its people not only touched Russian officials and researchers who traveled to or worked in the region but also inspired musicians who lived as far away as European Russia. One MEK composer, Glière, attempted to represent Taranchi history to the wider Russian public in a careful way. The complex political situation on the Russian-​Chinese border, however, prevented him from telling an accurate story. The song “Nozgum” [Tender], arranged by Glière for the tenth Ethnographic Concert (1911), went through serious alterations that modified its political significance.115 The story of Nozgum dates back to the 1826–​28 rebellion in Kashgar against the Qing empire.116 When the leader of the rebellion, Djahanghir-​Khodja, was captured, all the male rebels were killed, and the women were given as wives to the Dzungars and Kalmyks (a nomadic people living in Kashgaria), who had helped the Qing army crush the insurgents. A woman named Nozgum managed to escape from her masters twice (the second time killing her potential rapist), but when she was captured a third time, she was publicly decapitated.117 She was believed to have written several songs that had been transmitted orally until the famous Uighur poet Bilal Nazim transcribed them in 1882. For any Taranchi or Uighur, the name Nozgum conveyed—​and still conveys—​a symbolic meaning of freedom, resistance against oppressors, and love for the motherland.118 It is symbolic that all Nozgum songs were translated and published in Russian since, according to the story, when Nozgum escaped her prison, she ran from Kashgar to the Ili (Kulja) region, the region that later fell into Russian hands.119 Hence, her journey suggested the same trajectory that many Taranchis had made on the eve of the Russians’ withdrawal from Kulja, with, alas, a more tragic ending. Glière carefully read the sources that recounted the story of Nozgum and planned to accurately transmit it: as shown in figure 6.3, he copied information on the origin of the song verbatim from Pantusov’s article. However, the most important passage that explains the circumstances of the song’s creation—​it was composed “during the war between Djahanghir-​Khoja and the Chinese [troops]”—​is crossed out and altered with another phrase stating that the song

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Figure 6.3. Taranchi song “Nozgum,” arrangement by Glière. Fund 133, item 129. Source: Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskaia Komissiia Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire was composed “during the internal strife.” This text’s modification fundamentally changes the meaning and political connotation of the song. It no longer represents the struggle between two peoples who were, and are, linguistically, religiously, and culturally distinct from each other but simply mentions an “internal” conflict in a homogeneous land on the other side of Russia’s southeastern boarder. Besides the complete change of the song’s historical and political meanings, its very name was modified. In the 1913 issue of the MEK’s Trudy, the song appeared under the title “Gozgum” instead of “Nozgum,” and the name, when it occurs in the text is not capitalized. The alteration of just one letter seems at first insignificant and even accidental. In the context of Russian–​Chinese political relations, however, it is more likely that all of these changes helped to obscure the song’s political implications in order to prevent any possible “misunderstanding” that could have had a negative impact on Russia’s diplomatic relationships with its eastern neighbor. Satisfied with the indemnity of nine million rubles payed in the 1880s by the Qing empire for territorial concessions in Eastern Turkestan (since 1884 officially called the “New Frontier,” or Xinjiang, Province), Russian officials were no longer interested in political affairs outside of the empire's southeastern borders. The growing antiwestern and, unsurprisingly, anti-​Russian sentiments and campaigns in China at the turn of the century and Russia’s infamous defeat in the Russo-​Japanese War significantly weakened Russia’s control over the Far East and resulted in the empire’s more measured diplomatic conduct in Asia. At the beginning of the 1910s, Russian officials signed a number of customs contracts and border agreements that clarified territorial demarcations between Russia and China in Inner Manchuria.120 Obviously, it was not the right moment to stir up a minority skirmish in Eastern Turkestan, that could also cause instability in Russia’s own Central Asian territories. As had happened in the case of Maslov’s “Illustrated Guide to the Musical Instruments in the Dashkov Ethnographic Museum” (discussed in c­hapter  3), the change in the political situation significantly transformed Glière’s original message. Despite the confusion created in the text and the context of the song, the piano arrangement of “Nozgum” makes a definitive statement that Russians and Taranchis are culturally similar people. It must be stressed that not only Glière’s arrangement of “Nozgum” but all the Taranchi songs performed and published by the MEK suggested such a conclusion. As in the case of Gretchaninov’s arrangements of Tatar, Bashkir, and Teptiar songs, Glière injected the Taranchi songs with certain musical elements—​modes, harmony, or structure—​associated with Russianness. In “Nozgum,” for instance, Glière introduces in the accompaniment harmonies with a d♮ that color the song with the Dorian mode (mm. 4–​6, ex. 6.13), which is not implied in the original melody.

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246 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 6.13. Taranchi song “Nozgum” (“Gozgum”), from Trudy Muzykal’no-​ Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Glière

It seems that at the turn of the century the Dorian mode becomes ubiquitous in arrangements of songs of peoples represented by Russian composers as an integral part of Russia. Three out of four arrangements of Taranchi songs published in the MEK’s Trudy are colored with the Dorian harmony, despite the fact that, out of thirty-​seven songs transcribed by Pantusov, only five are clearly in the Dorian mode.121 For Glière, the use of the Dorian mode likely performed two functions: on the one hand it suggested the “authenticity” of the original tunes and on the other it implied similarity between Russian and Asian music, an idea particularly popular among the followers of the Asianism and Aryanism movements.

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire Besides demonstrating Glière’s interest in the Dorian mode, his arrangement of another Taranchi song, “Guby tvoi—sakhar, podruzhka,” reveals his awareness of another important issue in Russian music of the period: the treatment of the leading note (ex. 6.14a). In her book on Russian nationalism, Frolova-​Walker demonstrates how Balakirev, Tchaikovsky, and composers of the Kuchka established the tradition of getting rid of a dominant function in minor-​mode songs by placing a minor triad on the fifth degree. In the 1860s and 1870s they not only avoided songs with prominent leading notes but also sometimes even flattened these notes when they occurred.122 The post-​ Kuchka generation of Russian musicians extended this tradition through the systematic elimination of leading notes in Russian folk songs. They believed that their presence was a sign of corruption coming from western or eastern musical traditions. For this reason, Russian music theorist and folk song collector Iulii Mel’gunov removed all leading notes from his collection of Russian songs, while Lineva, who made pioneering phonograph recordings of folk songs, also “corrected” some of her transcriptions by getting rid of the leading notes so that melodies appeared “purer.”123 To create an effect of an “authentic” or “pure” sound, Glière in his arrangement of “Guby tvoi” also carefully avoided the leading note, which resulted in the absence of major dominant chords at cadences. Another particular feature of “Guby tvoi”—​its harmonic progression—​ relates it to the Russian musical tradition. If the doublings of notes in the middle voice were cut, Glière’s arrangement would look like a student’s exercise written for a harmony class (ex. 6.14b). Almost all of the voice-​ leading restrictions are observed:  voices move smoothly and leaps in the upper voice are counterbalanced with movements in the opposite directions in the lower voice. Strikingly, the chords are all in root position. It seems that Glière imposed some compositional restrictions in his arrangement. Indeed, it is possible that he used one of the theories of Russian folk song arrangement that were published by Iurii Arnol’d in 1906 in the very first volume of the MEK’s Trudy.124 According to Arnol’d’s tendentious theory, in the arrangement of a Russian folk song one should only use triads that formed a perfect fifth, since “ancient music did not know any other chords” and the bass voice in “ancient music, hence, the Church and folk singing as well” exclusively held the “main note” (the root of a chord).125 This might explain why the chords in Glière’s arrangement of “Guby tvoi” are all in root position. Arnol’d also believed that the outer voices should move in contrary motion. He explained his theory in a rather perplexing manner: “the taste, of course (that comes from the sense of balance), in general prefers the opposite motion of the voices, and particularly the outer ones, and in these cases, it would require this kind of method to recover the balance in the voices’ movements.”126

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248 Representing Russia’s Orient Example 6.14a. Taranchi song “Guby tvoi—​sakhar, podruzhka,” from Trudy Muzykal’no-​ Etnograficheskoi Komissii (1913), arranged by Glière, mm. 1–​10

Example 6.14b.  Harmonic reduction of Glière’s Taranchi song “Guby tvoi—sakhar, podruzhka”

Anyone who had this sense of taste, according to Arnol’d, would consequently observe this rule. Glière seemed unwilling to break it too, since his arrangement of “Guby tvoi” is based on a common European voice-​leading technique. Besides Arnol’d’s theory, Glière most certainly relied on another model of harmonization. His piano accompaniment strikingly resembles that of Bizet’s mélodie “Adieux de l’hôtesse arabe,” which was published in the Russian musical journal Nuvellist in 1902 as an abridged piano piece titled “Chanson

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire Example 6.14c.  Bizet, “Chanson Arabe. Mavritanskaia pesn” (from Nuvellist 63 (1902), 149–​51), mm.  1–​8

Arabe. Mavritanskaia pesn” [Chanson Arabe. Mauritanian Song] (compare exs. 6.14a and 6.14c).127 Bizet’s mélodie musically represents Muslim “others” living in the French colonies. Glière, who was looking for ways to characterize Russia’s Muslims, might have considered Bizet’s treatment of an Arabic melody especially valuable. The abridged Russian version of Bizet’s “Chanson” often uses the chords in root position, validating the correctness of Arnol’d’s harmonization theory. Hence, in order to represent Russia’s newly acquired inorodtsy, Glière combined two seemingly incompatible models of representation, “Russian” harmonic progressions and a French piano accompaniment, suggesting a connection between Russia’s Central Asian and France’s Middle Eastern Muslims.128 Thus Glière’s arrangements of Taranchi songs, initially aimed to introduce to Russians a people living in Turkestan in a complex political situation, reached the audience in a completely reduced and Europeanized form: the songs’ historical context was stripped off, and their melodies were wrapped up in piano accompaniment and harmonic progression associated with French or Russian musical languages. Despite the fact that Glière and other MEK composers significantly transformed folk songs to adapt them for Russian audiences, the editors of the impressive volume of 133 folk song arrangements in which they were published declared that they “sought to capture [uderzhat] a certain flavour of the given ethnic group [narodnost].”129 The preservation and presentation of a “certain flavor,” however, sounded better in theory than in practice.

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250 Representing Russia’s Orient

Ethnographic Concerts: Commercializing the Exotic At the turn of the century, the organizers of the Ethnographic Concerts faced strong competition from a great variety of other commercial concerts, concert-​lectures, festivals, and exhibitions that animated Russia’s metropolitan areas. Aside from the classical concerts that were produced by societies supported by the royal family (e.g., the Imperial Russian Musical Society and the Court Orchestra), by famous musicians, publishers, and members of the nobility (e.g., Mitrofan Beliaev, Alexander Ziloti, Serge Koussevitzky, and Count Sheremet’ev), and by a number of other musical societies (e.g., the Philharmonic, Vocal, Chamber, and Choir societies), numerous concert venues and variety theaters opened their stages to different kinds of ethnographic performances, ranging from serious concert-​lectures to the unbridled singing and dancing of Gypsies.130 Sometimes the most incongruous musical trends were juxtaposed on a single stage. One of the most sensational late-​nineteenth-​century choirs, Slavic Capella (Slavianskaia kapella), under the direction of Dmitrii Agrenev-​ Slavianskii, might, for instance, present military, peasant, and Little-​Russian choir performances along with Gypsy dancing and singing, all in one concert program.131 Some of Agrenev-​Slavianskii’s concerts had lavish stage décor that corresponded to the texts of the songs, and choir members wore costumes matching the clothes of the protagonists in the works they performed.132 In order to create the desired ambience of seventeenth-​century Boyar Rus (pre-​ Petrine Russia), which corresponded to the popular understanding of narodnost (Russian national character), Agrenev-​Slavianskii invited several specialists to stage the concerts, including historian Ivan Egorovich Zabelin, folklorist Elpidifor Vasil’evich Barsov, and artist Mikhail Osipovich Mikeshin.133 Several new types of concerts and musical genres that offered a kind of folk experience appeared toward the end of the nineteenth century. Some ensembles performed exclusively comic scenes from everyday life, with accompaniments on different Little-​Russian, Tatar, and Jewish instruments. Others performed stage adaptations (instsenirovka) of song cycles popular with Russians since the time of Ivan the Terrible (“Sten’ka Razin and the Princess”). At the end of the 1870s, a new type of entertainment based on Gypsy songs appeared in St. Petersburg and Moscow on the stages of the Imperial Alexandrinsky Theatre and the Maly Theatre. The idea behind this new genre, called “Gypsy songs dramatized [Tsyganskie pesni v litsakh],” was to entertain the public with a kind of operetta made up of a potpourri of numbers that accompanied a simple melodramatic plot, usually a love triangle.134 At the end of the 1880s, another type of presenting staged folklore became popular. It was initiated by Vasilii Vasil’evich Andreev, a famous performer and modernizer of the balalaika who organized a “Circle of amateur balalaika players [Kruzhok liubitelei igry na balalaikakh]” and started giving public balalaika

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire performances.135 Prior to Andreev’s public concerts, the balalaika had normally been used to accompany song or dance, or in a small ensemble with other Russian instruments, but not as a solo instrument. Andreev’s balalaika ensemble was such a spectacular success that by the end of the nineteenth century it included about twenty thousand amateur balalaika players as members, and by the beginning of the twentieth century, Russia was manufacturing more than twenty thousand balalaikas annually.136 The popularized versions of folk music performed by Agrenev-​Slavianskii’s and Andreev’s troupes obtained such great success because the audience, “the masses,” as Leonid Levin and Elizaveta Uvarova put it, “were less interested in the subtleties of artistic interpretation or the authenticity of folk songs performed onstage; rather, they were attracted to the catchy, spectacular, and overemotional performances and the diversity of the repertoire.”137 Although the general public was not concerned about the authenticity of the folk songs performed onstage, some specialists feared the corrupting influences of commercial culture and expressed concern about the “extinction” of “true” Russian song.138 Many Russians shared the conviction that the vanishing monuments of folk poetry and music should be preserved. To protect a “dying culture,” the Ethnographic Division of IRGO organized ethnographic expeditions to Russia’s remote areas from the mid-​1880s. From the early 1890s, several Russian societies in Moscow and St. Petersburg began organizing concerts that featured musicians from Russia’s backwoods who performed the “ancient” genres of the bylina and of “northern lore” (severnaia starina, or ancient songs). For instance, the ethnography branch of the OLEAE organized concerts by Ivan Riabinin, a famous bylina singer from the Olonets region, in 1894 and in the following year invited to Moscow Irina Fedosova, a famous female bylina and lamentation performer from the same region.139 At the turn of the century, the interest in folk repertoire grew to such an extent that even opera singers included folk songs in their concert repertoire. Mariia Ivanovna Dolina, a famous Russian contralto and soloist at the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg from 1886 to 1904, organized sixteen “Ethnographic Concerts” between 1907 and 1908. In them she presented a wide variety of Russian vocal music, from peasant songs and bylinas to works by Glinka, Musorgsky, and Tchaikovsky. Her concerts in France, Germany, and Turkey (among other places) resonated with a wide public.140 In this intense and increasingly commercialized cultural life, the Ethnographic Concerts organized by the MEK faced serious challenges. The fifth concert, in 1902, brought financial losses totaling 12 rubles.141 This event became a turning point in the conception of the concerts’ program; it marked the beginning of a battle for the public’s attention. Although subsequent concerts still presented diverse peoples living in Russia, the means through which this was done changed drastically. In a meeting organized a few days after the fiasco of the

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252 Representing Russia’s Orient fifth concert, Ianchuk and the other twelve members of the MEK (including Gretchaninov, Kastal’skii, Maslov, and Sakhnovskii) decided that several measures had to be implemented to change the series’ format and sound. First, it was decided that the next concert had to include numbers performed on different musical instruments so as to create a new, more distinct sound.142 Thus, along with hearing some familiar Russian instruments, such as the gusli, rozhok, sopilka, and svirel, at the sixth concert the Russian public was introduced to folk instruments of the different ethnic groups living in Russia, such as the Chuvash gusli and the Georgian zurna, daira, and doli. Another change was in the structuring of the concerts. The first part of the sixth concert was to present exclusively vocal music (Russian, Little-​Russian, and Caucasian songs), occasionally accompanied by lira, oboe, and clarinet, and the second part was to offer music of Slavic, Jewish, Caucasian, Sart, Cheremis, and Moldavian peoples, performed solely on different instruments. The division of the program into vocal and instrumental music was perhaps meant to help the public compare the exotic timbres of different instruments. But in their effort to diversify the program, the organizers became so excited that they started using the same instruments to represent different inorodtsy. Indeed, the Chuvash gusli was used to perform two Cheremis melodies, and the Georgian salamuri was used to represent the Kumyks, Georgians, and Ossetinians, three ethnically and linguistically different groups living in the Caucasus.143 Besides reshaping the concerts’ structure and introducing exotic instruments to attract a wider public, it was decided that professional performers— including famous opera singers such as Maria Olenina d’Alheim and Feodor Chaliapin—would be invited. Although Chaliapin declined an invitation to participate in the seventh concert since he had already planned a trip to Italy, he “promised to participate in future concerts and expressed his full support of the MEK’s endeavors.”144 In the end, neither famous singer participated in the Ethnographic Concerts. However, their names decorated the list of the members of the MEK and helped to maintain a professional status for the MEK and its concerts. Last but by no means least, the members of the MEK decided to add scientific authority to their concerts by organizing a new type of concert, a concert-​lecture, that would attract a more serious public. Undoubtedly, this new concert format was a move in the strategically correct direction: it offered information that helped Russians become conscious and proud of their past as a nation and gave an opportunity to define and redefine Russianness at each given moment. Indeed, the lecture given after the sixth ethnographic concert, prepared by a prominent Russian linguist and orientologist, Fedor Evgen’evich Korsh, focused on the history of Russian folk song and was given a rather pretentious title: “Russian Folk Music and Its Significance for Science.” In his lecture, Korsh provided a historical survey of textual and melodic

Ethnographic Concerts in the Service of Empire transcriptions and publications of Russian folk songs. He addressed differences between the “ancient” and the “modern” Russian song, as well as its technical characteristics—​focusing on meter and rhythm—​and the historical-​cultural forces that influenced its development.145 This last part of this concert-​ lecture reflects contemporary ideas about Russian music. Korsh discussed the influence of church music and that of Russia’s neighboring peoples on Russian folk song. At the turn of the century, Russian Orthodox sacred music gained momentum as an increasing number of composers started setting liturgical texts to music. Inspired by the writings of the influential music scholars Stepan Smolenskii and Vasilii Metallov, many composers (including Alexander Kastal’skii, Pavel Chesnokov, and Alexander Gretchaninov) believed in the kinship of old Russian chant and Russian folk song. This idea of relating chant and folk song traditions became most popular among proponents of what was called the “New Trend” in church music, in reference to its ideological and practical consequences.146 On the one hand the New Trend helped to articulate the nationalist myth that the origins of Russian chant had nothing to do with European traditions of sacred music. On the other hand it suggested that ancient chant had developed similarly to folk melody, allowing composers to treat the former with the similar compositional devices as a folk melody. In his lecture Korsh also presented another popular late-​nineteenth-​century idea about the participation of Russia’s neighbors in the formation of Russian culture. As discussed in ­chapter 3, Russia’s imperial expansion into the vast Central Asian territory made it imperative to include the history of neighboring peoples in the narration of Russia’s past. The myth of Russian-​Asian ancestry, which satisfied the need for legitimizing expansion into the East, proved to be more powerful for political purposes than the myth of a racially pure Russian breed. The drastic changes introduced by the MEK soon paid off. The concert-​ lecture “Russian Folk Music and Its Significance for Science” brought in a profit of 240 rubles (or approximately $3,500 in today’s dollars), and the seventh Ethnographic Concert brought in a profit of 102 rubles.147 The need to survive tough competition from other concerts thus influenced the program and the sound of the Ethnographic Concerts and, to a certain extent, commercialized material they presented. Here an analogy with the today’s world music scene can help to clarify the driving forces behind the revised programming of the concerts. As Simon Frith observes in his research on the production and consumption of world music, the genre is marketed as music that promises an original and “authentic” experience, an obscure and significant artifact collected by expert ethnomusicologists. In the “context of denunciation of Western pop artifice and decadence,” the presumed authenticity of world music itself becomes exotic.148 Similarly, in the context of the late-​nineteenth-​century discourse on the corruption of Russian folk song by urban popular songs, and

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254 Representing Russia’s Orient claims that the concerts prepared by the MEK presented original transcriptions in artistic form, it might be suggested that the members of the MEK exoticized not only the music imported from Russia’s different (and sometimes very remote) regions but also Russian folk music itself. The Ethnographic Concerts, public events imbued with the authority of science by the MEK, represented a sort of museum collection that showcased lands and peoples of the empire.149 These concerts simultaneously exoticized and domesticated united yet culturally different subjects in an artistic form, translated into the language of Russia’s dominant culture. These concerts appropriated and recontextualized the cultures presented, embodying hierarchies of values established in the ethnographic literature and shaping both the perceptions of and responses to the ethnic minorities living in the Russian empire.150 Even though ethnographers and musicians did not necessarily have an overt political agenda for social or cultural change in the lives of Russia’s inorodtsy, their studies and arrangements of folk tunes were often commensurate with imperial interests and contributed to the perpetuation of the cultural values they assigned to the various ethnic groups. As Susan Stewart shows in her book On Longing, such collections create a myth of representation by removing objects from specific contexts and making them “stand for a spectrum of other instances.”151 In addition, as James Clifford suggests, collecting and displaying has been a “crucial process of Western identity formation,” since “this gathering involves the accumulation of possessions, the idea that identity is a kind of wealth (of objects, knowledge, memories, experience).”152 Thus, the Ethnographic Concerts represent a microcosm of aesthetics, state politics, and musical practices of late-​nineteenth-​century Russia. They reveal the part music played in the formation and elaboration of Russian self-​identity.

In Place of a Conclusion

A

lthough the 1917 Russian Revolution brought the collapse of the old regime, the legacy of imperial Russia, with its sophisticated patterns of political and cultural relations with its eastern and southern peoples, survived and continued to exist in the Soviet period, both in the USSR and abroad. Many imperial ethnographers, such as Lev Shternberg and Sergei Oldenburg, decided to ally with the Bolsheviks since they believed that they could both build a modern progressive socialist state and organize its multinational constituents. As Francine Hirsch points out, the Soviet ethnographers, as expert-​ consultants, played a “far greater role in the work of government than most European or American anthropologists had ever done.”1 They conducted all-​ USSR censuses, led expeditions to remote areas to study the productivity of their peoples, created ethnographic exhibits, and participated in the government commissions that were charged with delineating national territories and the USSR’s internal borders. In an attempt to differentiate the Soviet state from other “imperialistic empires” and to align with the multitude of Russia’s ethnicities “oppressed by Great-​Russian nationalism,” the Russian Marxist Program of 1917 introduced clause 9, which declared “the right of nations to self-​determination.” As Vladimir Lenin envisioned it, this clause would secure “complete equality of rights for all nations,” with their status being guaranteed through ethnoterritorial autonomies and the right of secession.2 Lenin and his allies realized that by legally recognizing different “nationalities” by creating national autonomies for them, fostering their national cultures, promoting their languages, and building national schools that taught in local languages, the formerly suppressed peoples who suffered under Russian imperial rule would overcome their national distrust and “join the universal culture, revolution, and communism sooner.”3 This strategic move, although initially not supported by all party members, proved to be efficient: many inorodtsy groups, including the Tatars, the Bashkirs, the Turkmens, and even ethnic groups from the North Caucasus, such as the Kabardians, who had historically resisted imperial Russia, gradually aligned with the Reds.4 By the end of the 1920s, 66 of the 191 official nationalities and

256 Representing Russia’s Orient ethnic groups listed in the 1926 census had been supplied with books published in their native languages, and 205 non-​Russian newspapers were circulating in forty-​seven languages.5 By the 1930s, when the Soviet leaders had achieved basic control of the lands and peoples within the former empire’s borders (apart from Poland, Finland, and the Baltic states), these leaders—​who by this time considered support of the rights of minorities to be detrimental to Soviet economic and political development—​reversed the USSR’s policies toward the minorities. As head of the Party, Stalin suggested the idea of combining some smaller ethnic groups into larger “nationalities” to demonstrate their growing national self-​determination and voluntary choice to consolidate with “developed” nations.6 The final list of these “nationalities” (which included nations, national groups, and narodnosti, or ethnic minorities) for the 1939 census presented 62 groups instead of the 107 that ethnographers had presented for the Party’s approval.7 Smaller inorodtsy groups, such as the Teptiars and the Taranchis, were no longer included as categories in the census, as if they had ceased to exist.8 Another sharp turn in Stalin’s national policy was with the idea of “Great-​Russian chauvinism,” which Lenin had considered to be a threat to the power of Soviet internationalism. In the mid-​1930s, Stalin replaced the Russophobic (anti-​Russian) program with one that celebrated the Russian proletariat, who had brought on the Great Revolution and had become the core of the new Soviet nation. The Russians were no longer regarded as an imperialist nation but as the nation that had brought freedom to the oppressed. As Frolova-​Walker has observed, “the glorification of tsarist Russia’s imperial expansion now reached its most blatant level.”9 Russia’s annexation, seizure, and subjugation of the Caucasus and Turkestan was reinterpreted as an event that had now taken on “profound progressive significance,” since it had allowed minority peoples to “comprehend the advantages of life in the mighty state of Russia” and to see the benefits of choosing Russian patronage over the “bondage of Central Asiatic khanates backed by Britain.”10 Among other tactics to secure the new “imagined community” of Soviet peoples that was based on the Russian model, Stalin encouraged reintroduction of Russian folklore and bylinas with new Soviet subjects.11 The bylina, in Jan Plamper’s words, “with its emphasis on patrilineal heroes (bogatyri) lent itself extremely well to the celebration of the lineages of Bolshevik male heroes.”12 At the same time, to ensure that Soviet citizens did not feel Russia’s domination, a new slogan—​“friendship of the peoples [druzhba narodov]”—​was introduced into the Soviet vocabulary to replace “brotherhood of peoples [bratsvo narodov]” from the earlier years of Soviet rule.13 The essential difference between the two is that “brotherhood” implies the hierarchy of a family relationship between a younger and elder brother (whose role would be assumed by a Russian), while “friendship” emphasizes equality, mutual trust, and the free choice (not determined by family ties) to be together.

In Place of a Conclusion In the domain of music, policies developed in conformance with Soviet ideology. During the early Soviet period, the legacies of all the Kuchka composers (except for Musorgsky) were considered outdated products of bourgeois culture. The Kuchka’s music was dismissed by many critics for presenting a purely stylized version of Russian folk songs, while the Kuchka’s approach to exoticism was considered a product of imperialism and Russian chauvinism.14 After Stalin’s 1934 directive to create music that was “national in form and socialist in content,” however, Kuchka-​style arrangement and stylization of folk songs became the only desirable compositional approach to ensure that musical works would not be rejected or, worse, draw severe criticism from the Party.15 The incorporation of folk music became an important compositional device that created musical representations for and of all “nationalities” across the USSR. Consequently, the search for national roots in folk music that had been pursued by nineteenth-​century composers gained momentum with Stalinist cultural policy. At the height of the Stalinist era, the famous Soviet musicologist Boris Asaf ’ev, in his 1944 article on Russian music, affirmed that Soviet composers evoking distant lands continued to follow in the footsteps of the Russian classical composers who had established the tradition of Russian musical Orientalism, including Glinka, Balakirev, and Rimsky-​Korsakov: “the current renaissance of eastern [vostochnyii] cultures . . . has its roots in lofty artistic interest, where Russian composers-​classicists, especially those from the Balakirev circle, have revealed in their works the music of the eastern peoples. And not as an object of mere curiosity.”16 By “current renaissance” Asaf ’ev meant a number of recently written works by Soviet composers of Russian and non-​Russian descent: Alexander Spendiarov’s “Erevan Sketches (Etudes)” for orchestra (1925), Zakaria Paliashvili’s Georgian Suite (Kartuli suita; 1928), Reinhold Glière’s opera Leili va Medjnun (cocomposed with Talib Sadykov for the Uzbekistan opera) (1940), Nikolay Myaskovsky’s Symphony-​Suite, on Kabardian Themes no. 23 (1941), Sergei Prokofiev’s String Quartet no.  2, based on Kabardino-​Balkar folk themes (1941), and Aram Khachaturian’s ballet Gaiane (1942). The creation of “national” music for newly formed national republics and autonomous regions was carefully nurtured by the state. A number of resources, events, and institutions strove to stimulate it. Many composers (such as Glière, a former member of the MEK) were sent to regional centers where they were to immerse themselves in the native culture so as to reproduce “authentic,” nonformalistic music for each particular “nationality.”17 Other composers (such as Nikolay Myaskovsky) remained in urban centers and enjoyed public performances by non-​Russian musicians in concerts whose format recalled that of the Ethnographic Concerts discussed in ­chapter 6.18 Olympiads, radio festivals, and Dekadas (ten-​day festivals) of different “national” arts in Moscow and other major cities of the Soviet Union all strove to present the multinational

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258 Representing Russia’s Orient and multicultural nature of the USSR. In the particularly eventful 1936, several autonomous regions (the Transcaucasian Socialist Federative Republic, Kyrgyz, and the Turkestan Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic) were elevated to the new status of “Soviet Republics” (Azerbaijan, Georgia, Armenia, Kyrgyzstan, and Kazakhstan). In the spring of 1936, forty Radio Committees across the Soviet Union participated in the broadcast of the All-​Union Radio Festival, which aimed “to demonstrate the mighty advances in the arts of the peoples of our Union,” as well as to display a “vivid and multicolored picture of artistic life  .  .  .  [and] the inexhaustible wealth of folk art.”19 Reaching an audience of 60 million Soviet listeners, the music and commentary broadcast “spoke of the happy and cultured life of brotherly peoples, who were building Socialism under the direction of the Lenin-​Stalin Party.”20 Later in the spring, in Moscow, Dekadas of Kazakh art were held that presented traditional Kazakh performers and two newly composed operas for the Kazakh National Theater (Kyz Zhybek and Zhalbyr), by Evgenii Grigor’evich Brusilovskii, a Russian composer of Jewish descent.21 The Azerbaijan State Oriental Orchestra went on tour to Moscow and Leningrad, performing traditional Azeri music in forty-​one concerts within the span of six weeks.22 In the summer of 1936, the All-​Soviet Committee on Arts organized the All-​Soviet Olympiad of professional and amateur choirs, inviting twenty-​nine choirs representing nineteen “nationalities” and ethnic groups from all over the Soviet Union.23 The repertoire of most of the choirs included arrangements of folk songs from the region the choir represented and so-​called mass songs: Soviet propaganda songs that were intended to be performed and distributed among the “broad masses.”24 Roughly fifteen hundred participants, including one thousand from the periphery, traveled from across the country to perform in Moscow.25 The pinnacle of this event was the closing-​day performance of a “multinational” choir on a huge open stage in the Green Theater of the Gorky Central Park of Culture and Leisure. As one witness of this grandiose event described it,“the stage along with the meandering spiral paths is full of men and women singers. At the bottom [are] settled choirs from labor unions, manufacturers, community centers, and music institutes of higher education. They are in modern costumes. Higher, in the center, lined up like a picturesque group of Dagestani [singers]:  the men in Circassian coats [cherkeska], the women in long, wavy silk dresses. At the top is a no less picturesque group: Russians, Chuvashes, Mari, and other nationalities [natsional’nost’] in their traditional costumes. All this is multicolored [pestryi], joyous, and vivid.”26 It is not difficult to see that the idea of featuring different ethnic groups of one multinational country in a single concert replicates that of the prerevolutionary ethnographic concerts discussed in ­chapter 6. Like the concerts organized by the MEK at the turn of the century, the All-​Soviet Olympiad presented a multitude of diverse nationalities as if they were all living happily

In Place of a Conclusion under the same banner. Simultaneously exoticized (in traditional costumes) and domesticated (singing in Russian), the united choir from all the Soviet Republics was intended to express a unified feeling in the language that, by the mid-​1930s, was understandable to the majority of Soviet citizens.27 Public concerts and the Kuchka’s approach to the treatment of folk material were not the only vestiges of earlier times. The collection, transcription, and preservation of ethnographic material gained unprecedented importance in the Soviet period.28 Instead of being undertaken only by certain individuals (imperial bureaucrats such as Levshin or military officials such as Rittikh, discussed in ­chapter 2), the collection and transcription of music from different ethnic groups also became a concern for larger organizations, which were financially dependent on the Communist Party.29 The All-​Soviet Committee on Folk Music Art (or simply the Folk Music Committee) sponsored ethnographic fieldwork, conferences, seminars, lectures, and recordings of different Soviet “nationalities,” emulating the activity of the MEK in pre-​1917 revolutionary Russia.30 The Folk Music Committee also organized ethnographic concerts, which brought together performers from different corners of the Soviet Union.31 The only difference in the charter of the Folk Music Committee was that it aimed not only to introduce the musical culture of the empire’s multiethnic subjects to the Russian public but also to coordinate the activities and functions of other ethnographic committees throughout the Soviet Union.32 Although the form of ethnographic studies might have changed somewhat, the substance and approach to the “other” in many cases remained the same. The Orientalist clichés, such as oriental belligerence and susceptibility to pleasure and laziness, stubbornly remained. Boris Asaf ’ev, who condemned prerevolutionary writings on the Orient and claimed that only Soviet composers could properly understand the subject, falls back into the familiar Orientalist trap at the end of his article on Russian music, where he discusses foreign countries and peoples: “again stern [surovyi] impressions. Steppe. Space. The regular tread of camels, and in the air, a drawn-​out Russian song is ringing (“In the Steppes of Central Asia” by Borodin). The steppes become more severe and more rigid: these are the hordes of conquerors; this is the torrid, flaming, colorful, willful, and determinedly belligerent song of Olofern from “Judith” by Serov.”33 In another, no less revealing passage from Asaf ’ev, he not only brings up the stereotype of “oriental” stagnancy that Russians projected onto the East but also claims that it is related to the Russian character: it is impossible not to pause on the “motives of Orientalism” and the influence of the “sleeping” contemplative East on Russian music. Even with such men as Balakirev and Rimsky-​Korsakov, so active in life, there manifested, creatively, a leaning towards a hedonistic perception of life and towards a suggestive nirvana, a painless languid parting from life, etc. . . . But the East [Vostok], as a mighty stimulus, and its social

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260 Representing Russia’s Orient importance in Russian artistic and especially musical culture, is far more complex. Here are intertwined “motives” that are exotic, colonial and political, ethnographical and musical. . . . Psychological factors also play an important role, not only personal, but national, insofar as the Russians were by nature somewhat addicted to inertia and the contemplative dolce far niente—​traits that were nurtured by visions of a sleeping, immovable East.34

Leaving aside Asaf ’ev’s judgment of the sluggish East and its daunting parallel with Russia, indeed, Russian Orientalism cannot be ultimately understood in isolation from more general political-​epistemological debates about the representation and writing of oriental “others.” As I discussed in the introduction, Russia’s dual position vis-​à-​vis its western neighbors—​as a nation that embraced western civilization as a standard to follow while remaining the eastern “other” from the European viewpoint—​shaped its double identity.35 Depending on the time and target audience, as well as on the author, the image of Russia’s eastern or southern neighbor was changed. During the wars with Turkey, with Persia, and in the Caucasus, Russian popular literature and song collections (folk, historical, and children’s) promoted pejorative portrayals of Russia’s nonwestern historical adversaries. This, as I argued in ­chapter 1, helped to create an image of Russians as consolidated against their enemies, although conflicts between ethnic Russians tore Russia’s society apart from within. Authors who wrote for specialized audiences (such as bureaucrats and orientologists) presented more careful (and often detailed) research on Russia’s inorodtsy. The wide range of Russian nineteenth-​century ethnographies discussed in c­ hapter 2 demonstrates that no single approach was taken to represent Russia’s multiple ethnicities. The advocates of the German faction of IRGO (e.g., Middendorff) expressed a sympathetic attitude toward inorodtsy; they saw ethnography as the science of empire and were particularly concerned with the small groups that were in danger of extinction. Bureaucrats and military agents (including Rittikh) on the other hand were more interested in absorbing minorities into the empire, and their paternalistic discourse revealed opinions about Russia’s Asians that were more derogatory. Yet some Russian officials who spent long periods among the natives (including Eichhorn in Turkestan) showed high esteem for Asian culture and musical practice. This ideological polyphony was further enriched by the counterpoints of exiled ethnographers, inorodtsy scholars, and orientologists who believed in ethnography as a “pure science” that operated through the concept of byt (the detailed description of the way of life, free from generalizing speculations about the hierarchies of civilizations). But perhaps one of the most intriguing moments in the history of Russian–​ Asian relationships occurred at the end of the century, during the heyday of the Asianist and Aryanist movements. Representatives of both proclaimed historic

In Place of a Conclusion and cultural affiliation with the East and claimed that presence in Asia was absolutely justified. In music theory, writers strove to find connections with the East through the pentatonic scale (Sokal’skii and Famintsyn) and searched for similarities between eastern and western musical instruments (Maslov). Still, some Russian writers, like Europeans, expressed their admiration of and pride in being affiliated with an Asian past rather than present. After the disastrous Russo-​Japanese War at the beginning of the twentieth century, the nationalistic discourse of Russian cultural superiority over its Asian subjects gained fresh momentum; however, the discourse on Aryanism and Russia’s relation to the East, which seemed to have completely disappeared in Russia after the 1917 Revolution, persisted in the Russian émigré community in Paris among the circle of Eurasianists.36 The types of sources I have discussed (folk song collections, ethnographies, and music theoretical works), one way or another, influenced, guided, and affected the mindsets of Russian composers. Some composers approached these sources critically, while others accepted their stereotypes without question.Yet composers who experienced musical encounters with inorodtsy firsthand created their own musical representations of Russia’s diverse ethnic groups and peoples. Alexander Aliab’ev and Milii Balakirev, who traveled to the Caucasus, introduced elements borrowed from local musical traditions into their art songs and other works, and adopted “oriental” gestures as part of musical Russianness. At the turn of the century, many Russian composers participated in the large-​ scale program of Ethnographic Concerts that was intended to gather together all the peoples of the empire. Organized by the MEK under the auspices of Moscow University, these concerts reflected Russia’s urgent efforts toward establishing its national self-​definition as a multiethnic state. The concert programs always started with Russian music, followed by arrangements of inorodtsy folk songs, with accompaniments that incorporated musical gestures associated with Russianness. These concerts were designed to appropriate and recontextualize the empire’s ethnically diverse non-​Russian peoples into a narrative of Russian cultural domination. Russian musical representations of Russia’s own Orient originated in, shaped, and were influenced by the complex development of Russian politics in the East as well as the West, the presence of different ideological currents, and various changes and transformations in social and cultural life. Since Russia not only faced both West and East but also embodied the West in its eastern domains and the East in its western frontiers, Russian composers constantly negotiated sometimes apparent, sometimes imagined discord between the two sides of Russia’s identity and created their own unique pattern of representation of the “other” and the “self.”

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Appendix 1 Collections of bylinas and Folk, Soldier, and Children’s Songs

Abramychev, Nikolai. Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen. Zapisal s narodnogo napeva i perelozhil na odin golos s akkompanimentom fortepiano. St. Petersburg:  M. Vasil’ev, 1879. Afanas’ev, Nikolai. 64 russkie narodnye pesni, sostavlennye na 4, na 3, ili na 6 golosov bez soprovozhdeniia. Moscow: Jurgenson, 1866, 1875, 1884, 1898, 1927. A. K.  D. Sobranie noveishikh voennykh pesen i romansov. St. Petersburg:  Izd. V. Shataeva, 1863. Al’brekht, Evgenii Karlovich, and N. Kh. Vessel. Sbornik soldatskikh, kazatskikh i matrosskikh pesen. 100 pesen dlia khora bez soprovozhdeniia ili dlia fortepiano s nadpisannym tekstom. St. Petersburg: self-​published, 1875. Andreev, A. Karmannyi pesennik ili sobranie noveishikh kupletov iz oper i vodevilei. Moscow: tip. Smirnova, 1847. Arkhangel’skii, A.  25 russkikh narodnykh pesen, sobrannykh i polozhennykh na 2 golosa. 1894. Balakirev, Milii. Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen. St. Petersburg:  Johanson [Iogansen], 1866. Bernard, Matvei. Vtoroe sobranie 125 russkikh narodnykh pesen. St. Petersburg: tip. M. Bernarda, 1869. Chulkov, Mikhail Dmitrievich. Sobranie raznykh pesen. 4  vols. St. Petersburg: 1770–​74. D. A. G. Sbornik soldatskikh pesen sobrannykh D. A. G. St. Petersburg: Iu. Shtauf, 1864, 1865, 1866, 1874, 1877, 1878, 1893. Danilov, Kirsha. Drevnie rossiiskie stikhotvoreniia sobrannye Kirsheiu Danilovym. Edited by A. P. Evgen’eva and B. N. Putilov. Moscow: Nauka, 1977. Dzbanovskii, Alexander. Sbornik shkol’nykh pesen v 4-​kh vypuskakh. Moscow: A. Gutkheil, 1904. Dzbanovskii, Alexander. Shkol’noe penie. Sbornik pesen i uprazhnenii dlia vsekh klassov srednikh uchebnykh zavedenii v 10 vypuskakh. Moscow: Jurgenson, n.d. Famintsyn, Alexander. Russkii detskii pesennik. Leipzig: tip. Berr and Hermann, 1875.

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264 Appendix 1 Gol’dman, L. B. Russkoe penie: Sbornik gimnov, russkikh narodnykh i voennykh pesen i otryvkov iz proizvedenii russkikh kompozitorov. Vilna: tip. G. Syrkina, 1899. Gorodtsov, Alexander. Narodno-​pevcheskie khory: Muzykal’naia khrestomatiia, sostavitel’ Alexander Gorodtsov. 6 vols. Moscow: Jurgenson, 1907–​17. Iakushkin, Pavel. Narodnye russkie pesni iz sobraniia P. Iakushkina. St. Petersburg: tip. Kraevskogo, 1865. Il’in, Petr. Noveishii otbornyi rossiiskii pesennik v 3-​kh chastiakh. Moscow:  tip. Avgusta Semena, 1827. Il’in,V. Karmannyi pesennik ili sobranie noveishikh romansov, ballad, i pesen. Moscow: tip. M. Smirnova, 1856. Ivanov. “Pesni turkestanskikh soldat,” 233–46. In Russkii Turkestan. Sbornik izdannyi po povodu Politekhnicheskoi vystavki, vol. 3, ed. V. N. Troitskii. St. Petersburg: Obshchestvennaia pol’za, 1872. Kalatilin, Afanasii. Vseobshchii pesennik ili polnoe sobranie luchshikh vsiakogo roda pesen. Moscow: I. Ivanov-​Smirnov, 1843. Kashin, Daniil. Russkie narodnye pesni, sobrannye dlia peniia i fortepiano Daniilom Kashinym. Moscow: tip. Semena Selivanovskogo, 1834. Kassirov, Ivan. Novyi polnyi russkii pesennik, soderzhashchii v sebe 3000 kupletov, pesen narodnykh, russkikh, khorovodnykh, podbliudnykh, svadebnykh, pliasovykh i soldatskikh. Moscow: Izd. I. A. Morozov, 1882. Khudiakov, Ivan. Sbornik velikorusskikh narodnykh istoricheskikh pesen. Moscow: tip. N. Ernsta, 1860. Kireevskii, Petr. Pesni sobrannye P.V. Kireevskim. Moscow: Obshchestvo liubitelei rossiiskoi slovesnosti, 1872. Kolberg, Oskar. Piesni ludu Polskiego. Kraków, 1857. Ladukhin, Nikolai. 100 detskikh pesen dlia khora. Moscow: Jurgenson, 1895. Liadov,Anatolii. Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen dlia golosa s fortepino. Leipzig: M. P. Belaieff [Beliaev], 1898. Liapunov, Sergei. Russkie narodnye pesni (a akkompanimentom fortepiano). Leipzig: Zimmermann, 1901. Lisenko, Mykola [Nikolai]. Sbirnik narodnykh ukrainskikh pisen. Zibrav i dlia khoru ulozhiv M. Lisenko. Kiev and Odessa: Izd. Boreslav Koreivo, 1885–​1897. Lopatin, Nikolai. Polnyi narodnyi pesennik soderzhashchii v sebe luchshie starinnye i noveishie pesni. Moscow: tip. I. D. Sytina, 1885. Lopatin, Nikolai and Vasilii Prokunin. Sbornik russkikh narodnykh liricheskikh pesen. Moscow: tip. A. Mamontova, 1889. Lopatovskii, Iosif. Sbornik gimnov, marshei, russkikh narodnykh i malorusskikh pesen. Lodz: tip. F. M. Kulisha, 1903. L’vov, Nikolai, and Ivan Prach. Sobranie narodnykh russkikh pesen s ikh golosami na muzyku polozhil Ivan Prach. St. Petersburg: Gornoe uchilishche, 1790.

Appendix 1 L’vov, Nikolai, and Ivan Prach. A Collection of Russian Folksongs. Edited by Malsolm Hamrick Brown. With an introduction and appendixes by Margarita Mazo. Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1987. Maiskaia, E. Sbornik noveishikh narodnykh, cherkesskikh, tsyganskikh, gruzinskikh i soldatskikh pesen, razlichnykh romansov, komicheskikh kupletov, iumoristicheskikh i satiricheskikh stikhotvorenii liubimykh sovremennykh avtorov v 4- kh chastiakh. Moscow: tip. Indrikh, 1876. Maksimov, Mikhail. Narodnyi russkii pesennik soderzhashchii v sebe: Pesni, romansy i kuplety iz oper i vodevilei liubimykh v narode v dvukh chastiakh. Moscow: tip. V. Got’e, 1852. Maksimovich, Mikhail. Ukrainskie naronye pesni. Moscow:  Universitetskaia tipografiia, 1834. Maksimovich, Mikhail. Narodnye russkie pesni. Moscow: tip. I. Smirnova, 1837. Malorossiiskie i chervonnorusskie narodnye dumy i pesni. St. Petersburg:  tip. E. Prstsa, 1836. Marenich, Grigorii. Pesni dlia shkoly, detskie i narodnye, na odin, na dva, i na tri golosa: klassnoe posobie pri obuchenii peniiu. St. Petersburg: self-​published, 1878. Matveev. Polnyi russkii pesennik ili sobranie vsekh upotrebitel’nykh russkikh pesen s pribavleniem tsyganskikh, malorossiiskikh, kupletov, noveishikh oper i vodevilei. Moscow: tip. S. Popova, 1858. Mel’gunov, Iulii N. Russkie narodnye pesni neposredstvenno s golosov zapisannye i s ob”iasneniiami. 2 Vols. Moscow, 1879–​1885. Metlinskii, Amvrosii. Narodnye iuzhnorusskie pesni. Kiev:  Universitetskaia tipografiia, 1854. Natiev, David. Kavkazskii voennyi pesennik. St. Petersburg:  tip. Trenke and Fiusno, 1895. Nesselmann, G. H. F. Littauische Volkslieder, 1853. Obshchestvo vspomoshchestvovaniia uchashchikhsia v nachal’nykh shkolakh Lifliandskoi guberni. Vol. 4:  songs with scores. Nikulin, Alexander. Sbornik pesen sostavlennyi Alexandrom Nikulinym, odobrennyi Uchenym Komitetom Narodnogo Prosvyashcheniia dlia upotrebleniia v shkolakh Vilenskogo Uchebnogo Okruga. Vilna: tip. A. G. Syrkina, 1881. Nikulin, Alexander. Sbornik pesen sostavlennyi dlia detei Aleksandrom Nikulinym. Vilna: tip. A.G. Syrkina, 1870. Noveiishii polnyi russkii pesennik, sobrannyi iz narodnykh russkikh pesen i iz sochinenii izvestnykh russkikh pisatelei v 4 chastiakh. Moscow:  tip. Ved. Mosk. Gor. Politsii, 1854. Orlov, Vasilii. Krest’ianskie pesni, zapisannye (mnogogolosno) v Tambovskoi guberni. Moscow, 1890. O. S. N. Voennye russkie pesni. Moscow: tip. I. D. Sytina, 1886.

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266 Appendix 1 Pal’chikov, Nikolai. Kresit’ianskie pesni, zapissannye v Ufimskoi Guberne Menzelinskogo uezda. St. Petersburg, 1888. Paskhalov, Viacheslav, and Mitrofan Piatnitskii. 12 russkikh narodnykh pesen Voronezhskoi guberni, Bobrovskogo uezda. Moscow, 1904. Pesnia russkim voinam (po sluchaiu osvobozhdeniia imi bolgar ot iga turetskogo v 1877, 1878 i 1879g.): dlia fortepiano s nadpisannym tekstom. Grodno, 1879. Pokrovskii (Ulybyshev), Ivan. Dvenadtsat pesen dlia detskogo odnogolosnogo khora s akkompanimentom fp. Moscow: Jurgenson, 1903. Polnyi pesennik:  Dragotsennyi podarok liubiteliam peniia. Sobranie pesen noveishikh, narodnykh cherkesskikh, tsyganskikh, gruzinskikh i soldatskikh, razlichnykh romansov, komicheskikh kupletov, operetok, shansonetok, iumoristicheskikh i satiricheskikh stikhotvorenii liubimykh sovremennykh avtorov:  Pushkina, Nekrasova, Beranzhe, Kol’tsova, Lermontova i proch. Sostavlen Kruzhkom liubitelei peniia. Moscow, 1882. Polnyi russkii pesennik soderzhashchii v sebe bollee 300 russkikh, malorossiiskikh, tsyganskikh, voennykh pesen, romansov, shansonnet i kupletov. Moscow:  tip. S. Orlova, 1876. Popov, P. Sbornik 77 shkol’nykh pesen na dva golosa dlia klassnogo peniia uchebnykh zavedeni, patrioticheskikh, istoricheskikh, voennykh, narodnykh russkikh i malorossiiskikh, a takzhe i drugikh pesen i khorov iz oper. N.  Novgorod:  tip. Gub. Pravleniia, 1892. Radchenko, Zinaida. Sbornik malorusskikh i belorusskikh pesen Gomel’skogo uezda. St. Petersburg: Bessel, 1880. Rebikov, Vladimir. Detskii mir. Dlia 2-​i 3-​golosnogo detskogo khora. Moscow: Jurgenson, 1900. Rimsky-​Korsakov, Nikolai. Sbornik 100 russkikh narodnykh pesen: Op 24, 1876. St. Petersburg: Bessel, 1877. Rimsky-​Korsakov, Nikolai. 40 narodnykh pesen sobrannykh T. I. Filippovym i garmonizovannykh N. A. Rimskim-​Korsakovym. Moscow: Jurgenson, 1895. Rubets, Alexander. Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen. St. Petersburg: 1875. Russkii gudochnik ili noveishii polnyi pesennik v 3-​kh chastiakh. Moscow: tip. Laz. Inst.Vost. Iazykov, 1848. Rybnikov, Pavel. Pesni sobrannye P. N. Rybnikovym. 4 vols. Moscow: tip. A. Semena, 1861–67. Sadokov, A. I. Sbornik russkikh narodnykh gimnov i pesen dlia narodnykh uchilishch. Vilna, 1867. Sakharov, Ivan. Pesni russkogo naroda v 5 chastiakh. St. Petersburg: tip. Sakharova, 1839. Sbornik russkikh narodnykh gimnov i pesen. Kiev: Red. Kiev. Nar. Kalendaria, 1881. Sbornik russkikh narodnykh i soldatskikh pesen s notami. St. Petersburg: Russkoe chtenie, 1903.

Appendix 1 Shein, Pavel Vasil’evich. Russkie narodnye pesni sobrannye Sheinom. Moscow: Universitetskaia tipografiia, 1877. Slavianskii, Dmitrii. Russkie pesni i pesni iuzhnykh i zapadnykh slavian.Volumes 1–​5. Moscow, 1881–​89. Sobranie noveishikh voennykh i drugikh russkikh pesen. Moscow, 1855. Sobranie voennykh pesen i romansov. St. Petersburg, 1863. Sokolov,Vladimir. Sbornik 40 russkikh i malorossiiskikh narodnykh pesen. Moscow: Gutkheil, 1877. Soldatskie pesni. London, 1862. Stakhovich, Mikhail. Sobranie russkikh narodnykh pesen dlia fortepiano i semistrunnoi gitary. Tekst i melodii sobral i muzyku arranzhiroval Mikhail Stakhovich. St. Petersburg and Moscow: tip. M. Bernarda, 1851–54. Troitskii-​Seniukovich, P. Sbornik pesen istoricheskikh, narodnykh i soldatskikh. St. Petersburg: Izd.V. A. Berezovskogo, 1883. Trutovskii,Vasilii Fedorovich. Sobranie russkikh prostykh pesen s notami v chetyrekh chastiakh. St. Petersburg, 1776–​95. Varentsov,Victor. Sbornik pesen Samarskogo kraia. St. Petersburg: tip. Baksta, 1862. Villebois, Konstantin P.  100 russkikh pesen zapisannykh s narodnogo napeva. Moscow: Gutkheil, 1893. Vitols, Iazeps. Pevets. Klassnoe posobie pri obuchenii peniiu dlia nizshikh i srednikh uchebnykh zavedenii. 3rd ed. Riga: Izd. Zikhmania, 1909. V. T. Narodnyi russkii pesennik. Moscow: tip. Laz. Inst.Vost. Iazykov, 1839.

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APPENDIX 2 Programs of the Ethnographic Concerts in Moscow, Organized by the Ethnographic Division of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society and the Music-​Ethnographic Committee of the Society of Friends of Natural History, Anthropology, and Ethnography, 1893–​1911 Ethnographic Concert 1 (March 11, 1893), Part I

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PART I (Slavic) A. Overture Rus, symphonic poem by Milii Balakirev D. Little-​Russian Songs (orchestra) 10. “Da kudy iidesh, Iavtushe?” (soprano with orch.) 11. “Oi nastupae chornaia khmara” (choir with orch.) B. Great-​Russian Songs 12. “Oi, u stenu krynychenka” (baritone with piano) 1. “Na rodimuiu storonku” (choir with orch.) 13. “A vzhe vesna, a vzhe krasna” (choir with orch.) 2. “Na zare bylo, na zoren’ke” (choir with orch.) Nos. 10 and 13 from the collection of Nikolai Lisenko; nos. 11 3. “Ia stradaiu, mil ne znaet” (soprano with orch.) and 13 from transcriptions of Nikolai Ianchuk. 4. “Vozle rechki na luzhechke” (choir with orch.) 5. “Uzh ty, Sema, Simen” (choir with orch.) E. Bulgarian Songs Nos. 1–​4 from the collection of Iulii Mel’gunov’s; no. 5 from the 14. “Velko” (tenor with piano)  collection Nikolai Lopatin and Vasilii Prokunin 15. “Stoian” (tenor with piano) Transcriptions and harmonizations by Nikolai Klenovskii C. Belorussian Songs 6. “Liatseli gusi s Dnepra” (soprano with orch.) F. Polish Songs 7. “Oi, kalina-​malina” (tenor, choir, and orch.). From the 16. “Z tamtej strony jezioreezka” (tenor, choir, and orchestra). transcriptions of Nikolai Ianchuk. 17. “Wezmç ja kontusz” (tenor with orchestra). From 8. “Akh, nema ledu” (soprano with orch.) transcriptions of Nikolai Ianchuk 9. “Chom vy, kopopel’ki” (choir with orch.) 18. “Kai siç dzialy one lata” (choir with orchestra) Nos. 6, 8, and 9 from the collection of M-​me Zinaida Radchenko Nos. 16 and 18 from the collection of Oskar Kolberg and Zygmunt Noskowski

PART II (Inorodchekii) A. Instead of overture, “Tatar dances” by Pavel Blaramberg F. Kyrgyz Songs (orchestra) 28. “Aliak uter bu dun’ia” (soprano and orch.) 29. “Ai astynda ber dzholduz” (choir with orch.). B. Lithuanian Songs 19. “Kad ash tavias noreiiau.” (tenor with orch.) G. Sart Songs 20. “Mamuzhite sianolite” (soprano with orch.) 30. “Karalasam kuryn maidy” (soprano with orch.) 21. “Ana puse mareliu” (soprano with orch.) Nos. 28 –​30 from Etnograficheskoe obozrenie 3 (1889) 22. “O tai divai” (soprano with orch.) H. New Greek Songs Nos. 19–​22 from the collection of Christian Bartsch 31. “Is tu kózmu to taksidi” (soprano with piano) C. Georgian Songs 32. “Kharó to ‘kin’ to stoma” (soprano with piano) 23. “Kuchkha Bedniero” From the collection of Louis-​Albert Bourgault-​Ducoudray 24. “Odelia” I. 25. “Gul’nara.” 33. F  inale “Slava!” from opera Svetlana by Nikolai Klenovskii Nos. 23–​25 for tenor with choir. Transcriptions of Nikolai (choir with orchestra) Klenovskii All folk songs, except for nos. 12, 31, and 32, were D. Armenian Song performed as artistic arrangements by Nikolai Klenovskii. 26. “Krunk” (tenor with orch.). Transcription by Nikolai They were published with texts (inorodets songs with Klenovskii Russian translations) by Jurgenson under the title Sbornik E. Chuvash Song narodnykh pesen: Etnograficheskii kontsert [Collection of Folk 27. “Per kheri mana” (soprano with orch.). From the collection Songs: Ethnographic Concert], Moscow, 1894. of Valentin Moshkov

270 Appendix 2

Ethnographic Concert 1, Part II (Non-​Russian or inorodcheskii)

CONCERT 2 March 11, 1901, in the auditorium of the Historic Museum PART I A. 9 Great-​Russian Songs B. 5 Little-​Russian Songs C. 2 Belo Russian Songs

CONCERT 3 March 18, 1901, in the auditorium of the Historic Museum PART I A. 13 Great-​Russian Songs B. 4 Belorussian Songs C. 5 Little-​Russian Songs

PART II D. 3 Polish Songs E. 3 Czech Songs F.  2 Lithuanian Songs G. 11 Georgian Songs

PART II D. 3 Bulgarian Songs E.   Turkic-​Tatar Songs : 2 Tatar songs, 7 Bashkir Songs and instrumental tunes, 2 Kyrgyz Songs, 1 Sart Song, 1 Chuvash Song F.  6 Jewish Songs G. 7 Armenian songs

CONCERT 4 November 29, 1901, in the Small Conservatoire Hall PART I A.  14 Great-​Russian Songs B.  4 Little-​Russian Songs PART II C.   3 Polish Songs D.   4 Lettish Songs E.   4 Jewish Songs F.    3 Bashkir Songs G.   3 Tatar Songs

Appendix 2

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272 Appendix 2

CONCERT 5 January 30, 1902, in Romanov’s Hall PART I A.  7 Great-​Russian Songs B.  2 Belorussian Songs C.  5 Little-​Russian Songs PART II D.  3 Lettish Songs E.  4 Finish Songs F.  1 Votiak Song G.  2 Taranchi Songs H.  8 Georgian Songs

CONCERT 6 April 20, 1902, in the auditorium of the History Museum PART I A.  9 Great-​Russian Songs B.  5 Little-​Russian Songs C. Caucasian songs: 1 Armenian, 1 Kumyk, 1 Circassian, 3 Georgian PART II (instrumental music) D.  3 Russian melodies E.  2 Little-​Russian melodies F.  2 Polish G.  2 Bulgarian H.  3 Jewish I. 4 Caucasian: 2 Georgian, 1 Kumyk, 1 Ossetinian J. 3 Sart K. 2 Cheremis L. 2 Moldavian

Concert-​lecture February 25, 1904, in the auditorium of the Polytechnic Museum Par I Lecture by Fedor Korsh “Russian Folk Music and its Significance for Science” Par II A. 11 Great-​Russian folk song transcribed or arranged by Rimsky-​Korsakov, Dmitrii Arakchiev, Evgeniia Leneva, Nikolai Ianchuk, Iulii Mel’gunov, and Pavel Blaramberg B. 1 Little-​Russian folk song transcribed by Arakchiev

CONCERT 7 March 3, 1906, in the auditorium of the Historical Museum PART I A. 8 Great-​Russian Songs B. 6 Little-​Russian Songs PART II C. 2 Polish Songs Non-​Russian [inorodcheskii] Songs D. 2 Armenian Songs E. 1 Tatar Song F.  1 Bashkir Song G. 3 Georgian Songs

Folk-​Artistic Concert (Narodno-​ Khudozhestvennyi Kontsert) April 28, 1906, in the auditorium of the Historical Museum. (Canceled due to social unrest.) Part I A. 6 Great-​Russian Songs B. 1 song by Tchaikovsky C. 3 Children’s songs arranged by A. T. Gretchaninov D. 2 songs from Rimsky-​Korsakov’s operas E. 1 song for mixed choir arranged by Gretchaninov

A.  23 Great-​Russian Songs B.  4 Belorussian Songs C.  20 Little-​Russian Songs

Appendix 2

Part II A. 4 Little-​Russian Folk Songs B. Two numbers from opera Zaporozhets za Dunaem, by Semen Gulak-​Artemovskii C. 2 Jewish songs D. Duo from opera Uriel Akosta, by Alexander Serov E. 2 Georgian songs, transcription and arrangement by Dmitrii Arakchiev F. Two art songs by Arakchiev G. Song of Polovtsian maidens from opera Prince Igor by Alexander Borodin

CONCERT 8 February 11, 1907, in the big hall of the Russian Noble Assembly

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CONCERT 9 December 12, 1907, in the auditorium of the Historical Museum

Part I Lecture by Evgeniia Lineva “Russian Folk Song”

PART I Introductory lecture by Alexander Maslov “About the Influence of Folk Music on the Works of Russian Composers” 20 Great-​Russian Folk Songs

Part II A. 8 Great-​Russian songs B. 6 Little-​Russian Songs

PART II 12 art songs, choirs, and opera arias based on Russian folk songs by Modest Musorgsky, Nikolai Rimsky-​Korsakov, Alexander Borodin, and Pavel Blaramberg

CONCERT 10 January 16, 1911, in the new auditorium of the Polytechnic Museum PART I A. 6 Great-​Russian Songs B. 2 Belorussian Songs C. 7 Little-​Russian Songs D. 4 Polish Songs E. 2 Jewish Songs F. 2 Lettish Songs PART II G. 9 Caucasian Songs: 5 Georgian, 2 Armenian, 1 Ossetinian, 1 Circassian. H. 8 Turkic-​Tatar Songs: 2 Turkish, 1 Tatar, 1 Bashkir, 3 Taranchi. I. 8 Songs of Different Peoples: Greek, Persian, Aleut, Chinese, Scottish, Irish, Moldavian, Romanian

274 Appendix 2

Concert-​lecture November 29, 1907

Notes Introduction 1. In Russian literature the term “Central Asia,” or “Tsentral’naia Aziia,” is usually applied to the larger area in the Asian continent that includes modern Xinjiang, Afghanistan, Mongolia, and now independent Central Asian states (Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, and Tajikistan) that used to be a part of Russian Turkestan and Soviet Union. The region in the inner Asian continent that includes the territory between the Caspian Sea on the west, the Pamir Mountains on the east, the Aral-​Irtysh watershed on the north, and the Hindu Kush on the south is referred to as “Inner Asia,” or “Sredniaia Aziia.” See V. M., “Sredniaia Aziia,” in Entsiklopedicheskii slovar, ed. F. A. Brockhaus and I. A. Efron (Leipzig and St. Petersburg, 1900), 31:351. Andreas Kappeler calls this region “Middle Asia.” See Kappeler, The Russian Empire:  A Multiethnic History, trans. Alfred Clayton (Harlow, UK:  Longman, 2001). I will use the term “Central Asia,”—​more common in western literature—​to designate the territory that in Russian literature is termed “Inner Asia.” 2. The most important phases of Russia’s annexation, conquest, and colonization of its Asian neighbors will be addressed in ­chapter 2. As many researchers have pointed out, Russia’s polity in the East was flexible and unstable, but shifted from being paternalistic to colonial in the late nineteenth century, “trying to impose an imperial civilization along the edges of empire.” Frederick Cooper, Colonialism in Question: Theory, Knowledge, History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 28. The Caucasus and Central Asia—​also known as Russian Turkestan—​were ruled with colonial methods. These methods included settler migration into the region (particularly into the fertile valleys of Central Asia), economic exploitation rather than systematic transformation (both regions were considered mainly as cotton suppliers), transformation of nomadic and settled societies into producers of particular crops, and inherent separation of Russians and non-​Russians, or inorodtsy, through the appointment of the latter to a special status (discussed in ­chapter 2). 3. See Mark Bassin, “Russia between Europe and Asia: The Ideological Construction of Geographical Space,” Slavic Review 50/​1 (1991): 1–​17. 4. See Nikolai Baskakov, Russkie familii tiurkskogo proiskhozhdeniia (Moscow:  Nauka, 1979); Evgenii Karnovich, Rodovye prozvaniia i tituly v Rossii (St. Petersburg:  tip. A.  S. Suvorina, 1886). 5. For an extreme reaction against the association of Russians with Asians, consider that in 1836, when Chaadaev wrote in his “Philosophical Letters” about Russia’s savage past,

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276 Notes to pages 4–5 thus invoking its links to Asian identity, he was judged to be insane.The editor of the journal Teleskop, in which this warticle first appeared, was fired, while the censor who authorized its publication was sent into exile. See Nikolai Fedorovskii, ed., V poiskakh svoego puti: Rossiia mezhdu Evropoi i Aziei: Khrestomatiia po istorii russkoi obshchestvennoi mysli (Moscow: Logos, 2004), 47. 6. Richard Taruskin distinguishes two categories of oriental “others”:  intraimperial (people belonging to the empire e.g. Tatars) and extraimperial (people from Near and Middle Eastern, Turkish, and Persian lands not belonging to the empire). See Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically:  Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton, N.J.:  Princeton University Press, 1997), 152. The category of intraimperial people can be further refined into two subcategories:  “permanent Orientals” (Gypsies and Jews) and “newly acquired Orientals” (Caucasians and peoples of Siberia, the Russian Far East, and Russian Turkestan). 7. It seems that for Uvarov Asia presented more an imaginary than a real geographical space, since in his project for the Asian Academy of Studies he included research on the languages and literature of India, China, Tibet, North Africa, Manchuria, Turkey, Persia, the Caucasus, and ancient Hebrew culture. Such essentialization of cultures outside one’s own was quite typical of his time. Sergei Semenovich Uvarov (1786–​1855) was the most influential minister of education in imperial Russia (1833–​49) and a president of the Academy of Science (1818–​55). He introduced a number of reforms in Russian education and formulated a doctrine of  “Official Nationalism” (“Orthodoxy, autocracy, and nationality”), which underpinned his policies concerning public education. See I. E. Andreevskii, “Uvarov,” in ed. Brockhaus and Efron, Entsiklopedicheskii slovar (1902), 34, no.  67:420; Cynthia H. Whittaker, “The Impact of the Oriental Renaissance in Russia:  The Case of Sergej Uvarov,” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 26 (1978):  503–​24. Published in French in 1810, and immediately translated into Russian and German, Sergei Uvarov’s Projet enjoyed a sensational reception, and was at once praised by Schlegel and Goethe and reviewed at Napoleon’s command by the French Orientalist Louis Langlès. See Alexander Gal’perin, “Russkaia istoricheskaia nauka o zarubezhnom Dal’nem Vostoke v XVIII v–​ seredine XIX v.,” Ocherki po istorii russkogo vostokovedeniia 2 (1956): 3–​35; Whittaker, “The Case of Sergej Uvarov.” The quotation in the epigraph is from Sergei Uvarov, Projet d’une académie asiatique (St. Petersburg, 1810), 8. 8. See Uvarov’s letter to M. M. Speranskii, December 1, 1891, cited in Vitalii Kisilev, “‘Projet d’une académie asiatique’ S.  S. Uvarova v istorii russkogo orientalizma,” Vestnik Tomskogo Gosudarstvennogo Universiteta 19/​3 (2012): 68. 9. Vladimir Stasov, “Nasha muzyka za poslednie 25 let,” in Vestnik Evropy (1882–​ 83): 561–​623, reprinted in V.V. Stasov, Izbrannye sochineniia v trekh tomakh (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1952), 2:522–​62. English translation in Music in the Western World: A History in Documents, ed. Piero Weiss and Richard Taruskin (New York: Schirmer Books, 1984), 390–​94. The other three elements are skepticism of European tradition, “striving for national character,” and “extreme inclination toward program music.” 10. Viktor Vinogradov, “Zametki po russkomu muzykal’nomu vostokovedeniiu,” in Muzyka narodov Azii i Afriki, vol. 5 (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1987), 186.

Notes to pages 5–6 11. Dostoyevsky, “Geok-​Tepe. What Does Asia Mean to Us?,” in A Writer’s Diary, vol. 2, 1877–​1881, trans. Kenneth Lantz (Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1993). 1369. The quotation in the epigraph is from ibid. 12. Most Russian officials have adopted the French model of mission civilisatrice, which assumed equal rights and citizenship for subjugated peoples who adopted the customs and moeurs of the “more advanced” civilizations represented by colonizers. In 1865, the Steppe Commission recognized the local population living in Turkestan as “rural dwellers” of the empire, assuming their equal rights with the recently emancipated ethnically Russian rural population. On Russian policies in the colonized territories, see ­chapters 2 and 4. 13. By “financial burden” Dostoyevsky meant military spending and administrative expenses. 14. Dostoyevsky, “Geok-​Tepe,”  1373. 15. Dostoyevsky, “Geok-​Tepe,” 1369–​70. 16. These include the works of Khristofor Arakelov, Boris Shteinpres, and T. I. Sokolova on the origins of Russian Orientalism in music, Nadezhda Dmitriadi’s work on Russian style in music about the orient, and Liudmila Karagicheva’s article on the origins of melodies used by Alexander Aliab’ev in his work The French Quadrille from Asian Songs.While Shteinpres and Karagicheva discuss the contributions to Russian musical Orientalism made by Alexander Aliab’ev (addressed in chapter 4), Arakelov’s and Sokolova’s works follow the traditional Russian historiographic view of Glinka as the founder of all major trends in Russian music. Sokolova claims that classical Russian Orientalism springs from oriental scenes in Glinka’s opera Ruslan and Liudmila; however, she neglects the repertoire of songs and musical works written before Glinka. See Arakelov, “K voprosu ob istokakh vostochnykh tem v tvorchestve Glinki,” in Pamiati Glinki, 1857–​1957: Issledovaniia i materialy, ed.Vasilii Kisilev, T. N. Livanova, and V. V. Protopopov (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1958), 203–​23; Shteinpres, “U istokov russkogo orientalizma,” Sovetskaia muzyka 8 (1959): 84–​92; T. I. Sokolova, “U istokov russkogo orientalizma,” Voprosy muzykoznaniia 3 (1960): 459–​86; Dmitriadi, “Nekotorye stilevye osobennosti russkoi muzyki o Vostoke,” Voprosy teorii i estetiki muzyki 13 (1974): 106–​25; Karagicheva, “Liubopytnyi dokument russkogo orientalizma,” Sovetskaia muzyka 2 (1974): 89–​96. 17. Richard Taruskin’s article charting the political and cultural implications of some Russian music pieces with oriental subjects was a rare response to this lacuna. See Taruskin,“‘Entoiling the Falconet’: Russian Musical Orientalism in Context,” Cambridge Opera Journal 4/​3 (1992): 253–​80. 18. See Tat’iana Cherednichenko, “Russkaia muzyka i geopolitika,” Novyi Mir 6 (1995): 189–99; Leila Bayakhunova, “Obraz Ispanii v muzykal’noi kul’ture Rossii i Frantsii XIX - pervoi polovine XX veka,” candidate diss. (Moscow State Conservatory, 1998); Izabella Belen’kaia, “Temy Ispanii i Vostoka v Russkoi kamerno-vokal’noi lirike XIX veka: k probleme ‘svoego’ i ‘chuzhogo’,” candidate diss. (Khabarovsk Institute of Arts and Culture,Vladivostok, 2004). 19. Although studies specifically dealing with Russian music ethnography on oriental “others” are lacking, more generalized studies on the development of Russian ethnography provide an important entry point into the Russian institutions that supported research on newly acquired Asian or southern “others” and the context in which ethnographic studies has developed in Russia. Russian sources that offer background information on

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278 Notes to pages 6–7 nineteenth-​century Russian ethnography about Russia’s oriental neighbors include: Sergei Tokarev’s Istoriia russkoi etnografii (dooktiabr’skii period), Boris Lunin’s works on Russian learned societies in Turkestan, Nauchnye obshchestva Turkestana and Sredniaia Aziia v dorevoliutsionnom i sovetskom vostokovedenii, and the studies of Central Asia in Russian prerevolutionary and Soviet orientology, Istoriia otechestvennogo vostokovedeniia, in two volumes (the first edited by G. F. Kim, P. M. Shastitko, and A. A. Kozhukhovskaia, and the second edited by A.  Kozhukhovskaia) as well as a bibliographic dictionary, Russke voennye vostokovedy, by Mikhail Baskhanov. In English, Nathaniel Knight’s work, including his dissertation on ethnography in mid-​nineteenth-​century Russia and his articles on different ethnographic events, agencies, and the people involved, represents the most recent and extensive English study of the topic. 20. Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically, esp. 253–​80 and 393–​424, and Marina Frolova-​ Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism: From Glinka to Stalin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007). 21. See Inna Naroditskaya, Bewitching Russian Opera:  The Tsarina from State to Stage (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 100–​103; Rutger Helmers, Not Russian Enough? Nationalism and Cosmopolitanism in Nineteenth-​Century Russia (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press), 50–​81; David Schimmelpenninck van de Oye, Russian Orientalism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), 200–​210. 22. Gerald Abraham, On Russian Music: Critical and Historical Studies of Glinka’s Operas, Balakirev’s Works, Etc. (London: W. Reeves, 1939); Richard A. Leonard, A History of Russian Music (London: Jarrolds, 1956); Gerald R. Seaman, History of Russian Music (Oxford: Blackwell, 1967); Andrew Wachtel, ed., Intersections and Transpositions: Russian Music, Literature, and Society (Evanston, Ill.:  Northwestern University Press, 1998); Francis Maes, A History of Russian Music: From Kamarinskaya to Babi Yar (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). 23. There are only a few studies of Russian nineteenth-​century art songs: César Cui, Russkii romans: Ocherk ego razvitiia (St. Petersburg, 1896), trans. and ed. James Walker, in Classical Essays on the Development of Russian Art Songs (Northfield, Minn.: James Walker, 1993), 1–​115; Nikolay Findeizen, Russkaia khudozhestvennaia pesnia (romans): Istoricheskii ocherk ee razvitiia (Moscow, 1905), trans. and ed. James Walker, in Classical Essays, 116–​220; Boris Asaf ’ev, Russkii romans:  opyt intonatsionnogo analiza (Moscow:  Academia, 1930); V   asina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans XIX veka (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1956); V   iktoriia Cherva’s candidate dissertation “Romans v istorii russkoi khudozhestvennoi kul’tury” (St. Petersburg Conservatory, 1999), which considers art song through sociological lenses, and Belen’kaia, “Temy Ispanii i Vostoka v russkoi kamerno-​vokal’noi lirike XIX veka.” In English, Malcolm Hamrick Brown and Richard Taruskin contributed articles that reveal two sides of nineteenth-​century Russian art song—​national consciousness and Orientalism. See Malcolm H. Brown, “Native Song and National Consciousness in Nineteenth-​ Century Russian Music,” in Art and Culture in Nineteenth-​Century Russia, ed. Theofanis George Stavrou (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983), 57–​84; and Taruskin, “ ‘Entoiling the Falconet.’ ” 24. Jann Pasler, Composing the Citizen:  Music as Public Utility in Third Republic France (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), Pasler, “The Utility of Musical Instruments

Notes to pages 7–8 in the Racial and Colonial Agendas of Late Nineteenth-​Century France,” Journal of the Royal Musical Association 129/​1 (2004): 124–​76, Pasler, “Theorizing Race in Nineteenth-​Century France: Music as Emblem of Identity,” Musical Quarterly 89 (2008): 459–​504, Pasler,“Race and Nation: Musical Acclimatization and the Chansons Populaires in Third Republic France,” in Western Music and Race, ed. Julie Brow (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 147–​ 67; Bennett Zon, Representing Non-​Western Music in Nineteenth-​Century Britain (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press, 2007); Nalini Ghuman, Resonances of the Raj: India in the English Musical Imagination, 1897–​1947 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014). 25. Mark Bassin, “Asia,” in The Cambridge Companion to Modern Russian Culture, ed. Nicholas Rzhevsky (New  York:  Cambridge University Press, 1998), 57–​ 84; David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, “The Asianist Vision:  Esper Ukhtomskii,” in Toward the Rising Sun:  Russian Ideologies of Empire and the Path to War with Japan (DeKalb:  Northern Illinois University Press, 2001), 42–​60. 26. Kniaz Esper Esperovich Ukhtomskii, Travels in the East of His Imperial Majesty Czar Nicholas II of Russia, when Cesarewitch 1890–​1891, 2 vols. (London: A. Constable and Company, 1896–​1900), quoted in Schimmelpenninck, Toward the Rising Sun, 44. In the middle of the nineteenth century, similar ideas were articulated by some British intellectuals who claimed that by colonizing India the British would simply be reuniting the youngest branch of Aryan peoples with its most ancient branch. See Allen J. Greenberger, The British Image of India: A Study in the Literature of Imperialism 1880–​1960 (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), 234; Benita Parry, Disillusions and Discoveries: Studies on India in the British Imagination 1880–​1930 (Berkeley: Berkeley University Press, 1972), 274. 27. On grazhdanstvennost, see Dov Yaroshevski, “Empire and Citizenship,” and Austin Lee Jersild, “From  Savagery  to Citizenship:  Caucasian Mountaineers and Muslims in the Russian Empire,” in Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–​1917, ed. Daniel R.  Brower and Edward J.  Lazzerini (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 1997), 58–​ 79 and 101–​114, respectively; Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: Routledge Curzon, 2003), 17–​18 and 57–​58. 28. See Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1978). Said’s view of the Orient as a homogenous and monolithic entity has been criticized, since it does not allow for local differences between oriental cultures, nor does it sufficiently acknowledge the development of Oriental Studies within the same culture, or from one period to another. For a critique of Said on these points see Albert Hourani, “The Road to Morocco,” review of Orientalism by Edward Said, New York Review of Books (March 8, 1979): 27–​30; David Kopf, “Hermeneutics versus History,” Journal of Asian Studies 39/​3 (1980): 495–​506; Robert J. C. Young, White Mythologies: Writing History and the West (New York: Routledge, 2004), 158–​80; Dennis Porter, “Orientalism and Its Problems,” in Colonial Discourse and Post-​colonial Theory: A Reader, ed. P. Williams and L. Chrisman (New  York:  Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1994 [1993]), 150–​61; James Clifford, The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth-​Century Ethnography, Literature, and Art (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988), 225–​76. 29. As Nathaniel Knight points out, “it would have been tendentious and inaccurate to dislocate Russia completely from the broader European discourse about the ‘Orient.’ ”

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280 Notes to pages 8–10 Knight, “On Russian Orientalism:  A Response to Adeeb Khalid,” Kritika:  Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 1/​4 (2000): 701–​15; here 709. 30. For examples of the first approach, see Kaplana Sahni, Crucifying the Orient: Russian Orientalism and the Colonization of Caucasus and Central Asia (Oslo: Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture, 1997), and Ewa Thompson, Imperial Knowledge:  Russian Literature and Colonialism (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2000). For examples of the second approach, see Nathaniel Knight, “Grigor’ev in Orenburg 1851–​1862: Russian Orientalism in the Service of Empire,” Slavic Review 59 (2000): 74–​100, and Schimmelpenninck, Russian Orientalism. 31. Susan Layton, Russian Literature and Empire:  The Conquest of the Caucasus from Pushkin to Tolstoy (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Knight, “Grigor’ev in Orenburg,” 77; Harsha Ram, The Imperial Sublime: A Russian Poetics of Empire (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003). 32. See Vera Tolz, “Orientalism, Nationalism and Ethnic Diversity in Late Imperial Russia,” Historical Journal 48/​1 (2005):  127–​50; Tolz, Russia’s Own Orient:  The Politics of Identity and Oriental Studies in the Late Imperial and Early Soviet Periods (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2011), 114–​19. 33. Schimmelpenninck, Russian Orientalism. 34. Tolz, Russia’s Own Orient; Michael David-​Fox, Peter Holquist, and Alexander Martin, eds., Orientalism and Empire in Russia (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), 9–​10. 35. See Jeff Sahadeo, “Visions of Empire: Russia’s Place in an Imperial World” (book review), Kritika:  Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History (March 22, 2010):  385. For a description of the hardships of a journey from European Russia to Tashkent, see J. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 1865–​ 1923 (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 2007),  28–​30. 36. Focusing on the relationship between the imperial government and science, Elena Campbell argues that Russian stereotyping of the Islamic world and imperial appreciation of modern and secular knowledge for the administration of Asiatic territories within the borders of the empire is similar to Said’s idea of Orientalism. Elena Campbell, “K voprosu ob Orientalizme v Rossii (vo vtoroi polovine XIX veka–​nachale XX veka),” Ab Imperio 1 (2002): 311–​22. 37. Alexander Morrison, “‘Applied Orientalism’ in British India and Tsarist Turkestan,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 51/​3 (2009): 619–​47. 38. Mikhail Baskhanov in his biographical dictionary Russkie voennye vostokovedy lists no fewer than 450 military officers who contributed to Russian Oriental Studies. 39. This Russian view of Central Asia’s glorious past and degenerated present seems to have originated in European writings; Sir William “Oriental” Jones, Henry Thomas Colebrooke, Max Müller, Friedrich Schlegel, Ernest Renan, and other Orientalists venerated only ancient South Asian (Hindu) or pre-​Muslim Middle Eastern literary, religious, and cultural traditions and considered them as being currently in decline. See Said, Orientalism, 98–​ 99; Gyan Prakash, “Writing Post-​Orientalist Histories of the Third World: Perspectives from Indian Historiography,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 32 (1990): 383–​408; Sharada

Notes to pages 10–13 Sugirtharajah, Imagining Hinduism: A Postcolonial Perspective (London: Routledge, 2003), 11–​15. Jann Pasler argues that in colonial France, the publications of the early French ethnographers constructed musical identities that linked ancient North African music with ancient Greek musical traditions and suggested that some folk music traditions were consistent within an entire region’s rural population, to create the connection that helped to unify colonies “both from without and from within.” See Pasler, “The Racial and Colonial Implications of Early French Music Ethnography, 1860s–​1930s,” in Critical Music Historiography:  Probing Canons, Ideologies, and Institutions, ed. Markus Mantere and Vesa Kurkela (Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate, 2015),  17–​43. 40. Chapter 2 considers in detail the status of inorodtsy in imperial Russia and the cultural implications for ethnic minorities of the term inorodtsy. 41. On inorodtsy, see John W. Slocum, “Who, and When, Were the Inorodtsy? The Evolution of the Category of ‘Aliens’ in Imperial Russia,” Russian Review 57/​2 (1998): 173–​ 90; Vera Tolz, “Orientalism, Nationalism, and Ethnic Diversity,” 127–​50; Andreas Kappeler, The Russian Empire: A Multi-​ethnic History. 42. See Tolz, “Russia’s Own Orient”; Olga Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire: Defining the Russian Nation through Cultural Mythology, 1855–​1870 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2010); Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism. 43. Said, Orientalism,  1–​3. 44. Tolz, “Orientalism, Nationalism and Ethnic Diversity,” 127. Ewa Thompson argues that two types of nationalism—​defensive and aggressive—​were practiced in nineteenth-​ century Russia. Defensive nationalism is a phenomenon that emerges as a reaction to preserve an identity that is being lost or in the process of dissolution, and aggressive nationalism is a phenomenon that “looks outward rather than toward itself and as a result is less aware of its own chauvinism and its colonial desire.” Thompson, Imperial Knowledge, 9. In Russia, the first type emerged after the war with France, in 1812, and the second occurred a decade later, when Russia engaged in wars in the Caucasus, Turkey, and Persia. 45. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism, 153. 46. See Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically, 158, n. 8; Taisiia Shcherbakova, Tsyganskoe muzykal’noe ispolnitel’stvo i tvorchestvo v Rossii (Moscow: Muzyka, 1984), 23–​24; Belen’kaia, “Temy Ispanii i Vostoka v Russkoi kamerno-​vokal’noi lirike XIX veka.” 47. As Tat’iana Cherednichenko puts it, they “took responsibility to create music for everyone,” expanding their “territorial ambitions” without even “dreaming about mastering of foreign musical territories.” See Cherednichenko, “Russkaia muzyka i geopolitika,” 191–​92. 48. Layton, Russian Literature and Empire. 49. See Anatolyi Remnev, “Siberia and the Russian Far East in the Imperial Geography of Power,” in Russian Empire: Space, People, Power, 1700–​1930, ed. J. Burbank, M. von Hagen, and A. Remnev (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 2007), 425–​54. On Kaufmann’s policy in Russian Turkestan, see Brower, Turkestan,  26–​56. 50. Despite the fact that Dargomyzhsky’s oriental art songs were highly influential (especially among the members of the Kuchka), I do not discuss them because I could not

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282 Notes to pages 13–15 find tangible evidence that they were based on any kind of ethnographic musical source. Because Rubinstein did not travel to the eastern or southern outskirts of Russia prior to composing his cycle Persian Songs (at the age of twenty-​five), his conception of Persia is highly imaginative compared with those of Aliab’ev or Balakirev, which are based in the composers’ first-​hand encounters with local musicians during their travels throughout the Caucasus. See Lev Barenboim, Anton Grigor’evich Rubinshtein (Leningrad: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1957), vol. 1, 194. Indeed, as James Loeffler points out, Rubinstein’s Persian Songs, as well as his operas Demon (1883) and Feramors (1862–​63) “evoked an Oriental idiom musically little different from his ‘Jewish’ music, yet without an explicit Jewish label attached.” Loeffler, The Most Musical Nation: Jews and Culture in the Late Russian Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), 38. 51. See George Balandier, “Situation coloniale: Approche théoretique,” Cahiers internationaux de sociologie 11 (1951): 44–​79. 52. On Aryanism and Asianism in Russia, see David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, “The Asianist Vision:  Esper Ukhtomskii,” in Toward the Rising Sun:  Russian Ideologies of Empire and the Path to War with Japan (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2001), 42–​ 60; Marlène Laruelle, Mythe aryen et rêve impérial dans la Russie du XIXe siècle (Paris: CNRS Éditions, 2005); Marlène Laruelle, “The Orient in Russian Thought at the Turn of the Century,” in Russia between East and West:  Scholarly Debates on Eurasianism, ed. Dmitry Shlapentokh (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 25–​26. 53. See Arthur de Gobineau, “Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines,” in Oeuvres complètes, vol. 1 (Paris: Gallimard, 1983; first published 1853–​55). 54. Many Russian Pan-​ Slavs, including their leader Ivan Aksakov, expressed their particular disappointment with the Treaty of Berlin and denounced it as “an open conspiracy against the Russian people.” See Ivan Aksakov, Rech proiznesennaia 22-​go iiunia 1878, v Moskovskom slavianskom blagotvoritel’nom obshchestve (Berlin:  B. Behr, 1878), 16. On the Congress of Berlin and its aftermath, see William Norton Medlicott, Congress of Berlin and After (London: Routledge, 2013); Walter G. Moss, Russia in the Age of Alexander II,Tolstoy and Dostoevsky (London:  Anthem Press, 2002), 184–​86. Dostoyevsky’s essay, cited earlier, also had clearly anti-​European overtones, reflecting Russian intelligentsia’s contemporary hostile attitude toward the “West.” 55. For some music theorists, such as Alexander Famintsyn, the “West” and “western music” were represented exclusively by the Roman Catholic civilization. Hence, Famintsyn considered the musical traditions of peoples living in remote areas of Europe or those who were not converted to Catholicism—​French Brittany, Ireland, Scotland, Greece, and East Europe—​as being uncorrupted by the “West.” See Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma v Azii i Evrope (St. Petersburg: tip. Iu. Schtaufa, 1889). 56. See E. E. Ukhotomskii, Ot Kalmykskoi stepi do Bukhary (St. Petersburg, 1891), 63, quoted by Laruelle, “‘The White Tsar’: Romantic Imperialism in Russia’s Legitimizing of Conquering the Far East,” Acta Slavica Iaponica 25 (2008): 129.

Notes to pages 15–20 57. On French categorization of musical instruments and its connection to the colonial discourse of evolution, cultural developments, and European superiority over the colonial subjects, see Pasler, “The Utility of Musical Instruments,” 124–​76. 58. For instance, Alexander Famintsyn presented Kyrgyz dombra as fixed and stable subject unable to develop in time, while his presentation of the modern repertoire played on Russian balalaika (which, he believed, was originated from Asian dombra) suggested that Russians were able to develop this instrument and attain the highest level of artistic performance skills. See Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei instrumenty (St. Petersburg:  tip. G. Arnol’da, 1891). 59. See Nikolai Troinitskii, ed., “Tablitsa XIII:  Raspredelenie naseleniia po rodnomu iazyku,” in Pervaia vseobshchaia perepis naseleniia Rossiiskoi Imperii (St. Petersburg: Izd. Tsentral’nogo Statisticheskogo Komiteta MID, 1899–​1905).

Chapter 1 1. On the general history of Russia, see Maureen Perrie, Dominic Lieven eds., The Cambridge History of Russia, 2 vols. (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2006). On Russia’s political and economic ties with the steppe, see Janet Martin, Medieval Russia 980–​ 1584 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 134–​372; Lev Gumilev, Drevniaia Rus i velikaia step (Moscow:  Mysl, 1989); Michael Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier:  The Making of a Colonial Empire, 1500–​ 1800 (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 2002); Willard Sunderland, Taming the Wild Field:  Colonization and Empire on the Russian Steppe (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2004). Rus, or Rus’, is an old, poetic name for Russia. 2. Charles J. Halperin, The Tatar Yoke:  The Image of the Mongols in Medieval Russia (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2009), 7–​21. 3. George Vernadsky, The Mongols and Russia:  A History of Russia, vol. 3 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1953); Charles J. Halperin, Russia and the Golden Horde: The Mongol Impact on Medieval Russian History (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 1987); Jaroslaw Pelenski, “State and Society in Moscovite Russia and the Mongol-​Turkic System in the Sixteenth Century,” Forschungen zur osteuropäischen Geschichte 27 (1980): 156–​67; Halperin, Tatar Yoke, 15–​ 16; Richard Voorheis, “The Perception of Asiatic Nomads in Medieval Russia: Folklore, History, and Historiography” (PhD diss., Indiana University, 1982), 84–​85. 4. Evgenii Karnovich, “Sliianie inozemtsev s russkimi,” in Rodovye prozvaniia i tituly v Rossii (St. Petersburg: tip. A. S. Suvorina, 1886), 229–​50; Nikolai Baskakov, Russkie familii tiurkskogo proiskhozhdeniia (Moscow: Nauka, 1979); Lawrence N. Langer, Historical Dictionary of Medieval Russia (Lanham, Md.: Scarecrow Press, 2002), 20, 72, 121. 5. On the history of Tatar-​Russian relationship, see Halperin, Tatar Yoke; Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads; Janet Martin, “North-​eastern Russia and the Golden Horde (1246–​1359),” in Cambridge History of Russia, vol. 1, From Early Rus’ to 1689, ed. Maureen Perrie (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 127–​57. 6. Halperin, Tatar Yoke, 65–​66. Peter Voorheis offers a different explanation of why the Mongol victory in some chronicles was presented as retribution for “our sins.” This is

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284 Notes to pages 20–21 because some Russians were aware of the fact that prior to the battle on Kalka River in 1224 Russians violated the diplomatic immunity of the Mongol envoys by killing them. See Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads, 79–​80. 7. Martin, Medieval Russia, 151–​57. 8. Gumilev, Drevniaia Rus i velikaia step, 466; John Fennell, Crisis of Medieval Russia 1200–​1304 (London: Longman, 1983), 87–​89; Martin, Medieval Russia, 145–​47, 169–​78; Langer, Historical Dictionary of Medieval Russia, 20, 71–​73, 121, 128–​29; Jane Burbank and Frederick Cooper, Empires in World History: Power and the Politics of Difference (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2010), 185–​218. 9. On Russian-​Mongol military cooperation see Janet Martin, “North-​eastern Russia and the Golden Horde,” and “The Emergence of Moscow (1359–​1462),” in Cambridge History of Russia, 1:136, 138, 139, 143, 145, 161–​63;Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads,  90–​91. 10. Some historians believe that the battle was not a symbolic moment of unification of Russian princes, initiating the fight for independence from Mongol suzerainty (as it has commonly been depicted) but rather a result of a power struggle with the Tatar leaders over the delivery of tribute payments. See Charles J. Halperin, “The Tatar Yoke: The Emergence of Muscovite Ideology, 1380–​1408,” Forschungen zur osteuropäischen Geschichte 23 (1976): 7–​ 103; N. S. Borisov, “Kulikovskaia bitva i nekotorye voprosy dukhovnoi zhizni Rusi XIV–​XV vv.,” Vestnik Moskovskogo universiteta, seria 8: istoriia (1980): 56–​66; V   . A. Kuchkin, “Pobeda na Kulikovskom pole,” Voprosy istorii 8 (1980): 3–​21; Martin, Medieval Russia, 199–​235. 11. Some historians argue that as the authority of Mongol khans continued well into the fifteenth century and even after the collapse of the Golden Horde, the direction of Moscovite foreign policy prioritized relations with Moscow’s Tatar neighbors. See Edward L. Keenan, “Moscovy and Kazan: Some Introductory Remarks on the Patterns of Steppe Diplomacy,” Slavic Review 26 (1967): 548–​58. 12. On the history of nineteenth-​century Russia, see Hugh Seton-​Watson, The Russian Empire, 1801–​1917 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988); Nikolai Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke:  Kurs lektsii (Moscow:  Vysshaia shkola, 2003); Vladimir Fedorov, Istoriia Rossii 1861–​ 1917 (Moscow:  Vysshaia shkola, 2003); Alexander Kornilov, Kurs istorii Rossii XIX veka (Moscow:  Artel, 2004); Cambridge History of Russia, vol. 2, Imperial Russia, 1689–​1917, ed. Dominic Lieven; Igor Pantin, E. G. Plimak, and V. G. Khoros, Revoliutsionnaia traditsiia v Rossii: 1783–​1883 (Moscow: Mysl, 1986), 146–​59; Alexander Polunov, Russia in the Nineteenth Century: Autocracy, Reform, and Social Change, 1814–​1914, trans. Marshall S. Shatz (London: M. E. Sharpe, 2005). 13. Halperin, Tatar Yoke, 65;Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads, 101. 14. See Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads, 127. 15. Similar manipulation and promotion of certain street ballads that projected internal conflicts onto external ones with an aim to unify and mask heterogeneity of the imagined community of “self ” were performed in nineteenth-​century Germany. See Tom Cheesman, “Turkish German Self: Displacing German-​German Conflict in Orientalist Street Ballads,” in Imagined States: Nationalism, Utopia, and Longing in Oral Cultures, ed. Del Giudice and G. Porter (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2001), 136–​63.

Notes to pages 21–23 16. See Olga Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire: Defining the Russian Nation through Cultural Mythology, 1855–​1870 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2010). 17. Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1978), 1–​2. 18. James Bailey and Tatiana Ivanova, eds. and trans., An Anthology of Russian Folk Epics, with translators’ introduction and commentary (Armonk, N.Y.: Sharpe, 1998), xxiii; Anna Astakhova, “Russkii geroicheskii epos,” in Byliny: Russkii muzykal’nyi epos, ed. B. M. Dobrovol’skii and V. V   . Korguzalov (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1981), 12. In three other types of bylinas—​mythological, Novgorod, and Galician-​Volynian—​the subject of a Russian-​ Asian relationship is not found. See Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads, 109. 19. Serge Zenkovsky, ed. and trans., Medieval Russia’s Epics, Chronicles, and Tales, with editor’s introduction (New York: Dutton, 1963), 5; Bailey and Ivanova, Anthology, xix. 20. See, for instance, Vsevolod F. Miller, Ocherki russkoi narodnoi slovesnosti (Moscow: I. D. Sytin, 1897–​1924). 21. See Bailey and Ivanova, Anthology, 216; V   oorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads, 127–​28. Russian writer Leonid Emel’ianov believes that some bylinas comment on real events in such detail that he includes them in the category of historical songs. See Emel’ianov, “Istoricheskie pesni,” in Russkaia istoricheskaia pesnia, ed. Iu. A. Andreev (Leningrad:  Sovetskii pisatel, 1990),  7–​10. 22. See Miller, “Bylina o Batye,” in Ocherki russkoi narodnoi slovesnosti, 1:305–​27. 23. See Kirsha Danilov, Drevnie rossiiskie stikhotvoreniia sobrannye Kirsheiu Danilovym, A. P. Evgen’eva and B. N. Putilov, eds. (Moscow: Nauka, 1977), 442; Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads, 126. 24. Sergei Azbelev, “Byliny ob otrazhenii tatarskogo nashestviia,” in Iz istorii russkoi narodnoi poezii: Russkii fol’klor (Leningrad: Nauka, 1971), 162–​80; Danilov, Drevnie rossiiskie stikhotvoreniia, 444. Although Asian enemies are almost always called “Tatars” in bylinas, some of these songs were most probably created before the “Tatar Yoke” and reflected military encounters with Pechenegs and Polovtsians. See Bailey and Ivanova, Anthology, 51; Astakhova, “Russkii geroicheskii epos,” 13. 25. See Petr Kireevskii, Pesni sobrannye P. V. Kireevskim (Moscow: Obshchestvo liubitelei rossiiskoi slovesnosti, 1872). 26. Andrei Loboda, “Russkii bogatyrskii epos v otnoshenii istoriko-​ literaturnom,” Universitetskie izvestiia 36/​1 (1896): 1–​45, here 4–​5. 27. Mikhail Dmitrievich Chulkov (1743?–​92), Sobranie raznykh pesen, 4 vols. (St. Petersburg, 1770–​74); Vasilii Fedorovich Trutovskii (1740?–​1810), Sobranie russkikh prostykh pesen s notami v chetyrekh chastiakh (St. Petersburg, 1776–​95). See an incomplete list of nineteenth-​century publications of Russian bylinas, historical, and children songs in appendix 1. 28. Kirsha Danilov’s collection is the first source containing epic narration with transcriptions of tunes. 29. Danilov, Drevnie rossiiskie stikhotvoreniia, 365–​66. Kirsha Danilov’s collection was published in 1804, 1818, 1878, 1892, 1901, 1938, 1958, 1977, and 2007. 30. In 1839, Ivan Sakharov also published seven of Danilov’s bylinas in his collection Songs of Russian People; however, his later contemporaries criticized him for fabricating his

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286 Notes to pages 23–25 sources and referring to nonexistent “manuscripts of Bel’skii.” See Ivan Sakharov, Pesni russkogo naroda v 5 chastiakh (St. Petersburg: tip. Sakharov, 1839), and Alexander Pypin, Poddelki rukopisei i narodnykh pesen, III: Poddelki Makarova, Sakharova, i dr. (St. Petersburg: tip. M. M. Stasiulevicha, 1898). 31. See Pypin, Poddelki rukopisei i narodnykh pesen, 365–​71. 32. Ivan Khudiakov, Sbornik Velikorusskikh narodnykh istoricheskikh pesen (Moscow:  tip. N. Ernsta, 1860), iv. 33. Vissarion Belinsky, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1953–​59), 4:381. 34. See Boris Putilov, “Sbornik Kirshi Danilova i ego mesto v russkoi fol’kloristike,” in Danilov, Drevnie rossiiskie stikhotvoreniia, 370. 35. See Irina Razumova, “Introduction,” in Pesni sobrannye P.  N. Rybnikovym v trekh tomakh, ed. B. N. Putilov (Petrozavodsk: Kareliia, 1989), 1:34. 36. Razumova, “Introduction,” 18. 37. By the end of the 1850s, the peasant uprisings were so large-​scale that they could be suppressed only by military force. In 1858, there were 80 peasant revolts or uprisings; in 1859, 90; and in 1860, 108. See Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke, 189; Pantin et al., ed., Revoliutsionnaia traditsiia v Rossii, 163–​64. 38. According to the Ministry of Internal Affairs, between April and July 1861 alone, there were 647 incidents of clashes between the peasants and Russian government, half of which were suppressed only with the help of military force. See Fedorov, Istoriia Rossii, 36; David Saunders, Russia in the Age of Reaction and Reform, 1801–​1881 (London: Longman, 1992), 239–​45; Shneer Levin, Obshchestvennoe dvizhenie v Rossii v 60-​e–​70-​e gody XIX veka (Moscow:  Izdat. Sotsial’no-​ekonomicheskoi Literatury, 1938), 146; Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke, 229–​30. Raznochintsy, singular raznochinets; from Russian razno, or “different,” and chin, a “rank.” Entsiklopedicheskii slovar, ed. F. A. Brockhaus and I. A. Efron (Leipzig and St. Petersburg, 1899), 51:179–​80, defines raznochintsy as “military servants, lower court ranks, civilians and discharged military servants, who registered neither as the merchants nor as members of any guild.” Levin characterized raznochintsy as the “contingent of activists and fighters in the revolutionary movement.” Levin, Obshchestvennoe dvizhenie v Rossii,  87–​88. 39. Levin, Obshchestvennoe dvizhenie v Rossii, 177–​ 78; Fedorov, Istoriia Rossii, 100; Kornilov, Kurs istorii, 484–​85; Saunders, Russia in the Age of Reaction, 251–​52. 40. Robert O. Crummey, Old Believers in a Changing World (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2011), 109–​10. On the Moscow communities, see also Pavel Ryndziunskii, “Staroobriadcheskaia organizatsiia,” Voprosy istorii religii i ateizma 1 (1950):  188–​ 248; Tat’iana Goriacheva, “Istochniki po istorii Rogozhskoi staroobriadcheskoi obshchiny (vtoraia polovina XIX–​ nachalo XX v.),” Mir staroobriadchestva 5 (1999):  118–​ 52; Elena Iukhimenko, Staroobriadcheskii tsentr za Rogozhskoi zastavoiu (Moscow:  Iazyki slavianskoi kul’tury, 2005); Irina Paert, Old Believers, Religious Dissent and Gender in Russia, 1760–​1850 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003), 59–​108. 41. Robert O.  Crummey, Old Believers, 157–​64; Crummey, The Old Believers and the World of Antichrist: The Vyg Community and the Russian State, 1694–​1855 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970), 198–​218; Kornilov, Kurs istorii, 356–​59; Hugh Seton-​Warson, The

Notes to pages 25–30 Russian Empire 1801–​1917, 216–​17. In the 1840s, no fewer than one million raskol’niki lived in Russia. Kornilov, Kurs istorii, 359. 42. Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke, 151. Dostoyevsky, as well as other condemned Petrashevists, was not executed: at the very last moment the death sentence was replaced by either penal servitude in Siberia or prison. 43. See Levin, Obshchestvennoe dvizhenie v Rossii, 386; see also 65–​123; Pantin et al., ed., Revoliutsionnaia traditsiia v Rossii, 132–​59, 183–​203; Saunders, Russia in the Age of Reaction, 311–​38; Claudia Verhoeven, The Odd Man Karakozov: Imperial Russia, Modernity, and the Birth of Terrorism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2009). 44. Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire, 12. 45. Razumova, “Introduction,” in Pesni sobrannye P. N. Rybnikovym,  42–​43. 46. Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads, 131. 47. Roman Jakobson, “Sobaka Kalin Tsar,” in Selected Writings, vol. 4 (The Hague: Mouton, 1966), 64–​81. 48. See Voorheis, Perception of Asiatic Nomads, 124; Bailey and Ivanova, Anthology, 51. 49. See “Ilia Muromets and Kalin Tsar” and “Dobrynia Nikitich and Vasilii Kazimirovich,” in Bailey, 52–​68, 108–​18. Originally poganyi simply meant “pagan” or “heathen”; however, later the meaning of this word shifted to clearly negative connotation: “foul,” “unclean,” “inedible,” “poisoned,” or “abominable.” See Max Vasmer, Etimologicheskii slovar russkogo iazyka (Moscow: Progress, 1987), 3:294–​95. 50. Pesni sobrannye P. N.Rybnikovym v trekh tomakh,ed.B. N.Putilov (Petrozavodsk: Kareliia, 1989), 1:262. 51. See Danilov, Drevnie rossiiskie stikhotvoreniia, 129–​30. 52. Danilov, Drevnie rossiiskie stikhotvoreniia, 153–​56. 53. See Igor Babulin, Kniaz Semen Pozharskii i Konotopskaia bitva (St. Petersburg: Russkaia simfoniia, 2009), 6–​7. 54. See Bailey and Ivanova, Anthology, 214. Anna Astakhova believes that these social motifs were “nourished by historic reality,” which reflected the “real events of public unrest.” See Astakhova, “Russkii geroicheskii epos,” 13. 55. See Bailey and Ivanova, “Vasily Ignatyev,” in Anthology, 214–​24. 56. See Pesni sobrannye P. N. Rybnikovym, 2:513–​19. 57. Pesni sobrannye P. N. Rybnikovym, 2:514. 58. The essential difference between bylinas and historical songs is that in historical songs the events described in the songs took place not in a remote past (e.g., “Tatar Yoke”) but in the relatively recent past; the names, places, and events referred in historical songs are more precise and can be historically verified. 59. See Mikhail Maksimov, Narodnyi russkii pesennik soderzhashchii v sebe: Pesni, romansy i kuplety iz oper i vodevilei liubimykh v narode v dvukh chastiakh (Moscow: tip.V. Got’e, 1852). 60. Maksimov, Narodnyi russkii pesennik, 17. Remarkably, in the text of some soldier songs from the first half of the century, the enemy is sometimes given credit for his bravery. For instance, in three soldier songs from a collection published in 1843 by A. Kalatilin, the Turks “defy death” and fight the Russians with considerable courage. See Afanasii Kalatilin,

287

288 Notes to pages 30–32 Vseobshchii pesennik ili polnoe sobranie luchshikh vsiakogo roda pesen (Moscow:  I. Ivanov-​ Smirnov, 1843), 3: 116, 120, 122–​23. Later, in the Crimean War, some of the songs created were “imbued with respect for French soldiers.” See Leonid Domanovskii, “Krymskaia voina v russkom narodnom tvorchestve,” Russkii fol’klor 6 (1961): 245–​69; here, 265. 61. Maksimov, Narodnyi russkii pesennik,  17–​19. 62. See, for instance, Polnyi russkii pesennik soderzhashchii v sebe bollee 300 russkikh, malorossiiskikh, tsyganskikh, voennykh pesen, romansov, shansonnet i kupletov (Moscow: tip. S. Orlova, 1876), 237–​39; and Sbornik soldatskikh pesen sobrannykh D. A. G. (St. Petersburg, 1877), 26–​28. 63. See, “Paskevich, Ivan Fedorovich,” in Brockhaus and Efron, eds. Entsiklopedicheskii slovar (1897), 22a:920. 64. See Mikhail Stakhovich, Sobranie russkikh narodnykh pesen dlia fortepiano i semistrunnoi gitary:  Tekst i melodii sobral i muzyku arranzhiroval Mikhail Stakhovich (St. Petersburg and Moscow:  M. Bernard, 1851–​54). Mikhail Alexandrovich Stakhovich (1819–​58) was a Russian folklorist, guitarist, poet, and playwright. In 1841 he graduated from the philological faculty of Moscow University. In 1844 he studied music theory in Dresden. He collected folk songs in the villages of Orlov, Tambov, Voronezh, and Riazan. Some songs from his collection were rearranged and published in collections by K.  P. Villebois (1860) and N. A. Rimsky-​Korsakov (1877). Some melodies were used by Russian composers in symphonic works (e.g., Balakirev’s Overture on Three Russian Songs) and in operas (e.g., Rimsky-​ Korsakov’s Snegurochka and Skazka o Tsare Saltane). On Stakhovich, see I. F. Polikarpov, “Stakhovich, Mikhail Alexandrovich,” in Iurii Keldysh, ed., Muzykal’naia entsiklopediia, vol. 5 (Moscow: Sovetskaia entsiklopediia, 1981), 265. 65. Many Bulgarians lived in the territory of Russia. See Narody Rossii: Etnograficheskie ocherki. Izdanie zhurnala “Priroda i liudi” (St. Petersburg: tip.Tovarishchestva “Obshchestvennaia pol’za,” 1879), 2:471–​72; Kappeler, Russian Empire, 117, 124. 66. See John Selton Curtiss, Russia’s Crimean War (Durham, N.C.:  Duke University Press, 1979), 249. 67. Curtiss, Russia’s Crimean War, 238–​50. 68. The last song from part 4 is borrowed from Kirsha Danilov’s collection. 69. See the songs “Pro Supruna,”“Pro Zaporozhtsev pod Izmailovym,”“Pro Golovatogo,” in Narodnye iuzhnorusskie pesni, izdanie Amvrosiia Metlinskogo (Kiev:  Universitetskaia tipografiia, 1854), 429–​32. 70. See Michael Hrushevsky, A History of Ukraine (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948), 278–​79; Orest Subtelny, Ukraine:  A History (Toronto:  University of Toronto Press, 2000), 126–​27. 71. See, for instance, Mikhail Maksimovich, “Pesnia o Khmel’nitskom,” in Ukrainskie naronye pesni (Moscow: Universitetskaia tipografiia, 1834), 96. 72. Fedor Glinka, “Ura! Na trekh udarim razom” (St. Petersburg:  tip. Imperatorskoi AN, 1854). 73. In Polnoe sobranie sochinenii Kniazia P. A.Vyazemskogo (St. Petersburg: tip. Stasiulevicha, 1887), 11:39–​41, 117–​19, 139–​42. 74. Domanovskii, “Krymskaia voina,” 253–​66.

Notes to pages 32–33 75. Just as a song’s popularity could wax and wane throughout different phases of a war, some songs that had emerged in connection with a particular war were recycled and recontextualized into later soldier songs. Many songs created during the campaigns in the Caucasus, for instance, were reused in Russian Turkestan; the names of the places and military commanders were changed accordingly. See Ivanov, “Pesni turkestanskikh soldat,” in Russkii Turkestan: Sbornik izdannyi po povodu Politekhnicheskoi vystavki, vol. 3, ed.V. N. Trotskii (St. Petersburg: Obshchestvennaia pol’za, 1872), 233. Some songs born in earlier wars with Turkey, such as “Pole chistoe, turetskoe” [A Virgin Turkish Field], reappeared during the Crimean War and the 1877 Russo-​Turkish War, gaining new meaning and becoming even more popular in their new context. See Esfir Litvin, “Russkaia istoricheskaia pesnia pervoi poloviny XIX veka,” in Istoricheskie pesni XIX veka, ed. L.V. Domanovskii, O. B. Alekseeva, and E. S. Litvin (Leningrad: Nauka, 1973), 23. In a collection of Russian folk songs by Nikolai Abramychev, which I consider later, this song appears in an arrangement for voice and piano. See Abramychev, Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen: Zapisal s narodnogo napeva i perelozhil na odin golos s akkompanimentom fortepiano N. Abramychev (St. Petersburg: M.Vasil’ev, 1879), 44–​ 45. Likewise, another song—“Allaga-​Allagu!”—from a narrative poem, Ammalat-​Bek, written during a campaign in the Caucasus by a Decembrist, Alexander Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky, also reappeared in a slightly changed form in a number of publications leading to the 1877 Russo-​Turkish campaign. 76. V. Il’in, Karmannyi pesennik ili sobranie noveishikh romansov, ballad, i pesen (Moscow: tip. Smirnova, 1856), 63–​64. 77. See Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire, 129. 78. Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire, 129. 79. See Polunov, Russia, 167–​68, Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, “Russian Foreign Policy:  1815–​1917,” in Cambridge History of Russia, 2:554–​74; here, 565; Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke, 273–​74. The possibility of war in the Balkans was discussed in Russian newspapers from 1875, after the eruption of two revolts in Bosnia-​Herzegovina and Bulgaria against the Ottoman rule. The brutal suppression of both uprisings produced a stormy reaction among Slavic people: Serbia, followed by Montenegro, declared war against the Ottoman empire. In Russia, Slavic Committees collected funds, purchased weapons, and sent them to the Balkans; as many as five thousand Russian volunteers went to fight for their “brother Slavs of the same faith.” By the end of 1876, Alexander II bowed to public pressure “in order to save his status as true leader of the nation . . . and was compelled to act more decisively in protection of the Slavs,” ultimately declaring war against the Ottoman empire. Kornilov, Kurs istorii, 698. 80. See, for instance, D.  A. G.  Sbornik soldatskikh pesen sobrannykh D.  A. G. (St. Petersburg: Iu. Shtauf, 1864); 2nd ed. (1865), 3rd (1866), 4th (1874), 5th (1877), 6th (1878), and 7th (1893); Soldatskie pesni (London, 1862); Sobranie voennykh pesen i romansov (St. Petersburg, 1863); Ivanov, “Pesni turkestanskikh soldat”; Evgenii Al’brekht and N. Kh. Vessel, Sbornik soldatskikh, kazatskikh i matrosskikh pesen: 100 pesen dlia khora bez soprovozhdeniia ili dlia fortepiano s nadpisannym tekstom (St. Petersburg: self-​published, 1875); E. Maiskaia, Sbornik noveishikh narodnykh, cherkesskikh, tsyganskikh, gruzinskikh i soldatskikh pesen, razlichnykh romansov,

289

290 Notes to pages 33–36 komicheskikh kupletov, iumoristicheskikh i satiricheskikh stikhotvorenii liubimykh sovremennykh avtorov v 4-​kh chastiakh (Moscow: tip. Indrikh, 1876); Polnyi russkii pesennik soderzhashchii v sebe bolee 300 russkikh, malorossiiskikh, tsyganskikh, voennykh pesen, romansov, shansonet i kupletov (Moscow: tip. Orlova, 1876). 81. “Liubim drat’sia my s vragami,” in Sbornik soldatskikh pesen (1864), 20–​21. 82. “Shashka,” in Sbornik soldatskikh pesen (1864), 59. 83. See Nikolas V. Riazanovsky, Nicholas I and Official Nationality in Russia, 1825–​1855 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1959), 73; Polunov, Russia,  52–​53. 84. “Druz’ia pod zniamia soberemsia” and “Poidem, bratsy, za granitsu,” in Sbornik soldatskikh pesen (1864), 35–​37. 85. See “Ozhidanie Tsaria,” in Sbornik soldatskikh pesen (1864), 75–​77. 86. See Maiorova, “War as Peace,” in From the Shadow of Empire, 94–​127. 87. See Polnyi pesennik: Dragotsennyi podarok liubiteliam peniia. Sobranie pesen noveishikh, narodnykh cherkesskikh, tsyganskikh, gruzinskikh i soldatskikh, razlichnykh romansov, komicheskikh kupletov, operetok, shansonetok, iumoristicheskikh i satiricheskikh stikhotvorenii liubimykh sovremennykh avtorov: Pushkina, Nekrasova, Beranzhe, Kol’tsova, Lermontova i proch. Sostavlen Kruzhkom liubitelei peniia (Moscow, 1882); David Natiev, Kavkazskii voennyi pesennik (St. Petersburg: tip. Trenke and Fiusno, 1895); songs and song texts published since the 1880s in the journal Sbornik materialov dlia opisaniia mestnostei i plemen Kavkaza. 88. See Pavel Shein, Russkie narodnye pesni, sobrannye Sheinom (Moscow: Universitetskaia tipografiia, 1877), 108. Interestingly, as Shein indicates, this song’s text was not transcribed from an informant but was found in an “ancient manuscript collection.” Such a reference to the old history created an aura of antiquity that helped to foster a sense of national continuity. 89. See the song “Tsiolkovskii na Embe,” in Domanovskii et al., ed., Istoricheskie pesni XIX veka, 197. 90. Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke, 159. 91. As Vladimir Bobrovnikov has pointed out, the “Orientalist idiom of Caucasian ‘predatory highlanders’ was common in accounts of travelers, traders, and missionaries, who passed through this region.” See Vladimir Bobrovnikov, “Bandits and the State: Designing a ‘Traditional’ Culture of Violence in the Russian Caucasus,” in Russian Empire:  Space, People, Power, 1700–​ 1930, ed. Jane Burbank, Mark von Hagen, and Anatolyi Remnev (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 240. Even some nineteenth-​century Russian scholars, such as Baron P. K. Uslar, noticed that Russian readers “could imagine the highlander only as a madman, an inflamed mind, chopping [with his sword] his enemies right and left”; cited in Bobrovnikov at 242. 92. See Victor Varentsov, Sbornik pesen Samarskogo kraia (St. Petersburg:  tip. Baksta, 1862),  3–​9. 93. Varentsov, Sbornik pesen Samarskogo kraia,  8–​9. 94. Varentsov, Sbornik pesen Samarskogo kraia, 8. 95. See for instance, Alexander Famintsyn, Russkii detskii pesennik. Part I (Leipzig: Ber and Hermann, 1875), 20; Grigorii Marenich, in Pesni dlia shkoly, detskie i narodnye, na odin,

Notes to pages 36–39 na dva, i na tri golosa: klassnoe posobie pri obuchenii peniiu (St. Petersburg: self-​published, 1878), 3; Alexander Nikulin, Sbornik pesen sostavlennyi Alexandrom Nikulinym, odobrennyi Uchenym Komitetom Narodnogo Prosviashcheniia dlia upotrebleniia v shkolakh Vilenskago uchebnago okruga, 3rd ed. (Vilna:  tip. A. G. Syrkina, 1881), 99; Nikolai Ladukhin, “Kozach’ia kolybel’naia pesnia,” in 100 detskikh pesen dlia khora, no. 3 (Moscow:  Jurgenson, 1895), 26–​27; Vladimir Rebikov, “Kozach’ia kolybel’naia pesnia,” in Detskii mir: Dlia 2-​i 3-​golosnogo detskogo khora (Moscow: Jurgenson, 1900); Ivan Pokrovskii (Ulybyshev), “Kozach’ia kolybel’naia pesnia,” in Dvenadtsat pesen dlia detskogo odnogolosnogo khora s akkompanimentom fp (Moscow: Jurgenson, 1903), 22–​23; Alexander Dzbanovskii, Sbornik shkol’nykh pesen v 4-​kh vypuskakh (Moscow: A. Gutkheil, 1904), 1:28; K. P. Nelidov, “Kozach’ia kolybel’naia pesnia,” in Narodno-​pevcheskie khory: Muzykal’naia khrestomatiia, sostavitel Alexander Gorodtsov, vol. 3 (Moscow: Jurgenson, 1907–​9), 62–​64; Iazeps Vitols, in Pevets: Klassnoe posobie pri obuchenii peniiu dlia nizshikh i srednikh uchebnykh zavedenii, 3rd ed. (Riga: Izd. Zikhmania, 1909), 90. 96. See Liudmila Morozova and Boris Rozenfel’d, Lermontov v muzyke:  Spravochnik (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1983). 97. The most popular parodies and satirical imitations of this lullaby were created by Nikolai Ogarev and Nikolai Nekrasov. See ­chapter  5 in Anna Novikova, Russkaia poeziia XVIII–​pervoi poloviny XIX veka i narodnaia pesnia (Moscow: Prosveshchenie, 1982). 98. Kappeler, Russian Empire, 254. I discuss the different policies toward the “others” in nineteenth-​century Russia in more detail in ­chapter 2. 99. Kappeler, Russian Empire, 252–​61. 100. Some songs were arranged for four-​voice choir, while others were meant for solo performance with or without accompaniment. There are also some numbers that present a mixture of solo and choral singing. 101. The dedication is expressed in a short verse: “Accept this dedication—​the sign of warm friendship—​let it remind you the moments of serene [bezmiatezhnyi] life and joy of youthful time.” Nikulin, Sbornik pesen (1870). 102. Nikulin, Sbornik pesen (1881), 62–​65. Out of sixty-​three songs presented in the third edition, only nine are composed by Alexander Nikulin; as the author of the collection states, all other songs are based on “folk motifs.” See Nikulin, Sbornik pesen (1881), table of contents. 103. “A Song Dedicated to Russian Soldiers” was published earlier in a separate edition as Pesnia russkim voinam (po sluchaiu osvobozhdeniia imi bolgar ot iga turetskogo v 1877, 1878 i 1879 g.): dlia fortepiano s nadpisannym tekstom (Grodno, 1879). 104. “Bez tebia vesel’ia net, i postyl nam belyi svet, grustno bez otsa rodnogo, vozvratis skorei!” Nikulin, Sbornik pesen (1881), 93–95. 105. Taruskin discussed Glinka’s song at length in his article on Russian Orientalism. See Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically:  Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 155–​58. I discuss the history and the origin of this song in c­ hapter 4. 106. See Abram Gozenpud, Muzykal’nyi teatr v Rossii: Ot istokov do Glinki (Leningrad: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1959), 680–​84.

291

292 Notes to pages 39–44 107. See Marina Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism:  From Glinka to Stalin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 269. 108. By the end of the nineteenth century, the term inorodtsy referred to both eastern and western subjects of the Russian empire who were not only ethnically Russian, including Lithuanians and Poles. See John W. Slocum, “Who, and When, Were the Inorodtsy? The Evolution of the Category of ‘Aliens’ in Imperial Russia,” Russian Reviews 57/​2 (1998): 173–​90. 109. Nikulin, Sbornik pesen, 7. 110. Nikulin, Sbornik pesen, 15. 111. See song numbers 4, 5, 25, 30, 31, 32, 36, 56, 58, 50, and 61. 112. See Erich E. Haberer, “The Rebellious Jewish Youth of V   ilna,” in Jews and Revolution in Nineteenth-​Century Russia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 74–​93. 113. See Levin, Obshchestvennoe dvizhenie v Rossii, 386; see also 65–​123; Pantin et al., ed., Revoliutsionnaia traditsiia v Rossii, 132–​59, 183–​203; Saunders, Russia in the Age of Reaction, 311–​38; Claudia Verhoeven, The Odd Man Karakozov: Imperial Russia, Modernity, and the Birth of Terrorism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2009). 114. See Tomasz D. Kamusella, “The Change of the Name of the Russian Language in Russian from Rossiiskii to Russkii: Did Politics Have Anything to Do with It?” Acta Slavica Iaponica 32 (2012): 73–​96. 115. See Abramychev, Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen,  78–​80. 116. Tat’iana Cherednichenko, “Tsyganskii romans,” in Sovetskaia muzykal’naia entsiklopediia, ed. Iu. V. Keldysh (Moscow:  Sovetskii kompozitor, 1982), 6:158–​ 61; Thomas P. Hodge, A Double Garland: Poetry and Art Song in Early-​Nineteenth-​Century Russia (Evanston. Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 2000), 100;Taisiia Shcherbakova, Tsyganskoe muzykal’noe ispolnitel’stvo i tvorchestvo v Rossii (Moscow: Muzyka, 1984). 117. The few differences between the two songs include (1) tonality, (2) rhythm—​a syncopation in the left hand of the Russian song, and (3) the ending—​the Russian song moves to a relative minor for three bars, while the Gypsy song suggests movement to a dominant chord in the right hand, while the left hand continues playing a drone. 118. See I. Smirnov, “Cheremisy,” in ed. Brockhaus and Efron, Entsiklopedicheskii slovar (1903), 76:71. 119. See Abramychev, Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen, 80. 120. Only four melodies of Cheremis songs were published in Rittikh’s ethnography on Kazan Gubernia (1870), discussed in ­chapter 2. 121. See Nikolai Troinitskii, ed., “Tablitsa XIII:  Raspredelenie naseleniia po rodnomu iazyku,” in Pervaia perepis naseleniia Rossiiskoi Imperii 1897 (St. Petersburg: Izd. Tsentral’nogo Statisticheskogo Komiteta MID, 1899–​1905). 122. For a short biography of Abramychev, see Anna Pervakova, “Po sledam Nikolaia Ivanovicha Abramycheva,” Al’manakh Maloizvestnye stranitsy istorii Konservatorii 15 (2015): 18–​22. 123. On the awakening of Cheremis religious identity at the end of the nineteenth century, see Paul W. Werth, “Big Candles and ‘Internal Conversion’:  The Mari Animist

Notes to pages 44–48 Reformation and Its Russian Appropriations,” in Of Religion and Empire: Missions, Conversion, and Tolerance in Tsarist Russia, ed. Robert Geraci and Michael Khodarkovsky (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 144–​72. 124. See Alexander Rittikh, Materialy dlia etnografii Rossii:  Kazanskaia Gubernia (Kazan: Imperatorskii Kazanskii Universitet, 1870), 2:130–​37. 125. A similar tendency of including minorities in the picture of a growing empire was noticed by Nathaniel Knight in nineteenth-​century Russian exhibitions. See Knight, The Empire of Display:  Ethnographic Exhibition and Conceptualization of Human Diversity in Post Emancipation Russia (Washington DC: NCEEER, 2001). 126. Alexander Dzbanovskii, Shkol’noe penie:  Sbornik pesen i uprazhnenii dlia vsekh klassov srednikh uchebnykh zavedenii v 10 vypuskakh (Moscow:  Jurgenson, n.d.). Alexander Dzbanovskii (1870–​1938) was a musical critic, composer, singer, and organizer and first head of the Musical Department of the Ukrainian National Library.

Chapter 2 1. See Prince Gorchakov, To the Great Powers (St. Petersburg, 1864); for the full English translation of this circular, see Francis H. Skrine and E. Denison Ross, The Heart of Asia: A History of Russian Turkestan and the Central Asian Khanates from the Earliest Times (London: Methuen, 1899), 417–​23. 2. According to Gorchakov, Russia’s frontier would be fixed once it reached what is now approximately the southern border of modern Kazakhstan (between the lake of Issyk Kol and the Syr Darya River). 3. For the history of Russia’s expansion into Central Asia, see Naftula Khalfin, Prisoedinenie Srednei Azii k Rossii (60–​90-​e gody XIX veka) (Moscow: Nauka, 1965); Seymour Becker, Russia’s Protectorates in Central Asia:  Bukhara and Khiva, 1865–​ 1924 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1968); Edward Allworth, ed., Central Asia: 120 Years of Russian Rule (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1989).The Russian military campaigns in Central Asia, summarized by Gorchakov as “unwilling expansion” policy, started being implemented much earlier in the Transcaucasian region, which will be discussed in c­ hapter 4. Studies on Russian colonization of the Caucasus include Firuz Kazemzadeh, “Russian Penetration of the Caucasus,” in Russian Imperialism from Ivan the Great to the Revolution, ed. Taras Huncazk (New Brunswick, N.J.:  Rutgers University Press, 1974), 239–​63; Paul B. Henze, “Fire and Sword in the Caucasus: The 19th Century Resistance of the North Caucasian Mountaineers,” Central Asian Survey 2/​1 (1983):  5–​44; Mark Bliev and Vladimir Degoev, Kavkazskaia voina (Moscow: Roset, 1994); Nikolas K. Gvosdev, Imperial Policies and Perspectives towards Georgia, 1760–​1819 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000). 4. See Afganskoe razgranichenie: Peregovory mezhdu Rossiei i Velikobritaniei 1872–​1885 (St. Petersburg, 1886); Goga Khidoiatov, Iz istorii anglo-​russkikh otnoshenii v Srednei Azii v kontse XIX v. (60–​70-​e gody) (Tashkent: FAN, 1969), 86–​87; Becker, “Anglo-​Russian Negotiations,” in Russia’s Protectorates,  58–​63. 5. The quotation in the epigraph is from Prince Gorchakov, cited in Mikhail Volodarsky, “Persia and the Great Powers, 1856–​1869,” Middle Eastern Studies 19/​1 (1983), 79.

293

294 Notes to pages 48–49 6. I  use Eastern Turkestan as a geographic term, and not a political one, to indicate the region referred to in late-​ nineteenth-​ century Russian sources as Vostochnyi Turkestan: it is situated in the Tarim Basin and borders the Tian-​Shan Mountains in the north, Pamir Mountains in the west, and Kunlun Mountains in the south. See G. Grum-​ Grzhimailo, “Vostochnyi Turkestan,” in Entsiklopedicheskii slovar, ed. Brockhaus and Efron (1892), 7:305–​311. Some of the region’s political and historical issues and Russian presence in Eastern Turkestan are discussed in c­ hapter  6. Russian sources also called this region “Kashgaria,” “Uighuria,” or “Uighuristan.” See Chokan Valikhanov, Sobranie sochinenii v 5-​ti tomakh (Alma-​Ata: AN KazSSR, 1961–​72), 2:61–​62; Vasilii Radlov, Iz Sibiri: Stranitsy dnevnika (Moscow: Nauka, 1989), 515; Aleksei Kuropatkin, Kashgariia: Istoriko-​geograficheskii ocherk strany, ee voennye sily, promyshlennost i torgovlia (St. Peterburg:  IRGO, 1879); V.  E. Paisel, Materialy dlia antropologii Taranchei (St. Petersburg: tip. Otdeleniia Korn. Zhandrm., 1897), 6; Nikolai Pantusov, Svedeniia o Kul’dzhinskom raione za 1871–​1877 gody (Kazan: tip. Universiteta, 1881), 12. 7. On the political situation in the Turkmen steppe, see Becker, “Anglo-​ Russian Relations and the Pacification of the Turkomans,” in Russia’s Protectorates, 95–​121. 8. The first official census in 1897 reported that out of a total population of 125,640,021, there were 13,906,972 Muslims living in the Russian empire. Nikolai Troinitskii, ed., Pervaia vseobshchaia perepis naseleniia Rossiiskoi Imperii 1897 (St. Petersburg: Izd. Tsentral’nogo Statisticheskogo Komiteta MID, 1899–​1905), table 12. 9. On the Russian policy in the Caucasus see L. Hamilton Rhinelander, “Russia’s Imperial Policy: The Administration of the Caucasus in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century,” Canadian Slavonic Papers 17 (1975): 218–​35;Andreas Kappeler, The Russian Empire: A Multiethnic History, trans. Alfred Clayton (Harlow: Longman, 2001), 173–​78; John P. LeDonne, The Grand Strategy of the Russian Empire, 1650–​1831 (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 2003), 148–​50, 168–​74; Theodore Weeks, “Managing Empire:  Tsarist Nationalities Policy,” in The Cambridge History of Russia, vol. 2, Imperial Russia, 1689–​1917, ed. Dominique Lieven (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 27–​44; Dominik Gutmeyr, “Conquering the Caucasus,” in Borderlands Orientalism or How the Savage Lost His Nobility:  The Russian Perception of the Caucasus Between 1817 and 1878 (Vienna: LIT, 2017), 25–​61. 10. On the subject of Russia’s religious policies, see Robert P. Geraci and Michael Khodarkovsky, eds., Of Religion and Empire: Missions, Conversion, and Tolerance in Tsarist Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001); Mark Batunskii, Rossiia i Islam (Moscow: Progress-​ Traditsiia, 2003); Robert D. Crews, For Prophet and Tsar:  Islam and Empire in Russia and Central Asia (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2006); Paul W. Werth, The Tsar’s Foreign Faiths: Toleration and the Fate of Religious Freedom in Imperial Russia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). Despite Russia’s official recognition of different faiths and cultures, most religious denominations (including Christian and Muslim sects in particular) were not accepted. 11. See Crews, For Prophet and Tsar. 12. See Vladimir Vel’iaminov-​Zernov, Issledovaniia o kazimovskikh tsariakh i tsarevichakh (St. Petersburg, 1863–​87), 4:144; Geraci and Khodarkovsky, Of Religion and Empire, 115–​43.

Notes to pages 50–51 The Kabardian dynasty of Cherkasskii princes was extremely important in playing an intermediary position and implementing Russian order in the North Caucasus. See Kabardino-​ russkie otnosheniia v 16–​18 vv.:  Dokumenty i materialy, vol. 1 (Moscow:  AN SSSR, 1957), 73–​75. From the 1860s, the model of Russia as a multiconfessional state started breaking down because of important shifts in Russian policy toward Islam. See Alexander Morrison, “Review of Robert D.  Crews, For the Prophet and Tsar:  Islam and Empire in Russian and Central Asia,” Slavonic and East European Review 86/​3 (July 2008): 553–​57. 13. For instance, Dzhagangir Khan from the Bukeev Horde (part of the Minor Horde) was appointed a major-​general in the Russian army; one of his descendants, cavalry general Gubaidulla Chingiz Khan, became the first Kyrgyz-​Kaisak to earn a Russian general’s rank through actual field service. See Alex Marshall, The Russian General Staff and Asia, 1800–​1917 (London: Routledge, 2006), 64–​65. Beg (also spelled begg, beig, or bek) is an ancient Turkic name for an administrator, commander, or chief. 14. Kappeler, Russian Empire, 205. 15. John D. Klier, “Inorodtsy,” in Encyclopedia of Russian History, https://​www.encyclopedia.com/​history/​encyclopedias-​almanacs-​transcripts-​and-​maps/​inorodtsy (accessed December 14, 2018). 16. Kappeler, Russian Empire, 169–​70; John W. Slocum, “Who, and When, Were the Inorodtsy? The Evolution of the Category of ‘Aliens’ in Imperial Russia,” Russian Reviews 57/​ 2 (1998): 179; on the development of the term inorodtsy see 173–​90. 17. See Yuri Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors:  Russia and the Small Peoples of the North (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994), 80–​92. 18. Nathaniel Knight, “Constructing the Science of Nationality: Ethnography in Mid-​ nineteenth Century Russia” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1995), 340–​41; Slocum, “Who, and When, Were the Inorodtsy?,” 185–​90. 19. See Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: Routledge Curzon, 2003), 17. 20. For instance, see Ivan I. Shopen, “O muzyke i pliaske zhitelei Armianskoi oblasti,” Maiak (1840): 97–​100; Il’ia N. Berezin, “Ramazan v Stambule,” Russkii vestnik 1 (1856): 682–​ 704; P. Siial’skii, “Vosem pesen aziatskikh i odna lezghinka,” Illiustratsiia 193 (November 2, 1861): 283; 197 (November 30, 1861): 348. 21. Robert Geraci sees two predecessors of Russian ethnography:  travelers’ descriptions of the peoples and academic studies of the languages and literatures of inorodtsy. See Robert P. Geraci, Window on the East: National and Imperial Identities in Late Tsarist Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 159. 22. Vestnik IRGO 15 (1855), “Smes”:  94. From 1850, other branches of the Russian Geographical Society started functioning throughout the empire: the Caucasian Geographical Society in Tiflis (1850), the Siberian Department in Irkutsk (1851), the North-​Western Department in Vil’na (1867), the Orenburg Department (1868), and the South-​Western Department in Kiev (1873). After 1890, new departments of the Geographical Society were opened in Khabarovsk, Chita, in Vladivostok (1894), and in Turkestan (1897). See Sergei Tokarev, Istoriia russkoi etnografii (dooktiabr’skii period) (Moscow: Nauka, 1966), 282–​363.

295

296 Notes to pages 51–53 23. On this debate, see Tokarev, Istoriia russkoi etnografii; Nathaniel Knight, “Science, Empire, and Nationality:  Ethnography in the Russian Geographical Society, 1845–​1855,” in Imperial Russia:  New Histories for the Empire, ed. Jane Burbank and David L. Ransel (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 108–​41. 24. At the Russian Academy of Science, a similar debate between the “German” (i.e., nonnationalist, cosmopolitan) and “Russian” parties took place in the 1860s. See N. I. Veselovskii, “Baron V.  R. Rozen,” Zhurnal ministerstva narodnogo prosveshcheniia 14/​4 (1908): 178. 25. Knight, “Science, Empire, and Nationality,” 127. 26. Knight, “Science, Empire, and Nationality,” 131. 27. See Nathaniel Knight, “Nikolai Kharuzin and the Quest for a Universal Human Science:  Anthropological Evolutionism and the Russian Ethnographic Tradition, 1885–​ 1900,” Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 9/​1 (2008): 83–​111. 28. See Sergei Kan, “Evolutionism and Historical Particularism at the St. Petersburg Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography,” Museum Anthropology 31/​1 (2008):  28–​46. On the life of Lev Shternberg, see Bruce Grant, “Empire and Savagery:  The Politics of Primitivism in Late Imperial Russia,” in Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–​ 1917, 292–​310. 29. Among the repressed ethnographers were Ivan Khudiakov, who studied the Yakut language and culture; Vatslav Seroshevsky, who wrote novels and ethnographic essays on Yakutia; Sergei Kovalik and Vasilii Troshchansky, who worked on Shamanism; Dmitrii Klements, who studied the geography, geology, ethnology, and archaeology of Siberia and Central Asia; Lev Shternberg, who did research on peoples living on Sakhalin Island; Grigorii Potanin, an explorer of Central Asia, and Nikolai Iadrintsev, who contributed to the exploration and ethnographic studies of Siberian peoples. On repressed ethnographers see Tokarev, Istoriia russkoi etnografii, 306–​10; Daniil Tumarkin, ed., Repressirovannye etnografy (Moscow:  Vostochnaia literatura, 1999); Liudi i sud’by:  Bibliograficheskii slovar vostokovedov-​ zhertv politicheskogo terrora v Sovetsii period (1917–​1991), ed. Iaroslav Vasil’kov and Marina Sorokina (St. Petersburg: Petersburgskoe vostokovedenie, 2003). 30. The number of political convicts increased drastically at the end of the 1870s, after the adoption in 1878 of the “Provision” of administrative exile, which allowed Russian officials to send people to Siberia without a trial. Tokarev, Istoriia russkoi etnografii, 307. 31. I  use the term “orientology” (vostokovedenie) to designate a field of study that, unlike the term Oriental Studies, does not imply the political, negatively charged Saidean “Orientalism.” As I discussed in the introduction, I use the term “orientologist,” by extension, to describe Russian professionals involved in studying the society and culture of the Asian peoples, and to avoid the Saidean negative connotations implied in the word “Orientalist.” 32. Vera Tolz, “European, National, and (Anti-​)imperial: The Formation of Academic Oriental Studies in Late Tsarist and Early Soviet Russia,” in Orientalism and Empire in Russia (Bloomington, Ind.:  Slavica, 2006), 107–​34, here 126. These specialists, according to Tolz, played a crucial role in the formation of the Russian Eurasianism movement and even

Notes to pages 53–55 influenced Edward Said’s Orientalism, mediated via the works of Arabic writers, such as Anwar Abdel-​Malek. See Tolz, “European, National, and (Anti-​)imperial,” 132–​33. 33. Vera Tolz, “Russia’s Own Orient”: The Politics of Identity and Oriental Studies in the Late Imperial and Early Soviet Periods, Modern European History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 69–​84. 34. See Vera Tolz, “Imperial Scholars and Minority Nationalisms,” Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 10/​2 (Spring 2009): 281. On the life of Dmitrii Klements see Tokarev, Istoriia russkoi etnografii, 309–​10. On the life of Lev Shternberg, see Grant, “Empire and Savagery,” 292–​310. 35. Tolz, “Imperial Scholars,” 270. 36. On the life of Kazembek, see Alla Kozhukhovskaia, ed., Istoriia otechestvennogo vostokovedeniia s serediny XIX veka do 1917 goda (Moscow: Vostochnaia literatura, 1997), 234–​36; David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism: Asia in the Russian Mind from Peter the Great to the Emigration (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), 101–​9. 37. See Schimmelpenninck, Russian Orientalism, 107. 38. On the life and works of N.  Katanov, see Sergei Ivanov, N. F.  Katanov (1862–​ 1922): Ocherk zhizni i deiatel’nosti (Moscow and Leningrad: AN SSSR, 1962); Geraci, Window on the East, 309–​41. 39. Window on the East, 317. A  list of other teaching staff of non-​Russian origin at Kazan University and Gymnasium also included Tatars—the Khalfin family, A.  Daminev, S. Murtazin, Nuri and Akhmet Abdusattarov, and M. G. Makhmudov; Buriats—G. Nikituev and D.  Banzarov; Persians—Seid Aliev; a native of Eastern Turkestan Abu-​Karimov; and many others. See Saveiia Mikhailova, “Razvitie orientalistiki v kazanskom universitete,” in Kazan, Moscow, St. Petersburg: Multiple Faces of the Russian Empire, ed. Catherine Evtuhov, B. Gasparov, A. Ospovat, and M. von Hagen (Moscow: O.G.I., 1997), 273–​301. 40. See Tolz, “Imperial Scholars and Minority Nationalisms,” 281. 41. Tolz, “Imperial Scholars and Minority Nationalisms,” 281. 42. Tokarev, Istoriia russkoi etnografii, 285. On the exhibition, see Nathaniel Knight, The Empire on Display: Science, Nationalism, and the Challenge of Human Diversity in the All-​Russian Ethnographic Exhibition of 1867 (Washington DC: NCEEER, 2001); Brower, Turkestan,  45–​55. 43. Knight, The Empire on Display; Brower, Turkestan, 45–​46. Brower suggested that the textual and visual modes of representation of human differences in the exhibition implied a discourse of the empire’s role in Central Asia as a patron and protector of Russia’s newly acquired Asian subjects. See Brower, Turkestan, 46. Interestingly, the idea of the presentation of Russia as a multiethnic land was articulated first in the proposals for the foundation of the first Russian museum, written between 1817 and 1821 by Friedrich von Adelung and Burckhard von Wichmann; however, it took a half century to realize it. See Kevin Tyner Thomas, “Collecting the Fatherland:  Early Nineteenth-​Century Proposals for a Russian National Museum,” in Burbank and Ransel, Imperial Russia, 91–​107. 44. See Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nyh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom muzee v Moskve,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi

297

298 Notes to pages 55–57 komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (Moscow, 1911), 2:205–​68. 45. I will discuss some pictures from the Album in c­ hapter 3. 46. See V. Iversen, “Otchet o poezdke na Moskovskuiu politekhnicheskuiu vystavku,” Trudy Imperatorskogo vol’nogo ekonomicheskogo obshchestva 1 (1873): 507–​525. 47. Vasilii Vereshchagin made two trips to Russian Turkestan (in 1868 and in 1879). Kaufmann promised to publish his works in a special volume, with a state subsidy of 30,000 rubles. Two hundred and fifty of Vereshchagin’s drawings and paintings were presented at very popular exhibits in St. Petersburg, Moscow, and abroad. On the life of Vereshchagin see Andrei Lebedev, V. V. Vereshchagin (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1972); Lev Demin, S mol’bertom po zemnomu sharu: Mir glazami V. V. Vereshchagina (Moscow: Mysl, 1991); Vahan D. Barooshian, V.V. Vereshchagin: Artist at War (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1993); Schimmelpenninck, Russian Orientalism,  76–​91. 48. See Brower, Turkestan, 54. 49. See Boris Lunin, Sredniaia Aziia v dorevoliutsionnom i Sovetskom vostokovedenii (Tashkent: Nauka, 1965), 110–​15. 50. See Elena Shabshaevich, “Nikolai Rubinstein and the Moscow Polytechnic Exhibition in 1872,” Musicus 3–​4 (July–​August 2011): 44. 51. Shabshaevich, “Nikolai Rubinstein and the Moscow Polytechnic Exhibition in 1872,”  43–​47. 52. See Nikolai Findeizen, “So Vserossiiskoi Vystavki v N.-​ Novgorode,” RMG 9 (1896): 1010–​20. On general information about the 1896 Exposition in Nizhnii Novgorod, see Iurii Bubnov, Vserossiiskaia promyshlennaia i khudozhestvennaia vystavka 1896 goda v Nizhnem Novgorode: K 100-​letiiu so dnia otkrytiia (Nizhnii Novgorod: Dekom, 1996). 53. Findeizen, “So Vserossiiskoi Vystavki,” 1012–​17. Lipaev later wrote a more detailed article on the Central Asian instruments presented at the exhibition. See Lipaev, “So Vserossiiskoi Vystavki,” RMG 9 (1896): 1217–​22. 54. Tolz, “European, National, and (Anti-​)imperial,” 112. 55. It also published detailed programs on how to collect folklore and musical instruments. 56. See Rybakov, “O narodnykh pesniakh, tatar, bashkir i teptiarei,” Zhivaia starina 3–​4 (1894): 326–​64. 57. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni ural’skikh musul’man s ocherkom ikh byta (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperatorskoi AN, 1897). 58. Another journal distributed by the OLEAE from 1863, Izvestiia obshchestva liubitelei estestvoznaniia, published only one article that discusses a selection of Asian musical instruments in the context of the laws of music harmony. See Aleksei Vladimirskii, “O zakonakh muzykal’noi garmonii i natsional’nykh muzykal’nykh instrumentakh dostavlennykh na etnograficheskuiu vystavku,” in Izvestiia Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, vol. 7, Sbornik antropologicheskikh i etnograficheskikh statei o Rossii i stranakh ei prinadlezhashchikh, izdavaemyi V.  A. Dashkovym [Collection of Articles on Anthropology and Ethnography of Russia, edited by V. A. Dashkov], kn. 1 (Moscow: Moscow University, 1868): 152–​68.

Notes to pages 57–59 59. M. V. Gotovitskii and R. A. Pfennig, “Dve stat’i o kirgizskikh i sartskikh narodnykh pesniakh,” EO 3 (1889): 73–​91; A. A. Ivanovskii, “Kirgizskii narodnyi pevets Nogoibai,” EO 3 (1889): 92–​101; A. P. Anokhin, “O napevakh altaiskikh inorodtsev i mongolov,” EO 4 (1907): 160; Arsenii Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie nad vostochnoi muzykoi, preimushchestvenno kavkazskoi,” EO 1 (1898): 1–​22. 60. See Nikolai Klenovskii, Sbornik narodnykh pesen:  Ethnograficheskii concert russkikh i drugikh narodnostei s perevodom na russkii iazyk, 4th ed. (Moscow: Muzykal’nyi sector, 1926). 61. See Valentin Moshkov, “Materialy dlia kharakteristiki muzykal’nogo tvorchestva inorodtsev Volzhsko-​Kamskogo kraia. I. Muzyka Chuvashkikh pesen,” Izvestiia Obshchestva Arkheologii, Istorii i Ethnografii pri Imperatorskom Kazanskom Universitete 11 (1893):  31–​64. Moshkov, “Melodii Orenburgskikh i nogaiskikh Tatar,” Izvestiia Obshchestva Arkheologii, Istorii i Etnografii pri Imperatorskom Kazanskom Universitete 12 (1894): 1–​67. 62. Sergei Rybakov, “Kurai—​bashkirskii muzykal’nyi ocherk,” RMG 1 (1896): 35–​52; Rybakov, “Russkie vliianiia v muzykal’nom tvorchestve nagaibakov, kreshchennykh tatar Orenburgskoi guberni,” RMG 11 (1896):  1343–​54; Rybakov, “Liubov i zhenshchina po narodnym pesniam inorodtsev,” RMG 21–​22 (1901): 565–​75. 63. See Dmitrii Arakchiev, “O lirikakh severnogo Kavkaza,” RMG 22–​23 (1907): 547; Arakchiev,“O narodnoi muzyke gruzin-​pshavov i khevsur,” RMG 47–​48, 50–​52 (1906): 1096, 1134, 1197, 1240; Arakchiev, “Sravnitel’nyi obzor gruzino-​imeretinskoi narodnoi muzyki i muzykal’nykh instrumentov,” RMG 50, 51–​52 (1904): 1209, 1264. 64. See Rybakov, “Russkie vliianiia v muzykal’nom tvorchestve Nagaibakov, kreshchennykh tatar Orenburgskoi guberni,” RMG 11 (1896): 1343–​54. 65. See Viacheslav Petr, “O melodicheskom sklade ariiskoi pesni: Istoriko-​sravnitel’nyi opyt. I.  Chast teoreticheskaia. II Chast prakticheskaia,” RMG 1 (1897):  3–​28, and (1897–​ 98), annex: 1–​56; B. Babkin, “Balalaika: Ocherki istorii ee razvitiia i usovershenstvovaniia,” Russkaia beseda 3 (March 1896): 83–​121, and RMG 6 (1896): 682–​94, 803–​8. 66. Except for one article on Japanese music, which presents it as an underdeveloped phenomenon. See Iu. K.,“Iaponskaia muzyka,” RMG 12 (1904): 335–​39.The article’s derogatory tone can be explained by Russo-​Japanese War (1904–​5), which erupted in the same year it was published. 67. See Rybakov, “Kurai, bashkirskii muzykal’nyi ocherk,” RMG 1 (1896): 35–​52. 68. See Findeizen, “So Vserossiiskoi Vystavki v N.-​Novgorode,” 1018. 69. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni ural’skikh musul’man, 50. 70. See Aleksei Levshin, Opisanie Kirgiz-​Kazach’ikh ili Kirgiz-​Kaisakskikh ord i stepei (St. Petersburg: tip. Karla Kraiia, 1832). In 1840, this work was translated and published in French as Description des hordes et des steppes de Kirgiz-​Kazakhs ou Kirgiz-​Kaiissaks; some selections were also translated and published in Italian in Revista europea. See Irina Erofeeva, “A. I.  Levshin i ego trud,” in Levshin A.  I. Opisanie kirgiz-​kazach’ikh ili kirgiz-​kaisatskikh ord i stepei (Almaty:  Sanat, 1996), 568. Aleksei Iraklievich Levshin (1799–​1879) was a Russian writer, ethnographer, and one of the founders of the Russian Geographical Society. After graduating from Kharkov University in 1818, he was appointed to the Asian Department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. From 1820 to 1822 he lived in Orenburg and worked at

299

300 Notes to pages 59–62 the Orenburg Frontier Commission. From 1831 to 1837 he was the mayor (gradonachal’nik) of Odessa. In 1844 he became a director of the Department of Agriculture, and from 1856 to 1859 he was an assistant minister of internal affairs. He took part in the preparation of the Emancipation Reform of 1861 and became a member of the State Council in 1868. On the life of Levshin, see F. A. Brockhaus and I. A. Efron, “Levshin, Aleksei Iraklievich,” in Entsiklopedicheskii slovar, ed. Brockhaus and Efron (Leipzig and St. Petersburg, 1896), 33:445; “Levshin, Aleksei Iraklievich,” in Russkii biograficheskii slovar (St. Petersburg, 1914), 10:159–​60; Erofeeva, “A. I. Levshin i ego trud,” 534–​95. 71. In his work Levshin calls the Kazakh ethnic group by a different, yet similar, name:  “Kyrgyz-​Kazak” or “Kyrgyz-​Kaisak,” which, prior to the early 1920s, was used in Russian official language to identify Turkestan nomads. The modern Kyrgyz people were usually called “Kara-​Kyrgyz.” See Kappeler, Russian Empire, 186. Here and elsewhere I will use the names of ethnic groups from the original Russian sources. On the history of Russian–​ Kazakh (or Kyrgyz) relationship, see Martha Brill Olcott, The Kazakhs (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1995), 29–​129; Michael Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier: The Making of the Colonial Empire, 1500–​1800 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 146–​83; Didar Kassymova, Zhanat Kundakbayeva, and Ustina Markus, Historical Dictionary of Kazakhstan (Lanham, Md.: Scarecrow Press, 2012). 72. LeDonne, Grand Strategy, 62. 73. LeDonne, Grand Strategy, 65; Olcott, Kazakhs, 31–​34; Kassymova et al., ed., Historical Dictionary of Kazakhstan, 228–​29; Edward Allworth, ed., Central Asia: 130 Years of Russian Rule (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1994), 47–​53; Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier, 152–​61. 74. Despite all the assertions of loyalty from the Kyrgyz-​Kaisak side, the Central steppe was not considered a part of Russia until the end of the eighteenth century, since until 1780s the ambassadors sent from the steppe were treated the same way as foreigners by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the map of Russia did not include most of the steppe, and the Central Asian nomads were not allowed to cross the Ural River for pastures. See Baymirza Hayit,“Some Reflections on the Subject of Annexation of Turkestani Kazakhstan by Russia,” Central Asian Survey 3/​4 (1984): 64; Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier, 174–​75. 75. Olcott, Kazakhs, 58–​60; Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier, 182–​83. 76. George W. Stocking, Victorian Anthropology (New York: Free Press, 1987), 15; John Joseph Honigmann, The Development of Anthropological Ideas (Homewood, Ill.:  Dorsey, 1976), 114. 77. See Erofeeva, “A. I. Levshin i ego trud,” 541–​45. 78. See Levshin, Opisanie, 2:372. 79. Levshin, Opisanie, 2:323–​25. 80. Levshin, Opisanie, 2:354. 81. Bennett Zon, Representing Non-​ Western Music in Nineteenth-​ Century Britain (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press, 2007), 6–​7. 82. Zon, Representing Non-​Western Music, 117. 83. Levshin, Opisanie, 2:352.

Notes to pages 62–66 84. Levshin, Opisanie, 2:353, 354, 355. 85. This statement contradicts late-​nineteenth-​century writings about musical instruments, most of which claimed that it was the Russians who borrowed the balalaika from Asians. See ­chapter 3. 86. Levshin, Opisanie, 2:354. 87. Levshin, Opisanie, 2:355. 88. Jann Pasler,“Theorizing Race in the Nineteenth-​Century France: Music as Emblem of Identity,” Musical Quarterly 89 (2008), 487; http://​mq.oxfordjournals.org (accessed August 9, 2010). 89. See M.V. Gotovitskii and R. A. Pfennig, “Dve stat’i o kirgizskikh i sartskikh narodnykh pesniakh,” EO 3 (1889): 73–​91; A. A. Ivanovskii, “Kirgizskii narodnyi pevets Nogoibai,” EO 3 (1889):  92–​101; Petr Tikhov, “O muzyke Turkestanskikh kirgiz,” Muzyka i zhizn 2 (1910): 2–​4; Tikhov, “O muzyke Turkestanskikh kirgiz,” Muzyka i zhizn 4 (1910), 9–​14. 90. See, for instance, “O Karagasakh” and “Samoyedy Mezenskie,” Etnographicheskii sbornik IRGO 4 (1858):  1–​18, 19–​82; “Puteshestvie Atkinsona po Vostochnoi i Zapadnoi Sibiri,” Illiustratsiia (March 19, 1859), 179; I. Popov, “Cherty iz byta, nravov i obychaev zyrian Iarenskogo uezda Udorskogo kraia,” Vologodskie gubernskie vedomosti 28–​38, 40–​45 (1859); Alexander Kastren, Puteshestvie po Laplandii, Severnoi Rossii i Sibiri (1838–​44, 1845–​49) (Moscow: tip. Semena, 1860); “Yakuty i tungusy,” Illiustratsiia (January 17, 1863), 43; “Tipy narodov Vostochnoi Sibiri,”Illiustratsiia (May 30, 1863), 323–​24. 91. Alexander Theodor von Middendorff (1815–​ 94) was a Russian zoologist and explorer of Baltic origin. In 1837 he graduated with a medical degree from the Imperial University of Dorpat. In 1839, under the patronage of Karl von Baer, he accepted the position of assistant professor of zoology at Kiev University. In 1840 he traveled with Baer to Novaya Zemlya, and in 1842–​45 he went to the lower Amur River valley (then a part of Chinese territory) on behalf of the St. Petersburg Academy of Science. On the life and works of Middendorff see Natalia Sukhova and Erki Tammiksaar, Aleksandr Fedorovich Middendorf (Moscow: Nauka, 2005); Erki Tammiksaar and Ian R. Stone, “Alexander von Middendorff and His Expedition to Siberia (1842–​1845),” Polar Record 43/​3 (2007): 193–​216. 92. See Leopold von Schrenck, The Peoples of the Amur Region (St. Petersburg, 1881–​95), trans. from the German by Alois Hagler (New Haven, Conn.: Human Relations Area Files, 1964), 2:680–​81. 93. Schrenck, Peoples of the Amur Region, 2: 681. 94. In nineteenth-​century western European literature the music of peoples living in the North was generally denigrated and presented as music of one of the most primitive societies. See William C. Stafford, A History of Music (Edinburgh: Hurst, Chance, 1830), 3–​4; T. H. Tomlinson, “An Account of the Music of Savage Nations (From T.  H. Tomlinson’s Lectures of Music),” Musical World 31 (July 30, 1853): 481–​82; Richard Wallaschek, Primitive Music: An Inquiry into the Origin and Development of the Music, Songs, Instruments, Dances, and Pantomimes of Savage Races (London: Longmans, Green, 1893), 58–​60. 95. Schrenck, Peoples of the Amur Region, 2: 682–​84. 96. Grant, “Empire and Savagery.”

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302 Notes to pages 66–67 97. Grant, “Empire and Savagery,” 293. 98. See A. Rittikh, Materialy dlia etnografii Rossii: Kazanskaia Gubernia (Kazan: Imperatorskii Kazanskii Universitet, 1870). Alexander Fedorovich Rittikh (1831–​1914) was a Russian general staff official and a military cartographer and writer. He studied at Nikolai Engineering Academy and the Academy of the General Staff. From 1862 to 1864 he served in Minsk Gubernia, where he supervised the building and restoration of Orthodox churches and established no less than thirty public schools. He also created an atlas of people living in Russian western regions. During the Russo-​Turkish War he supervised the transportation of injured soldiers, and then commanded an infantry brigade. In 1894 he retired at the rank of general lieutenant. The works he left include atlases of ethnic groups living in Russian western regions as well as in the Caucasus, articles on Russian trade in the Baltic Sea and the Slavic-​French Congress in Paris, among others. A short biography of him can be found in Brockhaus, “Rittikh, Alexander Fedorovich,” in ed. Brockhaus and Efron, Entsiklopedicheskii slovar (1899), 26a: 819. 99. Rittikh, Materialy,  1:1–​2. 100. Rittikh, Materialy,  1:3–​4. 101. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:156. 102. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:92. 103. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:37–​38. 104. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:17–​18, 20. Rittikh’s claims about the blending of Russian and Asian cultures are not isolated. Other Russian research written at the end of the nineteenth century also reveals gradual assimilation of inorodtsy music by Russian music. For instance, Valentin Alexandrovich Moshkov in his research on Chuvash music claims that the similarities between Russian and Chuvash music (their melodies and performance practices) reveal assimilation of the Chuvash music repertoire into the Russian repertoire. Valentin Alexandrovich Moshkov (1852–​1914?) was a Russian officer and ethnographer who contributed to research on Gagauz (Turkic-​ speaking Orthodox Christians) and Chuvash (Turkic-​speaking and paganism-​practicing) peoples. Despite his military career, his interest in music (he played flute and had perfect pitch) and linguistics (he learned and wrote the first dictionary of the Gagauz language) made him an invaluable ethnographer who studied the peoples of the areas where he served (the Olonets region, the Volzhsko-​Kamskii region, Kazan, Warsaw, and Bessarabia). His ethnographic study of inorodtsy, for which he received the Small Golden Medal from IRGO, was published in the journals of IRGO and of the ethnography branch of the OLEAE. On his life and works see Alexander M. Reshetov, “V. A.  Moshkov kak uchenyi (k 150-​letiiu so dnia rozhdeniia),” Rocznik Orientalistyczny 55/​ 1 (2003):  5–​ 10; Mikhail Kondrat’ev, “Pervoprokhodets,” Muzykal’naia akademiia 3 (2002):  142–​49. Another article by N.  Kharuzin underlines the fact that some Russians living among Russia’s Asians, instead of assimilating inorodtsy, were culturally assimilated by them. See Nikolai Kharuzin, “K voprosu ob assimiliatsionnoi sposobnosti russkogo naroda,” EO 4 (1894): 43–​78. 105. Rittikh, Materialy, 1:vii.

Notes to pages 67–70 106. On what was called the “Ilminskii System” of Russian assimilation, see Wayne Dowler, Classroom and Empire: The Politics of Schooling Russia’s Eastern Nationalities, 1860–​1917 (Montreal: McGill-​Queen’s University Press, 2001). 107. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:200. 108. His discussion of inorodtsy music boils down to whether there are nasal sounds, trills, and vibrations in the voice. 109. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:37. 110. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:103. 111. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:102. 112. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:103. 113. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:103–​4. 114. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:34–​35. 115. Rittikh, Materialy, 2:52. 116. See Rittikh, Chetyre lektsii po russkoi etnografii (St. Petersburg:  tip. V. V. Komarova, 1895), 72. 117. When Levshin studied at Kharkov University the position at the Department of Oriental Languages was vacant. See Georgii Kim and P. M. Shastitko, eds., Istoriia otechestvennogo vostokovedeniia do serediny XIX veka (Moscow: Nauka, 1990), 112–​13.The first critique of Levshin’s Opisanie also complains that Levshin, because of his lack of knowledge of eastern languages, had to rely exclusively on sources written in European languages. See Zhurnal Ministerstva narodnogo prosveshcheniia 3 (1834): 82. 118. See Jean-​Jacques Rousseau, Discours sur l’origine et les fondements de l’inégalité parmi les hommes: Discours sur les sciences et les arts (Paris: Flammarion, 1992). 119. Levshin, Opisanie, 9. 120. Sukhova and Tammiksaar, Aleksandr Fedorovich Middendorf, 21–​22. With the recommendation of Baer, Middendorff was appointed professor of zoology at Kiev University. 121. Galina Belolipskaia, “Iz istorii razvitiia chastnoi pechati Astrakhanskoi guberni nachala XIX veka,” Gumanitarnye issledovaniia 32 (2009): 27–​35. 122. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 298. In a short preface to Dobrovol’skii’s reprint, Rybakov states that he has considered it necessary to cut the piano accompaniment for the Asian melodies provided by Ivan Dobrovol’skii, since he has found it “primitive” and “naïve.” Rybakov also added two Tunguz tunes from Alexander Middendorff, Sibirische Reise:  Uebersicht der Natur Nord-​und Ost-​Sibiriens (St. Petersburg, 1875), 2:1500–​1501. 123. Belolipskaia suggests that one Armenian song found in the second volume could have been written by Cherkez-​ ogly (1763–​ 1845)—​ an Armenian ashug (musician performer) who lived and performed in Astrakhan at that time. See Belolipskaia, “Etnicheskaia i istoriko-​etnograficheskaia tematika v astrakhanskoi presse pervoi poloviny XIX veka,” Vestnik Stavropol’skogo Gosudarstvennogo Universiteta 66 (2010): 152. 124. See Nikolai Findeizen, “Muzykal’nye zhurnaly v Rossii. Istoricheskii ocherk (1774–​ 1903),” RMG 46 (1903): 1118. According to Belolipskaia, Dobrovol’skii not only gathered the music ethnographic material for his journal but also printed the journal himself using

303

304 Notes to pages 70–73 a lithographic device that he produced himself after consulting the most recent European publications. See Belolipskaia, “Iz istorii razvitiia chastnoi pechati,” 33. 125. Actually, Astrakhan Gubernia—​the province on the Caspian Sea—​was dubbed the “Russian southern fort post” and the “trading gates to Asia,” since it was home to many Asian, Caucasian, and European peoples of the empire. Russian poet Velimir Khlebnikov (1885–​1922) later ascribed the city an important geopolitical mission by calling it a meeting point of three worlds and three religions (“triangle of Christ, Buddha, and Mohammad”). See Velimir Khlebnikov, Collected Works, trans. Paul Schmidt, ed. Ronald Vroon (Cambridge, Mass.:  Harvard University Press, 1989), 2:385. On the history of Astrakhan see Istoriia Astrakhanskogo kraia (Astrakhan: Astrakhanskii Gos. Ped. Un-​t, 2000). On the ethnic composition of Astrakhan, see Arthur Tsutsiev and Nora Seligman Favorov, Atlas of the Ethno-​political History of the Caucasus (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014), 151. 126. Arabic was added to the gymnasium curriculum only in the 1830s. 127. Kim and Shastitko, eds., Istoriia otechestvennogo vostokovedeniia do serediny XIX veka, 118–​39. 128. As early as 1778 one of the members of Kazan gymnasium, Ibragim Khalfin, published the first alphabet of the Tatar language with Arabic letters, and in 1785 he wrote a dictionary of the Tatar language, which included 25,000 words (before this publication there were dictionaries of Tatar that included only around 600 words). Mikhailova, “Razvitie orientalistiki,” 276. 129. Mikhailova, “Razvitie orientalistiki,” 276–​ 77. Ibragim Khalfin may have been involved in the preparation of the journal (or at least of the texts of some songs). 130. All the texts presented in the journal provided the original language and a Russian translation. 131. Thus,Veiskgopfen concludes that his newspaper has to “pay attention to the lands and peoples of the Astrakhan, Caucasian, Tavricheskii, Saratov, and Orenburg Gubernias; . . . the lands populated by the Kalmyk, Kyrgyz, Karakalpak, and Turkmen peoples, as well as peoples living in Khiva, Bukhara, Persia, Turkey, and, if possible, Arabia, Eastern India, and Tibet.” Belolipskaia, “Iz istorii razvitiia chastnoi pechati,” 28–​29. 132. On the history of Russian–​ Kalmyk relationships, see Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier, 133–​46; Alexander V. Tsiuriumov, Kalmytskoe khanstvo v sostave Rossii:  problemy politicheskikh vzaimootnoshenii (Elista: Dzhangar, 2007); Arltan Baskhaev, Istoriia kalmykii i kalmytskogo naroda s drevneishikh vremen do kontsa XX veka (Elista:  Kalm. Kn. Izd., 2012), 140–​44. 133. See Sergei Kalinin, “Stavropol’skoe kalmytskoe voisko,” in Zagranichnye pokhody Rossiiskoi armii:  1813–​1815. Entsiklopediia (Moscow, 2011), 2:462–​63; Konstantin Maksimov and Utash Ochirov, Kalmyki v Napoleonovskikh voinakh (Elista: Dzhangar, 2012), 141; Trofim Belikov, Kalmyki v bor’be za nezavisimost nashei rodiny (XVII–​XIX veka) (Elista, 1965). 134. LeDonne, Grand Strategy, 77. 135. Carol Pegg, “Mongol Music,” in The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, vol. 7, East Asia: China, Japan, and Korea, ed. Robert C. Provine, Yosihiko Tokumaru, and J. Lawrence Witzleben (New York: Routledge, 2002), 1006–​7. Most of songs in the journal are provided

Notes to pages 73–76 with an accompaniment that does not interfere with the melody, does not suggest any harmony, and rarely uses an interval of P5. 136. On the development of orientology at Kazan University in the nineteenth century see Kim and Shastitko, eds., Istoriia otechestvennogo vostokovedeniia do serediny XIX veka, 118–​39; Mikhailova, “Razvitie orientalistiki,” 273–​301; Robert Gerachi, Window on the East: National and Imperial Identities in Late Tsarist Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 158–​94. 137. James T. Flynn, “Magnitskii’s Purge of Kazan University: A Case Study in the Uses of Reaction in Nineteenth-​Century Russia,” Journal of Modern History 43/​4 (1971): 598–​614. 138. In 1775, Fatali Khan even requested that Catherine the Great recognize the Kuba khanate as Russia’s protectorate, aiming not only to maintain sovereignty of his land under the protection of Russia but also to gain independence from Persia. The empress, however, denied him Russian citizenship, as this would have complicated Russia’s diplomatic relationships with Persia and Turkey. On the history of the region, see Vadim Leviatov, Ocherki iz istorii Azerbaidzhana v XVIII veke (Baku: AN AzerSSR, 1948); Gadzhiali Daniialov, ed., Istoriia Dagestana 4 vols. (Moscow: Nauka, 1967–​69); Zoia Makhmudova, Derbent v XIX–​nachale XX veka: Etnicheskaia mozaichnost goroda na “vechnom perekrestke” (Moscow: Tri kvadrata, 2006). 139. “Ov im Sireli” means “Oh, my beloved/​dear one” in Armenian. I am grateful to Dr. Gliula Shamilli for drawing my attention to the different possibilities for the tune’s ethnic origin and to Dr. Levon Hakobian for translating it. 140. See Mohsen Mohammadi, Musical Souvenirs: European Transcriptions of Persian Music (1600–​1910) (Tehran:  Mahoor, 2015). The two violins and a flute in the score were likely originally the two kamancheh and one ney player of a traditional ensemble; “tambura grando” could have referred to either the big frame drum, called daf, or a big dayereh, particularly since transcription represented percussion. I am grateful to Mohsen Mohammadi for offering me this explanation. Kiesewetter, in the appendix to his Die Musik der Araber (1842), provides three Persian songs with German translations:  one presented as a single melody and the other two with a piano accompaniment. See Raphael Kiesewetter, Die Musik der Araber, nach Originalquellen Dargestellt (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1842), xvi, xxii–​xxiv. In the same year, Alexander Chodzko published his Specimens of the Popular Poetry of Persia, in which he presented Persian melodies as piano pieces. See Alexander Chodzko, Specimens of the Popular Poetry of Persia: As Found in the Adventures and Improvisations of Kurroglou, the Bandit-​ Minstrel of Northern Persia and in the Songs of the People Inhabiting the Shores of the Caspian Sea (London: Oriental Translation Fund, 1842), 583–​92. Later, Fétis in his Histoire générale (1869) included transcriptions of Persian melodies in one line. See Histoire générale de la musique depuis les temps les plus anciens (Paris: Typographie Firmin Didot, 1869), 2:386, 391–​401. 141. Marina Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism: From Glinka to Stalin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 230, 371 (n. 9). 142. Mikhail Stakhovich, foreword to vol. 3 of his Sobranie russkikh narodnykh pesen dlia fortepiano i semistrunnoi gitary. Tekst i melodii sobral i muzyku arranzhiroval Mikhail Stakhovich (St. Petersburg and Moscow:  M. Bernard, 1851–​54), 5.  Stakhovich suggests that the song “Golova-​l’ moia, ty golovushka” has to “be sung in two voices.” It is presented in his collection as separate folk songs: nos. 5 and 6. He does not seem to mind, however, about the

305

306 Notes to pages 76–78 fact that song 6 modulates into the relative minor key, while folk song 5 stays in the major. Stakhovich, foreword to vol. 3 of his Sobranie russkikh narodnykh pesen, 5. 143. Moshkov’s first articles on Chuvash music were already published with a note of caution, and later they were entirely rejected. See Kondrat’ev, “Pervoprokhodets,” 145. 144. See Nina Kiniapina, M. M. Bliev, and V. V. Degoev, eds., Kavkaz i Sredniaia Aziia vo vneshnei politike Rossii: Vtoraia polovina XVIII–​80-​e gody XIX v. (Moscow: Moscow University, 1984), 295; Brower, Turkestan, 149. On Central Asian population growth and its ethnic composition, see Ian Murray Matley, “The Population and the Land,” in ed. Allworth, Central Asia:  120 Years of Russian Rule, 92–​130. On Russian resettlement, see Willard Sunderland, “The ‘Colonization Question’: Visions of Colonization in Late Imperial Russia,” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 48/​2 (2000): 210–​32; Brower, “The Making of a Settler Colony,” in his Turkestan, 129–​43; Peter Holquist, “‘In Accord with State Interests and the People’s Wishes’:  The Technocratic Ideology of Imperial Russia’s Resettlement Administration,” Slavic Review 69/​ 1 (2010):  151–​ 79; Ian Campbell, “Settlement Promoted, Settlement Contested:  The Shcherbina Expedition of 1896–​ 1903,” Central Asian Survey 30/​3–​4 (2011): 423–​36; Alberto Masoero, “Territorial Colonization in Late Imperial Russia: Stages in the Development of a Concept,” Kritika:  Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 14/​1 (2013): 59–​91; A. Morrison, “Peasant Settlers and the ‘Civilizing Mission’ in Russian Turkestan, 1865–​1917,” Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 43/​3 (2015): 387–​ 417. 145. See Grigorii Glinka, ed., Aziatskaia Rossiia:  Izdanie Pereselencheskogo Upravleniia Glavnogo Upravleniia Zemleustroistva i Zemledeliia, 3 vols. (St. Petersburg: A. F. Marks, 1914), 1:viii; Petr Galuzo, Turkestan—koloniia (Ocherk istorii Turkestana ot zavoevaniia russkimi do revoliutsii 1917 goda) (Tashkent: Gos. Izdat. UzSSR, 1935). 146. Sunderland, “The ‘Colonization Question,’ ” Masoero, “Territorial Colonization,” and Morrison, “Peasant Settlers.” 147. See Beatrice Penati, “The Cotton Boom and the Land Tax in Russian Turkestan (1880s–​1915),” Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 14/​4 (13): 774. 148. On Eichhorn’s life and work, see Vsevolod Cheshikhin, “Sredneaziatskii muzykal’nyi etnograf,” RMG 19–​26, 29–​32 (1917): 361–​67, 388–​92, 406–​408, 422–​25, 482–​89, 500–​504;Viktor Beliaev, “Muzykal’no-​etnograficheskaia rabota Eichhorna v Uzbekistane,” in Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika v Uzbekistane (pervye zapisi):  August Eichhorn:  muzykal’no-​ etnograficheskie materialy, ed., introduction, and commentary by V.  Beliaev (Tashkent:  AN UzSSR, 1963), 5–​ 24; August Eichhorn, “Dnevnik voennogo kapel’meistera Augusta Eichhorna:  Istoricheskii dokument po izucheniiu kul’tury Russkogo Turkestana,” with an introductory note and commentaries by Tamila Djani-​Zade, in Trudy Gosudarstvennogo Tsentral’nogo Muzeia Muzykal’noi Kul’tury Imeni M.  I. Glinki:  Al’manakh, ed. M. Rakhmanova (Moscow:  Kompositor, 1999), 1:82–​86; Djani-​Zade, Muzykail’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana:  Po materialam muzykal’no-​etnograficheskogo sobraniia Augusta Eichhorna, voennogo kapel’meistera v Tashkente (1870–​1883) (Moscow: VMOMK im. Glinki, 2013). 149. Post-​ Soviet researcher Djani-​ Zade suggests that Eichhorn could have left St. Petersburg or even Russia in 1911, since his name disappears from the directory of people

Notes to pages 78–84 living in St. Petersburg and his name is not found in the list of peoples buried in the city’s Lutheran cemeteries. See Djani-​Zade, Muzykail’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 27. 150. See Eichhorn, introduction to his “Muzyka kirgizov,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika,  25–​26. 151. See Eichhorn, “Muzykal’nye instrumenty,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 169–​78. 152. Eichhorn, “Muzyka uzbekov [sartov],” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 109, 144, 155. 153. Eichhorn, “Sybyzgy,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 53. 154. Eichhorn, “Sybyzgy,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 53. 155. Eichhorn, “Sybyzgy,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 55. 156. Eichhorn, “Pesni i penie kirgizov,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 67. 157. Eichhorn, “Sybyzgy,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 52. 158. Eichhorn, “Kirgizskie muzykal'nye instrumenty:  dombra,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 34. 159. Eichhorn, “Pesni i penie kirgizov,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 68. 160. Eichhorn, “Muzyka kirgizov” and “Muzyka uzbekov [sartov],” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 49, 53–​55, 65, 98–​100, 109, 134–​35, 144, 150–​55. 161. Eichhorn, “Kobyz,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 49. 162. Eichhorn, “Muzyka uzbekov [sartov],” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 99. 163. On Sarts, see Nikolai Ostroumov, Sarty:  Etnograficheskie materialy. Obshchii ocherk (Tashkent: Sredneaziatskaia zhizn, 1908); Brockhaus and Efron, “Sarty,” in ed. Brockhaus and Efron, Entsiklopedicheskii slovar (1900), 34:449–​51; Bartol’d, “Sart,” in Sochineniia, vol. 2, pt. 2 (Moscow: Vostochnaia literatura, 1964), 527–​29. 164. Francine Hirsch, Empire of Nations:  Ethnographic Knowledge and the Making of the Soviet Union (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005), 183–​84. 165. Eichhorn, “O muzyke uzbekov [sartov] voobshche,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 107. 166. Eichhorn, “O muzyke uzbekov [sartov] voobshche,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 114. 167. Eichhorn, “Voennaia muzyka,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 128. 168. Eichhorn, “Voennaia muzyka,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 131. This attraction to the military sound was mutual. As Alexander Djumajev points out, in the mid-​nineteenth century the Bukharan emir added in his military orchestra some European woodwind or brass instruments; the orchestra’s repertoire included tunes and marches from both Russian and local military music. See Alexander Djumajev, “Ot uvlecheniia ekzotikoi k muzykal’nomu vostokovedeniiu: Iz istorii izucheniia traditsionnoi muzyki narodov Tsentral’noi Azii rossiiskimi uchenymi,” in Oazisy shelkovogo puti: Sovremennye problemy etnografii, istorii i istochnikovedeniia narodov Tsentral’noi Azii,T. V. Kotiukova, ed. (Moscow: Islamskaia kniga, 2018), 410–​11. 169. Cited in Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 175.

307

308 Notes to pages 85–88 170. See August Eichhorn, Otdel’nye zametki I, II, fund 340, item 1500, page 156, manuscript in Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, The Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow; Eichhorn, Polnaia kollektsiia muzykal’nykh instrumentov narodov Tsentral’noi Azii A.  F. Eichhorna (byvshego voennogo kapel’meistera v Tashkente) (St. Petersburg: Iu. Shtauf, 1885), 16. 171. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Augusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykail’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 261. 172. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykail’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 262. 173. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykail’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 262. 174. On Orthodox Christmas, Eichhorn had to attend an official church ceremony, at the end of which he had to kiss the cross in front of everybody; he did it, but against his will. Then the priest sprinkled the holy water on him, which outraged him, since he knew that the priest was aware of his different origin. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​ 1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykail’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 265. 175. Eichhorn, “Russkie pesni,” in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 160–​62. 176. See Jeff Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 1865–​ 1923 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 74. 177. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 74. 178. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 162. 179. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 69. 180. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 69. 181. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 35. 182. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 36, 67. 183. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 94. 184. Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 94. 185. See Eichhorn’s biographies cited above. 186. See his diary in Eichhorn, “Dnevnik voennogo kapel’meistera Augusta Eichhorna,” with an introductory note and commentaries by Tamila Djani-​Zade, in Trudy Gosudarstvennogo Tsentral’nogo Muzeia Muzykal’noi Kul’tury Imeni M.  I. Glinki, 1:87–​ 120 and Eichhorn, “Dnevnik voennogo kapel’meistera A.  F. Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” trans. from German by N. A. Shefer, in Djani-​Zade, Muzykail’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 208–​315. 187. Eichhorn, “A Statement” [Zaiavlenie], in ed. Beliaev, Muzykal’naia fol’kloristika, 186. 188. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Augusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 284. 189. Khalid, The Politics of Muslim Cultural Reform, 73. 190. See Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Augusta Eichhorna, 1870–​ 1872,” in Djani-​ Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 292–​95. 191. See Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Augusta Eichhorna, 1870–​ 1872,” in Djani-​ Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 258.

Notes to pages 88–91 192. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 219, 259, 218. 193. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana 216. 194. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 216, 240, 249, 266, 298, 300, 302, 311. 195. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 265, 269, 273, 275, 277, 309, and 311. 196. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 265. 197. Eichhorn, “Dnevnik Avgusta Eichhorna, 1870–​1872,” in Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 295 and 276. 198. See Djani-​Zade, Muzykal’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana, 26. 199. Djani-​ Zade, “Dnevnik voennogo kapel’meistera Augusta Eichhorna,” in Trudy Gosudarstvennogo Tsentral’nogo Muzeia Muzykal’noi Kul’tury Imeni M. I. Glinki, 86. 200. Stocking, Colonial Situations: Essays on the Contextualization of Ethnographic Knowledge (London: University of  Wisconsin Press, 1991), 67. 201. George Balandier, “Situation coloniale:  Approche théoretique,” Cahiers internationaux de sociologie 11 (1951):  44–​79; Svetlana Gorshenina, “L’archéologie russe en Asie centrale dans une situation coloniale:  Quelques approaches,” in Études de lettres 290/​1–​2 (2012): 183–​219.

Chapter 3 1. See Francis H. Skrine and E. Denison Ross, The Heart of Asia: A History of Russian Turkestan and the Central Asian Khanates from the Earliest Times (London, 1899), 410. 2. Skrine and Ross, The Heart of Asia, 414. 3. Skrine and Ross, The Heart of Asia, 414. 4. See Petr Savitskii, Ilya Vinkovetsky, and Charles Schlacks, eds., Exodus to the East: Forebodings and Events: An Affirmation of the Eurasians, trans. and ed. Ilya Vinkovetskii (Idyllwild, Calif.:  Schlacks, 1996); originally published as Iskhod k Vostoku:  Predchuvstviia i sversheniia. Utverzhdenie evraziitsev (Sofia:  Balkan, 1921). On Eurasianism, see Marlène Laruelle, L’idéologie eurasiste russe ou comment penser l’empire (Paris:  L’Harmattan, 1999); Slawomir Mazurek, “Russian Eurasianism—Historiosophy and Ideology,” Studies in East European Thought 54/​ 1–​ 2 (2002):  105–​ 23; Mark Bassin, “Classical Eurasianism and the Geopolitics of Russian Identity,” Ab Imperio 2 (2003): 257–​67; S. M. Sokolov, Filosofiia russkogo zarubezh’ia: Evraziistvo (Ulan-​Ude: VSGTU, 2003). The concept of “healthy barbarism” was central for the Scythian movement. Russian modernist poets, such as Alexander Blok and Andrei Belyi, celebrated eastern elements in the Russian soul and considered Scythian culture a “revitalized form of Aryanism.” See S. Lim, China and Japan in the Russian Imagination, 1685–​1922 (London: Routledge, 2013), 167.

309

310 Notes to pages 91–94 5. It is what Bennett Zon describes as “scientific racism translated into a musicological environment.” See Zon, Representing Non-​Western Music in Nineteenth-​Century Britain (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press, 2007), 10. 6. On the birth and development of Aryan myth in Russia, see Marlène Laruelle, Mythe aryen et rêve impérial dans la Russie du xixe siècle (Paris: CNRS Éditions, 2005). 7. Aleksei Khomiakov, Zapiski o vsemirnoi istorii (Moscow:  tip. Lebedeva, 1882–​83), 2:13, 17, 3:293, 358; Vasilii Grigor’ev, O skifskom narode Sakakh: Istoricheskaia monografiia (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperatorskoi AN, 1871), 164, 192–​99;. Ivan Zabelin, Istoriia russkoi zhizni s drevneishikh vremen (Moscow: tip. Gracheva, 1876), 2:9. 8. Khomiakov, Zapiski o vsemirnoi istorii, 1:421. See Aleksei Khomiakov, Sravnenie russkikh slov s sanskritskimi (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperatorskoi AN, 1855). 9. See Khomiakov, Sravnenie russkikh slov s sanskritskimi. 10. Khomiakov, Zapiski o vsemirnoi istorii. 11. Laruelle, Mythe aryen, 25, 38. 12. The interest of Russian writers in Aryanism is probably related to their late-​ nineteenth-​century fascination with Buddhism as a religion with rites and symbols that satisfied a thirst for the exotic and, unlike Orthodoxy, provided a more convenient and flexible framework for religious practices. See Alexander Andreev, Khram Buddy v severnoi stolitse (St. Petersburg: Nartang, 2004). Leo Tolstoy, Alexander Skriabin, Prince Ukhtomskii, artist Nikolai Roerich, and orientologists and academicians Fedor Shcherbatskoi, Sergei Ol’denburg, and Vasilii Radlov overtly expressed their interest in Buddhism and eastern mysticism by supporting the idea of the building the first Buddhist temple in St. Petersburg. It should be noted that the Lamaist practice of the Buriats and the Kalmyks had been officially recognized by Empress Elizabeth in 1741, opening the door to official tolerance toward the eastern faith. 13. On the Vostochniki movement see David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, “The Asianist Vision: Esper Ukhtomskii,” in Toward the Rising Sun: Russian Ideologies of Empire and the Path to War with Japan (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2001), 42–​60; Mark Batunskii, Rossiia i Islam (Moscow: Progress-​Traditsiia, 2003) 2:193–​208; Marlène Laruelle, “The Orient in Russian Thought at the Turn of the Century,” in Russia between East and West: Scholarly Debates on Eurasianism, ed. Dmitry Shlapentokh (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 25–​26; Laruelle, “‘The White Tsar’: Romantic Imperialism in Russia’s Legitimizing of Conquering the Far East,” Acta Slavica Iaponica 25 (2008):  113–​34; Lim, China and Japan in the Russian Imagination, 123–​29. 14. Auguste Gérard, Ma mission en Chine, 1894–​1897 (Paris: Plon, 1918), 214. 15. Nikolai Przhevalsky, Ot Kiakhty na istoki Zheltoi reki:  Issledovanie severnoi okrainy Tibeta i put cherez Lob-​Nor po basseinu Tarima (St. Petersburg: tip.V. S. Balasheva, 1888), 509–​10, cited in Laruelle, “The White Tsar,” 117. 16. Petr Badmaev, Rossiia i Kitai (St. Petersburg: tip. A. S. Suvorina, 1905), 37. 17. Laruelle, “The White Tsar,”  113. 18. Schimmelpenninck, Toward the Rising Sun, 59. On the idea of the White Tsar, see Vadim Trepalov, “Belyi tsar”:  Obraz monarkha i predstavleniia o poddanstve u narodov Rossii (Moscow: Institut russkoi istorii), 2007.

Notes to pages 94–96 19. Kniaz Esper Esperovich Ukhtomskii, Travels in the East of His Imperial Majesty Czar Nicholas II of Russia, when Cesarewitch 1890–​1891, 2 vols. (London: A. Constable and Company, 1896–​1900),  2:446. 20. See Vera Tolz, “Russia and the West,” in A History of Russian Thought, William Leatherbarrow and Derek Offord, eds. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 208. 21. See Kniaz Esper Esperovich Ukhtomskii, K sobytiiam v Kitae:  Ob otnosheniiakh Zapada i Rossii k Vostoku (St. Petersburg: Vostok, 1900), 9. 22. Few musical writings from the late nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century take an entirely nonjudgmental approach to Asian culture. See, for instance, Mikhail Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty Sankt-​Petersburgskoi Konservatorii (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperskoi AN, 1884). An example of a pro-​Asian point of view is found in Alexander Maslov, “Narodnye muzykal’nye instrumenty, ikh evoliutsiia i geograficheskoe rasprostranenie,” Muzyka i zhizn 5–​6 (1910): 1–​21. 23. On Russian Silver Age poets and their attraction to eastern cultures, see Robert H. Stacy, India in Russian Literature (Delhi: Motilal Banarrsidass, 1985), 66–​89; Laruelle, “The Orient in Russian Thought at the Turn of the Century,” 19–​21; Lim, China and Japan in the Russian Imagination, 132–​69. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Famintsyn’s theory that the pentatonic scale connected music of all Aryan races became central to the Eurasianist theory of Russia’s Asian ethnic basis, pronounced by Nikolai S.  Trubetskoi. See N. Trubetskoi, “The Upper and Lower Stories of Russian Culture (The Ethnic Basis of Russian Culture),” in Venkovetskii and Schlacks, Iskhod k Vostoku, 80–​94, here 89. On Eurasianism in Russian music, see Richard Taruskin, Defining Russian Musically: Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 393–​414. 24. One of the earliest pronouncements of Russia’s indebtedness to its Aryan roots was made in 1795 by Matthieu Guthrie. In the preface to his Dissertations sur les antiquités de Russie, Guthrie refers to William Jones’s “discovery” that the common root of all European languages and cultures (including Greek) was Indo-​European:  “le berceau de toutes les nations européennes” was the Iranian empire. See Matthieu Guthrie, Dissertations sur les antiquités de Russie (St. Petersburg: Imprimerie du Corps Impérial des Cadets Nobles, 1795), 6. 25. See Vladimir Stasov, “Proiskhozhdenie russkikh bylin,” in Sobranie sochinenii V.  V. Stasova, 1847–​1886 (St. Petersburg: tip. M. M. Stasiulevicha), 3:948–​1260, first published in Vestnik Evropy 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, and 7 (1868): 168–​221, 637–​708, 225–​76, 651–​77, 590–​664, and 292–​ 345. Throughout the 1870s and 1880s, Stasov continued writing articles in which he elaborated on the Asian influence on Russian culture. See his “Russkii narodnyi ornament: Shitie, tkani, kruzheva,” in Sobranie sochinenii Stasova, 1:185–​293; “Zametki o drevnerusskoi odezhde i vooruzhenii,” in Sobranie sochinenii Stasova, 2:571–​95; “Iskusstvo Srednei Azii. Sbornik ornamentov i uzorov, sniatykh s natury chlenom Samarskoi uchenoi ekspeditsii N. Simakovym v 1879 g.,” in Sobranie sochinenii Stasova, 2:693–​709. 26. V.  S. Solov’ev, Sobranie sochinenii, 228, cited in Hugh Seton-​Watson, The Russian Empire 1801–​1917 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 486. 27. See, for instance, Alexandre Christianowitsch, Esquisse historique de la musique arabe aux temps anciens avec dessins d’instruments et 40 mélodies notées et harmonisées par Christianowitsch

311

312 Notes to pages 96–97 (Cologne: Librairie du M. Dumont Schauberg, 1863), xix–​xx; Alexander Rittikh, Materialy dlia etnografii Rossii: Kazanskaia Gubernia (Kazan: Imperatorskii Kazanskii Universitet, 1870), 37–​38; Rurolph Westphal, “O russkoi narodnoi pesne,” Russkii vestnik 143/​9 (September 1879): 111–​54. 28. See Petr Sokal’skii, “Kitaiskaia gamma v russkoi narodnoi muzyke,” Muzykal’noe obozrenie 26–​ 28 (1886):  204–​ 5, 209–​ 11, 217–​ 20; Petr Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka: Velikorusskaia i malorusskaia v ee stroenii melodicheskom i ritmicheskom i otlichiia ee ot osnov sovremennoi garmonicheskoi muzyki (Kharkov: tip. Adol’fa Darre, 1888). 29. Petr Petrovich Sokal’skii (1832–​87) was a composer, chemist (in 1855 he graduated from Kharkov Institute with a master’s in chemistry), and music critic. Beginning in 1855 he wrote a number of articles on chemistry, farming, and music that were published in Russian journals and newspapers, such as Vremia, St.-​Peterburgskie vedomosti, Muzykal’nyi listok, Novorossiiskii telegraf, Odesskii listok, and Muzykal’noe obozrenie. From 1856 to 1858 he lived in New York and worked as a private secretary and children’s teacher for the Russian consul general Ivan Karlovich Nottbeck. After winning second prize from the Russian Music Society in St. Petersburg in 1861 for his cantata Pir Petra Velikogo, Sokal’skii went to the Russian capital to meet with Dargomyzhsky, where he also met Stasov, Balakirev, and Cui. He started studying at the St. Petersburg Conservatory but never finished his studies because of poor health. In 1864 he formed an amateur choir in Odessa. In 1866 he organized, along with other musicians, “Russian concerts” (performing exclusively music by Russian composers) to gather money for a public music school. During the Russian–​Turkish War he served as a military correspondent (1876–​78). Besides two operas (Osada Dubno and Maiskaia noch) and one cantata, he wrote art songs and chamber works. See Grigorii Bernandt and Izrail Iampol’skii, Kto pisal o muzyke (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1979), 3:81–​82;Tat’iana Karysheva, Petr Sokal’skii: Zhizn i tvorchestvo (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1984). 30. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 45. This scale, according to Sokal’skii, should not be called “Chinese” and be considered the legacy of a “yellow race,” as Alexander Serov had earlier maintained, since it could also be found in old Russian songs, either in its entire form or at least in part. Paradoxically, Sokal’skii never used the term “pentatonic” and referred to the scale as “Chinese” or “Scottish.” 31. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 40. 32. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 42. It is unclear why Sokal’skii chooses c as a tonic, although most obviously f is a center. 33. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 177. Herman von Helmholtz, Die Lehre von den Tonempfindungen als physiologische Grundlage für die Theorie der Musik (Braunschweig:  F. Vieweg und Sohn, 1863), 437. 34. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 174–​78. 35. Some earlier western European writers have drawn parallels between Arab-​Persian and European musical instruments. See François-​Joseph Fétis, Histoire générale de la musique dupuis les temps les plus anciens jusqu’a nos jours, vol. 2 (Paris: Typographie Firmin Didot, 1869). 36. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 156–​57. By the time Sokal’skii wrote this work, statements about the Arabic provenance of the European “rebab” were commonplace.

Notes to pages 97–100 Fétis, Histoire générale, 107. However, unlike Sokal’skii, earlier writers, such as Fétis and Christianowitsch, considered “kemângeh roomy” (not “rebab”) as the ancestor of the European violin. See, Fétis, Histoire générale, 140; Christianowitsch, Esquisse, 30. 37. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 157. 38. With reference to the Zirafkand scale, Soklal’skii cited Raphael Kiesewetter, Die Musik der Araber, nach Originalquellen Dargestellt (Leipzig:  Breitkopf und Härtel, 1842) and Helmholtz, Die Lehre von den Tonempfindungen. See Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 155. 39. Although the leading note eventually does resolve to the first degree via the dominant, Sokal’skii disregarded this point. 40. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 161–​62. 41. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 169. On Arabic modes (maqams) of Hijāz and Nawá Athar, see Scott L. Marcus, “Modulation in Arab Music: Documenting Oral Concepts, Performance Rules and Strategies,” Ethnomusicology 36/​2 (1992): 171–​95, here 175. 42. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 174. 43. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 177. 44. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 178. 45. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 177. 46. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 368. 47. Most liberal newspapers, such as Golos, Moskovskii telegraf, and Otechestvennye zapiski, were closed within just two years of Alexander III’s reign, because of the new “Provisionary Rules on Printing,” which allowed closing any publishing house without an official notification. In 1884 a new University Statute liquidated the universities’ autonomy by controlling their administration and governance, and by limiting postsecondary education to the representatives of higher social ranks. 48. Nikolai Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke: Kurs lektsii (Moscow: Vysshaia shkola, 2003), 328. 49. One of the most multiethnic cities in Russia, Odessa was home to an extremely diverse population of Russians, Jews, Ukrainians, Poles, Germans (including Mennonites), Greeks, Tatars, Armenians, French, Belorussians, Albanians, Azeris, Bulgarians, and others; according to the 1897 All-​Russian census, fifty languages other than Russian were spoken in the city. See Patricia Herlihy, “The Ethnic Composition of the City of Odessa,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 1/​1 (1977): 53–​77. 50. Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty. Mikhail Onisifovich Petukhov (1843–​95) graduated from the School of the Guard’s Warrant Officers (Shkola Gvardeiskikh Podpraporshchikov). After he went into retirement, he devoted himself to music activity. He contributed to Russian periodicals, such as Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia, Svet, Baian, Trud, and Niva, and wrote a number of entries in Entsiklopedicheskii slovar, ed. F. A. Brockhaus and I. A. Efron (Leipzig and St. Petersburg, 1890–​1906). He translated from German into Russian Hermann Helmholtz, Uchenie o slukhovykh oshchushcheniiakh kak fiziologicheskaia osnova dlia teorii muzyki [Die Lehre von den Tonempfindungen als physiologische Grundlage für die Theorie der Musik] (St. Petersburg, 1875). Petukhov also published a separate article on the improvement of the balalaika in Zvezda 13 (1888) and about Andreev’s balalaika hobby group in Baian 11 (1888). For a short biography of Petukhov, see Bernandt and Iampol’skii, Kto pisal o muzyke, 2:281.

313

314 Notes to pages 100–103 51. When Petukhov describes the dutara, a Central Asian plucked string instrument, he lists all his sources: Turkestan Album. By order of the Turkestan Governor-​General, Adjutant-​ General K.P. von Kaufman I. The Ethnographical Part—​Native populations in the Russian possessions of Central Asia. Compiled by A.L. Kun. 1871–​1872. Lithographed by the Military Topographical Department of the Turkestan Military District (St. Petersburg: Lit.Voenno-​Topogr. Otdela Turkest. Voen. Okruga, 1871–​72), with the photographs of musicians from Russian Turkestan, discussed hereafter, and a short description of a “Bacha Dance” published in 1879 in Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia [World Illustration]. His sources on the Japanese instrument the kollo or koto include one French (Fétis, Histoire générale), two German (Numann, Illustrirte Musikgeschichte and Ambros, Geschichte der Musik), and one Russian (Gunke’s short description of koto in Muzykal’byi listok). He never describes his own aural experiences of listening to different Asian instruments, relying rather on secondhand information. In the last sentence of his essay he complains that because of the lack of financial support and “our society’s indifference toward music literature” his work “suffers” from “tightness and omissions.” See Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty, 56. 52. Jann Pasler, “The Utility of Musical Instruments in the Racial and Colonial Agendas of Late Nineteenth-​Century France,” Journal of the Royal Musical Association 129/​1 (2004): 24–​ 76; Zon, Representing Non-​Western Music, 44–​47, 64–​65, 104–​109. 53. See Fétis, Histoire générale, and Gustave Chouquet, Le musée du Conservatoire National de Musique: Catalogue descriptif et raisonné (Paris, 1875). 54. Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty,  50–​51. 55. Petukhov, Narodnye instrumenty, 45. 56. See Nathaniel Knight, “Grigor’ev in Orenburg 1851–​1862: Russian Orientalism in the Service of Empire,” Slavic Review 59 (2000): 96. 57. On the life of Vereshchagin, see Andrei Lebedev, V.V. Vereshchagin (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1972), and (in English) see Vahan D. Barooshian, V. V.  Vereshchagin:  Artist at War (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1993). On Kazembek, see David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye,“Mirza Kazem-​bek and the Kazan School of Russian Orientology,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 28/​3 (2008): 443–​58. On the life of Katanov, see Sergei Ivanov, Nikolai Fedorovich Katanov (1862–​1922): Ocherk zhizni i deiatel’nosti, 2nd ed. (Moscow and Leningrad, 1973); Robert P. Geraci, Window on the East: National and Imperial Identities in Late Tsarist Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 309–​42. 58. See Alexander Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​ kitaiskaia gamma v Azii i Evrope (St. Petersburg: tip. Iu. Schtaufa, 1889). 59. Alexander Sergeevich Famintsyn (1841–​96) was a Russian music historian, critic, and composer, educated in the natural sciences at St. Petersburg University and in music at the Leipzig Conservatory (studying under Moritz Hauptmann, E. F. Richter, Carl Riedel, and I. Mocheles). A short biography with a list of his writings is found in Bernandt and Iampol’skii, Kto pisal o muzyke, 3:149–​ 51; and Gerald Abraham, “Famintsïn, Aleksandr Sergeyevich,” in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://​www.oxfordmusiconline. com/​subscriber/​article/​g rove/​music/​09279 (accessed August 30, 2010). Famintsyn’s education in pure science left a pronounced mark on his approach to Russian music theory and

Notes to pages 103–106 history, for which he was criticized by the members of Balakirev’s circle. Although he was one of Stasov’s chief adversaries, and famous for provoking the latter into suing him for defamation, Famintsyn, nonetheless, often reiterated Stasov’s ideas on the origins of Russian culture. See Stasov, “Po povodu pis’ma Famintsyna,” an open letter to St-​Petersburgskie vedomosti, in Sobranie sochinenii V. V. Stasova, 3:442–​49. Famintsyn’s hostility to the music of the Kuchka has discouraged research on his life. His theoretical and compositional works have been completely forgotten, and until now neither Soviet/​Russian nor western European researchers have investigated this figure. 60. See for instance Viacheslav Petr, “O melodicheskom sklade ariiskoi pesni. Istoriko-​ sravnitel’nyi opyt.I. Chast’teoreticheskaia.II Chast’prakticheskaia”[About a Melodic Structure of Aryan Song. Experience in Comparative History. I. Theoretical Part and II. Practical Part], RMG 1 (1897): 3–​28, and (1897–​98): annex., 1–​56; B. Babkin, “Balalaika: Ocherki istorii ee razvitiia i usovershenstvovaniia,” RMG (1896):  682–​94, 804–​6; Nikolai Findeizen, History of Music in Russia from Antiquity to 1800 [Ocherki po istorii muzyki v Rossii], trans. S. W. Pring, ed. and ann. M.Velimirović and C. R. Jensen (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2008), 175. 61. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 167. Unfortunately, Famintsyn does not provide exact geographical parameters for his conception of Central Asia. From what he writes, however, it seems that Central Asia does not include Persia or the Arabic or Mongol worlds. 62. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 115. 63. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 63. 64. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 122. 65. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 130. 66. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 127. 67. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 128–​29. 68. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 127. 69. Nikolai Rimsky-​Korsakov, Sbornik 100 russkikh narodnykh pesen:  Op 24, 1876 (St. Petersburg:  Bessel, 1877), part 2, 72–73. Famintsyn never talks about the metrical placement of pitches, which would help in understanding his preference for cutting certain scale degrees. Using a similar approach in the analysis of tunes, he lists all Russian “pentatonic” melodies in the collections of Balakirev, Abramychev, Mel’gunov, and Prokunin. 70. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 65. 71. This contrasts with his approach to the music of northern aboriginal peoples, or indigenous Australians, in which he often resorts to adjectives such as “savage” and “semicultural” and describes their music as “monotonous,” “feeble,” and “most elementary.” Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma,  27–​29. 72. Sergei Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni ural’skikh musul’man s ocherkom ikh byta (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperatorskoi AN, 1897), 273; Boris Lunin, Nauchnye obshchestva Turkestana i ikh progressivnaia deiatel’nost: Konets XIX–​nachalo XX veka (Tashkent: AN UzSSR, 1962), 30; Knight, “Grigor’ev in Orenburg”: 95; Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: Routledge Curzon, 2003), 8. Some members of the Kirkiz-​Kaisak tribe in

315

316 Notes to pages 106–107 fact were educated in Russian military schools and were recruited by the Russian military intelligence office. For example, Chokan Valikhanov served as an officer of the Russian army and went to Turkestan to gather intelligence on the political situation and military state of affairs in Central Asia. See Kermit E. McKenzie, “Chokan Valikhanov: Kazakh Princeling and Scholar,” Central Asian Survey 80/​3 (1989):  1–​30. As the famous nineteenth-​century Russian orientologist Vasilii Radlov observed, many members of nomadic tribes (Kyrgyz, Kara-​Kalpaks, and Turkomans) often fought on the Russian side against Central Asian towns’ populations. See Vasilii Radlov, “Sredniaia Zeravshanskaia dolina,” Zapiski IRGO po otdeleniiu etnografii 6/​1 (1880): 1–​93; here 73. 73. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 173. 74. It should be stressed that the link between pentatonic scales, eastern music, and “ancient” European folk music had been established earlier in English literature. Charles Burney (1726–​ 1814) in his General History claimed that one essential characteristic of both Chinese and Scottish music—​the pentatonic scale—​connected these two cultures to each other and proved their common ancient Greek and Egyptian origin. See Burney, A General History of Music, From the Earliest Ages to the Present Period (1789), With Critical and Historical Notes by Frank Mercer (New York : Dover Publications, [1957]), 1:45–​49; Matthew Gelbart, The Invention of “Folk Music” and “Art Music”:  Emerging Categories from Ossian to Wagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 125–​28; Simon McKerrell, Focus: Scottish Traditional Music (New York: Routledge, 2016), 145–​48. It is unlikely, however, that the idea of the universalism of the pentatonic scale came to Famintsyn directly from Burney’s writings, since throughout Famintsyn’s book, which cites no less than fifty different European (mostly German and French) music sources, he never mentions Burney’s name. See Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma. 75. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma,  56–​70. 76. The statement on the affinity among the musical styles of Greece, Brittany, Ireland, and Russia was pronounced a few years earlier by Louis-​Albert Bourgault-​Ducoudray, Trente mélodies populaire de Grèce et d’Orient (Paris: Henry Lemoine, 1876), 14–​16, and Bourgault-​ Ducoudray, “La Musique primitive conservée par les montagnes,” Annuaire du Club alpine française (1884):  9. On Bourgault-​ Ducoudray’s theory of connections of Aryan peoples through Greek scales, see Jann Pasler, “Race and Nation:  Musical Acclimatization and the Chansons Populaires in Third Republic France,” in Western Music and Race, ed. Julie Brow (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2007), 155–​56, and Pasler, “Theorizing Race in Nineteenth-​Century France: Music as Emblem of Identity,” Musical Quarterly 89 (2008): 472, 483–​85. While Famintsyn believed that pentatonicism was the key element of Aryan musical identity, the French theoretician claimed that the presence of Hypodorian and Hypophrygian modes “confirms the hypothesis of shared origins of the Aryan people.” See Pasler, “Race and Nation,” 155, and her “Theorizing Race,” 472. On the formation of Greek musical nationalism based on Bourgault-​Ducoudray’s harmonization of Greek tunes, see Panos Vlagopoulos, “‘The Patrimony of Our Race’: Louis-​Albert Bourgault-​Ducoudray and the Emergence of the Discourse on Greek National Music,” Journal of Modern Greek Studies 34/​1 (2016): 49–​77.

Notes to pages 107–108 77. GuidoAdler and Erica Mugglestone, “Guido Adler’s ‘The Scope, Method, and Aim of Musicology’ (1885): An English Translation with a Historico-​Analytical Commentary by Erica Mugglestone,” Yearbook for Traditional Music 13 (1981): 1–​21. Actually, one can even say that Famintsyn was inclined to German thought not only because he spent two years studying in Leipzig but also because of the centuries-​long Russian-​German history of mutual attraction. See Walter Laqueur, “Russian-​German Attitudes,” in Russia and Germany:  A Century of Conflict (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 1990), 21–​37. 78. See Adler and Mugglestone, “Guido Adler’s ‘The Scope, Method, and Aim of Musicology’ (1885),” 13. 79. See Peter G. Toner, “The Gestation of Cross-​cultural Music Research and the Birth of Ethnomusicology,” Humanities Research 14/​1 (2007): 91. 80. See Vanessa Agnew, “The Colonialist Beginnings of Comparative Musicology,” in Germany’s Colonial Pasts, ed. Eric Ames, Marcia Klotz, and Lora Wildenthal (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005), 43. 81. See for instance Pasler, “The Utility of Musical Instruments,” 28–​30, and Zon, Representing Non-​Western Music,  88–​94. 82. See Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 27. 83. See François-​ Joseph Fétis, “Sur un nouveau mode de classification des races humaines d’après leurs systemes musicaux,” Bulletin de la Société d’anthropologie, ser. 2, vol. 2 (1867): 134–​43. 84. See Pasler, “Theorizing Race in Nineteenth-​Century France,” 465. On Fétis’s work, see Emile Haraszti, “Fétis fondateur de la musicologie comparée: Son étude sur un nouveau mode de classification des races humaines d’après leurs systèmes musicaux. Contribution à l’œuvre de Fétis,” Acta Musicologica 4 (1932): 97–​103. 85. In relation to music with a simple structure, Famintsyn also lists examples from Abyssinia, Moravia, Slovakia, Switzerland, Finland, and the southern Slavic countries, pointing out that the tunes’ relative simplicity is due to the influence of musical instruments whose simple melodies became the basis for vocal tunes. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma,  32–​35. 86. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 37. 87. On German ethnology and diffusionism, see Robert H. Lowie, The History of Ethnological Theory (New York: Rinehart, 1937); Raoul and Frada Naroll, eds., Main Currents in Cultural Anthropology (New York: Appleton-​Century-​Crofts, 1973); Woodruff D. Smith, “Social and Political Origins of German Diffusionist Ethnology,” Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences 14 (1978): 103–​12; W. D. Smith, Politics and the Science of Culture in Germany 1840–​1920 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); James M. Blaut, The Colonizer’s Model of the World: Geographical Diffusionism and Eurocentric History (New York: Guilford Press, 1993); H. Glenn Penny, Objects of Culture: Ethnology and Ethnographic Museums in Imperial Germany (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2002). 88. Famintsyn refers to his Die Urberökerung Europas (1874). 89. Smith, Politics, 103.

317

318 Notes to pages 108–114 90. Some Russian ethnographers of German ancestry, such as Karl von Baer (a leading figure in the Russian Geographical Society), were also proponents of geographical determinism, claiming that history is predetermined by geography. See Nathaniel Knight, “Science, Empire, and Nationality: Ethnography in the Russian Geographical Society, 1845–​ 1855,” in Imperial Russia: New Histories for the Empire, ed. Jane Burbank and David L. Ransel (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 118. 91. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 8. 92. Lowie, History of Ethnological Theory, 184; Smith, Politics, 142. 93. See Lowie, History of Ethnological Theory, 184. 94. See Famintsyn, Domra i skhodnye ei muzykal’nye instrumenty russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg: tip. E. Arnol’da, 1891). 95. Famintsyn, Domra, 170. 96. For instance, Famintsyn is unstinting in his praise of the guitar, transformed and modernized by a famous Russian guitarist, Andrei Sikhr, who added a seventh string to expand the guitar’s range and to develop its performance techniques. See Famintsyn, Domra, 192–​93. 97. It should be noted, however, that some Russian instruments, such as the balalaika, are scorned by Famintsyn as “vulgar,” because its function is limited to voice and dance accompaniment. See Famintsyn, Domra, 86, 170. 98. Before the publication of Domra, only Eichhorn’s description of the collection of Central Asian instruments (1885) and Gotovitskii and Pfennig’s article on the music of the Kyrgyz people were available to the wider public. See August Eichhorn, Polnaia kollektsiia muzykal’nykh instrumentov narodov Tsentral’noi Azii A. F.  Eichhorna (byvshego voennogo kapel’meistera v Tashkente) (St. Petersburg: Iu. Shtauf, 1885);M.V. Gotovitskii and R. A. Pfennig, “O kirgizskikh i sartovskikh narodnykh pesniakh,” EO 3 (1889): 73–​91. 99. See, for instance, I. Shopen, “O muzyke i pliaske zhitelei Armianskoi oblasti,” Maiak (1840):  97–​10; I. N. Berezin, “Ramazan v Stambule,” Russkii vestnik 2 (1856):  682–​704; P. Siial’skii, “Nechto o pesniakh i muzyke v Zakavkazskom krae,” Illiustratsiia 193 (1861): 283. 100. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​ kitaiskaia gamma, 10–​ 11, 20–​ 21, 24, 167–​ 74; Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 177, 365–​66. 101. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, 366. 102. Famintsyn, Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma, 6. 103. Nicholas II, “Manifesto of June 3rd, 1907 (Dissolution of the Second Duma),” trans. Daniel Field, in Documents in Russian History, http://​academic.shu.edu/​russianhistory/​index. php/​Manifesto_​of_​June_​3rd,_​1907_​ (accessed August 7, 2017). 104. See Alexander Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie muzykal’nyh instrumentov khraniashchikhsia v Dashkovskom etnograficheskom muzee v Moskve,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​ etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (Moscow, 1911), 2:205–​68. 105. A  detailed account of this society’s musical activities is presented in c­hapter  6. Alexander Leont’evich Maslov (1877–​1914) was a Russian music theorist, folklorist, and journalist. In 1902 he graduated from the music-​dramatic college of the Moscow Philharmonic

Notes to pages 114–117 Society; beginning in 1901 he participated in folklore expeditions to Orlov, Saratov, Simbir, Samar, and Arkhangel’sk gubernia. He served as a secretary of the Music-​Ethnographic Committee of the Moscow University Society of Friends of Natural Science, Anthropology, and Ethnography. In 1902, along with P. I. Pezarovskii and P. A. Kotov, Maslov opened a private musical school, where he taught music-​theoretical subjects. He participated in the organization of Moscow People’s Conservatory, where he taught music theory beginning in 1907. From 1901 to 1907 he was a correspondent of the Russian Musical Gazette; he was then editor and publisher of the journal Music and Life from 1908 to 1912. He is also known by the pseudonyms A. Livin, Livin, A.M., and A.M-​v. See Bernandt and Iampol’skii, Kto pisal o muzyke, 2:190–​91. 106. Vasilii Andreevich Dashkov, an amateur ethnographer and the assistant director of the Rumiantsev Museum, donated 20,000 rubles to fund the exhibition. Later, he founded an ethnographic museum using the collection compiled for the exhibition and exponents from his own collection. 107. Nathaniel Knight, The Empire on Display: Science, Nationalism, and the Challenge of Human Diversity in the All-​Russian Ethnographic Exhibition of 1867 (Washington, DC: NCEEER, 2001), 13. 108. S. Maksimov, “Etnograficheskaia vystavka v Moskve, II,” Golos 122 (May 4, 1867), 1, quoted in Knight, The Empire on Display, 15. 109. Knight, The Empire on Display, 22. 110. Knight, The Empire on Display, 20. 111. For the first description of musical instruments displayed at the 1867 All-​Russian Ethnographic Exhibition in Moscow, see Aleksei Vladimirskii, “O zakonakh muzykal’noi garmonii i natsional’nykh muzykal’nykh instrumentakh dostavlennykh na etnograficheskuiu vystavku,” in Izvestiia Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, vol. 7, Sbornik antropologicheskikh i etnograficheskikh statei o Rossii i stranakh ei prinadlezhashchikh, izdavaemyi V. A. Dashkovym [Collection of Articles on Anthropology and Ethnography of Russia, published by V. A. Dashkov], kn. 1 (Moscow: Moscow University, 1868), 152–​68. 112. See Catherine B. Clay, “Russian Ethnographers in the Service of Empire, 1856–​ 1862,” Slavic Review 54/​1 (1995): 45–​61; here, 53. 113. Clay, “Russian Ethnographers in the Service of Empire,” 54. 114. See Pasler, “The Utility of Musical Instruments.” 115. See Chouquet, Le musée du Conservatoire National de Musique, 197–​256; Fétis, Histoire générale, 2:107–​64. For a detailed analysis of French theory of instruments, see Pasler, “The Utility of Musical Instruments.” 116. Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie,” 241. 117. Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie,” 261. 118. Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie,” 252. 119. Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie,” 226. 120. My comparison of these images is inspired by Jann Pasler’s discussion of representations of Indo-​Chinese and Chinese musicians in L’illustration. See Pasler, “The Utility of Musical Instruments,” 52–​54.

319

320 Notes to pages 120–125 121. For more on the concert prepared for this conference, see Konstantin Bich-​ Lubenskii, “Banduristy i liriki na khar’kovskom XII arkheologicheskom s”ezde,” RMG (1902): 833–​41, 865–​73. 122. Bich-​Lubenskii, “Banduristy i liriki,” 872. 123. Bich-​Lubenskii, “Banduristy i liriki,” 865, 833. 124. See Turkestan Album. 125. As an introductory note to the Turkestan Album states, the main aim of this album was to “present visually:  1) the past life of the region in preserved ancient monuments (archaeological part); 2) the contemporary life of the population—​types, beliefs, rites, customs, dwellings, dress, and views of more populated places (ethnographic part); 3) the culture of the country in industrial and technical relations (industrial crafts and trades part); and 4)  the advancement of the Russians into these new lands.” On the Turkestan Album see Heather Sonntag, “The Turkestan Album—​A Brief Material Re-​orientation and Its Antecedents,” Journée d’Etude Centrasiatique, 3, Histoire du Turkestan russe et du Xinjiang, http://​www.reseau-​asie.com/​cgi-​bin/​prog/​pform.cgi?langue=fr&Mcenter=suparticle&Ty peListe=showdoc&ID_​document=369 (accessed October 26, 2007). 126. Unfortunately, the author of the album did not provide any information on the context of the pictures presented, except for names of the places where they were taken, the names of musical instruments, and the names of the officials serving in Russian Turkestan at the end of the nineteenth century. 127. Maslov calls this instrument a “tambourine of Uzbeks from Turkestan.” Maslov, “Illiustrirovannoe opisanie,” 263. In the Turkestan Album this person is identified as a female, while in Eichhorn’s personal collection of photographs from Central Asia, the kapellmeister of Turkestan identified the same person on the same photograph as a bacha, or young boy-​dancer. 128. A similar juxtaposition of images that suggested the superiority of French culture over that of Indo-​China was used in the French periodical L’illustration. See Jann Pasler, “The Utility of Musical Instruments,” 65–​68. 129. The photographs from Eichhorn’s collection were most probably bought along with his collection of Central Asian instruments by the Moscow Conservatory after the exposition of his collection in a private museum in St. Petersburg. See Tamila Djani-​Zade, Muzykail’naia kul’tura Russkogo Turkestana:  Po materialam muzykal’no-​etnograficheskogo sobraniia Augusta Eichhorna, voennogo kapel’meistera v Tashkente (1870–​1883) (Moscow:  VMOMK im. Glinki, 2013), 9. See also F. Hordet, Al’bom Kavkaz i Sredniaia Aziia, 4 vols. (S.l.: s.n., 1890–​99). 130. Kathleen Stewart Howe, Excursions along the Nile:  The Photographic Discovery of Ancient Egypt (Santa Barbara: Santa Barbara Museum of Art, 1993), 27. 131. See “Protokoly zasedanii MEK,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​ etnograficheskoi komissii (Moscow, 1906), 1:36, 57, and (1911), 2:iii–​iv, 8, and 17. 132. On the tsarist nationalities policies before and after the Revolution of 1905, see Hugh Seton-​Watson, The Russian Empire 1801–​1917 (New  York:  Oxford University Press,

Notes to pages 125–127 1988), 663–​76; Andreas Kappeler, The Russian Empire:  A Multiethnic History, trans. Alfred Clayton (Harlow, UK: Longman, 2001), 321–​48. 133. See Maslov, “Narodnye muzykal’nye instrumenty,” 1–​21. 134. Maslov, “Narodnye muzykal’nye instrumenty,” 16–​17. The theory that the Russian balalaika originated from eastern musical instruments has quite a long history. Before the mid-​nineteenth century, many writers—​including Prince Vladimir Odoevsky, ethnographer Grigorii Spasskii, and court historian Nikolai Ustrialov—​were convinced that the Russians had borrowed the balalaika from the Tatars. See Ulrich Morgenstern, “Debating ‘National Ownership’ of Musical Instruments: The Balalaika as the Subject of Ethnopolitical Discourse,” in Turkic Soundscapes: From Shamanic Voices to Hip-​Hop, ed. Razia Sultanova and Megan Rancier (New York: Routledge, 2018), 177–​230. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, however, Russian writers started referring to the balalaika as an instrument with origins in the Orient or Asia, widening the geography of its possible provenance and minimizing the role of Turko-​Tatar people in Russian cultural history. This may have been a response to a growing Pan-​Turkism movement in the Russian empire and fears that Russian Turkic-​speaking subjects living in the Caucasus and Central Asia would unite against the Russians and subscribe to Turkish imperial ambitions. 135. Maslov, “Narodnye muzykal’nye instrumenty,” 16. 136. Maslov, “Narodnye muzykal’nye instrumenty,” 17.

Chapter 4 1. See Grigorii Kim, and P. M. Shastitko, eds., Istoriia otechestvennogo vostokovedeniia do serediny XIX veka (Moscow: Nauka, 1990); Lauren G. Leighton, Russian Romanticism: Two Essays (The Hague,The Netherlands: Mouton, 1975), 76–​77; Susan Layton, Russian Literature and Empire:  The Conquest of the Caucasus from Pushkin to Tolstoy (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1994), 73–​81; Harsha Ram, The Imperial Sublime:  A Russian Poetics of Empire (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003), 104–​5; Anthony Briggs, “Fallibility and Perfection in the Works of A. Pushkin,” in Problems of Russian Romanticism, ed. Robert Reid (Aldershot: Gower, 1986), 25–​48. See also earlier sources, such as Vasily Bartol’d, Istoriia izucheniia Vostoka v Evrope i Rossii:  Lektsii chitannye v universitete i v leningradskom institute zhivykh vostochnykh iazykov (Leningrad: Tov. Alekseeva, 1925). 2. See Nadezhda Lobikova, Pushkin i Vostok:  Ocherki (Moscow:  Nauka, 1974), 9–​10; Kim and Shastitko, Istoriia otechestvennogo vostokovedeniia do serediny XIX veka, 219–​22; Svetlana Klimova, “The Reception of Byron’s Poetry in Russian Literature at the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century,” in Byron and Orientalism, ed. Peter Cochran (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006), 254–​74; Peter Cochran, Byron’s European Impact (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars, 2015), 517–​18. 3. On the influence of French music, see Marina Frolova-​Walker, “Grand Opera in Russia: Fragments of an Unwritten History,” in Cambridge Companion to Grand Opera, ed. David Charlton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 344–​65; Valerii Smirnov, ed., Russko-​frantsuzskie muzykal’nye sviazi (St. Petersburg: St. Petersburg Conservatory, 2003);

321

322 Notes to pages 127–130 Adalyat Issiyeva, “Dialogue of Cultures:  French Musical Orientalism in Russia, ‘Artistic Truth,’ and Russian Musical Identity,” Revue Musicale OICRM 3/​1 (2016): 71–​92. 4. See Stepan Volk, ed., intro., and comm, “Ikh vechen s vol’nost’iu soiuz”: Literaturnaia kritika i publitsistika dekabristov (Moscow:  Sovremennik, 1983), 160; Orest Somov, “O romanticheskoi poezii,” in Literaturno-​ kriticheskie raboty dekabristov, ed. L. G. Frizman (Moscow:  Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1978), 242–​43; Alexander Bestuzhev, “O romane N. Polevogo ‘Kliatva pri grobe gospodnem,” in Literaturno-​kriticheskie raboty dekabristov, ed. Frizman, 104; M. Bobrovskii, “Istoricheskii vzgliad na knizhnyi iazyk Arabov i na literaturu sego naroda,” Vestnik Evropy 5 (1825):  27; Baron Ekshtein, “O drevnei poezii arabov do Mugammeda,” Moskovskii telegraf 19 (1831): 349–​77; Jozef (Osip) Kowalewski, “O znakomstve evropeitsev s Azieiu: Rech, proiznesennaia v torzhestvennom sobranii imperatorskogo Kazanskogo universiteta v 8 den Avgusta 1837 goda,” Vostochnaia kollektsiia 4 (2002): 50–​54. 5. Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 80. 6. Somov, “O romanticheskoi poezii,” 242–​43. On the biography and works of Somov, see John Mersereau, “Orest Somov: An Introduction,” Slavonic and East European Review 43/​ 101 (1965): 354–​70; Nina Petrunina, “Orest Somov i ego proza,” in Somov, O. M. Byli i nebylitsy (Moscow: Sovetskaia Rossiia, 1984), 15–​ 18. 7. On the subject of the “exotic” in nineteenth-​century western European music, see Jonathan Bellman, ed., The Exotic in Western Music (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1998); Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh, eds., Western Music and Its Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music (Berkeley:  University of California Press, 2000); Ralph Locke, Musical Exoticism: Images and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). 8. Wilhelm Küchelbecker, “O napravlenii nashei poezii, osobenno liricheskoi, v poslednee desiatiletie,” in Literaturno-​kriticheskie raboty dekabristov, ed. Frizman, 196. 9. Grigorii Gukovskii, Pushkin i russkie romantiki (Moscow: Intrada, 1995), 258–​59. 10. See Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 113; Leonid Semenov, “Motivy gorskogo fol’klora i byta v poeme Lermontova ‘Khadzhi-​Abrek,’” in Mikhail Iur’evich Lermontov: Sbornik statei i materialov, ed. D. A. Gireev, A. M. Dokusov, V. A. Manuilov (Stavropol: Stavropol’skoe Kn. Izd., 1960), 14–​25. After Pushkin, ethnographic dimensions began to be introduced into otherwise imagined poems or novels. On the ethnographic side of Pushkin’s Prisoner, see Gukovskii, Pushkin i russkie romantiki, 287–​92. Layton points out that some sections of Marlinsky’s Ammalat-​Bek also “read as an ethnographic essay, with the author holding forth on local ‘Asiatic’ customs, religion, history, language, and so forth.” See Layton, “Marlinsky’s ‘Ammalat-​Bek’ and the Orientalization of the Caucasus in Russian Literature,” in The Golden Age of Russian Literature and Thought, ed. Derek Offord (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992), 39. 11. On the history of the Russian conquest of the Caucasus, see John F. Baddeleu, The Russian Conquest of the Caucasus (London:  Longmands, Green, 1908); Paul B. Henze, “Fire and Sword in the Caucasus: The 19th-​Century Resistance of the North Caucasian Mountaineers,” Central Asian Survey 2 (July 1983):  5–​44; Nina Kiniapina, M. M. Bliev, and V. V. Degoev, eds., Kavkaz i Sredniaia Aziia vo vneshnei politike Rossii:  Vtoraia polovina

Notes to pages 130–132 XVIII–​80-​e gody XIX v. (Moscow: Moscow University, 1984); Nikolas K. Gvosdev, Imperial Policies and Perspectives towards Georgia, 1760–​1819 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000); Iakov Gordin, Kavkaz: Zemlia i krov’: Rossiia v Kavkazskoi voine XIX veka (St. Petersburg: Zvezda, 2000); Gary Hamburg, Thomas Sanders, and Ernest Tucker, eds. and trans., Russian-​Muslim Confrontation in the Caucasus: Alternative Visions of the Conflict between Imam Shamil and the Russians, 1830–​1859 (London: Routledge Curzon: 2004). 12. Firuz Kazemzadeh,“Russian Penetration of the Caucasus,” in Russian Imperialism from Ivan the Great to the Revolution, ed.Taras Huncazk (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1974), 251; Andreas Kappeler, The Russian Empire: A Multiethnic History, trans. Alfred Clayton (Harlow, UK: Longman, 2001), 174–​75; Paul B. Rich, “The Russian State and Great Power Politics,” in Crisis in the Caucasus: Russia, Georgia and the West (London: Routledge, 2011),  32–​36. 13. Kappeler, Russian Empire, 176; L. Hamilton Rhinelander, “Russia’s Imperial Policy: The Administration of the Caucasus in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century,” Canadian Slavonic Papers 17 (1975), 225–​26, 232. 14. Under the authority of Count M. S. V   orontsov, who served as viceregent (namestnik) of the Caucasian Territory from 1845 to 1854, the Russian administration gained the respect and cooperation of Caucasian peoples. See Rhinelander, “Russia’s Imperial Policy,” 231–​34. 15. See Anatolii Fadeev, ed., Istoriia SSSR s drevneishikh vremen do nashikh dnei v dvenadtsati tomakh (Moscow: Nauka, 1967), 4:395. “The policies of terror” adopted by General Aleksei Ermolov, viceroy of the Caucasus, were in place until c. 1864, through the early years of the reign of Alexander II. Many other Russian military officials, such as Ataman Vlasov and Count Ivan Paskevich(-​Erivanskii) used starvation and complete extermination of the auls (villages) as a standard means of subjugating the mountaineers, or gortsy. Aleksei Ermolov, Zapiski, 1798–​ 1826 gg. (Moscow:  Vysshaia shkola, 1991), 386–​ 92; Kazemzadeh, “Russian Penetration of the Caucasus,” 253; Kappeler, Russian Empire, 183. 16. Even Georgian aristocrats and peasants unsatisfied with Russia’s repressive policy launched numerous insurrections (in 1812, 1819–​20, 1832, and 1841). See Kappeler, Russian Empire, 176. 17. On Shamil and his life see Moshe Gammer, Muslim Resistance to the Tsar: Shamil and the Conquest of Chechnia and Dagestan (London: Frank Cass, 1994); Rebecca Gould, “Imam Shamil (1797–​1871),” in Russia’s People of Empire: Life Stories from Eurasia, 1500 to the Present, ed. Stephen M. Norris and Willard Sunderland (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 2012), 117–​28. 18. Vano Shaduri, Dekabristskaia literatura i gruzinskaia obshchestvennost (Tbilisi:  Zaria Vostoka, 1958), 22. 19. The life and death of Bestuzhev-​ Marlinsky can serve as a good example of doubts about the imperialist view on war in the Caucasus. Layton, “Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky’s Interchange with the Tribesman,” in Russian Literature and Empire, 110–​32. Some Russian soldiers deserted the army to join the forces fighting against Russia. As A. K. Popov points out, an entire battalion of Russian and Polish deserters under one Samson Khan participated in the siege of Herat in 1838. See A. K. Popov, “Bor’ba za sredneaziatskii platsdarm,” Istoricheskie

323

324 Notes to pages 132–133 zapiski 7 (1940): 205–​206, cited in Madhavan K. Palat, “The Russian Conquest of Inner Asia,” in Annuari, vol. 7 (Barcelona: Societat Catalana d’Economia [Filial de l’Institut d’Estudios Catalans]), 1989), 121. 20. Decembrists claimed that their revolt was the first attempt to push Russia toward European liberalism. See the testimonies of Baron A. Y. Rozen and N. I. Lorer, in Voices in Exile: The Decembrist Memoirs, ed. G. R. V. Barratt (Montreal: McGill-​Queen’s University Press, 1974), 126, 68. As Nikolai Bolkhovitinov noticed, many Decembrists believed the U.S. Constitution was the perfect model for Russia. N. N. Bolkhovitinov, “The Declaration of Independence: A View from Russia,” Journal of American History 85/​4 (March 1999): 1392–​93. 21. As Barratt points out, the memoirs of various members of the Decembrists’ northern society suggests that they “were profoundly shaken by the blatant differences between peasant life in Russia and Western Europe, which they saw as officers stationed abroad during the wars against Napoleon.” See Barratt, Voices in Exile, 39. 22. See Leonid Bol’shakov, Otechestvu dragie imena: Triptikh o dekabristakh na Urale, vol. 2 (Cheliabinsk: Iuzhno-​Ural’skoe Kn. Izd., 1975). 23. See Nikolai Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke (Moscow: Vysshaia shkola, 2003), 85–​88. 24. Although the Decembrists supported the French Revolution of 1789, they considered the popular uprising one of the undesirable means of change. Vladimir Fedorov, Dekabristy i ikh vremia (Moscow:  Moscow University, 1992), 169; Troitskii, Rossiia v XIX veke, 83. 25. The official number of people killed was eighty; however, a witness of the event, Senator P. G. Divov, counted about two hundred killed, while an officer of the Ministry of Justice, S. N. Korsakov, counted more than twelve hundred. See P. Ia. Kann, “O chisle zhertv 14 dekabria 1825 g.,” Istoriia SSSR 6 (1970): 114–​15. Fedorov believes that the latter number was grossly exaggerated and that no more than seven hundred people could have been killed on that day. See Fedorov, Dekabristy i ikh vremia, 201. 26. Fedorov, Dekabristy i ikh vremia, 258. 27. See Gukovskii, Pushkin i russkie romantiki, 151. 28. Fedorov, Dekabristy i ikh vremia, 169. 29. Lev Loseff, On the Beneficence of Censorship:  Aesopian Language in Modern Russian Literature, trans. Jane Bobko (Munich: Otto Sagner, 1984). As Lauren Leighton points out, it was necessary to create this language because Russian writers had to “contend not only with the three-​way relationships between author, critic, and public, but also with an extremely sensitive government.” Leighton, Russian Romanticism, 22. In his Pushkin i russkie romantiki, Gukovskii discusses in detail the symbolic language that had clear political and ideological connotations. For instance, “tyrant” and “freedom” brought up an entire chain of associations and ideas related to the French Revolution. See Gukovskii, Pushkin i russkie romantiki (1995), 153. 30. Gukovskii, Pushkin i russkie romantiki, 227–​58; Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 96; Ram, Imperial Sublime, 132. 31. Layton, “Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky’s Interchange with the Tribesman,” 110–​32; Ram, Imperial Sublime, 207–​10.

Notes to pages 133–137 32. On the representation of the Caucasians, see Vladimir Bobrovnikov, “Bandits and the State: Designing a ‘Traditional’ Culture of V   iolence in the Russian Caucasus,” in Russian Empire:  Space, People, Power, 1700–​1930, ed. Jane Burbank, Mark von Hagen, and Anatolyi Remnev (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 2007), 239–​67; Sabirzyan Badretdinov, “Sincere Soldiers and Naïve Servants,” Transitions 5/​12 (1998): 97–​100; Dominik Gutmeyr, Borderlands Orientalism or How the Savage Lost His Nobility:  The Russian Perception of the Caucasus between 1817 and 1878 (Vienna: LIT, 2017). 33. Layton, “Marlinsky’s Ammalat-​Bek,” 36. 34. Layton, “Marlinsky’s Ammalat-​Bek,” 36. 35. Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 95. 36. Gukovskii, Pushkin i russkie romantiki, 227. 37. See Gukovskii, Pushkin i russkie romantiki, 227–​49; Ram, Imperial Sublime, 165–​66, 170–​72. 38. Ram, Imperial Sublime, 132. 39. Pavel Pestel, “Russkaia Pravda,” in Vosstanie dekabristov: Dokumenty, vol. 7, ed. M. V. Nechkina (Moscow: Gospolitizdat, 1958), 116–​87. Also quoted in Marc Raeff, The Decembrist Movement (Englewood: Prentice-​Hall, 1966), 135; and in Gordin, Kavkaz: Zemlia i krov’,  6–​9. 40. See Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 9–​10, 103; Ram, Imperial Sublime, 127, 149–​58; Bruce Grant, “The Good Russian Prisoner: Naturalizing Violence in the Caucasus,” Cultural Anthropology 20/​1 (2005): 42–​43. 41. Cited in Ram, Imperial Sublime, 209. 42. On the life of Aliab’ev, see Boris Shteinpres, Aliab’ev v izgnanii (Moscow: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1959); Boris Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev:  Tvorcheskii put (Moscow:  Muzyka, 1966); Olga Levasheva, “Aliab’ev,” in Muzykal’naia entsiklopediia, ed. Iurii Keldysh, vol. 1 (Moscow: Sovetskaia entsiklopediia, 1973), 130–​31; Evgenii Levashev and T. V. Korzhen’iants, “A. A. Aliab’ev,” in Istoriia russkoi muzyki v desiati tomakh, eds. Iurii Keldysh, O. E. Levasheva, and A. I. Kandinskii (Moscow: Muzyka, 1988), 5:29–​96. 43. He was later appointed a senator, president of a mining agency, and chancellor of a mining college and a mint. See Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev,  6–​10. 44. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 9. 45. For his service he was recognized with several distinctions and a promotion to the rank of lieutenant. See Shteinpres, Aliab’ev v izgnanii, 8–​9; Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 17. 46. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 75. 47. P.  A. Mukhanov, who was second lieutenant of the Izmail Regiment, and P.  N. Arapov wrote a libretto for Aliab’ev’s comic opera Lunnaia noch ili Domovye (1822). See Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev,  27–​28. 48. See Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 33, 35, 262 (n. 9). Zelenaia lampa had twenty-​ one members, including the most ardent Decembrist poets, Fedor Glinka, Sergei Trubetskoi, and A.  D. Ulybyshev. Among the visitors to the society’s meetings were also the famous poets Alexander Pushkin, Anton Delvig, and Nikolai Gnedich. See B. L. Modzalevskii, “K istorii ‘Zelenoi Lampy,’” in Dekabristy i ikh vremia, vol. 1 (Moscow, 1928); Pavel Shchegolev,

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326 Notes to pages 137–142 “Zelenaia lampa,” in Iz zhizni i tvorchestva Pushkina (Moscow: Gos. Izdat. Khud. Lit., 1931); Fedorov, Dekabristy i ikh vremia,  67–​68. 49. Fedorov, Dekabristy i ikh vremia, 241. 50. For a detailed analysis of a collection of four Asian songs, see Shteinpres, “Aziatskie pesni Aliab’eva,” in Aliab’ev v izgnanii, 91–​98. For a detailed analysis of the melodic construction of French Quadrille and its Asian sources, see Liudmila Karagicheva, “Liubopytnyi dokument ‘Russkogo orientalizma,’” Sovetskaia muzyka 2 (February 1974): 89–​96. 51. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 206. 52. A verst is an old Russian measure of distance: one verst equals 1.067 kilometers. 53. See Shteinpres, Aliab’ev v izgnanii, 68. 54. See Alexander Aliab’ev, Eskizy, nabroski (rukopis), manuscript in fund 40, item 6a and 6b, Aleksandr Aliab’ev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives, Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture, Moscow. As Dobrokhotov points out, Aliab’ev used these melodies in his opera Ammalat-​Bek. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev,  206–​7. 55. Nathaniel Knight, “Grigor’ev in Orenburg 1851–​1862: Russian Orientalism in the Service of Empire,” Slavic Review 59 (2000), 82. 56. One of Aliab’ev’s friends and supervisors, Perovskii, sympathized with the composer. For a short time after the war with Napoleon, Perovskii himself was a member of a Decembrist movement. The Perovskii family was part of the literary-​artistic circles of Russia: among Vasilii’s close friends were the poets Pushkin, Vyazemsky, Vasily Zhukovsky, Delvig, Ivan Krylov, and Vladimir Dahl, the latter the philologist and author of the magnum opus Tolkovyi slovar zhivogo velikorusskogo iazyka [Explanatory Dictionary of the Living Great-​Russian Language]. See Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 138–​39. 57. During the 1812–​14 war, Egor Nikolaevich Timashev served in a partisan detachment and participated in a number of battles, as Aliab’ev did. Timashev’s wife, Ekaterina, was also a poet and personally knew Pushkin. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 147. 58. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 148–​50. 59. He traveled to Crimea only once, in the summer of 1839. This trip did not leave as much of a musical impression on him as his 1832–​33 stay in the Caucasus. 60. Aliab’ev came up with the idea to write an opera set in the Caucasus in 1838. A short article published in Severnaia pchela informed readers that Aliab’ev had brought from the Caucasus “something charmingly beautiful, sounds that Europe has never heard yet— sounds that evoke mountain storms, sounds in which a new kind of life can be heard.” See Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 175. 61. At least two other composers set Pushkin’s “Circassian Song” before Aliab’ev: Czech-​ born composer Iosif Iosifovich Genishta (1795–​1853) and German-​born Ludwig Wilhelm Maurer, a violinist and director of the amateur symphony orchestra of Riabovo, a village situated 11 versts from Petersburg. Genishta’s “Circassian Song” was first published in 1822 as an appendix to the Lady’s Journal, and Maurer’s version was first published in 1823 as an appendix to the German translation of Pushkin’s Prisoner by A. Wulfert. Aliab’ev probably knew both settings of “Circassian Song” since he was well acquainted with both composers

Notes to pages 142–149 in the early 1820s. See Genishta, “Circassian Song,” Damskii zhurnal 1/​1 (1823), and in Puskin v romansakh i pesniakh ego sovremennikov (s 1816 do 1836 g.), ed. Vasilii Kisilev, S. Popov, and V. Shebalin (Moscow: Muzgiz, 1936), 4–​6. L. Maurer, “Tscherkessenlied,” in Der Berggefangene von Alexander Puschkin, aus dem Russischen übersetzt: Geduckt in der Buchdruckerei der besondern Kanzellei des Ministeriums des Innern. 1823 (St. Petersburg: E. I. Ol’dekop, 1823); also in Kisilev, Popov, Shebalin, eds., Puskin v romansakh i pesniakh ego sovremennikov,  202–​3. 62. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev,  82–​84. 63. Mikhail Glinka, Zapiski (Moscow and Leningrad: Akademia, 1930), 59. 64. T. I. Sokolova, “U istokov russkogo orientalizma,” Voprosy muzykoznaniia 3 (1960), 462–​64, 471; Khristofor Arakelov, “K voprosu ob istokakh vostochnykh tem v tvorchestve Glinki,” in Pamiati Glinki, 1857–​1957: Issledovaniia i materialy, ed. V. A. Kisilev, T. N. Livanova, and V. V   . Protopopov (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1958), 207, 220. 65. Cited in Arakelov, “K voprosu ob istokakh,” 220. 66. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 206. It is important to note that in Aliab’ev’s sketchbook one can find two Kyrgyz melodies from Aleksei Levshin, Opisanie Kirgiz-​ Kazach’ikh ili Kirgiz-​Kaisakskikh ord i stepei (St. Petersburg: tip. Karla Kraiia, 1832), discussed in c­ hapter 2. As Dobrokhotov points out, Aliab’ev used these melodies in his opera Ammalat-​ Bek. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 206–​7. This means that Aliab’ev carefully studied the sources that included transcriptions of Asian melodies that were available during his time. 67. Kazbek is an extinct volcano in the central Caucasus Mountains, between the Georgian Republic and the Russian Federation. 68. Vasilii Komarovich, Kitezhskaia legenda:  Opyt izucheniia mestnykh legend (Moscow and Leningrad:  AN SSSR, 1936); Legendy i predaniia zemli Nizhegorodskoi (N. Novgorod: Nizhegorodskii Gos. Ped. Universitet, 2001). 69. Uzdeni were people who belong to the class of feudal nobility in Kabarda and Dagestan. 70. Vera Vasina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, XIX veka (Moscow:  AN SSSR, 1956),  47–​48. 71. Vasina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, 48. 72. Vasina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, 48. 73. Vasina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, 47–​ 48. The Soviet scholar Vasina-​ Grossman does not clarify which elements she considers typical for art songs with oriental subjects. However, she points out that many Russian art songs written in different dance genres allude to Spanish subjects. She most likely associated the “traditional oriental art song” with music written by Glinka characterizing the Orient as more passive or sensual, if not lazy (e.g. the art song “Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne” or the arias of the Khazarian prince Ratmir in Ruslan and Liudmila). 74. Mikhail Maksimovich, Golosa ukrainskikh pesen, ed. B. Shteinpres (Moscow:  Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1961), 25–​26. 75. A vesnianka is a ritual song performed during spring rites. Aliab’ev himself could have pointed out to Maksimovich the similarity of the Ukrainian tune to the Circassian song.

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328 Notes to pages 149–152 76. At the end of the nineteenth century, the link between the music of Russia’s inorodtsy and Russian or Slavic folk songs resonated especially clearly in music theory treatises. See c­ hapter 3 here for more information about why and how Russian theorists articulated this concept. 77. As Michael Khodarkovsky points out, the Kabardians living in the North Caucasus were often referred to as Circassians. See Khodarkovsky, “‘Ignoble Savages and Unfaithful Subjects’:  Constructing Non-​ Christian Identities in Early Modern Russia,” in Russia’s Orient:  Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–​1917, ed. Daniel R. Brower and Edward J. Lazzerini (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), 14. 78. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 203. 79. See Shteinpres, Aliab’ev v izgnanii, 134. 80. In the whole collection of twenty-five Ukrainian songs, only two other songs share a similar syncopated rhythm. 81. An aul is a small village. 82. A saklia is a Caucasian mountain hut. 83. According to the dictionary of Pushkin’s language, the word “nega” has several meanings: (1) “contentment or being content, careless, and without need”; (2) “state of being serenely calm, bliss, pleasure”; (3) “sensual thrill, pleasure.” See Slovar Pushkina (Moscow: Gos. Izdat. Inostrannykh i Natsional’nykh Slovarei, 1957), 2:776. 84. Kumiss is fermented mare’s milk. 85. A kunak is a friend. 86. Not all of Aliab’ev’s songs with oriental subjects have such a strong sense of musical “otherness.” His autobiographical “Irtysh” alludes to an oriental location (the Irtysh is a river in Central Asia) only for the purpose of self-​reflection.The sound of the river corresponds to the lyrical hero’s psychological state of loneliness. Because in Decembrist poetry the Orient is associated with exile and loneliness, in this song the Orient does not refer to the oriental subject per se but becomes a means of expression of the inner life and feelings of the lyrical hero. Hence, there are no musical elements or gestures in this song indicating the presence of the oriental world; the harmonies, rhythm, and melodic contour evoke only the western world of the song’s protagonist. 87. See Liudmila Rapatskaia, Istoriia russkoi muzyki ot drevnei Rusi do “serebrianogo veka” (Moscow: Vlados, 2001), 81–​82; Inna Naroditskaya, Bewitching Russian Opera: The Tsarina from State to Stage (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 100–​102. As Naroditskaya points out, although the oriental theme was by no means new to the Russian stage, the representation of the Orient in Fevei was rather specific to the Russian imperial context: Catherine II, who composed the libretto to the opera, portrayed Russia’s Asian peoples—​the Kalmyks and Tatars—​with the aim of constructing a more western image of Russia. Pashkevich underlined the distance from Russia’s Asian subjects by using linguistically incorrect stresses in the melody, a constant drone in the accompaniment, and a simple rhythmic formula. See Naroditskaya, Bewitching Russian Opera, 101.

Notes to pages 153–157 88. On the life of Pashkevich, see Iurii Keldysh, “Nachalo russkoi opery: V. Pashkevich, E.  Fomin,” in Russkaia muzyka XVIII veka (Moscow:  Muzyka, 1965), 244–​380; Evgenii Levashev, “V. A. Pashkevich,” in Istoriia russkoi muzyki v desiati tomakh, 3:46–​83. 89. In a special 1775 manifest issued by Catherine II, all participants in the Pugachev revolt had to be imprisoned and their names consigned to “eternal oblivion and profound silence.” See Paul Avrich, Russian Rebels, 1600–​1800 (New York: Norton, 1972), 245. 90. Dobrokhotov, Alexander Aliab’ev, 150. 91. See ­chapter  3 of my “Russian Orientalism:  from Ethnography to Art Song in Nineteenth-​Century Music,” PhD diss. (McGill University, 2013). 92. See Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1978); Linda Nochlin, “The Imaginary Orient,” in Art in America 71/​5 (1983): 118–​31; Stephanie Sandler, Distant Pleasures:  Alexander Pushkin and the Writing of Exile (Stanford:  Stanford University Press, 1989); Meyda Yegenoglu, Colonial Fantasies:  Towards a Feminist Reading of Orientalism (London: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Nasser Al-​Taee, Representations of the Orient in Western Music: Violence and Sensuality (Burlington,Vt.: Ashgate, 2010). 93. Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 178. 94. On the representation of female “others” in western European music see Ralph Locke, “Constructing the Oriental ‘Other’: Saint-​Saëns’s Samson et Dalila,” Cambridge Opera Journal 3 (1991): 261–​302; Susan McClary,“Images of Race, Class and Gender in Nineteenth-​ Century French Culture,” in Georges Bizet:  Carmen, 29–​ 43 (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1992); James Parakilas, “The Soldier and the Exotic: Operatic Variations on a Theme of Racial Encounter,” Opera Quarterly 10/​2 (1993–​94): 33–​56, and 10/​3 (1994): 43–​ 69; Al-​Taee, Representation of the Orient in Western Music. 95. See Liudmila Karagicheva, “Liubopytnyi dokument russkogo orientalizma,” Sovetskaia muzyka 2 (1974): 89–​96. The transcription of “Akhalo” appeared in the journal Illiustratsiia, in I. Siial’skii’s article on the songs and music of the people of Transcaucasia. See Illiustratsiia 193 (1861), 283. 96. Arakelov, “K voprosu ob istokakh,” 203–​23. 97. Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically:  Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 158. Ralph Locke would probably have classified this art song as fitting into the paradigm of what he calls “All the Music in Full Context,” since its exoticness depends not on musical content but on the cultural context in which it was used. See Locke, Musical Exoticism,  43–​71. 98. The Complete Works of Alexander Pushkin, vol. 13: Critical and Autobiographical Prose (Idyllwild, Calif.: Milner, 2003), 494–​95.This poem was probably translated for Pushkin by Alexander Chavchavadze, a Georgian prince who was a leading figure of Georgian Romantic poetry and was also Griboedov’s father-​in-​law. 99. Lukiian Andreevich Iakubovich (1805–​39) was a Russian poet, a member of S. E. Raich’s literary society, and one of the most prominent poets before Lermontov. From the 1830s, he was published in popular literary journals, such as Severnye tsvety [Northern Flowers],

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330 Notes to pages 157–161 Literatunraia gazeta [Literary Newspaper], Teleskop [Telescope], O.Z., and Sovremennik [The Contemporary]. Along with D.  P. Oznobshin and A.  G. Rotchev, Iakubovich was one of the first poets to introduce oriental subjects into Russian poetry. See Russkie poety XIX veka, ed. N.  M. Gaidenkov (Moscow:  Gos. Uchebno-​pedagogicheskoe Izdat. Min. Prosveshcheniia, 1958). 100. See Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 13. In her analysis of stories about cross-​ cultural romance, Layton also notes that “Cossacks were especially effective carriers of these stories’ message that tribeswomen were a good, assimilable population for the Russian empire, even if their male relatives deserved extermination”; 169. 101. Said, Orientalism, 207.

Chapter 5 1. Earlier examples of musical Russianness can be found in eighteenth-​ century operas, such as Vasilii Pashkevich’s Fevei (1786). This opera, however, had a limited impact on nineteenth-​century culture.The memory of it was carefully erased during and after the reign of Paul I (1796–​1801) because of its association with the German-​born female monarch—​ Catherine the Great—​who wrote a libretto for it. On the destiny of Russian operas written on libretti by Catherine II, see Inna Naroditskaya, Bewitching Russian Opera: The Tsarina from State to Stage (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 147–​151. 2. In the eighteenth-​century opera Fevei, Pashkevich also evoked Russia’s Orient by introducing Russia’s eastern subjects, the Kalmyks. However, Pashkevich’s representation of inorodtsy differed drastically from that of later nineteenth-​century composers, particularly Balakirev; in Fevei, Kalmyks were portrayed musically not as people representing an inherent part of Russia but as Russia’s “others” who existed to create a contrast to Russian musical identity. See Naroditskaya, Bewitching Russian Opera, 100–​101. 3. See Vladimir Stasov, “Nasha muzyka za poslednie 25 let,” Vestnik Evropy (October 1883): 561–​623, reprinted inV. V   . Stasov, Izbrannye sochineniia v trekh tomakh (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1952), 2:522–​68, English translation in Music in the Western World: A History in Documents, ed. Piero Weiss and Richard Taruskin (New York: Schirmer Books, 1984), 390–​94. 4. Marina Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism: From Glinka to Stalin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 153. 5. Vasily Yastrebtsev, Reminiscences of Rimsky-​Korsakov, ed. and trans. Florence Jonas (New  York:  Columbia University Press, 1985), 166. Other elements from David’s famous symphonic ode—​ long-​ held pedal points in the accompaniment and certain harmonic progressions—​inspired Balakirev’s generation of composers and traveled to the scores of music representing not only the Orient but also Russia. 6. On the concept of “artistic truth” in relation to Orientalism, see Adalyat Issiyeva, “Dialogue of Cultures: French Musical Orientalism in Russia, ‘Artistic Truth,’ and Russian Musical Identity,” Revue musicale OICRM 3/​1 (2016): 71–​92. 7. This movement was organized by members of a group called narodniki (or narodniks) (from Russian narod, “folk” or “people”) who later became members of a revolutionary

Notes to pages 161–163 organization called Land and Liberty. The narodnik movement (often referred to as a populist movement) rose after the 1861 Abolition of Serfdom and the late 1860s and 1870s gave rise to a massive action called “going to the people” (“khozhdenie v narod”), which aimed to spread socialist ideas among the peasants. Narodniks, mostly members of Russia’s middle class and intelligentsia, considered Russian peasants as potential revolutionaries who, once they were indoctrinated with socialist ideals, could overthrow the autocracy. While doing propaganda work, some narodniks also gathered ethnographic material from peasants and later became prominent ethnographers and orientologists (e.g. Dmitrii Klements and Lev Shternberg). 8. The epigraph to this chapter is from Yastrebtsev, Reminiscences of Rimsky-​Korsakov, 48. 9. As Rimsky-​Korsakov recalled, in the mid-​1860s Balakirev had “a great number of all possible collections everywhere around him.” Nikolai Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, trans. Judah A. Joffe (from rev. 2nd Russian ed.) (New York: Tutor, 1936), 65. 10. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 44; see also 50–​51. 11. Balakirev’s direct influence also extended to French composer and ethnographer Louis-​Albert Bourgault-​Ducoudray, who in the 1880s was writing his opera Tamara, and to whom Balakirev sent some of his transcriptions of Caucasian tunes. See Boris Dobrovol’skii, “M. A.  Balakirev:  Zapisi kavkazskoi narodnoi muzyki,” in Milii Alekseevich Balakirev: Vospominaniia i pis’ma, ed. Iu. A. Kremlev, A. S. Liapunova, and E. L. Frid (Leningrad: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1962), 434. After the successful premiere of the opera, Bourgault-​Ducoudray wrote a letter to Balakirev thanking him for sending “precious material” that had given him a clear idea of Caucasian music, and confessed that he would not have been able to create the local color found in the score without Balakirev’s help. R. I. Zaritskaia,“Pis’ma k Louis Albert Bourgault-​Ducoudray,” in ed. Kremlev et al., Balakirev: Vospominaniia. On the influence of Russian music on French Modernism see Andre Schaeffner, “Debussy et ses rapports avec la musique russe,” in La Musique russe, ed. P. Souvtchinsky, vol. 1 (Paris: Press Universitaires de France, 1953), 95–​138; Elaine Brody, “The Russians in Paris, 1889–​1914,” in Russian and Soviet Music: Essays for Boris Schwartz, ed. Malcolm Hamrick Brown (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1984), 157–​83; Juliet Bellow, Modernism on Stage.The Ballets Russes and the Parisian Avant-​ Garde (Burlington: Ashgate, 2013); Roy Howat,“Russian Imprints in Debussy’s Piano Music,” in Rethinking Debussy, ed. Elliott Antokoletz and Marianne Wheeldon (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 31–​51. 12. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 25. 13. Raznochintsy (sing. raznochinets), literally “people of miscellaneous ranks,” is an official term for middle-​class educated members of Russian society (clergy, merchants, petty towns-​people, peasantry, minor officials, and impoverished nobility), who often possessed an independent mindset. 14. See Catherine Evtuhov, “Nizhnii Novgorod in the Nineteenth Century: Portrait of a City,” in The Cambridge History of Russia, vol. 2, Imperial Russia, 1689–​1917, ed. Dominic Lieven (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2006), 268. Over 1.5  million people attended the fair each year. As Tatiana Zaitseva points out, it “favored the city’s connection with the distant world’s corners. It is not a coincidence that among the fair’s pavilions there were Chinese rows of shops, symbolizing trade markets with China and other

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332 Notes to pages 163–165 Asian countries; there was also an Armenian church.” See Tat’iana Zaitseva, Milii Alekseevich Balakirev: Istoki (St. Petersburg: Kanon, 2004), 96. 15. Cited in Zaitseva, Balakirev: Istoki, 96. 16. See Evtuhov, “Nizhnii Novgorod,” 271. 17. On the influence of Ulybyshev on Balakirev’s formation as an artist, see Zaitseva, Balakirev: Istoki, 145–​54. 18. See Saveiia Mikhailova, “Razvitie orientalistiki v kazanskom universitete,” in Kazan, Moscow, St. Petersburg: Multiple Faces of the Russian Empire, ed. Catherine Evtuhov, B. Gasparov, A. Ospovat, and M. von Hagen (Moscow: O.G.I., 1997), 275–​301. 19. In 1857, the Tatar population living in Kazan totaled 6,900. See Damir Iskhakov, “O nekotorykh aspektakh formirovaniia gorodskoi kul’tury volgo-​ ural’skikh tatar na natsional’nom etape (XVIII–​nach. XIX vv.),” in Kazan, Moscow, St. Petersburg, ed. Evtuhov et al., 253. 20. Although Balakirev also traveled to the Crimea region (in 1892), this trip did not leave the same impressions on the composer’s writing. 21. Balakirev to César Cui, July 14, 1862, in César Cui, Izbrannye pis’ma (Leningrad: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1955), 481. 22. See Emilia Frid, “Simfonicheskoe tvorchestvo,” in Milii Alekseevich Balakirev: Issledovaniia i stat’i, ed. Iu. N. Kremlev,A. S. Liapunova, and E. L. Frid (Leningrad: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1961), 156–​ 57; Vera Vasina-​ Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, XIX veka (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1956), 154. 23. See Balakirev to Stasov, June 25, 1862, in M. A. Balakirev and V.V. Stasov, Perepiska, ed. A. S. Liapunova (Moscow: Muzyka, 1970), 1:188. 24. See table 2. 25. See Frid, “Simfonicheskoe tvorchestvo,” 156–​57. Despite Lermontov’s excitement about Caucasian nature and people, as well as his alienation from Russian aristocratic society, he participated in an aggressive war against the Caucasian mountaineers. As Ewa Thompson points out, Lermontov’s writing often carries imperial overtones:  stereotyped images of subalterns, trivialization of the Caucasus, and a dismissive attitude toward the native inhabitants. What is more, his contemporary literary critics, such as Vissarion Belinskii, never recognized a problem of native inhabitants, confirming that they had been living within the Russian ethos of imperialism. See Ewa M. Thompson, Imperial Knowledge: Russian Literature and Colonialism (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2000), 70–​73. 26. Balakirev to E. Reis, August 10?, 1863 in Anastasiia Liapunova and El’za Iazovitskaia, Milii Alekseevich Balakirev: Letopis zhizni i tvorchestva (Leningrad: Muzyka, 1967), 93. 27. See Balakirev to Stasov, June 03, 1863, in Perepiska M. A. Balakireva s V. V. Stasovym, ed.V. Karenin (Moscow: Muzgiz, 1935), 1:192. 28. Balakirev even signed his letter to Stasov in the Georgian alphabet. See Balakirev to Stasov, October 08, 1863, in Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1970), 1:220. 29. See Balakirev to Cui, August 31, 1863, in Cui, Izbrannye pis’ma, 490–​91. See this passage also in Liapunova and Iazovitskaia, Balakirev: Letopis, 93–​94. Lezghinka, also spelled lezginka, is a collective name given by the Russians to all North Caucasian dances in fast

Notes to pages 165–168 tempos with energetic and sharp arm and body movements; mostly danced by male solo dancers with swords, and sometimes by couples, with the female dancer performing with smooth and graceful movements. 30. This conversation with Glebov took place on January 6, 1904. See V. P. Glebov, “M.A. Balakirev (Iz vospominanii),” Istoricheskii Vestnik (December 1916): 705. This passage is cited from Liapunova and Iazovitskaia, Balakirev: Letopis, 91. 31. Glebov, “M. A. Balakirev (Iz vospominanii),” 280, 514. This song was published in 1907 in St. Petersburg by Pushkinskaia tipografiia. 32. Although Balakirev’s religious passions were not revealed before the early 1870s, his adherence to the pan-​Slavist movement is evident from the names of his musical pieces composed in the 1850s and 1860s: Grand Fantasie on Russian Folk-​Songs (1852), Overture on Three Russian Themes (1858), Rus, Second Overture on Russian Themes (1864), Collection of Russian Folksongs (1866), In Bohemia, Overture on Czech Themes (1867), etc. 33. See Balakirev to Stasov, June 25, 1862, in Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1970), 1:188. 34. Balakirev to Cui, August 18, 1862, in Cui, Izbrannye pis’ma, 483. 35. Balakirev to Cui, August 18, 1862, in Cui, Izbrannye pis’ma, 483. 36. Balakirev to Cui, August 18, 1862, in Cui, Izbrannye pis’ma, 483. 37. Balakirev to Cui, August 18, 1862, in Cui, Izbrannye pis’ma, 483. 38. See P. Ostiakov, “Narodnaia literatura kabardintsev i ee obraztsy,” Vestnik Evropy 8 (August 1879): 702. Uzden refers to a person who belonged to the feudal nobility in Kabarda and Dagestan. 39. There was a legend among Balakirev’s close circle of friends that he had Tatar roots. See Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 31. 40. See Balakirev to Stasov, June 03, 1863, in ed. Karenin, Perepiska M. A. Balakireva s V. V. Stasovym, 1:192. 41. Balakirev to Stasov, June 03, 1863, in ed. Karenin, Perepiska M. A. Balakireva s V. V. Stasovym, 1:192. 42. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 60. 43. See E. Frid, “Simfonicheskoe tvorchestvo,” 159–​60. 44. See Balakirev to Rimsky-​ Korsakov, December 14, 1863, in Nikolai Rimsky-​ Korsakov, Polnoe Sobranie Sochinenii: Literaturnye proizvedeniia i perepiska, vol. 5 (Moscow: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1966), 75. Dikii can be translated as “savage,” “wild,” or “primitive” with a “wild” overtone. Like many other European musicians, such as Fétis, Balakirev probably believed that “primitive” people used drum instruments more than anything else. 45. See Dobrovol’skii, “Balakirev: Zapisi,” 433. 46. In Islamey he mixed one melody transcribed in the Caucasus in with another tune of the Crimean Tatars that he had heard in Moscow. Frid, “Simphonicheskoe tvorchestvo,”  66–​67. 47. Dobrovol’skii, “Balakirev: Zapisi,”  452. 48. Bourgault-​Ducoudray wrote that he was in debt to Balakirev for “the most precious materials” that had given him an impression of Caucasian folk song, and that if in his score “there are at least some traces of true couleur locale,” then he had Balakirev to thank for

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334 Notes to pages 168–170 it. See R. I. Zaritskaia, “Pis’ma k Louis Albert Bourgault-​Ducoudray,” in ed. Kremlev et al., Balakirev: Vospominaniia, 205; Dobrovol’skii, “Balakirev: Zapisi,” 434. 49. See Dobrovol’skii, “Balakirev: Zapisi,” 433. 50. In Vladimir Dahl’s Explanatory Dictionary of the Living Great-​Russian Language, the ancient meaning of the word sbrod is explained as more neutral: “people who roam from different places.” See Dahl, Tolkovyi slovar zhivogo velikorusskogo iazyka (1863–​), http://​vidahl. agava.ru/​P203.HTM#36835 (accessed September 9, 2012). However, the context in which Dahl uses sbrod in the nineteenth century is far from being neutral. It is related to “sbrazhivat’, sbresti s puti” (make away from one’s path), “sbrodit’ or sprokazit’ khudoe” (play naughty pranks), or “sbrodyzhit’, sheromyzhnichat’, ernichat’, i zhit’ tuneiadom za chuzhoi schet” (be a sponger, be wicked, and live at somebody else’s cost). Because of this negative context, I have translated sbrod as “rabble.” 51. See Balakirev to Stasov, September 10, 1868, in ed. Karenin, Perepiska M. A. Balakireva s V. V. Stasovym, 1:255. Interestingly enough, the word sbrod (rabble) is omitted from the later publication of the Balakirev–​Stasov correspondence. See Balakirev to Stasov, September 10, 1868, in Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1970), 1:439. This letter—and all other letters addressed to Berlioz and Bourgeault-​Ducoudray—was written in Russian and then translated into French by one of Balakirev’s friends: Iu. P. Pypina, M. P. Gurskalina, or T. I. Filippov. See R.  I. Zaritskaia, “Pis’ma k Louis Albert Bourgault-​Ducoudray,” in ed. Kremlev et  al., Balakirev: Vospominaniia, 206. 52. See Balakirev to Stasov, September 10, 1868, in Karenin, Perepiska M. A. Balakireva s V. V. Stasovym, 1:255. 53. See Andreas Kappeler, The Russian Empire:  A Multiethnic History, trans. Alfred Clayton (Harlow, UK: Longman, 2001), 185. 54. Balakirev to Stasov, June 25, 1862, in Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1970), 1:189. 55. Balakirev to Stasov, July 10, 1864, in Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1970), 1:230. 56. Balakirev to Stasov, May 5/​17, 1880, in Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1970), 1:350–​ 51. Surprisingly, in that letter Balakirev said nothing particular about his fellow Russians. 57. Lermontov’s poèma is based on a true story about Izmail-​ Bei Atazhukin (Atazhukov), a Kabardian taken captive as a boy in the 1780s and educated in Russia. Atazhukov was distinguished with the Cross of Saint George Forth Class for his courage demonstrated in the taking of Izmail (Turkey) but then went back home and joined the war against Russia. See Andrei Popov, Lermontov na Kavkaze (Stavropol: Stavropol’skoe Kn. Izd., 1954), 16–​18. 58. A skilled horseman of the Caucasus. 59. Leurence R. Richter, Selected Nineteenth Century Russian Song Texts (New  York: Leyerle, 2005), 12. 60. Interestingly,Vasina-​Grossman draws a connection between this song and Aliab’ev’s “Kabardian Song” discussed in c­ hapter 4. SeeVasina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, 152. 61. Vasina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, 152. As Vasina-​Grossman points out, according to Vladimir Lenin, this song in Chernyshevskii’s novel inspires the main female protagonist, Vera Pavlovna, and the Kirsanov family to go underground; at the end of the

Notes to pages 170–174 novel, Vera Pavlovna, after listening to a performance of this song by a “lady in mourning,” comes to the conclusion that only revolution can bring the desired change.Vasina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, 152–​54. 62. Anna Vikhanskaia, “Romansy i pesni,” in ed. Kremlev et al., Balakirev: Issledovaniia, 284. Nikolai Alexandrovich Borozdin (1827–​87) was an amateur composer and a professional lawyer who studied with Dmitrii Stasov (a brother of Vladimir Stasov) in the Jurisprudence College and served in the Caucasus. Borozdin was a champion of Balakirev’s music and often participated in the Kuchka gatherings. See I. A. Konopleva, compilation, “Ukazatel’ imen,” in Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1872), 2:348. 63. Balakirev met Nikolai Borozdin a year before he composed “Selim’s Song,” and they soon became good friends. 64. Edward Garden, Balakirev:  A Critical Study of His Life and Music (New  York:  St. Martin’s Press, 1967), 273. 65. Vikhanskaia believes that it functions as a framing device in a similar way in Balakirev’s later instrumental pieces Islamey and Tamara. See Vikhanskaia, “Romansy i pesni,” 285. 66. See T. I. Sokolova, “U istokov russkogo orientalizma,” Voprosy muzykoznaniia 3 (1960): 459–​86. 67. See Grigorii Kisilev, “O romansakh Balakireva,” in M. Balakirev: Romansy i pesni, ed. G. L. Kisilev (Moscow: Muzgiz, 1937), 10;Vikhanskaia, “Romansy i pesni,” 284. 68. See Nadezhda Dmitriadi, “Nekotorye stilevye osobennosti russkoi muzyki o Vostoke,” Voprosy teorii i estetiki muzyki 13 (1974):  119. Dmitiriadi adopted the term from earlier writings of Russian theorist Igor Sposobin. See Sposobin, Elementarnaia teoriia muzyki (Moscow: Muzyka, 1951). 69. Vasina-​Grossman believes that two of Balakirev’s songs (“Vzoshel na nebo mesiats iasnyi” and “Pridi ko mne”) are connected to each other with the subject of “languor of love.” See Vasina-​Grossman, Russkii klassicheskii romans, 151. Such an emotional state was usually associated with the Orient, which could explain why the composer used this musical gesture. 70. Tchaikovsky wrote to von Meck in 1881: “these are little chef d’oeuvres . . . there was a time when I  could not listen to ‘The Selim’s Song’ without tears.” Tchaikovsky to von Meck, August 24, 1881 in P. I.  Tchaikovsky:  Perepiska s von N.  F. Meck, ed. Vladimir Zhdanov and Nikolai Zhegin (Moscow: Akademiia, 1935), 2:546. See also, in Liapunova and Iazovitskaia, Balakirev: Letopis, 242. 71. See Alexander Serov, “Newly-​ Published Compositions:  Balakirev’s Songs and Romances (Twelve Pieces for a Single Voice with Piano),” Theatre and Music Herald 43 (1859): 172–​76; Eng. translation by Stuart Campbell, in Russians on Russian Music: 1830–​1880, ed. and trans. Campbell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 57–​62. 72. See Liapunova and Iazovitskaia, Balakirev:  Letopis, 95. First it was composed for an orchestra and then later was arranged by Modest Musorgsky for piano. Liapunova and Iazovitskaia, Balakirev: Letopis, 110. For the text of this song see ­chapter 1. 73. Balakirev to T. I. Filipov, May 21, 1890, in ed. Kremlev et al., Balakirev: Vospominaniia, 225.

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336 Notes to pages 174–177 74. See Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically: Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 158. 75. See Emilia Frid, “Milii Alekseevich Balakirev (1837–​1910),” in ed. Kremlev et  al., Balakirev: Issledovaniia, 66–​67; and Vikhanskaia, “Romansy i pesni,” 289. 76. Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically, 158. 77. See Dobrovol’skii, “Balakirev:  Zapisi,” 451–​52. Tune 15 is transcribed with a text in Georgian transliterated with Russian letters; and tune 22 is a popular Georgian song, a close variant of which is also found in an article by M. Ippolitov-​Ivanov on Georgian music, “Gruzinskaia narodnaia pesnia i ee sovremennoe sostoianie,” Artist 45 (1895): 134–​46 (discussed hereafter) and in Nikolai Klenovskii, Sbornik narodnykh pesen: ethnograficheskii kontsert russkikh i drugikh narodnostei s perevodom na russkii iazyk, 4th ed. (Moscow: Muzykal’nyi sektor, 1926) (discussed in c­ hapter 6). 78. Sokolova, “U istokov russkogo orientalizma”: 467. Exactly the same opening gesture is found in the Balakirev’s “Ispanskaia pesnia” (middle section) and “Dogoraet rumianyi zakat” and in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s “Kak nebesa tvoi vzor blistaet,” “Vstan, soidi!,” and “Posmotri v svoi vertograd” (middle section). 79. See Stasov to Balakirev, August 20, 1860, Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1970), 1:114–​15. 80. Ippolitov-​Ivanov, “Gruzinskaia narodnaia pesnia.” 81. Ippolitov-​Ivanov, “Gruzinskaia narodnaia pesnia,” 136. 82. Ippolitov-​Ivanov, “Gruzinskaia narodnaia pesnia,” 136. 83. See Arsenii Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie nad vostochnoi muzykoi, preimushchestvenno kavkazskoi,” EO 1 (1898): 1–​22. Arsenii Nikolaevich Koreshchenko (1870–​1921) was a Russian pianist, composer, conductor, professor, and music critic. In 1891 he graduated from the Moscow Conservatory, where he had studied under Sergei Taneyev (piano) and Anton Arenskii (composition). From 1894 to 1896, he edited the music section of the Russian newspaper Moskovskie vedomosti, and from 1891 to 1894 he taught music theory classes at the Moscow Conservatory. Between 1906 and 1919, he taught at the Music-​Dramatic College of the Moscow Philharmonic Society before being hired as a director and professor at the Kharkov Conservatory, where he worked from 1919 to 1921. He is the author of two operas (Pir Baltasara, 1892, and Ledianoi Dom, 1900), one ballet (Volshebnoe zerkalo, 1903), the Lyrical Symphony, the Concerto-​Fantasy for piano and orchestra, and many other works for orchestra, choir, piano, and piano and voice. See N. B. Pushkina, “A. N. Koreshchenko,” in Moskovskaia konservatoriia ot istokov do nashikh dnei: 1866–​2006. Biograficheskii entsiklopedicheskii slovar, ed. M.V. Esipova (Moscow: Mosk. Gos. Konservatoriia Im. P. I. Tchaikovskogo, 2007), 260. In c­ hapter 6, I discuss the activity of the MEK in greater detail. 84. See Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie,” 19. Of course, on some level one needs to acknowledge that “Arabic” and “Persian” music are fictions themselves. If “Georgian” music can have “Persian” elements, then “Persian” music can have “Arabic” or “Turkish” elements. 85. Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie,”  20. 86. Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie,”  20.

Notes to pages 178–182 87. Dmitrii Arakchiev, “Kratkii ocherk razvitiia gruzinskoi, kartalino-​ kakhetinskoi narodnoi pesni s prilozheniem notnykh primerov i 27 pesen v narodnoi garmonizatsii D. I. Arakchieva,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (1906), 1:269–​344. 88. Arakchiev, “Kratkii ocherk,” 286. 89. Dmitrii Arakchiev traveled to the Caucasus several times between 1901 and 1903. All his transcriptions were made with the help of a wax cylinder recorder, which he always brought with him. See Nikolai Ianchuk, “Vstupitel’naia zapiska ob izuchenii narodnoi pesni i muzyki i o deiatel’nosti MEK,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1906), 1:8. 90. In Balakirev’s sketchbook, melodies nos. 2, 3, 9, 10, 17, and 19 contain figures that juxtapose different modes by raising or lowering the same scale degree. 91. See Arakchiev, “Kratkii ocherk,” app. 2, 319. 92. See Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie,” 15. 93. Mikhail Ippolitov-​Ivanov, 50 let russkoi muzyki v moikh vospominaniiakh (Moscow: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1934), 62. 94. All songs, except for Rimsky-​Korsakov’s “V temnoi roshche zamolk solovei” [In the Dark Grove a Nightingale Fell Silent] evoke an oriental subject. The use of this rhythmic pattern in “V temnoi roshche” can be explained by the song’s subject: solovei, a nightingale, a subject commonly used in Persian literature. 95. Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, ed. and introduction Hannah Arendt, trans. Harry Zohn (New  York:  Schocken, 1969), 211–​44; Russell Cobb, “Introduction:  The Artifice of Authenticity in the Age of Digital Reproduction,” in The Paradox of Authenticity in a Globalized World (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 1–​10. 96. In his opera Demon, for instance, Rubinstein employed original material from D. Eristavi’s Potpourri from Georgian Songs. See Dmitriadi, “Nekotorye stilevye osobennosti,” 110; Arakchiev, “Vostochnye napevy v proizvedeniiakh russkikh kompozitorov,” Muzyka i zhizn 5 (1908): 5–​6. As James Loeffler points out, some parts of The Maccabees also present “discrete snatches of eastern European Jewish synagogue melodies,” including a well-​known Hasidic melody used in Leah’s aria. See Loeffler, The Most Musical Nation: Jews and Culture in the Late Russian Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), 39–​40. 97. The list of the few examples of pentatonic gestures in Georgian songs transcribed by Russians in the nineteenth century include: Balakirev’s sketchbook song 26 (it opens with a pentatonic gesture); Ippolitov-​Ivanov’s transcription of song 7, which is based on an e-​g-​a-​b scale that omits one of the pentatonic steps; and Koreshchenko’s transcription of songs 11b and 15c, which have a pentatonic opening. See Ippolitov-​Ivanov, “Gruzinskaia narodnaia pesnia,” app., p. 11; Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie,” app., pp. 3, 5. 98. Balakirev’s “Georgian Song” can also serve as a good example of what the composer perceived as western musical vocabulary. In the middle section, where the male protagonist recalls a beloved left far away, Balakirev changes his musical vocabulary drastically: the harmony becomes more chromatic (with the tonicization of remote keys), the melody becomes

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338 Notes to pages 182–192 diatonic and all traces of modality are erased, and all characteristic rhythmic patterns in the vocal line as well as the accompaniment are dropped. 99. See table 2. 100. Garden, Balakirev, 319. 101. Lermontov wrote this poem just a few months before Martynov shot him, and, as Susan Layton notes, the “poem gives the eerie impression of predicting the author’s death.” See Susan Layton, Russian Literature and Empire: The Conquest of the Caucasus from Pushkin to Tolstoy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 229. 102. Partially translated by Harsha Ram in The Imperial Sublime:  A Russian Poetics of Empire (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003), 172, 203. 103. Ram, The Imperial Sublime, 173. 104. Ram, The Imperial Sublime,  202–​3. 105. Balakirev must have truly liked Glinka’s art song “The Lark,” since it is the only vocal piece of music for which he wrote a piano transcription. 106. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 153. 107. Vikhanskaia compares “Son” with Balakirev’s earlier art song “Sosna,” since both art songs have a similar idea of two soul mates suffering because of separation and striving to meet with each other. V   ikhanskaia, “Romansy i pesni,” 234. 108. On Musorgsky’s setting of “Zabytyi,” see Caryl Emerson, The Life of Musorgsky (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 119–​22. On Vereshchagin and his exhibitions in Russia and abroad, see Vladimir Stasov, “Vystavka kartin V.  V. Vereshchagina,” in Sobranie sochinenii V. V. Stasova (St. Petersburg: tip. Stasiulevicha, 1894), 1:499–​506. On the life and works of V   ereshchagin, see Stasov, “Vasilii Vasil’evich Vereshchagin,” in Sobranie sochinenii V. V. Stasova, 2:269–​330. 109. There is no musical intertextuality between these two art songs, except for the use of an augmented second. In Musorgsky’s setting, however, the scale with an augmented second evokes Central Asian land, not home as in Balakirev’s art song. 110. Georgii Orlov, Letopis zhizni i tvorchestva M.  P. Musorgskogo (Moscow and Leningrad: Muzgiz, 1940), 128, 162, 165, 168, 169, 171, 177. In his review of the concert in memory of Musorgsky, Stasov paid special attention to “Zabytyi” and described its performance as “staggering.” Stasov, “A Concert in Memory of Musorgsky (1881),” in Musorgsky: In Memoriam 1881–​1981, ed. Malcolm Hamrick Brown (Ann Arbor:  UMI Research Press, 1982), 320. 111. See Balakirev to Stasov, October 13, 1878, Balakirev and Stasov, Perepiska (1970), 1:317. 112. Kisilev, “O romansakh Balakireva,” 10. 113. See Boris Schwarz, “Musorgsky’s Interest in Judaica,” in Brown, Musorgsky:  In Memoriam,  85–​94. 114. Cui wrote to Rimsky-​ Korsakov that Balakirev “brought with him from the Caucasus an enormous wealth of oriental music and this must not remain fruitless.” See Cui to Rimsky-​Korsakov, December 27/​January 8, 1864, in Cui, Izbrannye pis’ma, 61. 115. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 58. 116. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 60, 57.

Notes to pages 192–196 117. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 57. 118. I will mostly consider songs written up to 1870 since after that period Rimsky-​ Korsakov followed an independent path. 119. See Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 59. For more on this opera see A. Gozenpud, “Neosushchestvlennyi opernyi zamysel,” in ed. Kremlev et al., Balakirev: Issledovaniia, 362–​83. 120. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 59. 121. Balakirev was well acquainted with Dargomyzhsky’s “O deva roza, ia v okovakh,” as he arranged it for a small orchestra even before it was published Mikhail Pekelis, ed., intro., and comm., Alexander Dargomyzhsky: Polnoe sobranie romansov i pesen (Moscow: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1947), 2:658. Another member of the Kuchka, César Cui, might also have witnessed the song’s first unofficial performance: in the late 1850s, he and Balakirev frequented Dargomyzhsky’s weekly musical evenings during which the composers shared new ideas and performed their newly composed works. See Evegeniia Gordeeva, Kompozitory moguchei kuchki (Moscow:  Muzyka, 1986), 10. Later Cui praised this song as being a “perfect sound embodiment of the Orient [sovershennoe zvukovoe olitsetvorenie Vostoka].” See Cui, “Ocherk razvitiia romansa v Rossii,” Artist 45 (January 1895): 12. 122. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 63. 123. Actually, the entire opera not only mocked the Orientalist musical clichés but also satirized Russian musical nationalism; as Frolova-​Walker points out, The Golden Cockerel “became a distorting mirror in which the previous seventy years of Russian opera and its nationalist preoccupations found an unflattering reflection.” See Frolova-​Walker, “Staging Defeat: The Golden Cockerel and the Russo-​Japanese War,” in ed. Frolova-​Walker, Rimsky-​ Korsakov and His World (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2018), 213. 124. In the 1860s, the members of the Kuchka held a very low opinion of European (particularly French) musical Orientalism, and David’s Le Desert was a favorite target in Russian critique. The French composer’s ode-​symphonie was constantly attacked for being “monotonous,” “unoriginal,” and “worthless.” See my article “Dialogue of Cultures: French Musical Orientalism in Russia, ‘Artistic Truth,’ and Russian Musical Identity,” Revue Musicale OICRM 3/​1 (2016): 71–​92. 125. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 31. 126. Yastrebtsev, Reminiscences, 241. As Yastrebtsev contests, Rimsky-​Korsakov recalled that Beliaev paid composers from 25 to 75 rubles per song, while Rimsky-​Korsakov received only 10 rubles for each song in his opus 3. 127. Yastrebtsev, Reminiscences, 48. 128. Yastrebtsev, Reminiscences, 182–​83. 129. See, Yastrebtsev, Nikolai Andreevich Rimsky-​Korsakov: Vospominaniia, v dvukh tomakh (Leningrad:  Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1959–​ 60), 2:468. In earlier exchanges with Belsky and Yastrebtsev, Rimsky-​Korsakov had declined to write operas or symphonic pieces with oriental subjects, claiming that the only path he was able to take was the path of Russo-​Slavic music. See Nikolai Rimsky-​Korsakov, Perepiska s V.  V. Yastrebtsevym i V.  I. Belskim, ed. and comm. Liudmila Barsova (Saint Petersburg: Russkaia kul’tura, 2004), 244;Yastrebtsev, Nikolai Andreevich Rimsky-​Korsakov, 2:428.

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340 Notes to pages 196–198 130. He incorporated in his works examples from Francisco Salvador-​Daniel, Album de chansons Arabes, Mauresques et Kabyles transcrites pour chant et piano (Paris: S. Richault, 1863?), and Alexandre Christianowitsch, Esquisse historique de la musique arabe aux temps anciens avec dessins d’instruments et 40 mélodies notées et harmonisées par Christianowitsch (Cologne: Librairie du M. Dumont Schauberg, 1863). See Gordeeva, Kompozitory moguchei kuchki, 77–​80. On Rimsky-​Korsakov’s treatment of Salvador-​Daniel’s Algerian tune in Antar, see my article “Rimsky-​Korsakov and His Orient,” in Frolova-​Walker, Rimsky-​Korsakov and His World, 145–​ 75. On Daniel’s collection, see Jann Pasler, “The Racial and Colonial Implications of Early French Music Ethnography, 1860s–​1930s,” in Critical Music Historiography:  Probing Canons, Ideologies, and Institutions, ed. Markus Mantere and Vesa Kurkela (Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate, 2015),  21–​26. 131. An example of a careful utilization of an original oriental tune can be found in “Indian dance” in the third movement of Rimsky-​Korsakov’s opera Mlada, in which he used his own transcription of an “Indian” tune from famous Russian artist and traveler Vasilii Vereshchagin. See Vera Obram, “Rimsky-​Korsakov i narodnaia pesnia,” in Rimsky-​ Korsakov: Issledovaniia, materialy, pis’ma v dvukh tomakh, ed. Mark Iankovskii, D. B. Kabalevskii, A.V. Ossovskii, N. V. Tumanina (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1953–​54), 1:274–​75. 132. See Lidiia Kershner, “Skazanie o nevidimom grade Kitezhe i deve Fevronii,” in Opery Rimskogo-​Korsakova:  Putevoditel (Moscow:  Muzyka, 1976), 399; Aleksei Kandinskii, Istoriia russkoi muzyki (Moscow: Muzyka, 1979), 2:199; Ibrahim Quraishi, “Kitezh and the Russian Notion of Oriental Despotism,” Opera Quarterly 13/​2 (1996–​97): 69–​74. On the representation of eastern “others” in Kitezh see Simon Morrison, Russian Opera and the Symbolist Movement (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 156–​57. 133. See Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1978). This most obvious feature in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s works has been discussed in certain writings on Russian music. See Quraishi,“Kitezh,” and Francis Maes, A History of Russian Music from Kamarinskaya to Babi Yar, trans. A. J. and E. Pomerans (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 82. 134. Simon Morrison, “The Semiotics of Symmetry, or Rimsky-​Korsakov’s Operatic History Lesson,” Cambridge Opera Journal 13/​3 (2001): 271–​73. 135. See my article “Rimsky-​Korsakov and His Orient.” 136. Morrison, “The Semiotics of Symmetry,” 291. 137. On the pedigree of Sadko’s characters, see Naroditskaya, Bewitching Russian Opera, 239–​64. 138. Alexandra Orlova and Vladimir Rimsky-​Korsakov, Stranitsy zhizni N. A. Rimskogo-​ Korsakova: Letopis zhizni i tvorchestva (Leningrad: Muzyka, 1969–​73), 3:95; Y   astrebtsev, Nikolai Andreevich Rimsky-​Korsakov, 1:459. 139. Only a remote connection with the East can be suggested here: in Sufi poetry, a nightingale is a symbolic figure that represents a soul longing for eternal beauty (usually symbolized in a rose). See Carl E. Ernst, “The Symbolism of Birds and Flight in the Writings of Ruzbihan Baqli,” in The Heritage of Sufism, ed. Leonard Lewisohn (Oxford: One World, 1999), 353–​66. As Steven Griffiths observes, in this art song Rimsky-​Korsakov “returned to the synthetic orientalism of ‘Enslaved by the rose, the nightingale,’ but within the same style

Notes to pages 198–202 he composed a subtler and more complex song,” transforming the “naïve melodic exoticism” of the earlier art song into a “sensuous and nebulous evocation of the grove.” See Steven Griffiths, A Critical Study of the Music of Rimsky-​Korsakov, 1844–​1890 (New  York:  Garland, 1989), 24. 140. See Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 207. 141. Yastrebtsev, Nikolai Andreevich Rimsky-​Korsakov, 2:233. 142. Edward Garden, “Balakirev’s Influence on Musorgsky,” in Musorgsky:  In Memoriam,  19–​26. 143. This later work of Balakirev was written more than thirty years after Musorgsky worked on Salammbô. However, Garden believes that Balakirev, since he often improvised his works on piano, may have played or improvised his Berceuse in the presence of Musorgsky in the early 1860s, even though the piece is dated 1901. Garden, “Balakirev’s Influence on Musorgsky,” 19–​26. It could have been, however, that Balakirev was influenced by his own disciples later in his career. 144. It is worth noting that Musorgsky worked intensively on his Salammbô after Balakirev’s second trip to the Caucasus. He finished writing his second scene from the second act of Salammbô (scena obriada) in December 1863; his “Pesn baleartsa” in August 1864, and “Boevaia pesn liviitsev” in 1866. See Pavel Lamm, “Ot redakrota,” in Musorgsky: Complete Works (New York: E. F. Kalmus, 1960), 19:3–​8. 145. Modest Musorgsky. Pis’ma i dokumenty, Andrei Rimsky-​ Korsakov and Varvara Komarova-​Stasova, eds. (Moscow and Leningrad: Muz. Izdat., 1932), 104. 146. Boris Schwarz, “Musorgsky’s Interest in Judaica,” in Musorgsky: In Memoriam, 90. 147. Rimsky-​Korsakov recalled in his memoirs that Balakirev, following his trip to the Caucasus, “frequently played two oriental themes, subsequently utilized by him for his piano fantasy, Islamey.” See Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 60. On Balakirev’s frequent performance of Islamey in 1860s for his friends, see also 76. Musorgsky often attended the meetings with Balakirev. As Rimsky-​Korsakov wrote: “not unfrequently our musical company: Balakireff, Cui, Musorgski, Borodin, V. V. Stasov, and others gathered at the house of one of the above three [Balakirev, Borodin, and Cui], and a great deal of four-​hand playing was done”; 54. 148. The sequential passage doubled in octaves from m. 23 of “A Militant Song of the Libyans” is almost the same as the passage from m. 15 of the Prologue to Boris Godunov. 149. See Iurii Keldysh and Vasilii Iakovlev, eds., M. P. Musorgsky: K piatidesiatiletiiu so dnia smerti, 1881–​1931. Stat’i i materialy (Moscow: Gos. Muz.Izdat., 1932), 110. 150. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 128. 151. Alan Bodger,“Nationalities in History: Soviet Historiography and the Pugačëvščina,” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 39/​4 (1991): 561–​81. 152. Gordeeva, Kompozitory moguchei kuchki, 175–​78. 153. For a detailed account of his life, see Elizaveta Gnevusheva, Zabytyi puteshestvennik: Zhizn i puteshestviia Petra Ivanovicha Pashino (Moscow: Gos. Izdat. Geograf. Lit., 1958). 154. See Modest Musorgsky, Complete Works XX, ed. Paul Lamm (New York: Kalmus, 1969), 24–​26. The Dervish song was probably the one Pashino learned in Persia. According

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342 Notes to pages 202–204 to Gnevusheva, during his 1861 trip to Persia Pashino became acquainted with dervishes from whom he transcribed a number of stories. Pashino sympathized with them because they opposed the Shakh’s ruling system and the Muslim clergy. See Gnevusheva, Zabytyi puteshestvennik, 31. 155. See Gordeeva, Kompozitory moguchei kuchki, 174; Petr Nikolaev, ed., Russkie pisateli 1800–​1917: Biograficheskii slovar (Moscow: Bol’shaia rossiiskaia entsiklopediia, 1994), 3:146–​49. 156. Gordeeva, Kompozitory moguchei kuchki, 178. 157. See Orlov, Letopis zhizni i tvorchestva M. P. Musorgskogo, 174. 158. In a letter to V. V. Stasov written during his trip to Crimea, Musorgsky described how during his trip on a steamship from Odessa to Stavropol he became acquainted with female singers who sang Greek and Jewish songs and he transcribed the tunes and sang them along with the singers. See Orlov, Letopis zhizni i tvorchestva M. P. Musorgskogo, 166. Besides that, Musorgsky also transcribed a few Jewish melodies from his neighbors and incorporated them into his chorus in Salammbȏ. See Boris Schwarz, “Musorgsky’s Interest in Judaica,” in Brown, Musorgsky: In Memoriam, 1881–​1981, 50. 159. E. S. Borodina, “Vospominaniia ob A. P. Borodine zapisannye S. N. Kruglikovym,” in A. P. Borodin v vospominaniiakh sovremennikov, ed. A. P. Zorina (Moscow: Muzyka, 1985), 94; Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 53. 160. See Balakirev,“Iz pisem kV. V. Stasovu,” in ed. Zorina, Borodin v vospominaniiakh,  66–​67. 161. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 156. 162. Balakirev, “Iz pisem k V. V. Stasovu,” 67. 163. Cited in Garden, Balakirev, 64. 164. Garden, Balakirev,  66–​67. 165. The theme from the middle section follows the same rhythmic pattern, but with an ascending melody, rather than the descending melody of the opening. 166. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 166. 167. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 186. 168. Yastrebtsev, Reminiscences, 74. 169. Vladimir Nikolaevich Mainov (1845–​88) was a Russian writer and ethnographer. A member of the Russian Geographical Society, he traveled and studied the northern peoples of Russia. He was known for his book Trip in Obonezhie and Korela (St. Petersburg, 1974). See Brockhaus, “Mainov,” in Entsiklopedicheskii slovar, ed. F. A. Brockhaus and I. A. Efron (St. Petersburg, 1896), 18:383. 170. Sergei Dianin, Borodin (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 1963), 86, 315. After the Mongol invasion, the Polovtians fled to the West. They still lived in Hungary in the nineteenth century, although they were heavily Magyarized. See Petr Golubovskii, Polovtsy v Vengrii: Istoricheskii ocherk (Kiev: tip. Imperatorskogo Universiteta St.Vladimir, 1889). 171. See V.  V. Stasov, “Alexander Porfir’evich Borodin,” in ed. Zorina, Borodin v vospominaniiakh, 31. 172. Dianin, Borodin, 87. 173. Dianin, Borodin,  86–​87.

Notes to pages 204–209 174. Besides working full-​time at the Medical-​Surgical Academy, he founded the School of Medicine for Women, where he taught until 1885. 175. See Christianowitsch,“Arabic Nouba Grib,” in Esquisse, xx. Besides Christianowitsch’s collection of Arabic tunes, Borodin also possessed Salvador-​Daniel’s Album with transcriptions of Algerian, Mauritanian, and Kabul songs, and a separate edition of two of Salvador-​ Daniel’s songs, “Soleima” and “Heuss ed Duoro,” both of which are based on Algerian and Tunisian tunes. Rimsky-​Korsakov, My Musical Life, 80–​81; Dianin, Borodin, 307. As Dianin has demonstrated convincingly, many musical elements of the Polovtsian sections from Borodin’s celebrated opera Prince Igor resemble these songs of Salvador-​Daniel. See Dianin, Borodin, 308–​10. 176. See Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically, 166. 177. See Christianowitsch, “Arabic Nouba Grib,” xx. 178. See Taruskin, “Slava!,” Opera News 55/​9 (January 19 1991): 18–​21. Christianowitsch cited the melody of “Slava!” in his Esquisse, xx. 179. See Dianin, Borodin, 305. 180. Borodin, Pis’ma, 3:69, cited in David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, “Aleksandr Borodin,” in Russia’s People of Empire: Life Stories from Eurasia, 1500 to the Present, ed. Stephen Norris and Willard Sunderland (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2011), 185. 181. See my “The Classical, the National, and the Exotic,” in Program Notes for the Bard Music Festival, American Symphony Orchestra, Leon Botstein, Bard College, Fisher Center, Sosnoff  Theater, August 18, 2018, 53.

Chapter 6 1. Nikolai Semenovich Klenovskii (1857–​1915), Russian composer and conductor. In 1879 Klenovskii graduated from the Moscow Conservatory, where he studied with Nikolai Gubert (theory) and Pyotr Tchaikovsky (composition); he also assisted Nikolai Rubinstein in conducting the school’s orchestra. Between 1883 and 1893, Klenovskii was one of the conductors of the Moscow Imperial Theatres. From 1889 to 1893 he directed the Moscow University Orchestra. In 1893 he accepted the position of director of Tiflis Music College, where he remained until 1902. He wrote two ballets, Prelesti Gashisha [The Delights of Hashish] (1885) and Svetlana, the Russian Princess (1886), as well as many divertissements to different ballets; he also wrote music to the dramas Messalina, Zvezda Sevil’i, and Antonii i Kleopatra (among others), the orchestral suite Mirazhi, two coronation cantatas and two cantatas celebrating Pushkin, Georgian songs for solo, choir, and orchestra, a suite for a piano, and a Georgian liturgy. See Izrail M. Iampol’skii, “Klenovskii, Nikolai Semenovich,” in Muzykal’naia entsiklopediia, ed. Iurii Keldysh, vol. 2 (Moscow: Sovetskaia entsiklopediia, 1974), 833–​34. 2. Pavel Ivanovich Blaramberg (1841–​1907) was a self-​trained Russian composer. After his graduation from the Petersburg Alexander Lyceum in 1860, he served in the Central Statistics Committee and the statistics department of the Russian Geographical Society. In 1876, he started working for the Russian newspaper Moskovskie vedomosti. From 1883 to

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344 Notes to pages 209–210 1898, he taught music theory, (orchestral) arrangement, and the analysis of musical form at the Music-​Dramatic College of the Moscow Philharmonic Society. In addition to other works, he composed the operas Demon, Maria Burgundskaia, Skomorokh, and Tushintsy. See Grigorii Bernandt and Izrail Iampol’skii, Kto pisal o muzyke (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1979), 1:100. 3. All songs were arranged according to their geographical distance (or remoteness) from the heart of Russia: Chuvash people lived within the borders of Russia from the time of Ivan the Terrible, on the western side of the Ural Mountains; the Kyrgyz occupied the steppe on the eastern side of the Ural Mountains and were absorbed after the Chuvash, during the reign of the Catherine the Great; the Sarts were relatively new people of Russia living in Central Asia and were conquered only in the second half of the nineteenth century. See the summary of concert programs organized by the MEK in appendix 2. 4. Despite the fact that on the eve of the concert, Moscow’s mayor, N. A. Alekseev, was killed and many officials from the city administration could not come because of mourning, the concert hall was overcrowded, especially with students and workers who bought the tickets for the very affordable price of 1 ruble. See Dmitrii Smirnov, Istoriia russkoi muzykal’noi fol’kloristiki (Moscow: GMPI, 2012), 198. 5. See Viktor Beliaev, Central Asian Music: Essays in the History of the Music of the Peoples of the USSR, ed. Mark Slobin with annotation, trans. Mark and Greta Slobin (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1975), 116; EO 3 (1897): 220; Dmitrii Smirnov, “Pervye etnograficheskie kontserty v Moskve,” EO 2 (1996): 21. 6. See James Clifford, The Predicament of Culture:  Twentieth-​ Century Ethnography, Literature, and Art (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988), 231. 7. The discussion of musical instruments from various Russian folk cultures on display at the 1867 exhibition was published in the journal Izvestiia Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia in 1868 and included the description of Aleut castanets and Kyrgyz kobyz, dumbra, and iataga, as well as Karelian kandala, Chuvash gusli, and Bashkir sybyzga, and many other instruments of Russian inorodtsy. See Aleksei Vladimirskii, “O zakonakh muzykal’noi garmonii i natsional’nykh muzykal’nykh instrumentakh dostavlennykh na etnograficheskuiu vystavku,” in Izvestiia Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, vol. 7, Sbornik antropologicheskikh i etnograficheskikh statei o Rossii i stranakh ei prinadlezhashchikh, izdavaemyi V. A. Dashkovym [Collection of Articles on Anthropology and Ethnography of Russia, published by V. A. Dashkov], kn. 1 (Moscow: Moscow University, 1868): 152–​6 8. 8. See Dmitrii Smirnov, “Muzykal’no-​etnograficheskaia komissiia,” in Traditsii russkoi khudozhestvennoi kul’tury: Mezhvuzovskii sbornik nauchnykh trudov 3 (Moscow and Volgograd, 2000), 213–​32, and Smirnov, Istoriia russkoi muzykal’noi fol’kloristiki, 137–​45. 9. As Nathaniel Knight pointed out, the OLEAE, from which MEK emerged, underlined that its main orientation “was not to be an elite guild of master scientists pursuing their esoteric truths in a rarefied atmosphere of exclusionary rigor.” The very title of the society—​Obshchestvo Liubitelei (“liubitelei,” “lovers,” or “amateurs”)—​suggested an inclusion of people from all social strata, all those who would express an interest in science in

Notes to pages 210–214 its widest sense. See Nathaniel Knight, The Empire on Display: Science, Nationalism, and the Challenge of Human Diversity in the All-​Russian Ethnographic Exhibition of 1867 (Washington DC: NCEEER, 2001), 6. 10. Interestingly, similar attempts to understand France’s history through collecting and analyzing regional folk songs were made by the Société des traditions populaires. See Jann Pasler, Composing the Citizen:  Music as Public Utility in Third Republic France (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), 352–​56. A few years prior to the foundation of MEK, the Société organized the concerts of so-​called chansons populaires, including the folk songs from the Flemish and Basque regions of France, as well as Alsace (the region contested by Germany on the west bank of the upper Rhine). As Pasler argues, these concerts helped both republican and conservative elites to support their preexisting agendas. See Pasler, “Race and Nation: Musical Acclimatization and the Chansons Populaires in Third Republic France,” in Western Music and Race, ed. Julie Brown (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 147–​67. 11. On the Song Committee, see Natal’ia Kolpakova, “Pesennaia komissiia russkogo geograficheskogo obshchestva,” in Russkii fol’klor:  Materialy i issledovaniia 7 (Moscow and Leningrad: AN SSSR, 1962), 354–​66. 12. See Nikolai Ianchuk, “Vstupitel’naia zapiska ob izuchenii narodnoi pesni i muzyki i o deiatel’nosti MEK,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii sostoiashchei pri etnograficheskom otdele Imperatorskogo Obshchestva Liubitelei Estestvoznaniia, Antropologii, i Etnografii (Moscow, 1906), 1:3. 13. Ianchuk, “Vstupitel’naia zapiska,” 4. 14. Ianchuk, “Vstupitel’naia zapiska,” 4. 15. Ianchuk, “Vstupitel’naia zapiska,” 3. 16. See Nikolai Klenovskii, Sbornik narodnykh pesen: Ethnograficheskii kontsert russkikh i drugikh narodnostei s perevodom na russkii iazyk, 4th ed. (Moscow: Muzykal’nyi sektor, 1926). 17. All the songs presented at the concert, except for one Armenian, five Georgian, and all of the Bulgarian ones, were taken from folk song collections or articles available at the time. 18. See Klenovskii, Sbornik, 3. 19. It should be noted that before the age of recording, most transcribers took a free approach to notating folk melodies, choosing to transcribe the most convenient version of a melody or correcting it on the spot. Even after the invention of the phonograph, some musicians, such as the famous Russian folklorist Evgeniia Lineva, altered some melodic lines in order to make them fit with her theory of strict diatonicism in Russian song. See Frolova-​ Walker, Russian Music, 250–​51. 20. Klenovskii, Sbornik, 3. 21. Later, in his Rite of Spring, Stravinsky took a step further with the idea of making a close connection between Lithuanian and Russian cultures, by using an original Lithuanian wedding song to represent pagan Russia. 22. Significantly, the members of the Mighty Five used the English horn to represent Russians as well (e.g., “The First Song of Lel” in Rimsky-​Korsakov’s Snow Maiden).

345

346 Notes to pages 214–220 As discussed in c­ hapter 5, from the mid-​nineteenth century the “oriental” style became an essential part of musical Russianness. 23. There are also differences between Georgian and Kyrgyz songs in phrase structure. (Phrases in Georgian songs are all divisible by four bars, while phrases in Kyrgyz songs maintain a pattern of 3 + 2 bars.) 24. Another song in the collection has a very similar appeal. It is the Armenian song “Krunk,” which opens with a long orchestral prelude:  after a roaring scale with an augmented second in a low register, the tutti orchestra states the first four bars of the “original” song; soon after, the woodwinds play a dialogue based on a few improvisatory-​like passages based on a scale with two augmented seconds (d–​e–​f–​g♯–​a–​b♭–​c♯–​d). The emphasis on the augmented seconds is not surprising, since in the “original” Armenian folk song, augmented seconds are repeated at the end of each phrase. However, the melody of the “Krunk” clearly outlines a scale with only one augmented second (b♭–​c♯), not two as in Klenovskii’s arrangement (f–​g♯>, b♭–​c♯). I do not examine this song in detail since it does not completely Orientalize the “original” melody. That is, the augmented second used abundantly in the accompaniment originates from the song’s melody. 25. See R.  A. Pfennig, “O kirgizskikh i sartskikh narodnykh pesniakh,” EO 3 (1889): 83–​91. 26. See Pfennig, “O kirgizskikh,” 91. 27. Later, in his collection of T   atar, Bashkir, and Teptiar songs, Rybakov also mentioned that some inorodtsy used one melody to sing different texts. See S. G. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni ural’skikh musul’man s ocherkom ikh byta (St. Petersburg: tip. Imperatorskoi AN, 1897), 65, 73. 28. This practice of taking simple, authentic Asian tunes and making them sound exotic via a sophisticated harmonization in the accompaniment was by no means new in the Russian tradition. Rimsky-​Korsakov and Borodin artificially added exotic gestures to their eastern melodic sources, which did not sound nonwestern enough in their original forms to signify the presence of the “other” for Russian audiences. 29. See Mikhail Glinka, Ruslan i Liudmila (Moscow and Leningrad: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1947), 161. 30. Koreshchenko uses the Russian words Vostok or vostochnye throughout the passage. 31. Arsenii Koreshchenko, “O vostochnoi muzyke persidskaia, armianskaia i gruzinskaia narodnaia vokal’naia muzyka),” Moskovskie vedomosti 321 (November 21, 1897), 3. Koreshchenko’s article “O vostochnoi muzyke” was first published in Moskovskie vedomosti 321 (November 21 1897):  4–​5 and and 322 (November 22, 1897):  3–​4. This article, with minor alterations and fifteen song transcriptions, was reprinted later in EO. See Koreschenchenko, “Nabliudenie nad vostochnoi muzykoi, preimushchestvenno kavkazskoi,” EO 1 (1898): 1–​22. For biographical summary on Arsenii Nikolaevich Koreshchenko (1870–​ 1921), see ­chapter 5, note 83. 32. Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie,”  4. 33. Koreshchenko, “Nabliudenie,” 4.  Interestingly, Koreshchenko did not critique or even mention Klenovskii’s approach toward other Asian tunes, whose character, as I observed earlier, was completely changed as a result of his arrangements. Perhaps Koreshchenko felt

Notes to pages 220–223 that he was not specialized enough in the field of Asian music to discuss these issues; or perhaps, by silencing the sharp discrepancies between the “original” melodies and the arrangements, he approved of Klenovskii’s approach toward Asian music. In any case, it seems that “authenticity” in the representation of Russia’s Asian music did not interest Koreshchenko. 34. M. N. Katkov, in Sobranie peredovykh statei Moskovskikh vedomostei 1867 goda (Moscow, 1897), 205; see the English translation in Knight, The Empire on Display,  19–​20. 35. See Nathaniel Knight, “Science, Empire, and Nationality:  Ethnography in the Russian Geographical Society, 1845–​1855,” in Imperial Russia:  New Histories for the Empire, ed. Jane Burbank and David L. Ransel (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 117. As discussed in c­ hapter 2, many Russian scholars of almost exclusively non-​Russian descent supported the view of Russia as a multiethnic state. Nathaniel Knight suggests that, for them, national loyalty meant loyalty to the state and the tsar rather than to the Russian people as a titular ethnic group. See 120. 36. “Sredneaziatskaia vystavka v Moskve,” Niva 34 (1891): 747. 37. On the exhibitions, see Iurii N. Bubnov, Vserossiiskaia promyshlennaia i khudozhestvennaia vystavka 1896 goda v Nizhnem Novgorode:  K 100-​ letiiu so dnia otkrytiia (Nizhnii Novgorod: Dekom, 1996); Nikolai Findeizen, “So Vserossiiskoi vystavki v N.-​Novgorode,” RMG 9 (1896): 1010–​20. 38. Visitors could board a railroad dining car and watch a diorama that unfolded the scenes of an imaginary railroad journey from Moscow to Peking outside their windows, all in half an hour. Turkestan Hall presented giant murals containing scenes of Central Asian mountains and deserts. See Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: Routledge Curzon, 2003), 85–​86. 39. Brower, Turkestan, 86. Svetlana Gorshenina argues that the representation of Russian Turkestan as a land rapidly transforming and modernizing under Russian rule can be dated back to the 1872 Russian Turkestan exposition at the Polytechnic Exhibition in Moscow. See Gorshenina, “Cristallisation de l’image du Turkestan russe dans les premières expositions ‘coloniales’ en Russie,” Études de lettres 2–​3 (2009): 69–​84. 40. See Ianchuk, “Vstupitel’naia zapiska,” 1:6. 41. To help people understand what material should be gathered and how to do it, the members of MEK published a special set of instructions titled “Program of Collecting Folk Music and Other Music-​Ethnographic Materials” [Programma dlia sobiraniia narodnykh pesen i drugikh muzykal’no-​etnograficheskikh materialov], which appeared in 1901 first in EO and then as a special reprint. 42. For instance, the Russian priest P. Tikhov from Perovsk transcribed a number of songs from Central Asia, which were published in 1910 in Muzyka i zhizn with a report in which he explained the context of their performance. See P.  Tikhov,“Muzyka Turkestanskikh kirgizov,” Muzyka i zhizn 4 (1910): 9–​14. Other instances include transcriptions of Kalmyk songs by a certain S.  Kalashnikov from Astrakhan, and the recordings of Sart songs by a doctor named Rabotnov from Tashkent. See the protocols of MEK meetings in “Protokoly zasedanii MEK, 1901–​1906,” in Trudymuzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1906), 1:31; and “Protokoly zasedanii MEK, 1906–​1911,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1911),

347

348 Notes to pages 223–228 2:21, 23. Many people from Russia’s peripheral regions requested phonographs to record folk songs of different ethnicities. See “Protokoly zasedanii MEK, 1906–​1910,” 2:14. The MEK, however, did not possess the funds to satisfy all demands; so only its members (Lineva, Anokhin, Maslov, Piatnitskii, and Arakcheev) were provided with recording equipment. See “Protokoly zasedanii MEK, 1901–​1906,” 1:14; “Protokoly zasedanii MEK, 1906–​1910,” 2:14, 15, 24. 43. See Concerts 2–​ 7 and 10 in “Programs of Ethnographic Concerts,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1906), 1:71–​77, and in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1911), 2:28–​34. Not all the concerts by the MEK had the same kind of program. As you see in Table  6.1, two concert-​lectures and concerts 8 and 9 presented exclusively Slavic music. 44. In 1880, Karazin was sent to Russian Turkestan “by the highest order” to create sketches for his paintings of the Russian military campaigns in Khiva and Samarkand. As a result of this travel, he created seven large war paintings, which decorated the walls of the tsar’s official residence in the Winter Palace. See F. A. Brockhaus and I. A. Efron, “Karazin,” in Entsiklopedicheskii slovar, ed. Brockhaus and Efron (Leipzig and St. Petersburg, 1895), 14:425–​ 26; “Karazin,” in Voennaia entsiklopediia, ed. Vasilii Novitskii (St. Petersburg:  tip. I.  Sytina, 1911–​15), 12:375. 45. Other visual reminders of Russia’s ethnic diversity included a collection of ethnic figurines commissioned at the end of the eighteenth century by Catherine the Great from the Imperial Porcelain Works in St. Petersburg. See Willard Sunderland,“Shop Signs, Monuments, Souvenirs: Views of the Empire in Everyday Life,” in Picturing Russia: Explorations in Visual Culture, ed. Valerie A. Kivelson and Joan Neuberger (New Haven:  Yale University Press, 2008),  104–​8. 46. As a member of the MEK, Russian composer Alexander Gretchaninov was assigned to arrange melodies of T   urkic peoples living in Russia. On the life and works of Gretchaninov, see Alexandre Gretchaninoff, My Life, trans. Nicolas Slonimsky, with translator’s introduction (New York: Voleman-​Ross, 1952); Iurii Aleksandrov, “K 100-​letiiu so dnia rozhdeniia A. T. Gretchaninova. Stranitsy zhizni,” Sovetskaia muzyka 10 (1964): 59–​69; and Iurii Paisov, Alexander Gretchaninov: Zhizn i tvorchestvo (Moscow: Kompozitor, 2004). In 1898, prior to his arrangements written for the MEK, Gretchaninov arranged thirteen Tatar and twelve Bashkir songs (all from Rybakov’s collection). These were all published in 1901 by Beliaev in Leipzig under the title Musul’manskie pesni, op. 25. 47. See Iurii Paisov, Alexander Gretchaninov: Zhizn i tvorchestvo (Moscow: Kompozitor, 2004), 437. 48. Among these were their contexts of musical performance, descriptions of their performance styles and musical instruments, and ethnographic details on their lifestyles, as well as biographies of inorodtsy musicians. Sergei Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni. 49. See Karl Fuks, Kazanskie tatary (Kazan, 1844), 22–​30; Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 8–​9. As I noted in c­ hapter 2, the concepts of “dirt” and “disease” were used by Russian officials as primary tropes to characterize their Asian subjects’ differences from Russians and to racialize the colonial discourse on conquered Asians; “cleanness,” by contrast, was associated with

Notes to pages 228–233 cultural and social advancement. See Jeff Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 1865–​ 1923 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 85–​87. 50. Alan W. Fisher,“Enlightened Despotism and Islam under Catherine II,” Slavic Review 27 (1967): 542–​53; Robert P. Geraci, Window on the East: National and Imperial Identities in Late Tsarist Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 22–​23. 51. In Rybakov’s ethnographic description of T   atar musicians, one can notice that most Tatars were able to communicate with him in fluent Russian and that they had been living under good conditions. See Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 221, 225, 226, and 237. 52. See Narody Rossii:  Etnograficheskie ocherki. Izdanie zhurnala “Priroda i liudi” (St. Petersburg:  tip. Tovarishchestva “Obshchestvennaia pol’za,” 1879), 2:5. Published in 1879–​ 80, this book discusses over twenty different types of Russia’s inorodtsy and includes some drawings. It can be regarded as an ethnographic dictionary sui generis that provides official information on the people living in Russia, their beliefs and religious practices, customs, and morals, as well as their cultural development as measured against the Russians. 53. See Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 67. 54. Russians often aligned themselves with Greeks because both practiced Orthodox Christianity and because the Slavic alphabet—the Glagolitic—was invented by the Greek missionaries Cyril and Methodius. 55. See Milii Balakirev and Vladimir Stasov, Perepiska, ed. A. S. Liapunova, 2 vols. (Moscow: Muzyka, 1970), 1:114–​15. 56. The appeal of the Dorian mode was so strong that even in the Soviet era, many Soviet composers replaced the characteristic harmonies of the natural minor mode with those of the Dorian mode to distinguish between the earlier “supposedly artificial folksong harmonizations” and “the supposedly natural or authentic harmonizations” in Balakirev’s style. See Marina Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism: From Glinka to Stalin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 324–​25. 57. Petr P. Sokal’skii, Russkaia narodnaia muzyka:  Velikorusskaia i malorusskaia v ee stroenii melodicheskom i ritmicheskom i otlichiia ee ot osnov sovremennoi garmonicheskoi muzyki (Kharkov: tip. Adol’fa Darre, 1888), 202. On Sokal’skii’s critique of the Kuchka, see Frolova-​ Walker, Russian Music, 227–​29. Anatolii Liadov, Sbornik russkikh narodnykh pesen dlia golosa s fortepiano (Leipzig: M.P. Belaieff [Beliaev], 1898). 58. See Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically: Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 133–​39. 59. Rimsky-​Korsakov also used a sustained pedal throughout his arrangements of “Na more utushka kupalasia” (no.  89 in his collection 100 Russian Folk Songs) and “Kak pod lesom, lesom” (no. 36 in 40 Russian Folk Songs). 60. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 38. As Charles Steinwedel pointed out, although the population of the Ural region of Ufa neither spoke Russian nor was Orthodox, the region increasingly became seen as European. See Charles Steinwedel, “How Bashkiria Became Part of European Russia,” in Russian Empire:  Space, People, Power, 1700–​1930, eds. Jane Burbank, Mark von Hagen, and Anatolyi Remnev (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 94–​124.

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350 Notes to pages 233–237 61. See Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 32. 62. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 36. 63. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 121, 114, 111. 64. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 114. 65. See Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 125. 66. See, in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1913), 4:68, 69, 70, and 72. 67. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 38–​43; Narody Rossii, 2:128–​34. In nineteenth-​century Russian literature, the word “Tatar” could be applied to any Russian ethnic group speaking Turkic language. 68. Rybakov points out that the Teptiar people borrowed the violin, balalaika, and accordion from the Russians. See Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 198. Although Rybakov’s view on Teptiars was later criticized in the pages of the journal Izvestiia Kazanskogo Obshchestva Arkheologii, Istorii i Etnografii, his views on Teptiar music were perpetuated in Gretchaninov’s arrangement. For the critique of Rybakov’s book, see G. N. Akhmarov, “Teptiari i ikh proiskhozhdenie,” Izvestiia Kazanskogo Obshchestva Arkheologii, Istorii i Etnographii (IKOAIE) 23/​5 (1908): 340–​64; here 341. 69. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 42. 70. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 198. 71. The original tune in Rybakov’s collection is transcribed a perfect fifth down and starts on e instead of b. See Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 207. 72. On the importance of the pentatonic scale in late-​nineteenth-​century Russian theories about Russian ancient musical identity, see ­chapter 3 here. 73. Ts. Cui, “The Popular Russian Symphonic Concert (Borodin’s Second Symphony. . . and Tchaikovsky’s The Tempest,” in Russians on Russian Music: 1830–​1880, ed. and trans. Stuart Campbell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 276–​79. 74. Cui, “The Popular Russian Symphonic Concert,” 276. Throughout his essay on Borodin’s symphony Cui stresses the quality of sound Borodin creates as “unconquerable, elemental power . . . not clothed in the balanced, serene forms of western harmonization”; 276–​77. 75. See Sergei Rybakov, Islam i prosveshchenie inorodtsev v Ufimskoi gubernii (St. Petersburg: Sinodal’naia tip., 1900), 5; Narody Rossii, 2:128–​34. 76. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 198. 77. It could be also argued that the musical elements used by Gretchaninov in the arrangement of this song, such as simplicity of thematic material combined with discordant harmony, repetition, and the prominence of rhythm, foreshadow elements used in the avant-​ garde movement—​primitivism. However, it would be erroneous to place Gretchaninov among the avant-​garde composers since, first, he is known for writing music in the best tradition of the Kuchka composers (between 1890 and 1896 he studied with Rimsky-​Korsakov and his first opera, Dobrynia Nikitich, was praised as an opera written in the best Kuchka tradition), and second, in his memoirs Gretchaninov expressed negativity toward modern art. See Gretchaninoff, My Life, 171–​73; Aleksandrov, “K 100-​letiiu so dnia rozhdeniia A. T. Gretchaninova,” 68.

Notes to pages 237–240 78. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 236. 79. See Rybakov, “Russkie vliianiia v muzykal’nom tvorchestve nagaibakov, kreshchennykh tatar Orenburgskoi guberni,” RMG 11 (1896): 1343–​54. 80. On Russian-​style cadences, vocal entrances, and melodic gestures, see Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically, 132–​44; Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 104–​117, 163–​74, 229–​51, 291–​92. 81. See Lineva’s transcription in Elizaveta Kann-​Novikova, Sobiratel’nitsa russkikh narodnykh pesen Evgeniia Lineva (Moscow:  Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1952), 168–​70; Rykabov, “Russkie vliianiia,” app., 6. 82. Rykabov, “Russkie vliianiia.” On the religious assimilation of Asian inorodtsy, see Paul Werth, “Inorodtsy on Obrusenie:  Religious Conversion, Indigenous Clergy, and the Politics of Assimilation in Late-​Imperial Russia,” Ab Imperio 2 (2000): 87–​104. 83. Rykabov, “Russkie vliianiia,” RMG 11 (1896): 1354. 84. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 43. 85. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 43. 86. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 66 and 236. 87. I follow here the usage of the term by Hans Rogger, Russia in the Age of Modernization and Revolution, 1881–​1917 (London: Longman, 1983), 183. 88. See, in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1913), 4: 70–​71. 89. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 114. 90. See, for instance, Vladimir Protopopov, Variatsii v russkoi klassicheskoi opere (Moscow:  Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1957); Igor Sposobin, Muzykal’naia forma (Moscow:  Muzyka, 1984), 171–​75; Olga Levasheva, M. I.  Glinka (Moscow:  Muzyka, 1988), 2:113. For more detailed information on the historiography of “Glinka variations,” see Frolova-​Walker, “On ‘Ruslan’ and Russianness,” Cambridge Opera Journal 9/​1 (1997): 29–​31, and Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism, 113–​14. 91. It looks as though Gretchaninov used Glinka’s “Persian Choir” from Ruslan and Liudmila as a model for his musical development. 92. A few voices in the nineteenth century also raised the issue of the Russians’ assimilative tendencies. Nikolai Kharuzin, for instance, pointed out that they not only forced the assimilation of the inorodtsy into Russian culture but also themselves assimilated certain elements (such as language and food) from their Asian neighbors. See N. Kharuzin, “K voprosu ob assimiliatsionnoi sposobnosti russkogo naroda,” EO 4 (1894): 43–​78. 93. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 40;  “Teptiari-​magometane i teptiari-​iazychniki: Kharakter, obriady i obychai,” in Narody Rossii, 2:128. 94. The link between the Taranchi and Uighur peoples was well-​known after Chokan Valikhanov’s trip to Kashgaria in 1858–​59. Ch. Valikhanov, Sobranie sochinenii v 5-​ti tomakh (Alma-​Ata:  AN KazSSR, 1961–​72), 2:62. After Valikhanov, many other Russian writers pointed out that the Taranchis were the Uighurs brought to the Ili region from Kashgaria. See Aleksei Kuropatkin, Kashgariia:  Istoriko-​geograficheskii ocherk strany, ee voennye sily, promyshlennost i torgovlia (St. Petersburg: IRGO, 1879), 95; V. V. Vasilii Radlov, Iz Sibiri: Stranitsy dnevnika (Moscow: Nauka, 1989), 101; and others.

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352 Notes to pages 240–241 95. In his music ethnography of the Ural Muslims, Rybakov assessed about eight thousand Teptiar people living in Ural. Rybakov, Muzyka i pesni, 38. In the early 1860s, when Radlov traveled to the Ili region, he counted about eight thousand Taranchi families. See Radlov, “Osedlye tiurkskie plemena Srednei Azii,” Iz Sibiri, 100. However, in 1881, the presence of Taranchis in the region drastically increased after their mass migration into the Central Asian territory controlled by the Russians. The 1897 All-​Russian Census listed over 56,000 Taranchis and over 117 Teptiars living in Russia. See Nikolai Troinitskii, ed., “Tablitsa XIII: Raspredelenie naseleniia po rodnomu iazyku,” in Pervaia vseobshchaia perepis naseleniia Rossiiskoi Imperii (St. Petersburg: Izd.Tsentral’nogo Statisticheskogo Komiteta MID, 1899–​1905). 96. Valikhanov, Sobranie sochinenii, 2:61–​62; Radlov, “Naselenie Iliiskoi doliny,” in Iz Sibiri, 515; Vladimir Paisel, Materialy dlia antropologii Taranchei (St. Petersburg: tip. Otdeleniia Korp. Zhandrm., 1897), 6; Nikolai Pantusov, Svedeniia o Kul’dzhinskom raione za 1871–​1877 gody (Kazan: tip. Universiteta, 1881), 12. Kuropatkin claimed that the participants of the 1765 rebellion in Uch-​Turfan whom the Chinese sent in exile to the western borders to provide the Chinese army with food were Taranchis. See Kuropatkin, Kashgariia, 100. 97. See Daut Issiyev, Uighurskoe gosudarstvo Yettishahar (Moscow: Nauka, 1981);Vladimir Moiseev, Rossiia i Kitai v Tsentral’noi Azii (Barnaul: Az Buka, 2003), 98–​115. 98. See Issiyev, Uighurskoe Gosudarstvo Yettishar,  34–​48. 99. Many Russian officials had little interest in returning this region to China, and numerous articles supporting Russia’s presence in the region appeared in Russian periodicals. See Nikolai Severtsov, “Zametka o nashikh Sredneaziatskikh vladeniiakh,” Slovo: Nauchnyi, literaturnyi i politicheskii zhurnal 8 (August 1880): 96–​103; Pantusov, Svedeniia o Kul’dzhinskom raione; Radlov, “Naselenie Iliiskoi doliny”; Nikolai Prejevalsky, From Kulja across the Tian Shan to Lob-​Nor; trans. E.  Delmar Morgan, with introduction by Sir T. Douglas Forsyth (London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1879), 33. Russia’s reorganization of the taxation system, the opening of the Russian–​Taranchi school, and a public hospital demonstrated the empire’s interest in establishing friendly relations with the native population. Jin Noda, “Reconsidering the Ili Crisis: The Ili Region under Russian Rule (1871–​1881),” in Reconceptualizing Cultural and Environmental Change in Central Asia: An Historical Perspective on the Future, ed. M. Watanabe and J. Kubota (Kyoto: RIHN, 2010), 163–​97. 100. In the second half of the 1870s, the Chinese sent a punitive force to Yettishar and exterminated approximately half of the population. See Moiseev, Rossiia i Kitai, 207.According to Moiseev, out of 132,000 people of Kulja, about 107,000 left for Russia. See Ibid. 101. See Kuropatkin, Kashgariia, 74; N. Prejevalsky, From Kulja, 65; Mikhail Pevtsov, Journey to Kashgariya and Kun-​Lun’ (Washington, D.C.: Joint Publications Research Service, 1967), 133–​34; Paisel, Materialy; G. E. Grum-​Grzhimailo, “Belokuraia rasa v Srednei Azii,” Zapiski Imperatorskogo Russkogo Geograficheskogo Obshchestva po otdeleniiu etnografii 34 (1909): 163–​88. 102. See Paisel, Materialy, 17. 103. Paisel, Materialy, 15–​21. It is noteworthy that Paisel in his description of the society in Eastern Turkestan uses the term grazhdanstvennost (civility, civil order, or civic spirit), which in late-​nineteenth-​century Russian literature was a marker of a civilized society and

Notes to pages 241–242 the ideal for the Russian civic society itself. See Brower, Turkestan, 10, 18. Paisel’s research implies that the acquisition of Taranchi territory would be useful not only for political and territorial reasons but also for Russian civic society, since the imposition of grazhdanstvennost in Eastern Turkestan would meet no resistance. 104. Mikhail Pevtsov, Puteshestvie po Vostochnomu Turkestanu, Kun’luniu, severnoi okraine Tibetskogo nagor’ia i Chzhungarii v 1889 i 1890 godakh (St. Petersburg: tip. Stasiulevicha, 1895), 153;Valikhanov, Sobranie sochinenii, 2:348. 105. The link between Taranchis and Nestorian Christianity appealed particularly to Russian orientologists and explorers, as well as the general population. Paisel, Materialy, 19, 23; Nikolai Pantusov, “Sledy khristianstva v Turkestane,” Turkestanskie vedomosti 44 (1873): 175; Pantusov, “Khristianskoe kladbishche bliz Pishpeka v Chuiskoi doline,” Zapiski Vostochnogo Otdeleniia Russkogo Arkheologicheskogo Obshchestva (ZVROAO) 1 (1886):  74–​ 83; Pantusov, “Nadgrobnye khristianskie pamiatniki v Almalyke” (1902), Protokoly Turkestanskogo kruzhka liubitelei arkheologii 7 (1902): 52–​54; Pantusov, “O nestorianskom kladbishche (bliz ozera Issyk-​ Kul),” ZVORAO 18 (1908): xv; Pantusov, “Gorod Almalyk i mazar-​Tugluk-​Timur-​khana,” in Kaufmanskii sbornik:  Izdannyi v pamiat 25 let istekshikh so dnia smerti pokoritelia i ustroitelia Turkestanskogo Kraia, Generala-​Ad”iutanta, K. P. von Kaufmana I-​go (Moscow, 1910): 161–​ 75; Vasilii Bardol’d, “O khristianstve v Turkestane v domongol’skii period,” ZVORAO 8 (1894):  1–​32; Sergei Malov, “Ob izuchenii nestorianskikh nadpisei,” in Pamiatniki drevnetiurkskoi pis’mennosti Mongolii i Kirgizii (Moscow and Leningrad: AN SSSR, 1959), 75–​86. On discoveries of Christian subjects in Eastern Turkestan, see Alexander Nikitin, “Khristianstvo,” in Vostochnyi Turkestan v drevnosti i rannem srednevekov’e: Etnos, iazyki, religii, ed. B. A. Litvinskii (Moscow: Nauka, 1992), 533–​49. On Christianity in Central Asia, see Nikitin, “Khristianstvo v Tsentral’noi Azii,” in Vostochnyi Turkestan i Srednaiaia Aziia: Istoriia, kul’tura, sviazi, ed. Boris Litvinskii (Moscow: Nauka, 1984), 121–​37. 106. For more on the birth and development of Russian Aryanism throughout the nineteenth century, see Marlène Laruelle, Mythe aryen et rêve impérial dans la Russie du XIXe siècle: Mondes Russes: Etats, sociétés, nations (Paris: CNRS Editions, 2005), 84–​87. 107. Valikhanov, Sobranie sochinenii, 2:347. See also A. V. Vinogradskii, “Taranchi,” Estestvoznanie i geografiia: Nauchno-​populiarnyi i pedagogicheskii zhurnal 9 (1907): 50; Prejevalsky, From Kulja, 33; Paisel, Materialy, 18; Pevtsov, Puteshestvie, 152–​53; Grum-​Grzhimailo, Opisanie puteshestviia v Zapadnyi Kitai (Moscow: Gos. Izdat. Geogr. Lit., 1948), 1:231; Radlov,“Naselenie Iliiskoi doliny,” 525. Even after the Muslim uprising in Kulja, the Russian general-​governor of Turkestan Kaufmann described Taranchis as “weak and peaceful” (“slabye i mirnye”). See citation in Moiseev, Rossiia i Kitai, 105. 108. See N. N. Pantusov, “Taranchinskiia pesni,” Zapiski IRGO (Otdel Etnografii) 17/​ 1 (1890); Pantusov, “Taranchinskie pesni,” IKOAIE 13 (1896):  1–​70. In addition, in 1909 Pantusov published fairytales, proverbs and sayings, riddles, incantations, and verses about the resettlement of Taranchis in Semirech’e, which shed light on the history of some of the song texts published in earlier articles. See N. N. Pantusov, “Obraztsy taranchinskoi narodnoi literatury, sobrannye i perevedennye N. N. Pantusovym,” IKOAIE 25/​2–​4 (Kazan: University Press, 1909). For the numerous publications of Taranchi literary works Pantusov was awarded

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354 Notes to pages 242–243 a Small Gold Medal by IRGO. See Boris Lunin, Sredniaia Aziia v dorevoliutsionnom i sovetskom vostokovedenii (Tashkent: Nauka, 1965), 128–​31. 109. The article also included the description of a traditional wedding (along with the texts and transcription of one song-​cycle), a Muslim festivity, Koliada, and the supplication of a blind man. 110. Pantusov, “Taranchinskie pesni,” xii. 111. Pantusov subdivided the songs into seven categories:  bylinas and legends about epic heroes or saintly people; historical songs (koshak) about events related to the Taranchi people in the remote and recent past; love songs (erotic songs), songs of praise, and sad songs that are performed in different gatherings; wedding songs; healing songs; songs of calendars and beggars-​cripples; and Koliada songs. He stated that there was no other type of music, thus completely disregarding a huge repertoire of workers’ songs and women’s songs, as well as Muqams, which included purely instrumental sections, solo-​singing, choir performance, and dance music. The latter omission likely resulted from the social context in which Muqams were performed, which would not have been possible to create in Pantusov’s presence. On Uighur muqams, see Tamara Alibakiyeva, On ikki muqam (Alma-​Ata:  Oner, 1988); Alibakiyeva, “Uighurskii Muqam: Istoricheskie i teoreticheskie problemy” (PhD diss., Moscow Conservatory, 1991); Jean During and Sabine Trebinjac, “Introduction au muqam ouïgour,” Papers on Inner Asia 17 (1991):  1–​58; Rachel A. Harris, The Making of a Musical Canon in Chinese Central Asia: The Uyghur Twelve Muqam (Burlington: Ashgate, 2008). 112. Pantusov,“Taranchinskie pesni,” xvi. It seems that the Taranchi song repertoire about recent events was of interest not only to Pantusov but also to other Russian orientologists such as Nikolai Fedorovich Katanov, a prominent Turkologist who transcribed and translated into Russian the texts of “new” Taranchi songs. 113. See Nikolai Katanov, “Novye pesni Taranchei, pereselentsev iz Iliiskogo kraia,” IKOAIE 22/​5 (Kazan, 1906): 303–​14. 114. Lunin, Sredniaia Aziia, 128. Songs praising Pantusov, General Fride, and the tsar were published in N. Katanov’s article on new Taranchi songs. See Katanov, “Novye pesni Taranchei,” 312–13. In 1881 General Fride was a governor of Semirech’e and a member of the committee overseeing the transfer of the Ili region to China, while Pantusov was a director of the governor’s chancellery on Kulja affairs. Ibid. 115. This was the second time that arrangements of Taranchi songs were performed for the Russian public. The first performance took place a few years earlier at the fifth ethnographic concert, which was held on January 30, 1902, in Romanov’s Hall New Auditorium at the Moscow Polytechnic Museum. Two unidentified Taranchi songs arranged by Iurii Sakhnovskii were performed in the second part of the concert. 116. This story is described in detail by Nikolai Pantusov, “Povest o Nozgum,” Izvestiia Obshchestva Arkheologii, Istorii i Etnografii 25/​2–​4 (1909): 49–​60. 117. See T. Alibakiyeva, Uigurskie istoricheskie pesni (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1986), 4; Pantusov, “Povest o Nozgum.” 118. Alibakiyeva, Uigurskie istoricheskie pesni, 4. 119. See Pantusov, “Povest o Nozgum.”

Notes to pages 245–250 120. See Vladimir Miasnikov, ed., Russko-​kitaiskie dogovorno-​pravovye akty (1689–​1916) (Moscow: Pamiatniki istoricheskoi mysli, 2004), 350–​90. 121. Besides the Dorian, Pantusov’s transcription of Taranchi songs contains a wide variety of tunes in different modes, including the Mixolydian, the Aeolian, the Ionian, and mixed modes. 122. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 165–​73. 123. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 244–​51. Significantly, some Scottish folk song collections also went through a similar treatment. They were filtered and adjusted (confined to pentatonic scale and presented in an unornamented and rhythmically regular form) in order to claim their authenticity on the basis of their “simplicity” and “primitiveness.” Matthew Gelbart, The Invention of “Folk Music” and “Art Music”:  Emerging Categories from Ossian to Wagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 172–​80. 124. See Iurii Arnol’d, “Po povodu garmonizatsii odnoi russkoi pesni,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1906), 1:437–​40. As an active member, Glière would certainly have been aware of the committee’s publications and Arnol’d’s theory in particular. 125. Arnol’d, “Po povodu garmonizatsii odnoi russkoi pesni,” 438, 439. 126. Arnol’d, “Po povodu garmonizatsii odnoi russkoi pesni,” 439. 127. See Nuvellist 63 (1902): 149–​51. 128. Glière’s arrangement of the third Taranchi song, “Bozhestvo—podruga moia,” is even less connected to Central Asian music. The opening gesture in the accompaniment—​a chord without a third and with the upper voice touching a lower neighboring note—​is also found in other arrangements in the same volume of the MEK’s Trudy that represent different peoples of the Russian empire: Bashkirs (in Gretchaninov’s arrangement of “Mynazhat— obrashchenie k Bogu”) or Russians (in Mitrofan Slavinskii’s arrangement of the Great-​ Russian song “Ne spasibo te Igumnu”). 129. See N. Ianchuk, A. Kastal’skii, and D. Arakchiev, “Ot MEK,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​ etnograficheskoi komissii (1913), 4:iii. 130. See Steve Smith and Catriona Kelly, “Commercial Culture and Consumerism,” in Constructing Russian Culture in the Age of Revolution: 1881–​1940, ed. Catriona Kelly and David Shepherd (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 106–​55. 131. Dmitrii Alexandrovich Agrenev-​ Slavianskii (1834–​ 1908) was a popular Russian singer and choir director who first became famous in the early 1870s by performing in theatrical concerts in Russia, America, England, Germany, France, and other countries. The peak of activity of “Slavic capella” falls from the 1870s to the 1890s. On the life and works of Agrenev-​Slavianskii, see Antoine Super, La chapelle Impérialle russe:  La chapelle de M.  D. Slaviansky d’Agrenéff. Esquisse historique et critique sur la question de la musique à l’église (Paris: Pisqouin, 1886). On the popularity of Slavic capella in Paris during the 1889 World’s Fair, see Annegret Fauser, Musical Encounters at the 1889 Paris World’s Fair (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press, 2005), 46–​47. 132. For instance, in the performance of one popular Russian folk song,“Ei ukhnem,” the members of the choir were wearing artistic rags derived from Ilya Repin’s painting Burlaki na Volge. Agrenev-​Slavianskii called this kind of folk song re-​creation a “living picture.” See

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356 Notes to pages 250–252 Leonid Levin and Elizaveta Uvarova, “Bytovaia i prikladnaia muzyka,” Istoriia russkoi muzyki v desiati tomakh, ed. L. Z. Korabel’nikova and E. M. Levashev (Moscow:  Muzyka, 2004), 10B: 773. 133. Levin and Uvarova, “Bytovaia i prikladnaia muzyka,” 773. The international success of the Slavic choir also provoked negative reviews from Russian musicians. Hermann Laroche, for instance, underlining the “cheap popularity of the melodies” performed by Agrenev-​ Slavianskii and their pseudofolk character, remarked that these characteristics mesmerized the “semi-​educated mob.” See Hermann Laroche, Izbrannye stat’i (Moscow: Muzyka, 1977), 4:72. Pyotr Tchaikovsky saw in Agrenev’s activity only opportunism, the exploitation of false patriotism, and, most important, the direct profanation of the true nature of folk song. Tchaikovsky, Muzykal’nye fel’etony i zametki Petra Ili’cha Tchaikovskogo, 1868–​1876: S prilozheniem portreta, avtobiograficheskogo opisaniia puteshestviia za granitseiu v 1888 godu i predisloviia G. A. Larosha (Moscow: tip. Iakovleva, 1898), 300. 134. See Homo Novus (A. Kugel), “O tsyganshchine,” Teatr i iskusstvo 31 (1905): 408–​9, and Levin and Uvarova, “Bytovaia i prikladnaia muzyka,” 784–​85. 135. Vasilii Vasil’evich Andreev (1861–​1918) was born in Bejetsk into a wealthy merchant family. In Russian music history he is known as the modernizer of Russian balalaika. With the help of the violin maker F. Passerbskii, Andreev designed a chromatic twelve-​fret instrument and later developed different types of balalaikas: discant, piccolo, prima, alto, bass, and double bass. See Flavii Sokolov, V.V. Andreev i ego orkestr (Leningrad: Gos. Muz. Izdat., 1962). 136. Levin and Uvarova, “Bytovaia i prikladnaia muzyka,” 770. Andreev had two goals:  first, to preserve an orchestral sound and “return” to Russian audience old highly artistic examples of folk songs (or, in other words, revive the dying interest in folklore), and second, to raise the level of music culture and provide the masses with access to “serious” music and musical art through orchestral playing on accessible instruments. Andreev’s orchestra performed not only folk songs but also arrangements of western European music (e.g., fragments from Carmen and Prince Igor); 771. 137. See Levin and Uvarova, “Bytovaia i prikladnaia muzyka,” 774. 138. Smith and Kelly, “Commercial Culture,” 130. 139. See Dmitrii Smirnov, Istoriia russkoi muzykal’noi fol’kloristiki (Moscow: GMPI, 2012), 200–​201. 140. Levin and Uvarova, “Bytovaia i prikladnaia muzyka,” 772; and I. A. Kamenev, Solistka Ego Velichestva Mariia Ivanovna Gorlenko-​Dolina (St. Petersburg: Trud, 1912). 141. See “Protokoly zasedanii MEK za 1901–​ 1906 gody” [Minutes of the MEK’s Meetings for 1901–​1906], in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1906), 1:10. 142. “Protokoly zasedanii MEK za 1901–​1906 gody.” 143. Obviously, the excessive zeal that aimed to excite public attention resulted in a questionable authenticity of sound, which went against the initial idea of ethnographic concerts. The organizers probably realized this soon after the sixth concert, since they stopped the practice of performing the music of ethnic groups on instruments that did not belong to them. Instead, standardized piano-​vocal arrangements became the norm. 144. See “Protokoly zasedanii MEK za 1901–​1906 gody,” 1:30.

Notes to pages 253–255 145. A short description of Korsh’s lecture was published in the minutes of MEK’s meetings. See “Protokoly zasedanii MEK za 1901–​1906 gody,” 1:31. The ninth ethnographic concert was preceded by a lecture prepared by Alexander Maslov titled “About the Influence of Folk Music on the Works of Russian Composers,” which also appealed to the Russian remote past. The first part of the concert-​lecture included performances of traditional epic songs called bylinas (discussed in c­ hapter 1) and presented pre-​Christian traditions (Koliada), and the second part consisted of art songs and arias from operas written by members of the Kuchka circle—​Musorgsky, Rimsky-​Korsakov, and Borodin. 146. See Marina Rakhmanova, “Novoe napravlenie v dukhovnoi muzyke: Istoricheskie tendentsii i khudozhestvennye protsessy,” in Istoriia russkoi muzyki v desiati tomakh, 10B, 392–​ 456; Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music, 265–​92. 147. See “Protokoly zasedanii MEK za 1901–​1906 gody,” 1:32, 56. Another ethnographic concert preceded by a lecture about the influence of folk music on Russian composers also brought a modest income of 29 Rubles. See “Protokoly zasedanii MEK za 1906–​1910 gody,” in Trudy muzykal’no-​etnograficheskoi komissii (1911), 2:10. 148. Simon Frith, “The Discourse of World Music,” in Western Music and Its Others, ed. Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh (Berkeley:  University of California Press, 2000), 308. 149. Here I follow James Clifford’s interpretation of ethnography as a modality of collection: “to see ethnography as a form of culture collecting (not, of course, the only way to see it) highlights the ways that diverse experiences and facts are selected, gathered, detached from their original temporal occasions, and given enduring value in a new arrangement.” See Clifford, The Predicament of Culture:  Twentieth-​Century Ethnography, Literature, and Art (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988), 231. 150. The stereotypes about Central Asia are proven to be alive even today. In her recent book on private collections of different artifacts from Russian Turkestan, Svetlana Gorshenina crassly states: “the geopolitical situation in the region is largely responsible for its backwardness.” See S. Gorshenina, The Private Collections of Russian Turkestan in the Second Half of the 19th and Early 20th Century (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 2004), 9. 151. Susan Stewart, On Longing Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984), 48. 152. Clifford, The Predicament of Culture, 218.

In Place of a Conclusion 1. Francine Hirsch, Empire of Nations:  Ethnographic Knowledge and the Making of the Soviet Union (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005), 7. 2. Vladimir I. Lenin, “The Right of Nations to Self-​Determination,” in Collected Works (Moscow: Politizdat, 1972), 20:393–​454. 3. S. Dimanshtein, “Sovetskaia vlast i melkie natsional’nosti,” Zhizn natsional’nostei 46 (December 7, 1919), cited in Yuri Slezkine, “The USSR as a Communal Apartment, or How a Socialist State Promoted Ethnic Particularism,” Slavic Review 53/​2 (1994): 420. Francine Hirsch

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358 Notes to pages 255–257 calls this process “state-​sponsored evolutionism” or a “Soviet version of the civilizing mission” based on the Marxist-​Leninist idea that national consciousness is a crucial stage in the evolution toward socialism. Soviets believed that they could speed up the process of nation-​building by transforming some feudal societies into socialist-​era nations and then assimilating them into the Soviet Union. Hirsch, Empire of Nations: Ethnographic Knowledge and the Making of the Soviet Union (Ithaca:  Cornell University Press, 2005), 7–​9. In the Soviet Union, the definition of “nationality,” as provided by Stalin, included the ideas of common culture, language, economic life, and territory and implied a fixed identification, which is inherited like skin color. See Joseph Stalin, Marxism and the National Question (New York: International, 1942). 4. Alexandre A. Bennigsen and S. Enders Wimbush, Muslim National Communism in the Soviet Union: A Revolutionary Strategy for the Colonial World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979), 138–​57. 5. Slezkine, “The USSR as a Communal Apartment,” 431–​32. Of course, such a move was well thought out: newspapers, books, and schools in native languages allowed the Bolsheviks to establish connections with the “masses,” spread antibourgeois ideas among them, gain their support, and increase local participation in the building of the Soviet state. The Soviets borrowed the system of alluring inorodtsy from Nikolai Ilminskii, who attracted non-​Russians to Orthodox Christianity by respecting local traditions and translating the Bible into local languages. 6. Hirsch, Empire of Nations, 277. 7. Hirsch, Empire of Nations, 134. 8. Hirsch, Empire of Nations, 329–​35; compare app.  2 (list of the Narodnotsi of the USSR for the 1926 census) with app. 3 (list of the Natsional’nosti of the USSR from the 1939 census). 9. Marina Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism: From Glinka to Stalin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 306. 10. Literaturnaia gazeta 1952, cited in Toni Cliff, State Capitalism in Russia (London: Pluto Press, 1974), 258–​59. 11. See Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalsim (London: Verso, 1983). 12. Jan Plamper, “Georgian Koba or Soviet ‘Father of Peoples’? The Stalin Cult and Ethnicity,” in The Leader Cult in Communist Dictatorships: Stalin and the Eastern Bloc, ed. B. Apor, J. Behrends, P. Jones, and E. Rees (New York: Palgrave McMillan, 2004), 132. 13. Valerie A. Kivelson and Ronald Grigor Suny, Russia’s Empires (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 310–​11. 14. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism, 307–​20. 15. Frolova-​Walker, Russian Music and Nationalism, 307–​20. 16. See Boris Asaf ’ev,“O chuzhikh stranakh i liudiakh,” in Izbrannye trudy (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1955), 4:142. 17. On life of Glière, see Zoia Gulinskaia, Reinhold Moritsevich Glière (1875–​ 1956) (Moscow: Muzyka, 1986);V. M. Bogdanov-​Berezovskii, ed., Reinhold Moritsevich Glière: Stat’i.

Notes to pages 257–259 Vospominaniia. Materialy (Moscow and Leningrad:  Muzyka, 1965–​67); Vasilii Kisilev, ed., Reinhold Moritsevich Glière: Stat’i i vospominaniia (Moscow: Muzyka, 1975). 18. On the life of Myaskovsky, see Alexei Ikonnikov, Myaskovsky:  His Life and Work (New York: Greenwood Press, 1969); Gregor Tassie, Nikolay Myaskovsky: The Conscience of Russian Music (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 2014). 19. A. Mar, “Pervyi vsesoiuznyi radiofestival,” SM 8 (1936): 33. 20. Mar, “Pervyi vsesoiuznyi radiofestival,” 33. 21. Brusilovskii’s Kyz-​Zhybek and other operas were written in the Kazakh language and on the basis of Kazakh folk songs and instrumental pieces, which the composer reportedly collected over two years. See SM 7 (1936):  53. A  short biography of Brusilovskii is found in Iurii Keldysh, ed., Muzykal’naia entsiklopediia, vol. 1 (Moscow: Sovetskaia entsiklopediia, 1973), 584. In 1948, Brusilovskii was distinguished with the Stalin Prize, albeit not for his operas but for cantata The Soviet Kazakhstan. On the history and politics related to Stalin’s music prize, see Frolova-​Walker, Stalin’s Music Prize: Soviet Culture and Politics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016). 22. A. Konstant Smith, “Vostochnyi orkestr D-​ra Ioannesiana,” SM 6 (1936): 71–​72. 23. M.  F. Leonova, “Samodeiatel’nost,” in Keldysh., Muzykal’naia entsiklopediia, vol. 4 (1978):835. 24. On the “mass song,” see Arnold Sokhor,“Massovaia pesnia,” in Keldysh, Muzykal’naia entsiklopediia, vol. 3 (1976):476–​77;Viktor Fradkin, “Sovetskaia massovaia pesnia,” in Sovetskaia muzykal’naia literatura, ed. Margarita Rittikh (Moscow: Muzyka, 1977), 1:54–​126. 25. K. Kuznetsov, “Vsesoiuznaia khorovaia olimpiada,” SM 8 (1936): 45. 26. Kuznetsov, “Vsesoiuznaia khorovaia olimpiada,” 45. 27. One of the song performed in Russian was a partisan song “Po dolinam i po vzgor’iam.” SM 8 (1936): 45. 28. On Soviet ethnography, see Yuri Slezkine, “The Fall of Soviet Ethnography, 1928–​ 38,” Current Anthropology 32/​4 (1991): 476–​84; Hirsch, Empire of Nations; Hirsch, “Getting to Know ‘The Peoples of the USSR,’” Slavic Review 62/​4 (2003): 683–​709; Roland Cvetkovski and Alexis Hofmeister, eds., An Empire of Others: Creating Ethnographic Knowledge in Imperial Russia and the USSR (Budapest: CEU Press, 2014). 29. On the control of different organizations in the Soviet period see Kiril Tomoff, Creative Union: The Professional Organization of Soviet Composers, 1939–​1953 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006); Marina Frolova-​ Walker and Jonathan Walker, Music and Soviet Power: 1917–​1932 (Woodbridge, UK: Boydell Press, 2012). 30. See Informatsionnoe pis’mo 6–​ 7 (Moscow:  Soiuz kompozitorov SSSR, Komissiia muzyki narodov SSSR, 1976), 1. 31. My mother, an accomplished ethnomusicologist and choral conductor, often participated as a lecturer and performer of Uighur folk song in these concerts. 32. On the imperial legacy in Soviet Oriental Studies, see David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, “The Imperial Roots of Soviet Orientology,” in The Heritage of Soviet Oriental Studies, ed. Michael Kemper and Stephan Conermann (New York: Routledge, 2011), 29–​46,

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360 Notes to pages 257–259 and Mikhail Rodionov, “Profiles under Pressure: Orientalists in Petrograd/​Leningrad, 1918–​ 1956,” in the same volume, 47–​57. 33. See Asaf ’ev, “O chuzhikh stranakh i liudiakh,” 4:143. 34. Boris Asaf ’ev, Russian Music from the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century, trans. from the Russian by Alfred J. Swan (Ann Arbor, Mich.: J. W. Edwards, 1953), 158–​59. 35. As one proverb attributed to Napoleon Bonaparte says, “Grattez le russe et vous trouverez le tartare!” (Scratch a Russian, find a Tatar!) 36. On Eurasianism, see Marlène Laruelle, L’idéologie eurasiste russe ou comment penser l’empire (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1999);  Slawomir Mazurek,“Russian Eurasianism—Historiosophy and Ideology,” Studies in East European Thought 54/​ 1–​ 2 (2002):  105–​ 23; Mark Bassin, “Classical Eurasianism and the Geopolitics of Russian Identity,” Ab Imperio 2 (2003): 257–​67; Sergei Sokolov, Filosofiia russkogo zarubezh’ia:  Evraziistvo (Ulan-​Ude:  VSGTU, 2003). On Russian Eurasianism in music see Richard Taruskin, Stravinsky and the Russian Traditions: A Biography of the Works through Mavra (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 2:1125–​ 36 and Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically:  Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 393–​412; Taruskin, “Turania Revisited, with Lourié My Guide,” Russian Music at Home and Abroad:  New Essays (Oakland, California: University of California Press, 2016), 162–​232.

Bibliography Primary Sources Archival Sources Aliab’ev, Alexander. Eskizy, nabroski. Fund 40, item 6a, 6b. Manuscript score in Alexander Aliab’ev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives. Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture. Glière, Reinhold. Tri taranchinskie pesni. Fund 133, item 129. Manuscript score in Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskaia Komissiia Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives. Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture. Eichhorn, August. Otdel’nye zametki I, II. Fund 340, item 1500. Manuscript in Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives. Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture. Eichhorn, August. Raznye obraztsy pesen i pr. Fund 340, item 143. Manuscript in Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives. Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture. Eichhorn, August. Lieder und Gesänge der Völker. St. Petersburg, 1888. Manuscript in Fund 340, item 1497.Viktor Beliaev Collection, Department of Documents and Personal Archives. Glinka National Museum Consortium of Musical Culture.

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362 Bibliography Nuvellist. Muzykal’nyi zhurnal dlia fortepiano. Le Nouvelliste. Revue Musicale pour le Piano rédigée et publiée par M. Bernard. St. Petersburg (1842–​1906) Protokoly Turkestanskogo kruzhka liubitelei arkheologii (1896–​1916) Russkaia beseda (1856–​60) Russkaia muzykal’naia gazeta (RMG) (1894–​1917) Russkii vestnik (1856–​1906) Sbornik materialov dlia opisaniia mestnostei i plemen Kavkaza (1881–​1915) Slovo. Nauchnyi, literaturnyi i politicheskii zhurnal (1877–​1917) Sovetskaia muzyka (SM) (1933–​42) Syn Otechestva (1830–​52; 1856–​60) Teatr i iskusstvo (1897–​1918) Trudy Imperatorskogo vol’nogo ekonomicheskogo obshchestva (1842–​94) Turkestanskie vedomosti (1874–​1916) Universitetskie izvestiia (1861–​1917) Vestnik Evropy (VE) (1865–​76) Vologodskie gubernskie vedomosti (1838–​1917) Zapiski Imperatorskogo Russkogo Geograficheskogo Obshchestva (ZIRGO) (1850–​91) Zapiski Imperatorskogo Russkogo Geograficheskogo Obshchestva po otdeleniiu etnografii (1867–​1916) Zapiski Vostochnogo Otdeleniia Russkogo Arkheologicheskogo Obshchestva (ZVROAO) (1886–​1908) Zhivaia starina (1890–​1916) Zhurnal ministerstva narodnogo prosveshcheniia (1834–​1917)

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Index Note: Tables and figures are indicated by t and f following the page number Abramychev, Nikolai Ivanovich, 43–​45, 104 Academy of Science, 53, 242, 296n24. See also Imperial Academy of Science Adler, Guido, 107 Aesopian language, 133, 324n29 Agrenev-​Slavianskii, Dmitrii, 250–​251, 355n131, 355n132, 356n133 Aivazian, Hovhannes (Ivan Aivazovskii), 144–​145 Aksakov, Ivan, 34, 282n54 Alexander I, Tsar, 60, 74, 132 Alexander II, Tsar, 24, 42, 99, 131–​132, 289n79, 323n15 Alexander III, Tsar, 45, 81, 95, 99 Alexander the Great, 81 Aliab’ev, Alexander Ammalat-​Bek, 134, 152 art songs of, 140t–​141t, 142–​158 attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 130, 153 “Cherkes” (A Circassian), 150–​152, 150f “Circassian Song,” 142–​144, 144f Decembrist literature, 129–​134, 135–​158, 328n86 ethnographic experience, 137–​142 “Georgian Song” (“Plachet deva gor”/​ The Mountain Maiden Cries), 154–​155, 154–​157, 156f incorporation of folk tunes by, 161, 261, 326n60

introduction to, 12, 16, 129–​130, 135–​137 “Kabardian Song,” 145–​148, 147f transcriptions, 138–​139, 138f, 145 All-​Russian Ethnographic Exhibition (1867), 54–​55, 115, 220–​221, 344n7 All-​Russian Exhibition in Nizhnii Novgorod (1896), 56, 58, 212, 221 Andreev,Vasilii Vasil’evich, 250–​251, 256n135, 256n136 Arabic culture, 117, 177 Arabic modes, 97–​98, 313n41 Arabic music, 101, 116, 117, 127, 128, 129, 144, 177–​178, 204 Arabic musical instruments, 97, 312n36 Arabic poetry and prose, 127–​128 Arabic songs, tunes, or melodies, 192, 196, 205, 249f, 343n175 Arakishvili (Arakchiev), Dmitrii, 58, 178, ​179f, 229, 337n89 Aristocracy, aristocratic society or circles, 16, 132, 136, 155, 178, 322n25 Arnol’d, Iurii, 247–​249 artistic character in folk songs, 212–​213, 215 artistic truth, 160–​161, 174, 180, 198, 330n6 art songs. See also Aliab’ev; Balakirev; Cui; Dargomyzhsky; Glazunov; Liadov; Liapunov; Rimsky-​Korsakov; Rubinstein, Anton

393

394 Index art songs (cont.) Genishta, Iosif, 13 introduction to, 13, 15, 16 Maurer, Ludwig Wilhelm, 13 Odoevskii,Vladimir, 13 pedal points in, 195, 201, 233, 330n5 Aryan culture, 15, 95, 103, 126, 242 modes and scales, 106–​109, 316n76 music or musical system, 103, 108, 113, 316n76 pentatonic structure, 15, 96, 103–​106, 108, 113, 311n23, 312n30, 316n76 people, tribes, race, civilization, 15, 81, 93, 95, 98, 108, 126, 241, 279n26, 311n23, 315n76 Russian cultural affiliation with Aryans, 95–​103 Aryanism, 15, 58, 63, 89, 111, 241, 246, 261, 282n52, 309n4, 310n12 introduction to, 91–​92 overview of, 92–​94 Russian theories of, 103–​126 Asaf ’ev, Boris, 257, 259–​260 Asian identity, 91, 93, 275n5 inorodtsy, 12, 118, 201, 351n82 melody, tunes, folk songs, 12, 58, 70, 79, 240, 303n122, 327n66 music, 5, 16, 58, 79, 86, 96, 99, 106, 109, 110, 246, 347n33 musical instruments, 15, 56–​57, 92, 99–​100, 109–​110, 126, 298n58 (see also musical instruments) nomadic tribes, 19, 27, 59–​63, 79–​80, 117, 125, 215, 300n74 Russian influence on Asian music, 237–​240, 238f Asian culture, 14, 15, 16, 51, 92, 94, 96, 99, 100, 106, 107, 109, 110, 124, 126, 142, 219, 239, 240, 260, 302n104, 311n22

Asian folk song transcriptions, 57, 58, 62, 65, 67, 70, 74–​81, 110, 130, 139, 145f, 161, 167–​168, 173–​178, 180, 181, 192–​194, 196, 198, 199f, 203, 204, 218, 220, 223, 232, 235, 242, 253, 259. See also Aliab’ev; Balakirev; Eichhorn; Klenovskii Arakishvili (Arakchiev), Dmitrii, 177–​178 Dobrovol’skii, Ivan, 70, 72–​74 Ethnographic Concerts (1893-​1911) by MEK, 220–​223, 235, 253, 259 introduction to, 12–​13 Ippolitov-​Ivanov, Mikhail, 168, 176–​177, 180 Koreshchenko, Arsenii, 177, 180 Levshin, Aleksei, 59–​63, 63f, 68–​69 Middendorff, Alexander, 63–​66, 69 OLEAE and, 57–​58, 251, 298n58, 344n9 Rittikh, Alexander, 66–​70 Taranchi songs and, 242 Asian Music Journal, 70–​89, 73f, 75f–​76f Asianism, 58, 63, 86, 87, 91–​94, 113, 231, 246, 282n52. See also Aryanism assimilation as forced integration, 37, 134 imperialistic attitudes of, 66 of inorodtsy music, 67–​70, 102–​103, 207, 239–​240, 302n104, 351n92 methods of, 6, 49–​50, 102, 303n106 policy of, 17, 239 process of, 99 religious assimilation, 351n82 sociocultural “rebirth” as, 239–​240 Astrakhan, 70–​72, 131, 136, 168, 303n123, 304n125 Astrakhan Khanate, 20, 70 attitude toward inorodtsy, 2, 5, 10, 14, 16–​17, 21, 50, 92, 94. See also attitude in Balakirev; Eichhorn; Famintsyn; Levshin; Maslov; Middendorff; Petukhov; Rittikh; Sokal’skii

Index authenticity, 134, 176–​181, 197, 220, 229, 246, 251, 253, 346n33, 355n123, 356n143 autocracy/​autocratic power, 25, 34, 94, 116, 129, 132–​133   Badmaev, Petr, 93–​94 Bakunin, Mikhail, 42 Balakirev, Milii, 11 art songs, 169–​188, 169–​192, 182–​188, 185f, 186f, 187f, 341n143 attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 169, 180, 181, 188 Caucasian themes in music, 164–​167, 166f, 188–​192, 189f–​191f, 331n11 Georgian musical language, 181, 337n98 “Gruzinskaia Pesnia” (Georgian Song), 173–​182, 175f, 176f, 178f, 179f influence on Borodin, Alexander, 202–​207 influence on Musorgsky, Modest, 198–​ 202, 341n144, 341n147 influence on Rimsky-​Korsakov, 192–​ 198, 333n44 inorodtsy music and, 163–​169, 261 introduction to, 11, 159–​163 Islamey, 165 “Pesnia Selima” (Selim’s Song), 169–​ 173, 171f, 172f, 173f Rus, 209, 269 Russian Orient in art songs of, 169–​192 “Son,” 184–​188, 185f–​186f transcriptions, 167–​169, 169–​192, 174–​ 176, 175f, 176f, 192–​194, 193f, 194f, 199f, 203, 339n121 Balmont, Konstantin, 94 Bartol’d,Vasilii, 53 Bashkirs/​Bashkir music/​tunes, 58, 73, 128, 139, 141, 153, 204, 223, 224, 227, 233, 234f, 235, 239–​40, 255, 271, 273, 274, 344n7, 348n46, 355

Batu Khan, 22, 145 Beliaev, Mitrofan, 195, 256 Belinsky,Vissarion, 23, 24 Belyi, Andrei, 94 Bestuzhev-​Marlinsky, Alexander, 128, 133, 136, 323n19 Ammalat-​Bek, 129, 134, 137, 140t, 289n75 imperialism and, 323n19 “Kabardian Song,” 140t, 145, 148 Bizet, Georges “Adieux de l’hôtesse arabe,” 247–​249, 249f Blaramberg, Pavel Ivanovich, 209, 210, 343n2 Blok, Alexander, 94 Bobrovskii, Mikhail, 128 Bogdanov, Anatolii Petrovich, 115 Borodin, Alexander Arabskaia Melodiia (Arab Melody), 204 “Iaroslavna’s Lament” from Prince Igor, 205–​206, 206f interest in music ethnography, 204–​205 “Song of the Polovtsian Maiden” from Prince Igor, 214–​215, 215f Borozdin, Nikolai, 171, 335n62 Bourgault-​Ducoudray, Louis-​Albert, 168, 174, 209, 331n11, 333n48 bourgeois culture, 25, 257 Brusilovskii, Evgenii Grigor’evich, 258, 359n21 Buddhism, 93–​94, 241, 310n12 Bulgarian songs and melodies, 30, 38, 98, 209, 213, 269, 271, 272, 345n17 bylinas (epic songs), 22–​29, 95, 231, 251, 256, 287n58 byt, defined, 52, 116, 260   Catherine the Great (Catherine II), 20, 66, 130, 228, 305n138 Catholic Church/​civilization, 27, 103, 282n55

395

396 Index Caucasian music/​melodies/​themes/​folk songs, 13, 16, 45, 58, 72, 138, 143, 145, 149, 161, 167, 171, 181, 188, 252, 272–​274, 331n11, 333n48 Caucasian War (1817-​64), 2, 11–​12, 16, 23, 34, 129–​130 Central Asian instruments, 56–​57, 78, 85f, 100, 101f, 110, 320n129 Chaliapin, Feodor, 44, 252 Changing-​Background Variations or “Glinka Variations,” 207, 239 “chant” melody/​music, 41, 253 Cheremis songs/​music/​melodies, 41f, 43–​45, 67, 225t, 252, 272, 292n120, 293n123 Chernyshevskii, Nikolai, 170, 334n61 children’s songs, 13, 22, 36–​43, 40f–​41f, 46, 99 Chouquet, Gustav, 100, 116 Christianization of Kiev (988-​989), 22 Christianowitsch, Alexander, 189t, 204–​205, 205f, 313n36 Chromaticism/​chromatic passages/ ​chromatization of diatonic notes, 98, 99, 140t, 141t, 171, 177, 182, 197, 218, 220, 227, 239 Chulkov, Mikhail, 23 church modes of European music, 96 Chuvash music/​melodies/​songs/​tunes, 67, 181, 204, 209, 214, 225t, 252, 270, 271, 302n104, 306n143, 344n3 Circassian music/​songs/​melodies, 71, 137, 142, 143, 144, 149, 225t, 272, 274 Circassians, 131, 133, 134, 140, 152, 164–​167, 240 civility notion (grazhdanstvennost), 7–​8, 241, 352n103 colonial encounters, 7, 9, 77, 275n2 comparative musicology studies, 107 Congress of Berlin (1878), 15, 93, 111, 113 Cossack Hetmanate, 31–​32 Crimean War (1853-​56), 2, 21, 24, 29–​33, 35, 57

Cui, César, 13, 159, 165, 193, 236 cultural representations, 2, 6, 9, 14, 46. See also Russia’s imperial identity   d’Alheim, Maria Olenina, 252 Danilevskii, Nikolai, 94 Danilov, Kirsha, 23–​24, 26–​29 Collection of Ancient Russian Poems, 23 Dargomyzhsky, Alexander, 13, 180, 193, 282n50 Dashkov Ethnographic Museum, 114–​115, 125 Decembrism, defined, 132, 133, 158 Decembrist revolt, 16, 130–​135, 324n20, 324n24 Decembrists/​Decembrist Orient Aliab’ev, Alexander, 135–​158 introduction to, 16, 53 in music, 135–​158, 170–​171 Russian Orient discourse, 128, 129–​130 de Gobineau, Arthur, 15 Delvig, Anton, 132, 325n48, 326n56 Derzhavin, Gavrila, 183 de Sismondi, Simon, 127, 128 developmentalism concept, 60, 70, 103, 110 diffusionism, 96, 108–​109 Dobrovol’skii, Ivan, 70, 72–​74 Dolina, Mariia Ivanovna, 251 Donskoi, Dmitrii, 20 Dordji, Agvan Lobsang, 93–​94 Dorian mode, 176–​178, 229–​231, 245–​246, 349n56 Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, 1, 5, 34, 94 Du Ryer, André, 127 Dzbanovskii, Alexander, 45 Collection of School Songs, 36   early-​nineteenth-​century Russian Orientalism, 11–​16, 70–​76, 127–​130, 132, 135, 158 Eastern Turkestan, 235, 241, 242, 294n6, 352n103, 353n105 East-​West binary opposition, 8, 21–​22

Index Eichhorn, August, 14, 59 attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 79, 84 ethnography on nomads, 79, 80, 84 ethnography on sedentary peoples, 80, 81–​85 identity and religious differences of, 86, 308n174 “Kokandian Military Parade March,” 82, 82f life in Russian Turkestan, 77–​79, 87–​89 military music/​orchestra on, 81–​84, 307n168 “Soldier’s Military Training March,” 82–​83, 82f transcriptions, 78–​81, 82f, 83f Emancipation Reform, 24–​25, 35, 300n70 EO (Etnograficheskoye obozreniye) journal, 57, 210, 218–​219 epic songs. See bylinas ethnic distinction (plemennaia individual’nost), 228, 348n45 ethnic minorities. See inorodtsy ethnic stereotyping/​prejudice, 13, 46, 110, 158 Ethnographic Concerts (1893-​1911) by MEK arrangements by Klenovskii, Nikolai, 209, 212–​220 commercialization of, 249–​254 context and structure, 210–​211 introduction to, 17, 209–​210 programs of, 209–​210, 251–​253, 269–​274 reactions to, 219–​220, 356n143 social response to, 220–​223, 222f, 224t–​225t, 226f Taranchi songs and, 242 ethnographies/​ethnographers. See music ethnography; oriental “other” in Russian music ethnographies European Enlightenment, 60–​61 European Orientalism, 11, 129, 160–​161 exhibitions, oriental “other” in, 54, 5​ 5f, 57

extinction of ethnic minorities/​musical cultures, 58, 69, 211, 260   famine (1854-​55 and 1859), 24 Famintsyn, Alexander analysis of inorodtsy songs, 105–​107 Aryan and Asian provenance of Russian musical scales, 100, 103–​113, 104f, 105f, 106f, 111f, 112f, 113f attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 105, 107 background on, 15, 314n59 Children’s Songbook, 36 Domra i skhodnye ei instrumenty russkogo naroda (The Domra and Related Musical Instruments of the Russian People), 103, 109–​110 Drevniaia indo-​kitaiskaia gamma v Azii i Evrope (The Ancient Hindu-​ Chinese Scale in Asia and Europe), 103, 104f, 107–​109 Fedchenko, Aleksei, 56 Fétis, François-​Joseph, 100–​101, 108 Histoire générale de la musique depuis les temps les plus anciens jusqu’à nos jours, 101 Findeizen, Nikolai Fedorovich, 56–​59 5-​tone scale, 106. See also pentatonic structure/​scale Florinskii,Vasilii, 94 folk songs/​folk song arrangements. See Russian folk songs French Orientalists/​Orientalism, 127–​128, 160   Galland, Antoine, 127 Genishta, Iosif, 13, 326n61 geopolitical dilemma, 1–​5, 48, 304n125, 357n150 Georgian music/​songs/​tunes, 155, 164, 173, 181, 220, 270–​273, 274, 337n97 Georgians, 38, 131, 135, 164, 168, 214, 229, 240, 252

397

398 Index Gilyaks/​Gilyak music, 64–​66 Glazunov, Alexander, 13, 44, 180 Glière, Reinhold, 17, 242 “Guby tvoi-​sakhar, podruzhka,” 246–​247, 248f “Nozgum” (Tender), 243–​246, 244f, 246f Taranchi songs, 355n128 Glinka, Fedor, 32, 133, 136 Glinka, Mikhail, 39, 40f, 41–​42 Georgian songs, 155 “Ne poi, krasavitsa, pri mne” (Do Not Sing for Me Thy Song of Georgia), 39, 40f, 41 “Oriental Dances” from Ruslan and Liudmila, 144 Ruslan and Liudmila, 214, 219 “Zhavoronok” (The Lark), 184, 186, 186f Glinka Variations, 239 Golden Horde, 19–​21 Golenishchev-​Kutuzov, Arsenii, 187 Gorchakov, Alexander, Prince, 47–​48 Great Game campaign (1860s), 2 Gretchaninov, Alexander Tikhonovich, 17, 36, 210, 227–​240 “Arkai kaila,” 229–​231, 230f Bashkir music arrangements, 58, 233–​235, 234f “Igtai agai,” 235–​237, 236f “Su sagan,” 232, 232f Tatar song arrangements, 228–​233, 230f, 232f Teptiar song, 235–​237, 236f Griboedov, Alexander, 136, 144–​145 “Khishchniki na Chegeme” (Predators on the Chegem), 146 Gumilev, Lev, 20 Gypsy songs, 43, 129, 250   Herzen, Alexander, 42 heterophonic polyphony, 74 Hindu culture/​literature/​mythology, 94, 116, 280n39

historical songs, 13, 22–​23, 31–​32, 46, 72–​73, 81, 285n21, 287n58, 354n111 Hunfalvy, Pál, 204   Iakubovich, Lukian, 157, 329n99 identity and cultural representations, 2, 6, 46. See also Russia’s imperial identity Il’minskii, Nikolai, 67, 69 Imperial Academy of Science, 100, 242, 276n7, 296n24. See also Academy of Science Imperial Archaeological Commission in St. Petersburg, 57 imperialism. See Russia’s imperial identity Imperial Russian Geographical Society (Imperatorskoe Russkoe Geograficheskoe Obshchestvo; IRGO), 24, 51, 57, 116, 251, 260 Imperial Russian Musical Society, 103 indigenous population, 10, 47, 59, 107, 130–​131, 315n71 Indo-​Iranian Aryan civilization, 92. See also Aryan culture; Aryanism inorodtsy (sing. inorodets), 52, 54. See also Bashkirs; Circassians; Georgians; Gilyaks; Jews; Kalmyks; Kyrgyz; Kyrgyz-​Kaisaks; Sarts; Taranchis; Tatars; Teptiars Asian inorodtsy, 12, 118, 201 in Astrakhan, 70, 168, 304n125 attitudes toward, 153, 162, 212 Chechens/​Chechen songs/​tunes, 13, 36–​37, 46, 71, 131, 140, 142, 167, 168, 240 Cheremis people/​music/​songs, 44–​45, 67, 163, 225, 252, 272, 292n120, 193n123 children’s songs about, 37, 38 defined, 50–​51, 292n108 exhibitions and, 54–​57, 55f folk songs, 16–​17, 45, 56, 328n76 introduction to, 6, 8, 9–​13 in Kazan, 43, 66–​68, 163, 332n19

Index in Nizhnii Novgorod, 163 in Odessa, 99, 313n49 official relations and policies, 37, 49–​51, 125, 130 “othering” of, 45–​46 Rittikh, Alexander, 302n104 Russian attitude toward, 10, 14, 16–​17, 50–​51, 62, 65, 66, 79, 84, 92, 94, 105, 107, 113–​114, 128, 135, 153, 162, 165–​166, 180, 211, 227, 240, 260–​261, 332n25 theory of integration, 53–​54 USSR’s policies toward, 255–​256 Volga-​Kama Region, 66–​70 Ippolitov-​Ivanov, Mikhail, 168, 176–​177, 180 Iulaev, Salavat, 153 Jews/​Jewish music/​melodies/​instruments, 61, 65, 74, 79, 97, 129, 134, 181 Jourdain, Amable, 127   Kalmyks/​Kalmyk music/​songs, 70–​73, 152, 153, 167, 168, 243, 304n131, 310n12, 328n87, 330n2, 347n2 Katanov, Nikolai, 54, 103, 242–​243 Katkov, Mikhail, 220–​221 Kazan University, 71, 73–​74 Kazembek, Alexander Kasimovich (Kazembei, Muhammad Ali), 53–​54, 103 Khan, Fatali, 74, 305n138 Khan, Genghis, 19, 50, 73 Khanate of Khiva, 35, 48, 139 Kharuzin, Nikolai, 52, 351n92 Khmel’nitsky, Bohdan, 31 Khomiakov, Aleksei, 92–​93 Khudiakov, Ivan, 296n29 Collection of Great-​Russian Historical Songs, 23 khudozhestvennaia pravda. See artistic truth Kievan Rus, 19, 22

Kireevskii, Petr Pesni, 23 Klements, Dmitrii, 53, 296n29 Klenovskii, Nikolai Asian folk song arrangements for Ethnographic Concert, 17, 45, 57–​58, 209, 212–​220 background on, 343n1 Collection of Folk Songs: Ethnographic Concert, 57–​58, 212 “Ia stradaiu” (I Am Suffering), 213, 213f “Krunk,” 214, 215f “Mertskhali,” 215, 216f “Slava!” (Glory!), 209–​210 transcriptions of Asian tunes, 168, 212 Koreshchenko, Arsenii, 177, 180, 220 background on, 336n83, 346n31 Krestovskii,Vsevolod Vladimirovich, 201, 202 Kuba Khanate, 74, 305n138 Küchelbecker, Wilhelm, 129, 134, 183 Kuchka. See also New Russian School composers of, 231, 246–​247, 315n59, 339n124, 350n77 folk material and, 161–​162, 171, 259 music elements of, 16, 171–​173, 180, 187, 192, 198, 203, 214, 231, 247, 257, 345 Kyrgyz culture/​music/​songs, 45, 57, 62, 71, 72, 80, 84, 105–​106, 110, 112f, 117, 118f, 125, 137, 141t, 202, 209, 214–​ 218, 224t, 270, 271, 283n58, 344n7, 346n23 Kyrgyz people, 50, 59, 84, 204, 223, 300n71, 304n131, 316n72, 318n98, 344n3 Kyrgyz-​Kaisak culture/​music/​instruments, 59–​63, 69, 81, 84, 139, 295n13, 300n74, 327n66, 344n7, 346n23   leading notes theories, 17, 97–​99, 106, 229, 231, 246–​247, 313n39

399

400 Index Lenin,Vladimir, 256 Leont’ev, Konstantin, 7, 94 Lermontov, Mikhail, 133, 143, 164 Beglets, 170 “A Cossack Lullaby,” 36–​37, 38 “A Dream,” 182–​184 Izmail-​Bei, 134–​135, 170–​171 Khadzhi-​Abrek, 129 “Son,” 184, 185f Levshin, Aleksei, 59–​60, 299n70, 303n117 attitude/​approach toward inorodty, 60, 62, 69 Opisanie kirkiz-​kazach’ikh ord, 59–​63, 63f, 69, 105, 139 oriental “other” in Russian music ethnographies, 59–​63, 63f, 69, 80, 327n66 Liadov, Anatolii, 13, 44, 229 Liapunov, Sergei, 13 Lineva, Evgeniia “Kak po Kame, po reke,” 238, 238f Little-​Russian folk songs, 32, 45, 96, 97f, 98f, 128, 169, 171–​174, 224t, 240, 252. See also Ukrainian songs instruments, 100, 109, 115 musicians, 110, 250   Magnitskii, Mikhail, 73–​74 Mainov,Vladimir Nikolaevich, 204 Maksimov, Sergei, 115 Maksimovich, Mikhail, 149 Maslov, Alexander Aryan and Asian provenance of Russian musical scales, 55, 114–​126, 118f, 119f, 120f attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 114, 125 background on, 318n105 Maurer, Ludwig Wilhelm, 13, 326n61 medieval war encounters, 13–​14 Mel’gunov, Iulii, 77, 212, 247

Russkie pesni neposredstvenno s golosov naroda, 74–​75 Middendorff, Alexander Asian folk song transcriptions, 63–​66, 69 attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 65 background on, 14, 301n91 Mighty Five. See Kuchka military orchestras, 14, 68, 78, 81–​88, 307n168 minority groups, 2–​9, 43–​49, 53–​54, 68–​69, 88, 99, 239, 256. See also inorodtsy mixed Russian-​inorodets origins, 52, 54, 103, 205 modal harmony or modality, 182, 207, 231 modal system or structure, 97, 106, 107, 126, 229 Moguchaia Kuchka. See Kuchka Mongol rule (1239-​1380), 19–​21, 284n11 Moorish arts/​visual culture, 9 Moscow Archaeological Society, 57 Moshkov,Valentin, 58, 77 Moskovskie vedomosti newspaper, 220–​221 Mukhanov, Petr, 136 multiethnic empire, 2, 7, 53, 56, 69 Murav’ev-​Apostol, Sergei, 132 Muromets, Il’ia, 26, 27, 29 musical appropriation, 84, 158, 160–​161, 207, 254 musical instruments Asian musical instruments, 15, 92, 99–​100, 109–​110, 126, 298n58 bandura, 97, 101f, 109–​110, 111f, 112f, 113f, 120 bowed instruments, 117–​118, 118f, 120f, 122 Central Asian instruments, 56–​57, 78, 85f, 100–​102, 101f, 102f, 110, 320n129 Chuvash gusli, 252, 344n7 cultural values of, 15, 100, 109–​110, 114, 116–​117, 121–​123, 167, 333n44

Index domra/​dumbra, 109, 111f, 112f, 125 dongara, 102f drum instruments/​drums, 82, 84, 167, 181, 194, 305n140, 333n44 dutar, 56, 122, 314n51 guitar instrument, 109, 167, 318n96 influences of, 317n85, 318n96–​318n97, 321n134, 344n7 karnai, 85 kobyz, 117–​118, 118f, 120f kobza, 109 lira, 115, 120, 252 nagora, 82, 84 reed instruments, 62, 125 string instruments, 97, 109, 111f, 314n51 surnai, 122 urra, 84, 85f wind instruments, 62, 80, 85, 116–​117, 214 zhaleika, 125 zurnai, 116–​117 musical representation, 6–​8, 16–​18, 126, 142, 197, 202–​205, 215, 257–​261 music ethnography. See also Ethnographic Concerts (1893-​1911) by MEK; oriental “other” in Russian music ethnographies amateur writers and, 14 development of, 52, 277n19 musical realization of, 227–​240 publishing outlets of, 57–​59 music notation, 74, 80, 96, 167. See also Asian folk song transcriptions Muslim peoples, 49–​50, 131, 241 Musorgsky, Modest, 159, 187–​188, 199f, 200f, 201f Balakirev, Milii influence on, 198–​202, 341n144, 341n147 “Islamey,” 198, 199f “A Militant Song of the Libyans,” 198 musical influences, 338n109, 341n144, 342n158

“Pesnia Baleartsa” (Song of the Balearic Islander), 200, 200f Salammbô, 200, 200f Transcriptions of oriental tunes, 201–​202 “Zabytyi,” 188 Muzykal’no-​Etnograficheskaia Komissiia (Music-​Ethnographic Committee/​ MEK), 17, 77, 114, 125, 177, 207. See also Ethnographic Concerts by MEK   Narodnaia volia (People’s Will), 25, 42 narodnik movement, 330n7 nationalism. See Russian nationalism national self-​definition, 5, 7, 11, 17, 135, 158, 210, 233, 261 native informants, 9, 80 Nestorian Christianity, 241, 353n105 Nevskii, Alexander, 20 New Russian School, 160, 203. See also Kuchka Nicolas I, Tsar, 16, 25, 35, 131, 132–​133, 142 Nicholas II, Tsar, 93, 94, 114, 125 Nikulin, Alexander, 37–​42 “A Song Dedicated to Russian Soldiers,” 38 “Bulgarian Anthem,” 38 Collection of Songs Compiled for Children, 36, 37–​38 “Ozhidanie Tsaria,” 38 nineteenth-​century art songs/​music. See art songs Nizhnii Novgorod and inorodtsy music, 56, 163, 221 noble savages, 12, 227 nomadic peoples’ music. See Asian nomadic tribes   Obolenskii, Eugene, Prince, 132 Odoevskii,Vladimir, 13

401

402 Index Official Nationalism, 26, 34, 114, 116, 276n7. See also Russian nationalism Old Believers (staroobriadtsy), 25–​26 Ol’denburg, Sergei, 53, 255 OLEAE. See Society of Friends of Natural History, Anthropology, and Ethnography oriental art songs. See art songs oriental “other” in Russian folk songs bylinas, 22–​29 children’s songs, 22, 36–​43, 40f–​41f discrimination vs. integration of, 43–​46 historical soldier songs, 22, 29–​36, 81–​85 introduction to, 7, 14, 19–​22 oriental “other” in Russian music ethnographies Asian Music Journal, 70–​76, 73f, 75f–​76f categories of, 276n6 development of, 49–​59 Eichhorn, August, 76–​89, 82f, 83f, 85f exhibitions, 54–​57, 55f institutions/​individual agencies, 51–​54 introduction to, 47–​49, 48f Levshin, Aleksei, 59–​63, 63f, 68–​69 literature case studies, 59–​70 Middendorff, Alexander, 63–​66, 69 musical sources and, 70–​89 official policies, 49–​51 publishing outlets of ethnographers, 57–​59 Rittikh, Alexander, 66–​70 Siberian, 63–​66 oriental (vostochnyi) subjects, 4–​5, 11–​11, 16, 129, 182–​188, 328n87 oriental style/​character, 11, 134, 187, 194, 214, 220 orientology/​orientologist defined, 296n31 development of, 305n136 ethnographic literature for, 14, 52 European schools of, 127–​128 Russian Orientalism vs., 9 Ottoman Empire, 15, 20, 49, 130, 289n79

Paisel,Vladimir, 241, 352n103 Pal’chikov, Nikolai, 104 Pan-​Slavism, 33, 169, 282n54, 289n79 Pantusov, Nikolai, 58, 77, 243, 354n111 Paris World’s Fair (1900), 221 Pashino, Petr Ivanovich, 201–​202 Pashkevich,Vasilii, 152–​153, 330n2 Paskevich, Ivan, 30, 131, 323n15 Patriotic War (1812), 33 peasant uprisings, 24, 35, 286n37 pedal points, 195, 198, 205, 231, 330n5, 349n59 pentatonic structure/​scale. See also 5-​tone scale in Aryan musical system, 108, 311n23 characteristics of, 316n74 in “epoch of fourth and fifth,” 96 in Georgian songs, 337n97 importance of, 350n72 proving origin of, 104–​105 Perovskii,Vasilii, 139, 326n56 Persian culture, 116 instruments, 97, 178 music, 176, 177, 180, 202, 220, 225t, 274, 305n140 poetry and prose, 127, 129, 337n97 scale Zirafkand, 97 songs, 74–​76, 81, 163, 166, 174 Pestel, Pavel, 132, 134 Peter the Great (1682-​1725), 9, 20 Petukhov, Mikhail Asian musical instruments, on, 99, 103, 101f, 102f, 114, 121 attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 101 background on, 313n50 Phrygian mode, 145, 178, 205 Platonov, Sergei, 94 Polish uprisings (1830-​31 and 1863), 33, 35, 37, 43, 53, 223 politics and manipulation, 13, 22, 37, 45, 84

Index Polovtsian music, 22, 27, 204, 225t, 343n175 Polytechnic Exhibition in Moscow (1872), 56, 78, 87, 88 Pozharskii, Semen, Prince, 28 primitivism Asian nomadic tribes, 19, 27, 52, 59–​63, 79–​80, 117, 125, 215, 300n74 drum instruments and, 167, 333n44 musical arrangements and, 65, 227, 350n77 peoples/​societies, 52, 61, 65–​66, 79, 107, 116–​117, 301n94, 355n123 Romantic interpretation of, 80 Teptiar songs and, 235–​237 Psalms, 120, 134 Pugachev, Emel’ian, 153, 201 Pushkin, Alexander, 23, 127 Journey to Erzrum, 158 Kavkazskii plennik (The Prisoner of the Caucasus), 134–​135, 142, 183 odes of, 183 Tsygany, 129   Quran, 127, 129, 134, 190   race, 52, 66, 94, 107–​108, 312n30 racial mixture, 7, 94 racial purity, 15, 111, 253 Raevskii,Vladimir, 132 raznochintsy, 25, 163, 286n38, 331n13 Razumovskii, Aleksei, 72 representation of “others.” See oriental “other” in Russian folk songs; oriental “other” in Russian music ethnographies Rimsky-​Korsakov, Nikolai, 23, 31, 105, 159, 160–​162, 167 art songs, 180, 192–​198, 193f, 194f, 195f, 197f Balakirev, Milii influence on, 192–​198, 333n44 “El i pal’ma” (The Pine and the Palm), 192, 193f

“Evreiskaia pesnia” (A Hebrew Song), 193 “Kak nebesa tvoi vzor prekrasen” (Thy Glance Is Radiant as the Heavens), 194, 195f “Pesnia Ziuleiki” (Zuleika’s Song), 196–​197, 197f “Plenivshis rozoi solovei” (Enslaved by the Rose, the Nightingale), 192–​193, 194f Sadko, 23 Skazanie o nevidimom grade Kitezhe (The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh), 31 “V temnoi roshche zamolk solovei” (In the Dark Grove the Nightingale Fell Silent), 197 Rittikh, Alexander Asian folk song transcriptions, 66–​70 assimilation of inorodtsy music, 302n104 attitude toward inorodtsy, 66 background on, 302n98 Four Lectures on Russian Ethnography, 68 Roman Catholics, 103, 282n55 Ross, Edward, 91 rossiiskii, defined, 43 Rostislavich, Fedor, 19, 20 Rousseau, Jean-​Jacques, 60–​61, 69, 80 Rozen,Victor, Baron, 53 Rubinstein, Anton, 13, 181 Persian Songs, 180–​181, 282n50 Rubinstein, Nikolai, 56 Rurik dynasty, 20 Russia. See also inorodtsy acquisitions by, 2–​4, 3f conquests by Asia, 4 expansion in the Caucasus, 130–​131, 131f identity formation, 6–​7 national self-​construction/​self-​definition, 5, 7, 11, 17, 135, 158, 210, 233, 261 self-​determinism, 255–​256 stereotyping of the Islamic world, 280n36

403

404 Index Russian Archaeological Society, 57 Russian Aryanism. See Aryanism Russian-​Asian relationships, 92, 93, 231, 237. See also Aryanism; Asianism ethnographic developments, 18 heritage, 15, 253, 260–​261, 275n1, 280n39 introduction to, 2–​8 multifaceted nature of, 89 music and, 5–​6, 205, 235, 240 presented in bylinas, 26, 28 in Russian Turkestan, 77–​78, 86–​88 sympathetic attitude toward inorodtsy, 260–​261 Russian bylinas. See bylinas (epic songs) Russian-​Caucasian cultural relationships/​ encounters, 7, 129–​130, 137–​139, 164–​167 Russian-​Chinese political relations, 241, 243, 245 Russian (Christian) chronicles, 20, 41, 283n6 Russian expansion in Central Asia, 48, 48f, 60, 240–​241, 253, 293n3 Russian folk songs. See also Asian folk song transcriptions; oriental “other” in Russian folk songs artistic character in, 212–​213 in heterophonic polyphony, 74 historical/​political influence on, 45–​46 inorodtsy of, 16–​17, 45, 56, 328n76 introduction to, 12–​13, 15 origins of, 86, 96, 97, 103 pentatonic structure of, 96 preservation concerns, 211 preservation myth, 111 Russian Geographical Society, 14, 51, 56, 69, 202, 242, 295n22, 342n169. See also Imperial Russian Geographical Society (Imperatorskoe Russkoe Geograficheskoe Obshchestvo; IRGO) Russian intellectuals/​intelligentsia, 15, 23, 32, 77

Russian musical scales. See Aryan; Dorian mode Russian music ethnographies. See oriental “other” in Russian music ethnographies Russian nationalism, 11, 33, 113–​126, 236, 255. See also official nationalism Russianness, 4, 17–​18, 46, 159–​160, 197, 239, 245, 252, 261, 330n1, 345n22 Russian Orient. See also oriental “other” in Russian music ethnographies in art songs of Balakirev, Milii, 169–​192 Decembrist revolt and, 16, 130–​135 framework of, 12–​18, 277n16 introduction to, 1–​2, 5–​6, 127–​130 Russian-​Asian relations, 2–​8, 3f Russian orientalism as authentic but not exotic, 155 early-​nineteenth-​century, 11–​16, 70–​76, 127–​130, 132, 135, 158 origins of, 277n16 purpose of, 202 Said, Edward, 8–​12, 157, 196, 279n28 understanding of, 204, 260 Russian Orthodox Church, 20, 25, 44, 253 Russian Revolution (1917), 12, 17–​18, 255 Russian Turkestan, 10, 76–​89, 82f, 83f, 85f, 347n39 Russia’s Asian folk songs. See Asian folk song transcriptions Russia’s eastern neighbors, 13, 20–​22, 46, 51, 92, 106, 113–​114 Russia’s imperial identity, 12, 17–​18, 22, 95, 113, 159, 323n19 Russia’s mission civilisatrice, 9, 74, 79, 277n12 Russia’s nomads. See Asian nomadic tribes Russification (russifikatsiia) of musical cultures, 58, 239 Russkaia muzykal’naia gazeta (Russian Musical Gazette; RMG), 58–​59, 120 russkii, defined, 43 Russo-​Japanese War (1905), 94, 125, 245

Index Russo-​Persian wars (1804-​13, 1826-​28), 2, 23 Russo-​Turkish wars (1806-​12, 1828-​29) children’s songs about, 38 disappointment over victory, 93 historical/​soldier songs about, 29–​30, 33 impact of, 2, 5, 15, 21, 23, 49 Rybakov, Sergei Gavrilovich, 58, 59, 77, 227–​229, 233–​234, 236–​239 attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 227 Musyka i pesni ural’skikh musul’man (Music and Songs of Ural Muslims), 70 “Zhiran mikan,” 238, 238f Rybnikov, Pavel, 23, 24–​29 Songs Collected by P. N. Rybnikov, 23 Ryleev, Kondratii, 132, 133   Said, Edward, 8–​12, 157, 196, 279n28 Sakhnovskii, Iurii, 240, 242, 251 Sarts, 80–​81, 221, 344n3 Sart music/​songs/​tunes, 80–​84, 86, 118, 119f, 209, 214, 224t, 252, 270, 271, 272, 347n42 Scythian identity/​Scythians, 15, 91, 92, 309n4 Senkovskii, Osip, 128 Shamil, Imam, 131 Shein, Pavel Vasil’evich, 35, 290n88 Shternberg, Lev, 52, 54, 66, 255 Skrine, Francis, 91 Slavic Capella (Slavianskaia kapella), 250, 356n133 Slavs, Asian identity of, 92–​93 socialism/​socialist state, 25, 66, 255–​258, 330n7, 357n3 Society of Archaeology, History, and Ethnography in Kazan, 57 Society of Friends of Natural History, Anthropology, and Ethnography (OLEAE), 54–​55, 57–​58, 251, 298n58, 344n9

Sokal’skii, Petr Petrovich, 15, 106, 110 Aryan and Asian provenance of Russian musical scales, 96–​100, 97f, 98f, 312n30 attitude toward/​approach on/​view of inorodtsy/​music, 96 background on, 312n29 Russkaia narodnaia muzyka, velikorusskaia i malorusskaia (Russian and Little-​ Russian Folk Music), 96, 97f, 99 soldiers’ song collections, 22, 29–​36, 81–​85, 289n75 Solov’ev,Vladimir, 95 Somov, Orest, 128 Soviet Union, 1–​2, 255–​260, 358n5 Sovremennik (Contemporary) journal, 202 Spendiarov, Alexander, 196, 257 St. Petersburg Conservatory, 44, 96 Stakhovich, Mikhail, 75 Collection of Russian Folk Songs, 30–​31 Stalin, Joseph, 1–​2, 256–​258, 357n3 Stasov,Vladimir, 4–​5, 11, 95, 96, 159–​160, 188, 204 state-​sponsored evolutionism, 357n3 Stravinsky, Igor, 345n21 street ballads, 284n15 Syn otechestva (Son of the Fatherland) journal, 127   Taneyev, Sergei Ivanovich, 77, 210 Taranchi culture/​songs, 242, 244f, 246f, 248f, 249, 272, 274, 354n111, 354n114, 354n115, 355n121, 355n128 Taranchis, 240–​242, 256, 351n94, 351n95, 353n104, 353n 107 Tatar, defined, 19, 21, 350n67 Tatar-​Mongol domination, 20–​21, 23, 28, 46 Tatar songs/​music/​instruments, 57, 71, 105, 137, 139, 145, 224t, 227, ​230f, 232f, 233, 238f, 239, 240, 250, 270, 271, 273, 274, 321n134, 333n46, 346n27, 348n46, 349n51

405

406 Index Tatars, 13, 26, 66–​67, 70, 72, 77, 128, 129, 163, 177, 182, 201, 237, 239, 255, 283n10, 283n11, 297, 313n49, 332n19 Tatars, representation of, 27–​29, 31–​32, 36, 223, 328n87 Tchaikovsky, Pyotr, 173, 212, 246, 251, 335n70, 356n133 Teptiars/​Teptiar music, 227, 235, ​236f, 237, 239, 240, 250n68, 252n95, 256 Tiersot, Julien, 62 Tikhov, Petr, 63, 347n42 Tolstoy, Leo, 23, 116 Transcaucasia territory, 130–​131, 167 transcriptions. See Asian folk song transcriptions Treaty of Gulistan, 74, 130 Treaty of Pereyaslav, 31 Treaty of Saint Petersburg, 241 Trutovskii,Vasilii, 23 Tumanishvili, Dimitri, 156–​158 “A Spring Song,” 156–​158 Turgenev, Ivan, 23 Turkestanskii Albom (Turkestan Album), 121, 121f, 122f, 123f,124 Turkic-​Mongol peoples, 95 Turkic-​Tatar Astrakhan Khanate, 70 Twelfth Archeological Conference (1902), 120   Ukhtomskii, Esper, Prince, 7, 93–​94 Ukrainian folk songs, 31, 38, 45, 97, 149, 149f, 209, 224t, 327n75, 328n80. See also Little-​Russian folk songs Ukrainian musicians, 117–​118, 120f Ukrainians, 37, 43, 128, 169, 223, 313n49 Ulybyshev, Alexander, 163 Uvarov, Sergei, Count, 1, 4, 34, 276n7   Varentsov,Victor, 36 Varlamov, Alexander, 36 Veiskgopfen, Iosif, 72 Veniukov, Mikhail, 94 Vereshchagin,Vasilii, 56, 103, 298n47 Forgotten (Zabytyi), 187, 187f

Vernadsky, George, 20 “versification” (perelozhenie) of biblical texts, 134 Verstovky, Aleksei, 41f, 136 Askold’s Grave, 39 “First Aria of the Unknown Man” (Pervaia Ariia Neizvestnogo), 39 vesnianka (ritual song), 149, 327n75 Vestnik Evropy (Herald of Europe) journal, 127 Viardot, Pauline, 36 Viel’gorskii, Mikhail, 136 Villebois, Konstantin, 31, 32, 36 Virchow, Rudolf, 108 visual representation, 110, 114, 117, 124 Volga-​Kama Region inorodtsy, 66–​70 Volkonskii, Sergei, Prince, 132 von Baer, Karl Ernst, 51–​52, 69, 301n91, 318n90 von Helmholtz, Herman, 96–​97 von Kaufmann, Konstantin, 55–​56, 121 von Schrenck, Leopold Ivanovich Reisen und Forschungen im Amur-​Lande in den Jahren 1854-​1856, 63–​64 Vostochniki (Easterners or Asianists) movement, 15, 93–​94, 310n13. See also Asianism Vostochnye Novosti (Eastern News), 70, 72 Vostok/​vostochnyi, 9–​10, 196, 201, 259. See also oriental (vostochnyi) subjects Vyazemsky, Pyotr, 32   “White Tsar” myth, 93–​94, 243   Zabelin, Ivan Egorovich, 92, 250 Zapiski Russkogo Imperatorskogo geograficheskogo obshchestva po Otdeleniiu etnografii (Notes of the Ethnographic Division of IRGO), 57 Zelenaia Lampa (The Green Lamp), 136 Zhemchuzhnikov, Aleksei, 182 Zhivaia starina (Living Antiquity), 57