Irina Shumskaya
In the modern media landscape, advertisements for the Russian premium jewelry brand “Smolensk Diamonds” are increasingly frequent. The fact that “the best friends of girls,” as such jewelry is sometimes called, contribute significantly to the formation of a positive image of the region is evident. However, much more important for the future development of Smolensk is the popularization of its rich historical and cultural heritage. Unfortunately, not everyone remembers that this unique land is the birthplace of two great composers with Belarusian roots, whose names rightfully shine in the necklace of world musical culture – Mikhail Glinka and Yevgeny Glebov.
The history of the Russian composer school, as well as the history of academic music in general, is impossible to imagine without one of its main founders – Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka, who was born on June 1 (new style) 1804 in the village of Novospasskoye in the Smolensk province. Alongside Alexander Dargomyzhsky, Modest Mussorgsky, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, and Dmitri Shostakovich, Mikhail Glinka had a close connection to the Belarusian people through his ethnic background, and most of his ancestors were related to the ancient families of the Smolensk nobility who accepted Russian citizenship.
Mikhail Glinka
As noted by Russian historian S. Dumin, “the transition of Smolensk lands from one state to another, which occurred three times in the 16th – 17th centuries (in 1514, 1611-1618, and 1654), led to enormous changes in the composition of local landowners. In fact, the composition of the Smolensk nobility stabilized only by the end of the 17th century. During the two preceding centuries, waves of migration washed away huge groups of landowners and landlords from its ranks and contributed to the emergence of families of both Western (Lithuanian-Belarusian, Polish, German, etc.) origin and those from indigenous Russian counties… Overall, the Smolensk nobility survived not only as the main group of feudal lords in this region but also as a special service corporation” [1].
The Glinkas belonged to the so-called medium-sized nobility – not too rich, but not poor either. For centuries, they owned lands in the Smolensk, Yelnya, Roslavl, Dukhovshchina, and Dorogobuzh districts. The cities of Smolensk and Yelnya, as well as the villages of Novospasskoye, Danykovo, Prudki, Shmakovo, Luchesa, Pochinok, the settlement of Prikhaby, and the villages of Bezzaboty, Logachevo, Rus’kovo, Shat’kovo, Sukhoy Pochinok, and Sazonov Pochinok [2] are associated with the composer’s close relatives.
The grandfather of the future composer, Nikolai Alekseevich Glinka, a retired second major and a member of the upper zemstvo court of the 1st department of the Smolensk governorate, settled in the village of Novospasskoye in the Yelnya district. The family was large: Nikolai Alekseevich and his wife Fyokla Alexandrovna, born Sokolovskaya, had twelve children, of whom Ivan, the father of the composer, was the youngest. The composer’s maternal grandmother, Elena Afanasyevna, descended from the Poval-Shveykovsky family (whose estate, Danykovo, was located near the Glinkas’ and their relatives, the Druzhkys-Sokolinsky princes), married Andrei Mikhailovich Glinka from the village of Luchesa, where the “dear and priceless mother” of the composer, Yevgenia, later spent her childhood.
Mikhail Glinka’s parents were second cousins and even shared the same surname. According to the laws of the Orthodox Church, marriages between relatives are prohibited. However, as is known, there are exceptions to every rule, and the history of this family was not without drama – involving the bride’s escape from home and a secret wedding.
At the moment of the future genius’s birth, a nightingale sang in the garden of the estate in Novospasskoye. Relatives considered this a sign from above and later recalled this curious circumstance more than once. At that time, Novospasskoye was a small but growing village as the family’s wealth increased. Even before the war with Napoleon, the composer’s father built a new house there. Actively engaged in horse breeding and agriculture, he also took care of a fruit orchard, greenhouses, and flower beds that stretched for six versts, ordering rare seeds, bulbs, and seedlings from abroad. In addition, the estate had a mill and a cloth factory, and there were many craftsmen: weavers, tailors, painters, shoemakers, and carpenters. All this increased the family’s wealth and allowed them to provide their children with a good education.
Mikhail’s uncle, Afanasy Andreevich, supervised the work of the serf orchestra that operated in the village of Shmakovo. Glinka later referred to this orchestra as “the source of the most vivid delights.” The boy could watch rehearsals for hours, examining scores, studying instruments, and following the conductor’s movements. Notably, this orchestra included many serf peasants from Belarus, which undoubtedly influenced both the repertoire they performed and the formation of the future composer’s musical perception.
Yevgeny Glebov
When the boy grew a little older, his father brought a governess from St. Petersburg – Varvara Fyodorovna Klammer, who set him to work with notes, at the keyboard, and on endless exercises and scales. In all musical activities, she demanded from her pupil primarily diligence and perseverance; finger dexterity and technique were set as the highest goals. As soon as Misha figured out the keyboard and notes, she ordered a carpenter to make a board that was placed over the keys. Playing under this board, one could not see either the hands or the keys. Thus, the future composer learned to play without looking at his hands.
In 1817, Glinka went to St. Petersburg for his education. He was accepted into the Noble Boarding School at the Main Pedagogical Institute. Over four years of study, Mikhail gained a reputation as the best student. At the same time, he resumed his music studies, began taking lessons in singing, conducting, playing the violin, and piano. He studied with some of the best teachers and made enormous progress, quickly mastering all the lessons.
It should be noted that the Grodno orchestra of L. Sitanovsky, which arrived in the city on the Neva for an internship in 1784 and remained there for decades, had a significant influence on the development of musical life in St. Petersburg at that time. Among the most significant musical figures in St. Petersburg were the Podobedov brothers, sons of the soloist of the Shklov orchestra K. Podobedov. In other words, at the level of the establishment of professional musical art, the degree of mutual influence between Belarusian and Russian cultures was very high at that time.
In 1822, after graduating from the boarding school, Glinka wrote his first serious work – variations for harp or piano on the theme of the fashionable opera “The Swiss Family” by Austrian composer Weigl. When he announced to his father his intention to seriously pursue composition, Mikhail Ivanovich faced misunderstanding and fierce protest. His father could not allow his son to “shame” the family name by dedicating himself to such a frivolous pursuit as music. Such activities were only welcomed as a hobby, but certainly not as a profession. At his father’s insistence, Mikhail took a position in the office of the Council of Railways and Communications. Nevertheless, while working in the office, Glinka found time for his beloved activity. In the four years he spent in service, Mikhail Ivanovich created romances that brought him fame and popularity.
In 1828, Mikhail Ivanovich firmly decided to part with his position as assistant secretary and devote all his time to composing music, about which he had expressed quite unequivocally at a young age: “Music is my soul.” During this period, Glinka met and befriended A. Pushkin, V. Zhukovsky, and A. Mickiewicz. He would later write some of his best works to the verses of these poets.
It should be noted that the peak of the composer’s creative flourishing coincided with the time when national composer schools were being established throughout Europe. Therefore, a whole cohort of gifted composers from different countries turned to the trend of embodying ethnic motifs and reflecting the spiritual heritage of peoples in music. These ideas also captured Glinka’s consciousness, who noted in his “Notes”: “The thought of national music became clearer and clearer” [3]. Moreover, in his statements, he repeatedly emphasized that he intended to create a Russian opera. It is not surprising that its premiere on November 27, 1836, was perceived by progressive cultural figures as an event of enormous significance, as a new milestone in the history of music.
Glinka’s legendary work, initially titled “Ivan Susanin,” changed its name to “A Life for the Tsar” only a week before the premiere. The most plausible version in this regard is that the name change was “strongly recommended” from above, as the composer himself did not harbor particularly warm feelings for the imperial family and rather gravitated towards free thought. It is known that Glinka’s youth was spent in an atmosphere of passionate political and literary debates with friends, and some of his close acquaintances ended up among those exiled to Siberia after the Decembrist uprising was crushed, while Mikhail Ivanovich was subjected to interrogation regarding his connections with the “rebels.” A second, less likely reason for the renaming is the fact that a similarly titled opera was written twenty years earlier by composer Caterino Cavos. In any case, this monumental work by Glinka is rightly considered the first Russian national opera and is currently most often presented under both titles.
The composer’s second opera (“Ruslan and Lyudmila”) was written in 1842. Thus, he not only created the first examples of Russian opera but also divided the operatic genre into two categories: opera-drama (“Ivan Susanin”) and opera-fairy tale (“Ruslan and Lyudmila”). By the way, this work contains involuntary quotations from the musical heritage of Belarusians. A detailed analysis of the opera score shows that traditional Belarusian melodies are distinctly traced in the overture, as well as in Lyudmila’s aria “Ah, you, fate-fate” and in the final chorus “Ah, you, light-Lyudmila.” In general, the artistic heritage of the creator repeatedly included Belarusian motifs.
For example, the famous dance overture “Kamarinskaya,” called “the grain of Russian symphonism” and written by the composer in Warsaw, on the one hand, plays with the melodic line of the wedding song “From the mountains, high mountains,” and on the other hand, has clear parallels with the Belarusian folk song “My head hurts” and the traditional dance “Lyavonikha.” According to several specialists, in particular, I. Matsiyevsky, the form, rhythm, and melody of “Kamarinskaya” are typical of Belarusian instrumental music. Indeed, in Belarusian, as well as in Ukrainian and Polish musical traditions, ritual-ceremonial songs were performed accompanied by instrumental playing, while in the Russian tradition, these similar folk genres existed in an “a cappella” format [4].
Overall, as modern ethnographic studies show, recordings of instrumental music in the Belarusian-Russian border area closely align with the documentation of traditional songs produced in Smolensk at the end of the 19th century by V. Dobrovolsky and L. Kuba, which scholars define as characteristically Belarusian songs. L. Kuba, who excellently knew and directly studied the music of many other Slavic peoples (Czech, Ukrainian, Sorbian, etc.), meticulously recorded characteristic Belarusian phonemes while notating the Smolensk folk material, and interpreted the entire song tradition of Western Smolensk in the inter-Slavic musical-ethnographic context as a typically Belarusian phenomenon. Therefore, the melodic foundations of numerous works by M. Glinka, which contemporary Russian musicologists often refer to as Russian folk songs, are in fact nothing other than modernized samples of Belarusian folklore.
Interestingly, Glinka “matured” for the symphonic treatment of Slavic melodies only after creating his Spanish overtures. Moreover, the genius of the composer manifested itself in that he did not become fixated strictly on the representation of exclusively Russian and Belarusian melos, but also brilliantly embodied the national color of other countries and regions, primarily those he managed to visit (Spain, Italy, Poland, Germany, Finland, the Caucasus).
As a person who traveled extensively through various cities in Europe, Mikhail Glinka was influenced by the advanced ideological trends of that time, among which, undoubtedly, is the thought brilliantly expressed by another genius of the musical world – Richard Wagner: “Music and nation are one” [5].
Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka died on February 15, 1857, in poverty and far from his homeland – in Berlin. The atmosphere of hostility and persecution of talented individuals, which was so often present in the Russian Empire, forced the composer to live and create abroad. Interestingly, during the transportation of Glinka’s ashes from Germany to Russia, the word “porcelain” was written on his cardboard coffin. This is very symbolic, recalling the canon composed by M. Viliegorsky after the premiere of “Ivan Susanin”:
“Sing in delight, Russian choir –
A new novelty has emerged.
Rejoice, Rus’! Our Glinka –
Is no longer clay, but porcelain!”
The creativity of this outstanding individual, which connected the European musical tradition with the traditional techniques of East Slavic singing, was fully appreciated only after some time and continues to occupy a special place in the annals of world cultural heritage.
It may seem that, apart from his small homeland, what could unite Mikhail Glinka with another outstanding musical genius – Yevgeny Glebov, born on September 10, 1929, in the town of Roslavl in the Smolensk region? After all, these figures belong to completely different historical eras and, accordingly, different creative orientations. However, this is only at first glance. Upon closer examination of their life activities, many connecting elements that form the ideological unity of the composers become quite evident.
As with Glinka, Yevgeny Glebov’s family was distinguished by noble roots. On his mother’s side, the future composer was connected to the princely family of Sokols-Chernilovsky, which most likely originated from the area of Chernilovo, near Mstislavl. Glebov’s father came from a family of priests, could play many instruments, and had a wonderful musical ear. Since his father left the family in the early years of marriage, the boy was initially raised primarily by his grandmother (again, similarly to Glinka’s early childhood). By the way, the ancient Roslavl, named after the Smolensk prince Rostislav, once belonged to the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. It became part of the Russian Empire only after the bloody war of 1654.
Yevgeny Glebov’s passion for music manifested itself at an early age. He taught himself to play the mandolin, guitar, and balalaika and began composing various musical works (songs, romances, pieces). However, the path to professional musical activity was quite thorny. His relatives did not welcome the idea of the young man becoming a musician, as they believed one should have a profession that allows one to “stand firmly on the ground.” Therefore, Yevgeny first graduated from the Roslavl Technical School of Railway Transport, where he led the student choir and orchestra. After finishing the technical school, he began working as a wagon inspector in Mogilev. There, he formed friendships with students from the Mogilev Music College, which fostered his growing interest in music. Later, he attempted to enroll in this college, but his effort failed miserably, as the director deemed the young man unfit for the profession – he had no idea about musical notation! But this did not stop Glebov.
In 1950, upon the recommendation of the famous cymbalist Yosif Zhinovich, Yevgeny, along with graduates of the Mogilev Music College, went to “storm” the conservatory in Minsk. He left a memorable impression on the examiners with his unconventional red shirt, his musical ear, and… absolute ignorance of notes. Nevertheless, the conservatory accepted him, enrolling him in the class of one of the founders of the modern Belarusian composer school – Anatoly Bohatyrev, who was then the rector and managed to see a bright creative individuality in Glebov. Here is how he later spoke of his student: “Glebov studied excellently with me for six years. Coming to the conservatory without any preparation, he became a great master. Glebov was very rational. He was interested in orchestration, which he did brilliantly. When he demonstrated his works in Moscow, Shostakovich became very interested in them, inviting him to his home and suggesting he enter graduate school, promising all kinds of support, but for some reason, Glebov refused” [6].
Perhaps, if fate had thrown the composer into Moscow, it would have changed the entire course of the development of academic music in Belarus in the 20th century, to which Glebov made a truly colossal contribution. Songs, oratorios, cantatas, symphonies, suites, ballets, operas, pop arrangements, theater and film music – it seemed no genre was left unattended by this modest genius. His works nurtured not only several generations of listeners but also a whole cohort of other gifted composers…
Even Glebov’s early creative explorations attracted the keen attention of listeners and critics. Thus, one of his student (!) works – a cycle of pieces “Fantastic Dances” – is still considered a textbook example of chamber piano music. And the symphonic suite from the ballet “Dream,” which combined elements of Belarusian folklore and Soviet mass song, jazz, and Latin American dance rhythms (which had a stunning effect in the early 60s), became one of the first compositions in the USSR demonstrating the possibilities of stylistic collage.
Yevgeny Glebov was a composer with an extraordinarily broad creative horizon, in which the achievements of European academic music successfully interacted (as once with his legendary compatriot Mikhail Glinka) with Belarusian folk folklore, with the melodic sources of national musical creativity, while the spirit of romanticism inherent in most of his works was enriched by the elegant use of innovative artistic techniques. At the same time, Glebov was free from the widespread tendency among Belarusian composers of the Soviet period towards “provincialism.” His music is a whole universe, harmoniously combining the exquisite aesthetics of classical forms with avant-garde aphorism. Yevgeny Alexandrovich seemed to follow the advice of distant ancestors: “Do not disdain your own, learn from the foreign.”
“Glebov selected with a fine sense from classical and new art, from different layers, styles, and genres of world music what resonated with his melodic essence, borrowed, learned, but did not imitate, did not become an epigone,” notes musicologist Olga Savitskaya. “The correspondence of his own individuality and compatibility with national culture – that was the main criterion for his strict selection” [7].
The scores of Glebov’s ballets “Alpine Ballad” (a work that was staged in almost all leading theaters of the former Soviet Union) and “Till Eulenspiegel” (the first Belarusian musical-theatrical work staged abroad) are inscribed in modern musical culture as some of the most precious pages of the composer’s legacy, and the leitmotif adagio from the ballet “The Little Prince” is undoubtedly familiar to each of us. In addition, the composer created numerous compositions for folk instrument orchestras, frequently weaving motifs of folk songs into formal academic works, and wrote songs to the verses of famous Belarusian poets. His creativity is permeated with a national idea, although in formal signs and intonational components, Glebov primarily sought to represent the spirit of his time, addressing the eternal theme of understanding existence and the meaning of human life.
Legends circulated about Glebov’s sense of humor. The well-known phrase of Yevgeny Alexandrovich that “at the premiere, every composer hears his work twice: for the first and, simultaneously, the last time” is widely known. Or this aphorism: “After the performance, the author goes on stage and bows because he says goodbye to his work forever” [8].
His colleagues and students, students of the Belarusian conservatory (now the Academy of Music), noted that the composer had his own well-established system for composing works: a ballet – in two months, a symphony – in six months, and as for songs, the maestro repeatedly joked about this: “If I didn’t manage to write it before lunch, then it’s not worth sitting on it – it’s not an egg.” Work was always his top priority. “Write daily for two or three hours, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re a genius or not,” Glebov loved to repeat [9].
The composer did not remain aloof from public life, although, according to friends, he tried to avoid authoritative positions and did not like to talk about politics, focusing on creativity. Nevertheless, he managed to take on various roles, including: deputy chairman of the Union of Composers of the BSSR, a member of the board of the Union of Soviet Societies for Friendship and Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries, and a deputy of the Supreme Soviet of the BSSR. At the same time, Glebov managed to avoid joining the Communist Party until the age of 48. At that time, not being a party member was equivalent to a “wolf ticket” and prevented one from making a career. However, Glebov surprisingly escaped this fate, despite strained relations with party bosses and a stubborn reluctance to join the ranks of “builders of communism.”
The outstanding Belarusian writer Vasily Bykov, a close friend of the composer, recounts the following story in his memoirs: “He did not want to join the party, resisted for a long time and weakly, but it is known that weak resistance is not resistance. And he was forced to submit an application. Then – acceptance. Then – approval by the party committee of the district committee, then – the city committee. Usually, future communists prepared thoroughly for this important procedure, studying the history of the party. Glebov did not prepare, so to all the questions posed to him at the party commissions, he answered: ‘I don’t know.’ Or shrugged. At one of the commissions, the most meticulous of its members and, of course, the most distinguished party member asked Glebov: ‘Well, in what year did the Great October Socialist Revolution occur, do you know?’ Glebov, looking him in the eye, said: ‘No, I don’t know!’ His answer caused outrage in the hall, and Glebov thought: well, maybe now they’ll let go? However, they did not let go – he was accepted. To Glebov’s great chagrin – he had other plans and hopes” [10].
Despite the presence of various awards, titles, and honors, including the honorary title of People’s Artist of the USSR, Glebov never walked “on a short leash” with the authorities and had his own assessment of what was happening. A particularly telling story in this regard is as follows. When, on the eve of his 70th anniversary, Glebov was presented with a bouquet of flowers from A. Lukashenko by the then-deputy head of the presidential administration Ivan Pashkevich, the composer’s relatives witnessed the following dialogue:
– The president values you!
– And I value him.
– The president respects you!
– And I respect him.
– The president loves your ballets!
– And I love his “ballets”… [11]
In the last years of his life, Yevgeny Alexandrovich suffered from severe illness, almost completely lost his sight, and left this world on January 12, 2000. A few weeks before that, the composer, whose titanic scale and extraordinary significance of activity continue to amaze, was awarded the order named after the famous enlightener and printer Francysk Skaryna, according to the decree of the President of Belarus. At that time, few could have predicted that a decade later, this order would be awarded by the same person, but to people astronomically distant from true musical art and more suited to the role of court singers…
About the author. Irina Shumskaya is a scholar and writer. Born in 1976 in Minsk. Candidate of Cultural Studies, Associate Professor at the Belarusian State University of Culture and Arts. Author of three collections of poetry and prose, two monographs, and about fifty scientific publications. Member of the Union of Belarusian Writers and the Belarusian PEN Center.
Literature
1 Dumin S.V. Smolensk Nobility / Smolensk Nobility. Volume I. Genealogical Essays. – Moscow: Smolensk Community, 1997. – p. 6.
2 Deverilina N.V. M.I. Glinka and Smolensk // M.I. Glinka. Personality. Music. History / Novopassky Collection. Volume One. Smolensk, 2005. – p. 39.
3 Quoted in: The Formation of the Russian Composer School / General History of Music. Ed. A. Minakova, S. Minakov. – Moscow: Eksmo, 2009. – p. 382.
4 Matsiyevsky I. Instrumental Music and Ethno-Historical Identification: Self-Consciousness and Tradition // Musicology. – 2007. – No. 7 – p. 166.
5 Wagner R. Mein Leben. Leipzig, 1911. p. 414.
6 Quoted in: Fralow A. Another Era Has Passed // Nasha Niva. – 2000. – March 17.
7 Savitskaya O.P. Knowing Oneself – Discovering the World // Neman. – 1980. – No. 8. – p. 175.
8 Quoted in: Buntsevich N. “Red Shirt” of the Avant-Garde “in Glebov’s Style” // Culture. – No. 4 (913). – October 31 – November 6, 2009.
9 Simakovich L. Thoughts on the Occasion of One Death // Nasha Niva. – April 19, 2000.
10 Bykov V. The Long Road Home. – Moscow: AST; Minsk: Harvest, 2005. – p. 316-317.
11 Arlou U. Yevgeny Glebov / Names of Freedom. – 2nd ed. – Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, 2009. – p. 407.