The astounding symphonic picture depicting the decisive battle of the Russian troops against the fierce Tatar horde was the high point of Kitezh. The fact that the confrontation was depicted by the orchestra and not on stage merely emphasized the opera’s epic character. If one can call Mussorgsky’s vocal ballad “Forgotten” a brilliant battle engraving, then The Battle of Kerzhenets was the greatest Russian musical fresco about war until Shostakovich. This work seemed to foretell the further metamorphosis of the Petersburg mythos by not praising the victors but the vanquished—their valor in the face of inexorable evil power. As Prokofiev wrote, “It was all new and astonished the imagination.”22
When Rimsky-Korsakov died in 1908, even Prokofiev, a man not given to sentimentality, admitted that he was “profoundly saddened: something hurt my heart. I loved Rimsky-Korsakov’s music, especially Kitezh, Sadko, The Snow Maiden, the piano concerto, Capriccio espagnol, Scheherazade, Fairy Tale.” And the vain but honest Prokofiev added, “I never had the opportunity to become close to him personally: there were many students in his class and he did not distinguish me from the rest.”23
If Rimsky-Korsakov had managed to live another four years to hear the premiere of Prokofiev’s daring First Piano Concerto, it is unlikely he would have clasped the twenty-one-year-old composer to his breast. Even though his last operas, especially the fairy tale-based Kashchei the Immortal and The Golden Cockerel, toyed with modernism, introducing unusual harmonies and “prickly” melodies, Rimsky-Korsakov was increasingly intolerant of the musical avant-garde of his day; for example, he was very critical of Claude Debussy and Richard Strauss.
After hearing Strauss’s Salome for the first time in Paris, Rimsky-Korsakov’s wife wrote in horror to her son in Petersburg, “It is so disgusting, there is nothing worse in the world. Even Papa hissed for the first time in his life.”24 Strauss repaid the debt by describing a concert (under the aegis of Diaghilev) of Glinka, Borodin, and Rimsky-Korsakov thus: “Even though it was all very nice, we, unfortunately, are no longer children.”25
Rimsky-Korsakov undoubtedly would have also rejected Stravinsky’s Petrouchka if he had lived to hear it. The maestro of the Petersburg school’s “ideal” student was Alexander Glazunov, his junior by twenty-one years. The teacher adored Glazunov, never ceasing to be impressed by his protégé’s talent, taste, sense of measure, and mastery of counterpoint and orchestration. The premiere of sixteen-year-old Glazunov’s First Symphony in 1882 at the Assembly of the Nobility was a sensation, according to Rimsky-Korsakov: “It was a truly great day for all of us, the Petersburg representatives of the young Russian school. Young in inspiration, but already mature in technique and form, the symphony was a great success. Stasov bubbled and hummed at full blast. The audience was stunned to see that the composer who came out for bows was still in the uniform of a gymnasium student.”26
Among the admirers surrounding the young man at the premiere, besides the colorful figure of the boisterous Stasov, was a handsome man of middle age with an expressive face framed by a mane of hair. Mitrofan Belyaev, the Petersburg timber millionaire, saw in Glazunov a new genius and a “pillar of Russian music,” who had to be supported in every way possible.
An amateur musician, Belyaev’s taste was formed under the influence of another outstanding student of Rimsky-Korsakov, the composer, conductor, and teacher Anatoly Liadov, ten years older than Glazunov. Famous as the “sixth,” junior member of the Mighty Five, Liadov was a master of refined piano and orchestral miniatures, of which the most famous were written in the last decade of his life (1905-1914): “Baba Yaga,” “Kikimora,” and “The Magic Lake.” But Liadov composed his little masterpieces (whose orchestral innovations most probably influenced Stravinsky) extremely slowly, “a teaspoon per hour,” as the Russian expression puts it.
When Diaghilev needed a Russian fairy tale ballet for his Paris company, he first approached Liadov with the idea for The Firebird. Only when he saw that Liadov would never write the ballet did he approach Stravinsky. It was also assumed that the first Russian ballet on the Scythian theme would be written by Liadov; but as we know, Prokofiev realized that idea. There is something symbolic in this: “the fathers” were incapable of keeping up with the times and, kicking all the way, gave up the limelight to their rambunctious “children.”
