Mussorgsky - Song Cycle 'Sunless'

Modest Mussorgsky was in many ways a musical dilettante, for while he was a naturally gifted musician, he had very little formal training.  This was not looked upon by his mentor Balakirev as a bad thing. On the contrary, a lack of formal training was considered something that would help free the creative artist to express himself without the artificial fetters of pedantic methods.

Mussorgsky's life was a struggle after he gave up the family tradition of professional military service for music. He had to accept a minor bureaucratic position to make ends meet financially. A recurring problem with alcohol (possibly obtained while he was in military cadet school) made nothing easier and eventually cost him his life in 1881 at the age of 42. His lack of formal musical training also led to struggles with his composing.  He had plenty of ideas, but with a few notable exceptions, he left many of his works incomplete, some consisting of only a few sketches. He was both blessed and cursed with an excellent memory, which led to reports of works that Mussorgsky played at the the piano that were never written down.

The most numerous works that Mussorgsky did write down are his songs for voice and piano. In this genre Mussorgsky excelled and he brought a new fusion of the Russian language and music.  Mussorgsky was a cultured, well-read man and as such could be very selective in the texts he set to music. The poet that he used for his two song cycles Songs And Dances Of Death and Sunless was his distant relative Arseny Golenishchev-Kutuzov.  The two impoverished men shared a small apartment together for about two years until Kutuzov married.

Sunless (also translated as Without Sun) was composed in 1874 at a low time in Mussorgsky's life. His opera Boris Gudonov had finally had its premiere early in 1874 after two other versions had been rejected. The opera was a success with the public but the critics were very hostile to the work. This, along with other setbacks and frustrations as well as his hatred of the boredom of his bureaucratic job, brought on depression that was made worse by excessive drinking.  There are six songs in the cycle that reflect Mussorgsky's mood during this time.

I want to thank Sergy Rybin for extending his kind permission to include his translation of the Russian texts:

Within Four Walls
All six songs of the cycle are highly introspective, and the slow moving piano accompaniment sets the stage for a song that conveighs the barren feelings of being alone with the four walls.

A tiny room, quiet and pleasant,

An impenetrable darkness, irresponsive darkness;

A deep thought, a sorrowful song;

A treasured hope in the beating heart;

Speedy flight of moment after moment;

A petrified glance at a far-away happiness;

Plenty of doubt, plenty of endurance.

Here it is, my night, night of solitude.
translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

You Have Not Recognized Me In The Crowd
This song is ostensibly written in D major like the first song in the set, but the very first chord of the accompaniment takes the music to a different tonal landscape. Harmonies restlessly shift in this very short song that ends with a odd sounding chord that gives no feeling of resolution.

You have not recognized me in the crowd,

Your glance did not say anything.

But I felt wonder and fright

When I caught it:

It was only a moment;

But believe me, within it I re-lived again

All the delights of past love,

All the bitterness of oblivion and tears!
translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

Over Is The Idle And Clamorous Day
Over is the idle and clamorous day;

Human life has fallen silent and a-slumber.

Everything is quiet. The shadow of the May night

Embraces the sleeping capital.

But sleep escapes from my eyes.

And by the rays of the next dawn

My imagination is leafing through

The pages of the lost years.

As if again breathing in the poison

Of spring's amorous dreams,

I resurrect in my soul the stream

Of hopes, surges, illusions...

Alas, those are only ghosts!

I am bored with this dead crowd,

And the noise of their old chatter

Already has no power over me.

Only one shadow, the only one of all,

Appeared to me, breathing with love, and,

Like a true friend of the past days,

Bent down by the bedstead.

And bravely I gave to her alone

All my soul in a silent tear,

Unseen by no one, full of happiness,

In a tear I saved for so long!
translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

Be Bored
Perhaps Mussorgsky gave the listener a glimpse of his boring bureaucratic job in this pessimistic song.

Be bored. You were created for boredom.

Without burning feelings there is no joy,

As there is no reunion without separation,

As without struggle there are no victories.

Be bored. Be bored listening to words of love,

Immersed in the stillness of your empty heart,

Responding with a fake greeting

To the truth of an innocent dream.

Be bored. From birth to the grave

Your path is written beforehand:

Drop by drop you'll waste your powers,

Then you'll die, and God be with you...

And God be with you!
translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

Elegy 
Passive and passionate alternate until the ultimate ending of death is reached with the quiet tolling of a distant bell played by the piano.

In the mist the night is in slumber. Silent star

Flickering, lonely, through the veil of clouds.

Sorrowfully ringing their bells in the distance,

Herds of grazing horses.

As night clouds my changing thoughts

Fly above me, disturbed and gloomy;

There are gleams of hopes in them, which were once dear,

Which are long lost, long dead.

There are regrets in them... and tears.

Thoughts rush along endlessly;

At times, transformed into features of a loved face,

They call for me, awakening in my soul former dreams again,

At times, merged into black darkness, full of silent threat,

Frighten my timid mind with the future's struggle, 

And I hear in the distance life's discordant noise,

Laughter of the soulless crowd, the muttering of treacherous feuding,

The irrepressible whisper of life's banality,

And the grim ringing of death!..

A rising star, as if full of shyness,

Is hiding her bright face in a joyless mist,

Like my future, mute and impenetrable.
translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

Above The River
The text is reflected in the gently rolling thirds in the bass of the piano while the treble gives support to the melody of the singer. The contemplation of death being the only way out, whether brought on naturally or by suicide, is chilling.

Pensive moon crescent, far-away stars

Admiring the waters from a blue sky.

I look in silence at the deep waters;

My heart senses magical secrets in them.

They splash mysteriously, tender-caressing waves;

There is much mystical power in their muttering.

I hear boundless thoughts and passions...

Unknown voice, which stirs my soul,

Caresses, frightens, and evokes doubts.

When it commands me to listen -- I can't move;

When it drives me away -- I want to run in fear;

When it calls into the depths -- I want to jump without hesitation.
translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

Mussorgsky - The Seminarist

Modest Mussorgsky, one of the great natural musicians of the 19th century,  died of alcohol-induced epilepsy in 1881 at the age of 42. He began his early adult life as an officer in the Russian military, but after serving only a year or two resigned his commission and began to devote himself to music. Mussorgsky had been a child prodigy on the piano, but his technical training in musical theory, harmony and counterpoint was sparse.

Mussorgsky planned and began many more compositions than he ever finished. He either planned or began eleven operas, but he completed only one, the well-known Boris Godunov, that for many years was only heard in Rimsky-Korsakov's version done after Mussorgsky's death.  He wrote many pieces for piano solo and his best-known work Pictures At An Exhibition is more well known in the orchestration done by Ravel than the original piano version.

One area of composition in which he excelled was songs for voice and piano, of which he wrote over 70 examples. He was the first great song composer that integrated the inflection and stress of the Russian language with music.  He wrote his first songs while still a teenager, but it wasn't until 1866 that he became adept as a composer of unique songs in and for the Russian language.

He wrote The Seminarist in 1867 and it is set to Mussorgsky's own words. It is a comic song that deals with a young seminary student's ardor for a priest's daughter. The song begins with monotonous chanting of Latin nouns, an exercise seminary students were put through to teach them Latin. This chanting of Latin nouns occurs throughout the song, and interspersed with the chants are the amorous dreamings of the seminary student as well as the thumping he receives from the girl's father after he catches the seminary student flirting with her during church. The Russian Orthodox Church censor banned the song from being circulated or printed in Russia as the song was considered to be disrespectful of the church. Mussorgsky wrote two versions of the song, and the church banned both versions, to Mussorgsky's delight:

The Seminarist
Panis, piscis, crinis, finis, ignis, lapis, pulvis, cinis…
Woe is me! Woe is me!
Orbis amnis et canalis, orbis amnis et canalis...
The priest gave me a thumping,
And blessed me with a beating,
And made me lose my memory with the blow of his holy hand.
Fascis, axis, funis, ensis, fustis, vectis, vermis, mensis…
The priest Semyon has a beautiful daughter,
Her cheeks are rosy, Her eyes are sensual,
Her breast like that of a swan,
That swells under her shirt.
Fastis, axis, funis, ensis, fustis, vestis, vermis, mensis…
Ah, Styosha, my Stoyosha,
How I would kiss you,
And embrace you!
Postis, follis, cucumis, atque, pollis, atque pollis, cucumis, cucumis… 
The other day during the service for holy and
famous Mitrodora
I read a part of the Scriptures.
But peeped at Styosha all the time
And glanced at the left side of
the choir stall and gave her a wink.
Then her devil of a Father saw it
and wrote it in his little book,
And my master blessed me three times
on the ears,
And with all his power beat the Latin lessons into my head with a stick.
Orbis, amnis, et canalis, et canalis, sanguis, unguis, et canalis, et canalis… 
Thus it was that I happened to experience temptation
from the devil In God’s own holy temple.
Amnis et canalis, sanguis, unguis, et canalis, et canalis, et canalis…..
.

Mussorgsky - Mephistopheles' Song Of The Flea

Mussorgsky was given piano lessons in his youth, and despite showing a remarkable gift for music was sent to officer training school to keep up the family tradition of military service. He resigned from the military when he was 20 years old to devote himself to music.  He had been born into a wealthy land-owning family, but after he resigned his military commission and the freeing of the serfs in Russia in 1861, he was forced to take a civil service job to try and make ends meet.

One area of music where Mussorgsky excelled was Russian art songs for voice and piano, as he had a definite talent for setting the Russian language to music. Mussorgsky himself wrote about his artistic aesthetic shortly before his death:

Art is a means of communicating with people, not an aim in itself.  Proceeding from the conviction that human speech is strictly controlled by musical laws, ... the function of art [is] the reproduction in musical sounds, not merely of feelings, but first and foremost of human speech.

Mussorgsky took an extended leave from his civil service job and set off with a vocalist on a concert tour of Russia in the summer of 1879.  It was while on this tour that he wrote The Song Of The Flea or to use its full name Mephistopheles' Song in Auerbach's Cellar. The words for the song were taken from a Russian translation of Part One of Goethe's Faust.  

The song deals with Mephistopheles and Faust entering a cellar where other men are drinking, and Mephistopheles tells a tale of a king that kept a flea at his court and lavished it with ornate clothing and made it a minister at court. The flea soon brought all of its relation to court where all of the royals were bitten and annoyed, but afraid to kill any of the fleas because of the king's fondness for them.

At the end of the tour, Mussorgsky and the vocalist performed the song in a public recital and it was an immediate success. After Mussorgsky's death two years later, the score to the song in Mussorgsky's hand was lost, but luckily one of his friends had copied it out. The song was printed soon after Mussorgsky's death and many orchestrations were made of it. Mussorgsky wrote some 65 songs, and the Song of The Flea is his most well-known.

The Song Of The Flea
There once was a King
who kept a flea.
A flea, a flea!
It was dearer to him than his own son.
A flea!  Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! A flea? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! A flea.
The King called the tailor: "Listen you blockhead!
For my dear friend  make a velvet kaftan".
A velvet kaftan?  He-he-he-he-he, velvet.
He-he-he-he-he kaftan, Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, Ha-ha-ha, a velvet kaftan.
So in gold and velvet the flea was dressed,
And enjoyed total freedom in the court! He-he-he-he-he the flea!
Ha-ha-ha, Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha the flea!
The King awarded the flea the rank of a minister and gave it a medal, 
And all his relation got the same, а-hа! And the Queen herself and her ladies-in-waiting
Were disturbed by the fleas ha-ha.
They were afraid to touch them, let alone kill them,
But if one bites us, we'll smash it! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha ha-ha-ha...

The first video is a rendition of the original version for soloist and piano, while the second video is an orchestration of the work by Rimsky-Korsakov

Mussorgsky - St. John's Eve On The Mountain

Modest Mussorgsky finished his composition St. John's Eve On The Mountain on the very night of the celebration in 1867. St. John's Eve is named for John The Baptist and is linked with ancient pagan rituals, perhaps fertility rituals, that were performed on the day of the summer solstice. The Orthodox kept the date of the ritual but changed its meaning to a religious one by declaring it a day of feasting to honor John The Baptist.

Mussorgsky wrote several versions of the work. He originally had an idea for an opera based on a story written by Gogol titled St. John's Eve.  that involved witchcraft. He later considered writing a different opera based on a play by his friend Baron Georgiy Mengden titled The Witch. Mussorgsky wrote of his idea for the opera in a letter to his mentor Balakirev:

I have also received some highly interesting work which needs to be prepared for the coming summer. This work is: a whole act on The Bald Mountain (from Mengden's drama The Witch), a witches' sabbath, separate episodes of sorcerers, a ceremonial march of all this rubbish, a finale—glory to the sabbath... The libretto is very good. There are already some materials, perhaps a very good thing will come of it.

There is no existing music for either planned opera.  Mussorgsky then decided to write a tone poem for orchestra that incorporated the ideas from both planned operas. In turn, the written works that inspired the tone poem were themselves based on folk legends, of which Mussorgsky writes about in a letter to Vladimir Nikolsky, a professor of Russian history and language:

So far as my memory doesn't deceive me, the witches used to gather on this mountain, ... gossip, play tricks and await their chief—Satan. On his arrival they, i.e. the witches, formed a circle round the throne on which he sat, in the form of a kid, and sang his praise. When Satan was worked up into a sufficient passion by the witches' praises, he gave the command for the sabbath, in which he chose for himself the witches who caught his fancy. So this is what I've done. At the head of my score I've put its content: 1. Assembly of the witches, their talk and gossip; 2. Satan's journey; 3. Obscene praises of Satan; and 4. Sabbath ... The form and character of the composition are Russian and original ... I wrote St. John's Eve quickly, straight away in full score, I wrote it in about twelve days, glory to God ... While at work on St. John's Eve I didn't sleep at night and actually finished the work on the eve of St. John's Day, it seethed within me so, and I simply didn't know what was happening within me ... I see in my wicked prank an independent Russian product, free from German profundity and routine, and, like Savishna, grown on our native fields and nurtured on Russian bread.

Mussorgsky sent the finished score to Balakirev and was mortified when his mentor severely criticized the work, and refused to perform it. Mussorgsky continued ot revamp the music, first in the opera Mlada, another planned work that was never written, and yet again in another opera The Fair At Sorochyntsi, a work that was still not finished when Mussorgsky died in 1881. The original score  had to wait for its first performance until the 20th century after the manuscript was found in the Leningrad Conservatory in the 1920's. After a handful of performances the work languished further until the 1960's when it began to be played occasionally.

Rimsky-Korsakov

Rimsky-Korsakov revised the work a few years after Mussorgsky's death and published it as A Night On Bare Mountain.  Rimsky-Korsakov's work is not so much a revision of Mussorgsky's as it is an original composition based on the original. Rimsky-Korsakov made performing editions of Mussorgsky's unfinished works and for many years Rimsky-Korsakov's versions were all that were available. The original versions of Mussorgsky's works started to come to light when Stokowski performed the original version of the opera Boris Godonov in 1929 instead of the Rimsky-Korsakov edition.  Stokowski also made a version of Rimsky-Korsakov's work for the Walt Disney movie Fantasia in 1940.

Mussorgsky's original tone poem compared to Rimsky-Korsakov's work is more fragmented and can sound rather crude. But the music fits the subject matter, as Mussorgsy makes up for his lack of compositional technique with brilliant orchestral colors and powerful effects.  Below is a video of Mussorgsky's original, along with a video of Rimsky-Korsakov's version for comparison.

Mussorgsky - Songs And Dances Of Death

Of the Russian composers that made up The Five in the 19th century, Modest Mussorgsky may have had the most natural talent of them all.  He began piano lessons with his mother at the age of six and made such rapid progress that by ten was performing for family and friends. His first composition was published when he was twelve years old.

Although his musical talent was obvious, Mussorgsky entered the Cadet School Of The Guards when he was thirteen to continue the family tradition of military service.  He continued his study of music while at the school and his natural abilities as a pianist were in large demand. When Mussorgsky was seventeen he met Borodin and struck up a friendship, and he soon met Balakirev and began to study with him. Soon after that, Mussorgsky resigned his military commission.

He learned much from Balakirev, but after a time Mussorgsky set out on his own. His family was well-off financially and Mussorgsky had no money worries until the Emancipation Of The Serfs in 1861 which caused Mussorgsky's family sufficient economic hardship that he could no longer rely on  them for support. He took a minor civil service job to help make ends meet. Due to chronic alcoholism, he composed erratically and failed to finish many compositions. His life continued its downward spiral, although he did manage to finish his masterpiece Boris Godunov and some other compositions. He lost his civil service job in 1880 and was reduced to living on the charity of friends until he died in 1881 of alcoholism at the age of 42.

Mussorgsky wrote the song cycle Songs And Dances Of  Death in 1875-1877 to poems by Arseny Golenishchev-Kutuzov who was distantly related to Mussorgsky. That Mussorgsky was quite taken with the poet and his works is expressed in a letter:

After Pushkin and Lermontov I have not encountered what I have in Kutuzov... Sincerity leaps from almost everything in Kutuzov, almost everywhere you scent the freshness of a fine warm morning, together with a matchless inborn technique... And how he is drawn to the people, history!

Arseny Golenishchev-Kutuzov

Obviously Mussorgsky was commenting on the power of Kutuzov's poetry to evoke images and feelings, in this particular case the images and feelings concerning death.

The four songs all deal with the figure of death and how death claims its victims in ways all too familiar to people in 19th century Russia. There are versions of the songs for voice and orchestra by Glazunov/ Rimsky-Korsakov and others, the latest being by Dmitri Shostakovich. But  the songs were originally written for piano and voice, with the piano doing much more than simply accompanying the singer. Singer and piano combine in some of the most powerful songs ever written. As I do not understand Russian,  I can only approximate the full effect of these songs in the original language.  But I am enough of a musician to understand some of the musical power and drama Mussorgsky put into these songs. Music itself is a language, and Mussorgsky expresses much in these songs written for the two instruments he understood very well; the piano and human voice.  I want to thank Sergy Rybin for extending his kind permission to include his translation of the Russian texts.

Lullaby -  Mussorgsky paints a picture of death claiming a sick child. The poet sets the scene, death enters and a short dialog between the child's mother and death begins. I have bracketed indications of which entity is speaking for clarification - 

[Poet] - A child is groaning...  A candle, burning out,

Dimly flickers onto surroundings.

The whole night, rocking the cradle,

A mother has not dozed away with sleep.

Early-early in the morning, carefully, on the door

Compassionate Death -- Knock!

The mother shuddered, looked back with worry...

[Death] - "Don't get frightened, my dear!

Pale morning already looks in the window...

With crying, anguishing and loving

You have tired yourself, have a little nap,

I'll sit instead of you.

You've failed to pacify the child.

I'll sing sweeter than you" --

[Mother]  - "Quiet! My child rushes and struggles,

Tormenting my soul!"

[Death]  - "Well, with me he'll soon be appeased.

Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby." --

[Mother]  - "The cheeks are fading, the breath in weakening...

Be quiet, I beg you!" --

[Death]  - "That's a good sign, the suffering will quieten,

Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby." --

[Mother]  - "Be gone, you damned thing!

With your tenderness you'll kill my joy!" --

[Death]  - "No, a peaceful sleep I'll conjure up for the baby.

Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby." --

[Mother]  - "Have pity, wait at least for a moment

with finishing your awful song!" --

[Death]  - "Look, he fell asleep with my quiet singing.

Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby."
translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

Serenade -  

Magical languor, blue night,

Trembling darkness of spring.

The sick girl takes in, with her head dropped,

The whisper of the night's silence.

Sleep does not close her shining eyes,

Life beckons towards pleasures,

Meanwhile under the window in the midnight silence

Death sings a serenade:

"In the gloom of captivity, severe and stifling,

Your youth is fading away;

A mysterious knight, with magic powers

I'll free you up.

Stand up, look at yourself: with beauty

Your translucent face is shining,

Your cheeks are rosy, with a wavy plait

Your figure is entwined, like with a cloud.

The blue radiance of your piercing eyes

Is brighter than skies and fire.  

Your breath flutters with the midday heat ...

You have seduced me.

Your hearing is captured with my serenade,

Your voice called for a knight,

The knight has come for the ultimate reward;

The hour of ecstasy has arrived. 

Your body is tender, your trembling is ravishing...

Oh, I'll suffocate you

in my strong embraces: listen to my seductive

chatter! ... be silent!... You are mine!"

translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

Trepak -  

Forest and glades, no one is around.

A snow-storm is crying and groaning,

It feels as in the gloom of the night

The Evil One is burying someone;

Hush, it is so! In the darkness

Death is hugging and caressing an old man,

With the drunkard She is dancing a trepak,

While singing a song into his ear:

"Oh, my little wretched man,

Got drunk, stumbled along the road,

But the witch-blizzard has risen furiously,

And driven you from the glade into the dense forest.

Tortured with anguish and need,

Lie down, curl up and fall asleep, my dear!

I'll warm you up with snow, my darling,

And stir up a great game around you.

Shake up the bed, you blizzard-swan!

Hey, get going, start chanting, you weather

A fairytale, that could last all night,

So that the drunkard could fall asleep soundly!

Hey you, forests, skies and clouds,

Gloom, wind and fleeting snow,

Wreathe into a shroud, snowy and fluffy;

With it I'll cover our old man, like a baby...

Sleep, my little friend, happy wretch,

The summer has come and blossomed!

Above the fields the sun is laughing and sickles roam,

The song hovers around; the doves are flying about..."

translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/

The Field Marshal - 

The battle is thundering, the armor is shining,

Copper cannons are roaring,

The troops are running, the horses are rushing

And red rivers are flowing.

The midday is blazing -- people are fighting,

The sun is declining -- the fight is stronger,

The sunset is fading away -- but the enemies

Are still battling more fierce and hateful.

And night has fallen on the battlefield.

The armies have parted in the darkness...

Everything has fallen quiet, and in the night's mist

The groans have risen to the heavens.

Then, illuminated by moonlight,

On her battle horse,

Shining with the whiteness of her bones,

Appeared Death; and in the silence,

Taking in moans and prayers,

Full of proud satisfaction,

Like a field marshal she circled around

The place of battle,

And having ridden to the top on the hill,

looked around, stopped, smiled....

And above the battlefield

Roared her fateful voice:

"The battle is finished! I won over everyone!

You all submitted before me, soldiers! 

Life has made you quarrel, I have reconciled you!

Stand up as one for the parade, corpses!

Pass in front of me in a pompous march,

I want to count my troops;

Then deposit your bones into the earth,

It is sweet to rest from life in the ground!

Year after year will pass,

And even the memory of you will disappear.

I will not forget and loudly above you

Will hold a feast at the midnight hour!

With a heavy dance I'll trample

The raw earth, so that the realm of the grave

Your bones will never be able to leave,

So that you'll never rise from the ground! "

translation © Sergy Rybin http://www.lieder.net/