Pushkin and the Key (?) to Shostakovich’s 5th

I’ve been meaning to post about this for a while, after teaching it in class, since I’m sure it will be of great interest to the many fans of Shostakovich out there. His Fifth Symphony is likely his most popular, and his penchant for “encoding” various messages into his scores (either by musical citation — including, as we’ll see today, his own works of the past) or through the (German) names of notes (hence, of course, his famous Dsch theme). Most of this is generally known, as is the story behind his 5th Symphony… but until I made the effort to dig around a bit myself, I’d never suspected how profoundly his citation of a Pushkin poem informs a “reading” of this Aesopic symphony. Indeed, I feel like it’s one of the most powerful examples of this kind that I can possibly think of.

In short, Shostakovich’s 5th was his attempt to restore himself to the good graces of the Soviet critical establishment following the condemnation of his opera “Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk District.” Broadly speaking, the symphony’s first three movements suggest (to me at least) a kind of brooding aimlessness, followed very abruptly by the triumphant burst and seemingly heroic resolution of the fourth movement. If you haven’t heard the symphony, I suppose now would be a good time to listen and form your own impressions:

In his official comments on his symphony, Shostakovich said the following:

"I wanted to show in my symphony how, through a series of tragic conflicts, of great internal spiritual struggle, optimism as a worldview finds its affirmation."

«Мне хотелось показать в симфонии, как через ряд трагических конфликтов большой внутренней душевной борьбы утверждается оптимизм как мировоззрение».

The affirmation of “optimism as a worldview” — what a grotesque phrase! Farewell, spiritual struggle! It would seem impossible to accept this account of what the music “means” — and yet this interpretation seems to have been swallowed whole by the establishment; the work was praised, and Shostakovich’s “rebirth” as an ideologically acceptable composer was complete. And, indeed — music being what it is — the symphony seems to offer no objective reason for doubting the official reception. After all, isn’t the triumph of the finale… triumphant?

A Brief Digression on Wagner, by Way of Comparison

When I recently taught this in a class (on Russian Religious Philosophy, of all things), I shared the fact that this finale always reminded me of the finale of Wagner’s “Das Rheingold,” when the gods are “triumphantly” entering Valhalla.

Of course, in the opera, the plot and the words sung — especially the Rhine Daughters’ closing prophecy — make quite clear that the “triumphant” march to Valhalla is in fact the prelude to ultimate disaster, for the gods at least, at the very end of the cycle — Valhalla in flames (consumed by Loge, who himself prophesies doom for the gods in the scene below). Knowing what we know, the triumphant finale rings hollow — particularly given its repetitiveness (as if by mere repetition it might seem more grandiose). I’ll paste in the final bits here, for those who are curious, and since Wotan is probably my favorite role is all of opera, esp. when James Morris is singing him!

Froh
(zu den Göttern)
Zur Burg führt die Brücke,
leicht doch fest eurem Fuß:
beschreitet kühn ihren schrecklosen Pfad!

(Wotan und die anderen Götter sind sprachlos in
den prächtigen Anblick verloren.)

Wotan
Abendlich strahlt der Sonne Auge;
in prächtiger Gluth prangt glänzend die Burg.
In des Morgens Scheine muthig erschimmernd,
lag sie herrenlos, hehr verlockend vor mir.
Von Morgen bis Abend, in Müh' und Angst,
nicht wonnig ward sie gewonnen!
Es naht die Nacht:
vor ihrem Neid biete sie Bergung nun.

(wie von einem großen Gedanken ergriffen, sehr entschlossen.)

So grüß' ich die Burg,
sicher vor Bang' und Grau'n!

(Er wendet sich feierlich zu Fricka.)

Folge mir, Frau: in Walhall wohne mit mir!

Fricka
Was deutet der Name?
Nie, dünkt mich, hört' ich ihn nennen.

Wotan
Was, mächtig der Furcht
mein Muth mir erfand
wenn siegend es lebt, leg' es den Sinn dir dar!

(Er faßt Fricka an der Hand, und schreitet mit ihr langsam der Brücke zu: Froh, Freia und Donner folgen.)

 Loge
(im Vordergrunde verharrend und den Göttern nachblickend)

Ihrem Ende eilen sie zu,
die so stark in Bestehen sich wähnen.
Fast schäm' ich mich mit ihnen zu schaffen;
zur leckenden Lohe mich wieder zu wandeln,
spür' ich lockende Lust:
sie aufzuzehren, die einst mich gezähmt,
statt mit den Blinden blöd zu vergeh'n,
und wären es göttlichste Götter!
nicht dumm dünkte mich das!
Bedenken will ich's: wer weiß, was ich thu'!

(Er geht, um sich den Göttern in nachlässiger Haltung anzuschließen.)

Rheintöchter
(in der Tiefe des Thales, unsichtbar)

Rheingold! Rheingold! reines Gold!
Wie lauter und hell
leuchtest hold du uns!

(Wotan, im Begriff den Fuß auf die Brücke zu
setzen, hält an, und wendet sich um.)

Wotan
Welch' Klagen dringt zu mir her?

Rheintöchter
Um dich, du klares,
wir nun klagen:

Loge
(späht in das Thal hinab)
Des Rheines Kinder beklagen des Goldes Raub.

Rheintöchter
Gebt uns das Gold!
gebt uns das Gold!

Wotan
Verwünschte Nicker!

Rheintöchter
O gebt uns das reine zurück!

Wotan
Wehre ihrem Geneck!

Loge
(in das Thal hinab rufend)

Ihr da im Wasser! was weint ihr herauf?
Hört, was Wotan euch wünscht!
Glänzt nicht mehr euch Mädchen das Gold,
in der Götter neuem Glanze sonn't euch selig fortan!

(Die Götter lachen, und beschreiten mit dem
Folgenden die Brücke.)

Rheintöchter
Rheingold! Rheingold! reines Gold!
O leuchtete noch
in der Tiefe dein laut'rer Tand!
Traulich und treu ist's nur in der Tiefe:
falsch und feig ist was dort oben sich freut!

(Während die Götter auf der Brücke der Burg
zuschreiten, fällt der Vorhang.)

Froh
(to the gods)
The bridge leads to the fortress,
Light, yet firm beneath your feet:
Boldly bestride your fearless path!

(Wotan and the other gods are speechless,
lost in the glorious sight.)

Wotan
The sun's eye radiates the light of evening;
In a glorious glow, the fortress shines resplendent.
Shimmering boldly in the light of morning,
It lay — master-less, sublimely beckoning before me.
From morning to evening, in toil and anxiety —
Not blissfully was it won!
Night draws near:
May this fortress now give shelter from its envy.

(as if seized by a great thought, very decisively)

Thus I greet the fortress,
Safe from fear and dread!

(He turns solemnly to Fricka)

Follow me, my wife: dwell in Valhalla with me!

Fricka
What does this name mean?
It seems I've never heard it said.

Wotan
It is what my courage conceived,
In mastering fear;
If it lives in triumph, let that be its meaning!

(He takes Fricka by the hand, and slowly steps toward the bridge with her; Froh, Freia and Donner follow.)

 Loge
(pausing in the foreground, and looking on as the gods depart)

They are hurrying toward their end —
These, who think themselves so strong in existence.
I am almost ashamed to have anything to do with them;
I sense an enticing desire
To transform myself back into licking flame:
To consume those who once tamed me,
Instead of foolishly perishing with the blind —
Even if they were the most godlike of gods!
This strikes me as a good idea!
I'll think it over — who knows what I'll do!

(He goes to join the gods, with a somewhat negligent bearing.)

The Rhein Daughters
(in the depths of the valley, unable to be seen)

Rhein gold! Rhein gold! Pure gold!
How brilliant and bright
You once shone for us!

(Wotan, about to place his foot upon the bridge,
pauses and turns around.)

Wotan
What lament is this that reaches my ear?

The Rhein Daughters
We lament only you,
O brilliant gold:

Loge
(peers down into the valley)
The Rhein's daughters lament the theft of the gold.

Rheintöchter
Give us the gold!
Give us the gold!

Wotan
Cursed sprites!

The Rhein Daughters
Oh, give us the pure gold back!

Wotan
Fend off their mockery!

Loge
(calling down into the valley)

You there in the water! What are you whining for?
Hear what Wotan wishes for you!
If the gold glows no longer for you girls,
Then blissfully sun yourself in the god's new radiance!

(The gods laugh, and begin walking the bridge
amidst that which follows.) 

The Rhein Daughters
Rhein gold! Rhein gold! Pure gold!
O, if only your brilliant trinket
Still shone in the deep!
Only in the deep are things tender and true:
False and cowardly is that which rejoices up above!

(As the gods cross the bridge, approaching the fortress,
the curtain falls.)

Others, by the way, have compared the finale of Shostakovich’s 5th to the opening scene in Mussorgsky’s “Boris Godunov,” when the crowds are made to praise Boris under the threat of the whip, and beg him to accept the throne. This is followed soon thereafter by his triumphant appearance (as tsar) and a song of praise.

To return to Shostakovich, though: if things were so straightforward, then what made Pasternak, who was in the audience at the premiere, supposedly say the following:

"And to think that he said everything he wanted to, and nothing happened to him!"

«Подумать только, сказал все, что хотел, и ничего ему за это не было!»

It would seem, then, that almost anyone with a smidgeon of insight or, at least, capacity for recognizing irony, might entertain the possibility that the finale was not what it seemed. I seem to recall having that impression myself way back when, before I really knew anything about the circumstances of the symphony — although perhaps I was fed this idea by the liner notes of my CD. Of course, my first impression was something like, “Wow. Exciting. Maybe even stirring.” But there was something off about it. By that time I was already a huge Wagner fan and knew almost the entire cycle by heart. I think my association of Shostakovich’s finale with the ending of “Das Rheingold” arose almost immediately. I’m quite sure I’ve never heard anyone else make the comparison. I certainly don’t mean to say, by the way, that Shostakovich is alluding to the Wagner in any shape, form or fashion, though it’s tempting to wonder if it crossed his mind. Of course, in “Das Rheingold,” Wotan knows, amidst his seeming moment of triumph and hard-won security, that his position is in fact more precarious than ever: to build the fortress, he has, through duplicity and outright theft, violated the very runes upon which all his power is based. But he joins the procession anyway.

The Pushkin Poem Cited by Shostakovich (With One Possible Reading)

So, where does Pushkin fit into this? In the 5th, Shostakovich inserts a motif borrowed from an earlier short work of his — a musical setting of a Pushkin poem called Возрождение (Rebirth). This is not one of Pushkin’s best-known poems, but it could hardly be more relevant to the circumstances in which Shostakovich created his symphony (by the way, Pushkin had his own struggles with the authorities, in the form of exile and censorship; in fact, Tsar Nicholas I himself presumed to serve as Pushkin’s personal censor — prefiguring Stalin’s own alleged involvement in, if not authorship of, the article condemning “Lady Macbeth”).

Here’s the poem:

Rebirth (Pushkin)

A barbarian artist, with his indolent brush,
Blackens the painting of a genius,
And, atop it, he senselessly traces
His lawless drawing.

But, over the years, these alien layers of paint
Are shed like old scales;
Before us, the genius's creation
Emerges with its former beauty.

Thus do delusions vanish
From my tormented soul,
And in it visions arise
Of primal, pristine days.

Возрождение

Художник-варвар кистью сонной
Картину гения чернит
И свой рисунок беззаконный
Над ней бессмысленно чертит.

Но краски чуждые с летами
Спадают ветхой чешуёй;
Созданье гения пред нами
Выходит с прежней красотой.

Так исчезают заблужденья
С измученной души моей,
И возникают в ней виденья
Первоначальных, чистых дней.

1819

художник: artist • варвар: barbarian • кисть, и: hand (here in the sense of paintbrush) • сонный: sleepy, indolent • картина: painting • гений: genius • чернить Иend: to mar, blacken (make чёрный) • рисун(о)к: drawing, painting • беззаконный: lawless • бессмысленный: senseless • чертить Иend: to trace • краска: paint • чуждый: foreign, alien • лета = годы: pl. of год: year • спадать АЙ / спасть Дend: to fall away, fall off  ветхий: old, ancient • чешуя: scales • создавать АВАЙ / создать: to create • выходить Иshift / выйти: to emerge  прежний: former, previous • красота: beauty • исчезать АЙ / исчезнуть (НУ): to disappear, vanish  заблуждаться АЙ / заблудиться Иshift: to get lost, be deluded мучить И / измучить И: to torment • душа: soul • возникать АЙ / возникнуть (НУ): to arise, appear • первоначальный: initial, primal • чистый: clean, pure • д(е)нь, дня: day

The poem’s first two stanzas establish a simple metaphor: a painting — a work of true genius — is “lawlessly” and “senselessly” painted over by a barbarian. This brings to mind an obvious sort of asymmetry or imbalance in the world: true creation is a long struggle, but destruction and defacement requires no effort and little time. The created work is uniquely vulnerable, as is, by extension, the genius who creates it. After all, if the creation dies, the creator dies as well. If we regard the work of art as a free, unrepeatable act which manifests the very self of the artist, the exercise of creative freedom, then this metaphor assumes additional weight — in the same sense that the defacement of an icon (a representation of the spiritual self) suggests not only sacrilege and pointless destruction, but the symbolic negation of the very principle of personhood — that is, of a human self, created in the image and likeness of God, is like his Creator in his urge to create, with every creation bearing the unmistakable mark of the self who created it.

In the second stanza, one might say that eternal truth wins out over temporal falsehood; the original work reemerges in its eternal validity. On the one hand, Pushkin might seem to suggest a kind of resurrection of the work in some world to come, along the lines of the Master’s manuscripts (in Bulgakov) being miraculously restored. But here he is clear that this restoration occurs in the temporal plane, though much time may be required for the original image to come to light. It’s curious to note how Pushkin introduces an “us” here: the creation emerges “before us,” as if, by seeing the work of art, we participate in maintaining the eternal memory of the artist, who lives on in his creation. Perhaps it is “our” task to join in resurrecting the art and the artist by peeling away the layers.

But all of this is a metaphor — and in this sense the poem is not ultimately about artistic creation per se, but about the spiritual life of the speaker — who has gone astray, fallen prey to “delusions.” Somehow, in the fulness of time, these fall away, as if miraculously, and he remembers himself. The closing lines of this poem are strikingly beautiful, and, to my ear, so beautifully rendered in Shostakovich’s setting. Again, the re-emergence or resurrection of the self, in its original conception, suggests a kind of iconographic representation of the self purged of temporary debasement.

But, to return to the metaphor employed by the speaker — who is the genius, and who the barbarian?

Personally (having read way too much religious philosophy), I’d like to say that inasmuch as being and becoming a self is a task involving the synergy of the Creator and the created being — God and the individual person — then the “genius” might refer both to the divine Creator and to the co-creator who participates in the task of self-creation which proceeds across time. For the artist, this realization of self involves creativity; it is through creating that the human person imitates and becomes “like” the divine Creator.

The barbarian would then refer to any being who obscures any of this — including the artist himself, should he forget his calling, forget himself, or compromise his vision.

Or — again extending beyond the metaphor itself — the barbarian is anyone who blinds the speaker to who they truly are. To the extent that the speaker has been complicit in this oblivion, he too is a barbarian. If the self is a work of God, then consigning oneself to defacement or oblivion is a barbaric act of sacrilege.

Shostakovich’s Setting of the Poem

Here is a recording. I believe the singer here is not Russian, and he bungles the pronunciation just a bit (on “с прежней красотой”). But I think here one can hear the music most clearly. Pay special attention at the very end…

Where to Find the Citation in the Symphony

If you go back to the video of the Symphony, locate the 45:00 time marker and hit play. This is near the end of the symphony, in that all-important fourth movement. Notice the citation — and, my God, what follows it. You’ll clearly hear that motif from the very end of the song — the one that accompanies the words “чистых дней” (pure days). That is, this is the beautiful and haunting motif that heralds the recovery of those visions long obscured by delusion.

But note how, at the very last note, the melody is interrupted and shifts abruptly… as the drums begin rumbling — quietly, but ominously — and the symphony quickly builds to its “triumph.”

I suppose at this point the music speaks for itself. I did find this following wonderful description of it, from Iosif Raiskin.

Грозный финал симфонии, напряженное, до боли мучительное преодоление-нарастание разрешается ослепительно ярким светом — ликующим ре мажором преображенной главной темы. Но удары «оголенных» литавр в последних тактах симфонии — словно гвозди в крышку гроба — обнажают горестный смысл финала. За внешним торжеством таится подлинная трагедия, за пресловутым «становлением личности» — смертельное противостояние личности жестокому веку.

The symphony's thunderous finale — a swelling struggle to overcome that is tense and anguished to the point of being painful — resolves itself in a blindingly bright light — in the exulting D-major of its now transfigured main theme. But the blows of the "exposed" kettledrums in the symphony's final measures — like nails in the lid of a coffin — reveal the tormented meaning of the finale. The external triumph conceals a genuine tragedy; the supposed "development of the self" conceals the self's fatal attempt to resist a cruel age.

So, what light might this shed on the meaning of the symphony? To me, the fascinating thing is that this citation of the poem suggests not only the obvious — say, that Stalin was a barbarian — but, more troublingly, that the genius himself, Shostakovich, was complicit in “painting over” his true vision with the crude, “lawless” and “senseless” strokes prescribed by a barbaric state. Indeed, the extreme fragility of that cited motif, devoured by the loud, cacophonous, “triumphant” — and, perhaps, crowd-pleasing! — finale… well, it’s almost unbearable.

In this sense, this passage recapitulates the quiet end of the third movement, followed by the blaring opening of the fourth, with its barbarian drumbeat — which I suspect has startled a lot of concert-goers out of their seats over the years.

I tried making one additional point in class: I think the speed at which a conductor chooses to tackle this finale can greatly alter the impression it makes. Leonard Bernstein was known for doing it at an especially quick clip. I read that supposedly Shostakovich complimented the interpretation. But, at best, this makes the finale seem far less ambiguous; to me it sounds like — to quote Stalin — головокружение от успехов. To me, the more plodding pace taken by Andris Nelsons in the recording above serves better to expose the “hollowness” of the triumph. The pounding of the drums at the end, in particular, truly do feel like nails in a coffin. For this reason I think this is my favorite recording of the piece that I’ve heard. But that CD I bought all those years ago featured… you guessed it, Leonard Bernstein.