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Once, looking over a score of Debussy's (it was "Prelude a l'Apresmidi d'un Faune"), Glazunov noted with deep thought, "It's orchestrated with great taste . . . . And he knows his work . . . . Could it be that Rimsky and I influenced the orchestration of all these contemporary degenerates?"
On Schreker's opera The Distant Peal, which was staged in Leningrad, Glazunov pronounced, "Schrekliche Musik!"
But I must say, to his credit, that even after relegating a composition to the detested "cacophonic style," Glazunov did not stop listening to the work once and for all. He tried to comprehend all music, for he was a composer, not a bureaucrat.
Glazunov liked to recount how he "penetrated" Wagner. "I listened to The Valkyrie the first time, understood absolutely nothing, and didn't like it at all. I went a second time. Nothing again. And a third-the same. How many times do you think I went to hear that opera before I understood it? Nine times. On the tenth, finally, I understood it all. And I liked it very much."
When I heard Glazunov tell this story the first time, I laughed to myself, even though I maintained a serious expression. But now I respect him for it deeply. Life has taught me many things.
In our time Glazunov was going through the same thing with Richard Strauss. He went to see Salome many times, getting used to it, penetrating it, studying it. And his opinion of Strauss began changing-before, Strauss had been on the list of "damned cacophonists."
By the way, Glazunov had always adored Johann Strauss, and this is just one more proof that he was no musical snob. I think that I learned that from him too-it's very important not to be a snob.
In general, however paradoxical this might seem, Glazunov was not dogmatic in music. His dogmatism was more aesthetic. Flexibility was not one of his qualities, which may not be such a bad thing. We've all seen what "flexibility" in questions of art is and what it leads to.
Of course, Glazunov had more than enough inertia, but he was an honest man and he didn't hang political labels on his aesthetic enemies, who, alas, resorted to such unfair practices often.
This is a good place to bring up the polemics between Nemirovich
Danchenko and Meyerhold. Nemirovich didn't understand or like Meyerhold. He began disliking him when Meyerhold was his student.
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When the Art Theater opened, their first production was Tsar Fyodor lvanovich, and Stanislavsky wanted Meyerhold to play Fyodor. Nemirovich insisted on Moskvin.
Meyerhold later told me, laughing, that he almost went crazy then with jealousy of Moskvin and hatred of Nemirovich. He laughed, all right, but his dislike of Nemirovich remained forever.
But all that isn't so important, this is: In the many years of polemics, Meyerhold invariably attacked the Art Theater and Nemirovich, using the most varied, and usually unfair, methods. Meyerhold always tried to hang some "current" political label on the old man. But Nemirovich never stooped to that, even though in our conversations Nemirovich always ref erred to Meyer hold with extreme irritation.
N emirovich considered Meyerhold a side-show man, a showoff. He was convinced that Meyerhold was leading the theater down false paths, but he never used the terminology of newspaper headlines or political jargon.
And yet it would have been much easier for Nemirovich to do it than for Meyerhold, for by the time I met Nemirovich it was obvious that the future of the Theater of Meyerhold was threatened, and at the same time, everyone knew that the Art Theater had Stalin's powerful support. In that situation you would think that Nemirovich would be sorely tempted to get rid of his daring opponent once and for all. What could be easier than to publicly accuse Meyerhold of some political crime? Quite simple. In those days everyone did it-or almost everyone.
But Nemirovich shunned as distasteful even the possibility of such an action. The old man couldn't even imagine how it might be possible.
Here is a typical episode. In 1 938, when Meyerhold's theater was shut on Stalin's personal command, an anti-Meyerhold campaign was smeared all over the pages of the press. This wasn't the first such campaign, but it was a particularly vicious one. They printed numerous articles as well as interviews with men of Soviet culture, who were united in their pleasure at an outstanding cultural event like the closing of a theater.
They called up Nemirovich and asked for an interview. The obnoxious newspaper people were sure that the old man wouldn't miss an 64
opportunity to dance on the fresh grave of his opponent. But Nemirovich refused, adding, "And it's stupid to ask me what I think about the closing of the Theater of Meyerhold. That's like asking the tsar what he thinks about the October Revolution."
To return to Glazunov, he did not like my . music, particularly the later music. He lived long enough to see the publication in Pravda and other papers of the article "Muddle Instead of Music." He was in Paris by then and no one from Pravda could come to him for an interview, but I'm certain that the old and sick Glazunov would not have said anything that would please them. There was no vileness in him.
An important circumstance for me personally was the fact that Glazunov never presented his thoughts and pronouncements in an administrative form, that is, what he said never sounded like a "directive from the director of the Conservatory." It is a great misfortune that he was the last director to behave that way. Let's not even mention what went on beyond the walls of the Conservatory, I mean in the field of culture and other areas.
In general, I'm grateful to the Conservatory. I got what I wanted from it. I didn't force myself to study. I can't say that everything went smoothly, for I lived in very difficult material circumstances and I was sickly. And then I had to make a difficult decision-would I be a pianist or a composer? I chose composing.
Rimsky-Korsakov used to say that he refused to acknowledge any complaints from composers about their hard lot in life. He explained his position thus: Talk to a bookkeeper and he'll start complaining about life and his work. Work has ruined him, it's so dull and boring.
You see, the bookkeeper had planned to be a writer but life made him a bookkeeper. Rimsky-Korsakov said that it was rather different with composers. None of them can say that he had planned to be a bookkeeper and that life forced him to become a composer.
It's that kind of a profession. You can't complain about it. If it's too tough, become a bookkeeper or a building manager. Don't worry, no one will force you to keep at the hard work of composing.
I had a period of doubt and despair when I was young. I decided that I couldn't compose music and that I would never write a single note. It was a difficult moment, which I would prefer not to think about. And indeed I wouldn't except for one thing. I burned a lot of 65
my manuscripts then. Imitating Gogol I was, silly young fool. Well, Gogol or no Gogol, I burned an opera then, The Gypsies, based on Pushkin's poem.