CHAPTER I part 3

THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD

Part 1 Part2 Part3 Part 4

 

Dostoevsky’s Novel-its Relation to the Opera: Act II

Aljeja’s friendship with Petrovič is one of the most beautiful episodes in the entire book, and the character of Aljeja himself is drawn with extraordinary delicacy and sympathy. Aljeja was the youngest of five brothers. "His smile was so confiding, so childishly trusting, his big black eyes were so soft, so caressing, that I always found a particular pleasure in looking at him, ever a consolation in my misery and depression", writes Petrovič in his alleged memoirs.

The reader may be curious to know how it came about that this simple-hearted youth could land among this den of thieves, thugs and cut-throats. It appeared that one of his elder brothers ordered him to take his sabre, mount horse, and go with them on some expedition. With the respect that a younger brother owes to an elder brother, Aljeja did not dream of asking what the expedition was or where they were going. It soon became evident that the elder brothers intended to rob and, if necessary, kill a rich merchant. And so it happened. All six brothers were caught, tried and sentenced to penal servitude in Siberia. Aljeja, being the youngest, received a shorter sentence. His touching story may be read in pages 56-60 of the novel.

As with the episode of the eagle, Janáček also presents this story in two stages: (a) a vicious attack on Aljeja at the end of Act II leads, naturally, to his hospitalization and to (b) the conversation between the wounded boy and his sympathetic friend about Jesus and his miracles. Readers of the novel will remember that Petrovič spent a considerable part of his imprisonment is the relatively congenial surroundings of the prison hospital.

The story of Lujza and the German watch-repairer is told on pp. 114-19, only the reciter is not Skuratov but one Bakluškin, described as one of the liveliest and most charming of the convicts. Like Skuratov, he is always in high spirits, good-natured and classed as a self-appointed entertainer, full of fire and life. In his initial plan for the opera Bakluškin was to be a lyric-tenor and it was only while writing the opera that Janáček thought of combining the two characters into a single person. They had much in common for they were both merry fellows who did their best to keep up the morale of the other prisoners. It is true that while the convicts neither despise nor detest Bakluškin for this, Skuratov overplays his act so much that they think of him as a foolish and useless person. His shrill crazy voice screaming out "La, la, la" and his wild outbursts of dancing get on the nerves of the other convicts who, at heart, are a very conservative lot of men. But this is a subtlety Janáček could afford to ignore.

Janáček has somewhat abbreviated the story of Bakluškin (Skuratov) and his love for the little German laundress, omitting altogether the events which immediately follow his shooting of the sausage-eating watch-repairer. He is not immediately arrested, as Lujza’s aunt is so frightened that at first she tells no one of the incident. Lujza searches out her soldier lover, throws herself on his neck crying that it is all her fault for listening to her aunt, that she truly loves him and will follow him anywhere. It is all the same in the end, of course, but the touching reunion of the lovers and their wishful hopes for a life together remind one of a similar mirage of hope and happiness just before Cavaradossi cheerfully faces the firing-squad in Puccini’s Tosca. The drunken convict who keeps interrupting the narrative with his cries of: "He keeps telling lies! Not a word of truth in it. It is all a lie! "is taken from quite a different part of the book, Chapter 10, pp. 132-3.

The Theatricals occur at Christmas and Dostoevsky gives details of the orchestra the convicts assembled for the performances: 2 violins which scraped and screeched, 2 home-made balalaikas which were wonderful, 2 guitar-players of whom one was a splendid performer ("the gentleman who had murdered his father!"): a tambourine "instead of a double-bass" (sic), and 2 accordions which were played with dash and fire.

"Kedril", the second of the pantomimes presented, is obviously a fragment with no meaning or consistency in it. Don Juan (the master) has a touch of Faust about him for we are told that he once made a pact with the Devil and -the hour of reckoning is at hand. Kedril (the servant) is the real hero of this hilarious sketch and his fooling and buffoonery, his "taking off" of his master, makes up the entire piece. Janáček added Elvira, the clergyman’s wife and a knight to the dramatis personae, bringing it more in line with the traditional Spanish legend and its subsequent dramatic and operatic treatment by Molière, Mozart and others. The little devil who returns to pinch the clergyman’s wife is an amusing touch (Janáček’s idea) similar to the humoresque postscript at the end of Rosenkavalier, when the little blackamoor page skips in to collect Sophie’s handkerchief. It was also Janáček’s idea to make the third visitor in "The Miller’s Wife Pantomime", Don Juan, disguised as a Brahmin and allow him to triumph over the husband and make a conquest of the amorous miller’s wife. For some reason the playwrights and librettists who have worked on the Don Juan theme have made their hero out to be really a singularly unsuccessful lover, despite his vigorous assertions to the contrary.

It may seem fantastic that convicts can get drunk in prison and have access to women. The novelist assures us, however, that arrangements with women were difficult but by no means impossible and, by setting the amatory scene between a young convict and Chekunda (see pp. 30-31) during the holiday festivities when guests-including women guests-had been invited, Janáček makes this scene out to be quite plausible. Vodka and other drinks were smuggled into the prison by so-called "publicans"-prisoners without any trade who undertook this dangerous task. Needless to say, there was never any lack of customers.

The drunk convict who keeps interrupting Skuratov’s tale is only one of several theatrical devices which Janáček introduces to keep his action alive, and to give an otherwise bald narrative an as it were fourth dimension: in Šapkin’s story there is Luka’s coughing and a group of convicts who kept asking if the Chief of Police was crazy. Luka’s dying coughs become louder and more ominous in the narrative which follows-the story of Akulka’s husband, and the eager interjection of the excited Čekunov and the snoring of the convicts bring a strong conviction of reality to these scenes.

The end of Act II is very cleverly handled by Janáček the librettist: in the last five minutes of the act several short vivid scenes succeed one another with the rapidity of a film sequence. First the sixty-second dialogue between the soldier and the prostitute (amorous); then the twenty-eight-word conversation between the smart-alec convict and the toothless old soldier (humorous); then the eight-measure song about the young Cossack (pathos) which, reduced to half its length, intrudes into the grim final scene where the aggressive bully taunts the two friends, assaulting one of them (tragedy). There are few five-minute sequences in all opera into which so much action and contrast are packed.

The Music of Act II

Musical themes in open fifths have been used before to represent pictorial effects, perhaps the most familiar example being at the beginning of the third act of La Boheme when snow is falling. The open fifths on flutes, as prelude to the wordless song at the beginning of the second act of The House of the Dead, may suggest to some a bleak and barren landscape which becomes warmer when the high tessitura of the song is heard: an oboe adds a pastoral touch when it repeats the plaintive phrase of the voice.

No. 12

One bar later, plucking strings duplicate the voice rhythms; this immediately becomes an instrumental theme in its own right

No. 13

and together with its inverted variation

No 13A

dominates the bustling and increasingly animated toccata-like introduction until the curtain rises.

The sound of a saw and a general feeling of restless activity prepare us for the scene of convicts hammering away at the boat they are breaking up. Janáček’s theme here is the descending three-note chromatic figure (A) of No. 13 repeated over and over again presto and harmonized in major triads. The hammers clang mechanically away in time to the music.

(A) of No. 13 is transformed out of all recognition, as Petrovič and the gentle Aljeja talk of Aljeja’s mother and sister. It begins quietly on legato strings and cor anglais, in moderato tempo and compound-triple time, with the major triads of the hammer sequence changing much more slowly. Janáček, who is almost as detached and objectively orientated from the characters he portrays as is Dostoevsky, allows himself a touch of compassion (or is it desperation?) when Aljeja speaks with emotion of his mother appearing to him in a dream. When he first mentions his mother a warm expressive arpeggio phrase is heard on the horn (see [5]-4). Petrovič eases the tension by quickly changing the subject and offering to teach the youth to read and write.

No. 14

This figure also accompanies the "Hou, Hou" chorus of the convicts as they resume their noisy hammering ([6]). The falling mast is somehow understood to be the signal for the festivities to begin: the convicts lustily shout "Holiday "to a chord bristling with flats and double flats [7]. While this gay little figure is tossed about in the orchestra

No. 15

we hear the peal of many bells, about double the number used in the already extravagant bell sequence in Tosca which perhaps suggested this idea of Janáček. Jaroslav Seda calls them Easter bells, another writer says they ring from the castle. Tosca is set in Rome, a city of churches, The House of the Dead is a Siberian prison where, one would imagine, the sound of a bell would be as rare as the sound of children laughing. No matter-if it is a bit far-fetched in the context of a verismo drama, we accept this (and other stagey or contrived effects such as the choral snoring of the prisoners, the organized laughing chorus and the unison beating of the hammers) because it provides contrast and colour in a stage piece which could be so easily monotonous and repetitive.

While the orchestra plays a grotesque march [9] with one of the longest tunes in the opera-four bars-Commandant, guests and guards arrive. A solemn peal of bells-the score calls for bells of twenty-five different pitches- "Greetings on this holiday" is the nearest to a blessing Janáček, who was a militant atheist to the day of his death, will allow his Priest. Music of hilarious gaiety follows (p. 70) (a jumpy three-note figure repeated ad infinitum): the Priest and Commandant leave as the orchestra plays the middle part of the processional March [11]. The three note figure continues to repeat itself while a military drum executes a long roll: great excitement: the same motif with the middle note of double value and phrased differently is heard at the introduction to Skuratov’s narrative [12]. The Skuratov themes in Act I, later reappearing in Act III, are not used at all in his Act II narrative. It is possible that the Skuratov dual motif (No. 9) referred to is associated in Janáček’s mind with the convict Skuratov as we see him -slightly mad-in his present wretched condition: and the new themes in the narrative are to be understood as being associated with the innocent young soldier and his tragic love affair. It is much more probable, however, that the music he composed for the narrative covers Bakluškin’s story: after which he decided to combine the two characters, liquidate Bakluškin and attribute the latter’s narrative to Skuratov. Bakluškin’s (Skuratov’s) theme is a single melodic thread in keeping with the simple, straightforward, honest, humble and likeable young soldier that he was. The unexpected supertonic major chord marked*

No. 16

is a charming harmonic touch. Figures A, B, C and D form themselves into appendix motifs: A at [13]+17, [14] and [17]-7: (B) and (C) at [14]-5 and (D) in many places but particularly between [17] and [18] and as ostinato bass from [17] + 6 to [18] where it persists like the ticking of a clock. The sad little melody of No 17 is always accompanied by the anxious ostinato figure in the bass denoting the young soldier’s troubled state of mind when Lujza fails to turn up.

Examples of interrelationship of themes in Šapkin’s story (see p. 72). (Universal Edition Score Act III [5] to [9].

No. 17

Figure A (in shorter notes, in imitation and in the whole tone scale) expresses his growing anxiety.

"But how could she deceive me!"

[16]-7 (return of the quiet No. 16).

"If you don’t come then I will "[16], a stronger presentation of No. 17 which becomes tender and tearful (at the Meno mosso) as Lujza sobs out, "Saša, I have a very rich cousin who wants to marry me."

No. 18

Janáček has seized on the point that the German who wishes to marry Lujza as a comfort for his old age is by profession a watch-repairer, so the orchestra itself for a time [17] to [18] becomes a conglomeration of ticking clocks.

Skuratov and the orchestra ignore the rude shouts of the drunken convict until, at [18], the by then weeping Skuratov flings himself on the annoying interrupter. This disturbance is neatly timed: it allows the hysterical Skuratov to vent his feelings: it keeps the audience on tenterhooks, waiting to hear the continuation of the story: it is a much-needed spot of action in a monologue. The diversion is welcomed, too, by the other convicts who make the "Hou! Hou!" sounds which replace whistling in the prison. The story continues with No. 16 deceptively calm (p. 83).

A new theme-a kind of sister theme to No. 16-on high winds with thick chords on trombone and tuba appears at [20] which seems to depict the madly jealous Skuratov barely able to stifle his jealous anger. It alternates with an anger motif at [19] and [21].

NO. 19

The ominous words "In case of trouble, I also took my pistol" are powerfully declaimed on a single note. The music works up to a big climax as Skuratov rants and shouts, reliving the revengeful scene of violence which cost him his freedom and lost him his Lujza.

But the convicts have heard quite enough of Skuratov and his misery. Today is a holiday and they mean to have fun while the going is good. Clapping their hands and stamping their feet, they sing some wild snatches of "Russian" folk-dances, consisting of two sixteen-beat phrases alternating ([22] + 7 and [22] + 15) .

They are particularly excited when it is announced that the first play is about to begin.

THE PLAY OF KEDRIL AND DON JUAN

Don Juan’s first encounter with the devils is pictured in brilliant, sparkling orchestral colours. The scurrying demisemiquaver pattern of (A)

No. 20

rises to middle register level, then flames out on piccolos (the composer requires four flutes, three of which must double on piccolos). The gay 20 (B), with derivatives, is tossed about defiantly in the orchestra. The devils’ music persists until the struggling Elvira is brought in: 20 (A) thunders out on three timpani as Don Juan attacks the devils with his dagger ([24]+1-4): it shivers on lower strings when the servant trembles with fear; it pierces out in three-part harmony on flutes and piccolo as Don Juan commands Kedril to serve his supper and to hell with the devils.

Scene 2 of the pantomime (Con moto [25]-12) begins with a similar dual theme to Act I, No. 5.

No. 21

The knight storms in to the broken arpeggio in the lower voice (B of No. 10) played presto. The short duel is cleverly managed by Janáček: (A) of No. 21 on strings and in a slower tempo admirably suggests the combatants cautiously circling round one another, then, as they lurch at each other with swords, the tempo changes from a moderato "to a spirited 9 with the arpeggio figure (B) riding vigorously at top: this alternation of the two themes continues until the death of the knight. Seldom have sword clashes been so précisely indicated!

No 21A

Elvira runs away as Don Juan cleans his sword-the romping arpeggio figure from [25] which, a moment later, rages triumphantly (piccolo, etc.) on top of heavy brass chords, across the beats of a 6/4 tutti-as Kedril drags off the body of the slain knight.

Interlude 1 (p. 96, bars 5-10)

The ostinato four-note figure of the devils’ music (No. 20 A) is heard a few times in sixths, as the ever-resourceful servant returns with food, pushing in the ugly cobbler’s wife.

Scene 3. Don Juan finds her disgusting (twisting little figure at [26] above a sequence of 6/4 major chords) whereas the cobbler’s wife wants to be amorous (sentimental phrase in double thirds at [26] + 5-6 and 9-10) and at a nod from his master Kedril throws her out.

Interlude 2 (p. 97 up to un poco piu mosso)

After three introductory bars of a new three-note figure which overlaps with itself, the arpeggio motif (B of No. 21) enters and-mainly as a two-bar phrase-rises sequentially intertwining with the new overlapping three-note figure,

Scene 4, last line p. 97 till [30].

A happy lilting motif in B major-with its echoed variant-indicates that the clergyman’s wife is fair game for sport.

No. 22

It alternates with the less ardent two-bar phrase of Interlude 2.

At [28] the piercing devils’ music is resumed and sure enough we see them creeping out again. Don Juan shouts his defiance at them (a variation of the waltz tune No. 22) but they overwhelm him and carry him off as the same waltz tune-again slightly varied-appears with an interesting quaver group in the bass. At top of p. 100 Kedril takes control: the skittish quaver group continues alternating with the clergyman’s wife’s tune (No. 22) now with a new broken arpeggio figure in the accompaniment which becomes an ostinato chuckling figure on violin and flute during the ensuing laughing chorus (pp. 101-2). It also depicts the cheeky little devil who returns to pinch the clergyman’s wife.

Laughing Interlude

Oboe and muted trumpet, then horn and cor anglais, alternately double the vocal "Chi-Chi, Cho-Cho" (compare with [29]-1) hilarity of the convicts who have been immensely amused at the broad humour of the pantomime they have just witnessed. The phrase lengths here are 4 (2+2-D flat major), 3 (G flat major), 5 (E major), 4 (A flat major where a second laughing motif is introduced) and 4 (D flat major) in a steady crescendo.

Kedril announces the second pantomime to two bars of devils’ music.

MUSIC OF THE PANTOMIME

"THE BEAUTIFUL MILLER S WIFE"

Scene 1. The Scheherazade-like theme of the Miller’s wife dominates the music of the pantomime: it is a pert, quasi-Russian folk-song of three bars (representing the wife) first heard on clarinet with plucking harp and string accompaniment in the key of E minor, and is immediately repeated forte in G major (representing the No-nonsense-when-I-am-away Miller). This pattern of alternate piano and forte entries occurs four times passing through C major, E flat minor and B major.

No. 23

Note the subtle displacement of accents in the repetitions of the first five notes (compare (A) and (B)) . As the Miller leaves we hear the tune unharmonized in a quicker tempo extended by repetitions and ending on an E flat trill.

Scene 2. The wife begins to spin (her demure little tune steadied up in A flat minor): there is a tentative knock at the door (timid xylophone taps) as a nervous little scale passage dissolves back into the E flat trill; the phrase is repeated (she is surprised). We now hear a warm and richer presentation of (A) of No. 23 which expands as the amorous neighbour enters. Flute and oboe play the tune as the lovers embrace [32], then, rather grotesquely, a bassoon as they kiss. Further xylophone knocks: the frightened wife hides her visitor under the table (piu mosso) as a solo piccolo twice plays the tune which goes over-with the expansive extension-to an E flat clarinet: an agitated little four-note figure keeps scurrying about on celesta and violin. The Miller’s wife composes herself, although the demisemiquaver runs before [33] (compare with [31]+11) tell us that inwardly she is anything but calm.

Scene 3. As the clerk and wife bow to each other the orchestra plays this more sedate motif in canon

No. 24

(derived from [31] + 18 and 19). After four repetitions (2+2), figure (A) is worked up, as the clerk approaches the Miller’s wife. Another knock: confusion: the clerk hides in a chest-a new two-bar agitato figure alternately on winds and strings repeated four times, leads into a series of trills as the Brahmin enters. Above, steady crotchet chords (p. 107-key D flat major) the clarinet plays the wife’s familiar theme: violins take it up, then piccolo in an extended form. Six heavy bangs on the bass-drum announce the return of the Miller. Great confusion. Another ostinato four-note figure appears and combines with the wife’s tune-slightly varied-as she pretends to spin. The Miller kicks in the door (crash on the bass-drum)-looks suspiciously around (same tune in a steadier tempo, then trill sequences as at [34])-finds the first two lovers and throws them out (repeat of wife theme combined with agitato ostinato figure, followed by further development of the theme fortissimo) .

As Don Juan climbs out from his hiding-place we hear the screaming devils’ music from the first pantomime. The devils themselves appear and the Miller collapses. This new one-bar motif

No. 25

may or may not represent the persistency of the devils: a stage direction states where the devils are to creep out but there are no further indications as to whether they disappear with the collapse of the Miller or circle around Don Juan and the Miller’s wife in their ensuing dance, as the constant presence of this figure in the bass somewhat suggests.

Don Juan and the Miller’s wife dance round to the waltz tune from p. 99 bars 7-10 (and always with No. 25 gnawing away in a lower octave) which alternates with an allegro unharmonized presentation of the jolly wife’s tune, she being delighted at the new turn of events. The pantomime concludes with a six-bar Coda from [37].

Finale (A) (pp. 112-13)

The thirty-seven seconds scene between the soldier and prostitute is set to singularly unromantic music, with a staccato piping figure in double octaves (p. 1 12) and a jerky little figure at [38]. One gets the impression that the couple are a little self-conscious (note hesitations at bars [38] + 1, 3, 5, 7).

The rougher banter (p. 1 14) between Šapkin and the old convict is even shorter (duration-seventeen seconds). In the background we hear choral harmonies to "Aj! Oj!" from the convicts which also accompany the dirge-like song of the young Cossack [39] tinged with a similar sadness, despair and poignancy of the Simpleton’s song in Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov.

No.26

The next number in this sequence of contrasting scenes, appearing and disappearing at breakneck speed, is where the fat little convict becomes insulting and aggressive to Petrovič and Aljeja. It begins with a three-note figure (p. 115, bar 7) consisting of a widely spaced open fifth and a contrasting 6 major chord, which persists right up to the assault on Aley and, indeed, with further variations, to the end of the act.

The conclusion, sforzando and long trill on a solo military drum, reminds one of the even more startling effect at the end of Tosca, Act II: here the military drum is obviously linked with the action or the guards who force the prisoners back into the barracks.

The Story of Act III

The first scene of this act is set in the prison hospital where we see a number of occupied camp beds. Among the patients is the wounded Aljeja; Petrovič sits beside him. In the background, we can see an old convict sitting on a stove. The time is towards evening. The young Mussulman, Aljeja, has proved an apt pupil of Petrovič for in only a few weeks he has mastered parts of a Russian translation of the New Testament-one of the few books permitted in prison. He can also write. Petrovič asks Aljeja what passages he liked best in the "Sermon on the Mount" they had been reading together. "The part where it says one should love even one’s enemies", the feverish Aljeja replies with enthusiasm: "Jesus was a prophet of God and he worked great miracles. He made a bird out of clay, breathed on it and it flew away."

Another patient named Čekunov brings in tea for the two friends. In one of the beds Luka is lying; although he is dangerously ill the sight of Čekunov "toadying" to Petrovič and his friend is too much for him and he watches the scene indignantly. "Ugh, a flunky! He’s found a master!" he gasps out, his voice broken with emotion. Čekunov makes a contemptuous rejoinder. "Listen, you good people "continues Luka addressing the ward at large, "he cannot see that he’s nothing but a serf!" "What business is it of yours anyway?" replies Čekunov heatedly, "can’t you understand that these gentlemen are used to having servants, so why shouldn’t I help them, you shaggy-faced fool? "The slanging match continues in the tough and noisy manner we have now learned to expect as almost normal conversation between some of the convicts. The dying Luka keeps on nagging until a terrible fit of coughing puts a stop to him. This coughing distresses the old convict who is sitting on the stove, and he finds comfort by muttering a few words of prayer. Several of the convict-patients sit down on a bed at back-stage. Šapkin remarks that there are more painful things than a cough- "Having your ears pulled for a long time, for instance." "Is that why your ears stand out so?" he is asked jestingly: "Who pulled them?" "Why, the Chief of Police, of course."

Šapkin’s is a droll tale about himself and other ‘Soldiers in General Cuckoo’s service’ (by which he means they lived in the woods, that is, they were all tramps). Together they planned a housebreaking job but, alas, all five of them were caught and taken to a police station. "Such is life! Such is life! "Šapkin sighs philosophically. But, he assures us, tramps are cagey birds. They experience convenient lapses of memory which not even chopping wood on their heads will rectify. "Who are you?" the Captain barks out at Šapkin. "I don’t really know, your honour, I have forgotten", Šapkin replies. The Captain looks more closely at him: he seems to have seen this face before. Passing on to the other tramps he demands to have their names. "Grab-it-and-run-away, your honour", replies one rascal; "I-follow-him, your honour", says another: "Hatchet, your honour": "Quick-Sharpener". The Captain laughs and hustles them off to jail, all of them, that is, except Šapkin. It appears that the police are looking for a clerk who absconded with government money. The circulated description of the man states that his ears stuck out. So the Captain, suspicious of Šapkin, brings him pen and paper and commands him to write. "Have mercy, your honour", cries Šapkin, who can neither read nor write. "Write as best you can", commands the Captain, taking hold of the luckless Šapkin’s ears and pulling and twisting them. The best that the tramp can do is to move the pen meaninglessly over the surface of the paper. "Was he crazy or something?" some convicts ask, rising from the camp bed at the back. "He jolly well nearly pulled my ears off", concludes Šapkin amid general laughter. This light-hearted divertimento throws into high relief the grim tragedy of Akulka which we are shortly to hear.

It appears that the convict who did the mad song-and-dance act towards the beginning of the opera, later telling us the pathetic tale of his love for Lujza and his murder of the German watch-repairer, has now really gone mad. Skuratov rises from his bed dancing about, shouting "Lujza, oh, Lujza! "at the top of his voice and reliving the terrible moment when he shot his rival. The convicts tell him angrily to shut up. When he keeps on, they catch him and hold him down on his bed. It grows dark in the hospital ward, the convicts quieten down and gradually fall asleep. The old man on the stove has lit a candle. "My darling little children, I shall never see you again", he wails, and calls on God to have mercy upon him.

Cerevin and a young convict named Šiškov sit up in their beds. Dostoevsky speaks of Sigkov as being short and thin, a cowardly, mawkish fellow, very quarrelsome with restless eyes who, while telling his story, gesticulates wildly with his hands.

A rich landowner, Ankudim, has a wife, two young sons and a daughter, Akulka, who is 18. He is a highly respectable member of his community and very religious. His business partner has just died and the son of this partner, Filka Morozov, as thoroughgoing a scoundrel as one can imagine, is forthright in demanding 400 roubles as his share of his father’s property. "I won’t be your slave, old man, never fear ", he shouts angrily at Ankudim. "I mean to have a good time, get drunk, spend every bean I have got and when it’s gone, join the army and you will see in 10 years I return as a field-marshal." The old man pays up but cannot resist telling him that he is a lost soul. "Whether I am lost or not, you old greybeard, I don’t need you to teach me how to drink milk with an awl", retorts the incensed Filka Morozov. "Don’t think I will ever marry your daughter, Akulka, now! Why should I? I have slept with her often enough as it is. "Ankudim is appalled at this insult to the honest daughter of an honest father. He trembles with rage and angrily demands to know more. "I will take good care your daughter won’t easily find a husband", Filka Morozov continues. "No one is likely to want her when he knows I have been carrying on with her for years." This is a terrible blow to the religious old man, who breaks down.

When Šiškov first mentions the name of Akulka, Cerevin eagerly asks him if she was his wife. Šiškov tells him not to interrupt him. There are several such interruptions by Cerevin and always he is told to hold his tongue and not rush the speaker. Luka’s dying coughs also punctuate the tale at appropriate places, but whereas the anxious interruptions of Cerevin are of a humorous nature, Luka’s terrible coughing is later proved to be of the highest dramatic significance.

So, Filka Morozov paints the town red. Šiškov and he are buddies and at Filka Morozov’s suggestion they get a pot of tar and smear it on Akulka’s gate. Her parents turn harshly on their unfortunate daughter: they beat her from morning till night-neighbours hear her screaming: her mother says she will kill her for bringing this terrible disgrace on their family.

The troubled snoring of the sleeping convicts is heard in gentle three-part choral harmony. Šiškov continues his story: the two vicious and spiteful louts shout insults at Akulka when they see her in the street. Even while tormenting her, Šiškov does not fail to notice that she has remarkably fine eyes. Akulka’s mother happens to see the incident but imagines that her daughter is flirting with the two raw youths and she makes the girl suffer for it. Šiškov’s mother - who works for Ankudim’s family-gets an idea. Why shouldn’t her son marry Akulka, lazy dog that he is, and get a dowry of 300 roubles? They would be glad to marry her off to almost anybody now! The idea appeals to Šiškov. Filka Morozov, on the other hand, is mad and threatens that if he does go ahead with the plan and marries Akulka, he, Filka Morozov, will beat him up and sleep with his wife any time he likes. But the wedding comes off although the bridegroom has been drunk for weeks past. "In our part of the country", explains Šiškov, "they take us straight to the bridal chamber immediately after the ceremony while the guests drink outside." The bride sat quietly on the bed with not a drop of blood in her cheeks, frightened and miserable: the bridegroom had brought a whip with him to show her, right at the start, who was to be master. Then it turned out that the bride was pure and innocent. Why had his friend slandered her with his filthy lies? He kneels down and humbly begs his wife’s forgiveness. Her parents are filled with remorse and pity for the innocent daughter they had so wronged and Šiškov goes off fighting-mad to find Filka Morozov and kill the slanderer. But Filka Morozov says to him contemptuously: "You fool, you were dead drunk when you got married. You were in no state to know about this one way or the other." So, things turn out worse than ever for Akulka: her enraged, humiliated husband beats her continually; even when he feels sorry for her he continues to beat her and he blames his mother for promoting the match, telling her that her ears were stopped with gold.

Meanwhile, Filka Morozov has been enjoying himself hugely. He has hired himself out to a storekeeper to replace his eldest son as a soldier. In such cases, it is customary to allow complete freedom to their benefactor. The roisterer, Filka Morozov, takes full advantage of his opportunities; sleeping with the daughter, pulling the father’s beard, having a daily bath in vodka and generally behaving like the unspeakable blackguard he is. At last they managed to sober him up and he is taken off to be a soldier. Just then, he sees Akulka, bows humbly to her, and says: "Forgive me, honest daughter of an honest father, for I have been a scoundrel to you and everything is my fault. You are my soul. I have loved you for two years and now they are taking me away to be a soldier. "Akulka listened to him in silence, then she also made a low curtsey, replying: "Forgive me also, my dear lad, I have already forgotten any evil you have done me."

Šiškov followed her into the house. "What was that you said to him, you bitch?" he demanded, bursting with anger. Quite calmly she answered back- "Why, I love him now more than anything else in the world." Next morning Šiškov told his wife to get up and come with him to the harvesting.

At the point in the story where the loutish husband is telling how he cruelly beat his newly wedded wife, some of the convicts tell him to shut up not because they object to a husband beating his wife but because they cannot sleep for his ranting. The tender-hearted Aljeja, however, is moved at the pitiful story. The terrible coughing of Luka suddenly stops: he has just died. The old convict notices this and goes slowly over to the corpse. Šiškov concludes his story. He tells how he harnessed the horses, drove some miles into the wood, told Akulka to say her prayers as he was going to kill her, then grabbed her by the hair, took out a knife and cut her throat. The old convict tells the others that Luka is dead. They hurry over to the corpse and crowd round it as the guards and a doctor come in. One convict closes Luka’s eyes, another puts a rough wooden cross on his breast: the guards remove the fetters from his feet. Šiškov, who has been gazing intently at the dead Luka, suddenly recognizes him to be the Filka Morozov of his story-the man who so utterly ruined his life. "Filthy swine! Filthy swine!" he shouts at the dead man in a terrible outburst of anger.

The officer of the guard salutes the body and the old convict says gently, "He too had a mother", words which, Dostoevsky recounts, stabbed him to the heart.

A guard turns to Petrovič telling him he must follow him. The Commandant wants him. Aljeja embraces his friend. The convicts speculate as to what this unexpected summons can mean.

The curtain falls: during the orchestral interlude which follows we hear the characteristic "Hou! Hou!" of the convicts, the clanking of their chains and the sounds of their working tools.

The curtain rises on the same scene as Act I: it is a bright sunny morning and the convicts are preparing to go off to work. The hospital can be seen in the background. Petrovič is brought in by the guards. The Commandant of the camp enters: he is half drunk. He tells Petrovič that he is sorry for what he did to him when he first entered the prison. He had him flogged for nothing, nothing at all and regrets having done this. Petrovič answers that he understands. "Do you understand that I, I, your Commanding Officer ask you for forgiveness?", continues the maudlingly magnanimous officer. "Do you know what that means? To me you are less than a worm . . . infinitely less . . . you are a convict! And I, by the grace of God, am a major. Can you understand that?" Petrovič again assures him that he fully understands. The Major now comes to the point of the business and asks Petrovič if he, by any chance, had any dream last night. The latter replies that in his dream he received a letter from his mother. "It is something much better than that", continues the governor: "You are free! Your mother has petitioned in your favour and her appeal has been granted." He hands Petrovič his discharge and the fetters are removed from his feet. The astonished Petrovič is congratulated by the convicts. Aljeja alone is in despair at the thought of losing his wonderful friend. Will they ever meet again, is the thought foremost in the minds of both. In a moment of ecstatic emotion Petrovič kisses the chains which now no longer bind his feet-they have taught him the meaning of freedom. The big convict who kept the eagle in the cage suddenly decides to release it. As the eagle soars up into the sky, the convicts enviously watch its flight and they sing a short paean to the Freedom which most of them are never destined to know.

This effective end to the opera was arranged by Osvald Chlubna and břetislav Bakala (who conducted the first performance of the opera) at the request of Ota Zítek (Director of the Brno Opera Theatre).

Janáček cut short the Hymn to Freedom and concluded his opera with the guards harassing the wretched prisoners back to another day’s toil.

Dostoevsky’s Novel-its Relation to the Opera: Act III

Dostoevsky devotes the first three chapters in the second part of his novel to his experiences in the prison hospital. He relates that although the beds were never free from bugs, that his filthy dressing-gown was full of lice, that the sanitary arrangements in the ward were utterly disgusting, that even the most diseased prisoner had still to wear his fetters, and so on, nevertheless, hospital life was infinitely more tolerable than life in the prison barracks. He speaks with enthusiasm of the kindness and the humanity of the doctors.

It has already been pointed out that the touching little scene between Aljeja and Petrovič at the beginning of this act was taken from an earlier part of the book (pp. 59-60). In the composer’s stage adaptation we have seen how he gave an unexpected dramatic twist to the conclusion of Act II when the pugnacious little convict assaulted Ayeja. This leads, naturally enough, to the injured boy being next seen in the prison hospital, although no reason is given for Petrovič’s appearance there. Anyway, it shows Janáček’s skill as a dramatist in making the deep and sincere friendship between the innocent young Tartar and the mature and cultured political prisoner a major motif in his opera. It may seem ironic that in the company of murderers, robbers, beggars and thugs, any incident so trivial as drinking a cup of tea could inflame tempers and rouse passions to such an extraordinary pitch. It has already been mentioned that most of the convicts had a highly inflamed sense of class consciousness, the tramps and peasants never failing to taunt the "gentlemen "in the camp at any display -real or imaginary-of their "wealth "and "superiority".

It does, however, seem a little repetitive that Janáček has made tea-drinking the subject of two consecutive quarrels in his opera when there are plenty of other causes for dispute among the convicts mentioned in the book.

The scene immediately following the tender passage between the two friends-continuing Janáček’s plan of contrasting consecutive scenes-is to be found in the first hospital chapter (pp. 156-7). The dying convict there is a soldier called Ustyantsev who, from fear of corporal punishment, drank a jug of vodka heavily loaded with snuff, which has brought on consumption. We now know that Janáček is going to identify Luka with the primitive Filka Morozov thus making Luka a very composite character. This compression of several characters into one is not only fully justified, but is, in fact, a necessity in making a stage play from this rambling autobiographical novel with its 200-odd characters. The pious old convict sitting on the stove can be identified on p. 152 and his lament over the children he will never see again on p. 36.

Šiškov’s explanation of why his ears stick out is on pp. 191-4. The operatic version takes over the entire humorous dialogue very slightly shortened. Janáček links Šapkin’s story to the quarrel of Cerevin and the dying Luka, with Šapkin saying that there are more painful things than coughing-getting your ears pulled, for instance.

The interruptions of Šapkin’s recital by other convicts in the ward-later from the guards and Doctor-break up what otherwise would be an accompanied recitative, and are further evidence of Janáček’s sense of "theatre ".

Skuratov’s heart-rending cries of "Oh, Lujza! Oh, Lujza! "are made even more so when accompanied by his grotesque mad little dance. This scene, which continues with the convicts pouncing on Skuratov, is Janáček’s own invention although rough-house incidents of this type are common enough in the novel.

We now arrive at the centre-piece of the opera and a very important part of the book, for it is the only convict’s story to which Dostoevsky allocates an entire chapter-the long and terrible tale of Akulka’s husband. The convicts falling asleep, the heavy breathing of the dying convict, the dim light of the night-lamp, the two convicts whispering together in the dark, all is described in the opening paragraphs of the chapter referred to (p. 195), which inspired the short orchestral interlude Janáček has inserted between the two convict stories.

Dostoevsky described Šiškov as being under 30, an unlikeable, shallow, sullen, gawky, rude fellow, cowardly and mawkish. He stands in violent contrast to his wife Akulka, with her simple-hearted innocence in love, and almost childlike humility, and entire submission uncomplainingly to a cruel and harsh destiny. In the chapter discussing Kátja  Kabanová we shall find that the heroine of that opera has much in common with the gentle and longsuffering Akulka, as the spoilt, possessive, bullying mother-in-law has with Akulka’s husband.

Janáček’s condensation of Šiškov’s story is a first-rate bit of craftsmanship: his idea of making the dying Luka the evil genius of the tale in disguise is a dramatic stroke of genius, particularly when he follows this up with the action of Akulka’s husband carrying his insane hate of the man who ruined his life so far as to assault the corpse of his enemy with curses on his lips. No such dramatic twist, of course, occurs in the book for the tale ends with the recipient of the story, the phlegmatic Cerevin, casually observing that when he found his wife with a lover, he beat her into submission till finally she cried "I will wash your feet and drink the water".

Dostoevsky calls Cerevin a sullen pedant, a cold formalist and a conceited fool, which is borne out by his comments when Šiškov-at the height of his passion-cuts his wife’s throat: "There is a vein, you know; if you don’t cut through that vein straight away, a man will go on struggling and won’t die, however much blood is lost!"

A guard tells Petrovič that he is wanted by the Commandant-a necessary link added by Janáček leading up to Petrovič’s release. On p. 274 of the book the writer states that he entered the prison in winter and also left it in winter: so the usual manner of staging Act II in summer, in between two acts set in winter, is most likely the intention of the composer. Vogel has pointed out that Janáček was sometimes extremely careless in such details.

The confession of the Major that he had wrongfully ordered Petrovič a beating occurs on p. 259, but it concerns a prisoner named "Z". It seems that, as time went on, the Major had completely reversed his views on political prisoners and, indeed, began to show a bias favourable towards them. "So even this drunken, vicious man had some humane feeling", comments Dostoevsky, though he adds cautiously that probably his drunken condition had a good deal to do with his magnanimity.

The reason for Petrovič’s release is to be found on a page earlier in the novel, but again about a different prisoner "M". The freeing of the eagle, which in its flight has not looked round once, completes Chapter 6, and one notes that, after the release of the eagle, the guards shout at the convicts and drive them off to work, which is how Janáček wished his opera to end.

In spite of this, it is probably better to use the alternative end of the printed score and the chorus in praise of "Freedom, New Life, Resurrection from the Dead!" which is how Dostoevsky concludes his novel.

The Music of Act III

Orchestral Prelude (p. 120 to [2])

After some rumbles in the bass, we hear a kinder, gentler, more humane variation of the Destiny motif which we remember from Act I, but which made no appearance in Act II. Here is the theme as heard at rise of curtain-on violas with celli and bass-clarinet two octaves lower-

No. 27

More timpani rumblings and a caressing, delicate motif with a touch of the Orient about it makes its appearance, a motif associated with the charming young Tartar, Aljeja, in the opening scene.

No. 28

This quickly works up to a climax where brass triumphantly declaim the Freedom motif which we hear with such welcoming relief at the end of the opera-

No. 29

SCENE 1. ALJEJA AND Petrovič DISCUSS THE TEACHING OF JESUS ([2] to [3])

The orchestra plays No. 28 widely spaced as Aljeja speaks with enthusiasm of the teachings of Jesus: the music becomes warm, serene, exalted when, with feverish enthusiasm, he recounts the legend of the clay bird which flew away.

SCENE 2. QUARREL BETWEEN Čekunov AND LUKA ([3] TO P. 126, BAR 11)

Midway through this bickering scene this theme

No. 30

seems to characterise the unctuous servility of the opportunist, Čekunov. Note that the rising and falling contours of the Fate motif are again present here in skeleton. When the two convicts make unpleasant comments on the physical appearance of the other, it appears forte in notes three times shorter as a kind of "Snarl" motif (see [4]).

The last three notes are declaimed with mock dignity in the top and bottom scoring so characteristic of this opera (trumpets and violins on top; muted trombones and doublebass at bottom) when Luka says proudly that he wouldn’t bow the knee to anyone (p. 126, bars 6-7).

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