Previously, I have been under the impression that Russian culture values, or is at least deeply entertained, by the virtues of cunning and guile, as established by the Gogol reading. Eugene Onegin both subverts and promotes. It features a character who well and truly falls for what appears to be his own lie. At some time prior to the plot of the Opera, he has convinced himself he is unworthy of love, or is perhaps incapable of giving it. By the end, it is revealed that is is, on some level, a self deception when Onegin admits his love for Tatyana. And in the end, he pays the price.

The whole idea of the Russian mind imposing itself onto reality in the form of subterfuge of course can be seen in Boris Godunov, but here, such warping takes the shape of denial. This interested me because it affirms the link between deception and suffering. In the case of both Onegin and Godunov, truth is kicked around and mutilated with disastrous results. And yet, such tragedies act as affirmations of the Russian identity.

On a side note, I appreciated the musical bits we were assigned for this particular section. I noticed with many of them (especially with some of the gentler ones such as “I Loved you Once”) that the musicians (or composer) seemed to take great liberties with tempo. This isn’t too unusual for Romantic pieces of music in general, but it still interested me because these works also frequently contained rapid notes beneath the lethargic, changeable tempos. I was drawn the most to Evening Bells for this reason.

Perhaps it comes with being a Russian major, but I have become obsessed with Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin ever since I first read it. Maybe it is that the story found me at a certain moment of fleeting youth. Just as Eugene laments at his youthful years passing, it is hard for me not to reflect on my own time here at Bowdoin. I don’t think about the time I have wasted, but instead about the tragedy Pushkin points out: that no matter how the time was spent there is no way to recover it. I believe that why Eugene Onegin is as resonating today as it was when it was first published has much to do with the story’s conclusion. Much like Eugene and Tatiana must reflect on their choices, their missed timings, their youthful rashness, we too realize that the decisions of our past stalk our present, decisions which are impossible to renege.

Any visual adaptation is left with a near impossible task of how to portray the ending of Eugene Onegin, its tragic conclusion of the two old lovers coming to terms with their unbraided fates. Within the verse of the poem, the author’s self-reflection and interruption of the prose provides a fitting conclusion, “oh, much, to much you’ve stolen, Fate!”

The opera we watched for class lacks this narrator like voice, instead granting the viewer a sense of conclusion using cinematographic techniques. In the final scene of the movie where Tatiana and Eugene meet each other again, the camera intentionally alters between shots of them together and displaying them separately as individuals. This tension between who is included in the frame echoes the dialogue and turmoil between the two lovers. By bouncing between shots of them together and their individual faces the film develops tension in the visual space. The frame separates and pulls together the fated lovers, much like two different sides of a magnet. This tension persists till the film’s ending, were the two are separated on either side of the door, the closing shot altering between Eugene’s face and Tatiana’s. By concluding the film as such, the opera fortifies visually the two lover’s ultimate separation.

Tchaikovsky’s Opera rendition of the Russian classic “Eugene Onegin” surprisingly disappointed me. The original poem is probably my favorite work of Russian literature to date, and it was the first text that got me involved with Russian culture. Probably my favorite aspects of the book were the idea of the Russian “superfluous man,” the stylized Pushkin’s own dialogue (especially the wacky elements of it i.e. the love of feet), and how the text was portrayed through the third person Eugene perspective. The Opera version of this text mostly scraps all those aspects, and, in my opinion, ruins Eugene’s character in the first half of this Opera. There is one section in the dinner sequence where Tanya says that she “cannot understand Eugene’s behavior,” which I feel is a very appropriate (and ironic) response. The poem focuses on Eugene’s superfluous tendencies seen through his almost constant remarks of boredom, how easily he gets bored of his Uncle’s massive library, and how he even gets bored of being a playboy after consistently using them to fill his own void. His treatment of Tanya in this text doesn’t give the proper context for why Eugene denies Tanya. He states that it’s because “a married life would mean us torment,” but this sentence doesn’t make sense unless the viewer knows that it’s because Eugene gets bored of EVERYTHING if he has to deal with it for long enough. In a sense, I see this choice to veto the beginning of the poem as a way to romanticize and dramatize the work even further than original. The Opera is portrayed through Tanya’s perspective, a character who is engulfed by her love of french romance novellas, and this leads to the work being more dramatic. This is most evident in the dinner scene where Eugene and Lensky have a verbal disagreement, which gains a massive crowd and causes Olga to faint, rather than the letters they originally sent each-other. Overall, the second half of the Opera was far more faithful to the text. I love how in the ending the viewer comes to understand love as a sacrifice in Russian culture rather than a gift, but I was disappointed with the entire work

In Pushkin’s poems “Arion,” “The Poet,” and “Exegi Monumentum,” there was a remarkable consistency in message surrounding the role and power of the written word. In “Arion,” Pushkin depicts himself as a “secret singer” on a boat with a “skillful helmsman”. When the ocean suddenly becomes rough “all were lost” except for Pushkin, who is able to peacefully “dry in the sun”. The fact that the only differentiator between Pushkin and the rest of the crew is his ability to “sing [his] anthems,” seems to indicate that this quality is the one that saved him from the storm. Pushkin goes more explicitly into the power of his words in “The Poet” and “Exegi Momentum”. He describes a poet’s sensibilities saying, “Yet once the god-engendered word/But touches on the vivid senses,/The poet’s soul awakens.” However, the impact of this “awakening” is that “Before the idol of the nation/He is too proud to bend his knees.” The contrast between the words “god” and “idol” are telling, especially the fact that Pushkin equates “god” with the poet’s word and “idol” with the nation. The “word” is the truly divine, while the “nation,” and therefore the Tsar, is a false god that definitionally should not be worshipped. Pushkin expands on this potentially heretical and treasonous idea in “Exegi Momentum”. He states describes his theoretical monument stating, “Czar Alexander’s column it exceeds/in splendid insubmissive height.” The fact that a creation of Pushkin’s not only “exceeds” that of the Czar but does so “insubmissively” is an indisguised act of defiance. Pushkin then makes clear that his “monument” is related to his mastery of language by stating that his “sprit will survive,/and my sublunar fame will dwell as long/as there is one last bard alive.” Here, the “bard” harkens back to the “singer” in “Arion,” and has a similar type of power. Pushkin’s “spirit” and “fame” will live on as long as there is a “bard” to preserve them. This image also returns to the life-giving nature of story-tellers also brought up in “Arion”. In “Arion,” “The Poet,” and “Exegi Momentum,” Pushkin simultaneously praises the divine, life-giving nature of the poetic word while placing it above the Tsar’s own divinity and power.

In response to the video on Russian folk dancing, I find that intentionality is significant in both  performances. With the distinct attention to details, these performances highlight different aspects of Russian culture and ideology. Specifically, I’d like to draw attention to the ways in which the separation of genders, clothing, and choreography are used to reinforce their purpose in portraying aspects of Russian life.

First, I’d like to focus on the lighthearted, energetic, and uplifting tone of both performances. With the accompaniment of interchanging musical arrangements and dances, there is a heightened sense of precision and  correlation enjoyed by the spectator. In this level of  attention for detail, the choreography and costume design highlight the aesthetic reciprocality and symmetry of such performances by male and female performers. The overall intent  to provide entertainment and joy for the spectator is accomplished in this way.

Additionally,  both performances begin with the separation of genders to illuminate the progression of love, which in itself, brings about an air of lightheartedness and energy. The collective and individual dances of the performers build upon the theme of love by alluding to  courtship. This is most evident when a male or female performer goes among the other sex  and dances elaborately– gaining their attention before returning to their group. As the performances continue, the separation of men and women is broken and replaced with female and male performers linking arms and dancing together to show collective unity– which could be further interpreted as the fulfillment of love.

As for clothing, the use of bright, elaborately designed garments further accentuates the tones of lightheartedness,  providing visual entertainment for the spectator. The use of color also differentiates the genders, as women wear similarly colored dresses with few variations, as is the same for men.

Lastly, in the last minutes of the performance by the second dance group, the eye for perfection is most notable in the flawlessness of the choreography of both female and male groups. This impeccability further adds to the visual spectacle of the performance. In these ways,  Russian folk dances have purpose in showing varying levels of Russian ideology and culture.

I will analyze the use of sound elements within Pushkin’s “Rusland and Ludmila” and the folk songs. Firstly, Pushkin includes many details relating to sound in his text. During the celebratory moments of the text, before the wedding, descriptive words such as the “cheer of spirit,” “hum and hubub,” and “tuneful singing” to convey joy (131). Sound descriptors are also used to indicate a change in the tale’s tone as the story transitions to the peaceful and harmonious atmosphere of Rusland and Ludmila’s bedroom using words such as “hush,” “lovelorn whispers,” and “sounds of kisses” (133). Finally, sound is used to convey negative emotions and tumult during the story. Silence is used to convey fear when Ludmila disappears, loud noises (“clash” and “thudding”) are used to convey conflict when Ruslan goes into battle, and ominous sounds such as “churchyard tones” and “slow soliloquy” to convey a tone of mourning. These descriptors allow the tale’s plot and progression to be illustrated. 

To further analyze the use of sound in Russian folk culture, the Russian folk songs also convey a similar variety of moods and tones. The peacefulness and tranquility evocative of nature is expressed in The Slender Mountain Ash, which contrasts the light hearted and happy tone of the Forest Berry and the somber and beautiful The Black Raven. It is interesting how auditory elements manage to illustrate stories in a different way than the explicit use of visual elements. Auditory elements rely more heavily on evoking certain tones to create a story while visual elements can more explicitly show the audience the storyline.

The incorporation of sound into a textual work is an interesting use of detail to convey the tone of the story. Just as we have seen in many of the operas we have previously examined, music and sound is heavily utilized to set a mood and convey emotion. In the absence of auditory elements in these ancient texts, Pushkin uses descriptive elements to incorporate sound to accomplish a similar task.

For being a story about outstanding good luck, “The Frog Tsarevna” is remarkably pessimistic. Indeed, the story never fails to expose the reader to what appears to be the laughably bad fortune of Ivan. Ivan frequently doubts his prospects, and with good reason. From the very moment Ivan’s arrow conveniently lands in a swamp in the sights of what appears to be a frog, who is conveniently able to talk, and conveniently insists that she be Ivan’s wife, the story presents some pretty bleak prospects for poor Ivan. Of course, Ivan’s luck turns in a fantastic way on multiple occasions throughout the story, such as when he learns that his frog-wife is in fact “Vasilisa the Wise and Clever.” But before this happens, Ivan frequently laments his fortune, voicing his worries to his frog-wife after his father gives him various challenges to assign her.

The fact that such pessimism is expressed by a character who later has dramatic turns in his luck seems to be very much in line with Russian folklore in the larger sense. Indeed, according to the secondary reading, Russian culture seems to be absolutely obsessed with pessimism and its positive relationship with luck. The “Russian Folk Beliefs and Superstitions” reading expresses that  “Talking about future success” is “considered bad luck.” It says that “it is considered better” to be “silent” or even “pessimistic.” Ivan, and by extension the story, follows this creed and fortune favors him.

I found a similar (and rather humorous) folkloric rule which applied to babies. The secondary reading stated that it is unwise for a stranger to look at a baby “before a certain age,” and if one makes the mistake of doing so, they aught to call the child “ugly.” Once again, Russian folklore expresses its idea that pessimism and good luck are positively correlated.

In the larger sense, this strange idea actually makes a lot of sense when taken in context with several other obsessions of Russian culture- namely, the Russian obsession with suffering. Indeed, under cruel Tsars and harsh nobles, the Russian people clearly have suffered, and their culture knows it. Perhaps pessimism is a coping mechanism- a way for Russian consumers of folk tales to avoid getting their hopes up. Pessimism allows people to anticipate negativity, so when anything other than the worst transpires, they are allowed to consider it positive. In a way, this allows Russians to create their own luck.

After reading the Russian fairy tales, “The Frog Tsarevna” and “Tsarevich Ivan and Grey Wolf,” I noticed the presence and significance of shapeshifting in both texts. The problems encountered by Tsarevich Ivan are relieved by  supernatural beings, which heightens the social idea that Russian rulers as mystic and holy. Additionally, the text shows that these encounters with shapeshifters evokes a level of mysticism, ultimately reinforcing supernatural significance in Russian culture and fulfilling the plot of the story. Most notably, I focused on the relationship between Tsarevich Ivan and the supernatural–especially through his contact and interaction with shapeshifters– in overcoming the trials Ivan faces.

I thought about the role of shapeshifters in signifying divine intervention, in which Vasilisa the Wise and Clever and Grey Wolf reinforce the material and mystic power of Tsarevich Ivan and his family by helping him overcome his dilemmas using their supernatural powers. In this way, the presence of shapeshifting within both texts is essential in evoking an aura of a somewhat divine status and angelic undertone for the family of Tsarevich Ivan.

Additionally, aside from these texts serving  to teach a lesson, the connection of the supernatural world to the material world acknowledges the Russian ideal that both these connections are imperitave to living a life of respect for nature and spiritual power.

It is to be expected that a culture’s fairy tales speak to its values, especially its gender roles. This is generally the case with the fairy tales we were assigned for class on Friday, though an element of escapism also manifests. “The Frog Tsarevna” sets forth three duties for the ideal bride: weaving, baking, and entertaining the groom’s father (the patriarch of the contemporary Russian family unit). An interesting contradiction arises in how such ideal behavior contradicts the beauty standard: “Vasilisa the Beautiful” depicts the titular protagonist as beautiful by virtue of having a doll perform all of her domestic duties (with the possible exception of weaving). Similarly, it is Vasilisa the Wise and Clever in frog form who showcases two of the three idealized behaviors. Rather than merely ascribing beauty to idleness, the stories offer a vision of emancipation. After all, the two stories involve women earning freedom cruel masters and marrying into the royal family. Sure, it is not freedom in the Western sense of independence, but a fantasy nonetheless emerges to accompany the prescribed expectations.

In terms of messages for Russian men, the responsibility-escapism contrast is more dramatic. On the one hand, “Tsarevich Ivan and Grey Wolf” promotes Tsarevich Ivan’s loyalty toward his father. Similar to how Vasilisa benefits from her doll in the eponymous story, “The Frog Tsarevna” shows how Tsarevich Ivan’s mercy toward the animals enabled him to rescue his marriage. Both scenarios promote a deference to abstract authorities (albeit not the Orthodox system central to prior works). On the other hand, some stories celebrate hooliganism. Most notably, “Tsarevich Ivan and Grey Wolf” sets forth a rouge male hero. As soon as Tsarevich Ivan set off on his quest, his austerity gave way to careless sleep and greed. I was reminded of “Frol Skobeev” in how “Tsarevich Ivan and Grey Wolf” unfolded: both rogues found themselves insulated against lasting harm through compromised allies, magnanimous adversaries, and luck. Yet while the former acts as a satire of the Russian nobility, “Tsarevich Ivan and the Grey Wolf” plays out a similar drama at face value. Yes, the latter does contain sequences where Tsarevich Ivan is harangued for his duplicitous conduct and futile pursuits, but that doesn’t change how the result clashes with the authoritarian institutions of the state. So Russian men are entreated to equal parts fantasy and duty.

For this week’s blogpost I will examine the use of descriptive elements to convey power and autocracy in the fairy tales and Ivan Bilibin’s portraits. Similar to the operas and other texts we have previously examined, the power of the aristocracy is conveyed through conspicuous displays of material wealth, such as feats, decorations, clothing. In the “Tale of the Frog Tsarevna”, the wives of the Tsar’s sons are asked to perform various domestic tasks such as baking and sewing. During the shirt making challenge, descriptive elements are used to describe the shirt with beautiful embroidery in gold and silver. The worth of these women as wives and as members of the royal family is measured by their ability to produce material goods grand enough to be worthy of the Tsar’s use. Similarly, Vasilisa’s beauty and grandeur is conveyed through descriptions of “Gilded carriages” and her gown that evokes imagery of the night sky (141). 

This imagery is contrasted against negative descriptive elements of commoners. In “Vasilisa the Beautiful”,the white horses belonging to royalty are contrasted against the dark horses belonging to commoners. This dark imagery translates to the features described on many commoners such as the “black-browed” maid (10). We see much of this imagery in the portraits of these characters such as the red and white worn by royalty and the white horses they ride. In portraits of Vasilisa the Beautiful, her white robes and blonde hair are contrasted against dark backgrounds with ominous human skulls and forests. Here, negative and dark descriptive elements are also used to illustrate lower class status.

Finally, much of the narrative is objective and the descriptive elements provide a vehicle to communicate the Tsar’s power, while not explicitly promoting the Tsar’s regime. These fairytales would have been accessible to common people (and could have been told through word of mouth for those who were illiterate). These tales are lighthearted and accessible yet act as a vehicle for subtext. For common people, their impression of the Tsar and the royal family comes from these tales and paintings. In a historical analysis, it would be important to consider the authors and artists creating such works and how the works were distributed which would allow for a more in depth understanding of the intentions behind such glorified perspectives of the autocracy.