ASPECTS OF SOVIET CULTURE
A.
S. RAMAN
It
is said that nothing ever goes wrong with a nation that loves music and dance.
In the U. S. S. R., the land of Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich, musicians and
dancers are the real aristocracy. Shostakovich has already composed 15
symphonies. His son, aged 33, Maxim Shostakovich, is a well-known conductor.
Commenting on Shostakovich’s new symphony, Tikhon Khrennikov, another great
Soviet composer, says: “The composer’s inexhaustible imagination and creative
powers are a constant source of wonder. Shestakovich’s symphony makes an
immense impression with its whole optimistic basis. Here all the contradictions
in the fate of man are resolved with irresistible urgency.”
A
good deal of attention is being paid by the Soviet authorities to the musical
training of the younger generation through the medium of well-equipped, highly
sophisticated conservatories. A student has to undergo a series of severe tests
before he qualifies admission to a conservatory. First his voice is fixed with
the help of magnetoregistrator. Then it is taped. Every detail about the
applicant is collected and classified according to his musical ability and
aptitude. His voice is critically examined in its varying degrees of strength,
range and power so that the director feels convinced of the adaptabilitv to
classical singing. Vibrations of voice are accurately recorded on the
instrument and, with the help of these, the timbre of the voice is tested.
The
U. S. S. R.’s museums and art galleries are distinguished as much for the size
of their collections as for the quality. Possibly, Leningrad’s Hermitage is the
world’s greatest museum. Its sheer size is staggering. There are 1,500 rooms.
The collection comprises 2½ million exhibits. The total length of the museum is
over 2½ km. Over 65,000 paintings are on display. It takes nearly seven years
fur one to see the exhibits thoroughly. There are on view a number of Matisses,
Picassos, Monets, Gauguins, Cezannes and Van Goghs. There are also a number of
canvasses by less known modern masters. There is a section on contemporary
Indian art which may gladden the Indian heart. But what makes the Hermitage
really unique is not its modern section but its rich collection of Russian
icons and Renaissance art. The world-famous Rembrandt, Return of the
Prodigal Son, claimed to be the Dutch master’s last work, can be seen at
this aesthete’s Mecca.
There
are a number of younger painters and sculptors who are as avan-garde as
their confreres in the West. They are patronised in many cases by editors and
publishers who seek to set new standards for magazine illustration and book
production. These unorthodox artists are known for their lively and provocative
work. Among them the outstanding ones are: Ernst Neizvestny (who has been
commissioned by the Soviet Government to create a monument on the site of the
Aswan High Dam in Egypt), Mihail Grobman, Vladimir Yankilevsky, Ilya Kabanov,
Yuri Sobolev, Vladimir Yakovlew and Anatoli Brusilovsky.
What
is the idiom evolved by the young Soviet artist? He is an irrepressible
innovator and his style is original and unpredictable. But he does not reject
what has been painted earlier by his seniors. In other words, he does not
subvert their methods and techniques. He does not distort for distortion’s
sake–just for effect. He draws freely on the experience of his predecessors
which he uses as a firm foundation for his own pursuit of new purposes and
perspectives in art.
Recently
some Soviet journals published an interesting photographic feature. The theme
was a conversation between that patriarch of Soviet painting, Academician
Nartiros Saryan–who died some months ago in his late 90s–and the well-known
young Armenian painter, Minas Avetisyan, whose reputation rests on his fierce
experiments and innovations. From his dialogue with Saryan, Avetisyan gives one
the impression that, though overawed by the power and range of the great
master’s imagination and vocabulary, he would rather not follow him.
The
art of Avetisyan was once the subject of animated and acrimonious controversy
in the Soviet press. He had too many detractors and debunkers. But Academician
Saryan stood firmly by him. The master was the rebel’s most ardent defender.
Avetisyan’s unusual palette and unorthodox compositions were no doubt alien to
the old man’s sensibility. But he could see in them an outstanding talent.
Minas Avetisyan has since arrived. His pictures are today on view at the
august Tretyakov. They are also represented liberally at the National Gallery
of Armenia. They were given pride of place at the Soviet art exhibition held
recently in Paris.
There is a large group of bright young painters and sculptors, brought up by their gracious elders, that dominate the scene of Soviet art today. Korzhev, for example. He is very popular, though he paints disturbing pictures which often not merely shock the spectator but set him thinking. “The Partisan Madonna”, painted by the Byelorusslan artist, Saritsky, depicts the mother motif set in a forest hideout. Skyblue haze. Roundness of line. Terseness of design. The picture throbs with life. The people in the compositions by P. Andronov and P. Nikonov are big, reticent, prickly construction workers, fishermen and geologists.
In
the pictures by the Uzbek painter, G. Abdurahaman, one can see the influence of
the Persian miniatures. The luminous blues and greens in the sensuous seascapes
by T. Salakhov, who is from Azerbaijan, reveal the plasticity and placidity of
the Caspian they depict, while the gay, bold compositions by T. Narimanbekov,
also from Azerbaijan, who has painted Indian themes based on his visit to this
country, proclaims the warmth and sparkle of his homeland and the immaculate
artistry of the carpets of the Eastern bazar. Muzis paints Baltic motifs which
he invests with a touch of mysticism and exoticism. Canvases by the Moldavian
artist, M. Greku, are conspicuous for their soft, pastel-like lilac haze. The
styles of Soviet artists are different, their artistic perspectives are
distinctive and their painting techniques are novel. But they are all united by
their intense passion for the reality that surrounds them.
Times
have changed. Artists who, according to the prejudiced Western critics were
once “persecuted” and “victimized”, today constitute the core of the Soviet
Establishment. Curators of art galleries and publishers of art reproductions
are always waiting to receive an affirmative Yes from these once
“denounced” artists, when they seek to buy their pictures. The avant-garde artists
thus do exist in the U. S. S. R. and they owe their present position of
respectability to the crusading campaigns successfully conducted by their
orthodox seniors, the custodians of conformity. The sight
of the avant-garde and the academicists fighting side by side for their
joint survival is peculiar to the Soviet Union.
The
Russians are truly a nation of readers and writers. Books and periodicals are
printed in millions and the copies sold reach astronomical figures. The readers
read what the writers write and what the writers write is a different matter,
though, it must be emphasised, Soviet literature at its best is as creative as
what is being written in the so-called free world.
It
is just incredible, believe me, this Russian passion for reading. Moscow’s
fabulous Lenin Library is always jampacked. People of all age groups can be
seen queuing up for seats in the library’s numerous reading-rooms, as though
for a ballet. The library’s officials claim tha1 every day 10,000 teachers,
writers and others visit it for study. There are 22 reading-rooms in all and
the total number of seats provided is 2,500. The library has a total collection
of over 26 million volumes and these represent a healthy catholicity of taste,
independent of political or ideological considerations. Their range and
diversity are stunning. The library acquires books and periodicals from other
countries, partly through purchase and partly through exchange.
Books
ale available for study only in the library’s reading-rooms and they can be
ordered on the telephone. The minimum age for membership is 16. No fee. There
are about 600 privileged persons–yes, there is an aristocracy of intellectuals
in the U. S. S. R–and they are allowed to take books home. Writers, teachers,
artiste, scientists and other eminent persons engaged in intellectual pursuits
belong to this exclusive group.
The
Lenin Library attracts the best of the Soviet students who are critical,
sophisticated and intellectually alert and receptive. The Soviet educational
system is basically sound. The best talents available in the country are
earmarked for the teaching profession. Another characteristic feature of the
Soviet educational policy is the attention paid by the authorities to the
pupil’s natural urges and aptitudes on the basis of which his future career is
planned. The examination system, as we understand it in India, does not exist
in the U.S.S.R., where the stress is on the all-round development of the
pupil’s character, personality and intellect. He is afforded every opportunity
to give of his very best during a particular period.
The
compelling need for a healthy balance between freedom and discipline is
constantly dinned into his ears. The Moscow University mirrors the spirit of
Soviet education faithfully. The Lumumba University is an exquisite example of
racial harmony, cultural integration and international fellowship.
Notwithstanding the preponderance of African, Asian and Arab students, the
prevailing atmosphere is that of a boldly and imaginatively conceived campus
designed to achieve international amity, not in style, but in depth. Here one
instinctively develops a feeling of belonging and togetherness.
Science
as a career is becoming increasingly popular in the U.S.S.R., thanks to the
numerous cosmic flights which have fired the imagination of the youth.
Eventually, however, it is one’s ability rather than aptitude that establishes
firmly one’s claims to a scientific career. Each year the Novosibirsk branch of
the U.S.S.R. Academy of Sciences has a sort of talent test for children. The
subjects selected are based on one branch of science or another. The candidates
who top the lists are those who show a keen interest in the study of
mathematics and astronomy. There are however a number of girls who seem to be
reluctant to pursue science as career, in spite of Valentina Tereshkova’s
dazzling success as the world’s first and only cosmonaut made possible by
breath-taking advances in Soviet science and technology. Apparently, the Soviet
girls are more eager to become Ulanovas than Eva Curies!
In
the U. K., according to the Nobel Prize-winning scientist Dr Thompson, 25 per
cent of those who enter schools and colleges take up jobs before completing
their education. In the U.S.S.R., a ten-year compulsory course is rigorously
enforced with the result that all the young men and women receive their
secondary education uninterrupted. Thus a solid base is provided for the future
scientists. A flair for science is ingrained in the Russian blood. The rather
of Russian science was M. Lomonosov who lived in the 18th century. He was the
son of a fisherman working in the northern seas. For more than six months, he
found himself trekking towards Moscow where he eventually joined a school and
relentlessly pursued his dream of becoming Russia’s first scientist.
The Soviet scientist admits that the American laboratories have the latest and most sophisticated equipment. But, he insists, the scope for original research in his own country is unlimited because of the emphasis on ideas rather than on instruments. He maintains that the conditions in which he works are congenial from every point or view, though the organisations devoted to scientific work are not as affluent as those in the U.S.A. All the same the scientist in the U.S.S.R appreciates the discoveries of his counterpart in the West. For, he asserts, the human mind is universal: it knows no frontiers. How can one check the imagination of a creative mind? Who knows that secret doubts and problems assail a restless spirit? Every scientific development which is of benefit to mankind is admired in the Soviet Union.
How
is the literary landscape? Humanism is the dominant trend and peace
is the theme that keeps recurring frequently in poetry and fiction: it replaces
the glorification of the Soviet system which was characteristic of the Stalin
years. Peace and international fellowship are what inspire the Soviet writer
most today. Here is an example:
“Take
a look
take
a quiet look at night-time
at
sleeping children–
it
makes a world war quite unthinkable.”
–Maris
Chaklas (born 1940)
Clarity,
depth, passion and integrity are qualities that animate all mass-oriented
literature and Soviet writing is no exception. Yevtushenko says somewhere that
no genuinely creative literature can be anti-people. Tikhonov, Surkov, Fedin,
Sholokhov, Korneichuk, Leonov, Polevoy, Zulfia, Tursunzada, Simonov and many
others have all been restating universal truths firmly and unequivocally in
terms of Soviet realities. Among the poets, Yevtushenko has an image as dearly
loved abroad as at home and, indeed, he approaches closest to the Western
conception of the avant-garde: Unpredictable, irresistible and
inimitable.
But
it is Sholokhov who represents the Establishment authoritatively. As the cliche
goes, he is the Colossus of contemporary Soviet literature. Among the Soviet
writers, by all accounts, he enjoys a unique and unprecedented prestige. He is
in fact regarded as the Tolstoy or the Soviet Union. He symbolises the
typically Russian tradition of passionate humanism at its noblest. He has a
genius for suggesting the universal by stressing the particular. He does not go
beyond his genuinely felt experience in order to be able to define the destiny
of man. Of course he has his style. And it is as fresh, familiar and fervent as
dawn. There is a sensuous pastel-like delicacy in his prose which is closer to
painting than to poetry.
What
precisely is Socialist Realism? Answers Sholokhov: “In my understanding,
Socialist Realism identifies itself with the creativity of the writer who
shares and fully supports the ideas of socialism, communism and humanism. A
genuine work of art, not the odd job of a tradesman, will always communicate to
the reader without any stress at all. I am ashamed, not of those Soviet writers
who have slandered their motherland and flung filth on that which we hold most
dear–they are amoral; I am ashamed of those who have attempted and still
attempt to defend them, no matter what the motives of this defence. Don’t you
worry about the freedom to criticise in our land. We uphold as well as develop
criticism. But calumny is not criticism, and mud from a puddle is not the paint
of an artist s palette.
Mark
Sergejev who lives at Irkutsk, Siberia, is in his mid 30s. He enjoys a growing
reputation as a writer of power. He has so far published over 40 books: novels,
poetry, literary criticism and about 30 titles exclusively for children, his
principal audience. He has collaborated with the well-known British writer,
Alan Sillitoe, on an interesting project: publication of a monumental monograph
on Siberia. Sergejev also has made a number of documentaries on various aspects
of his native Siberia.
Writing
for children, according to Sergejev, is a very serious and responsible
occupation. “Why is there no Nobel Prize exclusively for the literature for
children?” he asks. The readership is no doubt assured. But it is too large,
too diversified and too critical. Which means that the writing should be of
superlative quality.
I
enjoy writing for children as I enjoy breathing fresh air under an apple tree
after the rain on a fresh sunny morning, as Solzhenitsyn says somewhere,
describing that abstraction known as freedom. Freedom is a good slogan but a
bad ideal for weaklings. For it implies so many disciplines which they will
never be able to impose on themselves–without which freedom is illusory. I’ve
found my freedom in the company of the children I write for, in the mood in
which I write for them and in the spirit in which I identify, myself with them.
The Soviet Ballet
The
Soviet ballet is world famous. The Bolshoi in Moscow is a symbol of national
pride. No doubt the celebrated ballerinas such as Galina Ulanova and Maya
Plisetskaya are no longer active. But their successors continue the glorious
traditions set by them. A profound spirituality, accompanied by emotional elan
and artistic empathy, as opposed to sheer lifeless technique,
is a quality that has been synonymous with the old Russian ballet. This has
been the firm foundation of the many-splendoured Soviet school of classical
dancing, to which Ulanova and Plisetskaya have made unprecedented
contributions. It has been aptly said that the incomparable Ulanova, who now
teaches at the Bolshoi School, has perfected the art of blending the sensuous
with the sublime in a manner that defies analysis. Her dance has the subtlety of
love and Plisetskaya’s, the fire of passion.
Critics
the world over have already raised the stature of Plisetskaya to proportions
beyond belief. According to the Los Angeles Examiner, her dancing is the
sort of greatness “the ballet world of this century has rarely witnessed.” The Press
Intransigeant, Paris, has described her mere presence on the stage as
“poetry itself”. Giorne, Mian, warmly speaks of her “inspiration,
un-expectedness, highly poetic softness of motion, almost ethereal face,
floating arms, flight as gentle as that of a feather.”
Ulanova
and Plisetskaya predictably owe much to the idealism and humanism behind the
Soviet experiment in better and richer living for the masses–for the
dispossessed many on the ruins of the privileged few. But, basically, they are
products of a tradition that has no political or polemical overtones. In fact
they embody the ballet technique at its grandest, rooted in the bourgeois
pre-Revolutionary “decadent” culture. John Martin of the New York Times, writing
about Plisetskaya, makes this point tellingly. I do not remember his exact
words but they are somewhat to this effect: When from traditional roots, comes
up fresh shoots blooming with the wholesome beauty of life, we have art in its
true magnificence and that is what Soviet ballet is.
Soviet
cinema is a product of such great visionaries as Eisenstein and Pudovkin. It
has admirably succeeded in letting the idealism of the Great October Revolution
sink into the bloodstream of the common man. No doubt it has its ups and downs,
artistically speaking, because of the loud overtones that it sometimes acquires
in order to convey the message of Socialist Realism. But at its best it is
better than the best of movies made in the perverted, pornography-dominated
West. It is honest, clean and credible. Some of the best Soviet movies made in
recent years have a classical base. They are non-political in tone and subtle
in impact. Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina and
War and Peace, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet, and
the Life of Tchaikokovsky have inspired some memorable movies,
conspicuous for their lyrical nuances and epic dimensions. Liberation
is another great movie classic that grows on one. To take one specific
example:
Zarkhi’s
Anna Karenina is different from the earlier versions, simply
because it is Russian–in inspiration as well as in form, feel and
flavour.
Samoilova’s
Anna makes an immediate impact on the spectator, because she is an epitome of
the “mysterious and bewitching charm” that Tolstoy speaks
of. She is self-assertive and self-sufficient without losing any of her
feminine charm and poise. Samoilova is warm, lively and dynamic, exuding a
radiance that is infectious. Her rapport with the audience is instant and
complete. According to Tatyana Samoilova: “Anna’s tragedy is the tragedy of a
society in which man’s dignity is trampled upon by the system of family and
public relations.”
The
film conforms strictly to the book without losing its identity.
One important fact to remember: The role that the comparatively minor and
seemingly inconsequential character,
Konstantin Levin,
plays in stressing through suggestion the basic message of the novel. The
social and philosophical meaning of Anna’s tragedy is best understood only in
the context of what Levin says and does. For Levin is Tolstoy himself. His life
represents the drama of a man who is desperately seeking to live in harmony
with himself and with those around him. The director rightly emphasises in the
film the spiritual relationship between Anna and Levin and their moral purity.
How
relevant is the Soviet theatre to the needs and values of modern drama? Among
the outstanding Soviet playwrights are: Yevgeni Shwarz, Valentin Katayev,
Victor Rozov, Afanasi Salynsky and Alexei Arbuzov. They dominate the scene
today. They differ more in their themes, which are nevertheless uniformly warm
and humanistic, than in their techniques, which are held together by that
grossly misunderstood method, Socialist Realism, by which one seeks to ensure
that ultimate realities rather than immediate facts come to life through the
medium of art or literature. Mr. Arbuzov who was in Bombay recently told me
that he was deeply impressed by Vijay Tendulkar’s controversial Marathi play: Sakharam
Binder.
The
Indian author, according to the celebrated Soviet playwright, neatly succeeds
in presenting new qualities which are closer to real life. There is neither
sentimentality nor exaggeration. The message conveyed is couched in telling
terms: Clear, crisp and convincing.
Among
the artistes, the outstanding ones however are old-timers: such as Nikolai
Simonov, attached to the Leningrad Pushkin Drama Theatre, and Innokenti
Smoktunovsky, now associated with Moscow’s famous Maly, the theatrical
counterpart of the Bolshoi. The Maly Theatre symbolises caution, conservatism
and conformity, while the avant-garde Sovremennik, under the leadership
of a team of young and daring directors and producers, stands for innovation
and broad-based and purposeful experimentation. Yefremov, so famous and so dear
to every Soviet heart, is another producer to remember. He is at the moment
busy exploring the possibilities of breathing new life into the Moscow Art
Theatre.
As
for the centres of theatrical activity, the ones that deserve special mention
are Moscow’s Romen, the world’s only gypsy theatre, and Birobijan’s Jewish
People’s Theatre which is very popular. The gypsy theatre, which no Indian
visitor to Moscow ever misses, is understandably conspicuous for the naivety
and spontaneity that animate its productions. The popularity the gypsy
performances enjoy is unbelievable. Sometimes, for want of space, the players
perform in sports stadiums, to the delight of over 20, 000 spectators.
Basically
there are no differences between the Soviet theatre and the Western theatre:
there has been a lot of give and take between the two. If anything, cultural
exchanges, both visible and invisible, between the U. S. S. R. and the West
continue to be hearteningly on the increase.