Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Shostakovich: Matryoshka

Description

From time immemorial, musical education has been considered as something that can be started at a very early age. This is the direct consequence of the numerous manifestations of spontaneous musicality which can be observed in most children: singing, playing rhythms with one’s own body or impromptu instruments such as sticks or pieces of wood, copying an adult’s gestures when making music, and so on.
It is one thing, however, to foster (at times just to tolerate!) a child’s spontaneous musicality; another to seriously educate him or her, with the purpose in view of creating a professional (at times a child prodigy), preferably as early as possible. There have been – and there still are, sadly – many examples of children whose first years have been entirely consecrated to practice and concerts, at times creating little “monsters” who find it very difficult to grow into mature musicians, and who frequently struggle for life with the consequences of delusional parents or teachers.
In those cases, the goal of ambitious adults is normally that of having the child play pieces originally intended for grown-ups as early as possible (regardless of the fact that the human maturity required for satisfactorily interpreting some masterpieces cannot be achieved by a child, gifted as he or she may be). However, there is also another approach, which is more respectful of a child’s development in terms of hand size, of bodily constitution, of psychological traits, and of personal characteristics. This approach encourages child musicianship, but without attempting to transform a very young musician into a small concert performer. One advantage of this method is that it allows children to have fun with music – rather than to struggle with pieces larger than their possibilities -, to foster their musical fantasy and imagination, and to grow up with music in a fashion which is accessible to all. This approach, in fact, is not tailored for the aspiring little Mozarts, but for children both gifted and average. While certainly allowing talent to manifest itself and to be nurtured and fostered, it is “democratic” inasmuch as musical education can be considered as a right of all children.
The piano is one of the instruments favoured by musical pedagogy, and rightly so. There are obviously instruments whose physical features make it unadvisable, or simply impossible, to propose them to children: for instance, many wind instruments (especially brass), or large instruments such as the double-bass (or also the viola). But even instruments like the violin are less popular than the piano: of course, the violin is commonly played by children, but the first steps in violin playing may be discouraging for many children (and nerve-testing for many parents). Before a budding violinist can draw a pleasant sound from his or her violin, many hours of screeching sounds have to be endured. At the piano, by way of contrast, pleasant sounds can be played virtually from the very first lesson, and delightful little pieces can provide satisfaction and encouragement to the little pianist within weeks.
To this, one should add another fact: playing the piano to a good level is a prerequisite for the most important musical professions. A good conductor or composer has to be also a good pianist, albeit perhaps not an excellent one. Composers who were also fathers, and who wished their children to follow in their footsteps (Bach to name but one) created beautiful collections of keyboard music for their children, while the same cannot be always said as regards other instruments.
Indeed, Johann Sebastian Bach’s works conceived originally for his firstborn, Wilhelm Friedemann, are a splendid model of what “children’s music” should be. Written or chosen with the primary aim of giving something “beautiful” in order to educate the young musician’s taste, they help develop technique, sensitivity, understanding of music, while also remaining enjoyable, pleasant, encouraging, and friendly. Robert Schumann was another pioneer of this genre; he too was the father of many musical children, and his Album für die Jugend has become a staple of musical education (just as, of course, Bach’s Clavierbüchlein, his two- and three-part inventions), as well as a model for all subsequent compositions in this genre.
Not by chance, Tchaikovsky explicitly referenced Schumann’s model when his turn came to create children’s music. By Tchaikovsky’s time, Romanticism had created a new view and concept of childhood. While the Enlightenment, with its cult of the goddess Reason, had downplayed the dignity of children, who were seen as underdeveloped adults, Romanticism had exalted the innocence, purity, simplicity, and fantasy of childhood.
The reference to Schumann was deeply inscribed within the work’s genesis and story. Tchaikovsky turned his attention to children’s music during a particularly difficult period of his life, following the disastrous outcome of his marriage to Antonina Miljukova. He faced a profound existential and creative crisis, in which the outflow of his works seemed blocked. Fortunately, the composer was supported (in many ways) by his patroness Nadezda von Meck, whose financial help was fundamental, but whose personal encouragement proved no less crucial. In particular, Tchaikovsky highly profited from the healing power of nature and of a beautiful scenery, when he could stay at von Meck’s manors upon her generous invitation.
In the first weeks of 1878, however, Tchaikovsky was in Florence, and the idea came to him to write a cycle of piano pieces for children. He wrote to Pyotr Jurgenson that he intended “to write a number of easy pieces, like Kinderstücke”. He also wrote to his publisher along the same lines; he feared that he was lacking the creative power for embarking in the composition of a large-scale work, but he also claimed that miniatures for children could prove both amusing and profitable. Tchaikovsky’s publisher enthusiastically applauded this idea, endorsing an endeavour which he believed would be successful, in the wake of Schumann’s album. Tchaikovsky then proceeded to write the set, and, a few months later, he wrote to von Meck: “A while ago I thought that it would not be a bad idea to make a small contribution to the stock of children’s musical literature, which is very modest. I want to create a series of little individual pieces just for children, and with an attractive title, like Schumann’s”. By the summer of 1878, the set was completed. For Christmas, it was dedicated to Tchaikovsky’s favourite nephew, Vladimir Davydov, a budding 7-y.o. pianist; the composer wrote to the child’s father: “Tell Bobik that the music has been printed with pictures, that the music was composed by Uncle Petya, and that on it is written Dedicated to Volodya Davydov. The silly little fellow will not understand what dedicated means… Even so, Bobik is an inimitably delightful figure when he’s playing, and he might look at the notes, and think that a whole symphony is dedicated to him”. While Tchaikovsky’s collection is shorter and less ambitious than Schumann’s, there is plenty of musical and creative ideas, ranging from evocations of church music to dances, from games and toys to folklore, and providing abundant nourishment for both technique and fantasy.
The genesis of Prokofev’s children’s pieces was rather different, although it is interesting to observe that these too had been motivated by a situation of crisis. In this case, the crisis was the one engendered in the whole Soviet musical world by the persecution of intellectuals ordered by Stalin and by his comrades; a persecution which did not spare even the most beloved Russian composers. It is even possible, as Stanley Krebs suggests, that Prokofev’s composition of children’s pieces mirrored the usual Soviet practice of “redeeming” those not aligned with the regime by making them work with children.
Within the so-called “second period” of his creative activity, his Music for Children op. 65 are framed by the Three Children’s Songs, op. 68, and Peter and the Wolf, op. 67. In Robinson Harlow’s words, “According to Soviet cultural ideology, children were almost the most important audience for the arts. They were the hope of the communist future. As a result writers, filmmakers, directors and composers were strongly urged to create works that addressed them, for art could be used to educate children in the ideals necessary for the creation of a strong Soviet state”. Such was the success of his op. 65, that Prokofev transcribed it for orchestra, under the title of A Summer Day. Here too the titles are powerfully evocative, and strongly appealing to a child’s imagination, with their unique blend of poetry, enchantment, and fun.
Dmitry Shostakovich’s Dances of the Dolls date from some two decades after Prokofev’s collection. Here, we can observe the opposite movement: rather than transcribing a piano work for orchestra, Shostakovich realized this series by transcribing for the piano some pre-existing orchestral pieces. The opening piece comes from the ballet The Limpid Stream, op. 39; the Gavotte is drawn from the incidental music to the play La Comédie Humaine, op. 37. Again from The Limpid Stream come the Romance, Polka, Waltz-Scherzo, Hurdy-Gurdy, and Dance (of these, Waltz-Scherzo and Dance had also been employed in the ballet The Bolt, op. 27). Furthermore, these dances had been organized into Ballet Suites (nos. 2, 1, and 4). These short, delightful pieces are reminiscent of other “children’s” pieces by Shostakovich, such as his Children’s Notebook op. 69 (1944).
Together, these three collections represent a unique insight into the pedagogy of the Russian piano school – one of the world’s best and most renowned. They allow us to glimpse that the Russians’ focus on technical proficiency and musical accomplishment was not pursued merely through severe musical studies, but also by means of masterful, yet delightful, works for young pianists.
Chiara Bertoglio © 2025