In 2012, Anna Valentinovna Bulïchëva (or, in the transliteration of the edition reviewed here, ‘Bulycheva’), a musicologist employed by the private Helikon opera in Moscow and also teaching part-time at the conservatory in the same city, caused a stir by publishing a scholarly edition of Aleksandr Borodin’s opera Knyaz’ Igor’ (Prince Igor).Footnote ¹ Such an edition had ranked highly among the desiderata of Russian music studies. As it turned out to be a bit different – more experimental, to be exact – from what had been expected, it drew mixed reviews, one of them mine.Footnote ² Bulïchëva now has followed up Prince Igor with an edition of Borodin’s Second Symphony. This edition, like its predecessor, comes with a brief foreword in Russian and English; the English version, while not idiomatic throughout, marks a considerable improvement over its counterpart in the Prince Igor edition. The critical report – eight pages at the end of the book – is in Russian only, and it includes neither musical examples nor facsimile plates. The typically Russian colophon on the final page gives Bulïchëva herself credit for the engraving, which is done well, identifies the edition’s print run as a mere hundred copies and notes that requests for orchestral parts should be sent to Bulïchëva’s email address.

The edition is designed to stand alone, but it is closely related to two slightly earlier articles by the same author, both published online in Russian. The first, ‘Orkestrovka Vtoroy simfonii Aleksandra Porfir’yevicha Borodina i problema avtorskogo stilya’ (‘The Orchestration of Borodin’s Second Symphony and the Problem of its Author’s Style’) focuses on the question of Borodin’s orchestral style as expressed in this particular symphony.Footnote ³ It closely compares Borodin’s autograph 1877 score, which as we shall see is the basis of her edition, with the published 1887 score and provides musical examples of some passages that are strikingly different in the two sources. From a strictly editorial point of view, however, Bulïchëva’s second article is more important: ‘Taynïye igrï: khozhdeniye po krugam: Istoriya vosstanovleniya avtorskoy redaktsii Vtoroy simfonii Aleksandra Porfir’yevicha Borodina i problema posledney avtorskoy voli’ (’Secret Games: Circling Around: A History of Reconstruction of the Author’s Version of the Second Symphony by Aleksandr Borodin and the Problem of the Author’s Last Will’).Footnote ⁴ This article may be characterized as a nearly exhaustive documentation of the symphony’s versions, their reception and their scholarly treatment in the Soviet and post-Soviet era.

While the critical report included in Bulïchëva’s edition of the symphony summarizes some of this material, study of the more extensive account presented in the article is strongly recommended for those who want or need to know the full story. Because of the complexity of the case and interest of the material, as well as the inaccessibility of the Russian language to most English-speaking scholars, I will here offer a succinct account of the key issues and circumstances. Prince Igor and the Second Symphony were both first published posthumously – the symphony in late 1887 and the opera in 1888 – with both scores crediting Nikolay Rimsky-Korsakov and Aleksandr Glazunov as editors. While Prince Igor remained incomplete at Borodin’s death, with only nine excerpts of the opera having been heard in concert by then, the symphony had been completed and performed multiple times in Borodin’s lifetime. Indeed, the composer’s arrangement for piano four-hands had been published by Bessel’ in St Petersburg in November 1876.Footnote ⁵ The most important difference between the piano-duet version and the full score published by Bessel’ in 1887, as well as its commonly accepted justification, is detailed in the memoirs of Rimsky-Korsakov’s friend Vasily Yastrebtsev:

This means that the first 24 bars of the first movement are a later addition; originally, the theme was presented only once. A second major change is the thorough rewriting, albeit without change to the bar count, of the recapitulation of the second subject in the same movement (bars 262–268 in the 1887 score), which in the piano-duet version assumes a contrapuntal character and is barely recognizable as a recapitulation. Also different are the tempi of the four movements. The 1876 piano-duet version:

1. I. Allegro moderato

2. II. Molto vivo – Allegretto – Molto vivo (time signature: )

3. III. Andante

4. IV. Allegro

The 1887 full score:

1. I. Allegro

2. II. Prestissimo – Allegretto – Tempo I (time signature: 1/1)

3. III. Andante

4. IV. Allegro

Furthermore, the outer movements of the full score abound in changes of tempo, few of which are already present in the piano version. Finally, the full score includes metronome marks, while the piano-vocal score is completely devoid of such. (As will be seen, the tempo marks in the manuscripts of the full score are different again.)

These differences between the piano arrangement and the posthumous full score have given rise to speculation as to how faithful the latter is to Borodin’s intentions and whether they date from Borodin’s lifetime or later.Footnote ⁷ The only Western scholar to probe the issue is David Lloyd-Jones, whose conclusions were published in 1977 and also formed part of the article on Borodin in the first New Grove.Footnote ⁸ Lloyd-Jones’ verdict, which will be discussed in detail further below, was informed by the study of the symphony’s proofs in what was then the Public Library in Leningrad (now, the Russian National Library in St Petersburg). He concluded that Borodin lived to see the first proofs, which he corrected, and that the editors’ subsequent interference was minimal; for instance, he credits Rimsky-Korsakov with the metronome marks. Borodin’s most important biographers, Sergey Aleksandrovich Dianin and Arnol’d Naumovich Sokhor, arrived at the same conclusion.Footnote ⁹

However, Pavel Aleksandrovich Lamm, who in the 1930s and 1940s single-handedly prepared a complete edition of Borodin that mostly remained in manuscript, took a different view. Dismissing the 1887 score as inauthentic, he took it upon himself to edit two ‘author’s versions’: the version in which the symphony was first performed in 1877 and an even earlier one. As he used the same sources as Bulïchëva, his earlier version is most likely the one that Bulïchëva labels ‘preliminary version’ (predvaritel’naya redaktsiya); his later one may be identified with Bulïchëva’s ‘author’s version’ (avtorskaya redaktsiya), which is the one she has published. Lamm’s edition consists of two volumes: a full score (containing both versions) and the piano-duet arrangement. Whereas the latter, which was published in 1950, hardly differs from its first edition of 1876, the full score is a different matter. It matches the piano-duet arrangement in its outline, that is, the first 24 bars from the 1887 version are missing, and the recapitulation of the first movement’s second theme restores the version known from the piano-duet arrangement.Footnote ¹⁰ In addition, differences in orchestration, articulation, accents, dynamics, etc., abound – especially in the outer movements. Lamm’s score was completed in manuscript in 1935. The conductor Yevgeny Mravinsky performed the symphony in Lamm’s edition twice with the Leningrad Philharmonic Orchestra on 8 and 9 October 1949.Footnote ¹¹ It is open to debate which of the two versions was heard on these occasions. No recordings are known to exist; the report of an eyewitness, Valerian Mikhaylovich Bogdanov-Berezovsky, conflates details unique to either version.Footnote ¹² The full score of Lamm’s edition was engraved but shelved at proof stage and remains unpublished. The manuscript of a paper that Lamm wrote about his edition met the same fate.Footnote ¹³ After Lamm’s death in 1951, the fate of his unpublished editions was sealed. While Lamm’s edition of Prince Igor was occasionally discussed in Soviet and foreign literature on Borodin, his edition of the Second Symphony was completely forgotten (or suppressed).

Lamm’s work served Bulïchëva as her natural starting point. In essence, her edition is a revision of Lamm’s edition of the 1877 score, which she checked against the autograph sources one more. She had access to all of Borodin’s and Lamm’s manuscripts. Lamm’s manuscript editions are divided between the Glinka Museum and the Russian State Archive for Literature and Art, both in Moscow. Like Lamm, Bulïchëva dismisses the 1887 version as inauthentic and claims that her version – again billed as ‘author’s version’ – represents Borodin’s last will. The only structural departure from the of the piano-duet version is a single extra bar right before the recapitulation of the first movement; Bulïchëva explains this bar as an addition that Borodin made in late 1876, when he reorchestrated the movement right before the symphony’s first performance (p. 191); it is not clear whether this bar is also present in Lamm’s edition.

Bulïchëva obviously loves the role of the Devil’s advocate. As she had in her writings on Prince Igor and her edition of it, she targets Rimsky-Korsakov, his disciple Glazunov and the Soviet mainstream musicology, which continued the Rimsky-Korsakov/Glazunov tradition. She opposes the common view that Rimsky-Korsakov was a well-meaning if sometimes over-zealous executor of Borodin’s musical legacy and portrays him instead as a conspirator against Borodin who took advantage of his friend’s death so that he could publish his versions of Prince Igor and the Second Symphony, assisted by Glazunov. In particular, she insinuates that Rimsky-Korsakov’s influential autobiography My Musical Life is a conscious attempt by a narcissistic personality to rewrite the facts of history as he pleases. If she is correct, then Rimsky-Korsakov’s memoir deserves to be scrutinized far more thoroughly than ever in order to determine if its validity as a historical source should be called into question. Bulïchëva complains that the mainstream of Soviet music historiography – including Borodin’s biographers Dianin and Sokhor – was not willing to question Rimsky-Korsakov’s integrity and went as far as to deliberately suppress the work of dissenters, such as Lamm’s edition of the Second Symphony.Footnote ¹⁴

The traditional version of the history of the symphony, which heavily leans on Rimsky-Korsakov’s My Musical Life and on epistolary evidence, can be summarized thus: Borodin began sketching his Second Symphony immediately after the premiere of his First in 1869. He completed it by 1876.Footnote ¹⁵ For the symphony’s first performance on 25 January (6 February) 1877, in a concert of the Russian Music Society conducted by Eduard Nápravník, Borodin reorchestrated the outer movements, claiming that he had misplaced the original score.Footnote ¹⁶ About the same time, Bessel’ published the reduction for piano, four hands, prepared by Borodin himself (plate number 672). Plate number 671 was reserved for the full score – and remained so until 1887, when it finally appeared under this number. Bulïchëva convincingly argues that Bessel’ shelved its publication because the symphony’s premiere had been highly unsuccessful.Footnote ¹⁷ Rimsky-Korsakov, in his My Musical Life, blamed the orchestration, which was overwhelmed by the brass, for the symphony’s failure.Footnote ¹⁸ After the orchestration had been thinned out, Rimsky-Korsakov conducted the second performance at a concert of the Free School in St Petersburg on 20 February (4 March) 1879. Rimsky-Korsakov claims this performance as a success, but Bulïchëva cautions that his statement should be taken with a grain of salt considering the circumstances. At the time, the concerts of the Free School were poorly attended and hardly reviewed in the press. ‘In principle, the symphony [or any other work performed under these circumstances] could not be a resounding success with a wide audience in 1879’.Footnote ¹⁹ For Bulïchëva, the breakthrough came only with the third performance, the Moscow premiere on 20 December 1880 (1 January 1881) under Nikolay Rubinstein, for which Borodin revised the score once more. There were five more performances in Borodin’s lifetime: four in Belgium (the first of them in Antwerp on 16 September 1885, Gregorian style, conducted by Gustave-Léon Huberty) and one in St Petersburg (on 23 November (5 December) 1885, conducted by Georgy Ottonovich Dyutsh).Footnote ²⁰ These later performances were successful and thus paved the way for the publication of the full score, to which Bessel’ consented in October 1886 at last. According to conventional wisdom, Borodin revised the score once more on this occasion, and first proofs were turned out while Borodin was still alive. After Borodin’s sudden death on 15/27 February 1887, Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov oversaw the final stages of proofreading, introducing minor changes only.

In light of all this, we would have to assume the existence of the following versions (excluding the multitude of early sketches and discarded pages from the versions below):

• A. First version of manuscript full score, 1869–76, unperformed.

• B. Piano reduction by the composer, based on the above, arranged by 1876, published in 1876.

• C. Second version of manuscript full score (inner movements not written out anew and barely changed), first performed in 1877.

• D. Third version of manuscript full score, first performed in 1879 and again, with some emendations, in 1880 (Moscow premiere) and 1885–86.

• E. Fourth and final version of manuscript full score used to prepare the first printed edition (the Stichvorlage), 1886–87.

• F. Printed full score, initially proofread by Borodin and published posthumously in the autumn of 1887.

Relying on a close reading of the extant musical sources, with occasional use of contemporaneous documents (letters and press reports), Bulïcheva arrives at a revised chronology:

• A. First version of manuscript full score, 1869–74, unperformed; preserved at Russian National Library, St Petersburg. First movement: f. 94, yed. khr. 1, fols 1–22; second and third movements: went into second version (see C below); finale lost except for one leaf (f. 640 yed. khr. 1170). This version is probably identical with the earlier of the two that Lamm edited.

• B. Piano reduction, based on the above, arranged in 1876. Incomplete manuscript preserved at the Glinka Museum, Moscow (f. 45, yed. khr. 36). Published by Bessel’, St Petersburg, in 1876.

• C. Second version of manuscript full score, 1876–77. Preserved at Russian National Library, St Petersburg. First movement copied anew (f. 94, yed. khr. 2; final page not written out, with reference to A, above). Second and third movements taken over from A, above: f. 94, yed. khr. 1, fols 23–50. Fourth movement copied anew: f. 94, yed. khr. 1, fols 51–79. This version is probably identical with the later of the two that Lamm edited. The manuscript is complete but messy and partly written in pencil so that it could not be used as a conductor’s score.

• D. Copyist’s score based on second version of full score, 1877, used for first performance and (according to Bulïchëva) all subsequent performances in the composer’s lifetime, with only minimal later emendations; survives in incomplete form at the St Petersburg Conservatory (part of shelf-mark no. 2529).

• E. Stichvorlage, probably posthumous, consisting of the extant pages of D and inserted new pages in the hands of Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov; the latter do not show any traces of performance and were written specifically for the engraver in 1887, proofread and published posthumously in the same year; preserved at the St Petersburg Conservatory (shelf-mark no. 2529).

• F. Printed full score, proofread by Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov (but most likely not by Borodin). Some of the corrected proofs survive at the Russian National Library (f. 187, yed. khr. 610–616; first proofs of third movement and second and third proofs of all movements) and the Glinka Museum in Moscow (f. 45, yed. khr. 580; fourth and final proofs of all movements).

Apart from the piano reduction (B), Bulïchëva recognizes only two authentic versions: the very first (A) from 1869–c. 1874, which she labels ‘preliminary version’ and dismisses as immature, and the one first performed in 1877 (autograph (C) and copyist’s copy (D)), which she labels ‘author’s version’. Strictly speaking, only the copyist’s copy (D) would qualify as a true representation of this version, because the autograph (C) was never used in performance, but she assumes that initially, the musical texts of both sources were identical (at least in intention), and she chooses (C) as her principal source because (D) survives in a form that is both incomplete and full of emendations. About the emendations to the surviving pages of (D), of which there are several layers, she states that it is impossible to tell whose work they are and when they originated, and she consequently omits them from the text of her edition (except for one variant included as an ossia, bars 257–260 of the finale); however, she acknowledges all variants of the copyist’s copy in the critical report if they are written in ink. She provides no stemma (which would be essential if the countless early sketches and discarded pages that exist in addition to the above versions were included in the picture), but there is no doubt that Bulïchëva’s analysis of the sources is thorough. She deserves credit for being the first Borodin scholar to take the music paper used by the composer into account. She regretfully notes (p. 188): ‘The compilation of a catalogue of the music paper used by Borodin, as well as the compilation of a full catalogue of his autographs remain tasks unrealized so far’.Footnote ²¹

What about the presumed 1879 and 1880 revisions? As a matter of fact, Bulïchëva does not rule them out at all, but she holds that the 1879 revision – or at least the greater part of it – was Rimsky-Korsakov’s work, that Borodin did not approve it, and that the 1880 revision was Borodin’s effort to reverse Rimsky-Korsakov’s unauthorized changes. The 1879 revision is only mentioned in Rimsky-Korsakov’s much later My Musical Life, which, however, refers to it no fewer than three times; no epistolary evidence is known, and reviews of the performance are scant and indifferent to the issue.Footnote ²² In Rimsky-Korsakov’s words, often quoted but never scrutinized:

While there are corrections in the surviving part of the copyist’s score that might be dated to 1879, and while some of them do thin out the brass parts in the scherzo, they are far less thorough than Rimsky-Korsakov’s description would suggest. Ironically, the 1887 version assigns an even more prominent role to the brass, including in the scherzo.Footnote ²⁴ If substantial revisions were made in 1879, they can only have affected those parts of the symphony for which the copyist’s score is lost.

The revision of 1880 is a different matter, because here the piece of evidence is not Rimsky-Korsakov’s My Musical Life but Borodin’s cover letter to Nikolay Rubinstein sent to Moscow with the score and parts for the third performance of the symphony. Borodin began his letter, dated 4 (16) December 1880, eight times, which shows how difficult it was for him to find the right words; all seven drafts plus the complete letter survive and have been published.Footnote ²⁵ Bulïchëva puts much store in the fifth draft, which reads as follows: ‘Merciful Sir Nikolay Grigor’yevich, forgive magnanimously that I delayed the submission of the symphony. It turned out that the score and the parts were in such disorder that they warranted an examination and corrections. All this originated from the fact that at the last performance under the direction of N. A. Rimsky-Korsakov’.Footnote ²⁶ Right here, just after Rimsky-Korsakov’s name, the draft breaks off. The other five drafts and the final letter neither mention Rimsky-Korsakov’s name nor explain why the material was in such disorder. However, from the sixth draft, Borodin included a sentence, ‘I could not entrust this matter [examination and corrections] to anybody else and had to occupy myself with it’.Footnote ²⁷ From this evidence, Bulïchëva concludes that Borodin’s revision eliminated changes that Rimsky-Korsakov had made for the 1879 performance against Borodin’s will.Footnote ²⁸ This is a plausible interpretation, albeit not the only one possible. We can only say for sure that according to Borodin something went wrong in connection with the 1879 performance and left the material in such disarray that Borodin insisted on remedying the situation himself.Footnote ²⁹

There is no doubt that the score Borodin sent to Moscow was again the copyist’s score from 1877, no matter how often revised and by whom. Borodin apologizes in his letter to Nikolay Rubinstein – in the final version but also in its sixth and seventh drafts – for the unfortunate combination of the piccolo with the two regular flute parts on one staff in the score of the finale, which is characteristic of the copyist’s copy.Footnote ³⁰ Among the noteworthy changes is the tempo of the second movement, the scherzo: while Bulïcheva’s edition has ‘Vivace’ like the 1877 autograph, the programme of the 1880 concert and the copyist’s manuscript already have changed the marking to ‘Prestissimo’, anticipating the 1887 edition.Footnote ³¹ The tempo markings of the outer movements (both ‘Allegro moderato’) are the same in the 1877 autograph, the copyist’s copy, and the 1880 programme; the third movement is marked ‘Andante’ in all known versions of the symphony, whether manuscript or printed.

When Borodin first sent the score to Belgium four years later, he wrote to the Countess de Mercy-Argenteau on 16 (28) January 1885:

Borodin here confirms that apart from his draft – to be identified with the 1877 autograph (C) – there was only one score in existence (the copyist’s score; D), and again Bulïchëva takes his statement as a condemnation of others’ interference with that score. The phrase ‘fundamentally tainted’ seems crucial here. The question is whether Borodin’s words are dead serious, as Bulïchëva assumes, or rather humorous, as has generally been assumed in the past. Borodin did have a penchant for irony, but it is difficult to say what words he would have chosen to indicate that he did view the score as ‘fundamentally tainted’. Referring to this letter, Bulïchëva denies the validity of any marks in pencil (regardless of colour) in the copyist’s score and only recognizes corrections in ink and, perhaps, erasures (p. 194).

Bulïchëva’s assumption that all eight performances of the symphony in Borodin’s lifetime used the copyist’s score is certainly correct.Footnote ³³ The problem remains, however, that the copyist’s score of the first movement (except for the first page), of some of the scherzo and of the entire third movement is lost. We do not know what the lost part of the copyist’s score looked like before Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov copied it out anew. The fact that the corrections in the surviving passages are relatively slight does not prove that it was the same with the lost ones. Indeed, Bulïchëva herself assumes that, in order to facilitate the engravers’ work, Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov discarded and rewrote those pages that were most difficult to read because they were strewn with fundamental (or abundant) corrections.Footnote ³⁴

Likewise, one cannot exclude the possibility that some of the rewritten pages from 1887 did not immediately replace the version of the copyist’s score; they could also have replaced some intermediate version that had been inserted in 1879 or 1880. Actually, the two essential changes to the first movement could already have been introduced in 1879.

Orchestral parts could answer these questions, but unfortunately, none relating to the performances in Borodin’s lifetime have surfaced so far. Bulïchëva believes that only one set of parts was used for all eight performances, because there is no clear evidence to the contrary.Footnote ³⁵ Bulïchëva is generally reluctant to postulate the existence of a document from which no trace (either physical or literary evidence) remains – apparently her version of Occam’s razor. However, while her argument against the supposed commissioning of a new score for the performances in Belgium (which Lamm, incidentally, took for grantedFootnote ³⁶ ) is convincing, the parts are another matter. It is likely that the Belgian orchestras performing the symphony were larger than those in 1870s Russia, and it may be safely assumed that at least additional parts had to be copied out. Also, one cannot rule out the possibility that somebody copied the score while it was in Belgium. Be this as it may, Bulïchëva writes:

Bulïchëva seems strangely uncomfortable with the thought of additional sources in Belgium – maybe because she was not able to conduct research there. Even though her assumption that no musical sources survive there may be correct, one might find valuable information in programmes, posters and press reviews related to the Belgian performances.

However, the fundamental question with respect to the authority of the first edition of the full score remains: did Borodin revise the symphony once more during his final months? Borodin expressed his intention to do so in his letter to the Countess Mercy-Argenteau 16 (28) January 1885, the first half of which has been quoted above:

Bulïchëva quotes the letter at length, but she questions the seriousness of Borodin’s intention to revise the score and concludes:

Her final sentence echoes Franz Liszt’s verdict, based on the piano arrangement of the symphony and transmitted in Borodin’s letter to his wife of 23 July 1877. As a matter of fact, Bulïcheva chose the following quote from the letter – including Liszt’s verdict – as a motto for her edition of the symphony (p. 1):

Nevertheless, when the published full score was first used for a performance in St Petersburg on 24 October (5 November) 1887 that Rimsky-Korsakov conducted, the concert programme billed this version as ‘revised and corrected by the composer shortly before his death’.Footnote ⁴¹ As the composite score preserved at the St Petersburg Conservatory – pages from the 1877 copyist’s score, now disbound, interpolated with new pages in Rimsky-Korsakov’s and Glazunov’s hand – unquestionably served as the Stichvorlage, the assumption that Borodin had approved the publication would also imply that he sanctioned the rewriting. Referring to Lamm’s unpublished paper,Footnote ⁴² Bulïchëva presents an argumentum a silentio: while Borodin’s correspondence with Bessel’ concerning the proofs of his First Symphony is extant, there is no such documentation for his Second (p. 195). Three of Borodin’s letters to his wife – of 23 October (4 November) 1886, 20 November (2 December) 1886, and 3 (15) February 1887 – do mention Bessel’s decision to engrave the symphony, but there is no mention of actual proofs – in other words, no evidence that he ever saw them.Footnote ⁴³ Borodin does not mention any revision of the symphony either, whether undertaken by himself or by Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov, in the final months of his life. Another point Bulïchëva makes is the fact that while Rimsky-Korsakov was already occupied with editing Prince Igor from 1879, and at least sometimes with Borodin’s consent, Glazunov became involved with the opera only after Borodin’s death. Bulïchëva ironically characterizes Glazunov, ‘[He] probably already at the age of seventeen participated in editing and proofreading of Musorgsky’s Khovanshchina and, it would seem, turned into a mature “improver” on the work of older composers before he became a mature composer’, and she refuses to believe that Borodin could have allowed him to meddle with his music in his lifetime.Footnote ⁴⁴

Yet the proofs of the 1887 edition exist, and they have been the last resort of all defenders of the authenticity of the edition. Lloyd-Jones, who studied all but the fourth (and final) proofs in 1962,Footnote ⁴⁵ describes them thus:

Bulïchëva’s description of the proofs (p. 195) includes exact shelf-mark references (see the list of versions above). She identifies the proofs of the finale as second and third (rather than first and second), and she claims that the third proofs of the first movement are also in place. Last but not least, she adds the fourth and final proofs, preserved in the Glinka Museum in Moscow, to the count. Lloyd-Jones was not aware of the latter’s existence. While the disagreement between Lloyd-Jones and Bulïchëva on which proof is which is notable, it is their diverging ascriptions of the correction marks that matter most. Lloyd-Jones writes:

Unfortunately, Lloyd-Jones does not say how Borodin ‘is known to have corrected the lost first proof of the first movement’.Footnote ⁴⁸ In contrast, Bulïchëva arrives at a completely different conclusion (p. 195):

Thus, we have testimony against testimony. When I reviewed Bulïchëva’s edition of Prince Igor, I was in the lucky situation that I had ready access to the microfilms in the archives of the late German musicologist Marek Bobéth, which contain the majority of the sources of the opera plus Pavel Lamm’s unpublished piano-vocal score from the 1940s; my own archives supplied photocopies and microfilms of a few more sources.Footnote ⁵⁰ This time, I am not so lucky – neither is anybody else outside Russia, including Lloyd-Jones. I have briefly glanced at the symphony’s autographs in St Petersburg in 1993 and also at the copyist’s score, but I did so in search for sketches related to the collaborative opera-ballet Mlada, the subject matter of my doctoral dissertation, not in search of the ‘author’s version’ of the Second Symphony.Footnote ⁵¹ I have never seen the proofs.

Having been in touch with David Lloyd-Jones since 1989, I acquainted him with Bulïchëva’s article ‘Secret Games’ (as I had earlier acquainted Bulïchëva with Lloyd-Jones’s article, ‘Towards a Scholarly Edition’) and asked his opinion. In a phone conversation with me on 6 January 2017 he unconditionally stood by what he wrote in his 1977 article, especially by his interpretation of the correction marks in the proofs of the symphony; he confirmed that the notes on the proofs that he took in what is now the Russian National Library are extant. He admitted that he did not study the copyist’s score or any other sources at the St Petersburg Conservatory, but he emphasized that at the time of his research in Russia (1958–early 1970s) he was in touch with Ol’ga Pavlovna Lamm (Pavel Lamm’s adopted daughter), and he stated that she supported the view that the 1887 version was published with Borodin’s consent. He did not dispute the fact that Rimsky-Korsakov made alterations to the score, but he dated them to Borodin’s lifetime, and he harboured no doubts about their authorization by Borodin. Finally, he remains convinced that Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov were trustworthy, well-meaning executors of Borodin’s legacy and not the conspiring, dishonest villains Bulïchëva suspects them to be.Footnote ⁵²

A final verdict seems impossible at the moment – and perhaps forever – but let me draw some preliminary conclusions. Assuming that Bulïchëva’s edition is a reliable rendition of the 1877 version, it is still necessary to consider four possibilities:

1. 1. Bulïchëva is right, and Lloyd-Jones is wrong. In this case, her edition would indeed represent the last extant version sanctioned by the composer, and at least for scholarly purposes, it would supersede the one by Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov.

2. 2. Bulïchëva is right on the proofs but wrong on the revisions of 1879 and 1880. Given the status of the copyist’s score at the St Petersburg Conservatory, one cannot rule out the possibility that the missing pages contained substantial revisions and that Rimsky-Korsakov’s and Glazunov’s inserted pages from 1887 (or at least some of them) replaced earlier replacements (from 1879 or 1880, whether in the hand of Rimsky-Korsakov or Borodin) rather than directly the copyist’s pages from 1877. If one allows for this option, Bulïchëva’s version would still be a legitimate one as it was performed at least at the 1877 premiere, but the copyist’s score would be imbued with higher authority because it would be far closer to the composer’s last will. For want of a better solution, Bulïchëva’s version would become the point of reference for scholarly purposes and also for performances aiming at authenticity unless the lost pages from the copyist’s score should be found, but it would be possible (and maybe even preferable) to perform the finale according to the copyist’s score.

3. 3. Bulïchëva is right on the alleged versions of 1879 and 1880 but wrong on the proofs. In this case, Bulïchëva’s edition would not represent the last version sanctioned by the composer, but it would still be a legitimate earlier version performed eight times. Also, as the 1887 version definitely includes alterations by Rimsky-Korsakov, purists might still prefer Bulïcheva’s version.

4. 4. Bulïchëva is wrong, and Lloyd-Jones is right. That is, one would assume the same as under (2) concerning the 1879 and 1880 revisions and, in addition, that Borodin checked the proofs. In this event, Bulïcheva’s version would certainly not be the preferred one, but it would remain legitimate as it was performed at least at the 1877 premiere. Also, as the 1887 version definitely includes alterations by Rimsky-Korsakov, purists might still prefer Bulïcheva’s version.

So far, so good. Yet for a proper assessment of a scholarly edition, evaluation of the sources and the subsequent choice of a version are not the only issues. No less important than the question of legitimacy of the version is the question of how faithful Bulïchëva’s edition is to the chosen source and how convincingly she explains any editorial departures. Again, the impossibility of a check against the sources makes this assessment very difficult. Including some facsimile pages would have helped a great deal. The facsimile of the first page of the autograph score in Angelina Zorina’s 1988 biography shows either the ‘preliminary version’ or even a discarded leaf preserved in a collection of sketches.Footnote ⁵³ Bulïchëva’s critical report contains only a brief description of her editorial method, and it is not comprehensive. For instance, she explains that in the transposing brass, she respelled double flats enharmonically (p. 195), but she does not mention her wholesale transposition of the trumpets from F to B-flat (see her comment on p. 190 about original tunings at various stages of composition), which was done to follow Russian convention. Incidentally, Glazunov did the same when preparing the 1887 version.

Whether conductors will give up the Rimsky-Korsakov/Glazunov version in favour of Bulïchëva’s edition of the ‘author’s version’ is another question. Arguments about versions and the composer’s true intentions, such as those that dominate the reception of Anton Bruckner’s symphonies to this day, are by no means unknown in the sphere of Russian music. Musorgsky’s Boris Godunov is the outstanding case. But here, as well as in Musorgsky’s and Tchaikovsky’s posthumous works, editorial interference of others in the composer’s lifetime is not an issue; all known arrangements of these works by others were begun only after the composer’s death. Those Russian works with which others did interfere in their composer’s lifetime – for instance, Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto, and most works written by anybody under the supervision of Balakirev – are usually performed in their final, edited versions, which the composer sanctioned. Even Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations, which the dedicatee, the cellist Wilhelm Fitzenhagen, rewrote and reordered to an extent beyond anything observed in Bruckner, do not make an exception from this rule.Footnote ⁵⁴ As to inauthentic posthumous arrangements, Rimsky-Korsakov’s version of Musorgsky’s Night on Bare Mountain, begun years after the composer’s death, is very much alive although it conflates two original scores and is much farther removed from either of these than Rimsky-Korsakov’s and Bulïchëva’s versions of Borodin’s Second Symphony are removed from each other. Apparently many continue to find it aesthetically more satisfying than Musorgsky’s original from 1867 – which was, incidentally, championed and first recorded by David Lloyd-Jones.

Thus, the appeal of Bulïchëva’s edition to musicians will depend not only on its degree of authenticity but also its musical merits and the personal preference of conductors. It may be expected that Bulïchëva’s edition will be recorded sooner or later, and only then one will be able to judge it properly. Bogdanov-Berezovsky’s assessment, based on Mravinsky’s 1949 performances, is strangely akin with early statements on the unedited versions of Bruckner’s symphonies as made by their champions:

In any case, Bulïchëva’s edition would have to become more readily available to make a real impact on performance practice. Any second printing should include an English translation of the critical report, which will make the logic of Bulïchëva’s editorial approach available far more widely. Facsimile pages of key sources would make another helpful addition, as would some representation of the confusing layers of corrections and additions in the copyist’s score, ideally in a digital format in which the various layers can be superimposed in different colours. One might even consider expanding the edition by adding the earliest version, the one Bulïchëva labels ‘preliminary’, as Lamm did in 1935, which according to Bulïchëva (p. 195) would be ‘easy to restore’. That would be a valuable addition for scholars, if not for performers.