THE OBER-FIM VARIATIONS
of
N. N. LODYZHENSKY
Readers of the Gesellschaft will be familiar with the name Nikolay Nikolayevitch Lodyzhensky, and
with the outlines of his career, from his youthful association with the “Mighty Handful” in St.
Petersburg and his musical aspirations to the dramatic and decisive shift toward a career of government
service in foreign lands, climaxing in his discovery of the Invisible City of Kitezh and his mutually
beneficial relationship with the magical “Ober-Fim” (the felicity of whose reign can be gauged by the
absence of historical records which are after all principally a chronicle of calamities and oppressions).
The Ober-Fim Variations date from the period of Lodyzhensky’s sojourn in Kitezh: the story of its
origin exists in a number of versions, similar in general outline though differing in interesting details.
IBut before embarking on the telling of this tale, it is advisable to say a few words about the nature of
philosophy in the Kingdom of Kitezh.
One remarkable feature is that all knowledge comes directly from the Ober-Fim, who receives
enlightenment in the state of dream. A gentle voice, the Tutelary Spirit, speaks to the sovereign in
that pellucid moment just before awakening, in a language surcharged with transparent meaning, a
language in which sonorous beauty merges with significance. Waking, the ruler finds himself clutching,
as it were, the burnt husks of precious gems – enigmatic phrases with the meaning scorched from them,
surrounded with an aura of painful nostalgia.
This has led the wise men of Kitezh to evolve a philosophy of the positive power of paradox, a belief
that apparent contradictions either resolve into transcendent synthesis, or that they reflect an
irreducible mystery within and around us that should be explored and celebrated in art. Hence the
prime importance in Kitezh of music, and at this point we can resume the story of the composition at
hand.
Troubled one morning by a particularly poignant poem, the Ober-Fim, as was his custom, summoned
his royal musicians and, dictating his dream, requested they improvise upon it, hoping that the sweet
eloquence of music could recapture the lost feeling the words once held for him. But none of the
ancient scales, and none of the treasured instruments of Kitezh could capture the elusive mood he
sought. The Ober-Fim became listless, lost in day-dream, until eventually the waking world seemed
naught but an interminable dream from which only sleep could provide solace. The affairs of state were
neglected, as were the celebrated festivals.
At last Lodyzhensky was summoned, and the radical proposal was made that a music from outside the
legendary kingdom should be attempted. Through his acquaintance with Rimsky-Korsakov,
Lodyzhensky had developed a familiarity with the so-called octatonic scale system whose piquant
progressions, dreamily floating keys and endless unfulfilled yearning seemed to the musician
appropriate to the circumstance. The monarch, now langourous and pale, whispered his dream: the
musician listened with inclined head, scribbled some notes on parchment, retired to a chamber with his
beloved piano, and finally emerged with the current work, The Ober-Fim Variations, for string quartet,
and piano.
Such, in a general way, is the story of this work’s provenance, and it must be admitted that the
foregoing goes some way toward elucidating a number of otherwise perplexing paradoxes of a purely
artistic nature – paradoxes the pleasure of whose discovery I leave to the energetic scholar. At the
same time it must be admitted that not everyone subscribes to so literal an interpretation: for some, the
historical Lodyzhensky is the only Lodyhensky, the “years away at the Balkans” are no actual
“journey to the East” and the only Kingdom of Kitezh is that which he conjures in the solitude of his
winter’s exile, dreaming of his distant, ruined estate.
Meanwhile it must be acknowledged that most influences are mutual: not only did the mythical sovereign
inspire the obscure composer: the presence of the musician in that previously xenophobic land has led
to innovation in the realm of philosophy. For there are now those in Kitezh who say there are two
Lodyzhenskys, mirror – images from opposite worlds: one improvises in increasingly tangible forms, the
other composes, striving for ever greater fluency, tending toward the illusion of spontaneity. Some
have concluded that, should these two activities converge, and the two Lodyhenskys see each other in
the mirror, they would both cease to exist, while their worlds would be annihilated. Others have
whispered, on the contrary, that the consequence of such a meeting would be a new world, perhaps the
only world actually possible, a world fraught with irreducible paradoxes: our world.
Here follows the text of the Ober-Fim's dream - poem (translated into English):
There, along the path where the Prince and the Pauper meet
At the horizon where mind touches world,
There, where Beauty crumbles like a wave
And the pearl-fishers feel the unbearable memories melt,
There where all is movement and grace
Does music cease to be of us
For we, triumphant, winged, are of it.