In the previous article, “About the Austrian from Kharkiv—Composer, Pianist, and Teacher S. Prokofiev,” we learned who Alexander Adolfovich Winkler was and why the residents of our city should be proud of him.
Today, let’s continue getting to know our great fellow countryman. We can do this thanks to the diaries and memoirs of his great student, Sergei Sergeyevich Prokofiev, who—despite the negative edits made by Soviet censors—very often recalled his teacher with great warmth.
From 1904 to 1914, Prokofiev studied at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, where, as we know, A. A. Winkler also taught.
In Prokofiev’s letter to his father dated April 5, 1905, we find a very interesting description of the apartment where the music teacher lived.
Unfortunately, nothing remains today of what once impressed the future composer. The antique carved doors of the main entrance, with their elegant bronze handles, are gone. Nor are there any more of the openwork cast-iron gates or the metal canopies over the entrances to what was once a fashionable building. Following renovations and repairs, the windows and doors have lost almost all of their decorative elements. The alterations to the interior of building No. 28/141 ruthlessly changed the original layout of the so-called “aristocratic” apartments, which became communal housing after 1917. The building’s interiors, which had once so impressed the young pianist, have, unfortunately, not survived…
This is what the house in St. Petersburg, where our great fellow townsman once lived, looks like today.
The young Prokofiev would go to Winkler’s home for lessons twice a week. In early September 1905, Sergei Sergeyevich recalled:
On my way home, as I walked past Winkler’s building, I asked if he had returned from his dacha—they said he had arrived today.
The next day I went to see him. I rang the bell. They told me he had gone to the store and was expected back any minute. Sure enough, two or three minutes later, Winkler himself arrived. He responded to my bow with a very cold “Hello,” but then, upon recognizing me and exclaiming, “Ah, it’s you!” he became very courteous, led me into the living room, and seated me in an armchair. Apologizing for disturbing him, I said that I had come to ask for his advice: since Rimsky-Korsakov, Lyadov, and Glazunov had left the conservatory, I would either continue studying with them privately along with other students, or perhaps they would open music courses; at the conservatory, I wanted to switch to the piano as my major. Winkler said that the piano specialization would require much more work, etc. I replied that I had wanted to pursue two specializations since last year, but, fearing it would be difficult, I enrolled in just one—harmony; that turned out to be quite easy, and now I also want to study piano as a major. Then I said that, if possible, I would like to stay with him.
Winkler replied:
After speaking with Alexander Adolfovich, Prokofiev went to see Anatoly Konstantinovich Lyadov.
After the student finished his specialized piano exam, the teacher approached his young student and said honestly:
“Your lessons will be on Wednesdays and Saturdays at 10:00 a.m. Don’t bring any pieces to class: at first, we’ll focus on technique to strengthen your fingers. It might be a little boring at first, but what can you do!”
The future great composer also remembered his first lesson.
Here is another interesting description of Alexander Adolfovich:
Winkler was of a completely different sort: a good musician and a composer in his own right, whose works were published by Belyaev’s publishing house; he was not particularly talented, but he was conscientious and kind-hearted.
It goes without saying that there were conflicts between the teacher and the student.
In November 1905, Prokofiev’s mother, Maria Grigoryevna (née Zhitkova), attended a concert. In a letter to her husband, she wrote:
In 1907, Sergei began keeping a diary. In his entries, we find the following:
September 10, 1907.
Classes began today at the Conservatory. That is to say, they didn’t actually start, but everyone gathered, chatted, and caught up with one another—and that’s good enough. Lyadov posted a notice asking all the theory professors to meet in a week, on the seventeenth, and Rimsky, they say, will start after the twentieth; let’s just say this comes as no surprise to anyone and is entirely in keeping with these professors’ style. Winkler, on the other hand, is meticulous to a fault and had already arrived today; I quickly hid myself.October 10, 1907.
In Lyadov’s class, we’re writing triple counterpoint; Zakharov is doing better than the rest so far. Elkan, myself: Asafiev isn’t attending, Myaskovsky is sick, Kankarovich is doing worse, and to some extent, so is Saminsky. And Winkler praised me highly the last time for my Bach fugue in G-sharp minor. He didn’t stop me even once and kept saying, “Good, very good,” which is something I’ve never heard him say in my entire life.
Cherny’s beautifully trilled A major, which concluded the exam and prompted the examinees and audience members here in the conference room to break into applause—something that is absolutely not supposed to happen. Overall, my exam went very well, Winkler was beaming, and our class distinguished itself (Burakinskaya got a 4.5; Troitskaya got a 5, even though she played worse than I did and says herself that “if I get a 5, then Prokofiev deserves a 6.5!”). Obviously, I have a talent for the piano, because this winter, due to a lack of time, I played very little—so little, in fact, that I don’t even have the presence of mind to express it with a more or less accurate figure. I tell Winkler that I play for two hours (“not enough, not enough!..”), but rarely do I manage a full hour, and very often I don’t get to play at all. Of course, I’m not including here the things I do that aren’t for him—for example, composing, reading sheet music, and so on. Now, on the twenty-fifth, I have a public exam coming up, which, judging by the pieces that will be played, should go even better than this one. Then, for example, the door would be open for me to study with Yesipova, but honestly, I feel so at home with Winkler, and it would be a shame to part ways.”
April 28, 1908.
On Friday, I took my public piano exam. It went very well. Kessler’s competition etude in F minor—which no one could play decently—went well, Esipova, who had chosen it, listened with pleasure and kept nodding her head in time with the music. The Bach fugue (C minor, Book II) went, according to Winkler, flawlessly, and finally, Schumann’s *Traumenswirren* was also clean and fast, with an expressive middle section. In short, I was given a 5 (Winkler is beaming); only some guy named Dubyago had ever received such a grade before.September 25, 1908.
Today we returned to St. Petersburg. I went to the Conservatory. First of all, I ran into Ivanova, one of Winkler’s students.
“Congratulations on your promotion to professor,” she said.
It turns out that Alexander Adolfovich had been promoted to professor. We were all very happy about this.October 1, 1908.
Zakharov greeted me very warmly, but I dislike Saminsky even more and am already starting to quarrel with him. A new student, Volodya Deshevoy, has joined Winkler’s class. We’ve known each other for about two years now and have occasionally met at concerts. He continues to live in Tsarskoye Selo and comes to the Conservatory four times a week. Winkler said to him, pointing at me:
“Here’s someone you can learn to read music from; Mr. Prokofiev reads music beautifully.”
And Myaskovsky recounted that when he began playing the C-minor fugue in class, Winkler asked,
“Have you heard how Mr. Prokofiev played it at the exam? Play it just like that—it was a perfectly executed fugue.”October 25, 1908.
I was planning to show my little plays to Winkler—who is generally very pleased with me—when suddenly, during class, he turned to me and said, “Medem told me that you’re going to perform your own works… so, please, show them to me first.” Besides, I’m generally very interested in seeing your compositions.
I’ll bring them to class on Thursday.”
At the very end of December of that same year, 1908, Prokofiev asked his teachers at the conservatory for permission to perform his own compositions. Their reaction was fairly indifferent, with the exception of Winkler.
At the same time, the young musician began to feel the urge to leave his teacher and join Anna Nikolaevna Esipova’s class.
December 7, 1908.
While I was in Winkler’s lower-level class, I was quite satisfied with him; he taught me scales and etudes very well. But now that I’ve moved up to the advanced class—the artistic one—I’m not satisfied with him. I have a general passion for moving forward; I generally enjoy the company of those who are ahead of me in some way, from whom I can learn; but once I catch up, that company becomes less interesting to me. When I go to Winkler’s class now, he doesn’t teach me anything new. I either already know all his instructions or have forgotten them while working on my piece! Why should I sit in his class for another two or three years and learn nothing new, when I feel I have great talent for the piano and intend to become a good pianist?And yet everyone advises going to Esipova. It seems only Dad is against it. Besides, I feel sorry for Winkler. To this, Myaskovsky objects:
“When you’re heading toward your goal, you shouldn’t dwell on the difficulties you have to overcome.”
I’ll probably switch to her in the spring or fall.
To a large extent, Prokofiev’s departure from Winkler was also influenced by the conservatory’s faculty members themselves.
However, Sergei Sergeyevich himself is best placed to tell us just how difficult the breakup was for both of them.
June 4, 1909.
As for my piano studies, something important happened: I switched from Winkler to Esipova. When I arrived in St. Petersburg in the fall, I was absolutely certain that I would continue studying with Winkler and graduate from the Conservatory under his guidance. But then everyone—absolutely everyone—started asking me questions: “Are you switching to Esipova? Why are you with Winkler? Switch.”He won’t give you anything more! He won’t turn you into a virtuoso, and so on. I used to defend Winkler, but little by little, during his lessons, I began to lose faith in him. Before, as a freshman, I felt an immeasurable difference between him and me; now I felt no difference, heard nothing new from him, and saw that he was constantly repeating himself and offering nothing interesting. I began to challenge him at times, defend my own opinions, often got my way, and sometimes even pointed out nuances to him—in short, our relationship bore little resemblance to that of a professor and a student.
The class was simply amazed at how I managed to get along with Winkler like that. By December, I had finally decided to leave Winkler—though only after a long and at times unpleasant period of indecision. However, I decided to do so in the spring, and when spring arrived, I instructed Zakharov to begin negotiations with Esipova. Many people had warned me that she wouldn’t take me on—that it was difficult to get in with her, that she was very capricious, and so on. It would be good if she agreed to listen; but even if she did listen and liked what I played, she wouldn’t say right away that she’d take me—she’d say, “I’ll think about it,” put it off until fall, and only take me if there was a spot available then. I was very afraid of being caught between a rock and a hard place: leaving Winkler and not getting into Yesipova’s class. For my audition, I prepared Schumann’s Toccata, which I had successfully performed without her at the student recital. Zakharov hesitated for a long time before speaking to her, but finally, one fine April day, he said, “Well, my friend Prokofiev, a student of Winkler’s, has long dreamed of joining your class and is begging you to give him an audition.” Esipova replied:
Then I didn’t see Glazunov for a few days. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore, tracked him down, and questioned him:
“No, I didn’t talk to him,” Glazunov replied. “You know, as the director,
I feel awkward… it’s like giving an order… you’d better just try to figure it out on your own…”There was nothing else to do. I decided that I would have to put the question to Winkler as simply as possible, as if it were the most ordinary of matters, as if it couldn’t be any other way. With a calm, almost cheerful demeanor, I approached Winkler.
“Alexander Adolfovich, I took your introductory course, moved on to the advanced course, and now I’d like to say goodbye… thank you… and transfer to Professor Esipova’s class.”
Later, in his autobiography, Sergei Sergeyevich quite candidly described the contrast between his teachers—“from Winkler’s affectionate embrace to Esipova’s clutches.” Prokofiev retained fond memories of his noble and hardworking teacher.
October 11, 1909.
But the memory of Winkler is still cherished. And in memory of those good old days, I composed four piano études especially for him this summer and dedicated them to him, my “highly esteemed teacher.” The day before yesterday I presented them to Winkler—tomorrow I’ll have to “accidentally” run into him at the Conservatory and find out how he liked them. Myaskovsky found them to be a great success and a step forward. Personally, I find them somewhat rough around the edges, as is typical for a first attempt of this kind, but still more successful than I had expected when I began composing them
Alexander Adolfovich’s reaction to these piano études, which were dedicated to him, was quite telling.
As we know, there are no photographs of Alexander Adolfovich in the numerous Soviet-era publications devoted to S. S. Prokofiev.
However, a truly unique photograph appears in I. Vishnevetsky’s 2009 book, *Sergei Prokofiev*.
Perhaps our fellow countryman, Alexander Adolfovich Winkler, was not as brilliant or talented as Prokofiev. But who knows how brightly Sergei Sergeyevich’s star would have shone on the world stage had Winkler not invested so much energy and effort in his beloved student, of whom he was so proud…
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