DMYTRO BORTNIANSKYI: Why Ukraine Shouldn’t Pay the «Talent Tax» Again
Portrait of Dmytro Bortnianskyi. Engraving, 1841 / wikipedia.org
He was a contemporary of the great Amadeus Mozart. Many refer to him as the «Ukrainian Mozart» — a title he undoubtedly deserves. His legacy is surrounded by mystery, intrigue, and ambiguity. Even today, some struggle to determine whether Dmytro Bortnianskyi should be considered a Ukrainian or Russian composer.
BORTNIANSKYI AND THE WAR
The composer left behind a rich creative legacy — not only operas but also romances, cantatas, suites, sonatas, and even symphonies. His works seamlessly blend the achievements of Western European and Orthodox music with the distinct features of Ukrainian melodies. Pyotr Tchaikovsky and Hector Berlioz highly praised his contribution to world musical culture, and over time, the scale of this contribution continues to impress.
It is symbolic that Bortnianskyi’s opera Creon, lost for 200 years, was rediscovered during the war. This serves as yet another cultural link connecting Ukraine with Europe. The opera was written by Bortnianskyi in Italy, influenced by European trends, and first staged in Venice. Afterward, it vanished without a trace.
The world premiere of Creon took place in Ukraine’s capital in November 2024 under the auspices of UNESCO and the international organization Europa Nostra, which is dedicated to preserving Europe’s cultural heritage.
Commenting on the event, the opera’s organizer and conductor, Herman Makarenko, stated:
«Today, the war is not only being fought on the frontlines… Our neighbor seeks to destroy not just our territory but also our identity, culture, and spirituality. They impose the ideology of the “Russian World”, but today we give back to the world the first opera written by Ukrainian composer Dmytro Bortnianskyi — whose work influenced not only European but also global musical culture.
Our project is the Ukrainian musical community’s contribution to the fight against Russian aggression».
GENIUS OF THE PLACE
To understand the origins of Bortnianskyi’s music, one must delve into the cultural environment that shaped and nourished his talent throughout his life. The Romans referred to the «genius of the place» as the spirit associated with a specific place, giving it its unique character and atmosphere.
It seems that Ukraine’s Sumy region possessed a special musical genius. This land is intricately tied to the lives of an extraordinary constellation of musicians, composers, and singers, including Sergei Rachmaninoff, Pyotr Tchaikovsky, Mark Poltoratsky, Maksym Berezovsky, and Dmytro Bortnianskyi. The latter two were born in the town of Hlukhiv, which became the new capital of the Ukrainian Hetmanate in 1708 after Peter I’s destruction of Baturyn.
Another notable figure from this region is Prince Andrei Razumovsky, who championed Ukrainian music in Europe. A skilled violinist himself, he amassed a remarkable musical library of 2,300 works, encompassing opera, symphonic, and chamber music. He was friends with Haydn and Mozart and served as a patron and benefactor of the great Beethoven, who dedicated three string quartets and two of his most famous symphonies, the Fifth and Sixth, to Razumovsky.
The lives and creative paths of these individuals were intricately connected to Hlukhiv for a reason.
CULTURAL CAPITAL OF UKRAINE
This ancient city, known from chronicles as far back as the 12th century, boasted a rich cultural tradition. In the 18th century, Hlukhiv became the musical capital of Ukraine, largely due to the emphasis its hetmans placed on the «musical embellishment» of their authority.
In 1727, the installation of Danylo Apostol as hetman was marked by extraordinary pomp, with a significant role given to the sounds of «kettledrums and trumpets». The musical Baroque style, which lasted longer in Ukraine than in Western Europe, perfectly suited the goal of exalting grandeur — first and foremost, the grandeur of God and the Church, and secondly, that of earthly rulers.
It was only natural that the Russian autocracy could not ignore such a unique cultural resource, which fate had placed within its empire.
Cultural life in 18th-century Hlukhiv thrived, showcasing Baroque architecture, dramatic theater, choirs, orchestras, opera, and ballet troupes. Unlike St. Petersburg, which drained talent from across the empire, this cultural abundance was deeply rooted in local soil.
IMPORTING TALENT
European Baroque introduced the musical world to the concept of «tonality», intricate musical ornaments, new instrumental techniques, and innovations in musical notation. This Western musical tradition flourished spectacularly on Ukrainian soil.
As early as the 17th century, polyphonic parts of singing emerged, dramatically steering Ukrainian sacred music toward Western influences. In the Orthodox tradition, where monophony had reigned for centuries, this shift was nothing short of a cultural revolution. Comparable to Vivaldi’s instrumental concerts, Ukrainian choral Baroque was so dazzling, unique, and virtuosic that it left the Russian elite in awe.
At that time, nothing similar existed in Russia itself, but its emperors were eager to match the sophistication of European monarchs. Thus, St. Petersburg began importing Ukrainian talent on an industrial scale — a practice not unfamiliar to conquerors throughout history.
This process, like much else in Russian history, was initiated by Peter I. In 1714 and again in 1717, the tsar’s deacon and regent, Petrov, traveled to Hlukhiv to recruit singers for the tsar’s private court chapel. Since 1700, after the death of the last Russian patriarch, this chapel had served as a secular alternative to the Synodal Choir, which was falling into decline.
ГHLUKHIV BOYS: THE TALENT TAX
Hlukhiv eventually became a center for training young singers to meet the needs of the Imperial Court Chapel, which was staffed almost exclusively by Ukrainians. In 1729, the Hlukhiv Singing School was established — the first and, for a long time, the only specialized music school in the Russian Empire.
Each year, up to 30 of the most talented Ukrainian children were selected to study musical notation, singing, and playing the bandura and violin. After two years, the top 10 students — only the best of the best — were chosen and sent to St. Petersburg. Through this system, over 300 musicians, choristers, soloists, and choir directors were trained for the Court Chapel!
Did these Ukrainian boys have any choice in shaping their destinies? Hardly. Russia’s «musical janissaries» were not so different from the actual janissaries of the Ottoman Empire, who transformed the children and youths of subjugated peoples into soldiers.
While the Ottomans imposed a so-called «blood tax», the Hetmanate’s capital paid a «talent tax». To be fair, the Russian Empire used not only the stick but also the carrot in the form of social mobility.
BETWEEN A CAREER AND SUICIDE
For young Ukrainians, the imperial choir and orchestra often opened doors to extraordinary career opportunities. Graduates of the Hlukhiv school frequently ascended to the ranks of the Russian elite. Blind singer and Elizabeth I’s favorite bandura player, Hryhorii Liubystok was granted nobility and the rank of colonel. Mark Poltoratsky, a baritone of rare talent, founded a renowned noble dynasty whose coat of arms featured a harp.
One of Poltoratsky’s descendants even managed the St. Petersburg Mint. Remarkably, music nearly restored Ukrainian statehood: in 1750, the Hetmanate was reestablished, with Kyrylo Rozumovsky, brother of Oleksii Rozumovsky and himself musically gifted, appointed as hetman. However, alongside these remarkable careers, the lives of Hlukhiv alumni were often marked by profound tragedies.
The fate of the exceptional composer Maksym Berezovsky is particularly telling. His name was inscribed in gold letters on the Bologna Academy building alongside that of the great Mozart. The musical fabric of his choral works, which signaled the transition from Baroque to Classicism, was deeply influenced by Ukrainian liturgical singing traditions.
Despite his extraordinary talent, Berezovsky never received the recognition he deserved at the imperial court. Tragically, many of his compositions have been lost. A project to establish a music academy in Ukraine, supported by Hryhorii Potemkin, was abandoned after the prince’s death. At the age of 32, tormented by severe depression, isolation, and illness, Berezovsky took his own life.
THE AUTHOR OF THE MASONIC ANTHEM
Dmytro Bortnianskyi, born in Hlukhiv in 1751, was more fortunate than his predecessors — he secured the position of chapelmaster at the imperial court. Yet, the key stages of his biography closely resemble those of his contemporaries. He began at the Hlukhiv Singing School, and by the age of seven, joined the Imperial Court Chapel.
Blessed with an exceptional voice, the 13-year-old was already performing solo parts in operas. Once, during an overnight vigil, Dmytro fell asleep, but instead of punishing him, the empress ordered that he be carried to her chambers. Upon waking, the boy believed he had arrived in paradise.
At 17, the prodigy received a state scholarship and was sent to study in Venice. It was in Italy that his first operas — Quinto Fabio, Alcide, and Creon — were staged. Creon premiered in 1776 at the San Benedetto Theatre during the Venetian Carnival. However, it was subsequently lost and only rediscovered 200 years later in a library in Lisbon.
Equally fascinating is the story of another of his «hits» — «How Glorious is Our Lord in Zion». Initially adopted as the Masonic anthem in the Russian Empire, this piece underwent remarkable transformations. Its melody was even used by the chimes of the Spasskaya Tower of the Moscow Kremlin until 1917.
BEYOND LANGUAGES AND BORDERS
Before the official imperial anthem God Save the Tsar was adopted in the 1830s, Bortnianskyi’s How Glorious is Our Lord in Zion was regarded as an unofficial anthem. Today, some proponents of «derussification» in Ukraine criticize the composer for this association. However, his work long ago transcended the boundaries of eras, cultures, and empires.
Translated into German, Bortnianskyi’s hymn is still performed at military ceremonies in Germany. Its melody was also used by British composer Beck to create the anthem of the Jewish Socialist Bund, Di Shvue. Socialists and imperialists, Jews and Germans, Masons and priests — all found something of their own in Bortnianskyi’s music. Is this not a testament to his true genius? Proof that his brilliance exists in a cultural realm far beyond political parties, states, ideologies, and nations?
Bortnianskyi speaks to humanity in a universal language — the language of music, understood by all. And the fact that this language has a Ukrainian accent is not a flaw but a source of pride for Ukrainians.
Despite its apparent simplicity, Bortnianskyi’s sacred music has a profound, almost magical effect on listeners. Many performers have testified to experiencing a state akin to religious ecstasy while singing his compositions.
Let us not forget that How Glorious is Our Lord in Zion is an adaptation of Psalm 64 — nothing more and nothing less! It carries purely religious meaning, devoid of politics or ideology.
Thus, Bortnianskyi can hardly be held responsible for the misuse of his work. Just as Christ cannot be blamed for the tortures of the Inquisition, Nietzsche for Auschwitz, or Tolstoy for becoming «the mirror of the Russian Revolution», Bortnianskyi bears no guilt for how his music was later appropriated.
DO WE HAVE TO PAY THE «TALENT TAX» AGAIN?
History cannot be chosen. It is hard to argue with Herman Makarenko’s points. History cannot be chosen — it is as it is, forever etched in time. Unfortunately, we cannot rewrite the past or erase its tragic, great, or even controversial and ambiguous events. But there is one crucial thing we can do: ensure that Ukrainian geniuses are not erased from it.
Ukrainian composers like Berezovsky and Bortnianskyi lived and created during the era of the empire. This was not their choice, but they made a far more significant one — they preserved the light and dignity of Ukrainian culture, resonating with universal human values.
Long ago, the Russian Empire sought to take Hlukhiv’s boys from Ukraine, forcing it to pay a «talent tax». If today, in a wave of misguided «derussification», we reject geniuses like Bortnianskyi, we essentially concede that this imperial tax was justified.
In effect, we agree to pay it a second time rather than refusing to let Russia take them from us again.
